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edenfallingSummary: The Pevensies can only take one child with them to America. Mary is the logical choice -- she's the eldest, and the only one who has any interest in Father's work -- but she's not sure that's a good idea. (Part of the As the Morning and the Night genderswap AU)
Note: This fic was written for Cotton Candy Bingo Round One in incredibly belated response to the prompt: unexpected love. It's also in response to a prompt from asphodelimago: Narnia, Peter finds a hobby. Seems like his characterization is all about duty and great earthshaking deeds, especially in Narnia. It’d be neat to see him back in England, finding something quiet and ordinary that still matters, even after all those great deeds. (I am admittedly still smitten with As The Morning and the Night, and Mary or Stephen would also be fascinating for this, but I know you haven’t been back to that AU for a while. It got stuck in my head so hard, and it’s never quite left.) (4,200 words)
[ETA: The notably revised and slightly extended final version is now up on AO3! Please go read that one instead.]
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Come Close to Your Own World
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The day after Mary and the others returned home from school, Father announced over breakfast that he had received an offer to spend sixteen weeks lecturing in Chicago. "The departure date is next Tuesday, which is short notice, but it's an honor to be requested by name. I accepted," he said. "Your Mother will accompany me. It doesn't make up for over ten years of missed holidays, but I hope it's a start," he added, smiling across the table. Mother gave him a slightly distracted smile in return.
"But what will happen to us?" Laurie asked.
"We haven't settled that yet," Mother said. "We may not know for certain until tomorrow. We're leaving you to your own devices while we make arrangements. Please don't do anything reckless."
She didn't look at Mary, but everyone knew who she was talking to. Mary plastered her best court smile over her face and nodded along with the others.
Father dropped his hand on her shoulder as he stood from the table. "It's good to see you again, Mary-my-girl," he said as Mother and Edith vanished into the kitchen with armfuls of dishes and flatware. "Edith's school is agreeing with your more than your old one?"
Mary shrugged. "It's all right."
She could have gutted it out at her old school -- she'd managed all through their first year back from Narnia, after all -- but she hadn't argued when Edith and Stephen started their campaign to make Mother and Father enroll her somewhere else. This year she hadn't needed to waste time fighting an entrenched reputation, and it was a comfort to be close to at least one of her family, just in case something went wrong.
"Good. If you have any questions about maths, or if you want some pointers to keep your mind sharp over the summer, don't hesitate to ask," said Father. He clapped his hand on her shoulder, then headed upstairs to his study.
Mother followed him, leaving the rest of the washing-up to the children.
"I'll go eavesdrop, shall I?" Edith said after a moment.
"Do," said Mary. It felt rude to spy on their own parents, but there was something odd about the whole business -- a lecture offer in America in the middle of the war? -- and she wanted to know what to prepare for.
"Don't get caught," Stephen added as he plugged the sink and began to fill it with hot water.
"I shan't. Besides, I'm good at plausible excuses," Edith said. She drifted across the floor and up the stairs like a silent, gray-skirted shadow. For a moment, two worlds and times seemed to blur together, and Mary could almost see a crown on her sister's head and a stone knife at her side as she led a raiding party into a rebel stronghold. Her hand ached for Rhindon. Her feet urged her forward to guard her sister's back.
Then she blinked, and they were only children. Edith vanished around the turn of the staircase to face nothing more serious than Mother and Father's disappointment.
Laurie smiled at Mary as he carried the last of the glasses into the kitchen. "You looked a thousand miles away just now. What did you see?"
"Memories," Mary said, and changed the subject to the old, well-worn argument about who washed, who dried, and who put things away.
She could never return to Narnia. And maybe loving and losing was better than never loving at all, but the loss ached like an amputated limb -- a little less, with time, but always there. She refused to make Laurie feel guilty that he and Edith still had a chance to go back without her.
The dishes were soon dealt with and Mary led her brothers out into the garden. It wasn't a good space for playing these days, since Mother had replaced most of the grass and flowers with vegetables, but the apple tree still shouldered its way up the wall and the children had claimed it as their council room. Laurie perched on the lowest branch, Stephen lay stretched along the wall, and Mary paced up and down the little patch of grass Mother had left around the apple's roots, waiting for her sister.
A quarter hour later, Edith slipped into the garden with a pensive expression. "They can only afford to bring one of us along, but Father had to go answer the telephone before they decided which one goes and what happens to the rest of us." She grabbed the lowest branch and swung herself up to sit beside Laurie. The tree shook, leaves rustling against one another as if whispering in unknown tongues.
"It will be Stephen," Mary said. "He's the one Mother and Father will think ought to spend time learning to appreciate universities -- even foreign ones -- and also the one least likely to cause trouble," she added by way of clarification.
"I don't cause--" Laurie began, only to trail off at everyone's smiles. "Well, maybe I do, but only because other people aren't being sensible."
Edith ruffled his hair. "Trouble is still trouble."
"That's beside the point," Stephen said. "It will be a very grown-up trip, so they'll want to leave you and Edie here in England. You'll be stuck with that little pustule Eustace, most likely. Try not to strangle him."
Edith's smile was not terribly reassuring.
"Oh Lord, they will send us off to Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold, won't they?" Mary said. She kicked the garden wall in frustration. "Ugh. Nothing but beans and self-righteousness all summer." At least Aunt Alberta was in favor of women having careers and would be more inclined to ask about university plans than boyfriends. But that was small consolation for some of her other views.
Stephen shrugged. "Maybe so. But turn your first thought around. If I'm the one least likely to cause trouble, you're the one most likely -- or at least the one Mother and Father still worry about the most. Do you think they'd trust the Scrubbs to keep you in line?"
Laurie laughed. "That will never work, no matter how polite you are. They need to choose someone Mary won't march right over by accident. What about the Professor? Or Aunt Polly?"
Stephen pulled his hand out from under his head and turned it back and forth, considering. "Not Aunt Polly. We know she's solid, but Mother and Father only met her the once, when we visited the Professor at Easter holidays last year. I don't think they'll ask the Professor, either." He looked down at Mary with an apologetic expression. "It might have worked in his old house, with the Macready and the rest of the staff always about -- particularly if the rest of us came along as well. But not the two of you alone in a little cottage, with only a day-cook. People would talk."
"I don't care," Mary said reflexively. Then she sighed. "No, you're right, that wouldn't work. I don't want to give the Professor a bad reputation or make Mother worry, and that means making nice with the Scrubbs. What a mess. We'll have to think of reasons to get out of their house most of the time. Do you suppose they'd believe me if I said I had taken up sketching and wanted to take you with me to draw studies of the local parks?"
"Oh! Hang on, I've had a thought," Edith said. "It's only a mess if we assume that Stephen is the one in America. If you go, Mother and Father won't have to wonder what you're getting up to, and nobody will mind if Stephen stays with the Professor. They might even think it will do him some good in school next year. Laurie and I get stuck with Eustace either way, though. What rotten luck."
"He might have got better since last time," Laurie said hopefully.
"I doubt it," Stephen said. "I think Edie's right, though. We'll all molder here in England while Mary sees the world."
"While I spend ages seasick and then sixteen weeks being stifled, more like," Mary said. Not to mention missing half of autumn term, unless Mother and Father sent her back alone. That wasn't a great social sacrifice, but she disliked the idea of falling behind in her lessons. She also didn't like the idea of being away from the others that long.
It would be better for Stephen to go. She could survive a summer with the Scrubbs.
Laurie tossed a handful of leaves at her head. "Don't be such a wet blanket. You might have a wonderful time, but you'll never know if you don't give things a chance. Think of it as an adventure!"
"Right, because finding adventures is an excellent plan with Mother and Father already worried about me causing trouble," Mary said. "And I still think Stephen--"
"Oh, do dry up and think for a minute," Edith said. "It can be a secret adventure. Obviously Father's lectures are a cover for some special war project and you're the only one who has a hope of understanding the details. Stephen has no head for science--"
"Sad, but true," Stephen agreed.
"--and Laurie and I aren't old enough to snoop about unnoticed at a university, but you might manage if you wear a bit of lipstick and act as regal as you can," Edith continued, blithely ignoring the interruption. "Don't pretend you aren't curious," she added in response to Mary's disgruntled expression.
Mary folded her arms and sighed. "It doesn't matter if I'm curious. If Father is working on something for the war, there's no need for us to know. It would be dishonorable to spy on our own country."
Edith folded her own arms and frowned. "I didn't say you should tell anyone. I only thought it would be something interesting for you to do, since you and Mother still haven't found anything you both enjoy except reading books in the same room and ignoring each other."
"I think you're both being ridiculous. Mary won't have to sneak around," Laurie said. "Father will tell you everything anyway."
"Yes, he'll sit down and see you staring at his papers, and he'll say, 'Mary-my-girl, why don't you come here so you can see the diagrams and equations while I tell you all about isometric spectroscopy of electrostatic bonding," Stephen said.
"That's not a real thing! Father works on isotopic separations and radioactive decay chains; it has nothing to do with electrons and chemical bonding," Mary said.
The others exchanged a complicated network of glances. Then they all smiled at her, as if she had proved their point.
Mary bit her lip.
Experimental chemistry and physics were not approved choices for young women, Lise Meitner and Madame Curie notwithstanding. Oh, scientists needed calculators and helping hands around the laboratory, but that wasn't the same thing at all. Even if she ignored that generalized disapproval, it still felt wrong and selfish to spend her time and attention on something she loved for its own sake rather than for its utility, or for how it could help her family and any others she ought to protect.
Mary had spent fifteen years learning to make war, negotiate treaties, enforce laws, direct trade, and all the other skills of managing a kingdom. She had learnt to cloak threats underneath bright smiles, and to cast away smiles and make her presence felt like a naked blade. There had never been time for anything else. Stephen liked cooking, Edith like poetry, Laurie liked dancing, and they each had other interests besides, but Mary had no beloved pastime beyond a stolen hour here and there spent silently drinking in the sight and sound of her country, alive and free. She was High Queen. She did her duty. She had no regrets.
In England, however, the hours stretched long and empty, and she had no wish to return to her old pattern of fights and endless running.
The first time she looked at Father's work was nothing but idle curiosity: a way to look busy if Mother came to check on her. She still wasn't certain why he had offered to explain his notes, nor why she had agreed and spent an hour in his study while he gave a simple lecture on the structure of the atom and how electron arrangements governed the nature of chemical bonds. But Mary had spent much of the Christmas holidays reading through his old university textbooks and more recent papers from his colleagues around the world, and she had made a strange discovery.
She liked physics and chemistry.
She liked watching over Father's shoulder as he sketched little mechanical blueprints, or waved his hands back and forth, pen dangling precariously from his fingers as he talked about isotopic proportions, radioactive half-lives, and the differences between alpha, beta, and gamma decay processes. She liked learning the laws that ordered the natural world, liked the secondhand thrill of reading the reports of scientist who first discovered them. She wanted to be one of those people, wrestling those laws into the light of knowledge. The few days last summer when Father had taken her to his laboratory at University College to watch him run mass spectrometry trials -- when he had let her place samples into the ion source, turn on the power, and write down results -- had been as exciting as their brief return to Narnia. More than that, they were hers, something of this world, something that couldn't be taken away.
When Mary had realized the direction of her thoughts, she felt that she had betrayed her country, that her own heart had betrayed her. Nothing should be more important than Narnia. No love, except for her family, should be greater.
Even if she could never return.
"I shouldn't ask," she said now. "If Father is part of a war project, that's different from his normal work. Besides, if I'm the one to go -- which I haven't agreed to, even if Father and Mother offer -- I should spend most of my time with Mother. Especially if she's worried that I might cause trouble."
"We're not saying you should avoid Mother. We're only saying you don't need to spend every hour with her. That won't make you happy, and if you're not happy she won't be happy either," Stephen said.
"I don't think she understands why you like Father's work, but it's not as if the rest of us understand that either," Edith added. "Do what you want to do, not what you think other people want."
"It's all right to love things just for yourself," Laurie finished. "We should have helped you find time for yourself in Narnia, like you did for us. We can't go back and fix that, but we can do better this time around."
"That's not the point!" Mary said.
"Yes it is," Stephen said flatly.
Mary stared blankly at him. Stephen disagreed by nuance, by wearing people down over time with courtesy, by smiling and evading any definite answers. She could count on the fingers of two hands the number of times he'd outright contradicted her, in both England and Narnia.
"You protect us," Stephen continued. "That's who you are: Queen Mary the Valiant, Mary Lionheart. But you're more than a sword and a shield, and shoving down bits of yourself is stupid even if you're trying to ignore different things than you used to."
Before Mary could think of an answer, the house door opened and Father leaned out. "Mary! Stephen! Come here for a minute. I have a question for you."
"Coming!" Mary called. "We'll finish this later," she said to the others, then strode through the garden toward the house. Stephen dropped from the wall and followed her.
Father ushered Mary inside, then motioned her to take a seat at the little table in the kitchen while Stephen shut the door. He sat across from her and steepled his fingers, the way he did when he was thinking very hard about something he couldn't solve with numbers.
"Children, your mother and I can only afford to take one of you with us to Chicago," he said as Stephen leaned against the wall behind Mary and two steps to the left. "Your mother thinks Stephen would benefit the most from exposure to an American university. I think Mary would appreciate the opportunity more. We've agreed to leave the choice to you."
"Mary should go," Stephen said promptly.
Mary twisted in her chair to catch her brother's eyes. "I don't have to. If you want--"
"I can stay with Professor Kirke," Stephen said. He looked over the table toward Father. "That might reassure Mother about my education, and it means less trouble for whoever you get to take in Edie and Laurie. Besides, Mary's the one who understands your lectures. Nuclear chemistry is all Greek to me."
"You might have to rephrase that sentiment after spending a summer with Digory Kirke as a tutor," Father said with a faint smile. "But I take your meaning. Mary, what do you think? We won't force you to come if you'd prefer to stay in England."
Mary felt her face shift into polite court neutrality while her mind raced.
It would be new and different to travel for no purpose but travel itself. It might be easier to find common ground with Mother if they were somewhere that didn't have years of bad memories soaked into the floorboards and walls. And she was interested in Father's work. But was that worth the potential costs? And did she have the right to leave the others behind and think only about her own desires?
"The timing is a bit odd, I realize. You'd miss September and most of October at school, but we should be able to work out some sort of transfer credit with either the University of Chicago or a local American school," Father said. "Returning early or staying through Christmas holidays are also options."
"I don't know," Mary said. "It doesn't seem fair to the others."
Stephen nudged her chair-leg with his shoe. "You wouldn't say that if I were going. Why's it different for you?"
How was that a question? Of course it was different for her. She was the eldest. She was High Queen. It was her duty to look after the others. She had spent years denying that, years running away from them. She couldn't let them down and be selfish again.
"Is there something you want to do in England?" Father asked.
"Look after Edith and Laurie," Mary said. "I'm the eldest. It's my job."
Father smiled. "Mary-my-girl, while I'm proud to see you taking responsibility for others, this isn't like the evacuation. Your Aunt and Uncle are perfectly capable of watching out for your sister and brother. Your Mother and I wouldn't leave our children with anyone we didn't trust."
"I know, but--"
Mary paused, trying to sort out her thoughts. Stephen and Father waited.
She was sure she would have been able to make herself understood in Narnia. The trouble was that remembering being an adult and being an adult were not the same. Life kept swamping her in ways she knew she would grow out of, but knowing there was clear water ahead did nothing to dispel the storms she was caught in now.
Of course, in Narnia she wouldn't have needed to make herself understood, because this mess would never have happened. If she wanted Stephen to serve as Narnia's voice, he wouldn't disagree. He might say it was only because they both knew he was better at diplomacy than she would ever be, but Mary knew better. Stephen followed her lead, even when he ought to know better.
She needed to live up to that faith.
She raised her head as if she still wore a crown and said, "Going to America would feel like running away. I don't want to start that again."
"There's a difference," said Edith, "between running away from something that scares you and running toward something you love."
Father twisted around in surprise. "Edith! By Jove, you're quiet as a cat at midnight. Come in, the both of you. Don't leave the door hanging open."
Edith and Laurie eased into the kitchen. Laurie circled the table to stand at Stephen's side. Edith stayed behind Father, her eyes locked on Mary.
"We'll be fine," she said. "Doing something that you want isn't the same as abandoning us. Besides, I'd rather you were in America learning how to weigh atoms instead of in England feeling martyred and making everyone around you miserable. That won't be any fun for me and Laurie."
"You're awfully grumpy when you're bored and shut in," Laurie agreed. "As bad as a Bear just woken from hibernation."
Mary stifled a burst of laughter at the memory of the Talking Bears' annual emergence from their cellars and caves. "Am I truly?" she asked.
"Not completely. No one can equal a Bear for bad temper." Stephen said. "But I'd say you reach seven-eighths."
Father raised his eyebrows at the conversation's turn, but declined to remark on it. "There seems to be a consensus," he said instead. "Unless you truly object, Mary?"
Mary sighed. Sometimes, being High Queen meant knowing when to pick her battles. "No. If the others think it's fair, I'll go."
Father smiled. "Excellent. I promise to do what I can to make the trip and our stay interesting, though your Mother tells me young ladies prefer not to spend their entire lives locked away in laboratories. I may take advantage of you as a test audience for my lectures en route to Chicago, but beyond that I shan't impose on your holiday."
Mary thought about what Mother might think appropriate for a young lady on holiday in a foreign country. She suspected she would much rather spend time in a laboratory. Atoms, electricity, and maths were much more interesting than dresses and parties.
But no, that was unkind. Mother knew Mary was bad at that way of being a girl, and she only pushed to be sure Mary could pretend when it was necessary. Perhaps she wanted to visit museums and gardens and tourist sights.
Mary should ask her. She had no idea how -- she kept accidentally starting arguments when she and Mother were alone in the same room, even though neither of them meant to keep following those old, futile patterns. But she had faced down the White Witch, killed giants, won tournaments. She had ruled Narnia for fifteen years. She had gone willing into exile.
She could talk to her Mother.
Father was easier, though. She had never fought directly with him, and now they had science in common. That helped. "I don't mind spending time in your lab, and I can start listening to your lectures now, if you have anything prepared," she offered.
"That's our signal to vanish," Stephen said, pushing himself away from the wall. "Edie, Laurie, I have some pocket money left over from term. What say we buy Mary something nice to keep as a memento of us while she's off beyond the sea, having thrilling scientific adventures?"
Laurie and Edith followed him out of the kitchen, bickering amiably about what sort of equipment a scientific adventurer might need. Most of Laurie's suggestions seemed more suitable for a jungle archaeologist, while Edith's were flat-out impossible. (Not that Mary would turn down a death ray, should one be invented.)
She looked at Father and saw an echo of her own indulgent smile, half-hidden behind his mustache and beard. "They mean well," she said. "They just have... other interests."
Father's smile broadened for a moment. "Such as pulp adventures, I presume. No harm in that. If a man-- or a woman-- can't enjoy a healthy dose of nonsense, something has gone badly awry in his notion of adulthood. But enough of that. I haven't finished the full series, but I do have the first six presentations knocked into rough form. Much of the material will already be familiar to you, but there have been some interesting new results published since you were last home and you make a fine proxy for a university student with only a basic grounding in quantum dynamics. Shall we adjourn to my study?"
"Yes, let's," Mary said.
This was not how she had imagined her summer. It wasn't even what she would have chosen herself. But America, and science, and secret government projects, and a chance to repair things with Mother the way she hadn't managed last summer, when she was still half-convinced every door might open onto Narnia...
Mary had lived for duty for fifteen years, but that duty was gone. She would always been High Queen of Narnia, but in England she was a child and the wars of this world were not hers to shoulder. She needed to learn how to live here and now, needed to find some path that was honorable and right. Aslan would not have set her this task if he didn't think her equal to it. He would want her to look forward. He would want her to be brave.
She was allowed to find joy.
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End of Story
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This story is very rough! I am posting it now because I have been working on it too long to retain any sense of perspective, and I doubt that stepping away for a couple days would do anything to help. I think my mechanics (spelling, grammar, etc.) are probably okay, but I am very unsure of the thematic arc here, I suspect the points where I got utterly lost and did a subdued version of "and then ninjas break down the door!" narrative focus shift trick are not hidden very well, and I kind of threw up my hands in despair when it came to period-accuracy.
If you have any suggestions for improvements, please tell me.
Note: This fic was written for Cotton Candy Bingo Round One in incredibly belated response to the prompt: unexpected love. It's also in response to a prompt from asphodelimago: Narnia, Peter finds a hobby. Seems like his characterization is all about duty and great earthshaking deeds, especially in Narnia. It’d be neat to see him back in England, finding something quiet and ordinary that still matters, even after all those great deeds. (I am admittedly still smitten with As The Morning and the Night, and Mary or Stephen would also be fascinating for this, but I know you haven’t been back to that AU for a while. It got stuck in my head so hard, and it’s never quite left.) (4,200 words)
[ETA: The notably revised and slightly extended final version is now up on AO3! Please go read that one instead.]
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Come Close to Your Own World
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The day after Mary and the others returned home from school, Father announced over breakfast that he had received an offer to spend sixteen weeks lecturing in Chicago. "The departure date is next Tuesday, which is short notice, but it's an honor to be requested by name. I accepted," he said. "Your Mother will accompany me. It doesn't make up for over ten years of missed holidays, but I hope it's a start," he added, smiling across the table. Mother gave him a slightly distracted smile in return.
"But what will happen to us?" Laurie asked.
"We haven't settled that yet," Mother said. "We may not know for certain until tomorrow. We're leaving you to your own devices while we make arrangements. Please don't do anything reckless."
She didn't look at Mary, but everyone knew who she was talking to. Mary plastered her best court smile over her face and nodded along with the others.
Father dropped his hand on her shoulder as he stood from the table. "It's good to see you again, Mary-my-girl," he said as Mother and Edith vanished into the kitchen with armfuls of dishes and flatware. "Edith's school is agreeing with your more than your old one?"
Mary shrugged. "It's all right."
She could have gutted it out at her old school -- she'd managed all through their first year back from Narnia, after all -- but she hadn't argued when Edith and Stephen started their campaign to make Mother and Father enroll her somewhere else. This year she hadn't needed to waste time fighting an entrenched reputation, and it was a comfort to be close to at least one of her family, just in case something went wrong.
"Good. If you have any questions about maths, or if you want some pointers to keep your mind sharp over the summer, don't hesitate to ask," said Father. He clapped his hand on her shoulder, then headed upstairs to his study.
Mother followed him, leaving the rest of the washing-up to the children.
"I'll go eavesdrop, shall I?" Edith said after a moment.
"Do," said Mary. It felt rude to spy on their own parents, but there was something odd about the whole business -- a lecture offer in America in the middle of the war? -- and she wanted to know what to prepare for.
"Don't get caught," Stephen added as he plugged the sink and began to fill it with hot water.
"I shan't. Besides, I'm good at plausible excuses," Edith said. She drifted across the floor and up the stairs like a silent, gray-skirted shadow. For a moment, two worlds and times seemed to blur together, and Mary could almost see a crown on her sister's head and a stone knife at her side as she led a raiding party into a rebel stronghold. Her hand ached for Rhindon. Her feet urged her forward to guard her sister's back.
Then she blinked, and they were only children. Edith vanished around the turn of the staircase to face nothing more serious than Mother and Father's disappointment.
Laurie smiled at Mary as he carried the last of the glasses into the kitchen. "You looked a thousand miles away just now. What did you see?"
"Memories," Mary said, and changed the subject to the old, well-worn argument about who washed, who dried, and who put things away.
She could never return to Narnia. And maybe loving and losing was better than never loving at all, but the loss ached like an amputated limb -- a little less, with time, but always there. She refused to make Laurie feel guilty that he and Edith still had a chance to go back without her.
The dishes were soon dealt with and Mary led her brothers out into the garden. It wasn't a good space for playing these days, since Mother had replaced most of the grass and flowers with vegetables, but the apple tree still shouldered its way up the wall and the children had claimed it as their council room. Laurie perched on the lowest branch, Stephen lay stretched along the wall, and Mary paced up and down the little patch of grass Mother had left around the apple's roots, waiting for her sister.
A quarter hour later, Edith slipped into the garden with a pensive expression. "They can only afford to bring one of us along, but Father had to go answer the telephone before they decided which one goes and what happens to the rest of us." She grabbed the lowest branch and swung herself up to sit beside Laurie. The tree shook, leaves rustling against one another as if whispering in unknown tongues.
"It will be Stephen," Mary said. "He's the one Mother and Father will think ought to spend time learning to appreciate universities -- even foreign ones -- and also the one least likely to cause trouble," she added by way of clarification.
"I don't cause--" Laurie began, only to trail off at everyone's smiles. "Well, maybe I do, but only because other people aren't being sensible."
Edith ruffled his hair. "Trouble is still trouble."
"That's beside the point," Stephen said. "It will be a very grown-up trip, so they'll want to leave you and Edie here in England. You'll be stuck with that little pustule Eustace, most likely. Try not to strangle him."
Edith's smile was not terribly reassuring.
"Oh Lord, they will send us off to Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold, won't they?" Mary said. She kicked the garden wall in frustration. "Ugh. Nothing but beans and self-righteousness all summer." At least Aunt Alberta was in favor of women having careers and would be more inclined to ask about university plans than boyfriends. But that was small consolation for some of her other views.
Stephen shrugged. "Maybe so. But turn your first thought around. If I'm the one least likely to cause trouble, you're the one most likely -- or at least the one Mother and Father still worry about the most. Do you think they'd trust the Scrubbs to keep you in line?"
Laurie laughed. "That will never work, no matter how polite you are. They need to choose someone Mary won't march right over by accident. What about the Professor? Or Aunt Polly?"
Stephen pulled his hand out from under his head and turned it back and forth, considering. "Not Aunt Polly. We know she's solid, but Mother and Father only met her the once, when we visited the Professor at Easter holidays last year. I don't think they'll ask the Professor, either." He looked down at Mary with an apologetic expression. "It might have worked in his old house, with the Macready and the rest of the staff always about -- particularly if the rest of us came along as well. But not the two of you alone in a little cottage, with only a day-cook. People would talk."
"I don't care," Mary said reflexively. Then she sighed. "No, you're right, that wouldn't work. I don't want to give the Professor a bad reputation or make Mother worry, and that means making nice with the Scrubbs. What a mess. We'll have to think of reasons to get out of their house most of the time. Do you suppose they'd believe me if I said I had taken up sketching and wanted to take you with me to draw studies of the local parks?"
"Oh! Hang on, I've had a thought," Edith said. "It's only a mess if we assume that Stephen is the one in America. If you go, Mother and Father won't have to wonder what you're getting up to, and nobody will mind if Stephen stays with the Professor. They might even think it will do him some good in school next year. Laurie and I get stuck with Eustace either way, though. What rotten luck."
"He might have got better since last time," Laurie said hopefully.
"I doubt it," Stephen said. "I think Edie's right, though. We'll all molder here in England while Mary sees the world."
"While I spend ages seasick and then sixteen weeks being stifled, more like," Mary said. Not to mention missing half of autumn term, unless Mother and Father sent her back alone. That wasn't a great social sacrifice, but she disliked the idea of falling behind in her lessons. She also didn't like the idea of being away from the others that long.
It would be better for Stephen to go. She could survive a summer with the Scrubbs.
Laurie tossed a handful of leaves at her head. "Don't be such a wet blanket. You might have a wonderful time, but you'll never know if you don't give things a chance. Think of it as an adventure!"
"Right, because finding adventures is an excellent plan with Mother and Father already worried about me causing trouble," Mary said. "And I still think Stephen--"
"Oh, do dry up and think for a minute," Edith said. "It can be a secret adventure. Obviously Father's lectures are a cover for some special war project and you're the only one who has a hope of understanding the details. Stephen has no head for science--"
"Sad, but true," Stephen agreed.
"--and Laurie and I aren't old enough to snoop about unnoticed at a university, but you might manage if you wear a bit of lipstick and act as regal as you can," Edith continued, blithely ignoring the interruption. "Don't pretend you aren't curious," she added in response to Mary's disgruntled expression.
Mary folded her arms and sighed. "It doesn't matter if I'm curious. If Father is working on something for the war, there's no need for us to know. It would be dishonorable to spy on our own country."
Edith folded her own arms and frowned. "I didn't say you should tell anyone. I only thought it would be something interesting for you to do, since you and Mother still haven't found anything you both enjoy except reading books in the same room and ignoring each other."
"I think you're both being ridiculous. Mary won't have to sneak around," Laurie said. "Father will tell you everything anyway."
"Yes, he'll sit down and see you staring at his papers, and he'll say, 'Mary-my-girl, why don't you come here so you can see the diagrams and equations while I tell you all about isometric spectroscopy of electrostatic bonding," Stephen said.
"That's not a real thing! Father works on isotopic separations and radioactive decay chains; it has nothing to do with electrons and chemical bonding," Mary said.
The others exchanged a complicated network of glances. Then they all smiled at her, as if she had proved their point.
Mary bit her lip.
Experimental chemistry and physics were not approved choices for young women, Lise Meitner and Madame Curie notwithstanding. Oh, scientists needed calculators and helping hands around the laboratory, but that wasn't the same thing at all. Even if she ignored that generalized disapproval, it still felt wrong and selfish to spend her time and attention on something she loved for its own sake rather than for its utility, or for how it could help her family and any others she ought to protect.
Mary had spent fifteen years learning to make war, negotiate treaties, enforce laws, direct trade, and all the other skills of managing a kingdom. She had learnt to cloak threats underneath bright smiles, and to cast away smiles and make her presence felt like a naked blade. There had never been time for anything else. Stephen liked cooking, Edith like poetry, Laurie liked dancing, and they each had other interests besides, but Mary had no beloved pastime beyond a stolen hour here and there spent silently drinking in the sight and sound of her country, alive and free. She was High Queen. She did her duty. She had no regrets.
In England, however, the hours stretched long and empty, and she had no wish to return to her old pattern of fights and endless running.
The first time she looked at Father's work was nothing but idle curiosity: a way to look busy if Mother came to check on her. She still wasn't certain why he had offered to explain his notes, nor why she had agreed and spent an hour in his study while he gave a simple lecture on the structure of the atom and how electron arrangements governed the nature of chemical bonds. But Mary had spent much of the Christmas holidays reading through his old university textbooks and more recent papers from his colleagues around the world, and she had made a strange discovery.
She liked physics and chemistry.
She liked watching over Father's shoulder as he sketched little mechanical blueprints, or waved his hands back and forth, pen dangling precariously from his fingers as he talked about isotopic proportions, radioactive half-lives, and the differences between alpha, beta, and gamma decay processes. She liked learning the laws that ordered the natural world, liked the secondhand thrill of reading the reports of scientist who first discovered them. She wanted to be one of those people, wrestling those laws into the light of knowledge. The few days last summer when Father had taken her to his laboratory at University College to watch him run mass spectrometry trials -- when he had let her place samples into the ion source, turn on the power, and write down results -- had been as exciting as their brief return to Narnia. More than that, they were hers, something of this world, something that couldn't be taken away.
When Mary had realized the direction of her thoughts, she felt that she had betrayed her country, that her own heart had betrayed her. Nothing should be more important than Narnia. No love, except for her family, should be greater.
Even if she could never return.
"I shouldn't ask," she said now. "If Father is part of a war project, that's different from his normal work. Besides, if I'm the one to go -- which I haven't agreed to, even if Father and Mother offer -- I should spend most of my time with Mother. Especially if she's worried that I might cause trouble."
"We're not saying you should avoid Mother. We're only saying you don't need to spend every hour with her. That won't make you happy, and if you're not happy she won't be happy either," Stephen said.
"I don't think she understands why you like Father's work, but it's not as if the rest of us understand that either," Edith added. "Do what you want to do, not what you think other people want."
"It's all right to love things just for yourself," Laurie finished. "We should have helped you find time for yourself in Narnia, like you did for us. We can't go back and fix that, but we can do better this time around."
"That's not the point!" Mary said.
"Yes it is," Stephen said flatly.
Mary stared blankly at him. Stephen disagreed by nuance, by wearing people down over time with courtesy, by smiling and evading any definite answers. She could count on the fingers of two hands the number of times he'd outright contradicted her, in both England and Narnia.
"You protect us," Stephen continued. "That's who you are: Queen Mary the Valiant, Mary Lionheart. But you're more than a sword and a shield, and shoving down bits of yourself is stupid even if you're trying to ignore different things than you used to."
Before Mary could think of an answer, the house door opened and Father leaned out. "Mary! Stephen! Come here for a minute. I have a question for you."
"Coming!" Mary called. "We'll finish this later," she said to the others, then strode through the garden toward the house. Stephen dropped from the wall and followed her.
Father ushered Mary inside, then motioned her to take a seat at the little table in the kitchen while Stephen shut the door. He sat across from her and steepled his fingers, the way he did when he was thinking very hard about something he couldn't solve with numbers.
"Children, your mother and I can only afford to take one of you with us to Chicago," he said as Stephen leaned against the wall behind Mary and two steps to the left. "Your mother thinks Stephen would benefit the most from exposure to an American university. I think Mary would appreciate the opportunity more. We've agreed to leave the choice to you."
"Mary should go," Stephen said promptly.
Mary twisted in her chair to catch her brother's eyes. "I don't have to. If you want--"
"I can stay with Professor Kirke," Stephen said. He looked over the table toward Father. "That might reassure Mother about my education, and it means less trouble for whoever you get to take in Edie and Laurie. Besides, Mary's the one who understands your lectures. Nuclear chemistry is all Greek to me."
"You might have to rephrase that sentiment after spending a summer with Digory Kirke as a tutor," Father said with a faint smile. "But I take your meaning. Mary, what do you think? We won't force you to come if you'd prefer to stay in England."
Mary felt her face shift into polite court neutrality while her mind raced.
It would be new and different to travel for no purpose but travel itself. It might be easier to find common ground with Mother if they were somewhere that didn't have years of bad memories soaked into the floorboards and walls. And she was interested in Father's work. But was that worth the potential costs? And did she have the right to leave the others behind and think only about her own desires?
"The timing is a bit odd, I realize. You'd miss September and most of October at school, but we should be able to work out some sort of transfer credit with either the University of Chicago or a local American school," Father said. "Returning early or staying through Christmas holidays are also options."
"I don't know," Mary said. "It doesn't seem fair to the others."
Stephen nudged her chair-leg with his shoe. "You wouldn't say that if I were going. Why's it different for you?"
How was that a question? Of course it was different for her. She was the eldest. She was High Queen. It was her duty to look after the others. She had spent years denying that, years running away from them. She couldn't let them down and be selfish again.
"Is there something you want to do in England?" Father asked.
"Look after Edith and Laurie," Mary said. "I'm the eldest. It's my job."
Father smiled. "Mary-my-girl, while I'm proud to see you taking responsibility for others, this isn't like the evacuation. Your Aunt and Uncle are perfectly capable of watching out for your sister and brother. Your Mother and I wouldn't leave our children with anyone we didn't trust."
"I know, but--"
Mary paused, trying to sort out her thoughts. Stephen and Father waited.
She was sure she would have been able to make herself understood in Narnia. The trouble was that remembering being an adult and being an adult were not the same. Life kept swamping her in ways she knew she would grow out of, but knowing there was clear water ahead did nothing to dispel the storms she was caught in now.
Of course, in Narnia she wouldn't have needed to make herself understood, because this mess would never have happened. If she wanted Stephen to serve as Narnia's voice, he wouldn't disagree. He might say it was only because they both knew he was better at diplomacy than she would ever be, but Mary knew better. Stephen followed her lead, even when he ought to know better.
She needed to live up to that faith.
She raised her head as if she still wore a crown and said, "Going to America would feel like running away. I don't want to start that again."
"There's a difference," said Edith, "between running away from something that scares you and running toward something you love."
Father twisted around in surprise. "Edith! By Jove, you're quiet as a cat at midnight. Come in, the both of you. Don't leave the door hanging open."
Edith and Laurie eased into the kitchen. Laurie circled the table to stand at Stephen's side. Edith stayed behind Father, her eyes locked on Mary.
"We'll be fine," she said. "Doing something that you want isn't the same as abandoning us. Besides, I'd rather you were in America learning how to weigh atoms instead of in England feeling martyred and making everyone around you miserable. That won't be any fun for me and Laurie."
"You're awfully grumpy when you're bored and shut in," Laurie agreed. "As bad as a Bear just woken from hibernation."
Mary stifled a burst of laughter at the memory of the Talking Bears' annual emergence from their cellars and caves. "Am I truly?" she asked.
"Not completely. No one can equal a Bear for bad temper." Stephen said. "But I'd say you reach seven-eighths."
Father raised his eyebrows at the conversation's turn, but declined to remark on it. "There seems to be a consensus," he said instead. "Unless you truly object, Mary?"
Mary sighed. Sometimes, being High Queen meant knowing when to pick her battles. "No. If the others think it's fair, I'll go."
Father smiled. "Excellent. I promise to do what I can to make the trip and our stay interesting, though your Mother tells me young ladies prefer not to spend their entire lives locked away in laboratories. I may take advantage of you as a test audience for my lectures en route to Chicago, but beyond that I shan't impose on your holiday."
Mary thought about what Mother might think appropriate for a young lady on holiday in a foreign country. She suspected she would much rather spend time in a laboratory. Atoms, electricity, and maths were much more interesting than dresses and parties.
But no, that was unkind. Mother knew Mary was bad at that way of being a girl, and she only pushed to be sure Mary could pretend when it was necessary. Perhaps she wanted to visit museums and gardens and tourist sights.
Mary should ask her. She had no idea how -- she kept accidentally starting arguments when she and Mother were alone in the same room, even though neither of them meant to keep following those old, futile patterns. But she had faced down the White Witch, killed giants, won tournaments. She had ruled Narnia for fifteen years. She had gone willing into exile.
She could talk to her Mother.
Father was easier, though. She had never fought directly with him, and now they had science in common. That helped. "I don't mind spending time in your lab, and I can start listening to your lectures now, if you have anything prepared," she offered.
"That's our signal to vanish," Stephen said, pushing himself away from the wall. "Edie, Laurie, I have some pocket money left over from term. What say we buy Mary something nice to keep as a memento of us while she's off beyond the sea, having thrilling scientific adventures?"
Laurie and Edith followed him out of the kitchen, bickering amiably about what sort of equipment a scientific adventurer might need. Most of Laurie's suggestions seemed more suitable for a jungle archaeologist, while Edith's were flat-out impossible. (Not that Mary would turn down a death ray, should one be invented.)
She looked at Father and saw an echo of her own indulgent smile, half-hidden behind his mustache and beard. "They mean well," she said. "They just have... other interests."
Father's smile broadened for a moment. "Such as pulp adventures, I presume. No harm in that. If a man-- or a woman-- can't enjoy a healthy dose of nonsense, something has gone badly awry in his notion of adulthood. But enough of that. I haven't finished the full series, but I do have the first six presentations knocked into rough form. Much of the material will already be familiar to you, but there have been some interesting new results published since you were last home and you make a fine proxy for a university student with only a basic grounding in quantum dynamics. Shall we adjourn to my study?"
"Yes, let's," Mary said.
This was not how she had imagined her summer. It wasn't even what she would have chosen herself. But America, and science, and secret government projects, and a chance to repair things with Mother the way she hadn't managed last summer, when she was still half-convinced every door might open onto Narnia...
Mary had lived for duty for fifteen years, but that duty was gone. She would always been High Queen of Narnia, but in England she was a child and the wars of this world were not hers to shoulder. She needed to learn how to live here and now, needed to find some path that was honorable and right. Aslan would not have set her this task if he didn't think her equal to it. He would want her to look forward. He would want her to be brave.
She was allowed to find joy.
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End of Story
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This story is very rough! I am posting it now because I have been working on it too long to retain any sense of perspective, and I doubt that stepping away for a couple days would do anything to help. I think my mechanics (spelling, grammar, etc.) are probably okay, but I am very unsure of the thematic arc here, I suspect the points where I got utterly lost and did a subdued version of "and then ninjas break down the door!" narrative focus shift trick are not hidden very well, and I kind of threw up my hands in despair when it came to period-accuracy.
If you have any suggestions for improvements, please tell me.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-08-31 05:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-08-31 07:06 pm (UTC)I'm not completely sure why Stephen goes for flat contradiction instead of trying redirection or just talking to their parents when Mary's not around. Maybe it's because more subtle methods of getting her to face what he sees as a problem haven't been working? (Stephen is annoyingly inscrutable in a way Susan isn't -- he keeps a lot of his thoughts from me as well as from other characters, which is weird.) Anyway, I'll prod at him and see if I can get that part to make more sense.
I will also see what I can do to strengthen the Narnia=joy connection, because yeah, that does need to be clearer, and should be raised sooner as well.
Thank you so much for the help!
(no subject)
Date: 2014-09-01 11:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-09-02 12:08 am (UTC)