Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(20)

Delia’s garden became overgrown with weeds and tomatoes waiting to be picked; still she did nothing but pace the floor cursing herself for alienating her mama as well as her daddy. “Why’d I do it?” she’d sob. “Why?”

On the day that marked the second month without a letter, Benjamin came in from the field to find her red-eyed and weepy.

“I should’ve never suggested Mama sneak away from Daddy,” she said. “He must’ve found out and now he’s turned her against me.”

“I don’t think any such thing—” Benjamin said but before he could finish the sentence, she cut him off with a comment about how he didn’t know her daddy.

“Yeah, I do,” he replied, but after that he kept quiet.

“Maybe your mama can’t write,” Otis suggested. “Maybe she’s sick or down with a fever.”

Delia gasped. “Lord God Almighty, don’t even think such a thing.”

Although nothing more was said, that evening Benjamin tucked the thought inside his head and a day later, without mention to anyone, he drove into Twin Pines. He went past the Finch house three times before he finally worked up enough courage to park the car and go knock on the door.

The first time he rapped lightly and stood waiting, but when there was no answer he knocked with a heavy hand. Still no answer. He walked around to the back of the house. The curtains were drawn, and there was no sound coming from inside.

“Hello?” he called out.

After he’d been there a good fifteen minutes, a woman came from the house next door. “Are you looking for the Finches?”

“Yes,” Benjamin answered. “Missus Finch is my wife’s mama.”

“Your wife’s mama?” the woman said. “And she doesn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Mary passed away this past September and George—”

“Missus Finch is dead?”

The woman nodded. “I’m surprised Pastor Finch didn’t let you know.”

“He ain’t close with family,” Benjamin said; then he turned and walked away.

“I’m sorry,” the woman called after him. “I’m real sorry.”

“Thanks,” Benjamin hollered back and kept walking.





For the remainder of that day Benjamin debated what to do. There was no good answer; there were only two different kinds of terrible. It was a painful thing to know your mama died without ever giving you one last hug or holding your baby in her arms. News such as that would break Delia’s heart. It would rip loose the thin thread of hope she’d been clinging to. But if he didn’t let her know, she’d go on hoping.

Which was worse—to destroy the little bit of hope she had or let her go on wishing for something that would never happen? Long after Delia had gone to bed Benjamin sat on the porch and pondered the thought. It was near dawn when he came to a decision.





There was little conversation during breakfast. Delia hurried Isaac along so he wouldn’t be late for school, and Otis claimed he had chores to finish up. Benjamin was silent. He took a few sips of coffee and left the plate of biscuits and gravy untouched.

“You feeling okay?” Delia asked.

He nodded then said he’d feed the chickens while Delia walked Isaac to school.

“Leave it be,” she said, “I can do it when I get back.”

“You got enough to do,” he replied and disappeared out the door.

When Delia returned, Benjamin was sitting at the kitchen table.

“Delia, honey,” he said. “Sit down. There’s something I got to say.”

After years of loving him, she’d come to know Benjamin’s thoughts as well as her own. A single glance at the serious expression on his face told her something was wrong.

“Lord have mercy,” she moaned and dropped into the chair.

“I know you been worried about your mama not writing,” Benjamin said, “but it ain’t your fault. Sometimes things happen and it ain’t nobody’s fault, it’s just a thing what happens—”

“For heaven’s sake, Benjamin, say what you got to say and be done with it.”

“Don’t hurry me; what I got to speak ain’t easy.” He stretched his arm across the table and took her hand in his. “Delia, honey, I’m sorry I got to be the one to tell you this, but the reason your mama didn’t answer those letters is ’cause she’s gone to be with the Lord.”

Delia yanked her hand loose and let out a gasp that could be heard a mile away. “Mama’s dead?”

Benjamin nodded and reached for her hand again. “I know it’s a real hard thing to hear, but I couldn’t let you go on thinking it was your fault.”

“Mama’s dead?” she repeated.

Benjamin nodded again; then he began to explain how he’d driven to Twin Pines and spoken with the neighbor lady. As he told the story, Delia sat there with tears rolling down her cheeks. When there was nothing more to tell, he remained beside her.

Outside there was the sound of chickens squawking and Otis sawing firewood, but inside there was only the muffled sound of sobs and Delia’s heart breaking.





Delia