Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(64)

“What kids?”

“Jubilee and Isaac; he’s Benjamin’s son.”

“You allow him to bring his son to work?” Prudence gasped.

With her voice growing a bit testier, Carmella said, “He’s not working today. During the week he works at the grocery store, not as a gardener. And he didn’t bring his son anywhere, they’re staying with us.”

“Carmella Klaussner!” Prudence snapped. “Please tell me you do not have a Negro man living in that house!”

It was a long few moments before Carmella answered, and when she did the words were icy enough to cause frostbite.

“If you are referring to Benjamin, yes, he and his son are staying with us.”

“Lord God!” There was a long silence before Prudence spoke again. “You do know it was a Negro man who killed Martha Pillard’s son, don’t you?”

Carmella gave an exasperated sigh. “That was over twenty years ago. In happened in a bar fight. In Norfolk, not Wyattsville. And,” she added, “truth be known, Tommy Pillard was a brawler from way back. When he was ten years old—”

“Don’t make light of this, Carmella! You don’t know a thing about this man—”

“Yes, I do,” Carmella cut in. “I know he was kind enough to risk his own life to save Paul. In my mind anybody who would do a thing like that is a good man, and I don’t give a damn if his skin is green with orange polka dots.” With that she slammed the receiver down so hard it left a ringing in Prudence’s ear.

“How dare you speak to me like that,” Prudence stammered, but by then the dial tone had come back on.

“Just you wait,” she grumbled. “I don’t think Martha is going to take kindly to this.”





And Thus It Began





Prudence Wentworth was a founding member of the Wyattsville chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and she had a brass plaque attesting to it displayed prominently on the mantle in her living room. To her way of thinking anyone who couldn’t trace their heritage back to serving in what she called the ‘Great War’ was an outsider and of no benefit to the community. Two seconds after her conversation with Carmella ended, Prudence picked up the receiver and started dialing Martha Pillard’s number. The telephone rang seventeen times, and although it seemed obvious Martha was not at home Prudence was too angry to give up.

“First she had to take in those two street urchins from West Virginia,” she grumbled. “Now this.” She continued to listen to the ring for a good fifteen minutes, and then her anger swelled to the point where she could no longer hold back.

Grabbing a pair of gardening gloves, Prudence stomped out the door into her front yard. It had been years since she’d plucked even a dead rose from the bush, but now she needed an ear and whose ear didn’t matter. She remained out there in the hot sun pulling buds from still flowering plants, until John Thompson happened along.

It took little more than a nod for her to let go of what had been racing through her mind.

“Have you heard the news?” she asked John.

“What news?”

“We’ve got a Negro family living in the neighborhood.”

With an anger that was obvious, she yanked a newly-planted yellow mum from the ground, tossed it into the pail, and looked square into John’s face. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

John, who was not much of a talker, just stood there looking at her quizzically.

“Once one moves in, there’s more coming.”

John tried to think of where anybody could have moved in; as far as he knew there wasn’t an empty house on this block or the next.

“The place will be overrun with coloreds hanging out windows and playing in the streets.” Prudence gave a troubled sigh and added, “You can just guess what’s going to happen to property values, right?”

“Moved in where?” he asked.

“With the Klaussners.”

Still looking a bit puzzled John repeated, “With the Klaussners?”

“Yes, indeed.” Prudence gave an affirmative nod. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

She went on to describe Benjamin as the biggest, blackest Negro she’d ever laid eyes on.

“There he was,” she said, “walking around the backyard like he owned the place.”

“Maybe he’s working for them.”

“Unh-unh.” She narrowed her eyes and raised her brows. “I came right out and asked Carmella about it and she told me he’s a friend of Paul, that boy they took in.”

Prudence leaned over the fence and in a hushed voice said, “Those two kids are from West Virginia, and you know how those mountain communities are. They think it’s just fine to live side by side with coloreds.”

At a loss for words, John tugged at his ear then turned to leave.

In one last desperate attempt to pull him over to her way of thinking, Prudence hollered, “It may not seem like much now, but how do you think Mary Beth is gonna feel when you’ve got a colored boy chasing after your daughter?”

John stopped and turned back. “Chasing after Elizabeth? At twelve years old? She’s not even—”