Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(22)

As they moved past the thicket Benjamin stretched his arm across the seat and covered her hand with his. “You gotta stop crying, or your daddy ain’t gonna see nothing but red swelled-up eyes.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence.





When they arrived in Twin Pines, Benjamin parked directly in front of the Finch house. Three weeks earlier he’d parked a few doors down, trying not to be obvious. Now he no longer cared whether George Finch recognized his car; his thoughts were only of Delia.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asked for probably the fifth time.

“I’m sure,” she answered. “Even if Daddy’s forgiving of me, he for sure ain’t gonna allow you to step foot in the house.”

Benjamin sighed reluctantly. “Okay. But if he raises a hand…”

Delia got out of the car then leaned back in. “Don’t worry,” she said, then closed the door and started up the walkway.

The first thing she noticed was that the wicker rocking chair her mama sat in was gone from the front porch. Although it had been just six years, it seemed a lifetime ago. Everything felt strange; different in a way she couldn’t put a finger to. She rapped on the door and waited.

After nearly twenty minutes of knocking on the door and tapping at the window, Delia decided her daddy was not at home. She returned to the car and said, “I guess we ought to drive over to the church; Daddy must be there.”





It was a short drive to the New Unity Church, and when Delia climbed from the car a second time Benjamin repeated his warning. “Be careful.”

She didn’t answer but moved toward the building with slow deliberate steps. A few seconds after she knocked at the door it swung open. The man standing there was tall and years younger than her daddy.

“I’m looking for Pastor Finch,” Delia said.

“Pastor Finch is no longer here,” he answered. “I’m Brother Anders. Is there something I can do for you?”

“No longer here?” Delia echoed. “He’s the preacher, how could he not be…”

Brother Anders gave a soft smile. “Pastor Finch left Unity two months back.”

“Left?” A look of disbelief took hold of Delia’s face. “Where’d he go?”

Anders shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know. He left before I was assigned to the church.”

“You’re the pastor?”

“Yes.” Anders nodded. “If there’s anything I can do—”

Delia gave a sad shake of her head. “There’s nothing,” she said, then turned and walked away. When she got back into the car a stream of tears rolled down her face. It was several minutes before she could pull herself together enough to tell Benjamin what had transpired.

“It’s bad enough to not know what happened to Mama,” she said, sobbing, “but now Daddy’s gone too.”

“Maybe one of his friends can say where he is,” Benjamin suggested.

“Daddy didn’t have friends.”

“What about your mama, she have friends?”

Delia pulled a hankie from her purse, wiped back the flow of tears, then blew her nose and nodded.





That afternoon they visited the woman Delia had for many years called Auntie.

Tilly Jessup was a woman with an ample bosom and a face made for smiling. When she saw Delia standing on her doorstep, she pulled the girl into her arms and squealed. “Land’s sakes, girl, where you been?”

Before there was time for an answer, Tilly swung the door wide open and motioned the two of them into the house.

“Come on in here,” she said. “Sit yourself down, and I’ll fetch us some lemonade.”

If Tilly knew the circumstances of Delia’s marriage to Benjamin, she never let on. She spoke only of how much she’d missed her and how Mary had eagerly shared the news of Delia’s baby boy.

“Isaac ain’t exactly a baby no more,” Delia said. “He’s six years old.”

Tilly laughed. “Don’t you think I know that? Why, your mama read me every letter you wrote. The very same day she got a letter she’d hurry over and read it to me line by line.”

“I sent pictures too,” Delia said.

“I seen every one of them,” Tilly chuckled. “Your mama sure did brag on that boy.”

“Then why didn’t she want to meet him?”

“What you talking about?”

“I wrote and asked Mama about bringing Isaac to visit, but she never answered.”

Tilly wrinkled her brow. “That don’t sound right. Mary never mentioned no letter about you wanting to come visit.”

“It was early October, not long after Isaac started school. I sent a picture of him showing off his new lunchbox.”

“Ah, well.” Tilly sighed. “That was after…” She hesitated a moment then said, “Your mama never got that letter.”

Tilly left the chair she’d been sitting in and squeezed herself onto the sofa between Benjamin and Delia.

“Sugar,” she said, wrapping her arms around Delia, “your mama passed on in September.”

Delia buried her face in Tilly’s shoulder and cried.