A.N: Thank you for being so patient with me, I've been away for a week visiting friends. I hope that you're liking the story so far, I've been writing my socks off praying that it's good enough. Please tell me what you think about it in the reviews, and if anybody has any questions I'll be more than happy to answer!
Chapter Three
Anything Goes - Lew Stone and His Band
December 19th, 1942
King George V Dock, London, U.K.
Lucy chewed her lip, anxiously, standing on her tiptoes to look over the sandbags, piled sky-high. Edmund stood beside her, watching the soldiers march past him.
The port was flooded in steam, and the smell of oil was almost overwhelming. There were at least a two hundred soldiers to a ship, and the port was brimming with warships. It was unnerving, their presence. They looked so much like the little toy ships children play with during the game Battleship when Lucy could see them from her bedroom window, that up close the sheer size of them made her feel somewhat faint. She couldn't help but shudder slightly, thinking about all the men aboard those ships, potentially sailing to their deaths. Their last view of home would be out of those small, claustrophobic windows.
"What's the time?" Lucy inquired, hugging her arms to her chest, turning to her brother.
Breaking his gaze away from the line of soldiers, Edmund glanced down at his wrist. "Ten-to-nine," he replied, still rather distant. Lucy furrowed her brow, and followed her brother's eye-line. Spotting the soldiers, she cocked her head to the side.
"Isn't Susan's boyfriend in the Navy?" she asked, curiously. "He could be any one of those men."
"Johnny's in the U.S. Navy, Lu," he sighed. "Look at the uniforms, they're ours. And he's not Susan's boyfriend. They're just friends."
The winter weather was sharp, biting at any exposed flesh it could sink it's teeth into. The wait, however, was worse. An hour they'd been stood there already, with no idea of when the ferry was to dock. It could be minutes away, it could be hours, it could have even sunk, though they didn't want to consider that.
"When do you think we're going to meet him?" Lucy inquired, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "This friend of hers. She talks enough about him in her letters."
Edmund shrugged. "Probably never. He might not survive this war."
Lucy gasped, and frowned at her brother. "Edmund! You can't say things like that!"
Once again, Edmund shrugged. "It's true, isn't it? I mean, I thought Susan was smarter than this. Getting involved with a soldier during a time like this, it's not like her."
Before Lucy could respond, a loud horn echoed throughout the dockyard. Edmund and Lucy both jumped, and turned to look over the sandbags. Sure enough, though they had difficulty believing it, they saw a ship that would have been impressive in it's own right if it weren't ploughing past hundreds of two thousand ton warships. Passengers were leant against the railings, staring slack-jawed at the Royal Navy fleet beside them. Lucy scoured the crowd, trying to pick out her siblings or parents, to no prevail. She supposed they could have been indoors.
It took another half hour for the ship to dock, and the passengers to begin to disembark. A large assembly of civilians awaiting other family members had begun to gather, pushing Edmund and Lucy aside. Grumbling, Edmund tried to elbow his way back to the front, to no prevail. He cursed under his breath, only earning him a clip on the ear from his sister.
Suddenly, when the last few passengers had alighted, and the crowd had began to disperse, Lucy spotted them. Her mother, her father, and Peter - but no sign of Susan. Pointing them out to Edmund, she ran and hugged her mother. She'd missed everything about her mother, most of all her embrace. Looking past her shoulder, she waited for Susan to appear. However, Helen Pevensie shook her head.
"Lucy dear, there's something you need to know," her mother began, with a thin smile Lucy knew she was just plastering on to stop herself from crying. "I'm afraid Susan isn't coming home."
Furrowing her brow, Lucy shook her head. "I don't understand."
She turned to her father, who was looking down at his feet, hands behind his back, with a grim expression. Peter also shared a similar disdain, jaw gritted. Both of them seemed to be more angry than upset, so at least Lucy had some comfort in the fact that Susan wasn't dead. But what then?
"Where is she?" Edmund piped up, as he too hugged his mother.
"She stayed behind," Peter answered, bluntly. It was clear that he did not approve of their sister's choices.
"With Johnny?" Lucy exclaimed, growing more and more confused.
Her mother shook her head, and reached out to Gordon Pevensie to steady her. Her voice was raw and feeble, as if she had spent the last couple of days crying. "No, he's gone to sea. We're not sure where," she sighed. Tears started to pool in the corner of her soft eyes, and her lip was trembling. Her husband didn't hesitate to place his arm around her shoulders, keeping her from stumbling. "Susan applied to a nursing school, in New York. She was accepted, and travelled up there yesterday."
"That's good though, isn't it?" Lucy pointed out, still puzzled.
"It's an army nursing school, Lu," Peter explained, sombrely. "She's going to the front line when her training is done."
Lucy's stomach dropped when she heard the words 'front line'. Her father had been to the front line, and he'd barely made it back unscathed. Peter was due to go soon, next year. She'd had time to prepare for them to disappear, off doing their duty. They were of age, both healthy, they had to go. Well Susan, she'd only just turned eighteen, three days ago. She had no obligation to join, nobody forcing her hand.
They all walked home, with Finchley being only a couple of miles from the dockyard. Helen and Gordon walked together, arms linked. The three Pevensie siblings strolled a few paces behind them, speaking in hushed tones. Lucy was in the middle, looking up at her two brothers. As nice as it was to have Peter home, she'd had her heart set on them all being reunited.
"She'll be alright, won't she?" she asked, with optimism. "I mean, if Narnia taught us anything it's that Susan can take care of herself. Plus she's fought in battles too - this time she'll just be on the sidelines."
"But Lu, she's not got her bow and arrow, or us, with her," Edmund said, rather matter-of-factly.
"And you remember what she was like, even before she went to America," Peter added, with a disheartened expression. "It's as if she won't let herself think about Narnia, let alone talk about it. I'm concerned about her. This is not the Susan we used to know."
Edmund clocked his fingers, gasping. "I said the same thing! Susan would never have become so attached to a man who lives on the other side of the globe during a war!"
"So you both think that Susan's changed?" Lucy demanded. All she felt she had done that morning was ask question after question. "Why? Because we left Narnia?"
Edmund and Peter glanced at each other, out of the corner of their eyes, and then back at their sister. "I don't know, Lu, I really don't know what's happening in her mind at the moment," Peter sighed. His crossed his arms, and looked her square in the eyes. "What I do know, however, is that Susan was heartbroken when she came back from Narnia. It was really affecting her. Nightmares and the such. I couldn't even mention Caspian's name without her lashing out. Then, all of a sudden she meets this Johnny and all sense of rationing and reasoning goes out the window. Why didn't she wait until she back to London, and studied nursing here? Why did she have to choose New York? The old Susan would have thought about it properly, not put her name down last minute."
It certainly was curious, Lucy thought. This abrupt change in Susan. Has she really been able to get over Caspian this quickly, within mere months of knowing this American solider?
/
Theme From New York, New York - Frank Sinatra
New York City, New York, U.S.A.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I'd like to begin this letter by apologising profusely to you both. I'm sorry that the morning of my birthday, a day you had both put so much effort into being a memorable and wonderful occasion, I sprung the news so insensitively upon you. I'm sorry that I was not able to return home with you both, and that it was I who had to wave you off in New York. I'm sorry for all the sleepless nights my not being there will cause. I'm sorry for all the worrying you're both going to be doing over these next few years.
What I am not sorry for is my beginning this nursing course.
I understand that it is not fair of me to leave so abruptly like this. I understand your anger, or your sadness, or even your disappointment. I'd like you to know that I do not take any of it personally, and that it was not my intention for you to get hurt. But please, try and see this situation from my point of view. It was three months after the war broke out, in 1939, that father was sent away to France. We didn't see him for a year and a half, but I never once complained, looking after Lucy and Edmund as best as I could when we were evacuated. I was only fifteen. Then, Peter joined up and he too will soon leave for the front. Johnny's left as well, for goodness knows where, and neither of us haven't the faintest idea when he'll be home. I've made my peace with my father, my brother, and my friend all joining the cause. I may not like it, but I've not fought them against it.
This is the reason why I have to ask that you don't fight me against staying in America. I cannot sit by any longer, watching as everyone I love disappears to the frontline. That's why I've become a nurse, or at least will be. I'm doing my part for the war effort, just as dad, Peter, and Johnny are, among countless others. You must realise that I cannot be content at home knowing that I could be over here, helping. It's not right, not if I'm old enough to actually do something of use to somebody. It's all well and good growing potatoes, and sewing blackout curtains, but it's not enough.
My course starts tomorrow, which will be the 20th of December. I'll send you updates when I can, so you know exactly what's going on over here. I love you both, very much. I hope you can accept my decision.
Love, Susan.
/
Dear Private Pevensie,
It's still very strange, calling you that. I know your papers were made official nearly five months ago, but so much has happened since then that I haven't really had time to consider the weight of those words; Private Pevensie. I thought by starting off this letter referring to you as such, I'd be preparing myself for the days to come, but really I think it's foolish to think that anything let alone a few words are going to prepare me.
You are to be sent to the frontline soon, I imagine. No, poor choice of dialogue there. I don't want to imagine it. Not you, shivering in a trench somewhere, a hail of gunfire soaring over your head. I assume that's what the trenches are like, I'm only going off what some of the soldiers have told me. The ones that are alright to talk, still intact. Dad won't say much about it, though mum assures me we just need to give him time. Time - something everybody clings onto but can't ever be sure of. So temperamental is time, especially in our current turbulent climate.
I know I'm rambling, but you must understand what I'm saying? Nobody can be certain about anything any more - whether they'll wake up in the morning to a blitzed house, or if their sweetheart will return home from war, or if they'll ever get to hold their brother again. I don't like feeling useless, Peter, I never have. I don't like this feeling of being helpless, left at home whilst the men are faced with all the work. You, dad, even Johnny - you've all joined up because you think it's your duty because you are men. You are of the right age and gender that to remain in the comfort of your own homes whilst others lay down their lives is deemed inappropriate and immoral. Well, what's to be said of us women? We're the ones who give away our sons, fathers, and partners to war, and are told that what we can do to help them is dig up a few carrots!
I've dug my fair share of vegetables, Peter. I'm tired of watching you all leave whilst I'm stuck behind. That's why I've decided to become a nurse. At least this way I'll be busy, I'll be working, and I'll be of use. I'll be able to see the consequences of my assistance first hand, when I'm helping to save lives. Mum and dad won't understand at first, so you'll have to look after them. They still see me as that broken girl they picked up from school ten months ago, not this one that Johnny's helped put back together.
Please, make sure you're there for Lucy and Edmund whilst you're still in England. I think they'll get it, or at least I hope they will. Tell them that I'll miss them, and that I'll write as much as I can - Lu will take some convincing.
Love, Su.
/
Dear Ed,
I suppose you're jealous I got to fly the nest first? Despite being the second youngest, you've always been the most eager to leave. Not because you don't love us, but because you're restless, and crave independence. Well, I suppose you're the only one who could possibly understand just how I've been feeling these past few months.
I haven't been content with sitting back and letting others fight this war for me, just as I suspect you have been unhappy too. As a woman, becoming a nurse is the only thing I can where I feel that I'm going to be of some real use to people. I'm eighteen, I don't need anybody's permission to sign up - just as you would argue if you were old enough to enlist now.
I am going to miss you and the others terribly. These five months have been the longest the four of us have ever been apart, and these next four months I'm afraid will feel even longer. Please don't feel as though I'm abandoning you all. The hardest part about signing up for this nursing course was the prospect of not stepping off that boat and seeing you and Lucy again.
I'll keep you all up-to-date with my goings-on here in New York. You never know, I met even sneak in some souvenirs.
Love, Su.
/
Dear Lu,
Sorry you're having to read this instead of hearing firsthand from me. I'd have loved to come home and see you, Lu, its just I can't face another goodness knows how many more months of sitting and waiting. Dad's already been to the front, and he'll be going back soon, taking Peter with him too. We both know that if Ed was eighteen, he'd be off down to the recruitment offices first thing. I'm only doing what's expected of the men.
There's one thing you should know Lu; girls are capable of just as much as boys. Perhaps more so.
You'll understand, I just know it. You've always been the first in line to get your hands dirty. Who knows, this course could eventually lead to a career? I've always quite liked the idea of being knowledgeable about medicine, and the workings of the body. This way I can skip the years long process and jump straight into something useful and practical.
You'll like it here in America, Lu. North Carolina was extraordinary, it really was. The water looked like crystals, and the sky like sapphires. The heat was warm enough so that I've got a splash of colour across my cheeks, but not too hot so that it was unbearable. I feel as though it reminds me of somewhere, though I can't quite put my finger on it.
I arrived in New York this morning, and already I feel like a local. I'm sat in a little café overlooking the Hudson River, the iconic skyline behind me, and I'm feeling slightly overwhelmed. Johnny grew up here, in an apartment in Brooklyn. He's told me everything I could possibly ever wish to know about this city, telling me all the best places to eat and drink - such as this café. He's also Italian, or at least his mother was born there and his father's family hails from Sicily, which means that if I ever fancied a - I believe he called it a pizza? - then I know just where to go for the best slice in the city.
I can't wait for you to meet him, Lu. Johnny's the most generous, the kindest, the smartest and most courageous man I've ever met. I told you how we met, with him jumping into the ocean to retrieve my shoes? Could you imagine a man here leaping into the Thames just to fetch a pair of soggy slippers? I've told him all about you and Ed, and he says that he'd love to be properly introduced back in London, when he comes for a visit after the war is finished.
I hope that you can forgive me for not coming home, but be excited instead for the opportunities I know have.
Love, Su.
/
Dear Johnny,
New York is every bit as magical as you told me it would be. I'm sat, right now, in that cafe you suggested, Sal's. You're right, the view is incredible. I can't believe this is where you used to work before enlisting. I don't think I'd have ever been able to leave.
I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to thank you for suggesting I take this course. I've been feeling like a spare part in London for such a long time now, I'm irritated with myself for not thinking of it sooner. You helped alleviate some of my frustration in Southport, but now that you've gone away to sea, it's my job now to ensure that I'm doing something of use.
The hardest part about applying wasn't the tests, or the waiting. It's been telling my family. I know that I've devastated my parents, as they only wanted me safe and kept away from the war. I had to tell them that war is unforgiving, that it leaves nobody untouched. Peter's angry with me, why though I'm not sure. I think he believes that I am being impulsive, signing up as a knee jerk reaction to you going to the front. I assured him as I assured you - I am an adult now, fully capable of making my own decisions without somebody having to hold my hand. Lucy and Edmund I expect will be disappointed I haven't returned home to London, though I suspect of all people they'll understand.
Happy birthday, dear Johnny. Or at least, it is your birthday today as I write this. Don't think I've forgotten - check your kit bag if you haven't already, there should be a little something in there from me. It's not the whole gift, mind you. You'll have to see me in person for the other one. Thank you for my birthday present too, the bracelet is beautiful. I'm being sincere when I say that no boy has ever given me jewellery before; at least, not something you can't find at the bottom of a cereal box. You'll have to write and tell me when you're on leave so we can celebrate together.
It's a shame you're not here to show me around, I'd have quite liked the company. I hope you're okay, wherever you are, and that this letter even reaches you. I miss you.
Love, Susan.