Next she walked into her old dolls house, Charles Wallaces rocking horse, the twins electric trains. Why must everything happen to me? she demanded of a large teddybear.
At the foot of the attic stairs she stood still and listened. Not a sound from Charles Wallaces room on the right. On the left, in her parents room, not a rustle from her mother sleeping alone in the great double bed. She tiptoed down the hall and into the twins room, pushing again at her glasses as though they could help her to see better in the dark. Dennys was snoring. Sandy murmured something about baseball and subsided. The twins didnt have any problems. They werent great scholars, but they werent bad ones, either. They were perfectly content with a succession of Bs and an occasional A or C. They were strong and fast runners and good at games, and when remarks were made about anybody in the Murry family, they werent made about Sandy and Dennys.
She left the twins room and went on downstairs, avoiding the creaking seventh step. Fortinbras had stopped barking. It wasnt the tramp this time, then. Fort would go on barking if anybody was around.
But suppose the tramp does come? Suppose he has a knife? Nobody lives near enough to hear if we screamed and screamed and screamed. Nobodyd care, anyhow.
Ill make myself some cocoa, she decided. Thatll cheer me up, and if the roof blows off at least I wont go off with it.
In the kitchen a light was already on, and Charles Wallace was sitting at the table drinking milk and eating bread and jam. He looked very small and vulnerable sitting there alone in the big old-fashioned kitchen, a blond little boy in faded blue pyjamas, his feet swinging a good six inches above the floor.
Hi, he said cheerfully, Ive been waiting for you.
From under the table where he was lying at Charles Wallaces feet, hoping for a crumb or two, Fortinbras raised his slender dark head in greeting to Meg, and his tail thumped against the floor. Fortinbras had arrived on their doorstep, a half-grown puppy, scrawny and abandoned, one winter night. He was, Megs father had decided, part Llewellyn setter and part greyhound, and he had a slender, dark beauty that was all his own.
Why didnt you come up to the attic? Meg asked her brother, speaking as though he were at least her own age. Ive been scared stiff.
Too windy up in that attic of yours, the little boy said. I knew youd be down, I put some milk on the stove for you. It ought to be hot by now.
How did Charles Wallace always know about her? How could he always tell? He never knew or seemed to care what Dennys or Sandy were thinking. It was his mothers mind, and Megs, that he probed with frightening accuracy.
Was it because people were a little afraid of him that they whispered about the Murrys youngest child, who was rumoured to be not quite bright? Ive heard that clever people often have subnormal children, Meg had once overheard. The two boys seem to be nice, regular children, but that unattractive girl and the baby boy certainly arent all there.
It was true that Charles Wallace seldom spoke when anybody was around, so that many people thought hed never learned to talk. And it was true that he hadnt talked at all until he was almost four. Meg would turn white with fury when people looked at him and clucked, shaking their heads sadly.
Dont worry about Charles Wallace, Meg, her father had once told her. Meg remembered it very clearly because it was shortly before he went away. Theres nothing the matter with his mind. He just does things in his own way and in his own time.
I dont want him to grow up to be dumb like me, Meg had said.
Oh, my darling, youre not dumb, her father answered. Youre like Charles Wallace. Your development has to go at its own pace. It just doesnt happen to be the usual pace.
How do you know? Meg had demanded. How do you know Im not dumb? Isnt it just because you love me?
I love you, but thats not what tells me. Mother and Ive given you a number of tests, you know.
Yes, that was true. Meg had realized that some of the games her parents played with her were tests of some kind, and that there had been more for her and Charles Wallace than for the twins. IQ tests, you mean?
Yes, some of them.
Is my IQ okay?
More than okay.
What is it?
That Im not going to tell you. But it assures me that both you and Charles Wallace will be able to do pretty much whatever you like when you grow up to yourselves. You just wait till Charles Wallace starts to talk. Youll see.
How right he had been about that, though he himself had left before Charles Wallace began to speak, suddenly, with none of the usual baby preliminaries, using entire sentences. How proud he would have been!
Youd better check the milk, Charles Wallace said to Meg now, his diction clearer and cleaner than that of most small children. You know you dont like it when it gets a skin on top.
You put in more than twice enough milk. Meg peered into the saucepan.
Charles Wallace nodded serenely. I thought mother might like some.
I might like what? a voice said, and there was their mother standing in the doorway.
Cocoa, Charles Wallace said. Would you like a liver-wurst-and-cream-cheese sandwich? Ill be happy to make you one.
That would be lovely, Mrs Murry said, but I can make it myself if youre busy.
No trouble at all. Charles Wallace slid down from his chair and trotted over to the refrigerator, his feet padding softly as a kittens. How about you, Meg? he asked. Sandwich?
Yes, please, she said. But not liverwurst. Do we have any tomatoes?
Charles Wallace peered inside. One. All right if I use it on Meg, Mother?
To what better use could it be put? Mrs Murry smiled. But not so loud, please, Charles. That is, unless you want the twins downstairs, too.
Lets be exclusive, Charles Wallace said. Thats my new word for the day. Impressive, isnt it?
Prodigious, Mrs Murry said. Meg, come let me look at that bruise.
Meg knelt at her mothers feet. The warmth and light of the kitchen had relaxed her so that her attic fears were gone. The cocoa steamed fragrantly in the saucepan; geraniums bloomed on the window sills and there was a bouquet of tiny yellow chrysanthemums in the centre of the table. The curtains, red, with a blue and green geometrical pattern, were drawn, and seemed to reflect their cheerfulness throughout the room. The furnace purred like a great, sleepy animal; the lights glowed with steady radiance; outside, alone in the dark, the wind still battered against the house, but the angry power that had frightened Meg while she was alone in the attic was subdued by the familiar comfort of the kitchen. Underneath Mrs Murrys chair Fortinbras let out a contented sigh.
Mrs Murry gently touched Megs bruised cheek. Meg looked up at her mother, half in loving admiration, half in sullen resentment. It was not an advantage to have a mother who was a scientist and a beauty as well. Mrs Murrys flaming red hair, creamy skin, and violet eyes with long dark lashes, seemed even more spectacular in comparison with Megs outrageous plainness. Megs hair had been passable as long as she wore it tidily in plaits. When she went into high school it was cut, and now she and her mother struggled with putting it up, but one side would come out curly and the other straight, so that she looked even plainer than before.
You dont know the meaning of moderation, do you, my darling? Mrs Murry asked. A happy medium is something I wonder if youll ever learn. Thats a nasty bruise the Henderson boy gave you. By the way, shortly after youd gone to bed his mother called up to complain about how badly youd hurt him. I told her that since hes a year older and at least twenty-five pounds heavier than you are, I thought I was the one who ought to be doing the complaining. But she seemed to think it was all your fault.