Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(25)

As the Church family drove crosstown in the new pickup, Isaac reminded Benjamin of his promise. “You gonna get that ice cream now, Daddy?”

“You bet,” Benjamin said. “Keep a sharp eye out for the ice cream store.”

Delia looked across at Benjamin and mouthed the words I don’t want him seeing those signs. There was an exclamation point in the glare she gave him.

“Tell you what,” Benjamin said to the boy, “I know a real good place just outside of town with barbeque and ice cream. How about we go there?”

Isaac was smiling ear to ear when he answered yes.

As far as Delia was concerned, they couldn’t leave Bakerstown fast enough.





The barbeque place was a roadside stand eight miles outside of town. Delia and Isaac sat at the outside table while Benjamin went in for food. He came back with three paper plates piled high with chicken drumsticks in a thick red sauce.

“This is gonna be the best you ever tasted,” he said smiling.

As he tore into a piece of chicken, Delia nibbled at bits of coleslaw. It was good to see Benjamin so happy, but she couldn’t shake loose the hurt settling into her stomach. Trips to Bakerstown made her feel dirty, the kind of dirty that didn’t wash off. The same dirty she’d felt when her daddy called her a whore. In Twin Pines there were only a handful of whites, so the shop windows were without signs saying “No Coloreds.” But in Bakerstown the signs were everywhere. They were like one great big giant finger pointing you out as something trashy.

“I hate coming here,” she grumbled.

“Why?” Benjamin asked. “Isaac and me likes the food.”

“Not here,” she said, “Bakerstown.” Delia chewed on her lip for a moment and focused her eyes on a crack in the table; then she added, “Bakerstown treats Negros like they’re dirt.”

Benjamin knew without asking she was thinking back on the sewing machine incident. “Aw, Delia, you gotta stop thinking this way. Those people got their ways, and we got ours.”

“I don’t see any No Whites signs in Grinder’s Corner.”

Benjamin gave Delia a hard look. “It ain’t good for Isaac to hear that stuff.”

“Maybe not,” she said, “but if we was living in New York or Ohio, he’d be eating in a fine restaurant instead of a barbeque stand.”

“I like barbeque,” Isaac said.

Delia forced a weak little laugh. “I can see that.”

When there was nothing but a pile of chicken bones left on the table, they climbed into the new pickup and started home. They’d driven for a good twenty minutes when Benjamin finally gave voice to what he’d been thinking.

“In case you ain’t heard,” he said, “there ain’t a whole lot of farms in New York City.”

“You don’t got to be a farmer,” Delia said. “You could be a mechanic. You know how to fix engines, and there’s always a need for that.”

Benjamin didn’t answer, and she said nothing more. It was neither the first nor last time they had this discussion.

~

There were times—days, weeks and sometimes even months—when the subject never came up, but the thought was always there in the back of Delia’s mind. It was like a boil that would fester and pop open, then start festering all over again. When something triggered the thought, she’d dream of being back in Ohio in the small town where her daddy was a respected preacher and no one looked down their nose at her. When Isaac carried home schoolbooks with torn and missing pages she’d remember the schoolhouse she’d attended, one where students had their own desk and books with hardly any wear. When she tired of dreaming of Ohio, she’d switch to New York City and imagine streets lined with stone buildings and rows of fancy shops where she could wander in and out free as a bird.

Once when Benjamin heard Delia telling Isaac about life in other cities, he laughed out loud. “How long you gonna keep filling the boy’s head with those fairytales? ’Specially since you know they ain’t true.”

“Long as it takes,” Delia answered. “Long as it takes for him to know every place ain’t like Bakerstown.” She turned back to Isaac and continued her tale of a toy store that stood five floors high. As he sat there with a wide-eyed expression of wonderment she said, “That’s bigger than the bank in Bakerstown.”

Isaac gasped. “Really?”

“Not really,” Benjamin said. “Your mama’s making all this stuff up. She ain’t never even been to one of those big cities.”

“Maybe not,” Delia answered, “but I know others what’s been there.”

“Who?” Benjamin challenged.

“Mister Paul Robeson, for one.”

Benjamin laughed. “I ain’t believing that for one second. You ain’t never even seen him.”

Delia squeezed her brows together and looked up.

“I have so,” she said indignantly. “He come through Ohio once, and I saw him singing. I was standing close enough to reach out and touch his shoes.”

“Touch his shoes?” Benjamin said. “Why, that ain’t knowing somebody.”

Delia turned off in a huff. “You’re just saying that ’cause you wasn’t there. Them shoes had magic. I know ’cause I saw it. They was so sparkly and shiny, you could see your own face if you looked close.”