"We shouldn't be babying her now, Mother. She's done a terrible thing to all of us," I said, feeling abused too. Mother just held her gaze, pleading with her eyes. I turned and hurried out of the room and down the stairs.
Carmelita had finally been roused by the sound of the footsteps on the stairway and the activity above. She was a tall, very dark skinned, half-Portuguese, half-Negro woman, what we called a Brava on the Cape, and she had been working for our family for the last ten years. She was in her mid-forties, lean, with a narrow face and eyes the color of obsidian. Carmelita was the perfect maid and cook for our family because she was strong, efficient and discreet. She seemed to have no opinions about any of us and kept to herself when she wasn't working.
Her licorice-black hair was down to her shoulders when she emerged from her quarters to greet me. She was in her nightgown and robe.
"Is someone sick?" she asked.
"Belinda," I said.
"Oh. Is there anything I can do?"
"No thank you, Carmelita," I said. "I can take care of it," I said firmly. She f
ixed those dark eyes on my face for a moment and, expressionless, nodded and returned to her maid's quarters at the rear of the house. I knew she didn't believe-me, but even when I was just a young girl, Carmelita never challenged anything I told her.
When I was in the kitchen getting Belinda's drink, Daddy came in through the rear door off the pantry. He stood there a moment, his face streaked with sweat, his hands caked with dirt.
"It's done," he said. "How is it up there?" he asked, his eyes shifting toward the ceiling.
"Mother's with her. I'm just getting her a cold drink." Daddy nodded and looked at his smudged wrists and hands before looking back at me.
"You understand why I'm doing it this way, don't you, Olivia? The bottom line is it's the best way to protect the family."
"I understand, Daddy."
"She told you no one else knows about this?"
"That's what she said," I replied, not without a smirk of skepticism that Daddy chose to ignore.
"Good," he said. "Good."
"She won't tell me who the father is, however," I added. "She claims she doesn't know."
He shook his head.
"Maybe it's better. We can't go accusing someone and stir up a nest of hornets."
"Whoever it is, he shouldn't get away with it, Daddy."
"It's done and over," he said. "Let it all be buried," he added and then left to wash up before returning to see Belinda. Once again, I thought, my spoiled sister gets away with something terrible.
When I returned to Belinda's room with her water, I found Mother had her lying back
comfortably. I gave her the cold drink and she sipped it and smiled up at me.
"Thank you, Olivia. I'm sorry I put you through so much."
"Yes, you did," I said without flinching. She looked like she would burst into tears again and make Mother feel more terrible. "Just rest now, Belinda. You don't want to get seriously ill," I added mercifully. She changed her expression instantly to one of gratitude and then reached out to take my hand.
"You're my best sister," she said. I nearly laughed. "I'm your only sister, Belinda."
"I know, but you're so good to me."
"She is good to you. She's good to all of us," Mother said smiling at me. "What we all have to do now is get some rest."
"How can anyone sleep after this?" I muttered. If Mother heard, she chose to ignore me.
Daddy came to the door and looked in at us. "Well?" he asked.