Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(11)

I known Delia for three months, but she’s already part of me. I’d sooner lose a leg than lose Delia.

Like it or not, I’m gonna have to figure a way to get on Mister’s Finch’s good side…leastwise long enough for him to say I can marry his daughter.





And the Word Was…





After the disastrous dinner, Benjamin made up his mind that he’d do whatever had to be done to get into George Finch’s good graces. Whenever he and Delia had a date, he’d call for her at the house and make sure he had something of interest to say to her daddy. He tried football, politics, religion, and any number of random facts pulled from the Farmer’s Almanac. But regardless of the subject, Finch took an opposing view. If Benjamin thought Alabama State had a good team, George thought Florida was better. If Benjamin spoke of a popular Democrat, George came up with a Republican who was more intelligent. Determined as Benjamin was to find favor with Delia’s daddy, George was more determined to prove a farmer was not good enough for his daughter.

On Sunday mornings Benjamin would drag himself from bed at sunup, shave his face, put on a clean shirt and trousers, and drive all the way to Twin Pines to attend church. When George Finch stepped to the pulpit to deliver his message Benjamin sat in the first row, and when the parishioners began to file out he’d be at the back of the line where there was always a chance to shake Pastor Finch’s hand and say what a fine sermon it was.

In the afternoon he and Delia would take a basket lunch and the two blankets Benjamin now carried in his car and head for their favorite spot—that grassy knoll in the woods. They’d spend the afternoon making love, and there was little or no thought of the daddy who stood in the way of a wedding. They had already sworn their lives to one another and were so in love they felt married. On afternoons when there was a chill in the air, they’d lie on one blanket and cover themselves with the other.

It was not at all shocking when Delia said she’d missed her monthly. Twice. By then her breasts were starting to swell, and she had a craving for sour pickles.

“Like it or not,” Benjamin said, “your daddy is gonna have to agree to us getting married now.”

Delia raised an eyebrow and shook her head doubtfully. “Don’t be so sure.”

She’d spent sixteen years living under the same roof as George Finch, and not once had she seen him dish out an ounce of forgiveness. What he preached and what he practiced were two different things.

“I think we ought to tell Mama first,” Delia said. “If she talks to Daddy maybe he’ll be a bit more reasonable.”

Benjamin agreed.





That afternoon they returned to the house early. George was napping and Mary was sitting in the kitchen paring apples for a pie. Benjamin and Delia walked into the room holding hands.

“It’ll be a while before supper’s ready,” Mary said.

“Mama,” Delia said softly.

It was only a single word, but the sound in her daughter’s voice caused Mary to look up and see the tears filling Delia’s eyes. Mary stood and came to her daughter.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Benjamin said. “Real sorry. We never meant this to happen. We was hoping to—”

Mary’s eyes went wide and her voice high-pitched. “What’s wrong?”

Delia was the one to answer. “Mama, Benjamin and me are having a baby.”

“Lord God, no.” Mary grabbed onto the table as if she was ready to faint. “Your daddy is gonna kill you.”

“I was hoping maybe you’d talk to him,” Delia said.

“This ain’t no bastard child,” Benjamin added. “Delia and me want to get married. We’re gonna be a family and raise the baby up right.”

“Your daddy is gonna kill you,” Mary repeated.

“Mama!” Delia shouted. “Is what Daddy thinks all you care about?”

“Okay now,” Benjamin said. “Let’s not start getting on one another. If we talk this through—”

Mary turned to Benjamin. “Talk what through? It’s too late for talking. You should have done your talking before you got my daughter pregnant!”

“Don’t blame Benjamin,” Delia said. “It was both of us, and far as I’m concerned we didn’t do anything so God-awful wrong.”

For a moment Mary stood there looking like she’d been slapped in the face; then tears began rolling down her face.

“How can you think it’s not wrong? The Bible says a woman should only lie down with her husband—”

“Benjamin wants to be my husband!” Delia said angrily. “We’d’ve been married months ago if Daddy wasn’t so pig-headed.”

“That’s true,” Benjamin added. “We made a mistake, but it ain’t like we don’t love one another.”

Mary put her hands to her forehead and began pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor. “Your daddy is gonna kill you,” she repeated.

“Mama, saying Daddy is gonna kill me ain’t gonna solve nothing. I thought maybe you’d try to help us out.”

“Help you out? How in God’s name am I supposed to help you out?”

“Talk to Pastor Finch,” Benjamin suggested. “Tell him to marry us and give Delia his blessing.”