Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(24)

“He ain’t a man worth chasing after,” Benjamin said, and that was the end of it.





On the Saturday after Valentine’s Day Benjamin and Otis took Isaac with them when they went to work in the north field, but a rainstorm came up and Benjamin told the boy to get back to the house. When Isaac slammed through the door, Delia was sitting on the sofa dabbing tears from her eyes.

“What’s the matter, Mama?” he asked.

Startled, she looked up and sniffed the tears to a stop. “It’s nothing. I was just crying over old times.”

He slid onto the sofa and wriggled his way under her arm. “Why? Is old times bad?”

“Sometimes,” Delia answered, “but sometimes it was good. Back in the days when me and Mama could talk and laugh together, it was real good.”

“If it was good then why you crying?”

“’Cause with Mama gone and Daddy gone, I feel like an orphan.”

“What’s an orphan?”

“Somebody who got nobody, no family.”

“You got me,” Isaac said. “Ain’t I family?”

Delia looked down at the earnestness in his six-year-old face and smiled. She hugged him to her chest and laughed out loud. It was the first time in months she’d laughed, and the sound seemed to ricochet off the walls and grow bigger in size.

“Yes, Isaac, you surely are family,” she said. “I got you and I got your daddy and Grandpa Church.” She squeezed him a bit closer and whispered, “Thank you for reminding me.”

By the time Benjamin and Otis came from the fields cold and soaked to the skin, Delia had a tray of hot biscuits sitting on the stove and chicken frying in a pan. She’d also scattered pictures of Isaac throughout every room of the house.

From that day forward whenever the image of her mama came to mind, she’d grab a picture of Isaac and go back to counting her blessings instead of her losses.

~

The winter of 1953 brought forth a bountiful harvest, and in the spring when they sold a cartload of cabbage and turnips Benjamin claimed they had enough money to replace the car with a pickup truck.

“I hate to let this car go,” Delia said. “It reminds me of our good times.”

Benjamin smiled. “Yep, them is sweet memories for sure. But we ain’t getting rid of them, just the car.”

“Thing is,” Otis added, “memories can’t pull a wagon. Henry’s getting on in years and can’t haul a full load.”

What Otis said was true. The mule was past twenty and slower than ever.

Twin Pines, while it was considerably larger than Grinder’s Corner, was still a small town. The automobile dealers were in Bakerstown.

The mention of Bakerstown caused Delia to think about the signs she’d seen in windows.

“I’ve no need to go,” she told Benjamin. “You and Daddy Church pick out whatever you think best.”

“I got things to do,” Otis said. “Benjamin don’t need no old man tagging along. You young folks go and have yourselves some fun.”

“Can I come too?” Isaac asked.

Before Delia could say she didn’t think that was such a good idea, Benjamin had already answered yes.

With bad roads and a cranky car, the drive to Bakerstown took more than two hours. As they drove Benjamin whistled a happy tune, and Isaac chattered about seeing a real city. Neither of them noticed how Delia fidgeted and twisted in her seat.

“Let’s not dally over this,” she said. “I got things to do at home.”

“Work can wait,” Benjamin replied happily. “You’re in need of a day out.”

“We gonna buy a new truck, Daddy?” Isaac asked.

Benjamin laughed. “I don’t think we can afford a brand new one.”

“Can we afford a store-bought ice cream?”

“Yep,” Benjamin said, chuckling, “ice cream and maybe even a nice dinner for you and your mama.”

Delia wanted to say she was not the least bit interested in staying for dinner, but with Isaac excited as he was she hadn’t the heart.





There were three automobile dealers in Bakerstown. At the first one Benjamin parked the car on the street, and they walked across to the lot. When they headed toward a green pickup, an older man came from the office.

“You want something?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Benjamin nodded. “I’m looking to buy a used pickup. Don’t matter if it needs work.”

“You got cash?” the man asked.

“Some. I’m figuring to trade in the car I got and pay the difference.”

The salesman pointed a finger at the car on the street. “That yours?”

“Yes, sir,” Benjamin answered.

He scowled. “That thing’s more ’n twenty-five years old. I ain’t in the junk business.”

Benjamin was going to explain the car was in decent running condition, but by then the salesman had turned back toward the office building.

The second dealership was pretty much a repeat of the first, and the third only handled new cars.

“Try Peter’s,” the salesman said, “they might have something.”

Peter’s was not a dealership; it was a used car lot on the back side of town about two blocks from where they’d bought the sewing machine. Peter’s was willing to take the trade in and had a 1941 Chevrolet pickup that was affordable and in reasonably good shape. They went back and forth on price a few times, then shook hands on the deal.