Epilogue

Eight Months Later

Dear Winnie,

I’ve put off writing you this letter for the longest time – ever since that terrible night, but even before that. Long before that. But the time has come now to write it. Everything happened so quickly, afterwards, and I’ve never seen you since. You said it wasn’t my fault but of course it was.

What I’ve wanted to say to you all this time, what I tried to say to you that night is: I’ve changed. I really have. People can change, you know. Yes, you know that. You of all people know that. I need to ask your forgiveness. For everything.

I was so blind, Winnie. It was Mary who turned everything around. The moment I saw that girl something in me melted: something hard and unrelenting and proud and self-obsessed. Selfish! The moment I saw her that day on the Sea Wall: that’s when it happened. I had to have her, Winnie. I’m sorry but that’s the truth. I knew from that moment on that I had to have her – have her back. I know I was harsh the way I went about it but there was no other way as you would not have given her up willingly – would you? You wouldn’t.

I had to have her back because I needed her as you don’t. You didn’t need to learn the lessons of love – I did. And only Mary could teach me. Only she could teach me that love is the greatest, the strongest, the holiest thing on earth. Only she could heal me. And she did. I don’t know if I am completely healed but I’m getting there, Winnie, I am. All that hard miserable mixed-up mess that made me such a horrible person – it’s gone, it’s going. I’m making progress. Remember what Mama used to say: we live in order to learn the lessons of love. That’s what I’m learning, and Mary is teaching me. You were a natural for those lessons. I wasn’t. But I am now.

That night I was so stupid. So blind. So blind in my own happiness I could not see you – not really. I could not see your grief and righteous anger. I honestly thought you had already understood that I had to have Mary and had come to visit her, as a friend and sister. I was so eager to let you know I had changed I did not see you. That’s what selfishness does. It blinds you to the feelings of others. You care only for yourself. You’re like a mule with blinkers. That was me, that night, stupidly chattering away unable to see you were about to explode!

So that’s my explanation. Mary has healed me, is healing me. I hope that is reason enough for you to at last forgive me. For everything. But because you are the better of us two, and the stronger, I feel you will. I hope you will. I know you will.

I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Sorry about George, sorry about the pain I caused you.

I’m not sorry that Mary is with me. I can’t be sorry about that. I just can’t. I am sorry I did it the way I did.

I don’t think you’ll care about my news, but I’ll tell you anyway. Jim has been doing well running Promised Land since my departure. As soon as he got my telegram Geoff booked my passage to America and here I am: we married soon after my arrival. You must have heard that from Mama.

But I do not like it here. That is, I like it well enough but it is not the place for Mary. I am a stranger here; the people I have met, those high-class plantation ladies, look down on me because of Mary and I really have no explanation for her existence that would satisfy their judgement. She is a bastard, of mixed race, and there is no place for her here, as there is in BG. She would grow up here an outcast, a pariah, bullied and excluded. She and I, we do not fit in. Geoff was brave to send for us both, but he should have known better. But men never do, do they? Also, since I am here, I have seen his true nature and I do not like it, Winnie. He reminds me so much of Papa – do you remember how shocked we were, when we saw that particular side of Papa? Geoff is the same. Charming and chivalrous on the outside, but a heart of steel when it comes to those beneath him. So for all these reasons we have decided to part company. It will be an amicable divorce as he too sees that we do not belong together. I suppose I am married to the Corentyne, to Promised Land. I cannot be happy anywhere else, not even in Georgetown.

Promised Land might be just a heap of ashes now, but it shall rise again. I shall build it up, make it great, just as I have always promised myself.

So I am coming home. We are coming home, Mary and I. I have already booked my passage and will arrive on 4 March. I am hoping that by then you have forgiven me. That you will allow Mary and myself to stay in your home for a while – there are matters in Georgetown I need to attend to.

I will rebuild Promised Land, Winnie. I will. You and the boys will always have a home there. The boys need to know their heritage, know the smell of burnt sugar. Perhaps one of them will be interested in sugar farming. Who knows? Mary is their sister; it will be wonderful for her to have eight brothers.

So this is what I am asking. For your forgiveness, and a place in your heart, and in your home. Let me be the sister I was meant to be, before everything went so very wrong! I write this with tears in my eyes, Winnie, and I beg you from the bottom of my heart. Because Mary may have healed me but it is your love that will make me whole. Love me as you used to do. Love me again.

Please give my regards to George. I want to say sorry to him too, in person, but I know he isn’t as forgiving as you. Nevertheless: I am sorry. Please tell him that.

In all sincerity,

Your sister Yoyo