The Sun Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘I understand,’ said Rosalind. Cecily saw there were tears in her eyes. ‘Can I give you a hug?’

  ‘Why, of course,’ Cecily said, as Rosalind took her into her embrace.

  ‘I just think what you have done for that child is about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. And I want to help you give Stella everything she deserves and more.’

  Cecily felt tears in her own eyes too, because it was the first time since she’d taken Stella into her arms as a newborn that she’d ever been able to share the truth of the situation with anyone but Bill and Lankenua.

  ‘And what about your husband? Is he expecting you back in Kenya anytime soon?’ asked Rosalind, her perceptive gaze boring into Cecily’s own.

  ‘In truth, yes, but maybe I can delay for a while and see how Stella – and I – settle in here. Like you, I need a purpose – to be able to put my brain to good use. In Kenya, apart from the house and gardens, and Stella, of course, I don’t have one. And for her, there is no future in Africa right now.’

  ‘All right, kids, who wants to go outside in the snow?’ Rosalind turned and asked the children.

  ‘Me! Me!’ they all shouted.

  Cecily and Rosalind followed them as they trooped out of the kitchen and the two women helped them don their snow boots and jackets.

  ‘I’ve never played in the snow before,’ Stella said quietly to Cecily. ‘I won’t know what to do.’

  ‘I’ll show you how,’ piped up Harmony. ‘We’ll make a snowman!’

  Stella took her hand and they ran out into the garden, where they all shrieked and laughed as a snowball fight ensued, then worked together to build a snowman. Watching from the French doors, Cecily had never seen her so confident and happy – in fact, she had never seen Stella play together with so many children. Out of necessity, Stella’s world had been small and contained, the only playmate her age being Michael. Here, she could be a normal child amongst kids just like her. Instinctively, she knew this was absolutely the right place for Stella. And that she would sacrifice just about anything to continue seeing her little girl so happy.

  ‘I would love to have you both join our school,’ said Rosalind as they stood on the stoop later that afternoon. ‘But I also know that you’ve got a big decision to make, right?’

  ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘Well, let me know when you’ve decided, okay?’

  ‘I will.’

  As she led Stella down the steps to the waiting car, Cecily felt almost tearful as she watched her wave to her new friends.

  ‘Bye bye, see you soon,’ Stella called.

  As they drove off, Cecily knew that she’d do all she could to make sure her beloved daughter would.

  The next morning, Cecily woke up, her head and heart aching from a dream of Bill. She dressed quickly and crept downstairs, not wishing to wake the sleeping house. It was still dark outside, with only the first glimmers of dawn touching the sky, and she wrapped herself tightly in her coat and fur muffler and walked towards Central Park. Her ankle still feeling delicate, she cleared some snow off a bench and sat down facing the famous Alice in Wonderland statue, dressed in a white gown of frost. The park was quiet, with only a few haggard pigeons pecking fruitlessly at the slush on the ground.

  Cecily hugged herself, feeling a little like she too had fallen down a rabbit hole since she had arrived in Manhattan. She watched her breath visible in the frigid air, now a novelty to her after being so long in the heat of Africa. Here, the Manhattan-Cecily could barely remember the feeling of being too hot, and the other Kenya-Cecily felt almost like a dream self, an imposter. She wondered what Bill was doing right now, whether he was still on safari. When she called, he never answered the home telephone, and at Muthaiga Club, Ali said he hadn’t seen the sahib since Christmas Day.

  Stella’s destiny lay here; she felt it deep in her bones. Yet if she stayed with her in New York, she would be leaving Bill behind in Kenya. Her home and all it entailed . . . Paradise Farm, Wolfie, Katherine . . . Would Lankenua choose to stay on with her here? She could not ask a mother to leave her son behind.

  Perhaps, as she’d said to Rosalind, all she could do was to tell Bill she was delaying her return for a while – he could hardly complain after the years she’d spent trapped in Kenya, and neither was he making any effort to keep in contact with her. At least an extended stay here would give them a chance to try their new life out for size without making any firm decisions.

  Back at the house, Cecily ducked into her father’s study. She could hear footsteps in the kitchen and the corridors as Evelyn took the morning coffee tray upstairs to her parents and lit the fires. Cecily took a fountain pen and some paper out of her father’s desk and began to write.

  Dearest Bill,

  Happy New Year! I hope you celebrated it wherever you are. I was sorry not to be there with you. How were the Christmas festivities at Muthaiga Club? When I called to speak to you on Christmas Day, Ali mentioned that you had gone out on safari. In fact, I have tried to call you on numerous occasions at the farm and Muthaiga since, so I’m resorting to writing. I am taking your absence as a good sign that you are keeping busy and not consumed in hermit-hood whilst I’m gone.

  How are Bobby and Katherine? Is her pregnancy progressing well? Stella misses Michael a great deal.

  Christmas here in New York was sombre, given Kiki’s death. I can hardly bear to think of Mundui House standing empty without Kiki in it.

  I have been taking solace in getting to know my nieces and nephews, and growing close to my sisters again. I have also had a wonderful time exploring Manhattan with Stella and, in truth, the time has gone so fast that I’d like to stay on a little longer. After all, I have been away for seven years! I hope you don’t mind, Bill. It’s just such a long journey and I have no idea when I might come back again after I leave. You are, of course, welcome to join me here any time you choose. Mama and Papa would love to meet you and I would like to show you my city, as you have shown me Kenya.

  I will let you know when I am booking a passage back.

  I hope all is going well with the farm, and please send my love to all, and to you especially, of course. I miss you.

  Please write back or call me. I worry about you!

  Cecily xx

  As she was addressing the envelope, the door to the study opened and her father walked in.

  ‘Hello, Cecily,’ he said. ‘You’re up early, honey.’

  ‘Yes, I just wanted to write a letter to Bill.’

  ‘Ah, of course. You must miss him, but you’ll be reunited in a few weeks, won’t you?’

  ‘Actually,’ she said, tapping the envelope against her palm, ‘I’ve decided to stay on here in New York for a while longer, if that is okay with you and Mama, of course.’

  ‘You don’t even have to ask,’ Walter beamed. ‘That is wonderful news. Now, come have breakfast with me, and we can do the New York Times crossword together.’

  Stepping out of the study with her father, Cecily dropped the letter on the silver dish in the hallway to be posted.

  Stella began school the following Monday, wearing her favourite plaid dress, her hair styled in bunches like her new friend, Harmony. Archer drove them to Brooklyn, and Stella bounded out of the car and up the steps to the front door. Cecily had given Stella her old leather school satchel and had filled it with pencils and erasers, as well as a bag of chocolate cookies Essie had made for her to share with her classmates.

  Rosalind ushered them into the classroom and Stella ran to hug Harmony, who offered the desk beside her. Cecily stood at the back of the room and watched Rosalind begin the class. She saw Stella’s eager face listening to every word Rosalind spoke.

  From then on, a routine began. Every weekday, Archer would drive Cecily and Stella to Brooklyn to both begin the school day at nine o’clock. Cecily and Rosalind took it in turns to use the schoolroom to teach their different subjects, with the other sitting downstairs preparing lessons and marking up the children’s wo
rk.

  Cecily found she absolutely loved teaching – it took a little time to find her confidence, but once she did, the children responded to her firm but gentle style. After Archer had driven them home, Cecily would walk with Stella through Central Park, where the little girl would chatter happily about all she had learnt that day. In the evenings, they would curl up together in Cecily’s bed and read a book, and when she fell asleep on her shoulder, Cecily would lift her up and tuck her into her bed in the room next door.

  She had also decided to call the number on the card that the man who had rescued her at the protest had given her to thank him. A woman with a French accent had answered, and had passed the phone to her husband. Cecily had insisted on buying him and his wife lunch. The three of them had shared an interesting couple of hours at The Waldorf. The Tanits were both well travelled and it had been inspiring to talk with a couple who had lived through the war in Europe. It made her realise just how inward-looking most Americans in her set were. Sadly, the Tanits had since returned to England, but more and more, Cecily sought out the company of both Beatrix and Rosalind, finding their circle of friends so much more stimulating than the women she knew from her mother’s endless charity circuit. The world was changing fast and Cecily wanted to be part of the future, not stuck in the fast-fading past.

  Lankenua had formed a friendship with Evelyn, and had recently even begun going to her church on Sunday. Talk of returning to Kenya had lessened and Cecily was pleased to see that she was beginning to settle in New York. Now that the Christmas season was over, Walter spent all his days at the bank, retiring to his club at night, and to Cecily’s relief, Dorothea had gone on her annual visit to Chicago to see her mother. When he was at home, Walter would pull Stella into his study and play more and more sophisticated maths games with her. It was obvious he was fond of the little girl and on more than one occasion, Cecily had been tempted to tell him the truth of their relationship.

  There had been no word from Bill – either by letter or telephone, or even when she had sent a telegram to Muthaiga Club. Ali assured her when she called that the sahib was well, but out on the plains with his cattle, which Katherine also confirmed.

  ‘Maybe he has simply forgotten me already,’ she muttered as she replaced the receiver after another unanswered call.

  Before Cecily knew it, it was the end of March, and spring was forcing out a long New York winter. She was thinking less and less of Paradise Farm, and although she had managed to finally catch Bill on the telephone twice, there had been a distance in his voice that she could not attribute to the long-distance call. Stella, too, had stopped asking when they were going ‘home’. All that marred their happy routine was that Dorothea had returned from Chicago and had brought home a brittle and tense atmosphere.

  A final winter blizzard was sweeping through the streets of New York, rattling the windowpanes. Cecily and Stella were tucked up in her bed in their dressing gowns with hot chocolate and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn opened on Stella’s lap. Stella read aloud in her high, clear voice, but trembled whenever the blizzard buffeted the house.

  ‘I’m scared, Kuyia,’ she whispered. ‘What if the wind blows everything away?’

  ‘Everyone is safe and sound inside their homes. This house has been here for a very, very long time and has withstood a hundred blizzards. Now, do you want to read a bit more or go to sleep?’

  As with every night, Stella stubbornly continued, but Cecily could see her eyes drooping, and eventually she succumbed to sleep. Cecily watched her eyelashes flutter delicately against her dark skin, her features completely at peace. Reaching out to stroke her hair, Cecily allowed her own eyes to close as she joined Stella in a dream world.

  There was a knock on the door, and Cecily woke with a jump, disorientated. She saw the morning light streaming in through the bedroom windows, looked at Stella lying next to her and realised they must have fallen asleep.

  ‘Come in,’ she called, expecting Evelyn with her breakfast tray.

  It wasn’t Evelyn who opened the door, but Dorothea.

  ‘Cecily, I just wanted to tell you that today I’m going to . . .’

  Her mother stopped dead as she saw Stella’s dark little head next to Cecily’s on the pillow.

  Dorothea put her hand to her mouth and gave a squeal of horror. ‘What is she doing in bed with you?’

  ‘I . . . Stella was scared of the storm, so she got in with me and we read a story and—’

  Dorothea marched across the room and pulled the covers off Stella. Then she grabbed the little girl, who was still half asleep, roughly by the arm and hauled her out of the bed.

  ‘You come with me, miss, right now! Up to the attic where you belong! I’ve had enough of this ridiculous behaviour of yours, Cecily. And this – putting the Negro child of your maid in your own bed – just about crowns it!’

  ‘Please!’ Stella cried as she tried to wriggle from Dorothea’s grasp. ‘You’re hurting me!’

  ‘Let her go now, Mama!’

  Cecily was also out of bed and tugging at her mother’s arm to let Stella free.

  ‘I will do no such thing! I don’t care what you do under your own roof in that godforsaken country you call home, but here under mine, dirty little Negroes live up in the attic where they belong!’

  ‘How dare you call Stella dirty! She is every bit as clean as I am!’ Cecily screamed. ‘I gave her a bath myself last night!’

  ‘You gave her a bath?! Dear Lord, Cecily! Has all that sun touched your brain? She is the nigger daughter of your maid!’

  ‘You call her a nigger again and I swear I will—’

  ‘Ouch!’ cried Dorothea as Stella’s small white teeth bit into the soft flesh of Dorothea’s wrist and she finally let go of her. Stella ran towards Cecily, who closed her arms about her protectively.

  ‘That child is nothing but a wild savage! Look!’ Dorothea proffered her arm. ‘She’s drawn blood! I swear, Cecily, I want her and her mother out of my house as soon as they’ve packed their things. I need to go call my doctor – she’s almost certainly given me some kind of disease!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mama, Stella is as healthy as you and I.’

  ‘I told you, I want her and her mother out of my house today!’

  ‘Fine. Then I will go with them. Besides, I can’t stand staying in this house a moment longer anyway, listening to your disgusting prejudices and your racist remarks! Stella is just a child, Mama, the same as any of your beloved grandchildren!’

  The racket had attracted Walter, who came out of the master bedroom in his pyjamas.

  ‘What on earth is going on in here?’

  ‘Your daughter has had a nigger child sleeping in her bed all night,’ proclaimed Dorothea. ‘It’s obscene!’

  ‘Right, that’s it!’ Cecily picked Stella up in her arms and calmly carried her to the attic, where Lankenua was hovering nervously at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Could you get yourself and Stella dressed and pack your things quickly, please. We’re leaving now.’

  Lankenua looked from Cecily to Stella in confusion, but did as she was bid.

  Cecily returned to her bedroom where she dressed, then threw some clothes into a holdall. She met Lankenua and Stella in the corridor and then led them downstairs into the entrance hall.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Walter said from the top of the stairs, as he watched her bundle Stella into her coat, boots and hat in the hall.

  ‘Mama has said that Lankenua and Stella must leave the house, so I’m leaving with them, Papa.’

  For a moment, they looked at each other, Cecily’s heart beating fast as she waited to see if he would come to their defence. But as her father made no move to speak, she turned away from him with a sad sigh.

  ‘Mary, fetch Archer now. And please pack up the rest of my things in my trunk. I will send Archer to pick them up for me later,’ she said to the housekeeper, who was standing, eyes wide with shock, nearby.

  ‘Yes, Miss Ceci
ly.’

  Donning her own coat, Cecily turned to her parents; her mother’s face was still red with anger, one hand nursing her wrist. Her father dropped his eyes away from her gaze.

  ‘Shame on you, Papa,’ she murmured, as Archer appeared by the front door. ‘Take Stella and put her and my maid in the car, then wait for me outside,’ she ordered Archer.

  ‘Yes, Miss Cecily.’ Archer reached out a hand and beckoned Stella towards him. The three of them disappeared through the open front door.

  ‘So this is the choice you are making? Choosing them over us?’ Dorothea demanded.

  ‘If that is the choice you are giving me, then yes, I choose them.’

  Brushing away the tears that were flowing down her face, she walked to the front door. Without turning back, Cecily stepped out into the freezing air and left her childhood home behind.

  June 2008

  ‘And I never set foot through that front door again.’

  Stella turned her head towards the New York skyline beyond the windows. Dusk and then night had come at some point, but neither of us had noticed.

  ‘I . . . don’t know what to say,’ I whispered, hauling myself upright. During the long hours of listening, I had placed a cushion beneath my head and lain down on the couch. I could only see the outline of my grandmother in the dim light, her proud profile just visible in the muted multitude of lights cast into the room from the city.

  I tried to imagine her as the little girl she had once been; the baby saved by a stranger from certain death and brought here to New York. It was hard to reconcile the two.

  ‘Where did you go when Cecily took you away from the house?’

  ‘To Rosalind’s, of course. You know something? Even though I was terrified because of all the shouting and the harsh words I didn’t understand at the time, Archer took my hand, led me out into the car and put me on the back seat. He offered me a lollipop and told me I was to stay there, that it was all going to be okay. And I believed him.’ Stella gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘We stayed with Rosalind and her husband Terrence for several months – Dorothea revoked Cecily’s trust. So for a while, we were penniless. It was Kiki Preston who saved us.’