Passing Through Perfect

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Oh,” Delia said, disappointed. “I thought maybe…”

  Before the sales clerk could say anything more, Benjamin tugged Delia toward the door.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We’ll find one.”

  He’d thought to look in the small appliance store at the far end of the street, but in the front window there was a sign saying “No Coloreds.” Passing it by as if it wasn’t what he had in mind, he turned and steered her back to where they’d parked the car.

  On the way they passed a bakery with another such sign. Delia spied a tray of raspberry-filled cookies in the window and looked at them longingly. She could almost taste the thick jellied raspberry and the crunch of crispy nut topping but said nothing.

  They drove to the far side of town, and there in a second-hand store they found the sewing machine.

  The white-haired Negro behind the counter pulled out a chair and motioned for Delia to sit down and give the machine a try.

  “It’s good as new,” he promised and handed her a scrap of muslin to stitch.

  Delia settled herself in the chair, moved the fabric into place, and began pumping her foot back and forth. After less than a minute she looked up and gave a nod.

  “You done made a sale,” Benjamin said, “and I reckon you ought to throw in that chair ’cause the missus likes it.” He gave Delia a wink and she smiled.

  As they drove home a weighty silence hung in the air.

  “I don’t much like Bakerstown,” Delia finally said.

  “I ain’t none too crazy about it either,” Benjamin replied.

  In Grinder’s Corner the lines of color were blurred. Everyone was poor and everyone prayed the same prayers: that the rain would either come or go away, that the harvest would be good, that there would be food on the table, and that the old folks would live to see another year.

  But Bakerstown was different. The lines that divided people were harsh and ugly. There was no ignoring the division, because it was spelled out in fat black letters on signs in shop windows. Swallowing back her dislike of the place was something Delia found hard to accept. Twin Pines was a mostly colored town, but she couldn’t remember a single shop with a sign that said “No Whites.”

  After the trip to Bakerstown a larger loneliness settled over Delia. She missed Twin Pines, missed the shops she knew, and, although she never gave voice to the thought, it was obvious she also missed her mama. When the days grew short she would stand at the window and watch the road that ran by their house. When a car appeared she’d crane her neck and watch. A look of hope would light her face for a brief moment, but once the car passed by their drive that sorrowful look of longing returned.

  When Benjamin saw the sadness that lined her face, he took her in his arms and said, “Give it time. It will get better. I promise.”

  The Day of Birth

  The twins were born on Thanksgiving Day.

  Since it was the first holiday they’d be sharing, Delia wanted it to be special. For four days she’d stood at the kitchen sink peeling vegetables and plucking feathers from the wild turkey Benjamin shot and carried home. When the achiness set in she attributed it to the long hours of work, but when she felt a sharp pain stab in her groin and a rush of water flowed down her legs she knew.

  “Benjamin!” she called. “It’s time.”

  He came into the kitchen thinking she was calling them to noonday dinner, but when he saw the way she was slumped in a chair he knew better.

  “Daddy,” he called, “the baby’s coming! Go get Wanda!”

  By the time Otis saddled up Henry and rode off, Delia was doubled over with pain. Benjamin helped her to the bedroom, pulled a clean nightgown from the shelf, and plumped the pillow beneath her head as she fell back.

  “Thanksgiving is ruined,” she sobbed. “After all my hard work—”

  “It ain’t ruined at all,” Benjamin said. “You’ll see. When that sweet baby gets here it’ll be the happiest day of our life.”

  Wanda May was said to be the best midwife in all of Alabama, but she was just sitting down to dinner when Otis came for her.

  “First babies always come slow,” she said and went back to finishing her dinner. With a full plate of turkey and stuffing, then sampling a slice of the pecan pie her daughter baked, it took more than two hours before she arrived at the Church house. Delia had been in hard labor that whole time, and the sheet was soaked through with perspiration.

  “Good Lord, child, you is in a bad way.” Wanda turned to Otis and gave him an angry glare. “Why didn’t you jest say it was a real bad birthing?”

  “How you figure I’m gonna know good from bad?” Otis said. “To me they all looks bad.”

  Wanda began calling out orders for boiling water, clean rags, and fresh towels. She lifted Delia’s gown and felt her stomach the way you’d feel a watermelon to judge if it’s ripe and ready for eating.

  “You got more ’n one baby in there,” she said, “and that first one’s stuck sideways.”

  Wanda began kneading Delia’s stomach like a roll of dough, and after a long while the baby moved in the direction she was pushing. When that happened Wanda stuck the better part of her hand inside Delia and eased the head into position. Less than five minutes later a squalling boy came into the world.

  “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Wanda said and handed the baby to Benjamin. “Wash him off, but be real gentle.”

  Wanda turned back to Delia, who was nearly passed out from the pain. “Now let’s get that other baby out.”

  The second baby proved far more challenging and for almost two hours Wanda massaged Delia’s stomach, applying hot towels and rolling her from side to side.

  “This one’s a stubborn little thing,” she said and continued working. She moved Delia into a sitting position and propped a pile of pillows behind her back. When there was no movement, Wanda finally pressed her ear to Delia’s stomach and listened. She could no longer hear the baby’s heartbeat. She poured a bit of chloroform onto a clean towel and pressed it to Delia’s nose.

  Once Delia was unconscious, Wanda took the pronged instrument from her bag and pulled the baby out. It was a girl, strangled to death by the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. The tiny girl had turned the blue-black color of a night storm.

  That same day Otis cut a long leaf pine from the far edge of the back field, and from it he shaped the boards to make a coffin the size of a breadbox.

  On Friday Benjamin wrapped the baby, called Lila, in one of the new blankets and placed her in the box. Although Delia was so weak she could hardly stand, she clung to Benjamin’s arm as Otis said a prayer then placed the tiny casket in the ground.

  The turkey and pies sat on the sideboard and grew cold. No one ate, nor did they acknowledge that Thanksgiving had come and gone. While they had a son to be thankful for, they had buried a child who had never taken her first breath. It was a bittersweet day that throughout the years would force Delia to remember the girl each time they celebrated the boy’s birthday.

  They named the boy Isaac and placed him in a cradle Benjamin built. Although the cradle was designed to fit a single baby, it now seemed oversized and strangely empty.

  “It’s too big,” Delia complained, and when Isaac wailed or was given to unexplainable fits of crying she swore it was because he was missing the sister he’d lost.

  “How can he not?” she reasoned. “They were side by side for nine months.”

  When the weather turned cold and she could no longer sit on the front porch to rock the baby, Delia slid into a deep depression. Some days she could see her way clear to thank the Lord for giving them Isaac, and other days she’d curse him for taking their daughter. On the worst of those days, Delia would cry louder than Isaac and swear that losing Lila was a punishment her daddy had asked God to bring down on her.

  She moved through the days like a lost shadow, cooking dinner and setting it on the table, then nibbling on nothing more than a spoonful of mashed potatoes o
r a tiny pile of peas. She was thin to start with, but within the month her bones began to push up against her skin and she grew knobby in places where she’d once been round.

  “You’ve got to eat,” Benjamin urged. “Isaac needs food to grow.”

  With Delia eating less than a sparrow, the milk in her breasts slowed to a dribble and Isaac remained small. He was given to long fits of crying and while she held fast to the thought that it was because he was missing his sister, Benjamin knew it was hunger gnawing at the baby’s stomach. On several occasions he’d leave working in the field and go into town to buy candy bars and sweet cakes for Delia. Even though those were the things she’d once craved, she’d nibble a bite or two then set them aside.

  “I’ve no appetite,” she’d say and turn to stare out the window.

  A week before Christmas Benjamin took money from the jar on the kitchen shelf and bought a milk goat. When he slid the nipple of the baby bottle into Isaac’s mouth, the child sucked happily. That night Isaac slept soundly and there was no crying. From that day on the baby was fed with goat’s milk, and he began to grow.

  In the early spring Otis traded a day’s work for a young magnolia tree. He carried it home and planted it on the spot where they’d laid Lila to rest, and for the first time in months the trace of a smile crossed Delia’s face.

  That evening she hugged Otis’ neck and whispered, “Thank you.”

  When the rain came the tree took root and began to grow. It wasn’t expected to blossom in that first year, but in the first week of June tiny white buds appeared on the branches. Within days the buds burst into flowers that were so beautiful they brought tears to Delia’s eyes.

  “See,” Otis said, “this is God’s way of telling us He’s got Lila in His care.”

  Such a thought eased Delia’s heart, and although her cooking was nowhere near as tasty as her mama’s she began forcing herself to eat.

  Throughout those early months Delia’s moods would go up and down like a yo-yo. One day she’d be laughing at the way Isaac squealed and kicked his feet in the air; then the next day she’d be standing at the window looking for something that was never there.

  Benjamin came to know and understand her moods. On the blackest of days when he saw the melancholy draped across her shoulders, he’d find something to cheer her: a flower from the field, a tender embrace, a string of kisses that traveled down the side of her neck. These small kindnesses touched Delia’s heart, and while a tear still lingered in her eye she would turn and smile.

  Delia

  A chunk of me died when I lost my baby girl. I looked at that sweet innocent baby turned blue as a bottle of ink and I thought, Lord God, how much more of this can I take? First I lost Mama and Daddy, and then you took away one of my precious babies. It’s too much to ask of any woman.

  I believe in my heart my baby girl dying was ’cause Daddy called down the vengeance of the Lord on me. Daddy’s a person who don’t see no shades of grey, just good and evil. He’s got a whole lot of what he calls holiness, but the truth is he can be way meaner than the worst devil in hell.

  If I could talk to Daddy I’d tell him Jesus forgives people what’s made a mistake; then I’d ask him if he thinks he’s better ’n Jesus.

  Knowing Daddy, he probably does.

  The Barbeque

  In early April the weather turned warm, and Delia could once again sit on the porch to rock back and forth with Isaac in her arms. By then he was starting to teethe, and the motion of the chair eased his fretfulness. It was on just such a day that Beulah Withers happened by.

  Beulah was on her way back from that wide spot in the road Grinder’s Corner called town. “Howdy there,” she called when she saw Delia sitting on the porch.

  Delia waved back, and that was all it took. Beulah turned and started up the road toward the house.

  “The mister done told me Benjamin got hisself a sweet little wife; I’m guessing that’s you,” she said.

  “I ain’t gonna swear to sweet, but I’m sure enough Benjamin’s wife.” Delia gave the lighthearted laugh that hadn’t been heard in a number of months. It was picked up by a passing breeze and carried off to the side field.

  Benjamin was busy spreading fertilizer, but hearing the laugh caused him to stop and listen. When it sounded again, he started back toward the house. As he came around the side, Beulah tickled Isaac under the chin and Delia laughed the way she did back in Twin Pines. It was a happy sound, free of heartache and sour memories. Benjamin stood and watched for a moment; then without them ever knowing he’d been there he turned and headed back to the field. As he walked a smile spread across his face, and his step became lighter.

  He was still smiling that evening when they sat down to supper. After he’d polished off a full plate of rabbit stew, he pushed the plate back and said, “I’m thinking it’s time you got to know our neighbors.”

  Delia beamed. “I met one today. Name’s Beulah.”

  “Beulah’s a fine woman,” Otis said. “Her and Tom got six young’uns. The eldest ain’t yet in high school.”

  “Six?” Delia repeated. “However does she manage?”

  Before the conversation could settle into the worrisome thought of six children, Benjamin went back to what he’d had in mind.

  “I’m thinking a big ole barbeque,” he said. “Invite a buncha neighbors and make a cooking fire in the yard.”

  It was as if a light snapped on inside of Delia. “Really?” she said, her eyes sparkling.

  Benjamin nodded. “Really. It’s been a good year, and we got spare money.”

  “Caleb got hogs he’s looking to sell,” Otis said. “Might be he’d give you a good price on one of ’em.”

  “Pork barbeque, huh?” Benjamin smiled. “That sounds mighty good.”

  Late into the evening they remained at the table making plans for the cookout. It was decided that Benjamin would buy one of Caleb’s hogs and butcher it. Fresh meat from the hog Benjamin bought from Caleb would be used for the barbeque, and what was left would be cured and stored in the smoke house.

  In a voice laced with excitement, Delia asked question after question. What were the names of the people who’d be coming, and did they have children? How many were there? How old were they? Did anyone have babies? What were the women like? As Benjamin described one family or another, she leaned forward with her elbows on the table and her neck stretched out to catch every word.

  “There’s Digger Perkins,” Benjamin said. “Him and Marybeth have a girl what’s still in a cradle; she’s close enough to Isaac’s age.”

  “What about boys?” Delia asked. “Any boy babies?”

  Benjamin rubbed a calloused hand across his whiskers. “Let’s see. There’s the Wilsons. Virginia’s got a boy, but he’s about five, maybe six.”

  Delia wrinkled her nose. “He’ll be eight when Isaac’s two,” she said, disappointed.

  Benjamin laughed. “’Course there’s the Jacksons; Will and Luella got a newborn what’s a boy, but they live on the far end of Cross Corner Road. That’s a good five miles.”

  “Oh, please invite them. Five miles ain’t so far. Soon as Isaac starts walking around, he’s gonna need a friend to play with.”

  The second Benjamin nodded yes Delia began asking what Luella was like. Was she young? Did she like to garden? Did they have other children?

  For the next two weeks Delia busied herself with preparations for the party. She cleaned every corner of the house and painted the railing around the porch. After planting a row of begonias alongside the front steps, she raked the drive so it would be free of stones and soft enough for toddler-sized bare feet. The whole time she worked she sang or whistled. Twice Benjamin heard her humming a song they’d sung in her daddy’s church.

  With the cleaning now finished Delia realized that she’d done a dozen different things to assure the grownups had a good time, but she’d made no preparations for all the children who would be coming. Isaac was still a baby and needed nothing mo
re than a soft basket and warm bottle of milk but there were other kids, some just toddlers and some old as fourteen.

  “Daddy Church,” she asked, “do you think you could build a swing for the kids to play on?”

  He grinned. “Yep. Long as you ain’t wanting nothing fancy.”

  Delia was going to say there was no rush since they had another three days until the party, but by then Otis had walked off leaving the bottom half of his coffee sitting on the table. Minutes later she heard him in the yard; he was sawing a piece of wood and whistling Dixie.

  She had barely finished clearing the table before he was back.

  “All done,” he said. “Wanna give it a try?”

  Gathering Isaac into her arms, Delia followed Otis into the yard and climbed onto the swing. With Isaac in her lap she pushed herself back and forth. He squealed, and she laughed out loud.

  “This is wonderful,” she said. “The kids are gonna love it!”

  As Otis stood there watching, he thought back on the days when Benjamin was the baby in Lila’s arms. If he closed his eyes he could see the picture and feel the happiness he’d once felt. It was a sad thing to grow old and an even sadder thing to lose your sense of purpose. Otis lost his after Lila was gone, and with it went whatever happiness he’d known.

  The odd thing about happiness is that it doesn’t make a big show of leaving. It just slips away silently. You continue moving through the days expecting it to be there, but it isn’t. Occasionally a look-alike pretender comes along and you think, Ah, my happiness is back again, then you realize it’s not. When real happiness finally returns, you’re certain of it.

  Listening to Isaac’s squeals of delight, Otis gave a wide grin and settled into his newfound happiness. This one was no pretender.