Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(2)

The sun was low in the sky when the house came into view. It sat there silent as a graveyard; no motors chugging, no people talking, not even a barnyard chicken squawking. For a brief moment Benjamin wondered if his daddy was gone also, but when he turned into the road the old man came out onto the porch.

Benjamin raised his arm and waved. Otis brought his hand to his face and shielded his eyes from the sun. He leaned forward, trying to identify the stranger.

Dropping his duffle in the road, Benjamin took off running. He was three steps shy of the porch when his daddy finally recognized him.

Otis gasped. “Lord-a-mercy, I hardly knowed it was you.”

Benjamin hugged the frail Otis to his chest and laughed. “You saying I put on some weight?”

“Some weight?” Otis echoed. “Why, you done went from boy to man.”

It was true. Benjamin had left home a lanky, bone-thin boy and returned a man who was broad of chest and heavily muscled. His face had also changed. It wasn’t a change you could point to and say his nose was shorter or his cheeks fuller; it was the look behind his eyes. They were still brown with scattered flecks of gold, but there was a wisdom that hadn’t been there before. If you looked only at Benjamin’s eyes, you could almost believe him to be an old man.

“I’m sorry about your mama,” Otis said.

A look of sadness shadowed Benjamin’s face. “I’m sorry too, Daddy. Real sorry.”

He said nothing of how for nearly a month his mama’s laugh was something he couldn’t forget. No matter how hard he tried not to think of her, the thoughts came and he cried. There were nights when he’d fall into his bunk exhausted from the day’s work, but the moment he closed his eyes a picture of her came to mind. He’d see her baking a pie, drawing water from the well, or singing in the choir, and knowing she was gone would sting like a hornet nesting inside his brain.

After a short time of talking Benjamin went back, picked up his duffle, and came inside the house. It was the same as the day he’d left. His mama’s apron still hung on a peg alongside the wood stove. As he sat at the kitchen table and drank a glass of sweet tea with his daddy, her ghost slid in alongside of them. It was a sadness neither of them wanted to speak of. In time they would talk of it, but not now.

Searching for a less painful topic of conversation, Benjamin asked, “How come the cornfield’s not planted?”

“It’s planted,” Otis answered in the flat dry way he had of speaking.

“Less than half,” Benjamin said. “The back lot don’t even look plowed.”

“It ain’t. No sense in plowing what I ain’t planting.”

Benjamin looked at his daddy. “You’re not planting the back lot?”

“Nope.” Otis shook his head.

“How come?”

“I run short.”

“Short of what?”

“Short of seed money, short of time.” Otis gave a heavy sigh. “Short of…”

He let the rest of what he was thinking drift off without being said. Fingering a threadbare spot in his pants for a good half minute he added, “Anyways, Henry’s too old to be pulling a plow. That mule done worked way past his years.”

“Mister Sylvester ain’t gonna be none too happy if you give him half what he’s expecting.”

“He ain’t gonna be happy no way. Long as I been on this earth, I never seen that man smile. Not once.” Otis gave his head a worrisome shake. “A body like him’s got everything to be glad about, and he ain’t glad about nothing. Seems God ought to give second thought to how He’s handing out blessings.”

Benjamin knew what his daddy said about Sylvester Crane was true. The man owned every square inch of farmland in Grinder’s Corner and collected one fourth of every nickel the sharecroppers earned. He also owned the gristmill, so there was no getting around him.

“You remember what happened to Widow Palmer?” Benjamin asked. It was more challenge than question.

“Yeah, I remember,” Otis grumbled.

“Well, then.”

“I was figuring to give Mister Sylvester most a’ what come in. That ought t’ satisfy his greedy soul.”

“That ain’t no answer,” Benjamin said. “You give him everything, then what you got to live on?”

“The Bible says the Lord provides.”

“Yeah, well, it don’t say He’s gonna show up and plow that back lot. He’s maybe gonna give you sun and rain, but getting those seeds in the ground is up to you.”

Although his daddy didn’t have anything more to say, the truth of the matter was obvious. It wasn’t the seed money or the old mule; without Lila, Otis had lost the will to live. A man who’d reached that point had to be cared for, and Benjamin knew the responsibility now fell on his shoulders. He was their only child; there was no one else.

He’d returned home thinking Grinder’s Corner might have changed, that there might be a few new businesses, that perhaps acceptance had blossomed into hope, but looking at Otis he could now see the future looked a lot like the past. He measured the reality of that thought against a lifetime of loving his daddy and against a heart that still ached to hear his mama’s voice. His own dreams seemed pitifully small by comparison.

After only a few moments, he decided the love in his heart outweighed whatever plans he had made in his years away from home. Setting aside thoughts of one day being a mechanic, Benjamin knew he would be what he was destined to be: a farmer. It was their way of life. He would follow in the footsteps of his daddy and his granddaddy. In time he would grow to be rooted to the earth as Otis now was.