A Wrinkle in Time - Madeleine L'Engle [9]
“I don’t know what to do,” Meg said.
“You could do your homework, for one thing. Wouldn’t your mother help you?”
“If I asked her to.”
“Meg, is something troubling you? Are you unhappy at home?” Mr. Jenkins asked.
At last Meg looked at him, pushing at her glasses in a characteristic gesture. “Everything’s fine at home.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But I know it must be hard on you to have your father away.”
Meg eyed the principal warily, and ran her tongue over the barbed line of her braces.
“Have you had any news from him lately?”
Meg was sure it was not only imagination that made her feel that behind Mr. Jenkins’ surface concern was a gleam of avid curiosity. Wouldn’t he like to know! she thought. And if I knew anything he’s the last person I’d tell. Well, one of the last.
The postmistress must know that it was almost a year now since the last letter, and heaven knows how many people she’d told, or what unkind guesses she’d made about the reason for the long silence.
Mr. Jenkins waited for an answer, but Meg only shrugged.
“Just what was your father’s line of business?” Mr. Jenkins asked. “Some kind of scientist, wasn’t he?”
“He is a physicist.” Meg bared her teeth to reveal the two ferocious lines of braces.
“Meg, don’t you think you’d make a better adjustment to life if you faced facts?”
“I do face facts,” Meg said. “They’re lots easier to face than people, I can tell you.”
“Then why don’t you face facts about your father?”
“You leave my father out of it!” Meg shouted.
“Stop bellowing,” Mr. Jenkins said sharply. “Do you want the entire school to hear you?”
“So what?” Meg demanded. “I’m not ashamed of anything I’m saying. Are you?”
Mr. Jenkins sighed. “Do you enjoy being the most belligerent, uncooperative child in school?”
Meg ignored this. She leaned over the desk toward the principal. “Mr. Jenkins, you’ve met my mother, haven’t you? You can’t accuse her of not facing facts, can you? She’s a scientist. She has doctors’ degrees in both biology and bacteriology. Her business is facts. When she tells me that my father isn’t coming home, I’ll believe it. As long as she says Father is coming home, then I’ll believe that.”
Mr. Jenkins sighed again. “No doubt your mother wants to believe that your father is coming home, Meg. Very well, I can’t do anything else with you. Go on back to study hall. Try to be a little less antagonistic. Maybe your work would improve if your general attitude were more tractable.”
When Meg got home from school her mother was in the lab, the twins were at Little League, and Charles Wallace, the kitten, and Fortinbras were waiting for her. Fortinbras jumped up, put his front paws on her shoulders, and gave her a kiss, and the kitten rushed to his empty saucer and mewed loudly.
“Come on,” Charles Wallace said. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Meg asked. “I’m hungry, Charles. I don’t want to go anywhere till I’ve had something to eat.” She was still sore from the interview with Mr. Jenkins, and her voice sounded cross. Charles Wallace looked at her thoughtfully as she went to the refrigerator and gave the kitten some milk, then drank a mugful herself.
He handed her a paper bag. “Here’s a sandwich and some cookies and an apple. I thought we’d better go see Mrs Whatsit.”
“Oh, golly,” Meg said. “Why, Charles?”
“You’re still uneasy about her, aren’t you?” Charles asked.
“Well, yes.”
“Don’t be. She’s all right. I promise you. She’s on our side.”
“How do you know?”
“Meg,” he said impatiently. “I know.”
“But why should we go see her now?”
“I want to find out more about that tesseract thing. Didn’t you see how it upset Mother? You know when Mother can’t control the way she feels, when she lets us see she’s upset, then it’s something big.”
Meg thought for a moment. “Okay, let’s go. But let’s take Fortinbras with us.”
“Well, of course. He needs the exercise.”
They set off, Fortinbras