Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(62)

“Don’t forget those green beans,” Sidney said, laughing. “I know you grew green beans that didn’t come from a can.” He chuckled again and told the story of that morning.

Everyone laughed and oddly enough, even Benjamin found himself smiling.

“Nothing tastes as good as vegetables from the garden,” Carmella said. “When I was a little girl Mama used to go outside, pull a zucchini from the vine, and fry it up fresh that very evening. I’ve never tasted a canned vegetable good as that.”

The conversation had already moved on to another topic when she added, “Next summer I think I’ll plant a vegetable garden right here in the backyard.”





Since supper had gotten off to a late start Jubilee stayed up way past her bedtime, and it was almost ten o’clock when the kids tired of playing and Sidney led Benjamin and Isaac to the rented playroom. They clomped down the wooden stairs into a basement that stretched out longer than it was wide. The floor was covered in squares of green linoleum, and bookshelves lined the back wall. On one side sat a grouping of two easy chairs and a cluster of small tables; on the other side a double bed that looked to be as big and plump as the one Isaac slept in last night. The only difference was this bed was covered in a dark green wooly blanket.

“Plenty of stuff here to read.” Sid steered Benjamin back to where the bookshelves lined the wall. “And games, if you like that sort of thing.”

The shelves were crowded with books, toys, and games, but Benjamin reached out and picked up a World War II Bomber model airplane. “Who made this?”

“Me.” Sid grinned. “I made all of them.”

“This looks like the B-17 Flying Fortress,” Benjamin said. “I worked on these when I was stationed at Maxwell.”

“You were at Maxwell?” Sid sounded impressed. “Ever do any flying?”

Benjamin shook his head. “Just worked on repairs, servicing mostly, bringing in replacement parts.”

“I always wanted to fly one of those babies. I was close to forty when the war broke out, too old for the draft.” He hesitated a moment then added, “After Pearl Harbor I was ready to enlist, but Carmella wouldn’t hear of it. She was going through a rough time then, and I couldn’t leave her.”

“I didn’t meet Delia ’til I was out,” Benjamin volunteered. “Good thing ’cause we had Benjamin not long after we was married.”

“Count your blessings,” Sidney replied. “We lost three babies, the last one full term, but he came stillborn. That was in December of thirty-nine.”

A wrinkle of regret pulled at Sid’s face then turned to a grimace. “Losing that baby tore Carmella’s heart out, especially after Doctor Elgin told her she wasn’t ever going to have another one.”

As Sidney and Benjamin stood there talking, Isaac climbed into bed and snuggled under the covers. He had one last thought before he drifted off to sleep: he was sleeping in the same soft bed as last night, only this one had a wooly blanket covering it.

After Sid left, Benjamin dropped down in one of the worn chairs and sat there for a long time. He knew he was as different from Sid as night was from day, yet the more he tried to count up the differences the fewer there seemed to be. The rain had stopped and the moon was high in the sky when he finally climbed into bed alongside Isaac and closed his eyes.





Sidney





Thinking back on the years after Carmella lost those babies brings back a lot of sad memories. The first two were girls, the last one a boy. Peter, that’s what we named him. It was Carmella’s daddy’s name. That baby died two, maybe three days before he came into this world, according to Doctor Elgin. The umbilical cord wrapped around his tiny little throat. On the day of the funeral, Carmella was so weak she could barely stand. I told her she was too sick to come, but she insisted on being there.

That time was the worst. When Carmella went past her seventh month with no trouble, we were convinced this baby would make it. We started getting ready, and after I painted the bedroom an ivory color Carmella stenciled the wall with a row of yellow ducks splashing through puddles. Every evening she’d meet me at the door, bursting at the seams to show what else she’d gotten for the baby. Those were good days. Those were days when her eyes sparkled like a diamond reflecting happiness.

Then when we came home from the hospital with no baby, it was like misery moved in and took charge of everything. We were both hurting, and there was nothing anybody could say or do to make it better.

I closed the door to that ivory-colored room and neither one of us opened it for nearly a year. Then one evening when Carmella was out at her Ladies Auxiliary meeting, I got rid of the crib and everything else. The Mallorys were having their first baby, and I told Steve he could have it all, the whole kit and caboodle. Only thing he had to do was come and get it. A few weeks later I wallpapered the room and tried to cover over thoughts of our not having a baby.

Of course it didn’t work. Trying to cover up something that painful is like trying to ignore your clothes being on fire. You can’t pretend it’s not there, because the inside of you is turning to ashes.

No matter how much I itched to be a pilot I couldn’t leave Carmella, so I started building model airplanes. It was hard not being part of something that meant so much to our country, but looking back I know I did the right thing.