Susan Of Narnia

Chapter Twelve: The Train

Every memory laid written in Susan's lap, a pile of used ink cartridges on the floor near her feet. She'd used nearly every paper she could find. There was only one page left—Susan took that and wrote, with bold strokes: The Chronicles of Narnia.

She knew they were poorly written, possibly even boring. They were very factual, like a history book, and not at all like a novel. But maybe she could find someone who would help her make them more interesting.

Susan's compact mirror had laid open on the edge of the chair the entire time she wrote. The glass then wrinkled over itself and she saw Aslan.

Susan smiled, feeling complete under his gaze.

"Will I ever be able to hug you again?" Susan asked.

Aslan's eyes were warm, His smile, rewarding. "It is not yet your time, daughter of Eve. But it is time for you to leave this cottage and return to London."

"But ... " Susan shivered. "I can't go back. Not when Carl doesn't love me as he used to. Oh, Aslan, why does Carl act if I am detestable to him? Why won't he try and believe me?"

"Carl Bryant is the sort of man that is evil not because he hates others or desires more for himself, but because he clings to his foolishness and refuses to know the truth. He convinces himself that he does right to stay with you, but he's also blinded to anything true, and so he is also convinced that you are the one that needs help. Do not hate him, Susan, but pray for him."

"Will I have to marry him?" Susan asked.

"Your future is not for you to know. Now go."

But Susan couldn't move, and she argued once more, "I can't. If Carl finds me, he'll surely send me away."

Aslan growled, but He didn't sound angry. "Trust me, my daughter."

Rebuked, Susan lowered her eyes. "Yes."

When she raised her eyes, Aslan was gone. Susan was tempted to cry, but instead she closed her mirror and stood from the chair—her stiff legs nearly buckled under the sudden movement.

How long had she sat in that chair? It had felt like mere hours, but Susan suspected that it had to have been much longer. Susan felt no weariness at a loss for sleep, nor hunger for food, nor thirst for water. It was like she had slipped in Narnia time, for though time had passed, it also had not passed.

Susan changed into fresh clothes and slipped her manuscript into several large envelopes. The envelopes were too large to fit in her bag, so she carried them in her arms and placed her bag straps over her shoulders. Her things packed and ready, Susan left the cottage, locking the door behind her and starting the fifteen miles to the train station.

But after just a mile, the same old man with his grandsons pulled his wagon up alongside of Susan. "Need a ride, Miss?" the old man offered.

Susan climbed on back with the boys.

"Going home all ready?" one of them asked her.

Susan nodded. "Yes, I've been here long enough."

"Three days isn't very long," the boy snickered, but then sobered, as if afraid his laughing might have offended Susan. "But then, it's not very pretty this time of the year."

But all Susan heard was the part where the boys said she'd been there only three days. Three days of writing without stop or rest—how had she done it? Even now, she hardly felt hungry, just as she might if she'd just woken up from a night of sleep, ready for breakfast.

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Susan was the first to board the train. She found a seat in the middle of the car and sat by the window, holding her manuscript tight to her chest.