Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(63)
Sunday
Klaussner’s Grocery Store was not open on Sunday. It never had been and according to Sid Klaussner, it never would be. He claimed God rested on that day, and he was entitled to do the same.
Benjamin, however, was a man who had worked seven days a week for as long as he could remember. More often than not he started to work before the light of day was in the sky, and just as often he trudged home on the edge of darkness. Rising early was a thing he’d gotten used to doing, and it wasn’t a habit easily broken. A day of idleness was a day wasted, in his mind. If there was no work to be done, a man could take his boy fishing or hunting—except in this case that wasn’t an option because Isaac was off playing with Jubilee. Benjamin thought of calling the boy and going in search of a stream where they could sit and fish, maybe bring home catch enough for dinner, but the sound of the boy’s laughter dissuaded him. He hadn’t heard Isaac laugh like that since that night, that terrible night.
Benjamin sat in the chair and started flipping through the pages of a Time magazine that was nearly a year old. He didn’t stop on any given page long enough to read even a line or two; he just gave the pictures a quick glance and moved on. Sitting still made Benjamin feel itchy all over. It was like wearing wool underwear in the hot summertime.
He set the magazine down and scanned the shelf of books, but not one jumped out at him. There was a when time he’d loved to read. Back at Maxwell Air Force Base, he’d read handbook after handbook on engines, motors, mechanics, almost anything he could get his hands on. With each new thing he learned he felt he was coming closer to one day being a master mechanic; but after he got the letter saying his mama died, he lost all interest in reading. With Otis there on the farm alone, Benjamin knew what he had to be: a farmer.
Death changes people; it changed Benjamin. With each tragedy, his heart became heavier. In places where there had once been the lightheartedness of hope, a hard rock of responsibilities moved in. When his mama died he took on the responsibility of Otis, and when Otis died he tried to shoulder the burden of Delia’s grief to save her from her sorrow. But when Delia died, the rock became a boulder. A boulder so large that he would be unable to stand if he allowed himself to think about it.
Benjamin stood and began pacing across the playroom floor. Each stride covered three of the eight inch linoleum squares. He’d go ten paces, then turn around and go back to where he started. Over and over he did this, all the while thinking. Random thoughts came and went like flashes of light. One moment he could see the future Delia had spoken of, and the next minute he could see nothing but a dark and ominous cloud of trouble.
After countless trips back and forth across the green linoleum, he muttered, “I’ve got to get out of here,” and walked through the basement door into the backyard.
Out here there was air. Out here he could breathe. Benjamin looked around; it was a nice yard, bigger than he’d thought it would be. Three large oaks that needed trimming; bushes being strangled by weeds. From force of habit, he bent and pulled a long twist of crabgrass from the edge of the lawn. In just a few minutes, he’d gathered a handful of chickweed and dandelion. He walked around to the side of the house, found a garbage can, and pulled it into the backyard.
Somehow the weight of his heart seemed lighter when he was working. Working left less time for thinking, and thinking meant coming face to face with what he’d left behind as well as what lay ahead. Work was better; far better.
Once he’d pruned the vines that were within reach, Benjamin dug through his toolbox and pulled out a handsaw. He was climbing through the branches of the oak when Prudence Wentworth opened her window.
“Excuse me!” she yelled down. “What are you doing in there?” Her voice had a commanding, answer-demanding ring to it.
At first Benjamin was startled. He hadn’t seen anyone when he walked outside and the bushes, surrounding the yard, gave a good measure of privacy. But then he hadn’t looked at the upstairs window where Prudence had her nose sticking through the curtain.
Although he’d taken it on his own to start trimming trees, he answered, “Mister Sidney hired me to clean up the yard.”
“On a Sunday?” she said skeptically.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Prudence slammed the window down without saying another word.
Less than a minute later, the Klaussners’ telephone started ringing. Carmella answered it.
“Do you know there’s a colored man tearing up your backyard?” Prudence asked, her voice high-pitched and shrill.
Unaware that Benjamin was even out there, Carmella left her bowl of carrot salad sitting on the counter and stretched the telephone wire to where she could peek into the backyard. Seeing Benjamin drop from the low branch of the oak, she laughed. “Oh, that’s Benjamin.”
“Benjamin who?”
“Church, I believe is his last name. He’s the young man who brought Paul home after the accident.”
“Oh.” Prudence gave a sigh of relief. “So you gave him a job working as your yard man. For a minute I was worried—”
Carmella chuckled. “Benjamin’s not our gardener. I think he’s just doing that to be nice, or maybe because he’s bored.”
“Bored?”
“Probably. You know how quiet it is around here on Sunday. Paul’s studying, Sidney’s napping, and I think the kids are playing checkers.”