Page 232 of The Sun Sister

‘It was...well, utterly amazing!’ Cecily breathed.

The following Wednesday, as directed, Cecily dressed in her plainest clothes. Leaving Stella in the care of Lankenua, who was now looking far healthier, she directed Archer to drive her to Harlem.

‘Excuse me, Miss Cecily?’ he said as he handed her into the rear seat of the Chrysler.

‘You heard me, Archer: Harlem, outside the Abyssinian Baptist Church, 132 West 138thStreet,’ Cecily read the address from the note she had written down when on the telephone to Rosalind.

‘Do your parents know you’re going there?’ he said after a pause.

‘Of course,’ Cecily lied, feeling irritated that even as a married woman, Archer still treated her like a child.

‘As you wish, Miss Cecily.’

Cecily looked out of the window as they made their way uptown towards Harlem, where, despite her bravado when giving Archer the address, she had never been before. As the skyscrapers of Fifth and Madison receded and they drove slowly up Lenox Avenue, she noticed that the faces on the street were various shades of black and brown rather than white. She suddenly felt like a fish out of water in her own city. Black children sat on the stoops of derelict houses watching the Chrysler cruise past, the windows of many of the stores were boarded up, and rusting, overflowing trash cans were gathered on street corners. Despite the fact it was 1947, it felt like the Depression hadn’t even begun to end here just yet.

Archer brought the car to a halt. Along the street, Cecily could see an imposing gothic church, where a large crowd of protesters had already gathered outside. He stepped out to open the door for her.

‘I’ll park up at the end of the street, on the corner of Lenox Avenue, just across from here,’ he pointed. ‘If there’s any trouble, you come a-runnin’ and I’ll be waitin’, okay? You sure you’ll be all right?’

‘Yes, Archer, thank you, I’m meeting up with friends,’ she said with far more confidence than she felt, as she walked away from him towards the crowd.

She surveyed the mass of people, many of whom were holding handwritten placards bearing slogans such as ‘EQUAL RIGHTS!’ and ‘HOUSING FOR ALL!’. Her heart in her mouth, Cecily walked hesitantly towards the crowd, who were all facing a raised platform that had been set up as a stage on the sidewalk outside the church.

‘There you are!’ Rosalind’s familiar voice cut through the clamour. Cecily turned to see her new friend approaching her, dressed in a pair of slacks and a man’s coat. ‘I’m so glad you came,’ Rosalind said. ‘The others were already taking bets on whether you’d turn up or not. This is my husband Terrence,’ she said, gesturing to the tall black man beside her.

‘Pleasure to meet you, Cecily,’ he said, shaking her hand and smiling warmly at her. ‘We appreciate your support.’

Cecily wasn’t surprised to see that she was one of very few white people present, but she was greeted with smiles as the other protesters stepped out of her way politely. A few were holding flasks of coffee to ward off the cold, and Cecily saw that one woman had a baby strapped to her chest.

‘How long will this go on for?’ she whispered to Rosalind.

‘Oh, just an hour or so,’ Rosalind replied cheerfully. ‘It’s a great turnout – Beatrix is a marvel at getting people motivated. And look, here she is!’

Beatrix appeared beside them, her eyes shining with excitement, her dark hair braided tightly against her scalp. ‘Cecily! It’s wonderful you came! I...’

Beatrix was drowned out by a roar from the crowd as three men stepped onto the stage. Cecily recognised Mayor O’Dwyer from the photos in theNew York Times. Two other white men stood beside him, one of whom was dressed in the regalia of a police chief and was glowering at the placards.

‘Harlem! ’Tis an honour to be here!’ Mayor O’Dwyer began in his strong Irish accent, and the crowd cheered in response. Cecily looked around at the gathered faces, and felt suddenly galvanised. Here were people who were passionate about creating a better world; she had not felt such exhilaration and hope around her since the VE-Day celebrations in Nairobi. Beatrix handed her a placard that read ‘HARLEM IS NOT A GHETTO!’ and Cecily proudly held it aloft. She listened to Mayor O’Dwyer’s speech, which promised housing reforms and better funding for schools, and blinked as a reporter’s flashbulb went off close by.

As people began to jostle forward for a better view, an elbow knocked Cecily from behind, and Rosalind reached out to steady her as she stumbled. Despite the frosty air, Cecily felt sweat gathering at the back of her neck and realised how tightly packed the audience was.

As the police chief stepped up to the microphone, a ripple of unease spread through the crowd and Cecily shivered. She craned her neck to see how far the crowd extended to either side of her, and was shocked to see a ring of police officers surrounding them, their hands on their wooden nightsticks, their faces inscrutable under their blue caps.

‘Why are the police here?’ she whispered to Rosalind.

‘Just stick with me and Terrence, you’ll be safe,’ Rosalind whispered back.

‘Murderers!’ Beatrix spat. ‘Those cops attacked Robert Bandy – shot him when he was unarmed and just trying to save a woman’s life. Goddamn pigs!’

A wave of anger began to emanate from around them, and Cecily took in a gulp of air as the crowd was pressed in on itself further by the police officers. Cecily could no longer hear the speeches from the stage, only the cries of dismay from the woman near her whose baby began wailing in its sling as she tried to shield it from the crush of bodies.

Screams filled the air. A man pushed her aside to escape a police officer who was coming towards him with his nightstick held aloft. The man raised his placard in defence, but was struck down until he lay sprawled in the dirty street, protecting his head from the continued blows. Cecily heard a shrill whistle and the whinny of horses and looked up to see that mounted police officers were advancing on the protesters, many of whom were now running away.

‘Cecily! Stay close!’ Beatrix grabbed her hand and guided her towards a gap in the line of police. Cecily followed Beatrix blindly, her heart thumping as she ran, dodging other protesters who were also seeking safety. She tried to ignore the cries of pain and the sickening thuds of nightsticks colliding with human bodies. With a sudden wrench, Cecily found herself knocked to the ground and looked up to see Beatrix being restrained by two police officers. She was fighting like a wild cat, her curls breaking free from her braids as she was dragged away.

‘No! Beatrix!’ Cecily shouted, trying to get up as pain shot through her ankle. ‘Stop! She’s done nothing wrong!’

She sat looking around in shock and bewilderment. What had begun as a peaceful, orderly gathering had descended into chaos. ‘Archer,’ she murmured as she tried to remember where he’d said he would wait for her. She attempted to stand, but her ankle gave way as a fresh wave of protestors stampeded towards her.