‘A Coke would be great if you’ve got one.’
‘I sure do. Want to follow me and see the rest of the apartment?’
‘Okay,’ I agreed as she opened the door at the back of the room and we took some steps down to the lower ground floor and entered the kitchen. It had double doors leading to the pretty garden beyond it. The walls were a weird yellow colour which I guessed had just gone that way with age, and cracks zigzagged across the ceiling. There was a big old-fashioned pine table, again covered with papers and folders, and the kind of stove I’d seen recently in a movie set in the 1950s. A dresser sat along the side of one wall with shelves full of colourful earthenware pottery.
‘It’s pretty much as it was when I was a living here as a kid.’
‘Did my mom live here with you?’
I watched her pause for a few seconds before she answered.
‘Yes. Cecily bought the apartment with Kiki’s legacy for next to nothing when the area was still cheap. When we first moved in, it was real rough around here, but over the years, she made it into a home for us all and now, well, the area is called “desirable” by the realtors. There was a bedroom upstairs for Cecily, one for me, and the other for Lankenua, until she moved out to her own place with her husband. You want to go sit in the garden? At this time of day, it catches the sun.’
‘Sure,’ I said as Stella led me out onto the terrace, on which sat an old-fashioned wrought-iron table and two chairs that had once been painted white, but were now chipped and turning green from moss.
‘I do my best to maintain this,’ she said, indicating the garden, which was awash with all kinds of flowering plants I couldn’t name. ‘When Cecily was looking after it, it was her pride and joy. She had cuttings shipped over from her friend Katherine in Kenya, but after it fell to me to care for it, the weeds have taken over. I’m away so often and I simply don’t have the time or the inclination.’
‘Did Cecily ever go back to Africa? Did you?’ I asked.
‘That’s a yes to both questions. I understand you have a hundred of them, Electra, but I was thinking before you arrived that it’s best to keep telling you the story in chronological order.’
‘Okay, but just one thing I need to ask you, Stella – is my mom alive? I mean, she can’t be that old and—’
‘I’m so sorry, Electra, but no, she isn’t. She died many years ago.’
‘Oh . . . okay.’
Stella put out a tentative hand and placed it on mine. ‘Do you need some time before I tell you what happened after we left the house on Fifth Avenue?’
‘No. I mean, you can’t really mourn someone that you never knew, can you? I just needed to know.’
‘You can mourn the thought of her.’
I swallowed hard, because my grandmother was right. It was the end of any kind of fantasy I’d ever had of meeting my birth mother. I’d thought about her a lot when I was little and in trouble with Ma for doing something naughty. I’d imagine her (as I was sure most adopted kids did) as an angelic presence who would float in from the skies, wrap her arms around me and tell me that she loved me unconditionally, however bad I’d been.
‘I’m fine,’ I nodded, ‘I just want to know everything now, so I can move on. When did you find out that Lankenua wasn’t your real mother?’
‘It was when she wanted to get married. Lankenua was moving on to start a new life and I wasn’t going with her, so the two of them told me together.’
‘Were you upset when you knew the truth?’
‘No, because even though I was loved by her, she’d always played a secondary role to Cecily. I suppose you could say she was my nursemaid. It was Kuyia – Cecily – who had brought me up, and who I’d always looked to as my mother. The problem was, Cecily suddenly realised that Lankenua and I had come into the United States on a visa which had never been renewed. So we were both technically illegal aliens. Lankenua was okay as she was marrying a US citizen, and in those days, she automatically became one herself. But that left the problem of me. Cecily wanted to adopt me legally, but back then, it wasn’t just unheard of but impossible for a white woman to adopt a Negro child. As Lankenua was moving on, it was eventually decided that Rosalind would officially adopt me. Her husband Terrence was a lawyer and through their activism, they had friends in high places. At the time, it was the simplest thing to do. So I became Stella Jackson in name and eventually got my citizenship and a US passport, even though I continued to live here with Cecily.’
‘Jackson . . . of course! I hadn’t connected the surnames before. Your Rosalind sounds like she was one hell of a woman.’
‘Oh, she was, and a huge influence on me throughout my life. It’s difficult for you to imagine what it was like growing up as a young black woman in the fifties, which, if you know anything about American history, you’ll recognise was the most incredible time for change for black people across America.’
‘Stella, I gotta be honest here, I know jackshit about any kind of American history. I went to school in Europe, where they just taught us our own.’
‘I understand, but even you must have heard of Martin Luther King Junior?’
‘Yeah, I know of him, of course.’
‘Well, by the time I won a scholarship to Vassar in 1959 for my undergrad, just as Cecily and Rosalind had planned, the world here in the States was in turmoil. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights had been passed by the UN in 1948, which was the first step to stopping segregation. I went to college at a moment in time when the protests against it were at their height in the South. And of course, growing up with Rosalind and Beatrix as my mentors, I threw myself into the cause wholeheartedly. I still remember how they and Cecily celebrated in 1954, when the US Supreme Court ruled that racial segregation in public schools was unconstitutional. This meant that segregation . . . You know what that word means, don’t you, Electra?’ Stella turned to me suddenly.
‘Yes, separating the blacks from the whites.’
‘Exactly. Well, the Board of Education ruling technically only applied to schools, but it opened the floodgates on protests that argued segregation in any other place should become illegal too. That was when Dr King began his rise to fame. He organised a boycott in the South, after a young activist called Rosa Parks had refused to give up her seat on a public bus to a white passenger. The boycott meant that no black person would get on one until segregation was removed, and it brought the bus companies in the South to their knees.’
‘Wow,’ I said, as I tried to take in what she was telling me.
‘Even though this was all happening down South, the students here in the North organised protests to support them. Oh Electra,’ Stella sighed, ‘it’s so difficult to explain to a young person such as yourself who takes your rights for granted, but back then, we were all driven by a cause greater than any single one of us.’
As Stella paused and her gaze flew across the garden, I could see a light in it that told me she was remembering those glory days.
‘Did you ever get arrested when you were protesting?’ I asked.
‘A couple times, yes, and I’m proud to tell you that your grandmother has a criminal record. I was charged with affray along with six of my college classmates – the police brutality was something else. But I didn’t care, and nor did my friends, because what we were fighting for – a whole nation’s freedom and the right to be treated equally to our fellow white Americans – mattered more. When all this activity culminated in the spring of 1963, I was in my last year at Vassar. The atmosphere at that time was amazing; two hundred and fifty thousand of us joined the march on Washington, and we all gathered peacefully to listen to Dr King make his iconic speech.’
‘“I have a dream,”’ I muttered. Even I had heard of that.
‘Yes, that’s the one. A quarter of a million of us, and not one of us there showed any violence towards another. It was . . .’ – Stella swallowed hard – ‘a seminal moment in my life, in all sorts of ways.’
‘I’ll
bet,’ I nodded, selfishly eager for the history lesson to be over. ‘So what did you do then?’
Stella chuckled. ‘I took the obvious path, and applied to law school at Columbia, right here in New York, with only one thought in my head: I was going to become the greatest civil rights lawyer and activist that ever lived. I felt that God had sent me to America and given me all these opportunities with only one purpose in mind – to help others like me who hadn’t been so fortunate. However, nothing in life ever goes according to plan, does it?’
‘What do you mean?’
Stella looked at me for a moment. ‘You know, I think it’s time for that cup of tea I promised you. I also bought some scones, do you like scones?’
‘Uh, are they a bit like a muffin with raisins? I think our housekeeper made them sometimes ’cos Pa liked them.’
‘Kind of. Cecily and her friend Katherine just adored them. Sit here and I’ll set everything out.’
So I sat waiting for my grandmother to serve me afternoon tea, with a distinct feeling that she was taking time to gather herself to tell me something. The afternoon sun was quite strong now and the smell of some exotic pink flower that hung from a trellis in a tangled mass was letting off a soporific scent. I closed my eyes and tried to process what Stella had told me, feeling guilty because I didn’t know anything about what women like Stella and Rosalind had done to give me the equality and freedom I enjoyed today.
‘History’ was something I associated with knights jousting on horses and effigies of ladies lying on top of tombs in the crypts of churches that Pa had made us visit if we stopped off in some medieval town during our summer vacations. The history that Stella was talking about was that of recent times, times she had lived through. She and her friends had put their lives at risk so that I could have the liberty to be myself . . .
The thought made me feel very small and very selfish for ever thinking that I had problems.
‘Here we go,’ said Stella, bringing out a tray that was fully loaded with a beautiful china teapot, two cups with saucers and a milk jug.
‘Are you okay to pour while I go and get the scones?’
‘Yeah, of course.’
Even though I wasn’t a fan of tea, I picked up what looked like a mini sieve and finally worked out it was to catch the leaves from the pot. Then I added milk.
‘This is Darjeeling,’ Stella said when she returned, ‘my favourite tea on the planet.’
‘How come you picked up so many English habits when Cecily was actually American?’ I asked, taking a tentative sip of the tea. For the first time, I actually enjoyed the taste.
‘Because in those days, Kenya was under British rule, and Cecily’s friend Katherine, as you know, was English, not to mention Bill, of course. Here, try a scone; with clotted cream and jam, they’re just the best.’
I did so, just to please her; the taste was rich and sweet and claggy all at once in my mouth.
‘Electra, what I have to tell you next is very difficult. I only hope that you’ll understand. I feel ashamed to tell you.’
‘Given my history, Stella, I’m sure I will understand. I doubt you could do anything more shameful than be completely wasted on booze, drugs and sleeping pills, then vomit all over yourself.’
‘Well, this is different, a far worse kind of shame, and I pray you’ll forgive me.’
‘Okay, I promise I will. Now shoot,’ I said impatiently.
‘You know I told you that the march on Washington and Dr King’s speech was a seminal day for me?’
‘Yup.’
‘At the time, I was walking out with – that is, seeing – a young man who I’d met at a protest. He’d never had a college education, but he was passionate about the cause, and made the most incredible uplifting speeches. Even though he was uneducated, he was so bright and charismatic and, well . . . I fell for him. And that evening in Washington, after the speeches had ended and everyone was on a high – you just cannot imagine the feeling – I, well, I . . . and he . . . we made love. Under a tree in a park.’
‘Is that it? Really, Stella, I’m not shocked at all, I promise. You are human after all, and we’ve all done stuff like that,’ I reassured her.
‘Thank you for that, Electra.’ Stella looked relieved. ‘It’s just awful embarrassing as a sixty-eight-year-old woman to have to tell your granddaughter something like that.’
‘I’m cool with it, so don’t worry. So what happened then?’ I asked, although I’d already guessed the answer.
‘I found myself pregnant a few weeks later,’ Stella said. ‘It was a big shock – I mean, I was expected to graduate top of my class at Vassar and my place at Columbia Law School was confirmed. I remember coming back here to the apartment, knowing I had to tell Cecily what had happened. I don’t think I’ve been more scared in my life than I was at that moment.’
‘Because you thought she’d disown you?’
‘No, not that, it was much more to do with the fact that everything she had worked for and sacrificed to give me had just gone up in smoke. I could hardly bear that I’d let her down.’
‘How did she react?’
‘You know what? She was remarkably calm about it. Which somehow made it worse – I guess I felt I deserved to be ranted and raved at. First, she asked me if I loved the father, and as I’d already thought about it a lot since the . . . event, I said that I didn’t think I did. That I’d just gotten carried away with all the emotion of the night. Then she asked me if I wanted the baby and I told her truthfully that no, I did not. Is that a terrible thing to admit, Electra?’
‘Jeez, no.’ I shook my head. ‘I mean, I’m older than you were then, and I’d feel the same. So, did you have an abortion?’
‘Abortions were illegal in the sixties, even though Cecily said she had made some discreet enquiries and had been told of a good surgeon who did them in secret. So yes, you could say I was offered that choice. But I couldn’t take it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because through Cecily, Rosalind, Terrence and their kids, I’d been brought up a Christian. I believed in God then and I still believe in God now. To take another human life, when that life had no say in the matter, and simply throw it away just because the timing didn’t suit me, was unthinkable. I offered to marry the father, but Kuyia – Cecily – said that I shouldn’t if I didn’t love him, that we would work it out between us. She suggested I defer law school for a year and that she was prepared to take care of the baby for me so I could continue with my education.’
‘She sounds like an incredible human being,’ I said, meaning it.
‘She was my Kuyia; she loved me and I worshipped her,’ Stella shrugged. ‘So that’s what happened. I deferred law school and seven months later, I gave birth to your mother.’
‘So what year was this?’
‘Nineteen sixty-four. The year the Civil Rights Act was finally passed.’
‘I . . .’
Finally, I’m going to hear about my mother, I thought.
‘What was her name?’
‘I called her Rosa, after Rosa Parks, the woman who began it all. And Rosalind, of course.’
‘It’s a lovely name,’ I said.
‘She was a real cute baby, oh boy, was she cute,’ Stella smiled, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Forgive me, Electra, this is your moment to grieve, not mine. I don’t know what’s come over me, I’m usually not the crying kind.’
‘Neither am I. But recently, my waterworks have been spouting all over the place. I guess it’s good to let it out.’
‘Yes, it is. And thank you for being so grown up about what I’ve told you so far.’
‘Hey, I get the feeling that the worst bit is yet to come.’
‘You’re right, it is, I’m afraid.’
‘So?’ I asked as I poured myself some more tea just for something to do. The suspense was killing me.
‘Well, I completed law school whilst Cecily cared for Rosa, then got myself a job in New York working for a ho
using association and lobbying the mayor’s office and anyone I could find for better conditions for the tenants. I’d deal with small disputes, defend women with four kids who were living in one room with no sanitary facilities . . . but what I really wanted to be doing was the big stuff. Then I was offered a chance to join the NAACP – that’s the National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People – in their legal team. We worked with lawyers across the nation, giving advice on how to address civil rights violations.’
‘Excuse me? What does that actually mean?’
‘Say, if a black man had been arrested and it was obvious the evidence against him had been cooked up by the cops, we would investigate, then sit with the defence in court to advise them. Oh Electra, it was a job I’d dreamt about for years and it was all consuming. I had to travel all over the country to brief lawyers in cases.’
‘Which meant you weren’t home often.’
‘I wasn’t, no, but Cecily encouraged me, never once made me feel guilty about the fact she was back home, taking care of Rosa whilst I pursued my career. All went well and I began to make a name for myself in the civil rights world. Then, when Rosa was five, everything changed . . .’
June 1969
‘Bye bye, be a good girl now, won’t you?’ Cecily said as she waved at Rosa, then left the airy classroom that she and Rosalind had painted a bright yellow, so it always looked cheerful and welcoming. It wasn’t her teaching day today, so she headed straight back to her apartment to catch up on work. When Stella had given birth to Rosa, Cecily had cut back on her teaching days in order to be at home with the new baby. Freelance bookkeeping, which she could do at home, brought in a welcome amount of extra cash.
Cecily arrived home feeling weary. Maybe it was simply that she was getting old – she’d be fifty-three this year – or maybe it was just that Rosa was so very demanding compared to Stella. Everything was a struggle – even the simplest act of putting on her shoes could turn into a fight if Rosa wasn’t in the mood to wear them.
The Sun Sister Page 64