Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(47)

For the next four days Isaac was never beyond Benjamin’s sight. When Benjamin trimmed Hazel Fromm’s oak, Isaac picked up the loose clippings and stacked them to the side. When Benjamin painted Herbert Megan’s garage, he did the top half and Isaac did the bottom. It was the same whether Benjamin was hanging a new shutter, fixing a screen door, or patching a water pipe.

Although he’d said nothing about it, Benjamin had grown fearful that Luke Garrett would go to an even greater extent to protect himself. He’d gotten rid of the beard and the whitewall tire. Would he also try to get rid of Isaac? Sheriff Haledon would be back in the office on Monday; until then Benjamin would not let Isaac out of his sight.





On Monday morning when Benjamin walked into the sheriff’s office Isaac was with him. Deputy Moran was at the front desk.

“What now?”

“I come to see the sheriff,” Benjamin replied.

“He’s busy.”

“I ain’t in no rush,” Benjamin said. “I can just wait.”

“Not in here you can’t,” Moran said angrily. “You wanna wait, get your ass out on the street to do it!”

“Yes, sir.” Benjamin nodded. He took Isaac by the hand and stepped outside.

When Moran looked up the two of them were walking back and forth directly in front of the sheriff’s office storefront window. He bounced up out of his seat and flung the door open.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

“We’re waiting outside like you said,” Benjamin answered.

Moran, a third cousin of Mayor Wilkes and with much the same attitude, turned red in the face. “Don’t you sass me, boy! Get the hell outta here and—”

He was interrupted by the booming voice of Sheriff Haledon. “What’s going on here?”

“This damn nigger thinks he’s got the right to—”

“Okay, Moran, that’s enough,” the sheriff said. “Let’s take this inside.” He held the office door open and Moran stormed through, followed by Benjamin and Isaac.

Once inside the sheriff closed the door and turned to the threesome. “Okay, now, what happened?”

Moran jumped on it. “I told this nigger you was busy, and he started giving me a bunch a’ nigger sass. Him and the kid got out in front of the office and started parading back ’n forth like they was picketing the place. All I did was tell them to move on.”

The sheriff turned to Benjamin. “What’s your side of the story?”

“I begs your pardon, sir, but I ain’t seeing it like Deputy Moran. Me and Isaac come to speak with you and when we got told you was busy, we figured to wait.” He looked down at Isaac and said, “Ain’t that right, Isaac?”

The boy nodded.

“We was gonna wait here, but Mister Moran told us to do our waiting outside.”

Sheriff Haledon turned to Moran. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, I told them to wait outside, but I didn’t say nothing about parading back and forth like a bunch a’ picketers!”

“We was just stretching our legs,” Benjamin said defensively.

“You weren’t banging on the window or creating a disturbance of any sort?”

“No, sir,” Benjamin answered. “We was just walking.”

“Seems to me,” the sheriff said, “this is a whole lot of commotion about a little bit of nothing.” He turned to Benjamin, “If all you want to do is talk, let’s go in my office and talk.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Moran grumbled. “If this don’t beat all, now we gotta kowtow to a bunch a’ ignorant niggers!”

Sheriff Haledon ushered Benjamin and Isaac into his office, and as he turned back to close the door he gave Moran a warning glare.





Benjamin and Isaac stood, but when Sheriff Haledon sat he motioned for them to take a seat in the chairs facing his desk. “I’m assuming you want to talk to me about this Luke Garrett thing,” he said. “But I’ve already read Deputy Moran’s report, and I don’t see that there’s much more we can do.”

“I ain’t trying to be disrespectful,” Benjamin said, “but Deputy Moran ain’t saying the whole story.” He told how he’d seen the whitewall tire when the truck passed him on Cross Corner Road, then followed Luke Garrett home and peered through the window to see the bearded man.

“And that’s the God’s honest truth,” Benjamin swore.

“Well, Deputy Moran’s report says Luke Garrett’s truck has four black tires, and the man doesn’t have facial hair of any sort.”

“I gotta believe somebody warned him.”

“Benjamin, I’m hoping you aren’t saying Deputy Moran would do a thing like that. I know he has no love of colored folks, but he’s a sworn officer of the law.”

The sheriff’s words landed with a thud. They had the sound of finality, something impossible to argue against.

“I ain’t blaming Mister Moran,” Benjamin said, “but somebody surely did—”

“Who?” the sheriff replied. “Who else knew? Did you mention this to anyone other than Deputy Moran?”

“Unh-unh.” Benjamin shook his head.