by Kit Pearson
“How clean everything looks!” said Aunt Madge. The living room gleamed with polish; holly was piled on the mantelpiece, and their stockings were carefully draped over the firescreen, ready to be hung up. The neglected room seemed to glow with appreciation.
“You must have a much better housekeeper than I was,” said Aunt Madge in a quavering voice.
Juliet sat up, fully recovered. “The Elephant? She doesn’t do anything!”
Corrie tried to shush her but Juliet continued scornfully. “We cleaned the house all by ourselves! Well, Corrie’s friend Meredith helped. Me and Orly dusted every single rung of the banister. It took us hours!”
Luckily Fa didn’t seem to hear this. Sebastian had taken him over to examine one of Mum’s paintings in the corner of the room. Corrie knew he was avoiding having to talk to Aunt Madge.
“Remember, all of you, you mustn’t let on how bad the Elephant is,” Sebastian had told them at breakfast. “We don’t want Aunt Madge suspecting anything.”
“Why not?” said Roz. “Maybe then Mrs. Oliphant would be fired!”
Sebastian had glared at her. “I keep telling you, Sir Gawain. If the Elephant leaves we might get someone who interferes with us too much. Kindly remember that.”
Now Corrie thought fast. “We let Mrs. Oliphant go for her holidays early—that’s why we all cleaned,” she told Aunt Madge. “She usually does the housework, of course. And she cooks our dinner every night.”
Roz looked as if she wanted to tell Aunt Madge the truth, but Corrie knew she would do as Sebastian wanted.
“Mrs. Oliphant is a terrible cook, though,” said Harry. “Can you make macaroni and cheese for us, Aunt Madge, like you used to?”
“And snow pudding!” said Roz.
“And oatmeal cookies!” Corrie remembered.
Aunt Madge laughed. “Hold your horses! Of course I will. I’ll make all your favourites.” She seemed very pleased that they didn’t like Mrs. Oliphant’s cooking.
AUNT MADGE SLIPPED BACK into the family as easily as if she’d never left. Orly decided he liked her and followed her around like a puppy. She patiently admired all of Harry’s collections and helped Roz shorten her new dress. She even managed to wash Juliet’s hair thoroughly.
Aunt Madge took complete charge of the kitchen, and every night they feasted on her roasts and desserts. Corrie and Harry helped her cut out shortbread and ice gingerbread men. She had brought Christmas cake and pudding with her.
One evening they all walked up to the church parking lot, where the Scouts were selling Christmas trees. They took turns dragging their tree home. It reigned over the living room, its branches laden with cranberry chains, bubble lights, and the homemade decorations from school that increased every year. An angel with feathery wings teetered on the top. Now the house smelled of baking and pine needles instead of mould and neglect.
Every night before she went to bed Corrie crept into the room and turned on the tree’s lights in the dark. She lay on the floor and gazed up at the soft colours, holding the magic of Christmas to her like a fragile glass decoration that might break.
Presents accumulated under the branches, and the twins spent hours shaking and discussing each one. On Christmas Eve, Aunt Madge cooked tourtière. Then they sat in the living room and Fa read them the last section of A Christmas Carol out loud, as he did every year. When Tiny Tim said, “God bless us, every one!” Orly’s eyes were closing.
“Off to bed, you two!” Aunt Madge said to the twins. “Harry too.”
“Harry’s allowed to stay up until eight-thirty now,” Sebastian said stiffly.
“But—”
Sebastian frowned, and Aunt Madge stopped talking. Flushing, she helped Juliet and Orly hang their stockings from the hooks under the mantel. Roz brought in the milk and cookies for Santa Claus.
“Do you think Santa will remember my Wild Bill Hickok holsters?” Orly asked sleepily as Aunt Madge led the twins out of the room.
“You’ll just have to wait and see!” she told him. She paused at the door. “Goodnight, everyone. I think I’ll go to bed myself.” She avoided Sebastian’s eyes as she blew them all a kiss.
Fa left too, after he had kissed each one of them. “Try to contain the wild hordes until eight,” he pleaded to Sebastian.
Corrie turned out the living-room lights. She and Sebastian and Roz and Harry lounged in front of the tree, cracking walnuts and picking out the meat with picks. Hamlet warmed his belly in front of the fire. The flames spat and sizzled and the room was a flickering cave.
“Sebastian,” said Harry slowly, “is there really a Santa Claus? I asked Aunt Madge and she said there was. But it’s Fa who fills the stockings and brings our presents, right?” He looked at his brother uncertainly.
Sebastian smiled at him. “Aunt Madge thinks you’re still a little boy. She doesn’t know you’re a squire! Squires are old enough to know the truth about Santa Claus. He’s not real, Master Harry. He’s a story for kids.”
Harry looked relieved. “I thought so! Because how could one person go all over the world in one night? And reindeer can’t fly, anyway!”
Roz looked worried. “Don’t tell the twins he’s not real, though. It’s nice to believe in Santa Claus when you’re their age.”
Corrie thought wistfully of when she believed, of how she used to stick her head out of her window every Christmas Eve and try to hear bells and hooves on the roof.
“So Santa’s a story like the Round Table. Just pretend, I mean,” said Harry.
Sebastian frowned. “Well, not exactly. Santa Claus is a myth. The Round Table is more real than that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian,” snapped Roz. “The Round Table is just as much of a myth as Santa Claus is! We pretend we’re knights—we’re not really knights.”
Corrie was astonished to see tears in Sebastian’s eyes. “I do not like to hear you speaking like this, Sir Gawain,” he muttered. He got up and looked at the presents.
Roz looked ready to argue but Corrie grabbed her arm. “It’s Christmas,” she whispered. “Forget about it!”
“Okay. I’m sorry, Sebastian. Let’s hang up our stockings and go to bed, okay?”
Corrie’s stocking was striped red, green, and white; her name was knitted into the cuff. She wondered who had made it, and decided it must have been Mum.
IN HER SLEEP Corrie felt the most delicious sensation of the year: Fa carefully placing her stuffed stocking over her feet. She turned over, half-awake, making the bell on her stocking jingle.
When she woke up, the full magic of Christmas Day bubbled up in her like sparkling ginger ale. Early sunlight streamed through the window—it was even more perfect not to have rain.
“He came! He came!” Juliet and Orly rushed into her room with their stockings.
“Look what I got, a whole pack of Life Savers!”
“And Silly Putty!”
“And six little cars!”
“And a tiny dog, but he’s stuffed! I don’t mind, though.”
“Hold on!” said Corrie through her laughter. “I haven’t even seen mine yet!”
They exclaimed at each of her own treats: more Life Savers, a package of coloured pencils and a roll of drawing paper, a pencil sharpener shaped like a cat, a Superman comic, a ring with a sparkly blue stone, pick-up-sticks, and red wool gloves. And finishing, of course, with a Japanese orange in the toe.
For the first time, Corrie wondered how Fa knew what they wanted. Did Sebastian and Roz shop for him? Or did he ask store owners what was popular with children?
Right now Corrie didn’t need to know; it was more fun to pretend the stockings had been filled by Santa Claus. “Let’s go and see what Harry got!” she said, and they rushed down to his room.
At breakfast Aunt Madge gave each of them a kiss. Fa came in, yawning in his shaggy brown dressing gown. It made him look like a bear emerging from hibernation.
“A Happy Christmas to all of you, my dears!” he said.
&
nbsp; “Eat fast please, Fa,” pleaded Juliet. “We’ve almost finished!”
When Fa had finally eaten his bacon and eggs they were allowed to go into the living room. Corrie lingered in the doorway, wanting to savour the moment when she first glimpsed the loot under the tree.
A few minutes later she was awash in torn paper, darting arms, and shouts of glee. Orly got his holsters, and the air reeked of caps as he shot off one after the other. Juliet thanked Aunt Madge politely for her Betsey Wetsey doll, but she was far more thrilled with her roller skates. Harry got a chemistry set and Sebastian a large box of poster paints. He thanked Corrie profusely for the penknife. Roz opened a velvet case from Fa containing a short string of pearls. “Oh, Fa, they’re beautiful!”
“They were your mother’s. You’ve grown up so much lately, Rosalind, that I thought it was time they were yours.”
Roz kissed him quickly. She had tears in her eyes.
“Orly, look! Turtles!” Juliet had discovered the bowl on a table.
“Don’t maul them,” said Sebastian as they each grabbed a tiny, squirming turtle.
At first Corrie didn’t think she’d got a pogo stick. She tried to be content with three new books, a View-Master, a paint-by-number kit, and best of all, a tiny stuffed rabbit.
“Perhaps you’re too old for stuffed toys, Corrie dear, but it looked so real I couldn’t resist it!” said Aunt Madge.
“I love it!” said Corrie. She immediately decided to call the rabbit Pookie, after the books about a rabbit with wings that she had adored when she was little.
Pookie was in a running position, with her ears laid back. Her fur was so realistic, and under her ears was soft pink felt. She was just the right size for Corrie to hide in her hand or put in a pocket.
“Don’t forget to look behind the tree, Cordelia,” Fa told her. There was the pogo stick! Corrie immediately took it into the hall. To her delight, she managed to jump four times before she fell off.
“Let me try!” shouted Juliet.
The only sour note was when Sebastian opened Aunt Madge’s present, a crisp white shirt. “I don’t know what boys your age like,” she said nervously, “but I thought you could always use a new shirt.”
“I have plenty of shirts,” said Sebastian coldly. “But thank you anyway.”
“Seb!” hissed Roz. Corrie glanced at Fa, but he was busy helping Juliet try on her roller skates. Aunt Madge flushed, but she managed to whisper, “You’re welcome, Sebastian dear.”
Juliet created a welcome diversion when she asked them for suggestions for turtle names. After a lively discussion that included Blondie and Dagwood, Elvis and Everly, the Lone Ranger and Tonto, and Troilus and Cressida, Corrie suggested Tinker.
“That’s stupid!” said Juliet.
“No, it’s not. Think of Jingle!”
Juliet clapped her hands. “Tinkerbell! It’s perfect! But what about the other one?”
“Dumb,” said Harry gravely.
“Dumb?”
“ Dumb-bell!” They all groaned, but Tinker and Dumb the turtles remained.
“It’s almost time for church,” said Sebastian. “Who will help me gather up the paper?” The younger ones competed to stuff all the paper into the basket by the fireplace. Reluctantly they left the array of presents under the tree and went to get dressed.
There was no Sunday school today. Corrie liked staying peacefully in church the whole service, safe in the middle of her family. She kept touching Pookie in her pocket. The organ played her favourite carol, “Silent Night,” as she watched Sebastian and Roz return from Communion. Roz looked around for friends from school, but Sebastian was solemn. Coloured patches from the stained-glass windows shone on his face, and Corrie shivered. Knights took religion very seriously; Sir Lancelot had told them the story of the Holy Grail. Sebastian looked so pure and holy, as if he were really Sir Lancelot attending Mass before a battle.
In two years she would be confirmed and could take Communion as well. Corrie wondered if she would like it; she didn’t care at all for the taste of wine.
THE REST OF CHRISTMAS DAY was a happy blur … Playing with their presents under the tree. Helping Aunt Madge set the table and stir the gravy. Pulling crackers and giggling at Fa with a pink paper hat perched on his bald head. Stuffing themselves with turkey, mashed potatoes, turnips, and Brussels sprouts. Singing “We All Want Figgy Pudding” as Aunt Madge proudly brought in the flaming dish. Finding a tiny bit more space for the heavy pudding with its sweet hard sauce. Collapsing and groaning in the living room in front of the fire. Playing charades. Helping Aunt Madge do the dishes. And, finally, everyone stumbling up the stairs to bed, Fa and Sebastian each carrying a sleeping twin.
It had been an almost perfect Christmas Day. Sebastian hadn’t clashed again with Aunt Madge, and he and Roz had been friendly. Best of all, Fa had been present each moment.
Corrie sank into sleep, clutching Pookie. If only the magic could last forever.
9
False, Miscreant Knight
Usually holidays were Corrie’s favourite times. Sheltered from the outside world, she could nuzzle into her family the way she burrowed into her eiderdown on chilly nights. And Sebastian was always happiest on holidays, able to devote himself more to being Sir Lancelot.
Every New Year’s Day the knights of the Round Table enacted the story of when young Arthur pulled the sword from the stone. It took place at a grand ceremony, so they had to be ready for it. This year they were making banners for each knight. Sir Lancelot said the squire and the pages could also carry banners. They spent hours in Camelot, cutting the banners out of white cardboard and decorating them with Sebastian’s new paints.
Corrie loved the medieval names for the colours: the two metals, “or” and “argent,” and the tinctures, “azure,” “vert,” “sable,” “gules,” and “purpure.” Sir Lancelot drew them a page of symbols and each person was allowed to choose his own. Sir Gareth decided on a star in argent, with a sable dog and wavy lines in azure. Master Jules did his entire banner in a bright rainbow and got angry when Master Orlando copied it. They fastened the banners to long sticks of bamboo.
Roz had not attended one Round Table meeting that week; instead, she spent every day at Joyce’s house.
“I have made a beautiful banner for you, Sir Gawain,” Sir Lancelot told her one day in the den. “You will be here for the ceremony, will you not?” He looked worried rather than angry.
Roz tossed her head. “I suppose so, if I must.” She flounced out the front door before Sebastian could reply. Corrie, listening on the stairs, shivered at the bitterness in her voice.
“What are you all doing out there in the shed every day? I hardly see any of you,” said Aunt Madge when Corrie came in to get more water for painting.
Corrie squirmed. Last week they had spent every moment with Aunt Madge getting ready for Christmas; there had been no time for the Round Table. “We’re just playing. You know …”
Surely Aunt Madge remembered. They had never talked to her about the Round Table, but when she lived here she had often seen them prancing around on their horses or having sword fights in the yard.
“I know,” sighed Aunt Madge. “You’re still playing knights. Corrie, dear, I’d like to talk to you about that while I’m here.”
“I can’t right now. They’re waiting for me.” She left before Aunt Madge could say any more.
BUT THAT EVENING, while the others were watching The Three Musketeers, Aunt Madge asked Corrie to help her wind some wool in her room. Sebastian glanced up suspiciously as Corrie left. She smiled to reassure him.
It was so pleasant to be once again sitting on Aunt Madge’s bed while Aunt Madge sat in her low chair with her knitting. Corrie had had many comfortable conversations in here. She had listened to stories of the small town in England where Aunt Madge and Fa grew up, and of the years Aunt Madge had spent as a matron in a boys’ school in Winnipeg. They had discussed how to solve Orly’s fear of the dark and Ju
liet’s nail-biting.
Aunt Madge had always confided in Corrie more than the others. “You remind me so much of my dear mother,” she always said.
Corrie wished she remembered her grandmother. She was the only person her age she knew who didn’t have grandparents. Fa seemed more like a grandfather than a father; he was almost old enough. Thinking of him this way made his detachment seem more normal.
“Corrie dear, there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you,” said Aunt Madge timidly.
“What things?” asked Corrie, just as nervous.
“First of all, I want to tell you why I left two years ago.”
Corrie gulped. “I thought it was because of Cousin Daphne being sick.”
“It was. But it was also because of Sebastian.”
“I don’t think we should talk about that,” said Corrie quickly.
“I think we have to,” said Aunt Madge, unusually firmly. “I’ve thought about this ever since I left. Just hear me out for a few minutes, dear.”
Corrie wished she could run out of the room.
“Sebastian has never liked me,” said Aunt Madge. “He was angry with me as soon as I arrived to help. It’s because he thought I was trying to take the place of poor Molly, of course. He and Molly were so close—do you remember?”
Corrie dimly did. Mum and Sebastian had spent hours painting together. Sebastian had a real talent, she’d said. But now the only time Sebastian painted or drew was for knight projects.
“It’s natural for an eleven-year-old boy who’s just lost his mother to be angry about anyone else trying to take care of him. I understood that. And except for a few outbursts, he kept his anger to himself. I thought he would get over it, and I thought I would only be with you for a year. But when your father asked me to stay, Sebastian’s reaction became so extreme and so—so hurtful. In the end he made my life miserable, as you may remember.”
Corrie squirmed. As soon as Fa had told them that Aunt Madge was going to live with them permanently, Sebastian had begun his campaign.
