11-24-2014, 10:00 AM
Any softening of Natalie's veneer abruptly ended with the addition of the press. Ghostly pale eyes watched one of them pick his way through the refugee camp, any dismay at his presence quickly shored up behind an expression of blank marble. The press had glorified in her father's fall, and had ravaged through her grief for the bones of a story to tell in its wake. She'd yielded little, and her family had bent that weapon as a tool to their will, but she'd never had a hand in those political games. The Northbrook name had endured. But Aaron's later betrayal had only fortified her dislike of privacy metered out for public consumption. She didn't trust the warm smiles and charm of people trading for secrets. Even, and perhaps especially, those who did not announce what they were.
Her gaze broke away, for a moment discarding the concern. She stooped down to the child clung to her leg, the hand rested on the girl's head rounding down her cheek to lift her chin with a finger. Her eyes were raw from tears, black pits to yet another broken child. "Find your strength, Ayo."
There were no platitudes nor kindnesses, much as she wished to offer the empty comfort. An embrace or the whispered promise of a future might have soothed the grief for a while, but for now it was better the girl still fought to rely only on herself, despite how very young she was. "Take the others to the Red Cross quarters. Make yourselves useful for a while."
For a moment the girl looked stung with rejection. Then she scampered away.
Natalie did not send them away to exclude them from the conversation, though she doubted the journalist had come to dig for anything wise for children's ears to hear. For him, it was a story. A pay-check. His name on the byline of an article. For those children it was a grim and hard future, one that did not end when the interest in Sierra Leone faded from the public's eye. But they had little left of such innocence to protect; she sent them away because for the time being she thought they might be safer beneath the banner of the cross than under Azu's wing. Such a timely arrival of journalists might not be simple coincidence, and her mind ticked over the possibilities of Jacques' intentions if it weren't. This was a Temne camp. And it was vulnerable.
Tension cemented her own gut, and she could almost feel it radiating like heat from Jay. She was being cautious, but it felt necessary. With her colleagues, the children might only be seen as children, sheltered by the arms of an organisation famed for its compassion. Not Temne children. Not the children of rebels. But innocents. And maybe in that way they may be spared. If the worst should happen. For that abrupt decision she did not dare look at Azubuike, not because she expected condemnation for sending away his flock, but because she feared to see the grim understanding. There was little protection she could offer him. If the worst should happen. When the worst should happen.
Right now the last thing she wanted to entertain was the distraction of the press. Right now she felt the urgent tug to grill Jay on what he might know of Danjou's plans, if anything. At the very least she wanted the reassurance that he understood the stakes, that if it came to it, he was going to have one hell of a job bundling her back into that SUV. Instead her gaze slid passively to the man who charmed and smiled for an audience. The media painted her cold, and with her unsmiling and formal distance, it was easy to see why. "Education will always be among our priorities here, Mr. Wilson. For now there are more imperative concerns. If you have questions about St. James School, they are best asked of Mr. Timbo."
Her gaze broke away, for a moment discarding the concern. She stooped down to the child clung to her leg, the hand rested on the girl's head rounding down her cheek to lift her chin with a finger. Her eyes were raw from tears, black pits to yet another broken child. "Find your strength, Ayo."
There were no platitudes nor kindnesses, much as she wished to offer the empty comfort. An embrace or the whispered promise of a future might have soothed the grief for a while, but for now it was better the girl still fought to rely only on herself, despite how very young she was. "Take the others to the Red Cross quarters. Make yourselves useful for a while."
For a moment the girl looked stung with rejection. Then she scampered away.
Natalie did not send them away to exclude them from the conversation, though she doubted the journalist had come to dig for anything wise for children's ears to hear. For him, it was a story. A pay-check. His name on the byline of an article. For those children it was a grim and hard future, one that did not end when the interest in Sierra Leone faded from the public's eye. But they had little left of such innocence to protect; she sent them away because for the time being she thought they might be safer beneath the banner of the cross than under Azu's wing. Such a timely arrival of journalists might not be simple coincidence, and her mind ticked over the possibilities of Jacques' intentions if it weren't. This was a Temne camp. And it was vulnerable.
Tension cemented her own gut, and she could almost feel it radiating like heat from Jay. She was being cautious, but it felt necessary. With her colleagues, the children might only be seen as children, sheltered by the arms of an organisation famed for its compassion. Not Temne children. Not the children of rebels. But innocents. And maybe in that way they may be spared. If the worst should happen. For that abrupt decision she did not dare look at Azubuike, not because she expected condemnation for sending away his flock, but because she feared to see the grim understanding. There was little protection she could offer him. If the worst should happen. When the worst should happen.
Right now the last thing she wanted to entertain was the distraction of the press. Right now she felt the urgent tug to grill Jay on what he might know of Danjou's plans, if anything. At the very least she wanted the reassurance that he understood the stakes, that if it came to it, he was going to have one hell of a job bundling her back into that SUV. Instead her gaze slid passively to the man who charmed and smiled for an audience. The media painted her cold, and with her unsmiling and formal distance, it was easy to see why. "Education will always be among our priorities here, Mr. Wilson. For now there are more imperative concerns. If you have questions about St. James School, they are best asked of Mr. Timbo."