Sophie and the Rising Sun (16 page)

“Just don’t pay any attention to her.” Miss Anne was continuing, and Sophie struggled to catch up with what she was saying.

‘‘Her?’’ What on earth was Miss Anne talking about?

“Miss Ruth, of course.” But Miss Anne paused and looked at Sophie incredulously. Then she stammered, “Oh, my dear! I’m so sorry. I thought that’s what was bothering you.” Miss Anne placed a hand over her heart, as if she were taking a vow to tell the truth.

“What about Miss Ruth?” Sophie asked, leaning forward in her chair a little. Miss Anne let out a quick little breath and closed her eyes in embarrassment.

“What about Miss Ruth?” Sophie repeated, and when Miss Anne opened her eyes, she saw in Sophie’s face a complete and absolute insistence on an answer, yet something of some concern for this woman who had been like an older sister to her for all those years.

‘‘You know how she is,” Miss Anne prefaced the statement that she knew would be so painful for Sophie to hear. “And I just assumed you’d heard what she’s been saying about you and...” Miss Anne’s voice trailed off, and she patted her chest as if in contrition.

Mea culpa!

“About me and... what?’’

“It’s
who,
not what. About you and Mr. Oto.” There. It was said, this terrible gossip that she, herself, was now a party to spreading. And to the one it would hurt the most. “I’m so sorry,’’ Miss Anne added, reaching over to put her hand over Sophie’s. “I thought you knew. I thought it was why you seemed to be upset.’’

“What... what
about
me and Mr. Oto?” Sophie breathed.

“Well, how you painted together at the river on Sunday mornings, that’s all.’’

So,
Sophie was thinking,
someone saw us, after all. But why not? We never tried to hide anything.

“Of course,” Miss Anne went on, “I know there was nothing to it, but Ruth just... just makes too much of everything.’’

“She’s a dirty old biddy!” Sophie said, her face flaming and her eyes flashing an anger Miss Anne had never seen in them before.

“I’m so sorry,” Miss Anne said again. “I thought you knew.’’

Sophie took a deep breath and then looked at Miss Anne as if she had suddenly remembered that she was sitting there. Miss Anne’s own face was a deep red, and her expression was so distressed that Sophie’s anger was immediately replaced by a deep concern for the feelings of her old friend.

“It’s not your fault, Miss Anne. I guess I’d rather have heard it from you than from anyone else.” They sat in silence for a few moments before Sophie went on. “Mr. Oto and I did paint together, but it was purely innocent. There was nothing more to it than that.’’

Even as Sophie uttered the words, she knew that they were true. And, at the same time, that they were not true. True, in that they had painted together and also true, that it was innocent. But not true that there was nothing more to it. Not, at least, for her. She knew that because of the withered sprig of bougainvillea still on her dresser.

“Just what does Miss Ruth think we were doing?” Sophie asked finally, because she may as well know the whole terrible story, now that she knew this much.

“Oh, nothing, dear. You know how she is.’’

“All too well,” Sophie admitted.

“And besides,” Miss Anne continued. “It’s the attack on Pearl Harbor, too. It changed us all.”
Lordy!
she was thinking.
It certainly did that!
“But Mr. Oto’s gone now. So it’s all in the past. She’ll forget about it soon. Get started thinking of something else, and then it will all be over.’’

Yes
, Sophie was thinking.
She’ll
forget about it soon. Because nothing lasts
.

Later Miss Anne brewed a pot of tea for the two of them, and they drank it sitting at the kitchen table, sitting close together, too, as if they were huddling against a cold neither of them could understand.

“Scrubbed the pattern right off my kitchen linoleum!” was one of the things I remembered hearing. “Made me feel like I’d been keeping a pigsty!”

And when Big Sally arrived, she was just as sullen as could be. Stomped right down the hallway, burst into my room, frowned at me—and said, “Gimme them sheets!” Why, she nearly tumbled me right out of the bed getting them out from under me. And the next morning, when folks started coming, bringing food and condolences for my misfortune, Big Sally answered the door every single time as if it were a deliberate affront to her attempts to get my house good and clean. A couple of the ladies even whispered to me that they thought for sure she would make them take off their shoes—
for goodness’ sake!
—before she’d let them come inside.

As I said, Eulalie was first, and she showed up before nine o’clock, carrying a coconut cake that was still warm from the oven, a platter of freshly fried chicken, and a big basket of biscuits. She hadn’t even changed her traveling clothes, but had gone into her kitchen and started cooking for me, just as soon as she heard about my ankle, when the doctor met her bus.

Right behind her came Ruth and fully half the membership of the local DAR chapter, and they all ignored Big Sally completely, even carrying all the dining room chairs into my room and perching all around and staying for a long time, “to keep me company.” But toward the end of their visit, I began wondering when Sophie was going to come. Because as soon as I realized I had hurt myself, the only thing that was on my mind was that someone was going to have to take over with the supply line to Mr. Oto, and Sophie was the only one I knew of that I could trust completely. But I didn’t think she would come as long as Ruth was there.

Finally, all those good ladies were ready to depart, and they carefully stacked all their plates and cups on my dresser—because they were afraid to take them back into the kitchen. So I was the one who had to listen to Big Sally’s muttering and snarling when she came in with more clean sheets for my bed and saw the dishes there. But I had other things to think about.

The very next night, Mr. Oto would be expecting me to show up like I was supposed to and leave some fresh clothes and some canned goods by the big palm tree. And especially, fresh water. What would he think when I didn’t come? Worse, perhaps he would try and sneak back into town, come to my house and see what was wrong with me. Certainly, he’d come at night, but suppose someone saw him? Then everyone would know that I had tried to hide him. Maybe I would even be sent to prison. For treason!

It was a terrible time for me, lying there alone with it and wondering where Sophie was. Big Sally clattered dishes and scrubbed the very life out of my kitchen linoleum and stripped my bed again, even though it didn’t need stripping. Eulalie stopped by once more, bringing enough food to feed a hundred people. And still Sophie didn’t come.

Toward dusk, I made up my mind that I would simply have to send Big Sally over to Sophie’s house with a note—if she would take it, that is. Because there wasn’t anything else I could do. I couldn’t get to the phone in the hallway and I couldn’t ask Big Sally to call for me, because it was common knowledge around town that she wouldn’t use a telephone at all. Someone once told her that if a storm came up while she was using it, she would get electrocuted by the lightning.

But thank goodness, just about the time when I was getting myself worked up into a real lather about it, Sophie came. And I was never so glad to see anyone in my whole life. Strange thing, too, that Big Sally never grumbled at all when Sophie came. Even escorted her to the door of my room and said, “Miss Sophie is here to see you.” And she had a right pleasant tone in her voice, too. But I didn’t have time to think for long about such things. Because the very minute I laid eyes on Sophie, I made a sudden and vital decision about something I’d been turning over in my mind—whether to tell her
everything.
I mean, about Mr. Oto being from a Japanese family. Because I’d been banking on her thinking that even someone who was Chinese—and not Japanese at all—would still be worried enough about being mistaken for one that he would hide away somewhere. But it was only fair to tell her. Because if I was going to ask her to get involved, she certainly deserved to know the whole story. And maybe even to think about what would happen to us all, if we got caught.

But even with all that going through my mind, I was so glad to see her that my eyes filled up the minute she walked into the room. She was wearing her mama’s black coat—one that I recognized from years ago, and it was too big for Sophie, so that it rested upon her shoulders more like a cape.

“Are you okay, Miss Anne?” she asked me, coming forward toward the bed and acting like she was going to bend down and kiss me, except that she thought better of it and kind of stopped in a little half-bow -reminded me so much of Mr. Oto that I reached and took hold of the sleeve of her coat and pulled her close so that I could whisper to her. I certainly didn’t want Big Sally to hear what I had to tell Sophie.

“I’m so glad you’ve come, Sophie,” I said, most honestly. “Please listen. I need you to do something very important for me and not tell a soul,” I whispered to her, and she looked at me in a worried way, as if she were wondering if I were in my right mind. Especially after all that time of her putting up with her crazy Aunt Minnie, you see. So that was something else I had to worry about—that even after I told her about Mr. Oto, she would think I was senile and didn’t know what I was talking about.

But she said, “What is it, Miss Anne?” Now she was leaning close to me again and so I released her sleeve.

“You have to take some supplies to Mr. Oto, where he’s hiding out in my papa’s old fishing cabin.” There. It was said. The terrible secret.

And I wish you could have seen her face. I’d thought quite a bit about how she might react. Maybe be real shocked or confused and ask me a lot of questions, the most likely one being about why I had lied. But she didn’t.

Still, something or other flickered across her eyes, and it certainly wasn’t any worried look or shock or confusion at all. Why, she almost brightened, and if I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn on a stack of Bibles that she was working very hard to keep herself from smiling. That’s when I thought just for a minute that maybe Ruth was right. Maybe there had been something going on. More than just painting. But what? After all, Sophie was a real lady. I knew that much.

Sophie certainly did start asking me questions then, but they were all about how she could find the cabin. I tried to explain to her that she had only to leave supplies by the palm tree, but she was real emphatic about the cabin itself, and she repeated back to me every single bit of the directions I gave to her. I kept trying to get to the part about Mr. Oto being from a Japanese family, but she kept interrupting me to ask more questions about how to get to the cabin.