Soh
Soh
1984
S oh and Ed’s wedding day was perfect. Sunny, but not too hot for a garden ceremony. Lively, but not too crowded. Soh had been adamant about keeping the numbers down. Her mother had been aiming for more guests, but Soh had convinced her to hold a series of celebratory teas instead, with her parents’ extended community of friends, colleagues, and sorors.
Her parents could have a drinks reception for all the others, Soh had reasoned. They could invite the governor, the Blisses’ local congressman, and members of the hospital board on which her father was serving. As Soh continued, her mother nodded. Closed! Soh thought, grateful that her legal training had improved her capacity to negotiate such delicate territory with her mom.
On the night before the ceremony, Ed’s parents hosted a small dinner for the wedding party. The betrothed, their in-laws-to-be, and the best man and maid of honor. They had all slid into the languorous mood that typically followed dessert when Soh heard a screech of metal coming from the Freemans’ library. Looking around, she realized that Ed’s father had left the room. Ed’s mother stood up.
“Now, Soh,” Mrs. Freeman said, “under other circumstances we would have brought a wedding gift to your parents’ home.” Soh knew she had to get into the habit of calling Ed’s mother by her first name, but Soh just couldn’t shake thinking of his parents as Mr. and Mrs. Freeman.
“But in the interest of practicality and privacy,” Ed’s mother continued, “we thought it best to do things this way.”
On that cue, the metal screeching started up again and Mr. Freeman emerged from the library pushing a green wheelbarrow. Everyone started to laugh and clap. Soh felt tears come to her eyes. Lodged in the wheelbarrow, with an enormous silver ribbon fixed around its neck, was Old Mo.
“This jar, or Old Mo, as you like to call it, has been in our family for six generations,” Mr. Freeman said to the room. “For most of that time, the jar has been right here in this house, or elsewhere on this property. It has been here from the year our ancestors moved out this way. It was here as the family’s economic circumstances improved and they became part of a network of people offering support to other black families. And it has been here to see our family grow and achieve things our forebears could never have imagined.”
Mr. Freeman turned to Soh, now. “It’s time this old fella took up residence in a new home,” he said. “Soh, Ed’s mother and I have seen how much you appreciate the jar, and it would please us immensely if you would accept Old Mo into your new life with our son.”
Soh squeezed Ed’s hand.
“Did you know?” she whispered.
Ed shook his head no.
“We didn’t want this to wait until we had passed on,” said Mrs. Freeman, “since we are planning to be around for a good long while yet.”
Laughter.
“The wheelbarrow’s included in the gift,” said Mr. Freeman, grinning. “Harriet and I don’t want to have to lend you ours.”
More laughter.
Eyes glistening, Soh stood up and rushed over to Mrs. Freeman to hug her. Later, she would wonder: Would the Freemans have let the jar leave their home if they’d known what their son was planning to do?