“Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.” Rosa led Esther and Jake into the living room. She lifted a stack of heavy books sprouting yellow lined papers from the sofa and looked around for a place to put them. Similar piles lined the top of the bookshelves, jammed between empty Chianti bottles with candle stubs and drips of hardened wax.
“There’s no place to sit, Allen,” she called. “Come move your mess.”
“It just looks disorganized.” Allen grabbed the files and glared at Rosa on his way to the den.
“Should I put the barley in the oven to heat up?” Without waiting for an answer, Esther took the casserole from Jake and walked into the kitchen.
Rosa followed her. “Need anything?”
“A potholder?”
Rosa used a dishtowel to make room in the oven. She hoped Esther appreciated the effort she’d made with this meal. A whole chicken sizzled, surrounded by roasting potatoes and carrots and onions. That was as domestic as she got. The four of them used to eat together frequently— spontaneous meals of pasta or stir fry prepared between an afternoon of writing leaflets and an evening meeting—while they argued tactics or danced around the kitchen to the Supremes. That happened rarely now. This time Rosa had called two days ahead of time to invite them and suggested a babysitter for Molly so they could focus on the issues without interruption. She even borrowed a tablecloth from Mama.
She’d been making an effort to be patient with Esther, too. In the two weeks since their arraignment, she called her sister every day. “What are you thinking about the trial?” she’d ask. Or, “Listen to this about the necessity defense. I think we’ve got a good chance.” Esther appeared to listen, but she didn’t seem convinced, no matter how compelling Rosa’s arguments, how relevant the case law. Tomorrow morning the DA expected Esther’s decision about her plea. Tonight was Rosa’s last chance to change her sister’s mind.
Allen handed a glass of wine to Esther, another to Rosa.
“Cheers.” Allen raised his glass and clicked it against Jake’s coffee mug.
Rosa smiled at the two men. Best friends since summer camp, but so different. Skinny Jake, hair thinning on top even at seventeen, had always been brainy and quiet. Burly Allen, sporting a beard in defiance of camp rules, had been too heavy to be a stellar athlete, but was still the first person chosen for Capture the Flag teams.
“To ending the war. And to working together,” Rosa added, clinking her glass to the others. “We’re family. You guys are practically brothers.”
“I could use a brother,” Jake said. “These charges are scary.”
“They’re trying to scare us,” Rosa said, leaning forward. “Which is why it’s so important to fight back. What are you going to tell the DA tomorrow, Esther?”
Jake answered quickly. “Joel recommends that Esther take the DA’s offer. Plead guilty to the lesser charges. Pay the fine and get on with her life. Our lives.”
“If you do that,” Rosa said, “you’ll have to testify against me.”
Esther buried her face in Jake’s neck. Allen frowned at Rosa and stood up. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
Rosa tried to look apologetic. She’d promised Allen to go slow, not push Esther too hard. But she couldn’t help it. This was too important. Still, he was probably right. “Sorry. I’ll put the food out.”
Rosa noted Esther’s small smile. Their women’s group had spent the entire last meeting discussing the politics of housework. Rosa insisted that men must be forced into doing their share of laundry and cooking and cleaning. “You wouldn’t expect slave owners to volunteer to help in the fields, would you?” Esther argued that their men weren’t slave owners and they could change. She must’ve primed Jake to prove her point.
“Listen,” Rosa said when they were seated around the table. “Our defense is much stronger if we stick together. I want a jury trial. I know I can make people on a jury understand.”
“It’s all about you, isn’t it?” Esther passed the platter of chicken to Jake. “What I want, what I need, is to take care of Molly.”
“Don’t you understand? This is about more than one baby.” She reached across the table and seized Esther’s chin, capturing her gaze. “I can’t believe you won’t fight this with me. Won’t stand up for the principle. Don’t you remember our vow?”
How could Esther forget the final night of their last summer together at camp, when the four of them met at midnight at the Peace Crane sculpture? They pledged to dedicate their lives to each other and to changing the world—joining with their parents, Leah, and all the other freedom fighters through history.
“Of course I remember, but this is different.” Esther whipped her head side to side, trying to loosen Rosa’s grip. “What’s the principle here? Our inalienable right to hurt horses and cops? Besides, sometimes you have to compromise.”
Rosa refused to let go of Esther’s chin, not when her sister was breaking her heart. She pushed back tears and tried to control her voice. “You can’t compromise about the war.”
“And you can’t bully me into this.” Esther swatted Rosa’s hand away, then reached for her glass.
Rosa watched Esther’s hand tremble, sloshing the red liquid against the glass. This must be hard for her too. Maybe her mind wasn’t totally made up. If only Rosa could find the right argument to convince her.
“So every woman with a baby abandons the movement?” Rosa said, trying to keep her tone low-key. “That’s it? No more activism, no more responsibility for changing the world? Just changing diapers?”
Rosa felt a little guilty saying that. She could see how Esther struggled trying to balance Molly and meetings. Maybe she herself didn’t make it easier, always pointing it out when Esther begged off an action, instead of offering to help with childcare. In the future, she would help more. But this trial was different. Esther had to understand. They had to work together on this.
“I’m not talking about everyone,” Esther said. “Just about what feels right for me. And I’m not abandoning the movement, you know. I’m just choosing to avoid prison. Not all activists have to go to jail. Besides, we’re guilty, remember? We did it. Don’t you ever think about that cop?”
Of course Rosa thought about the cop. And these days her emotions seemed to be on heightened alert. She teared up at the smallest things. “I try not to,” she said. “The cops were brutal and we had to act.”
“Get real.” Jake jabbed his finger, glistening with chicken grease, at Rosa. “You think you’re Bernardine Dohrn or Angela Davis? Well, you’re not.”
“I wish I were! They make a big difference. I bet their families are proud of their actions.”
Jake’s laugh was rough. “You didn’t bomb a napalm lab or defend the barricades in Paris or storm the Pentagon, Rosa. You’re proud of throwing rocks?”
“Apples.”
“Apples. At a horse, a poor dumb beast. Street fighting like a thug is nothing to be proud of.”
“Not street fighting, exactly. More like a spontaneous act of rebellion, motivated by profound love for the Vietnamese people.”
“Get a grip, Rosa. You’re not Che either.” Jake swiped at the grease on his hand.
Damn him. Jake could be so condescending. “You get a grip, Doctor. This is serious stuff. The DA takes it seriously. Look at the charges.”
“The charges do increase the political significance.” Allen’s voice was low, soothing. Under the table, he rested his hand on Rosa’s thigh. “Conspiracy is what they charge when they really want to nail you big time. We could set important legal precedent here.”
“Precedent?” Jake said. “For the right to throw apples?”
“I’m talking about political targeting,” Allen said. “Because Rosa and Esther are known activists, leaders in the movement. Plus, we do have some other investigatory avenues to explore, things that could blow holes in their case.”
Jake looked skeptical. “Like what?”
“Like the photographer, the hero of the day, sitting across the street. If it was so clear to him what Rosa and Esther were doing, why didn’t he try to stop them? Or warn the cops? See, he didn’t take it too seriously either, until the horse was hit and the officer thrown. That might help us.” Allen helped himself to more barley casserole.
“You can’t have it both ways.” Esther pushed her plate away. “One minute, you’re acting out of revolutionary fervor to save the defenseless protestors against the armed cops. In the next breath, it’s just a little tossed apple, Officer, merely a prank. Which one is it, Rosa?”
“Whatever it takes. This is war.”
“I don’t want war,” Esther said. “War is what we’re against.”
It’s not that simple, Rosa thought. Sometimes the battleground felt so big it made her chest ache. How could they ever right all the wrongs? Maybe Esther was right—maybe she was trying to do too much. But how did you choose what to fight? And how did you accept giving up some battles? It made her stomach clutch and dive, and for a moment she thought she would throw up all over the faded lilacs on Mama’s best tablecloth. She took slow, shallow breaths, and tried to make her voice quiet.
“We don’t have to agree about everything, Esther. Let’s just stick together, like we always do.”
“You mean, let’s do it your way.” Esther folded her napkin and tucked it under the edge of her plate. “I can’t do that. Not anymore. Not with Molly.”