 |
| "Melanie was about halfway through the opening when her
sensitive fingers felt a sensation they ought not have: grass..." |
" . . . And it is with great pleasure that I am able to
present to you the Graduating Class of 1949!"
A rousing cheer went up from the crowd. A great weight
seemed to drop from Peter's shoulders as he stood after that long ceremony. He
grinned hugely as he looked behind him for his family and saw Melanie jumping,
clapping, and waving for him.
How much she had changed from the pale, pathetic, terrified
creature they first met! She had become a regular part of his life as easily as
a coat-rack.
And as silent as one, too, Peter thought to himself.
He was not five paces away when Melanie, unable to contain
herself, ran forward and threw her arms around Peter. He laughed and returned
the hug, his long robe fairly swallowing the petite girl. Lucy joined her at
Peter's side, then Edmund, and soon the whole family gathered in a
congratulatory group hug. When it was over, Mr. Pevensie took the opportunity
to congratulate his son in a more masculine manner—a handshake. "I'm proud
of you, Peter."
Peter nodded, "Thank you, sir."
By this time, the rest of the family was on the way back to
the auto. "Hurry up!" Lucy called over her shoulder, "Maybe we
can reach Demark Hill in time to see Susan!"
Susan! Peter felt a tug at his heart. For six long years
after her absolute denial of Narnia, Susan spent an increasing amount of time
with fellow student Benton Northwyn. Peter tried once to confront him on his
impropriety with Susan, but the arrogant, knowledgeable young man had reassured
him at first, but then defended his actions, and at the last discussion, Benton
had turned downright patronizing! Susan, of course, did not appreciate this
"interference," when she heard of it, and felt free and independent
to confront Peter about it.
Ever since that day when she defined maturity as rejecting
Narnia, she had become very fixated with everything else "grown-up":
parties, shopping, lipstick, and boys. Poor, temporally minded Susan! Even
Lucy, her one-time confidant, was not fully aware of the circumstances, only
that she rarely heard two words from her sister any more.
The Pevensies arrived at Demark Hill just as the principal
ended his speech. Melanie's quick eyes saw Susan first, and she grabbed
Edmund's arm and pointed.
"There!" he cried for everyone else's benefit.
They all began waving and cheering.
She didn't appear to even notice them, though Peter saw her
glance their direction and deliberately turn away.
"Who is that boy?" Mrs. Pevensie asked, as they
saw her smile and run to catch the arm of a tall, dark-haired young man.
Peter sighed. "Benton Northwyn," he answered his
mother, "he's a school-mate."
His mother noted her son's face and raised an eyebrow.
"Ah, I see."
A small noise at Peter's side caused him to look down. Lucy
was making a valiant effort not to cry. "She didn't see us," the
young girl murmured, "she didn't even notice us." Peter put an arm
around his little sister. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Peter, will she ever come back?"
Peter knew Lucy meant "back to the house," but it
struck him how that question could mean—on a deeper level—"back to the
family."
The quadrangle stood bare now. Peter sighed again, "I
don't know, Lu."
[…]
The deaf girl quivered with excitement as she ascended to
the second floor, down the short, narrow hall, and up a tiny, narrow flight of
stairs to the attic.
The attic at Ketterley House proved to be a place not often
frequented by anyone other than mice, rats, and spiders. A thick grey mantle of
dust covered everything, thus making the few objects in the room nearly indistinguishable
from their surroundings.
The beam from the torch reflected on something, and Melanie
froze. A shiny black spider nearly as big as her palm cowered in its web right
in front of her face. When she shined the light on it, the spider immediately
crawled away, leaving Melanie to destroy its web and proceed in peace. She
crept forward cautiously, her head just an inch from the low ceiling.
In the near back corner she saw a flat, square object with
the merest hint of checkers underneath he dust. Gently, Melanie brushed away
the dust to reveal a chessboard with a burlap bag (presumably containing the
chess pieces) atop it. Melanie picked up the bag and hung the drawstring around
her wrist. Carefully, she moved to pull the chessboard out of its place.
Too late she noticed the stack of hatboxes resting on one
corner of the board. The whole tower teetered and collapsed all around her.
Melanie dropped the torch and the bag and covered her head with her hands.
When all was finally still, Melanie looked to where she
dropped the torch. It occurred to her that the beam now pointed to an odd
variation in the wall where once stood the stack of boxes.
Melanie's scalp prickled with curiosity. She cautiously made
her way into the corner, chess game forgotten, and pressed on the variance. She
felt it give slightly. Encouraged, she felt around the edge until she found a
board that protruded enough to pry back with her fingertips. The whole section
scraped outward like a small door.
Melanie nearly had to curl into a ball to fit through the
opening. She crept through the door and into a dark tunnel. Only then did she
remember the flashlight, but there was not enough room in the tunnel to turn
around for it, so she had no choice but to proceed without it. In the pitch-darkness
she could see a small patch of light ahead, so she fixed on that and crawled
forward one step at a time. Melanie noticed that the tunnel was strangely clean
when compared to the dust and cobwebs in the attic, but before she had time to
wonder about this, she reached the patch of light. It was shorter than she
originally assumed, but by sliding down onto her face, she could slither
through the opening.
Melanie was about halfway through the opening, when her
sensitive fingers felt a sensation they ought not have: grass. Warily, she
continued forward until she was fully outside the opening.
She slowly made her way to her feet and looked around. She
turned back to the opening she had recently exited.
"A tree," she remarked—and heard herself say it!
Melanie grinned. Tree or no tree, she knew only one place
she had ever been where she could hear and speak.
Lady Melanie had returned to Telmar.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
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