Page 234 of The Sun Sister

There was a tap on her bedroom door and Evelyn entered with a tray of coffee and toast. She laid it on Cecily’s lap, then checked on her ankle, which was propped up on a pillow.

‘It’s lookin’ much better, miss,’ she said.

‘Thank you, Evelyn,’ Cecily said, regarding her with new eyes. ‘Evelyn?’

‘Yes, miss?’

‘Do you like working for my family?’

‘Why, what a question, Miss Cecily! I’ve been doin’ it so long now, since you was a little girl.’

‘Yes, I know, Evelyn, but don’t you wish you’d had other opportunities?’

There was a pause, then Evelyn said cheerfully, ‘I’m very grateful to havethisopportunity. I’ve been happy to serve your family, Miss Cecily. Ain’t you happy with my work?’

‘Of course I am! I’m sorry,’ Cecily said helplessly. ‘I just...Oh, don’t worry, Evelyn, I’m being silly.’

‘You just ring the bell if you need anythin’, Miss Cecily.’

Evelyn left the room and Cecily let her head fall back against her pillows. Since the horrific events of the protest, her entire world view had turned on its axis. She could not stop seeing the terrified faces of the protesters being taken by force by the police, and the sheer, outrageous injustice of it all. At least Rosalind had telephoned yesterday to let her know that Beatrix and some dozen other protesters had finally been released from jail.

‘It was a hefty bail, but our lawyer spoke to the judge and got them a good deal. It’s the second strike against Beatrix, so she has to be more careful in the future.’

‘That could have been Stella who got attacked, just because of the colour of her skin. What kind of world do we live in...?’ Cecily said softly to herself now.

A world that benefits you, her mind replied. And why was that? Simply the fact that she was rich and privileged andwhite.

Please stand with us, Beatrix had said to her.

Cecily looked out of her bedroom window where she could see snow covering Central Park in a downy white blanket. Everything looked at peace in this small part of New York, but now that she had been exposed to another side of it – one marred by suffering and oppression – nothing could ever be the same again. She remembered seeing the pictures of German concentration camps liberated by American soldiers at the end of the war, her tears of shock falling onto the newspaper, her mind scrambling to comprehend such cruelty. And yet now she knew that, just like in Kenya, only a short drive from her front door, people’s lives were filled daily with similar injustice.

‘People believe it’s the land of the free, and yet we don’t do a darned thing about righting the wrongs for them once they’re here,’ she whispered.

As she ate her toast, a bubble of tense energy filled her chest and she felt desperate to speak with Rosalind and Beatrix. She couldn’t imagine discussing any of these thoughts with her sisters, let alone her father – or worse, her mother. If only Dorothea had seen her at the protest, standing shoulder to shoulder with the ‘Negroes’ – whose babies she worked to raise money for, but who were no more welcome in her home as a guest on an equal footing than the average fat sewer rat.

‘But it’s true, I’m not one of them,’ she reminded herself, as she drank her coffee. So why did she feel this fire, this need to fight for justice for what she had witnessed in Harlem two days ago?

Because you love the child you call your daughter,her senses told her.And you must fight for her and others like her, because she cannot...

Later that day, Cecily took a few hesitant steps and found that her ankle could bear weight again. While her mother was taking her afternoon rest, which had grown longer and longer in the weeks since Kiki’s death, Cecily dressed Stella in her room and let the little girl admire herself in the full-length mirror.

‘Where are we going, Kuyia?’ Stella asked as she adjusted the collar on her red coat.

‘A school, with lots of other little children just as bright as you. Would you like to meet them?’

‘Yes!’ Stella squealed. ‘Can I take Lucky to meet everyone too?’ She gripped the stuffed lion by its mane.

‘Of course you can,’ Cecily said.

Archer brought the car to a halt outside of Rosalind’s brownstone. The snow had only recently stopped and had not yet had a chance to turn to slush, so Stella laughed in delight as she made small, perfect footsteps up the stoop to the front door.

‘Thank you, Archer.’

‘No problem, Miss Cecily. I’ll be waitin’, so whenever you’re ready,’ he said, giving her a wink. It seemed that the secret between them had also forged a bond.

Cecily lifted Stella so she could use the heavy bronze knocker. Rosalind opened the door and greeted Cecily with a warm hug.

‘Welcome, sister,’ she whispered into Cecily’s ear. ‘And you must be Stella,’ she said, crouching down and extending her hand.