Passing Through Perfect

by Bette Lee Crosby

  A shudder shivered down Paul’s back and he finally answered, “Home.”

  “Is there somebody what can care for you?” Benjamin asked.

  Paul started to nod, but when he moved his head a sharp pain cut across his shoulder and down his arm.

  “Owwww!”

  “For sure you got a broken arm,” Benjamin said. “And that left leg looks like it might be broke too. Try ’n wiggle your foot.”

  A look of concentration spread across his face, and Paul finally managed to move his ankle back and forth. He gave a soft moan. “I think it’s my knee.”

  “Could be,” Benjamin replied. “It’s swelled up for sure.”

  Father and son sat beside the boy until he said he thought he might be able to stand, and then Benjamin gave him his arm. Paul latched onto the arm, but before he could pull himself to a kneeling position he fell back and groaned.

  “I don’t think I can do it.”

  “That’s okay,” Benjamin replied. “If you ain’t got a problem riding with us, I can take you home.” He turned to Isaac and said, “Fetch that map out of the truck. Let’s see how far this Wyattsville is.”

  “I’d sure appreciate that,” Paul replied wearily. “I’d be glad to pay for your time and trouble, Mister…?”

  “Just Benjamin. Benjamin Church, ’n you don’t have to pay me nothing.”

  “Oh, yes, I do.” A pained grin came onto Paul’s face. “After all you’ve done for me, my Uncle Sid would have my hide if I didn’t.”

  Benjamin chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to maybe getting a tankful a gasoline.”

  Getting Paul back up the hill and into the front seat of the truck was easier said than done. Benjamin tied two towels together as a makeshift sling for the boy’s arm, but there wasn’t much he could do about the leg. In the end he tied four more towels together, anchored Paul to his back like the shell of a turtle, then crawled up the rocky incline on his hands and knees.

  By the time they got situated in the truck and pulled back onto the road, it was after seven and already dark but at least it was no longer raining.

  On the drive to Wyattsville Benjamin’s leg started throbbing. It was the right leg, the one he’d broken in a tractor accident years back. It ached when it rained, but now it was aching twice as much because of the climb up the hill.

  Isaac squashed himself close to Benjamin, so he wouldn’t press against Paul’s arm or leg but there seemed to be no comfortable position for anyone. When the old truck bounced over even the smallest bump, Paul winced.

  Benjamin understood the pain the boy felt, so he struck up a conversation to keep him from dwelling on it. When they thumped across the railroad tracks he asked, “How long you lived in this Wyattsville?”

  “Almost two years. Me and my kid sister live with an aunt and uncle.” Paul wriggled his right arm onto the armrest then said, “We’re kind of adopted.”

  “Kinda ad-opt-ed?” Isaac echoed. “What’s that mean?”

  Paul gave a painful little laugh. “It means the Klaussners took us in, but they aren’t really blood relatives. They’re just good people with big hearts.”

  Benjamin smiled despite his aching leg. “Them is the best kind.”

  By the time they approached the outskirts of town it was past eight-thirty. In trying to keep the boy from thinking about his pain, Benjamin had gathered bits and pieces about how Paul and his sister had left West Virginia and traveled to Wyattsville.

  “Your Aunt Carmella’s a mighty big woman to take two strangers in,” he said. “Ain’t many what would do that.”

  He pulled up in front of the big house and climbed out of the truck. “Wait here, I’ll ask your uncle to lend a hand.” He started up the walkway. Instead of stepping onto the front porch, he circled around the pathway and headed for the back door.

  Paul saw this and turned to Isaac. “Where’s he going?”

  “Back door,” Isaac answered.

  “That’s the long way around.”

  Isaac gave a look of incredulity as if to indicate the boy was asking something he should have known. “We ain’t allowed to the front.”

  “Not allowed to knock on the front door?” Paul asked. “Who told you a dumb thing like that?

  “Ain’t nobody telled me.” Isaac shrugged. “It jest is.”

  Carmella Klaussner had been keeping the remainder of her beef stew warm on the back burner for almost three hours. She’d expected Paul home by five, five-thirty at the latest. It was a Friday night and after a week of rising early for of school Jubilee was ready for an early bedtime, so shortly after the clock sounded six Carmella served dinner. When Paul did arrive home, she reasoned, there’d be plenty of stew still in the pot.

  But when six turned into six-thirty and ultimately into seven, Carmella grew increasingly worried. It could happen that Paul would be a little late, but he was never this late. As the clock stuck nine, she felt an icy cold panic grab hold of her heart and at that very moment a knock at the back door sounded. She yanked the door open and gasped. “Please don’t tell me!”

  “Don’t tell you what?” Benjamin asked.

  “Don’t tell me something’s happened to my boy!”

  In the short span of little more than a year, Paul had gone from being a lad suspected of shooting Sidney to becoming Carmella’s boy.

  “If Mister Paul is your boy,” Benjamin replied, “then I’m real sorry to say this, but he done had an accident and got busted up.”

  “Oh, my God!” Carmella wailed.

  Not waiting for more of what looked to be the onset of hysterics, Benjamin said, “He’s gonna be okay, it’s just a broke arm ’n maybe leg.”

  “Oh, my God!” Carmella wailed again. “Is he in the hospital?”

  “No, ma’am. He’s out front, sitting in my truck. I got a bum knee, ’n I come to ask if Mister Paul’s uncle could lend a hand to carry him in.”

  “Sid…neeeey!” Carmella screamed. “Get down here right now!”

  Hearing the urgency in Carmella’s call Sidney dashed down the stairs, taking two and three steps at a time. Red-faced and wheezing, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Paul, he’s been hurt!”

  “He ain’t bad hurt, just a broke arm and maybe leg,” Benjamin repeated. “But I’m hoping you can lend a hand carrying him in.”

  “Of course I will,” Sid said. “Where is he?”

  “Out front in my truck.”

  When Benjamin turned and started back down the walkway, Sidney followed. Carmella was right behind them saying back-to-back “Our Fathers” and asking God to please let Paul be okay. When they reached the truck Benjamin pulled the right door open and there sat Paul, his face tight with pain and his arm tucked in a loop of still-damp towels.

  “Oh, my God!” Carmella wailed again.

  Benjamin

  I know bringing Paul home is the Christian thing to do, and I’m not looking for pay for doing it. But I surely hope his uncle comes through with putting gasoline in the truck. The truth is I’m running mighty low, and we ain’t got money enough for much more.

  If I run out of gas before we get to Maryland, it’s gonna be a lot harder to find day work. Judging by all those “No Coloreds” signs I seen Virginia folk ain’t gonna take kindly to me knocking at their door and asking for work, no matter how much their trees need trimming.

  I can’t say nothing out loud, because I don’t want Isaac to know how bad off we are. The boy’s got heartache enough. I keep trying to make light of the situation, because right now that’s all I can do.

  It’s a daddy’s job to take care of his boy and, God willing, I’m gonna figure a way to do it.

  The Guests

  As they lifted Paul from the truck, Carmella dashed inside and telephoned Doctor Willard.

  “Come right away,” she said. “Our boy’s been hurt in an automobile accident.”

  Without giving any further details she hung up and turned to telling Sid and Benjamin how they s
hould carry Paul.

  “Watch you don’t bump his arm going around the corner,” she said, “then take him down to my sewing room.”

  The bedrooms were all upstairs, but the sewing room was just down the hall from the living room. In truth Carmella did little sewing but often slipped away for a nap on the soft, comfy daybed.

  Benjamin hoisted Paul with a firm grip beneath his shoulders, and as they moved through the house Sid called out step-by-step directions.

  “Another foot,” he’d say, “then turn right.” Isaac trailed wordlessly behind.

  When they reached the sewing room Benjamin lifted Paul onto the daybed, and Paul settled with a soft moan. Benjamin smiled.

  “I think you is in real good hands now, Mister Paul,” he said, “so we’re gonna be moving on.”

  Carmella reached out and put her hand on Benjamin’s arm. “It’s late. Have you had supper?”

  Before Benjamin could answer, Isaac shook his head. “Unh-unh.”

  “Then please stay,” she urged. “I’ve got a big pot of beef stew hot and ready to serve.”

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am,” Benjamin said, “but me ’n Isaac got to get back on the road. We’re headed to New York.”

  “New York!” Sid exclaimed. “That’s a two or three day drive. Maybe four in that old truck.”

  Carmella’s hand was still locked onto Benjamin’s arm, and she was making no move to let go. “After all you’ve done for Paul I can’t possibly let you leave without having a bite to eat.”

  The thought of a home-cooked meal was certainly appealing, but Benjamin was taken aback. Only once before had he eaten a meal in a white person’s house; that was Ella Jean Grayson. After he’d painted her house the full way around, she’d dished up a plate of fried chicken and sat him at the kitchen table. She’d remained in the kitchen but not sat across from him.

  “You sure about this?” he asked.

  “Of course I’m sure.” Carmella turned to Sid. “Stay with Paul while I set out supper for our guests.”

  Motioning for Isaac and Benjamin to follow her, Carmella led them to a lovely dining room with a polished wood table and high-backed chairs.

  Feeling a bit out of place, Benjamin said, “There’s no need to fuss; eating in the kitchen is just fine for us.”

  “Nonsense,” Carmella replied. “You’re our guests.” With that she pulled a white linen cloth from the drawer and spread it over the table. In minutes the table was set with tall glasses of water, a basket of bread, and a large bowl of steaming hot stew. She motioned for them to sit, and then she sat across from Benjamin.

  “We ate earlier with Jubilee,” she said, “otherwise I’d join you.”

  After a while, Carmella rose and went to check on Paul. A few minutes later, Sid entered the room and sat where she’d been sitting.

  “You’ve got to excuse Carmella,” he said. “She’s a worrier. She fusses over those kids like she’s raised them up from babies.”

  “There ain’t nothing wrong with that,” Benjamin said. “My Delia was the same. Isaac was our only baby, and she surely did make a fuss over him.”

  Isaac beamed as he heard mention of Delia.

  Once back in the sewing room, Carmella plumped a pillow for Paul’s head and covered him with a quilt. “You’ll catch your death of cold being wet like this.”

  Paul let go of a deep sigh. “Aunt Carmella, I’d be dead for sure if Benjamin hadn’t pulled me out of the car.”

  Carmella dropped into the chair alongside the bed with a gasp. “Good Lord, I had no idea.”

  Although not speaking would have been a far easier thing, Paul went on to tell of all that had happened.

  “After the tire blew, the car skidded and rolled down the hill,” he said. “When it flipped over I felt my head slam against something; then I blacked out.” His breathing became shallow as he closed his eyes and hesitated for several minutes.

  Carmella knew he was reliving the experience. She sat silently and waited.

  “When I came to,” he finally said, “the car was a blackened shell. I would have been inside it if not for Benjamin.

  Carmella felt an icy shiver slide across her heart. “Thank God he was there.”

  Paul’s head dropped deeper into the pillow, and a tear rolled from his eye.

  “I felt so helpless,” he said. The words were drawn out, heavy and slow. “Even after I’d regained consciousness, I couldn’t haul myself up the hill. Benjamin carried me on his back.”

  A faraway look came into Paul’s eyes. “My God, how can you ever repay a man for doing something like that?”

  “Right now I don’t know,” Carmella replied, “but we’ll find a way.”

  It seemed a long forty-five minutes before Doctor Willard arrived. When he got there he came in, kissed Carmella on the cheek, then spent a half-hour examining Paul. Pulling the chair closer to the bed he waved a penlight back and forth in front of the boy’s face, telling him to follow the light. With a skilled touch, he felt up and down both legs and arms. Paul winced when he touched the left arm.

  The doctor nodded. “This one’s definitely broken, and I think you might’ve suffered a concussion. Feeling any dizziness? Nausea?”

  “No,” Paul answered, “but if I try to straighten my leg it’s really painful.”

  The doctor nodded again. “Fractured knee, I suspect.”

  Hovering over the doctor’s shoulder, Carmella asked, “Does that mean surgery?”

  “I don’t think so,” Willard answered. “The arm feels like a clean break and the knee can heal itself, given time and rest. Of course,” he added, “you’ll have to check on him a few times tonight because of that concussion. I think he’s past the danger point, but we can’t be too careful.”

  “Oh, dear God,” Carmella murmured.

  The doctor stood and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s nothing to fret about, Carmella, I’m just being cautious.”

  “Will you be back tomorrow?”

  “No, but you can bring Paul down to the hospital in the morning. I need an X-ray of that arm and leg.” He wrapped Paul’s arm with a temporary splint and put it in a sling. “Once I see the X-ray, I can put a cast on the arm.”

  Doctor Willard gave Paul a shot for the pain, then packed up his bag.

  “A light diet tonight, nothing heavy,” he warned.

  By the time Carmella returned to the dining room, Benjamin and Isaac were just finishing up.

  “Good,” she said, “I’m glad to see you’ve eaten.” Before she sat, she walked around the table and came up beside Benjamin. She placed her hand on his arm and said, “Thank you for saving my boy. I’m forever indebted.”

  “You don’t owe me nothing,” Benjamin answered. “I did what anybody would’ve done. It’s pure luck I happened to be there.”

  “Oh, it’s not luck,” Carmella replied. “It’s a master plan. God puts people where He wants them to be.” She leaned into the words and spoke with an air of confidentiality.

  “You see,” she said, “He put Paul in the grocery store to save Sidney, and He put you on that road to save Paul. It may not be obvious at first,” she smiled, “but we’re all linked together in one big master plan.”

  “Oh, I don’t think…” Benjamin was going to explain how he would have actually been closer to Baltimore if not for the rain, slick roads, and an old engine that kept overheating, but he never got the chance.

  Sidney raised his hand. “Don’t bother,” he said in a way that indicated he’d been down this road before. “Once Carmella’s made up her mind, there’s no sense arguing.”

  Instead of settling into a chair, she scuttled into the kitchen and came back with a steaming pot of coffee and a plate piled high with cookies.

  The fragrance of the coffee reminded Benjamin of Delia, and he tried to hold on to the thought. As Carmella stood beside him to fill his cup, for one split second he could imagine she was Delia. He looked up. With her pink skin and light eyes she was as differen
t from Delia as the rose is from the wildflower, but despite the differences there was a familiar sameness.

  “The smell a’ that coffee sure brings some sweet memories,” he said sadly.

  It was near eleven when he finally stood to leave. “Is there a river or creek anywhere near here?” Benjamin asked.

  “Creek?” Sidney questioned. “What for?”

  “Isaac likes to fish. It’s too late tonight, but in the morning he could—”

  Carmella frowned. “You’re planning to camp outside? A boy his age shouldn’t be sleeping on the cold wet ground.”

  “It ain’t like—” Benjamin was going to tell how Isaac slept in the cab of the truck, but Carmella didn’t leave much space between saying one thing and another.

  “That’s downright foolish,” she said, “especially since we have a perfectly good bedroom sitting empty upstairs.”

  This was a situation Benjamin had never before encountered, and it left him at a loss for words. He stumbled through some flimsy excuses for leaving, but when she continued to insist he finally said, “Miss Carmella, it’s real kind of you to ask, but us sleeping here wouldn’t be proper.”

  “Proper?” Carmella argued. “Who’s to say what’s proper?”

  “I ain’t looking to speak out of turn,” Benjamin replied, “and I ain’t never met your neighbors, but it could be they won’t take kindly to you having colored folks in your house.”

  “They have no say of what I do in my own house!” Carmella said defiantly. “You didn’t stop to look at the color of my boy’s skin before you pulled him out of that car; what makes you think I care what color yours is now?”