Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(14)

“We’ll get you a sewing machine and material enough for a pretty dress,” he said.

“I don’t need no dresses,” Delia laughed, “just material for baby clothes.”

“Every woman needs pretty dresses,” Benjamin replied with a wide grin.





The department store in Bakerstown was half again as big as the one in Twin Pines, and Benjamin felt a husbandly pride as he took Delia by the arm and ushered her through the door. Their first stop was the fabric department where she selected a bolt of pale yellow flannel and two spools of thread the same color. The next aisle over featured a large display of electric sewing machines. They stood for several minutes looking at the various machines until a sales clerk eventually walked over.

“You need something?” he asked.

“Yes,” Delia replied. “We’re looking for a foot pedal sewing machine.”

“A treadle machine?” he sneered. “We haven’t had one of those for more ’n five years. I doubt they make them anymore.”

“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.