A Perfect Gentle Knight (16 page)

Corrie stood up. “I will
always
be a knight, and so will Sebastian! You don't know what you're missing, Roz, leaving the Round Table!” She held up her head and left the room with as much dignity as she could manage, to cover up the frightened beat of her heart.

12

Merlin

N
ow Sebastian left the house early, returned just before dinner, and secluded himself in his room all evening. Roz got a part in her school play and sometimes didn't come home until they were all in bed.

On weekdays Corrie became more and more the new head of the family. She drew up the schedule for table setting and baths and dishes, and she continued to tell the younger ones when to go to bed.

Since the only time Sebastian talked to them was at Round Table meetings, Corrie tried to bring up daily problems there. But Sebastian dismissed them. “I have decided that domestic matters have no place at the Round Table,” he said when Corrie tried to ask him if the twins' allowance could be raised. He told her she could take the allowance jar out of his room and decide for herself.

But how could she? And how could she know if it was all right for Juliet to go to her friend's house for lunch every day, or where to buy Harry new socks? Juliet was begging for valentines, but Corrie didn't have enough money to buy them.

Corrie tried leaving notes on Roz's pillow. But Roz told her that she was too busy to look after the younger ones. She gave Corrie the clothing money jar and told her to buy Harry some socks and everyone some valentines. “It's your turn to take care of them now,” she told Corrie. “I'm tired of it.”

“But I'm only eleven!” said Corrie.

Roz smiled. “You're sensible—Aunt Madge always said so. You'll be fine.”

That was nice to hear. But worrying about everyone kept Corrie awake. She told Juliet that she had to stay at school for lunch.

“But you go to Meredith's—that's not fair!” said Juliet. Corrie knew she'd go anyway, so after arguing a few more minutes she gave in. At least it was one less sandwich to make.

Corrie rode her bike up to Kerrisdale and bought books of popout valentines for everyone. Shopping for socks, however, seemed so complicated that she raided Sebastian's drawers and found some socks that fit Harry. She decided to raise each person's allowance by five cents. Now the two money jars stared sternly at her from her chest of drawers, like teachers reminding her of her responsibilities.

Just as one group of problems was solved, another came up. The Elephant told Corrie that she would leave unless Hamlet stopped bringing her dead mice. Orly had accidentally broken one of Harry's models; in retaliation Harry had given Orly an Indian burn. A notice came in the mail that the twins were due at the dentist's.

Corrie reminded Harry that knights are kind.

“I'm not a knight yet,” said Harry sullenly, “and Orly is a pest. Can't you keep him out of my room?”

Corrie gave him some money to buy a lock. She found mousetraps in the tool room and got Meredith to help her set them.

How she longed to spill out her worries to Meredith! But then her friend might tell her mother and Mrs. Cooper might tell Fa. That would be worst of all, to upset him. The deadline for Fa's book was approaching, and he needed to be left alone. He didn't notice that anything was different, especially because they were still all together on Sundays. Corrie treasured those days more than ever, when the calm routine concealed all the turmoil beneath the surface.

S
PRING, AT LEAST,
was as predictable and soothing as always. Sentry, Corrie's favourite cherry tree, was coated in fat pink blossoms. The garden was a pastel blur of daffodils and tulips. Corrie's favourites were the grape hyacinths; their tiny bells squeaked when you rubbed them together.

The weather was so warm that Corrie put away her wool skirts. To her surprise, last year's cotton dresses were much too short and tight. She looked in Roz's closet and found two old dresses of hers that fit, one a faded blue and one yellow. Corrie's shoes were too small as well.

She could take some money from the clothing jar to buy new ones, but she was too scared to go downtown on the bus by herself. Then Mrs. Cooper took her and Meredith to the Oakridge Mall. She helped them pick out saddle shoes. Then she tried to buy Meredith a new dress with puffed sleeves. Meredith, however, surprised both her mother and Corrie by asking for a chemise.

“It's too old for you, darling,” Mrs. Cooper said.

Corrie stared in horror at the green baggy dress. It looked like a sack! What if her friend was going to start being interested in clothes, like the Five?

“
Please
, Mum,” begged Meredith. “I'm
tired
of dressing like a little girl!”

Mrs. Cooper gave in, and Meredith wore her chemise proudly to school the next day. She was the first girl in the school to have one; it liberated her forever from her status as a new girl.

Mr. Zelmach let them play baseball on dry afternoons. Corrie had never had much interest in baseball before. But now she discovered she had a talent for it. If she concentrated, she could hit the ball so hard she often got a home run. It was so exhilarating to dash around the bases while everyone cheered. She was also good at catching the ball with a satisfying
thwack
. She and Meredith practised whenever they could.

“You're so
good
!” said Meredith, who was usually assigned to be a fielder.

“I wish I had my own glove, though,” said Corrie. Meredith's was too small for her.

“Why don't you ask your father for one?” suggested Meredith.

Corrie pondered this. It wouldn't be right to take the money out of either of the jars. She had never asked Fa to buy her anything, but why not?

S
HE WAITED UNTIL
after dinner. By the time she knocked on Fa's study door and entered the cluttered room she felt tonguetied with shyness. But Fa's shaggy, kindly expression, as he peered up through his eyebrows from his writing, made her relax.

“Why, Cordelia, how nice to see you!” said Fa, as if they hadn't just had dinner together. “Sit down, my dear. What can I do for you?”

Corrie cleared a pile of papers from a chair and sat facing her father. “I was wondering if you could please give me some money for something I want,” she told him.

“And what would that be?”

“A baseball glove. All the kids in my class have them. But I have to share Meredith's.”

Fa looked totally confused. “Who is Meredith?”

Corrie began again. She reminded Fa that Meredith was her best friend, realizing with a shock that Fa had never met her. She explained how they were playing baseball almost every day.

Fa smiled. “In my day, it was cricket. Did you know that cricket may go back as far as the Normans? Shepherds played it with matted wads of sheep's wool. Baseball is much newer. It probably started with the English game of rounders …”

Corrie listened blissfully. Fa really was like Merlin, so full of knowledge. It was wonderful to have his whole attention focused on her. She began telling him about how she hoped to be shortstop next week, but Fa glanced longingly at his manuscript.

“Cordelia, dear, it's delightful to see you, but I must get back to my book.”

Corrie had almost forgotten why she came. “Is it all right if I buy a baseball glove, then?” she asked.

“Of course! Go ahead and get one, and I hope you're chosen to be shortstop.” Fa picked up his pen and looked down at his manuscript.

“I need some money to get it, though,” said Corrie. “I don't want to take it out of the jars, because they're for everyone.”

Fa looked up again. “Of course you need money! How stupid of me! How much do you need?”

“The cheapest one I've seen costs a dollar fifty.”

Fa pulled out an ancient leather wallet from the jacket hanging over his chair. He stepped carefully around some piles of books on the floor and handed Corrie three dollars. “Don't get the cheapest—get one that will last. That's what your mother always used to say. And keep the change if it's less.”

“Thank you, Fa!”

Fa gave her a kiss on her forehead. “You look more and more like your dear mother, you know,” he said, perching on the edge of the desk.

“I do?” said Corrie.

“Indeed you do. Tell me, Cordelia, how is the family? Is everything all right? I probably don't pay enough attention to you all.”

“You did when the twins were sick,” Corrie reminded him.

“So I did, and how utterly exhausting that was! I worry that I'm leaving you with that hard work all the time. Are you sure you can manage?”

How could she begin to tell Fa all her worries? About how strangely Sebastian was acting, how absent Roz was, how uncontrollable the younger ones were, how lonely and difficult it was to be in charge, how much she missed Aunt Madge …

She couldn't—Fa needed peace to work on his book.

“We're fine,” she mumbled.

“Are you sure? Is Sebastian fine? I've noticed he's acting rather oddly these days, as if he's lost in his own world. I worry about Sebastian, you know. He's like Icarus—he flies too close to the sun.”

“Icarus?”

“A figure from Greek mythology, my dear.” Fa stood up, scanned his packed shelves, and took down a book. “Here, you can read about him. Madge is worried about Sebastian … that he's still pretending to be a knight. Perhaps he gives himself too wholeheartedly to that game. It was helpful after Molly died—he needed an escape. But Madge thinks Sebastian is avoiding reality.” Fa sighed. “I don't know what to think. We all avoid it. ‘Human kind cannot bear very much reality,' as Eliot says.”

Corrie sighed too. So often she couldn't keep up with Fa's words. But his next ones startled her.

“Madge says I should persuade Sebastian to give up his game.” Fa looked at her much more alertly. “What do you think, Cordelia? Should I have a talk with him? Not that I think it would do any good. Sebastian's not going to stop his fantasy just because I ask him to. Surely it's better to let him grow out of it at his own pace, don't you agree?”

Corrie wished Fa wasn't speaking to her as if she were older, when all she wanted to do was sit in his lap the way she used to.

She didn't know what to answer, whether to reassure Fa or to tell him how scarily Sebastian was now immersed in the game. “I don't know,” she whispered. “You're probably right, though. You can't stop him pretending.” How could she say that Sebastian no longer seemed to be just pretending?

Yet, if Sebastian stopped the Round Table, they would all have to. Fa's next words filled her with relief. “I think whatever Sebastian needs to do, he needs to do. He's always been so sensitive, so affected by things. ‘A perfect gentle knight'—that's what he is.”

A perfect gentle knight … “I like that,” said Corrie. “Is it something from a book?”

“It's from Chaucer's
Canterbury Tales
. You'll read that when you go to university. He wrote it in Old English.” Fa went back to his desk and printed some words on a piece of paper. He handed it to Corrie, and she smiled at their strangeness: “He was a verray, parfit, gentil knyght.” Fa smiled too. “I have a good translation you would understand.” He stood up again and found a slim book. “You'd like this—it's full of stories told by a group of pilgrims.”

“It sounds really interesting,” said Corrie eagerly. She wondered how long she could prolong this conversation. “Fa,” she asked. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

Fa chuckled. “What an interesting question! Do
you
?”

“I don't know. Someone I know does, though.”

Fa looked wistful. “I'd like to believe that people come back after they die. Perhaps they do when a relative is like them—the way you remind me of my mother sometimes.”

“That's what Aunt Madge says. But you just said I was like Mum!”

“You look like Molly. But your character is more like your grandmother's. Juliet is more like Molly, with her impetuous nature. But no, Cordelia, I don't personally believe that someone can be reborn as another person. Unfortunately, when someone is gone she is gone.”

Was he going to cry? No. The pain on Fa's face changed into a smile. “Lots of people—indeed, whole religions—do believe in reincarnation. There are many books about it.”

“If lots of people believe in it does that mean reincarnation is real, or does it just mean that the person who
believes
it thinks it's real?”

“You're getting to be quite a philosopher, Cordelia! Reincarnation is real in the sense that religion is real. It's just not real for everyone, the way the sun rising is real. Does that help?”

“Sort of.”

“Good. Here, I'll lend you a book about Eastern religions and you can read about it.” He picked out another book and Corrie added it to her pile.

Reading about things was always Fa's answer to difficult questions. She supposed it helped, but she wished he could just give her the answers right now.

But Fa turned back to his desk for good. “It's been delightful visiting with you, Cordelia. Now I really must get back to work. But come again—we don't talk enough, you and I. And you'll tell me if anything is wrong, won't you? Promise?”

Corrie grinned. “I promise.”

She slipped out of the study, feeling lighter than when she went in. And she was going to get a baseball glove!

T
HAT NIGHT CORRIE STRUGGLED
through some of the book on reincarnation. Then she gazed out at the moon and thought as hard as she could.

She could see what a comforting belief reincarnation was. She could even see that it was possible, the way it was possible that Jesus or Buddha had existed. It was truer than pretending, truer than Santa Claus or the Round Table. Those were
just
pretending.