The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters)

by Lucinda Riley

  It was a white man’s account, written by a big game hunter who’d been captured by a clan whilst out on their territory. He’d managed to barter his way out of death by offering them his shotgun and had eventually befriended them. The one thing that struck Cecily above all was the barbarous way they treated their women.

  She particularly blanched at the descriptions of the female circumcision ‘ceremony’ detailed in the book, and occasionally had to put it down to gather herself. She felt light-headed at the thought of her own private parts being abused that way.

  As she switched off the light to head for bed, she thought about the proud woman-child sleeping out tonight under her canopy of animal skins. And for the first time in a while, counted herself lucky to be so privileged.

  The next morning, armed with Bill’s basic dictionary of Maa words and offerings of potatoes and carrots that could be cooked in the pot over the fire, Cecily made her way through the woods once more. Nygasi gave her an almost imperceptible smile and a small bow as she entered the clearing.

  ‘Hello, Nygasi. Look,’ Cecily said as she dug in her canvas bag, ‘I brought some things for Njala to eat and to make her more comfortable. Is she here?’

  Nygasi nodded and went to get Njala as Cecily laid out her wares.

  ‘Takwena, Njala,’ she greeted her, once again mesmerised by her beauty as she approached the fire pit. Dragging her eyes away from the young woman’s face, she stared at her middle, but it was still covered by the swathes of the long red shawl, so the bump could have been fabric or baby. Whichever it was, it didn’t look that large, but then again, Cecily thought, there was more room for a baby inside Njala’s six-foot frame than there was in her own at just over five feet.

  ‘Here, I brought you a pillow.’

  Njala raised her elegant brow in confusion.

  ‘I’ll show you.’ Cecily placed the pillow on the earth beside her and laid her head upon it. ‘For sleeping. You try?’ Cecily offered the pillow to Njala, who accepted it as if Cecily was a maid serving her queen.

  ‘And here are some potatoes and carrots.’ Cecily took out one of each and showed the girl. Nygasi nodded in approval and came forward to take them.

  ‘Can you ask Njala if there’s anything else she needs?’ Cecily asked Nygasi.

  Nygasi did so, but the girl shook her head.

  ‘Today, I get cow.’ Nygasi indicated the placid animal munching on the grass beneath a tree, tethered on a long piece of rope. ‘Good for baby,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes, it is,’ said Cecily. ‘Just let me know if there’s anything else either of you needs. Etaa sere.’ Cecily stumbled over the words that meant ‘goodbye’.

  ‘Etaa sere.’ It was Njala who replied, her childlike tone at odds with her womanly physique.

  With a tentative smile and a nod at the two Maasai, Cecily left the clearing.

  In the following month, Cecily found herself drawn to the young woman who lived in the woods. Rather than walking across the open fields that gave such wonderful views of the valley below, once the heat of the day had passed she and Wolfie would set off to visit their young neighbour. November brought with it sudden heavy downpours that made Cecily worry for Njala’s health, but she remained safe and dry within her little shelter, as Nygasi had had the foresight to build it on a raised mound so it would not flood.

  At first, Njala would only stand behind Nygasi as Cecily took her daily offerings out of her bag. The chickens Bill had bartered for from a Kikuyu were proving to be wonderful egg layers, so she had plenty to spare.

  The first time she’d taken eggs to Njala, Cecily had watched the girl grimace in distaste as she had whispered something to Nygasi.

  ‘She say come from bird bottom,’ Nygasi had imparted solemnly and Cecily had had to stifle a giggle.

  ‘Tell her that eggs are good for baby. Look, I’ll show you.’

  Cecily had commandeered the pan that sat beside the fire and mixed two eggs with a little milk, still warm from the cow’s udder, adding a little salt and pepper from the twists of paper she’d brought with her.

  ‘There, you try it,’ she’d said, offering it to Njala once it was cooked. The girl had shaken her head firmly.

  ‘See?’ Having no fork or spoon, Cecily had used her fingers to take some of the scrambled egg into her mouth. ‘Good. Supat.’

  Njala had looked to Nygasi, who had nodded encouragingly, then she’d stepped forward and dipped her own long fingers into the pan. With an expression that looked as though she was about to eat poison, she’d tasted the concoction.

  ‘See? Supat.’ Cecily had rubbed her stomach.

  Njala had reached for more, so Cecily had offered her the pan and, finally, the girl had knelt down and eaten the remainder contentedly.

  After that, Cecily took her guest eggs every day, and thought that Njala was actually starting to look pleased to see her. She only wished she could communicate better with her and tell her that she understood her plight. So she had begun to take the small chalkboard she kept in the kitchen to mark up reminders of groceries she needed to purchase.

  ‘Can Njala write?’ she had asked Nygasi, demonstrating the movement with her chalk.

  He had shaken his head.

  ‘Oh. Then perhaps I could help teach her. Here.’ Cecily had beckoned Njala closer. Then she had written ‘Njala’ in large letters on the board and drawn a star beside the name. She had shown the girl the letters, pointing to them, then to Njala.

  ‘Njala – you.’ She had gone through the same process for her own name and finally, after much gesticulating, the girl had seemed to understand.

  ‘Njala.’ She had pointed at herself. ‘Cecily.’ She pointed to Cecily.

  ‘Yes, me!’ Cecily had clapped her hands together in delight and Njala too had smiled, showing off her lovely white teeth.

  From then on, after Njala had eaten her eggs, Cecily would write basic words such as ‘Hello’ on the board. She would consult the Maa dictionary and ask Nygasi to provide her with the correct pronunciation. As Cecily repeated the Maa word, Njala hesitantly spoke the English word. After a couple of weeks, not only was Njala able to string a basic English sentence together, but Cecily found the girl waiting for her eagerly in the clearing. Cecily didn’t quite know how to describe it, but slowly a warmth developed between them. One morning, she saw Njala wince and clutch her stomach.

  ‘Baby kicking?’ Cecily mimed the movement with her foot and Njala nodded.

  ‘Can I touch?’ She reached out her hand to Njala’s stomach. The girl took her hand and placed it on her own belly.

  ‘Oh my!’ Cecily breathed as she felt the movement of a limb beneath the ebony skin. It made her want to weep with joy and sorrow in equal measure. ‘He or she is strong! Strong!’ she repeated, flexing her arm muscle, and both of them giggled.

  ‘You look very bright and breezy tonight,’ Bill commented as Cecily made supper. He hadn’t been home for the past three weeks, unable to get away from his desk at the War Office in Nairobi. What with her newfound friendship with Njala, Cecily had hardly noticed.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I feel it.’

  ‘Then you’re probably the only one in Kenya who does,’ Bill sighed. ‘Things are pretty grim in Nairobi, I can tell you, especially with the blackouts. The town is heaving with the military.’

  ‘There have been no airstrikes yet, though?’

  ‘Only one in Malindi down on the coast last month, but since Mussolini declared war, there have been skirmishes between the Allies and the Italian army on Kenyan soil; everyone’s preparing for an invasion from the Abyssinian border. You can’t move around town without tripping over a sandbag.’

  ‘Oh, how awful,’ Cecily said distractedly as she placed supper on the table and sat down opposite Bill.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I have been asked to take command of a battalion of the King’s African Rifles.’

  That made Cecily look up at him. ‘Does that mean you’ll be fighting?’

  �
�I’ll be overseeing recruitment and organising troop movements at first, but I’ll be damned if I don’t fight with my men if it comes down to it. Anyway, for now it’s good to be home, it really is.’

  ‘Want to finish up the last of our gin?’ Cecily asked him, suddenly feeling guilty for her lack of thought towards him.

  ‘Why not?’ he said as she stood up to get it. ‘Even old Muthaiga Club is running dry, what with the influx of army personnel. I think you’d better rekindle your relationship with your godmother.’ He gave her a wan smile as she handed him a glass. ‘Her cellar never seems to run dry. Tchin tchin.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Cecily toasted.

  ‘So, what have you been doing with yourself up here since I saw you last?’

  ‘Oh, the garden, of course – I never realised how demanding rows of carrots and cabbages could be – but I’ve also been visiting Njala every day.’

  Bill looked up at her in astonishment. ‘Have you indeed?! Well now, there’s a thing. How is she?’

  ‘She’s very well indeed, as a matter of fact. Holy moly, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?’

  ‘She certainly is, yes.’

  ‘I’ve been taking her eggs and teaching her a little English. And I’ve even learnt to speak some Maa.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Bill studied his wife. ‘Who would have thought it?’

  ‘Thought what?’

  ‘That you and a Maasai girl would strike up a friendship?’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re looking so surprised, given that you spend half your time with them.’

  ‘Sadly, no longer, but I hear what you’re saying.’

  ‘Bill . . .?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do you . . . would you know how Njala ended up pregnant?’

  ‘Well, I would assume in the usual way.’

  ‘I mean, was she, umm, willing?’ Cecily blushed.

  ‘You mean, was this some kind of a mutual relationship or was she taken by force?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t answer that, but in my experience, the daughter of a chief, especially if she’s beautiful, is a precious and well-guarded commodity. So I would imagine that Njala herself must have had something to do with making the necessary . . . arrangements for a tryst.’

  ‘She loved someone else who was not her intended?’

  ‘Maybe, but who knows?’ Bill sighed. ‘Sadly, a Maasai woman’s path is rarely one she chooses for herself.’

  ‘I understand. She makes me feel real blessed,’ Cecily agreed.

  ‘Exactly. One can always find another whose suffering is far greater. Now then, given that you seem to be in a more social mood these days, I was wondering if you’d mind if I brought Joss up here for the weekend? He’s closed up the Djinn Palace on the lake since his wife Molly died. He can’t afford to run the damned place and is stuck in his bungalow in town, heavily involved with the war effort like we all are. He’s gagging for some fresh air, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Okay, why not?’ Cecily agreed. ‘We haven’t had guests since . . . well, since we moved in.’

  ‘No, and even given my hermit tendencies, it really is time we did. There’s also a new couple in town – Jock Delves Broughton and his young wife, Diana. They’ve moved here from England to escape the war. Not that you can fully escape it at the moment, but at least the weather here is better, I suppose,’ said Bill with a shrug. ‘Joss has suggested we could invite them to stay too. Diana isn’t much older than you and it might be good for you to meet someone of your own age.’

  ‘All right, though you’ll have to find us some meat because there’s scarcely any in the butcher’s in town.’

  ‘Surely you could slaughter one of your chickens?’

  ‘I couldn’t do that!’ Cecily looked horrified. ‘They all have names. And besides, they’re providing us with eggs every day.’

  ‘I knew it.’ Bill rolled his eyes. ‘All right then, I’ll ask Nygasi to see what he can arrange and invite Joss and the Broughtons up to Paradise Farm next weekend.’

  Despite waking up the following morning in a cold sweat, wondering how she could have possibly agreed to having weekend guests, Cecily found she actually enjoyed preparing for them. No one other than Katherine and Bobby had been to the house since they’d moved in – the housewarming party they’d tentatively planned had been put on hold because of Cecily’s tragedy. She scrubbed the house until everything gleamed, adding blooms from the burgeoning garden to stand in vases on the polished surfaces. She’d invited Katherine too – Bobby was unable to get leave, which was convenient as it meant there were even numbers of men and women, something her mother had always deemed important for a dinner party.

  On the Friday the guests were due to arrive, Cecily dug out the remaining bottles of champagne from Kiki’s hampers, which she hoped would make the party go with a swing, and put them in the refrigerator to cool. Having not seen Njala for the past couple of days, she then set off with Wolfie for the woods. As she approached the clearing and saw the girl appear immediately from her shelter, Cecily thought how full Njala’s stomach had grown. No longer was she covering it up, but instead, she wore a piece of fabric fashioned into a skirt beneath the bump. Cecily had the distinct feeling that Njala’s time was not far off.

  ‘Supai, Nygasi,’ she said as she approached. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Baby near,’ he said as they walked together towards Njala.

  ‘But she is well?’

  Nygasi nodded.

  ‘When will you send for her mother?’

  ‘Mother come soon,’ Nygasi said.

  ‘Hello, Cecily,’ Njala smiled as they arrived by her side. Then she turned to Nygasi, and like a queen dismissing her serf, flicked him away with her hand. Nygasi nodded and wandered off beyond the clearing.

  ‘How are you?’

  Njala held her bump and rolled her eyes expressively.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Cecily then touched her brow and swept her hand across it to indicate fatigue.

  Heading to the side of the clearing and indicating Cecily should follow, Njala led her into the protection of a dense copse of trees. Then she turned and grabbed both Cecily’s hands in her own. Her eyes were suddenly filled with fear.

  ‘You,’ she said, ‘help.’ Removing her hands from Cecily’s, she indicated her belly then made a cradling motion with her arms.

  ‘Help? You mean help with the birth?’ Cecily then mimed the cradling action too.

  ‘Yes. Help. Please.’

  ‘Njala, your mother is coming to help,’ she enunciated slowly.

  ‘No! Help baby! Please, Cecily!’

  Like a shadow, Nygasi appeared behind Njala. He spoke to her in Maa, indicating she should return to the clearing.

  ‘You go home now,’ Nygasi told Cecily firmly.

  Njala turned towards her, her eyes full of everything she could not say.

  ‘Please, help baby,’ she mouthed as Nygasi led her away.

  Cecily was still thinking about Njala and trying to interpret what she had meant when Bill arrived home later that afternoon.

  ‘The house looks wonderful, my dear, and so do you.’ He smiled at her as she emerged from the bedroom in her green dress, ready to make the final preparations for supper. ‘I like your hair longer.’ He picked up a ringlet that fell to just below her shoulders and twirled it round a finger.

  ‘It’s only long because there’s no one around here I trust to cut it.’

  ‘Well, I like it, and you should wear it down more often. Now, I’m off to have a rare soak in the tub. They’re rationing water at Muthaiga Club these days, as we’re stuffed to the gills in there – it’s two men per room just now, and you remember how small those rooms are,’ he added as he turned to walk off in the direction of the bathroom.

  ‘Oh, and Bill?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I saw Njala today, and she seemed upset . . . almost frightened. I think she said that she wanted me to help with the birth. I explained that her moth
er is coming to help her, but I’m not sure she understood. Her time must be real close. You will ask Nygasi to make sure her mother comes soon, won’t you? I couldn’t bear it if anything . . .’ – Cecily gulped – ‘happened to her.’

  ‘Of course I will. Njala knows her mother will arrive when it’s time. You probably misunderstood her.’

  ‘Probably.’

  But as Bill closed the door and she heard the sound of the water running, Cecily knew for certain she hadn’t mistaken the fear in Njala’s eyes.

  Cecily and Bill’s guests arrived an hour later than expected. Joss Erroll – even though he looked exhausted – was as handsome as ever, and Jock, aka Sir Henry John Delves Broughton, turned out to be a tall elderly Englishman who sported a large paunch and a head of thinning grey hair.

  ‘Please, m’dear, call me Jock. This is m’wife, Diana. Nice for you to have someone of your own age to play with, eh, old girl? Diana’s surrounded by octogenarians in Nairobi,’ Jock chuckled.

  ‘I’m sure that Cecily will agree there aren’t many of us under thirty here, are there?’ replied his wife.

  ‘Er, no, there sure aren’t,’ she smiled, unable to stop staring at the striking blonde woman standing in front of her. Diana Delves Broughton was definitely what some would call a ‘looker’, and for the life of her, Cecily couldn’t understand what such a woman was doing with a man old enough to be her father – or even grandfather.

  ‘This is utterly charming,’ Diana said as Cecily led the party into the sitting room, where Katherine was already cracking open the champagne. ‘We’re camping out at Muthaiga Club at the moment.’

  ‘Now, m’dear, you know it’s only temporary – we’ll be moving into the villa in Karen in a few days,’ Jock reminded her.

  ‘A ghastly dark one in the suburbs of Nairobi,’ Diana muttered under her breath.