Chasing Butterflies
Introduction
“The [Chronicles of Narnia] don’t tell us what happened to Susan. She is left alive in this world at the end, having been turned into a rather silly, conceited young woman. But there is plenty of time for her to mend, and perhaps she will get to Aslan’s country in the end—in her own way. I think that whatever she had seen in Narnia she could (if she was the sort that wanted to) persuade herself, as she grew up, that it was ‘all nonsense’
“I could not write that story myself. Not that I have no hope of Susan’s ever getting to Aslan’s country; but because I have a feeling that the story of her journey would be longer and more like a grown-up novel than I wanted to write. But I may be mistaken. Why not try it yourself?”
— C.S. Lewis
Chasing Butterflies is my attempt to finish Susan’s story. It is entirely a work of fiction, and entirely my opinion, but, as C.S. Lewis offered, I decided to take him up on it!
— Megan
Chasing Butterflies
A dainty baby blue butterfly drifted past the window, bouncing along with the clouds. Susan didn’t pay it any mind. She didn’t feel like a butterfly today. She wasn’t carefree and feather-light.
She folded her hands around her important sheet of paper, creasing it against her black dress. Her outfit was the latest of fashions: a black pillbox hat securing a veil to disguise her tears, black gloves with little bows at her wrist, and a military style dress, boxy shoulders, golden buttons across her shoulders, and nipped in at the waist. But none of that mattered.
“Susan Pevensie is now going to share some of her favourite memories of her siblings and cousin. Susan, would you please come to the front?”
Susan unfolded her sheet of paper. Just one page. A section for Peter, a section for Edmund, a section for Lucy and a section for Eustace. A short section for Eustace. She found the baby blue butterfly again, and started to read.
“Peter was everything a big brother should be. Stubborn, caring, and, though I don’t like to admit it, magnificent. Edmund was everything a little brother should be. A little annoying and naughty, with a sense of justice. Lucy was everything a little sister should be. Innocent, loving, and, in her own way, valiant.” It was only when Lucy’s name was mentioned that she started to cry. Baby blue tears adorned her eyes, and she searched for the butterfly.
Word by word, she finished her speech as a monotone recitation, all the while searching for the butterfly.
“One of my favourite memories of Lucy was the day the war ended. We heard the news, and we ran outside, out to the garden, and spun around in a dance, so carefree. I remember, specifically, the golden sunlight shining on her face and her bright smile. That’s what I’ll miss most about Lucy. Her happiness. And what I’ll miss about all of them is their love.”
As applause echoed through the church, she flew back to Frances and Evelyn. “You did well, Susan.” Frances smiled at her. Susan gave her a small smile, crossed her legs and tried to ignore the church. The stained-glass windows that depicted everything from Eve’s fall to the lion laying down with the lamb.
She looked at the butterfly, and nothing else. She followed it everywhere. After all, there was nothing else to follow.
“Susan, darling.” Her mother’s slim form appeared in front of her, her dress a mere potato sack on her. People dealt with death differently; her father felt the need to eat meals for Peter and Edmund as well for himself, leaving nothing for her mother. “It’s time for the…time for…the bur…”
Susan slipped one arm through her mother’s, and one arm through her father’s, following the congregation out the doors of the church her siblings had called home.
The church had welcomed them all with open arms, Peter had told her. They had taught them the wonders of their beliefs, and it was all he could do not to share their secret world of Narnia with them. He knew, his eyes had glistened as he told her, that this was what Aslan wanted for them. This was what Aslan had brought them to Narnia for.
It was ridiculous, believing in that silly game they used to play when they were children. Their imaginations had carried them away, and even if Narnia was real, apart from the fact that it was ridiculous, Susan didn’t want any part in a world and a talking lion that rejected her after she had learned to love them.
But Peter, Edmund and Lucy weren’t ridiculous. So how could they believe in something ridiculous? She didn’t know exactly what they had believed in, or what this church believed in, but if it had anything to do with Narnia, it wasn’t for her.
Racing through the woods on horseback. Her sweat mingling with horse sweat. The woosh of arrows by her head. The thunder of horse hooves on rock. The clashing of blood-thirsty swords echoing through the valley.
Susan kicked the covers off her bed, tossing around, trying to toss the nightmare out of her head.
Centaurs—those strange half-horse, half-human creatures—rushing to her side. An arrow stabbed into one’s back. He fell at her side. She urged her horse forward. Where was Peter? Did he know she was in danger? Where was Edmund? Was he fighting off even more men? Where was Lucy? She didn’t think she was old enough for battle, did she?
Susan rolled to her other side.
Where were they? Were they safe?
The ring of her alarm clock startled her out of the dream. She bolted up, wiping the drops of sweat off her forehead. Where were they? Were they safe?
She shook her head out of the land of Narnia. Narnia was a cruel place. Such vicious creatures, evil witches, and even more evil plans. Their innocent child imaginations couldn’t have invented such horror. And the person, or creature, who introduced them to Narnia was beyond evil. How could they torment children that way? Those vivid sights of war in Narnia still haunted her, on nights she couldn’t stop remembering her time there.
She glanced at her alarm clock, even though she knew the hour hand would be pointing to six. Enough time to reschedule her babysitting duties, swim a few laps at the local pool, get dressed for band practice, and still be in time for classes.
She dialed Mrs. Carlisle’s number, jumping out of her pajama pants as the ring tone pierced her ear. It was understandable if Mrs. Carlisle didn’t want to answer anyone’s calls—she had just lost her mother in the same train accident Susan had lost her siblings. But they shared the same loss, so she should answer.
“Mrs. Carlisle, hi.” Susan held the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she wriggled out of her top. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t babysit Dotty this afternoon. My lecturer scheduled an unexpected class that I need to attend. Does tomorrow work instead? I’m free all day, so I can have Dotty with me all day.”
Silence hung across the phone line. Mrs. Carlisle answered after a few moments. “Yes. That’s fine.”
“Well, okay, then. I’ll be at your house at eight. Bye, now.” She jammed the phone back into the holder, shaking a loose dress over her swimsuit. Rechecking the bag she had packed last night, she glanced towards her jewelry box.
The creamy wood from an apple tree was carved into delicate drawers, just as she had requested. It had been Professor Kirke that offered her the wood when he downsized from his country home to a smaller house closer to the city. The wardrobe she and her siblings had first discovered Narnia in was too big for his new cottage, and Lucy would have none of it being destroyed. Professor Kirke had been more than willing to give Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy each a piece of the wardrobe. It was ridiculous; it was just a normal wardrobe, but it sure did look pretty on her dresser table.
She pulled open the top drawer, throwing a pair of butterfly earrings into her bag. Slipping the bag over her shoulder, she locked the door to her apartment, and began walking the short distance to the town pool.
The world was a blur until she dove into the pool, and then it was a haze of chemical blue. Her heartache plunged into the depths of the pool, the coolness of the water mingling with her warm tears, the wind stinging her face as she raised her head for a breath.
One lap. She was confused. Two laps. She was alone. Three laps. She was terrified. Four laps. She was misunderstood. Five laps. It was time to leave.
Drying the mixture of chlorine and salty tears off her body, she strangled her hair into a braid, slipped into a dress and ran for college. It was no way to appear for class or for band practice, but people would brush it off. “She just lost almost her entire family. Give her time to grieve,” they would whisper, ducking their faces as she locked eye contact with them.
“Can someone please tell me I’m not crazy?” she would ask. “Tell me I’m not a person to believe in fairytales. Tell me I have a brilliant imagination. Just tell me Narnia wasn’t real.”
But it was real. Every dream, every memory, every one of Lucy’s smiles made it real.
Frances bounced up to her as she entered the classroom. “Susan! You made it! I’m so glad. The band sounds so old and rustic without your flute. Quick, I need your opinion on my sketches before we start.” She opened her art book, shoving it under her face. “My fashion design class is next, and I need to present five designs to the class, but I can’t decide between two of them. My theme was animals, so this outfit is inspired by a butterfly, and this one by a lion. Quick! Tell me which one is best.”
“Butterfly.” Susan fumbled to open the case of her flute. “The red and orange of the lion are too harsh together.”
“Oh, thank you! You’re always so good at dresses. You should have joined my class, rather than your boring law lectures.” Frances snapped her notebook shut. “One more thing, stay out of the way of Evelyn this morning. She has a new boyfriend, Ted. He’s a vegetarian, and you know how Evelyn always likes trying out new things. So she didn’t have bacon for breakfast this morning, and she doesn’t have a ham sandwich for lunch. She says it’s better because she doesn’t have to worry about the rations so much, but all it’s doing is making her grumpy.”
“Susan? Frances? In your places, girls. We have a performance tomorrow night and our selections need to be perfect.” Mrs. Thatcher rapped her baton against her thigh. “Is everyone else ready? Frances? We’re all waiting for you.”
Frances threw her notebook on top of her violin case and spun her way to her seat. “All ready, Mrs. Thatcher.”
Susan had practiced their suite of songs for so long she didn’t need to follow along with Mrs. Thatcher’s passionate waves of her baton. Her mind drifted back to Narnia.
Frances was right. She was good at designing and analysing clothing. It was the years of cultivation of her fashion sense in Narnia, attending banquets and parties almost every week.
She loved Narnia. Even she wouldn’t deny that. It was easier to believe that Narnia was a childhood game, though, because it hurt too much to believe that Aslan had abandoned her.
Picture frames full of sun and smiles. Vines and flowers dangling over a crammed full bookcase. A wardrobe full of flowery, summery dresses. Lucy’s room.
Mother and Father were attacking Peter and Edmund’s rooms, and Susan had insisted she could clean out Lucy’s.
She had overestimated her strength.
With every family photo, the lump in her throat grew. Every delicious-smelling flower sent a shiver through to her toes. Every dress, every smell of Lucy, forced one more tear over her eyelid.
Susan stuffed the dresses into a cardboard box. She would never wear them; too babyish, too loose-fitting, too many flowers. Perhaps she would give them to Mrs. Carlisle for Dotty, for when she was older.
Susan reached out to Lucy’s bedside table, running down the list in her mind. Clothes. Tick. Flowers. Tick. Books. Tick. Stacks of records. Tick. Anything else?
She opened the drawer in the bedside table. Another photo. Of course. The white frame captured their childhood in one moment. The photo was taken just before dusk. Susan could almost smell the smoke from the campfire, and could almost taste the marshmallows, ready to be cooked into a gooey mess or charcoal ashes with the packet Peter was holding, and the toasting fork Edmund was waving in the air. Lucy clung to her brothers, squishing Susan in the middle too. Their faces were beyond happy.
“I want that again,” Susan whispered to Lucy’s empty room. “I want to see them again.”
She slammed the photo face down onto Lucy’s dresses. She would see them again. But she didn’t want to see those happy faces again today.
She pulled out another item from the bedside table. The Holy Bible, the golden letters read. The gold of the ‘e’ was wearing away, like it had been rubbed one too many times. The black coating across the cover was peeling away too, like it had been opened one too many times.
A red bookmark dangled from the middle. Susan pulled the book open to that page. There were more pencil marks than proper lettering. Phrases underlined and annotations in a size smaller than Susan could read. Why had Lucy bothered underlining when she underlined most every sentence?
She threw the book on top of the photo. Aslan. Church. God.
She recalled how excited Peter, Edmund and Lucy had been when they first visited that church. “Susan! We know now! It’s just like Aslan told us! He is in this world. He just has another name. You have to read the stories, Susan! Susan, we bought this Bible for you. Susan, won’t you come to church with us?”
Aslan abandoned her. So if church or God were the same thing as Aslan, she didn’t want it.
“There were eagles and pelicans and whales and dolphins, and all the kinds of birds and sea creatures you can think of. That was the fifth day.” Susan waited for Dotty to admire the illustrations before she turned the page. “The next day, God spoke into life all creatures that roam on the ground, lions and bears and rabbits and even butterflies. But God did something very special that day. He knelt onto the ground and formed a man out of dirt. He breathed life into the man, and he became a living person, just like you and me!”
“It’s so pretty, isn’t it, Miss Susan? Look at the big blue butterfly in the tree. Don’t you just love this story? Grandma bought it for me for my birthday.” At the mention of her grandmother, Dotty ducked her face into Susan’s shoulder. “Keep on reading.”
Susan finished the story, each line sounding so familiar. It was so like a story Dotty’s grandmother had told her—of Narnia. How Aslan had sung life into the animals and chosen pairs of animals to be the Talking Beasts. Had Polly written this book for Dotty? Or maybe the story of creation was a fairytale spread throughout the world. Maybe that could explain her silly belief in Narnia. Maybe every child had been told the story.
“Susan, can we go for a walk now? Down to the park?” Dotty clapped the book shut and bounced towards the door, stumbling over her shoes.
“Alright, then. Are you warm enough?”
“Yes! Let’s go!”
Mrs. Carlisle was going to be horrified at the state of her daughter’s coat when she arrived home. Dotty loved finding all the puddles along the footpath to splash in, and there was sure to be more at the park.
The rain left puddles in the grass just large enough to splash in. Mrs. Carlisle was already an easily angered woman, and her mother had just died. That was another lion Susan wasn’t ready to face.
She held her hand out to Dotty. “Don’t get your coat dirty. You won’t have anything else to wear today if you do.”
Dotty clutched onto her hand, using the other to point across to the other side of the street. “Look, Susan. Isn’t that your friend over there?”
Susan followed her finger to see Evelyn sitting on a park bench along River Thames, two men flanking her. “It is. Would you mind if we crossed the road to talk to her for a moment? I’ll be quick, I promise.”
“Sure.” Dotty was well-trained - any child of Mrs. Carlisle knew to look both ways for cars, and Susan only reiterated that whenever Dotty was in her care. That was the one thing she shared with Mrs Carlisle. Logic.
The clicking of Susan’s boots on the pavement only distracted Evelyn from the deep conversation. “Susan! Hi! Have you met Ted and Patrick before? Ted, this is Susan. I’ve told you all about her. And Patrick, this is my friend Susan. Susan, Patrick is Ted’s friend from Magdalen College. Wasn’t that the college you applied to?”
“Well…um…” Susan tugged Dotty away from the edge of the road. “Yes. Yes, it is. I wasn’t accepted, of course. Magdalen isn’t in favour of women attending their college.”
Ted and Patrick were oblivious to the three girls, still debating some high-falutin topic, waving their hands in the air in wild gestures. “Ted.” Evelyn tapped his shoulder. “Ted. I just introduced you to Susan, and you weren’t listening.”
“Sorry?” Ted finally turned his gaze to Evelyn, glancing towards Susan. “Oh, you must be Susan. Evelyn has told me all about you. I’m so sorry for your loss, by the way. It must be hard to lose all of your siblings at such a young age.”
“Oh…uh, thank you.”
Evelyn tapped his arm again. “How did you know this was Susan? You weren’t listening at all to my introduction.”
“You described her so well. You told me she wears red lipstick and does her hair perfectly whether she’s attending a gala dinner or walking to the park.”
The blush Susan had applied to her cheeks that morning was no longer needed. “Evelyn,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry! That was the best way to describe you. But you broke your rules yesterday. Your hair was a mess.”
“I’m sure she can be excused for that, seeing as she just lost her family.”
Susan avoided his eyes. How heartless was he? “I’m sorry we interrupted your conversation. We’ll leave now. Bye. Come on, Dotty.”
“No, Susan.” Ted waved her back. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have been so cold about your family. You didn’t interrupt at all. In fact, Patrick and I were having a very intriguing debate. We just came from a theology class at Magdalen, and neither of us can come to an agreement about whether hell exists, even after a two-hour lecture concerning it. You wouldn’t happen to have any opinions about it, would you?”
Susan bit her inner cheek. “No, no. I don’t.”
Startled perhaps by her harsh tone, Ted turned his attention back to Patrick. “I believe that the Bible says hell is an everlasting fire; they burn forever.”
Patrick leant his elbow against the back of the park bench, steepling his fingers. “Yes, but how could a loving God let that happen?”
“He doesn’t love evil.”
“But he loves evil people. He doesn’t love what they do, but He loves them as a person.”
Evelyn caught hold of Susan’s arm and dragged her closer. “I know this isn’t a brilliant introduction to Patrick, but I wanted you to meet him and tell me what you think. Because I was thinking you two would make a really nice couple.”
“Evelyn, I’m tired of dating. I don’t want any more boyfriends. Got that?”
Evelyn tightened her grip on Susan’s arm. “Oh, but Patrick is different. He’s a really nice man. He talks about religion too much, but you can look past that. I do that with Ted. Did I tell you about the time Patrick—”
“I don’t care if he’s the nicest man on earth. I don’t want a boyfriend right now. Especially not a religious one.” Susan reached behind her to grab Dotty. “Please, Dotty, don’t jump in any more puddles.”
“Here’s the thing, Ted, if Jesus suffered the most evil things man could do to him, choosing to die to save us, then—”
Susan jerked her head up. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What did you just say?”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “I said that Jesus died to save our lives.”
Susan’s teeth came down hard on her lip again. “Well, then, I’ll…I’ll see you tonight, Evelyn. At the concert. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
Ted and Patrick would think she was a lunatic, but they didn’t understand. They didn’t understand how eerily familiar that story was. Susan waited until they crossed the road, and then spoke to Dotty. “Dotty, do you…has your mother told you a story about a man named Jesus…dying to save someone else?”
Dotty’s braids bounced across her back. “Oh yes. That’s another one of my favourite stories.”
“Would…would you mind telling it to me?”
“Okay. Well, there was a man named Jesus. He was God’s son. He was a very good man, but everyone else in the world was very bad. We were going to die forever if something didn’t happen. So Jesus said He would die. He was killed on a cross, but He rose again three days later, and—”
“He what?”
“He rose from the grave. So He saved all of us. All we have to do is believe in Him.”
“O-oh.”
Susan wasn’t sure exactly what Dotty did for the rest of the day, but when Mrs. Carlisle came to pick her up, she seemed happy. Susan had spent her afternoon scurrying around her apartment, trying to recall where she had thrown Lucy’s Bible.
When she found it, just minutes after Dotty left, she sat on her bed, and flicked through each page until she found the story. Jesus, an innocent man, had died to save everyone. But He rose from the dead.
He had died to save everyone. Everyone who accepted His gift of salvation. That was what Lucy’s annotations told her at least.
The creation story. The crucifixion story. They happened in Narnia too. But Dotty and Lucy told her Jesus died to save the whole world. Did that mean Aslan had died not only to save Edmund from evil, but to save the whole of Narnia? Her too?
The creation story. The crucifixion story. Maybe Aslan and Jesus and Narnia and Earth were the same. But Aslan still abandoned her.
It was only on very special occasions that Susan had used the magic horn she had been gifted in Narnia from Father Christmas. He had told her only to use her bow in great need, so she only used the horn in great need too.
But she played her flute like she would have played the horn if she was calling for help in Narnia. Desperately, as if the music was her very breath. As if the more complicated notes she played, the more likely someone would come to save her.
Not Aslan. She didn’t want Aslan. She just wanted an explanation.
Susan loved Narnia, like one still loves an imaginary childhood friend. She had worked so hard to convince herself it wasn’t real. How could it be, when Aslan had abandoned her? She couldn’t believe in a made-up world, but Peter, Edmund and Lucy had, and even if they were delusional, they were the happiest people she knew.
She blew harder into her flute, the notes floating out in an aurora around her. A magnetic field, calling, longing for help. The deep blue waves of the aurora danced in the atmosphere, dancing with the butterfly. So fleeting she couldn’t grasp on to it.
The audience burst into applause when the final note was played. Susan’s lips lingered on the mouthpiece of the flute, aching for the pain to stop, but longing to continue calling for help.
The audience’s attention turned to Mrs. Thatcher. Susan’s attention turned to the side door. She clasped her flute into its case, and slipped behind the two double basses in the back of the orchestra.
Opening the door, the sharp breeze hit her tears, forcing them back from her cheeks to her earlobes, dripping onto her dangling butterfly earrings. Her eyes caught a real butterfly. She locked her gaze onto the ditsy flutter of its wings, weaving in and out through the flowers and leaves and decorations in the courtyard.
Seats and tables were scattered outside of the concert hall, each with a bouquet as the centrepiece. She sat at the furthest seat from the concert hall, crossing her ankles, folding her hands, and doing everything a proper lady should do to contain herself.
“Susan? That’s your name, isn’t it? Are you quite alright?”
Her shoulders grew rigid, and her jaw began to ache. “Yes. I’m Susan.”
“I’m Patrick. You met me at the park this morning, remember?” He straddled the seat beside her, his frame filling her entire vision.
“Yes, I remember. It was just this morning.”
He bit his lip, no doubt unsure how to respond to her cold tone. “It’s a lovely church, don’t you think?”
The butterflies in her stomach began to flap like hummingbirds. Her voice was tense. She had had enough of churches. “Church?”
“Yes. This building is a church. What’s wrong with that?”
“No-nothing. I…I just happen to dislike churches.”
He folded his arms, like he intended to stay with her until he discovered every reason why she hated churches. “Why’s that? Churches are beautiful buildings, not to mention the beautiful idea they represent. You know, in the Bible, churches aren’t a building. Churches are—”
Susan held her hand up. “Patrick, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear religion and theology right now.”
“It’s not religion or theology. It’s simply—”
“I don’t care what it is. I hate it, and I don’t want to hear it.” She found the butterfly again. It was hard to keep up with it, but it gave her a calmness she hadn’t had since her reign in the Golden Age of Narnia.
He held both of his hands up. “Okay, fine. Would you just tell me why? I won’t argue with you, and I won’t interrupt. But I would like to know why you hate churches so much.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You can’t keep running away. I can see how important this is to you, and how scared you are of it, and running away from something you’re scared of won’t help you.”
She finally met his gaze, but her voice was still cold like the November wind. “How presumptuous you are.”
“Fine, then. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“Fine, then.” She would tell him her story. She would tell him about Narnia, and how it all felt so real until she was pushed away. But she would tell him in his own language, his own language of churches and God and Jesus and religion. She caught the butterfly in her eyes, and began. “When I was a kid, it was all so real to me. God was so clear to me. Jesus was so clear to me. I heard all the stories, and they felt so real. Like I was the one that Jesus had died for. Like I was there when He created the earth. I could feel His love. But then I stopped hearing the stories. I grew up, and He abandoned me.” She gave him a moment to protest, but he continued his annoying nod, as if he agreed with everything she was saying.
“It all felt so real until one day it was gone, and it feels like a childish game I’m too old to believe in. I don’t understand it any more. It used to be so simple, but now there’s so many other things to think about, and I’m not sure I believe in God anymore. If He was real, wouldn’t He never leave me? Wouldn’t He never push me away?” She stared at her lap, twisting her hands.
“My siblings did. Peter, Edmund and Lucy. They believed in God. They loved church. But I just don’t understand, and ever since they died, it’s become even more complicated in my mind.”
Patrick nodded, his hand rubbing against his chin, bristling against the hint of his beard. “I understand. I really do. I grew up hearing the stories—Daniel and the lion’s den, Jonah and the whale, David and Goliath. And I loved it all. But then I grew up, and reality hit. There was more to the Bible and to Christianity than the stories. I had to find God for myself. The real God, not just a God who was there one minute and gone the next, there when I read the stories, gone when I closed the book. I had to find a God who wasn’t just in the stories.”
“And where do you find Him?”
“Just look around you.” He gestured to the church, then swept his arm across their surroundings of trees and tables and flower arrangements. “What do you see?”
“A big hollow church. Trees. Butterflies. Flowers. I don’t understand. What are you trying to say? How can I find God outside of the Bible?” How do I find Aslan outside of Narnia? And why would I want to find Aslan outside of Narnia? “And why would I want to find God outside of the Bible? Why would I want to find a God who abandoned us at the end of the Bible?”
His face was incredulous, both eyebrows raised to the top of the wrinkles in his forehead. “Susan, God didn’t leave us at the end of the Bible. The Bible is just a recording of events that happened when He communicated with us in certain ways. Sure, it may have been easier when God actually talked to people, and when Jesus was on earth, but when He left earth, He gave us all a gift. The Holy Spirit. That way Jesus can be with us all the time. That’s the exact opposite of abandonment.”
“How is talking to something invisible better than talking to someone face to face?”
“I didn’t say it was easier. Of course it isn’t. But there comes a time we need to rely on what we know, rather than what we can see. But,” he held a finger up, pointing to the church, “in saying that, we can still see God here on earth. We can see His love in the way He looks out for us. We can see His friendship, in the people of our church. A church isn’t a place of weddings and sermons and...funerals. A church is simply a group of people who believe in God. We can see Him here, Susan. Perhaps we have to look harder, but I think it’s worth it.”
So, if God and Jesus and church translated to Aslan and Narnia, then Aslan was still with her. Not like He was in Narnia. But perhaps He hadn’t abandoned her. Perhaps she had just become too fixated on the stories.
“I can’t believe how impressed Mr. Phillips was with my designs.” Frances flicked through the pages of her design portfolios, pushing it into Susan’s hands. “It was only because of your expert advice.”
Evelyn clapped the book closed. “Frances, we’ve heard enough about your drawings. They’re all you talk about. Neither of you even asked about my date with Ted last night.” The clicking of their heels on the cobblestoned street was Evelyn’s only response.
Frances piped up. “Well…uh…how did it go?”
“Wonderful, thank you. Although I’m beginning to hate this vegetarian obsession he has. We went to five different restaurants before he found something to eat. Oh, Susan, I had a question for you. He’s invited me to his family Christmas lunch, and I need to bring a dish. It has to be vegetarian! I don’t know what to cook, but you’re always so good at that kind of thing.”
The rainbow shadow of stained-glass windows loomed over the pathway up ahead. There was no need for Susan to look. There was a church. And she needed to be in it. She didn’t want to, she didn’t want to smell the strong candles burning, she didn’t want the strong memories, but Queen Susan never ran from battle.
“I’m sorry, Evelyn. I’ll try to help you later. Would you mind leaving me alone for a bit? I’m going into this church, and—”
“Oh, Susan. We’ll come with you. You miss your family, don’t you? You shouldn’t have to go in there alone.” Frances tucked her arm into Susan’s. “Would you like us to keep on talking? To distract you?”
“No. I don’t want to be distracted. Thank you, but I need to go in there alone. Without distractions.” She broke free from Frances’s grip and walked towards the church entrance with a brisk step.
The stained-glass windows told stories. That’s what Lucy had told her. She turned to the back of the church. Jade green glass bloomed into a tree, with ruby red apples dotted across the leaves. A shimmering snake slithered through the branches, its glinting eyes evil. A woman stood beneath the tree, her hand outstretched towards an apple.
Just like Digory and Polly told her.
But they were still stories. Stories from a distant past. And no matter how wonderful the stories were, Aslan had still abandoned her.
Find a God who wasn’t just in the stories.
Did she even want to find that God? She wanted to see Peter, Edmund and Lucy again, but did she want to see Aslan?
A memory came floating in. Not a nightmare, but Aslan’s words. “You have listened to fears, child. Forget them.”
She wanted to hear that voice again. That voice that calmed her fears. That voice that told her she was enough, her face naked and her hand without another’s. That voice that was always there. She wanted to see Aslan again, but she was afraid He would abandon her again.
But Patrick had said Aslan hadn’t left her at the end of Narnia. Their way of communicating just changed, because she had to learn to rely on her faith in Him.
“Don’t you want to see Him? He’s here, Susan. We found Him! Aslan! Here on our earth! Well…” Lucy dropped her gaze to the ground then. “He’s not a lion. And you can’t actually see Him. But all the stories are the same, and He loves us, just like Aslan did!”
“Aslan didn’t love us, Lucy.”
“Oh, but He did.” Lucy clasped her hands underneath her chin. “Please, Susan, won’t you come see?”
“How could He love me? He abandoned me. He abandoned all of us.”
“No, no, Susan. You don’t understand. He was right. We were growing too old for Narnia, as much as we loved it. See, it isn’t all about winning battles and talking animals and seafaring. That’s what we thought it was about. That’s what connected us to Aslan while we were children. But when we grew older, we would have been too focused on winning the battles. It would have been all about our pride and our courage, and not about Aslan. So we had to find Aslan here. And we’ve found Him, Susan! We’ve found Him!”
Susan opened the notebook she always kept in her handbag. Unclipping a pen, she tapped it against the spiral, staring at the Thames before writing.
Dear Aslan,
I think I understand now. At least, my mind is clear enough to understand what Lucy and Patrick were telling me.
It must have been hard for You to send us away. But I understand. I was so focused on reigning over Narnia and establishing peace that I forgot You were the true King of Narnia. Those things weren’t bad, but I believed I could do it all on my own, and I guess You had to take it away before Narnia crumbled under my selfish rule.
That was the first time.
The second time, I thought we were needed again. But then You sent us away. Again. And forever.
But You sent us away to find You in our world. You sent us away so Narnia, and so You, could become real to us. Is that right?
I guess I’m a lot slower than Peter, Edmund and Lucy. They found You so quickly. But me?
I didn’t even try to find You. I turned to my own world of fashion and boyfriends. I was chasing after everything I could find that would give me a sense of security, because Narnia was so uncertain, and love, because I thought You didn’t love me.
But then Peter, Edmund and Lucy died. I’m only just discovering You now, after years of ignoring their pleading.
It was just like when we were in the woods in Narnia. Lucy saw You, but I didn’t, and I didn’t believe her. I was too scared. But I was wrong. You were there. All the time. And now the same thing has happened again. Just like that time, I’m the last to see You.
I listened to fears. I was scared of abandonment again.
But I see You now.
You’re not just in the stories in the church. I love the stories, but now that I’m older, that can’t be all I focus on. Like Patrick said, I need to find You outside of the stories. I need to follow that voice in my mind. That voice that told me yesterday to forget my fears.
So that’s what I’m going to do. This is my plan:
1. Read Lucy’s Bible.
2. Go to church—Peter, Edmund and Lucy’s church.
3. Find friends that know You, because I don’t have Peter, Edmund or Lucy.
4. Live out my story.
I miss You,
Susan
She blew on the wet ink, folded the letter up, and slipped it into the front of Lucy’s Bible.
Another butterfly caught her eye. Dancing among the branches of the trees, she lost sight of it.
But that was okay. Because she was finished chasing something so fleeting like butterflies and auroras. She wanted something real.
