“Let me know what?” I asked, but something in the pit of my stomach was beginning to feel more than just a little alarmed, so I reached over to my bedside table for my fingernail file and started filing away at my nails, trying to look a little bored—or at the very least, completely unconcerned.
“That someone’s using your papa’s old fishing cabin, down by the river.”
Well, there it was, then—the worst thing that could happen. But I still didn’t know exactly what she had seen. Or who. Mr. Oto himself? Did she know already exactly who was using that old cabin?
“My papa’s cabin?” I asked, stalling for time until I could figure out just how much she knew.
“Your papa’s cabin. There’s a kerosene lamp there and sheets on the cot. And the strangest picture—painting I’ve ever seen.”
“Did you see who’s there?” It was the question I had to ask, but inside, I could feel my heart cowering at what her answer might be.
“No.” Has there ever been so sweet a word? “But it certainly has something to do with Sophie. I know that much.”
“And just how do you know that?” I asked.
“Because the picture is of her. And some big egret or other. And besides, I’ve watched her going out of her house and down the street for two nights in a row. So this morning, I walked down that way... far on down the road, as you well know. And I found a little path through the palmettos. I thought I remembered your papa’s cabin being down that way somewhere. And I followed that path right to it. It’s a pretty well-used path, too.”
I was thinking hard... thinking fast. Because everything hinged on whether or not I could throw Ruth off the track until we could make some other arrangements for hiding Mr. Oto. Damn!
“Sophie can go there if she wants to,” I replied.
“So you knew about that, then!” I could sense an Aha! in her tone.
“I knew about it. Of course,” I said.
“Well, I’ll bet you didn’t know that she’s meeting somebody down there, did you?” Ruth sounded completely happy to drop that tidbit of gossip on me.
“That’s ridiculous,” I answered, but again in what I hoped sounded like a completely unconcerned tone of voice. “Sophie can use my papa’s cabin anytime she wants to,” I said.
“But what’s she doing there?” Ruth wasn’t going to let it alone. If I ever doubted that, I doubted it no longer.
“Painting, that’s what,” I said, warming to the idea of that explanation. For it certainly tied in quite nicely with what Ruth said about seeing a picture down there.
“Why would she need sheets on the bed for that?” Ruth shot back at me. And she wasn’t through, yet. “You know, of course, that I never did believe that story you told about that foreign man of yours. I just wonder... are you hiding him out down there?”
And that’s the precise moment when I realized that I was engaged in a very deadly exchange with her. Whatever faults Ruth may have had, and there were certainly plenty of them—just like with all of us—she wasn’t stupid. So right then and there, I made up my mind what I had to do, even though I certainly didn’t like doing it. Because in spite of Ruth’s ugly gossip and the way it had already hurt Sophie, I still hated to do the same thing to her.
“Ruth, we’ve known each other for a long time, but I’m telling you to stop this gossiping about Sophie. And about some cock-and-bull story you’ve dreamed up about Mr. Oto. I want you to leave it alone.”
“Leave what alone?” she asked, somewhat innocently. See? I told you she was plenty sharp.
“Whatever it is your dirty little mind is imagining,” I said, and watched her face as those cruel words sank in. And I didn’t enjoy it one little bit. Because Ruth and I were both raised to be as mannerly as possible—just like most Southern women, especially in little towns like this one—and this kind of open confrontation wasn’t something either one of us was used to. Not really.
“Why, Anne!” She drew back in dismay, and I had to remind myself that this was her usual tack, whenever she suspected she was close to any kind of direct unpleasantness. I guess her philosophy was that it was all right to gossip like mad about someone, as long as you didn’t hurt their feelings where you could see them suffering.
“I’m not through, Ruth,” I said, and I lowered my voice a bit, just in case Big Sally was snooping around in the hallway outside my room. “You will stop this gossiping and stop it right now. Sophie is a fine, honorable lady. And Mr. Oto is gone. So you will not go to my papa’s cabin again. But Sophie may go there anytime she pleases. Do you understand me?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t understand one little bit. What on earth has gotten into you, Anne?”
But I ignored her question. Because I’d gone too far by then to back down. Why, I’d looked her right in the face and flat-out, stomp-down lied. Not a light kind of lie, like Mr. Oto going to Canada. Because all I had to do, basically, was tell a few people and they spread it around for me. But this was a bald-faced, go-to-hell lie.
And you know, even all these years later, if I had it to do over again, I’d do it exactly the same way.
“Just you hear what I’m saying,” I went on. Like I couldn’t stop being mean, once I’d gotten started with it. “You leave Sophie alone. Or so help me, I’ll... start spreading some gossip of my own.”
“About what?” she asked smugly, and there it was again, that sanctimony. My own papa used to say: “God save me from the churchgoers who hang up their religion with their Sunday pants!” Mostly, he said that whenever Mama started in on him about his not going to church. “Talk better to God and listen better, too, right down there by the river,” he used to say. And that’s where he always spent his Sunday mornings. And a kinder, gentler, more honest and godly man never lived on this earth.
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 ev
erything 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.
Chapter Twenty-nine
All Big Sally had to do was walk across the street and then cut down behind the Baptist Church and out along a sandy path until she came to the riverbank. And there Sophie was, sitting in the old canvas chair—in that strange, still heat—and gazing out at the slow-moving river.
Sophie jumped just a little when she heard Big Sally clumping toward her.
“Is Miss Anne all right?” Sophie asked, seeing how Big Sally was moving toward her at quite a rapid pace.
“She’s all right—gonna be a lot better time I get done doing what needs doing.” With that, Big Sally sat down on the ground right by Sophie’s chair with a grunt and plucked a few sprigs of weed to twirl in her fingers before she began talking right out toward the river, as if that’s what she were speaking to. As if Sophie weren’t even there.
“We’ve all got funny things about us. Places inside us that’s specially tender—little sore spots, you might say. Take me, for instance. I know how all the ladies in this town make fun of me. How I want everything so clean. But there’s a good reason for it.’’
She stopped and looked up at Sophie, full in the face, staring.
“I guess you don’t remember me anymore,” Big Sally said. “But you used to play with me. Before your mama made you stop coming.” Big Sally’s eyes sparkled bitterly. “Before your mama said we was dirty. You used to call me Queen Sally. Said it was a special name for me ‘cause I was your friend.’’
Sophie looked at the broad, dark face—the deep, unsmiling eyes and pendulous lips. Magically, the face of Sally slowly began to emerge. Sally—her friend of a childhood that had ended so long ago. The large, liquid eyes, always somber under the straight, dark brows. The childish mouth held in a tight line, as if in imitation of a disapproving adult. And how, even when it was Sally’s turn to be pushed in the tire swing, she never smiled, but kept her baleful stare on the younger children—that was the job her mama had given her, watching the younger ones—so that as she swung back and forth in long, gliding sweeps, the eyes slid back and forth, back and forth, always on the children. Large and serious eyes so misplaced in a child’s face.
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 ab
out 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.
Sophie and the Rising Sun Page 14