Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(5)

The weather stayed warm, and when Benjamin saw sprouts of green coming up the second week of October he began to talk about the possibility of having enough money for a used tractor.

“If we could find one what’s broke,” he said, “I could get it going.”

“That you could,” Otis said with a grin. “That you could.”





The days were long and the work endless, but the week before Thanksgiving they brought in a second harvest. They filled the wagon with beets and sweet potatoes and hauled it over to Twin Pines, a town that was only half as far as Bakerstown and a place where the color of a man’s skin wasn’t part of the bargaining. With a good number of summer crops lost to the earlier drought, the price of produce was higher than ever. When Tom Coolidge said he was willing to pay $1.80 a bushel for sweet potatoes, Benjamin could almost see himself riding around on a tractor.

Their next stop was the Supply Depot.

“I’m maybe interested in a tractor,” Benjamin said.

Clyde Boone, owner of the shop and a man who was somewhat uppity for a colored, looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Them tractors is a thousand dollars; you ain’t got that kind of money.” The curl in his lip indicated it wasn’t a question.

“I was thinking used,” Benjamin replied.

“Used is five, maybe six hundred. You got that?”

Benjamin shook his head. “You got one what’s broke? Something you’re maybe looking to get rid of for a hundred?”

“I got one for a hundred-eighty. It’s running but ain’t working good.”

Benjamin didn’t have one hundred and eighty dollars. He had one hundred and thirty-two, and the only reason he had that much was because he’d pocketed most of his mustering out pay and hadn’t spent a dime other than buying seed and a few parts for the old car.

“I ain’t seeing my way clear for spending that much,” Benjamin said. “Can you maybe do better?”

Clyde frowned. “With a little fixing up it’s worth four easy. One-eighty’s a steal.”

“Well, I ain’t got one-eighty, so I ain’t ready to steal it.” He turned and started toward the door.

“You planting winter crops?” Clyde called out.

Benjamin shrugged. “Maybe.”

It was a known fact that Clyde Boone showed no favor to his own, but neither was he willing to let a loose dollar walk out the door.

“It’d be a lot easier if you had that tractor,” he said.

“True enough,” Benjamin answered, “but I still ain’t got one-eighty.”

“How much you got?”

Knowing Clyde would take the pennies off a dead man’s eyes, Benjamin hesitated. “Hundred and ten,” he finally answered.

“Well, then,” Clyde said with a smile, “I reckon we can maybe work something out.” He suggested Benjamin give him the hundred and ten now, another forty when he sold the winter crop in early March, and yet another forty when he sold the spring harvest.

Benjamin ran through the numbers in his head. “That’s ten dollars more’n you’re asking.”

“It’s a finance charge,” Clyde said.

“I ain’t buying no fine-nance,” Benjamin replied.

They went back and forth for several minutes, then finally agreed Benjamin would pay thirty-five dollars in March and the same amount when the spring harvest was sold.

When they left Twin Pines, Otis was riding in the wagon and Benjamin was following behind in a tractor that was huffing and puffing like a dying man.





On days when the sun was warm and the sky clear, Benjamin would work in the field tending the late crops and readying the other field for an early spring planting. When the wind blew and the temperature dropped to where early morning frost clouded the window, he’d slip on an extra sweater and head for the barn. That’s when he’d work on fixing various parts of the tractor. He’d clean them, adjust the belts, and then put it back together again. At the end of the day his palms would be covered with the grease of the engine and his knuckles raw with scrapes, but he’d come in smiling.

The tractor held out long enough for Benjamin to till the front lot and most of the back. When it stopped running altogether, he hitched Henry to the plow and finished turning the back lot. By early December they had planted long rows of parsnips, winter squash, and green onions.

After the seeds were in the ground, Benjamin began rebuilding the tractor from the ground up.

“Come spring,” he said, “this thing is gonna be purring like a kitten.”





Not as Expected





A week before the final harvest Otis ran short of tobacco and drove into Twin Pines. He used the car Benjamin had repaired and simonized until it shined like a new penny. The minute he stepped out of the car he found himself nose to nose with Denny Walters who’d crossed over from the other side of the street.

“Well, Lordy me,” Denny said, laughing. “Look at you, living high on the hog!” He eyed the car and grinned. “Where’d you get a nice car like this?”

“Belongs to my boy, Benjamin,” Otis answered. Skinny as he was you could easily see how his chest puffed out with pride. “He’s home from the army.”