He looked across at Isaac sitting next to Jubilee and watched them share grins of mischief. Isaac was young. Young enough, perhaps, to move on without carrying a sack of fears and regrets on his back. Last night at the dinner table he’d held out his plate for a second helping and gobbled it down with gusto. Afterward he’d plopped down on the puffy bed and slept the sleep of angels.
For a brief moment Benjamin wished his heart could once again be that of a child. Watching them together, it was difficult to distinguish boy from girl or black from white. They were simply two kids enjoying a friendship.
“Benjamin?” Sidney repeated.
“Oh, sorry,” Benjamin answered. “I was thinking back.”
“Isaac was saying that you lived on a farm in Alabama. What kind of farm?”
“Ten acres, leased. Year-round crop rotation. Watermelon in the spring, corn in the summer. Winter, mostly turnips and chicories.”
“Don’t forget those green beans,” Sidney said, laughing. “I know you grew green beans that didn’t come from a can.” He chuckled again and told the story of that morning.
Everyone laughed and oddly enough, even Benjamin found himself smiling.
“Nothing tastes as good as vegetables from the garden,” Carmella said. “When I was a little girl Mama used to go outside, pull a zucchini from the vine, and fry it up fresh that very evening. I’ve never tasted a canned vegetable good as that.”
The conversation had already moved on to another topic when she added, “Next summer I think I’ll plant a vegetable garden right here in the backyard.”
Since supper had gotten off to a late start Jubilee stayed up way past her bedtime, and it was almost ten o’clock when the kids tired of playing and Sidney led Benjamin and Isaac to the rented playroom. They clomped down the wooden stairs into a basement that stretched out longer than it was wide. The floor was covered in squares of green linoleum, and bookshelves lined the back wall. On one side sat a grouping of two easy chairs and a cluster of small tables; on the other side a double bed that looked to be as big and plump as the one Isaac slept in last night. The only difference was this bed was covered in a dark green wooly blanket.
“Plenty of stuff here to read.” Sid steered Benjamin back to where the bookshelves lined the wall. “And games, if you like that sort of thing.”
The shelves were crowded with books, toys, and games, but Benjamin reached out and picked up a World War II Bomber model airplane. “Who made this?”
“Me.” Sid grinned. “I made all of them.”
“This looks like the B-17 Flying Fortress,” Benjamin said. “I worked on these when I was stationed at Maxwell.”
“You were at Maxwell?” Sid sounded impressed. “Ever do any flying?”
Benjamin shook his head. “Just worked on repairs, servicing mostly, bringing in replacement parts.”
“I always wanted to fly one of those babies. I was close to forty when the war broke out, too old for the draft.” He hesitated a moment then added, “After Pearl Harbor I was ready to enlist, but Carmella wouldn’t hear of it. She was going through a rough time then, and I couldn’t leave her.”
“I didn’t meet Delia ’til I was out,” Benjamin volunteered. “Good thing ’cause we had Benjamin not long after we was married.”
“Count your blessings,” Sidney replied. “We lost three babies, the last one full term, but he came stillborn. That was in December of thirty-nine.”
A wrinkle of regret pulled at Sid’s face then turned to a grimace. “Losing that baby tore Carmella’s heart out, especially after Doctor Elgin told her she wasn’t ever going to have another one.”
As Sidney and Benjamin stood there talking, Isaac climbed into bed and snuggled under the covers. He had one last thought before he drifted off to sleep: he was sleeping in the same soft bed as last night, only this one had a wooly blanket covering it.
After Sid left, Benjamin dropped down in one of the worn chairs and sat there for a long time. He knew he was as different from Sid as night was from day, yet the more he tried to count up the differences the fewer there seemed to be. The rain had stopped and the moon was high in the sky when he finally climbed into bed alongside Isaac and closed his eyes.
Sidney
Thinking back on the years after Carmella lost those babies brings back a lot of sad memories. The first two were girls, the last one a boy. Peter, that’s what we named him. It was Carmella’s daddy’s name. That baby died two, maybe three days before he came into this world, according to Doctor Elgin. The umbilical cord wrapped around his tiny little throat. On the day of the funeral, Carmella was so weak she could barely stand. I told her she was too sick to come, but she insisted on being there.
That time was the worst. When Carmella went past her seventh month with no trouble, we were convinced this baby would make it. We started getting ready, and after I painted the bedroom an ivory color Carmella stenciled the wall with a row of yellow ducks splashing through puddles. Every evening she’d meet me at the door, bursting at the seams to show what else she’d gotten for the baby. Those were good days. Those were days when her eyes sparkled like a diamond reflecting happiness.
Then when we came home from the hospital with no baby, it was like misery moved in and took charge of everything. We were both hurting, and there was nothing anybody could say or do to make it better.
I closed the door to that ivory-colored room and neither one of us opened it for nearly a year. Then one evening when Carmella was out at her Ladies Auxiliary meeting, I got rid of the crib and everything else. The Mallorys were having their first baby, and I told Steve he could have it all, the whole kit and caboodle. Only thing he had to do was come and get it. A few weeks later I wallpapered the room and tried to cover over thoughts of our not having a baby.
Of course it didn’t work. Trying to cover up something that painful is like trying to ignore your clothes being on fire. You can’t pretend it’s not there, because the inside of you is turning to ashes.
No matter how much I itched to be a pilot I couldn’t leave Carmella, so I started building model airplanes. It was hard not being part of something that meant so much to our country, but looking back I know I did the right thing.
Sunday
Klaussner’s Grocery Store was not open on Sunday. It never had been and according to Sid Klaussner, it never would be. He claimed God rested on that day, and he was entitled to do the same.
Benjamin, however, was a man who had worked seven days a week for as long as he could remember. More often than not he started to work before the light of day was in the sky, and just as often he trudged home on the edge of darkness. Rising early was a thing he’d gotten used to doing, and it wasn’t a habit easily broken. A day of idleness was a day wasted, in his mind. If there was no work to be done, a man could take his boy fishing or hunting—except in this case that wasn’t an option because Isaac was off playing with Jubilee. Benjamin thought of calling the boy and going in search of a stream where they could sit and fish, maybe bring home catch enough for dinner, but the sound of the boy’s laughter dissuaded him. He hadn’t heard Isaac laugh like that since that night, that terrible night.
Benjamin sat in the chair and started flipping through the pages of a Time magazine that was nearly a year old. He didn’t stop on any given page long enough to read even a line or two; he just gave the pictures a quick glance and moved on. Sitting still made Benjamin feel itchy all over. It was like wearing wool underwear in the hot summertime.
He set the magazine down and scanned the shelf of books, but not one jumped out at him. There was a when time he’d loved to read. Back at Maxwell Air Force Base, he’d read handbook after handbook on engines, motors, mechanics, almost anything he could get his hands on. With each new thing he learned he felt he was coming closer to one day being a master mechanic; but after he got the letter saying his mama died, he lost all interest in reading. With Otis there on the farm alone, Benjamin knew what he had to be: a farmer.
D
eath changes people; it changed Benjamin. With each tragedy, his heart became heavier. In places where there had once been the lightheartedness of hope, a hard rock of responsibilities moved in. When his mama died he took on the responsibility of Otis, and when Otis died he tried to shoulder the burden of Delia’s grief to save her from her sorrow. But when Delia died, the rock became a boulder. A boulder so large that he would be unable to stand if he allowed himself to think about it.
Benjamin stood and began pacing across the playroom floor. Each stride covered three of the eight inch linoleum squares. He’d go ten paces, then turn around and go back to where he started. Over and over he did this, all the while thinking. Random thoughts came and went like flashes of light. One moment he could see the future Delia had spoken of, and the next minute he could see nothing but a dark and ominous cloud of trouble.
After countless trips back and forth across the green linoleum, he muttered, “I’ve got to get out of here,” and walked through the basement door into the backyard.
Out here there was air. Out here he could breathe. Benjamin looked around; it was a nice yard, bigger than he’d thought it would be. Three large oaks that needed trimming; bushes being strangled by weeds. From force of habit, he bent and pulled a long twist of crabgrass from the edge of the lawn. In just a few minutes, he’d gathered a handful of chickweed and dandelion. He walked around to the side of the house, found a garbage can, and pulled it into the backyard.
Somehow the weight of his heart seemed lighter when he was working. Working left less time for thinking, and thinking meant coming face to face with what he’d left behind as well as what lay ahead. Work was better; far better.
Once he’d pruned the vines that were within reach, Benjamin dug through his toolbox and pulled out a handsaw. He was climbing through the branches of the oak when Prudence Wentworth opened her window.
“Excuse me!” she yelled down. “What are you doing in there?” Her voice had a commanding, answer-demanding ring to it.
At first Benjamin was startled. He hadn’t seen anyone when he walked outside and the bushes, surrounding the yard, gave a good measure of privacy. But then he hadn’t looked at the upstairs window where Prudence had her nose sticking through the curtain.
Although he’d taken it on his own to start trimming trees, he answered, “Mister Sidney hired me to clean up the yard.”
“On a Sunday?” she said skeptically.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Prudence slammed the window down without saying another word.
Less than a minute later, the Klaussners’ telephone started ringing. Carmella answered it.
“Do you know there’s a colored man tearing up your backyard?” Prudence asked, her voice high-pitched and shrill.
Unaware that Benjamin was even out there, Carmella left her bowl of carrot salad sitting on the counter and stretched the telephone wire to where she could peek into the backyard. Seeing Benjamin drop from the low branch of the oak, she laughed. “Oh, that’s Benjamin.”
“Benjamin who?”
“Church, I believe is his last name. He’s the young man who brought Paul home after the accident.”
“Oh.” Prudence gave a sigh of relief. “So you gave him a job working as your yard man. For a minute I was worried—”
Carmella chuckled. “Benjamin’s not our gardener. I think he’s just doing that to be nice, or maybe because he’s bored.”
“Bored?”
“Probably. You know how quiet it is around here on Sunday. Paul’s studying, Sidney’s napping, and I think the kids are playing checkers.”
“What kids?”
“Jubilee and Isaac; he’s Benjamin’s son.”
“You allow him to bring his son to work?” Prudence gasped.
With her voice growing a bit testier, Carmella said, “He’s not working today. During the week he works at the grocery store, not as a gardener. And he didn’t bring his son anywhere, they’re staying with us.”
“Carmella Klaussner!” Prudence snapped. “Please tell me you do not have a Negro man living in that house!”
It was a long few moments before Carmella answered, and when she did the words were icy enough to cause frostbite.
“If you are referring to Benjamin, yes, he and his son are staying with us.”
“Lord God!” There was a long silence before Prudence spoke again. “You do know it was a Negro man who killed Martha Pillard’s son, don’t you?”
Carmella gave an exasperated sigh. “That was over twenty years ago. In happened in a bar fight. In Norfolk, not Wyattsville. And,” she added, “truth be known, Tommy Pillard was a brawler from way back. When he was ten years old—”
“Don’t make light of this, Carmella! You don’t know a thing about this man—”
“Yes, I do,” Carmella cut in. “I know he was kind enough to risk his own life to save Paul. In my mind anybody who would do a thing like that is a good man, and I don’t give a damn if his skin is green with orange polka dots.” With that she slammed the receiver down so hard it left a ringing in Prudence’s ear.
“How dare you speak to me like that,” Prudence stammered, but by then the dial tone had come back on.
“Just you wait,” she grumbled. “I don’t think Martha is going to take kindly to this.”
And Thus It Began
Prudence Wentworth was a founding member of the Wyattsville chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and she had a brass plaque attesting to it displayed prominently on the mantle in her living room. To her way of thinking anyone who couldn’t trace their heritage back to serving in what she called the ‘Great War’ was an outsider and of no benefit to the community. Two seconds after her conversation with Carmella ended, Prudence picked up the receiver and started dialing Martha Pillard’s number. The telephone rang seventeen times, and although it seemed obvious Martha was not at home Prudence was too angry to give up.
“First she had to take in those two street urchins from West Virginia,” she grumbled. “Now this.” She continued to listen to the ring for a good fifteen minutes, and then her anger swelled to the point where she could no longer hold back.
Grabbing a pair of gardening gloves, Prudence stomped out the door into her front yard. It had been years since she’d plucked even a dead rose from the bush, but now she needed an ear and whose ear didn’t matter. She remained out there in the hot sun pulling buds from still flowering plants, until John Thompson happened along.
It took little more than a nod for her to let go of what had been racing through her mind.
“Have you heard the news?” she asked John.
“What news?”
“We’ve got a Negro family living in the neighborhood.”
With an anger that was obvious, she yanked a newly-planted yellow mum from the ground, tossed it into the pail, and looked square into John’s face. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
John, who was not much of a talker, just stood there looking at her quizzically.
“Once one moves in, there’s more coming.”
John tried to think of where anybody could have moved in; as far as he knew there wasn’t an empty house on this block or the next.
“The place will be overrun with coloreds hanging out windows and playing in the streets.” Prudence gave a troubled sigh and added, “You can just guess what’s going to happen to property values, right?”
“Moved in where?” he asked.
“With the Klaussners.”
Still looking a bit puzzled John repeated, “With the Klaussners?”
“Yes, indeed.” Prudence gave an affirmative nod. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
She went on to describe Benjamin as the biggest, blackest Negro she’d ever laid eyes on.
“There he was,” she said, “walking around the backyard like he owned the place.”
“Maybe he’s working for them.”
“Unh-unh.” She narrowed her eyes and
raised her brows. “I came right out and asked Carmella about it and she told me he’s a friend of Paul, that boy they took in.”
Prudence leaned over the fence and in a hushed voice said, “Those two kids are from West Virginia, and you know how those mountain communities are. They think it’s just fine to live side by side with coloreds.”
At a loss for words, John tugged at his ear then turned to leave.
In one last desperate attempt to pull him over to her way of thinking, Prudence hollered, “It may not seem like much now, but how do you think Mary Beth is gonna feel when you’ve got a colored boy chasing after your daughter?”
John stopped and turned back. “Chasing after Elizabeth? At twelve years old? She’s not even—”
“Not right now maybe, but just you wait! Once they get a foothold in the neighborhood, the next step up is marrying a white girl.”
“Hogwash!” he said and walked off.
Although John knew Prudence Wentworth was a busybody who went about stirring up trouble where there was little or no cause, her last comment got stuck in his head. Elizabeth was a beautiful blue-eyed blonde, a gentle soul with a sweet disposition. The kind of girl any man would want. He’d always figured she’d marry well; a doctor or lawyer maybe. Now, according to Prudence, there was an ominous threat living just three doors down. That thought picked at his brain until late in the evening when he asked Mary Beth if she’d heard anything about such a rumor.
“You know Prudence,” she laughed. “She’s always looking for something to complain about.”
“Maybe so,” John answered, “but do you think there’s any truth to the rumor?”
Having already started up the stairs with a stack of folded sheets she’d brought in from the line, Mary Beth didn’t answer.
~ ~ ~
When the Klaussners sat down to supper on Sunday evening, Carmella thanked Benjamin for the work he’d done in the yard but never mentioned Prudence Wentworth’s telephone call. It was simply an unpleasantry better forgotten.
Passing Through Perfect Page 19
