The maid picked up her basket of laundry and passed Susan, then stopped to say, “Your man is in the parlor, miss.” Susan wanted to argue, but she had no strength. I won’t leave … I won’t leave you, miss.” “Why don’t you take the week off? I’ll be fine.”īut Mrs Taylor shook her head.
She reached toward the woman and squeezed her hands. Susan felt something she hadn’t truly felt since her childhood days-empathy. The maid laughed, “It is, isn’t it? The days are all muddled in my mind.” She spoke in a soft voice, “How are you, miss?” The maid wiped her eyes as soon as she saw Susan. Outside of her room she ran into the Mrs Taylor, who was sniffling over a pile of laundry. And then she forced herself to change into a more comfortable day dress. She had to see him-maybe ring for him, or something. He must have been the one that brought her to her home and bed, too overcome with grief to have been aware of any of it. Susan Pevensie’s entire family was all dead and she was all alone. Susan’s eyelashes were heavy with tears and her eyes were sore and swollen. The waist belt pinched at stomach and the material she thought lovely now itched miserably at her skin.
Susan tried to shift, but her dress tangled around her legs-the same dress she’d worn to the Bryant’s New Year’s party. The sun mocked her disarray, glaring at her through her window. She didn’t remember falling asleep and she didn’t feel as if she’d slept, though she knew she’d just opened her eyes. Susan awoke in her own bed amidst confusion.
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