Late spring, 1942
I am leaning against a skinny tree with yellowish leaves that provides absolutely no shade from the sun—rare sun, for England. It's near to summer now, but still it's usually much colder than this, and rainy.
Lucy and I have been spending a little more time together—I help her with her schoolwork, and we talk about things. She doesn't really need me that much though. She's quite good at making friends—loyal friends who stick with her and don't run off walking in the woods with James Halifax every time you turn your back. Violet is such a scandal.
But everyone likes her! I don't exactly understand it, really. I try and try to be all that Mum and Dad ever taught me to be: polite, friendly, caring…but it seems different here. It actually mattered back in primary school, where nobody liked you if you didn't smile and share your lunch, but now…
I made the mistake a couple weeks ago of mentioning Narnia. Oh, curses upon my foolish head, but I had to say something to someone!
Linda Russell simply turned her head as if it were a great effort to look upon one as silly as I, and said, so condescendingly, "After all, Susan, we aren't back in the first form. These are the upper grades now. It's not as if we were children, trying to imagine ourselves away when we had to do a difficult arithmetic problem."
And Betsy Macauley turned up her perfect little nose, tossed her black hair over her shoulders, rolled her eyes, and giggled.
No one ever giggled at me when I was a Queen. Ever. Of course, I never did anything giggle-worthy when I was a Queen. Perhaps…perhaps that's why Aslan sent me away. Perhaps I've changed too much for Narnia.
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May 22, 1942
Dear Susan,
This is going to have to be a rather short letter, but I have some news to tell you—I've passed the examinations! Soon there will just be my finals to take and I'm off to university! Of course, there will be some studying to do this summer, and applications to fill out, but Mr. Brandish thinks I'm as good as through.
I hope your year has gone well. I would have written to you more often, but I had such studying—you'll understand when it comes your turn next year.
I don't mean to go on and on, but have you thought about Narnia much lately? It's been the only thing on my mind, really. I have a hard time thinking that I'll never go back. I mean, I understand what Aslan said, out in the forest, but it's still a hard reality to face. I hope you're bearing up alright under it.
Edmund sends his love, and means to tell you he won the cricket match, and that he passed his geography for the first time. But he won't write you or Lucy a letter. He says he'd have nothing to say.
Give Lucy a hug for me, and also the note enclosed here. It's for her.
Love from your brother,
Peter.
P.S. I'm so sorry I forgot to send you anything for your birthday. I really meant to but wasn't able to get out in time. –P.
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May 31, 1942
School is out, and I'm heading back home with Violet's address. We're on the train again, and I'm staring out the window again at the rolling countryside. I must admit, it is beautiful. This world isn't as awful as I had first thought after coming back from Narnia. This summer I'll have to come to reality of this world—since, after all, that's where I'll be staying for who knows how long.
Perhaps I can find some sort of work soon, or as Peter suggests, catch up on my studying. It seems so dull, though. I want some excitement in this summer. Excitement was never lacking in Narnia—no. I can't think about that any more.
Edmund wants me to spell check the story he's writing. I shall write more later, maybe. We'll see what happens when we pull in.
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The train pulls into the London station. I just love trains. Trains never fail—they always get you where you should go. It might take a while sometimes, but they get you there.