Sophie and the Rising Sun (21 page)

But I knew how Miss Ruth’s papa used to go down to the cabin, too. And not for talking to God or for fishing, either. That was the ammunition I had to use now. To protect myself. And Mr. Oto. And Sophie.

“I’ll tell everybody in town about how your own papa used to go down to that cabin, Ruth. And what for.”

“What?” No good manners in her voice then, but a demand that indicated I’d better know what I was talking about. And I did.

“How he used to go down there every so often, and my own papa had to go along, just to take care of him. Keep him from falling into the river!”

Well, she certainly knew what I meant by that. Because Ruth’s papa had been the bulwark of the Baptist Church. He was against laughing out loud on Sunday. Against dancing—anytime. Against strong drink, of course. But every once in a while, he’d go down to my papa’s cabin and take a couple of bottles of fine Kentucky bourbon along with him and—tie one on.

I guess that was a rather vulgar way to put it, but it was true.

Ruth’s face turned bloodred. Of course, she had known about that. But maybe she’d forgotten about it. Maybe having her head up in the air so high made her forget how things really were.

And you know, from the look on her face, I halfway expected her to have a massive stroke right then and there—fall across my bed just as dead as a doornail.

But she didn’t. She just stared and stared at me, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“I mean it,” I said, just to make sure she understood me completely.

She didn’t say another thing, but reached down, picked up her pocketbook, and walked out in a huff. Left me lying there feeling like the meanest human being who ever lived—and also wondering, in another way, if what I’d done was wise or not. Because one of two things would happen—either she would leave it alone, believing that I certainly had meant what I said about spreading that mean gossip about her own papa, who’d been dead for thirty or forty years even then, or else my threat would convince her that there
was
, indeed, something going on at my papa’s cabin. Maybe even that Mr. Oto was probably hiding there, sure enough.

And then she wouldn’t stop until she found out everything there was to know.

My next thought was that I had to get hold of Sophie right away—warn her that Ruth knew she was going to the cabin. And also find out why on earth Sophie was going down there at all. For goodness’ sake, she only had to take fresh water down there and leave it beside the big palm tree and that just on Sunday evenings. Nothing else was necessary. And maybe even get Sophie to find somewhere else we could hide Mr. Oto. Quickly.

“Sally?” I called, and while I listened to her heavy footsteps coming down the hall, I scrawled a quick, blunt note: “Come right away.” And I folded it, sealed it in an envelope, and when Sally came into the room, I handed it to her. “Please take this down to Miss Sophie’s house right away,” I said. “It’s very, very important.”

Big Sally took the envelope and looked at it suspiciously. Then she harrumphed and went to do as I had asked.

It felt like a long time until finally, I heard footsteps on the back steps and then, ever-so-slowly—it seemed—coming down the hallway. But when Big Sally came into my room, she was alone. And she still had the envelope in her hand.

“She’s not home,” she said, simply. But she looked at me rather strangely, I thought, when she handed the envelope back to me. And then she left the room without another word. I must confess that I looked the envelope over very carefully, to see if it had been opened. It hadn’t. But why hadn’t Big Sally left it stuck in Sophie’s door or something like that? Now, here I had it in my hand again, and so I was right back where I started. And all alone with it.

Why, I felt like crying, the way everything was going wrong all over the place. And also because, no matter what Ruth had ever done, it still hurt me to have to talk to her like that.
So that was sitting heavy on my heart, too.

Then Big Sally came back into my room, carrying a tray with two cups of tea on it, just like it was something she did every single day of her life. She placed the tray on my dresser, handed me a cup, and without saying a single word, she took the other cup herself—and sat down in the chair by my bed.

Why, I was so surprised, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

Big Sally sitting there in one of my mama’s side chairs, sipping her tea—rather noisily, I thought—and she didn’t dare look me in the face. Because back then, the rules between whites and blacks were very clear-cut and strong. And not a single one of them that I could think of ever said a thing about having tea together. That’s what I was thinking when she spoke—but not in that gruff voice I was so used to. This voice was soft and warm.

“Just drink your tea, Miss Anne,” she said. “It’ll be all right.”

As if that made everything okay—that’s exactly the way she said it. And the funny thing was that I took a sip of my own tea and then another, and somehow—in a way I’ve never been able to figure out—it was all right. Just like she said. And besides, I’d already had tea with my gardener anyway. So to hell with the rules. I certainly had a lot more than that to worry about.

When we finished, she put both cups on the tray, and only then did she look directly at me.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” she said, speaking very softly. “But you’re a sick lady, and the doctor said I was to take good care of you. So that’s what I’m gonna do. So you better start talking to me right this minute and let me see what I can do to help you.”

Something about her words—or the way she said them—started me to bawling just like a little baby. All that worry and all that stress. And she came and sat down right on the side of my bed and held me in her arms and patted my back, just as if I were a little child, with my mama holding me and patting me and telling me that everything would be all right.

And I told Big Sally everything—absolutely everything.

The words ran right out of me, and I didn’t leave out a single thing. Told her about Mr. Oto being Japanese—kind of. Told her how I’d hidden him in the cabin, and how I had to take Sophie into my confidence about it, once I’d hurt my ankle.

The whole time, she just kept patting me and saying not a word, except for an “unh-huh” from time to time that arose from deep in the bottom of her chest. And when I had finished all the crying and the hiccoughing and the telling of everything there was to tell, she got me a clean handkerchief from the dresser drawer and told me to blow my nose. Then she picked up the tray and started to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” I asked her, because after all, everything was getting completely out of my control—first Sophie knew, and then Ruth started in with her terrible suspicions, and now I’d told Big Sally everything. Why, if I kept on like that, I may as well just go out in the street and holler it to everyone who would listen.

“I’m not going anywhere, right now. But I’ve got some thinking to do. Because I’m gonna take care of you, just like doctor said,” she replied. And that’s all she would say about it. Just went on back in the kitchen and clattered the pots and pans something fierce and scrubbed some more of the flowers off my linoleum floor.

It was about thirty minutes later—seemed to me like a lifetime of lying there and wondering what she meant—when she came back to my room.

“I got it figured,” she said, as if that made sense. “I know where to find Miss Sophie. And I know what needs to be done. Just you rest now, and leave everything to me.”

So she left again. And this time, she didn’t need to take the note.

Sally! Queen Sally! How could I not have recognized you?
Sophie was thinking, though it hadn’t yet converted itself to words she could speak aloud. And thinking, too, that in one way, at least, Big Sally was the very same as she had been all those years ago. She still took it upon herself to be in charge, even though all the little brothers and sisters she’d cared for were surely grown.

“Oh, Sally!” Sophie moaned. “How I wondered about you, after your mama took you all and went to Macon! Why, I used to walk down to that little crab-house restaurant sometimes after you went away, just to remember how much I loved you!”

“Humph!”
Big Sally’s grunt was one of disbelief.

“I did!” Sophie protested. “I did love you! And I still do!”

Another
humph
, but softer. “You stopped coming to play. You let your mama make you stay away ‘cause she said we was dirty!”

“
I
never thought you were dirty!” Sophie protested.

“Maybe not, but you stopped coming,” Big Sally argued.

“I know,” Sophie whispered. “I had to obey my mama. I
had
to.”

“I guess I can understand that,” Big Sally admitted. “I sure enough had to obey
my
mama.”

“And besides,” Sophie added, “it was all Miss Ruth’s fault. All her fault that I lost you.”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” Sally said in a whisper. “A long time ago, but things are still pretty much the same around here.”

“I’m so sorry!” Sophie’s apology was genuine and heartfelt.

“It’s okay,” Big Sally said. “We can’t go back and change what happened.”

“But you came back—you came back to this little town. Did you come back to your mama’s little house under the bridge?”

“I did that, indeed. After my mama passed on.”

“Oh. I’m sad to hear that.”

“Yes—but came on back here to live ‘cause all my brothers and sisters grew up and moved away, so I didn’t have any family left in Macon at all. Only thing for me to do was come back to my mama’s little house, where her spirit and all the spirits of my brothers and sisters still seem to be hanging around. Why, the other morning, I woke up thinking I smelled those crab cakes and hush puppies, just like my mama used to make.”

Sophie smiled at the memory of those wonderful afternoons when Sally’s mama would spread clean newspapers on the backyard table and bring out the steaming hot crab cakes, hush puppies, and fried fish and pile them all in the middle of the table.