Read Sophie and the Rising Sun Online
Authors: Augusta Trobaugh
Tags: #Romance, #Literary, #General, #Historical, #Fiction
Sophie and the Rising Sun (19 page)
Miss Ruth was sitting in her dark bedroom and watching through the window. This time, waiting. Distinctly waiting. She had nearly dozed off a few times, but pulled herself back to wakefulness by the enticement of the living room lights still burning and also Sophie’s bedroom light. And Sophie’s shadow moving across the bedroom from time to time. So Miss Ruth knew that something was going on.
It was nearly midnight when the lights went out, first in the bedroom and then in the living room, and Sophie came down the front steps. Once again, she was wearing the slicker, and she darted across the quiet street and toward the far end of town.
What are you up to, Sophie?
Miss Ruth wondered.
If I were younger I’d go right out behind you and follow you to wherever you’re going, because you’re up to no good, and I owe it to your mama, at least, to find out what’s going on and where it is you’re running off to every night. Like a harlot!
In the cabin, Sophie and Mr. Oto sat together on a cloth spread upon the floor, with the paper packets of chicken and biscuits between them and the kerosene lamp lending even more warmth to the humid air. Once again, under the gaze of the great crane in the painting, they sat together, saying little, but looking at each other frequently and smiling in deep contentment.
Mr. Oto thought that Sophie looked especially beautiful on that night, and something new in her spirit, so that she smiled more often and laughed aloud—a soft, pleased laugh—when he said that the fried chicken was very good. Very good, indeed.
At last, he wiped his hands carefully and then stood up, holding a hand down to Sophie. “Come with me,” he said in such a soft voice that, at first, Sophie did not know she heard him.
“Where?” And just as soon as she had asked, she realized that it didn’t matter.
“Just come with me, please. I want to show you something.’’
Sophie took his hand, somehow surprised at its warmth and softness, and after she stood, he did not release it, but blew out the lantern and led her to the doorway.
Is he going to take me with him to try and find that strange crane?
she wondered.
And what if he sees it and I don’t? Like Miss Anne?
She followed him through the darkness, in and among the trees and with the sounds of the river beside them, until they crossed a small wooden bridge Sophie had not known was there and then came into the edge of sand dunes. A gentle whispering just beyond the dunes, and when they finally crested the last one, the ocean lay before them, in the dark, with the river’s mouth open to its gentle swells.
Mr. Oto leaned back and looked straight up into the dome of stars above them.
“There is your sky,” he said simply. And Sophie looked also.
Yes,
she thought,
There is my sky.
High above them, the endless heavens, the multitude of stars, some of them so far away that they could only guess their glitterings, and here they stood on the sandy bottom of eternity, and at the last, it was only his firm hand that kept her from soaring like an everlasting meteor into the heavens.
Then the same warm and gentle hand leading her past the dunes and out onto the flat, dark beach. He released her then and, stooping, removed his shoes and rolled up his trouser legs. Likewise, she removed her shoes and they walked forward and into the ocean until the tepid and slow-moving water was caressing their knees.
“The sea is too calm tonight,” Mr. Oto said.
“And so warm,” Sophie added. “It must be the Gulf Stream. But that doesn’t usually come this time of year.’’
“You know much about this ocean,” he said. “As I know about the Pacific near my father’s house in California.’’
Sophie didn’t answer him, because whatever was in the words, they called for no response whatsoever from her. In fact, she thought that he sounded as if he were speaking only to himself. And before she could even wonder at that, she knew—without any doubt—why he had brought her to where the river and the ocean melted into each other.
“You’re going away.” She heard her own voice stating what she knew to be true. But how she knew, she couldn’t guess.
“Yes. I must. For Miss Anne’s sake. And for yours. You must not endanger yourselves for me any longer. Miss Anne was right. The people are enraged, and there is great danger. So I will go very quietly, and no one will know this has ever been.’’
I will know,
Sophie wanted to say. “And will you come back?” she said instead.
He didn’t answer right away. Around them, the ocean swells had begun to grow very gradually, and a strange, too-warm breeze moved across the face of the black water.
“When the madness of this war is over, I will come back. If you
want
me to come back.” And he was thinking to himself,
If there were any w
ay,
my dear Sophie, I would take you with me. But there is no place for us. For surely, as my wife, you, too, would have become the enemy!
“Yes,” she said. “I want that very much.” And she didn’t say:
And until that day, I will
come to this place often, to look into the endless sky and to know that you are also beneath the same stars. And that w
ill
be enough.
The large and very sudden swell came from behind her, lifting her slightly so that her feet were as light as feathers upon the wet sand below, while at the same instant, she saw his eyes widen and his hands come up to catch her. The swell pressing against her from behind, thrusting her solidly against him. He stood as immovable as a tree, his hands gripping her shoulders, steadying her as the swell receded. But the ocean did not pull her back as it had thrust her forward. It left her solidly against him and with the warm skin of him under her surprised palms.
In his black eyes—those deep, kind eyes—she saw the twin reflections of her own face. Reflections that came closer and closer until she could no longer tell which was her face and which was his. Then the gentle shock of his warm mouth and the surprising strength of his arms sliding around her shoulders and encompassing her. The incredible oneness with the earth. With the sea and with the sand. And even with the multitude of stars high above. The tempo of the universe in her own jugular vein and the melting of all the edges of everything that separated her from the night. And from him.
Then, finally, his stepping backward and the deep sigh of incredulity that escaped them both.
“Are you all right?” he finally managed to whisper, and for one confusing moment, she thought he was referring to what had just passed between them.
But he meant the wave. Of course.
They walked back to the cabin in silence and with the stars hanging down around them so closely that they could almost reach up and touch them. And even if they had noticed the low, scudding clouds that were coming up and over the black horizon above the black ocean, they would not have cared.
Near dawn, Sophie walked back home, and it was a disturbing walk, indeed. With her thinking that at any moment the great crane of her dream would step out of the darkness before her, with its eyes glowing and its beautiful, white wings outspread. And if that happened, she would turn, most assuredly, and go straight back to the cabin. To him. Tell him that she would go with him, no matter where he went and no matter what happened to them.
But the crane didn’t appear.
At midmorning the next day, Miss Ruth went out into her front yard, pretending to pluck dead and discolored leaves from her dwarf azaleas, but really looking to see if Sophie’s bedroom shades were up yet.
They weren’t.
Miss Ruth peered at her wristwatch.
Ten-fifteen, and she’s not up yet. What time
did
she come home? And where did she go, so late in the night?
So that Miss Ruth plucked only a few more leaves before she went back inside her house, put on a light sweater against the rising wind, and walked off down the street, depending only upon her sharp sense of right and wrong to provide vital clues into what she was convinced were Sophie’s transgressions.
She walked along slowly, swinging her arms a little and perhaps even convincing herself that she was merely out for a nice walk on a beautiful morning. But the resolve of her purpose was ever with her, for after all, she’d known Sophie’s mother nearly her whole life, since they were both quite young—and she’d known Sophie ever since the day she was born. So it was her
responsibility
to
try to find out what was going on. In memory of her old friend, and for the sake of that friend’s wayward daughter.
Just like her father, she is. And Willis had come calling on m
e
first—until he changed his mind. So Sophie should have been my daughter. And I’ll certainly do right by her, no matter what it takes.
On toward the end of town she went, passing the last houses and strolling on down the unpaved road toward the marsh, and with the midmorning sun glowing and yet with a strange stillness in the air. Especially strange for that time of year. Almost as if the world were holding its breath in anticipation of what she would find out.
She moved ever forward, not knowing what she was looking for, but determined to find something—anything—that would solve the mystery of Sophie’s nocturnal wanderings. For Miss Ruth knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that Sophie had been going somewhere definite and distinct. Because of the resolve in her steps. That was for sure. It wasn’t just a nighttime stroll though that would have been suspicious, right by itself.
No,
Miss Ruth thought as she took off the light sweater.
She was going somewhere. Somewhere specific. Only where?
In the cabin, Mr. Oto slept only fitfully. The long, wonderful night with Sophie had left him saddened beyond his wildest dreams. How could it be that, at last, he had found his great love, but now all the insanity of war and the need for his running away and hiding like a thief was robbing him! And his resolve, in that half-sleep, was that he would come back for Sophie. He was sure of it.
Miss Ruth had moved
far down the long road, and with the weather feeling so blustery and muggy, she was tempted to turn back. After all, she had come a long way already, and she still had to go all the way back. But something kept her going for just a little longer, and she decided she would walk only as far as that big palm tree she could see ahead, and if she couldn’t find anything, she would turn around and go back.
She moved ever closer to the big tree, and beyond it, she could see only mile after mile of palmetto scrub, the road trailing off, straight and flat, into the distance. Finally, she reached the tree and stood, gratefully, in the shade of its fronds, while she caught her breath and rested for a few minutes before starting back to town. She had come a long way. Longer, even, than she had realized. Looking back down the road toward town, she anticipated the walk home, and with the sun rising ever higher and the weather turning even warmer than it had been. And now, no breeze at all, a strange thing in itself.
Finally, Miss Ruth shaded her eyes and looked back down the road toward town one more time before she would start back. But just as she started to turn from the big palm, she happened to look down and see tire tracks in the sand.
What on earth? Why would anyone pull over right here—out in the middle of nowhere?
And then, when she looked more closely, she saw not only tire tracks, but footprints, too, and leading to a crease in the palmetto bushes. It was then that Miss Ruth remembered the old fishing cabin that had belonged to Anne’s father. Because once, when she and Anne were just little girls, Anne’s papa had brought them to the cabin one afternoon, to show it to them. It was right after he had it built, and he was very proud of it.