Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(48)

“Then it’s just your word against his.”

“It ain’t just my word,” Benjamin pleaded. “A man what’s got a beard, then don’t got a beard. Somebody’s got to seen—”

The sheriff shook his head. “It’s not gonna happen, Benjamin. Luke Garrett’s trashy as they come, but he’s a white man with friends. He’ll lie, and they’ll swear to it.”

“But if somebody seen—”

“Even if they did,” the sheriff said, “there’s no way to prove when Luke shaved it off. It could have been last week, it could have been a month ago.”

Benjamin just sat there, the muscles of his face hard as cement.

“I seen the man what run us down,” Isaac volunteered.

“I know,” the sheriff nodded, “but it was dark at night, and your description was only that the truck had a whitewall tire and the driver was bearded. Did you see anything else that might help us?”

Isaac looked down at his feet and shook his head sorrowfully.

For nearly a minute the room was silent; then the sheriff spoke.

“I hope you can see the problem I’ve got here, Benjamin. I’m not saying which is right or wrong, but in the best interest of all concerned I’ve got to accept Deputy Moran’s word. If I was to charge Moran with covering up a crime based on nothing but your word, there’d be an uprising in Bakerstown such as we’ve never seen.”

Benjamin listened, expressionless and stoic.

“But it ain’t right,” Isaac said. “He run down my mama.”

The sheriff gave a sad nod. “Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. Unless we can prove something…” He let his voice trail off; the thought was something no one wanted to hear.

Benjamin stood to leave, but Sheriff Haledon rose from his chair and came around the desk. He put his hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. “What’s done is done,” he said. “Nothing you do is gonna bring Delia back. Maybe this isn’t fair, but it’s the way life is. The best thing for you to do now is take care of your boy.”

Still somewhat expressionless, Benjamin turned and looked into the sheriff’s face; the expression he saw was sincere and honest.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, then reached for the door.

Although Benjamin never heard it, Sheriff Haledon said, “I wish you well, Benjamin, God knows I do.”





When Benjamin left the sheriff’s office he walked with long angry strides, and Isaac had to hustle to keep up with him. Without exchanging a word, they climbed into the truck and headed toward the edge of town.

“Ain’t we going to work today?” Isaac asked.

“Not today,” Benjamin answered.

Isaac saw the tear sliding down his daddy’s cheek. “Don’t cry, Daddy,” he said. “If that sheriff ain’t gonna get Mister Luke, you and me can. We can run him down jest like he run Mama down.”

Benjamin turned to the boy with the saddest smile imaginable. “No, Isaac, we can’t.” He reached over and pulled the boy a bit closer. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna be okay.”

Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the ride home. Benjamin searched for words, but none of them were right. There simply were no words to cover up his shame and anger.





That afternoon they went fishing. It was the first time Isaac could ever remember his daddy going fishing on a workday afternoon. They walked two miles to where the creek was wide, then sat on the mossy bank and dropped their lines in. For a long while they spoke of things that had no emotional weight tugging at them: fishing, school, green frogs, and growing things. Benjamin was comfortable talking about those. He spoke to Isaac the way Delia had, asking questions that made the child laugh and give stretched out answers that more often than not jumped off to another subject.

The sun was low in the sky when Benjamin finally said, “Isaac, what you think about us going to New York?”

“You mean like for a visit?”

“Unh-unh. I’m thinking maybe to live.”

Isaac looked up with a wide smile. “Mama said in New York there’s a toy store six houses high and—”

Benjamin laughed. “I ain’t going ’cause of no toy store,” he said. “But it’s a place what’s got schools close by and libraries with hundreds of good books like them your mama gave you.”

“You told Mama you can’t go to New York ’cause there ain’t no farms,” Isaac said cautiously.

“There ain’t. But there’s plenty a’ other jobs. Jobs what pays the rent and leaves money left over.”

Isaac had a dozen other questions, and one by one Benjamin answered them. They would have to leave the dog behind; he couldn’t say exactly where they would live and what kind of work he would do; and, yes, he would miss the friends they had, but they’d make new friends and build a better life. In the time they talked it seemed to Benjamin that Isaac grew older, more responsible about his concerns. Perhaps too responsible for an eleven-year-old boy.





That night they fried the catfish they’d caught, and Isaac picked the last two tomatoes from Delia’s garden. When they sat at the table Benjamin asked the Lord to bless the food and the journey they were about to undertake. He held back the sorrow swelling beneath his words, lest the boy be frightened.