Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(55)
Carmella drained the last of her coffee then said, “It’s past time Isaac was in bed. Come on, I’ll show you where your room is.”
Benjamin and Isaac wordlessly followed along as she started for the staircase. Halfway up she turned back and in a shushed voice said, “Be real quiet, because Jubilee’s asleep.”
“Jubilee?” Benjamin repeated.
“Paul’s sister,” she whispered and continued up the stairs.
Carmella
I know I can be a bit hasty and rush to judgment on things, but I’m determined not to make the same mistake I did last time. When Sidney was shot in that robbery, I right off assumed Paul was the one who did it. That poor boy was lying there in the hospital, unconscious and unable to defend himself, and without hearing one word of his story I labeled him guilty. Not only did I assume he was guilty, but I also did everything in my power to see that the full force of the law came down on him. I never gave one iota of thought to the fact that maybe he was trying to save Sidney, not kill him.
Once the truth came out, I knew I had a lot to make up for. And thank God I’ve been able to do it by providing those kids with a home and enough love to last a lifetime.
Tonight I looked into Benjamin’s eyes, and I didn’t see one speck of evil there. Yes, his skin is dark as a Hershey’s chocolate, but his heart is lily white. Any fool can see that.
I figure God is giving me a second chance to make up for my misjudging people, and this time I’m going to be smart enough to take it.
I put Benjamin and his boy in the fancy guest room because I wanted them to have the best. Even that is pitiful small recompense for saving my boy’s life, but it’s all I have to give for now. Maybe I can think of some other way to repay his kindness. It’s something to sleep on, that’s for sure.
The Plan
In all his life Benjamin had never seen such a bed. He’d grown used to a mattress stuffed with straw and dry cornhusks, and in the army he’d slept on a wooden plank with a paper-thin canvas pad. This mattress was soft as a cloud, and the blanket covering it was light as a feather. Isaac sat on the side of the bed then bounced back up.
“Is we really allowed to sleep on this?” he asked.
Benjamin shrugged. “I reckon so.”
Isaac crawled beneath the cover and was sound asleep in minutes. Not Benjamin. It felt wrong to be here, to be sleeping in a room in a white man’s house. Sid had been warm and friendly, yet an uneasiness had settled in Benjamin’s stomach. He’d eaten in a white woman’s house once before, so that was okay. At dinner he’d sat on a wooden chair, a hard surface that could easy enough be wiped clean. But here in this room, in this poof of soft fabrics, he felt dirty. Too dirty to climb beneath the covers.
Benjamin thought of the pond back in Grinder’s Corner, and at that moment he wished he could run to it and jump in. Maybe if he were to scrub hard enough the black of his skin would wash away, and he’d be light enough not to soil the pale-colored sheets.
Carmella had showed him where the bathroom was. Not an outhouse like his, but a bathroom like the houses in Bakerstown. He was not allowed to use those bathrooms, and he’d never once tried to. Yet Carmella said, “Here’s your bathroom.” She’d invited him to use it with a single admonition.
“Just be quiet,” she’d whispered, saying that the girl’s bedroom was right next door.
Benjamin sat in the chair for a long while. He remembered Delia’s bedroom when she lived with her parents in Twin Pines. It was like this: long curtains at the window, a carpet on the floor. He’d been in that room just once, and he’d not touched the bed. He’d only held the bag while Delia tossed her belongings into it.
He looked around the room. A lamp with a switch turning it on and off; a picture of a woman holding flowers; a wooden dresser so polished it glistened, even in the dim lamplight. This was a room he wished he could have given Delia. It was the type of place where she’d once lived. She’d left it to be with him. Benjamin lowered his head into his hands and cried. It was the muffled sound of regret mixed with heartache.
After a long while he creaked the door open and walked across to the bathroom. He washed his face and hands in the sink, then dried them on sleeve of his shirt. It was not fitting that he should use the embroidered towels hanging on the rack. It was somehow wrong. When he returned to the bedroom, he stretched out on the carpet and tried to sleep.
Isaac and me will leave early tomorrow morning, he told himself. I’ll do whatever I’ve got to do so we can keep going. Sooner or later, we’ll find a place right for us.
Living in a white man’s house is not right, he thought; then he closed his eyes and sleep eventually came.
~
Paul slept for several hours, but he woke long before dawn. In the dark of the sewing room he searched for the memory of yesterday. He could almost feel the car sliding out of control and the panic clutching at his heart. It happened in seconds, but the recollection of it stretched itself into what seemed like hours. He’d heard a scream when the car went airborne, and he’d somehow thought it came from Jubilee. After that there was nothing until he opened his eyes and saw Benjamin hovering over him.
Thinking back on the conversation they’d had on the ride home, Paul recalled how Benjamin spoke in vague and uncertain terms about where he was headed. New York, Philadelphia, or maybe Baltimore. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced Benjamin wasn’t headed toward anything. He was running away from something. But what?