Chapter 54
SOPHIA
When Sophia ambled up to the farmhouse, Ma Deary’s Rambler was parked in its usual spot. The discovery of her mother’s death and the time away with Mrs. Gathers had lit something fierce inside Sophia. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.
Shoving through the back door, she tramped toward the snores coming from Ma Deary’s bedroom and started tapping the woman’s arm until she awakened.
“What the—? Rusty.” Ma Deary looked surprised. “Girl.” She sighed. “The devil has gotten into you? You know better than to wake—”
But Sophia cut her off. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That I was adopted.”
Ma Deary fluttered her eyes several times and then sat up in bed. She felt around on the night table for her cigarettes. With one dangling from her lips, she said, “Girl, where are you getting this cockamamie shit from? Why would you say something like that?”
“ ’Cause it’s the truth.” Sophia plucked the cigarette out of Ma Deary’s mouth and threw it to the ground. “I’m old enough now. No more lies.”
Ma Deary glared in the way she used to scare her, but Sophia would not be moved. Not after the news she had received today.
“It’s always something with you, you know that?” Ma Deary picked up a fresh cigarette and pointed it at Sophia. “You better not touch this one, not if you want me to tell you anything.”
Sophia stood taller. “Talk.”
“Go put on some coffee for me, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen. Let me get my head together, please, and brush my damn teeth.”
Sophia relented. “Fine.”
Ten minutes later, Ma Deary scuffed out of the bedroom, wearing her bathrobe tied around her waist. Sophia placed the cup of Maxwell House on the dining room table and took the seat across from her.
Ma Deary blew on her cup and then took a sip. “When I was eleven years old, I had a fever so hot that it burned up my ovaries. ’Least that’s what the doctor told me. When I met Frank, I told him that I wanted to be a mother but couldn’t carry no babies.”
She shifted in her seat. “Then one day I was in the break room at work and came across an article in the Afro. It had photographs of all these pretty light-skinned orphans with that good hair. I knew I had to have me one. I followed the instructions on how to adopt the kids from Germany, and that’s how you got here. Satisfied?”
Sophia crossed her arms. “You should have told me.”
“Oh, girl, that’s all water under the bridge now. Get over it. What matters now is that you here, that you ours.”
“Get over it? I’m not some little pet, I’m a real person. With a heritage and family lineage that I deserve to know and understand. Sophia isn’t even my real name!” Her chest heaved.
“What are you talking about?”
“I found my birth mother,” Sophia roared.
Ma Deary’s eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be damned. How could—”
“She’s dead. She killed herself. She was sad because she gave me up. If you had told me, I could have located her before she did it. Maybe she would still be alive.”
“Why would you go stirring shit up? And after all we’ve done for you.”
“Done for me?” Sophia raised her voice, appalled. “You mean how you have exploited me, worked me to the bone like free labor.”
“Little girl, you gotta earn your keep.”
“I’ve done more than earn my keep.” Sophia slammed her hands down on the table, making the coffee cup rattle.
“You better watch it, Rusty. Don’t get too big for your britches or else.”
“Or else what?”
“I won’t allow your ass to return to that fancy school.”
“Oh, really.” Sophia got up from the table, feeling like she had acquired the strength of three grown men. “You go ahead and try to stop me, and I will tell the twins and anyone who’ll listen.”
Ma Deary pushed back in her seat and began to stand but froze at the sound of Sophia’s voice.
“Don’t. Test. Me.” Sophia pointed her finger and then stormed out the back door.
Two days later, Sophia was back at school. Willa had traveled to Disneyland in California for spring break and wouldn’t return to campus until Monday. After living in cramped quarters on the farm, Sophia was grateful for the privacy.
Ma Deary hadn’t fought her on returning to school, nor had they said much to each other, but she had worked Sophia like a mule.
Before Unc arrived to pick her up, Sophia had to pull weeds, plant tomatoes, peppers, and lettuce, then scrape the roosting bar clean in the henhouse.
The worst job had been mucking the horse stalls with a pitchfork, and she had gagged repeatedly over the putrid smells of urine and manure.
Now Sophia breathed in the sweet scent of the lavender sachets that Willa had placed around their room, and examined her hands in front of her. They looked dry, and her nail beds had dirt beneath them, even though she had picked them with an index card.
Then her eyes fell on the tin canister sitting atop her chest of drawers.
She still had not opened it. On the farm, it had not felt right to bring her mother’s memory to life in the home that had caused Sophia such strife.
But even now that she was alone, she wasn’t ready.
What would she find? What if it was more than she could handle alone?
Sophia stood, placed the tin in her satchel, and decided to take a walk over the school grounds for a bit of fresh air.
When she walked down the steps of her dorm, she saw Max and Louis playing catch with a baseball on the lawn.
Her breathing slowed down at the sight of Max.
He wore a Forest T-shirt and a pair of shorts that strained against the muscles of his thighs.
She strolled to a wooden bench and called out, “Hey, guys.”
“Sophia.” Louis palmed the ball in the air. “How was your break?”
“Uneventful.” She shrugged as she made eye contact with Max. His eyes twinkled in the sunlight as he made his way toward her with Louis in tow. The boys flanked her on the bench.
“What’d you do?” she asked.
“Nothing much,” responded Louis, stretching his legs in front of him.
“I was bored, quite frankly,” Max said. “I’m happy to be back.” He let his thigh rest against hers.
“I’m going to get a jump start on calculus,” Louis said, standing. “Give you two lovebirds time to catch up.”
“I was just going to the library,” Sophia said.
“Okay, Lou, I’ll catch up with you later.” Max turned toward Sophia and cupped her chin. “Why the face?” he asked.
“I found my birth mother.”
“For real?”
“She’s dead.”
Max put his hand over his mouth. “Soph, I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” Sophia patted her satchel. “But she left me something. Will you come to the library with me so that I can open it? I didn’t want to do it on the farm. Now that I’m here, I don’t want to do it alone.”
“Of course.” Max stood, reached for her hand, and pulled her to her feet.
On the walk to the library, Sophia filled him in on her ride with Mrs. Gathers, meeting her aunt, and all that had transpired. “I wish I had asked Jutta for a picture of Jelka, alive and happy.”
“There’s time for that, since she told you to stay in touch.”
Max held the library door open for Sophia, and the vanilla woodsy scent of the countless shelves of books eased her.
There were two or three huddles of students in the main lobby, but none seemed to notice them as Sophia and Max headed back to their special room.
Once inside, Max locked the door behind them and then pressed his lips against hers and kissed her slowly, shooting little sparks up her spine.
“I’ve been waiting to do that since the moment I saw you,” Max said breathlessly.
His forehead was pressed against Sophia’s, and as she gazed into his eyes, it was hard for her to think of anything else.
She had been reeling for the last few days, and it was nice to slow down with him.
Then she remembered why they were in the room, and she reached for her satchel, placed it on the table, and removed the box.
Max ran his hand over the letters on the tin. “Prost! That means ‘cheers,’ ” he said.
“Yes, I know. Do you pray, Max?” Sophia asked, remembering Mrs. Gathers praying before they opened the files at her house.
“My mother made me go to St. Ambrose Catholic Church every Sunday. I was an altar boy from fifth through eighth grade. I know more than my share of prayers.” He grinned.
“Will you pray for me?” Sophia’s lips trembled.
Max reached for her hands. “How about the Lord’s Prayer? That always brings me peace,” he said, and Sophia closed her eyes while Max prayed the prayer.
When he was finished, she reached for the tin, pushing her thumb against the lid until it gave way and popped open.
At the top of a pile was a photograph of a younger woman who Sophia presumed was Jelka because of the resemblance to Jutta.
She sat next to a Negro man in uniform. A baby of about four or five months was in Jelka’s arms. Sophia held the picture close to her face.
“I’m assuming this is me and my parents.
” A knot welled up in her throat as she showed the photo to Max, who studied it.
“I can see you in both of them.” He handed it back.
Sophia peered at her parents. The people who made her, both in one place. She could feel love radiating in their smiles, in their closeness. She was one of them. They had belonged to each other, if only for a short time.
Next there was an index card, with “Katja Durchdenwald, September 5, 1949” scribbled in black ink.
“I’m technically six months older than I thought,” she told Max.
“That’s wild.” Max scooted his chair closer until their elbows met.
Sophia didn’t know who she felt like most. Was she Katja or Sophia? Which name would she keep? Which identity? After all this time, was it possible to be both?
Inside a handful of yellowing tissue paper, she found a gold heart locket.
She opened the heart and found a miniature snapshot of her.
She was older than in the family photo, maybe two, with big curls and a bright smile.
From the looks of the photo, she had been happy with her mother.
Then there was a small plastic bag with a lock of her hair.
“That’s probably from your first haircut.”
Sophia stuck her fingers in the bag and felt the texture. It was soft, and she closed her eyes, trying to transport herself back in time. But all she could see was the farm.
“I really wish I could remember,” Sophia confessed.
“Memories sometimes take time. They’ll come back. Just be patient.”
Sophia put the baby hair aside. Next there was a rock, and underneath was a standard-size white envelope, stretched by its contents so that it would not close.
The envelope was addressed to Jelka Durchdenwald, c/o the Federal Eagle Club.
Sophia’s heart quickened, and she pushed back the triangular flap and pulled out a stack of handwritten letters.
In the center fold was a heap of two-dollar bills.
Sophia scanned the first letter, and then the next, and the next, until she turned to Max.
“These letters are from my father.”
Her fingers trembled as she flipped the envelope over again. Then she saw it. The return address was printed in a neat scrawl. Osbourne Philips, Ringgold Street, Philadelphia, PA.
“Oh my God,” she croaked as a prickly sensation traveled up her arms.
“Your father is in Philadelphia,” Max said. “I think you’ve found him.”
“Please, God, please, let him not be dead too.”