Although no one wanted to acknowledge it, Bea Benson had been holed up in her room, sick with nausea and crying for some time now. She hadn’t come down for meals in two days. The only time Anne Benson had said anything about it was the night before when Jonathan reported that Bea was not feeling fit enough to eat. Anne had replied, “Well, she threw up all her guts this mornin’, now didn’t she? She’s gotta eat somethin’. Sta’ve a cold and feed a fever.”
In the back of her mind, however, Anne knew it wasn’t influenza. There were no fever or chills, just nausea, which was at its worst in the morning. Anne recalled two weeks before when Bea mentioned that her menstrual cycle had been late.
Jonathan noticed his trembling hands, he inhaled deeply and was about to speak. Ben, still having no clue as to why his son had asked for this unexpected meeting, became irritated and said briskly, “A’e we goin’ to have a talk or ain’t we? If we ain’t, I’m goin’ to go back to the porch.”
“Bea has been poorly of late,” Jonathan blurted out, not realizing at first that he’d even begun speaking. “She, uh, she hasn’t been herself.”
“What?” Ben replied. “So does this mean you’ve examined your wife like some country doctor? You goin’ to tell us you’re goin’ into the medical field ’cause you’ve examined your wife and think you’re goin’ to tell us what’s wrong with her? You… .”
“Hush up, Benjamin!” Anne interjected.
Ben Benson quieted down immediately and looked at his wife as if to say, “You ain’t talked like that to me in a long time, Annie. What’s got you sta’ted now?” It was the first time in several years that Anne had raised her voice to her husband, and it was the first time in their marriage that she had told her husband to be quiet.
“Go on, Jonathan,” said Anne, her voice now mellow and soft again. “Your father and I are listening. You were tellin’ us about Bea.”
“She’s pregnant,” continued Jonathan, locking his fingers together and squeezing them together tightly as if this pain could take his mind off the mental anguish he felt from telling his parents that they were going to be grandparents.
Ben was completely unprepared for the news. After a few seconds in which to digest what Jonathan had said, he jumped up, slammed his fist on the table, and yelled, “Pregnant! You mean to say, son, that your wife is expectin’? And what do you think? We’re goin’ to be proud o’ you? Why should we be happy about this, Johnny? Didn’t I tell you that while you live under this roof you’re goin’ to get yourself established first? You were supposed to go to college! You were supposed to make of yourself something I ain’t never made of myself! We had plans for you, Johnny! And now this!”
Ben Benson began to weep uncontrollably. All he could see was his son’s future destroyed. He had known that with no steady work it would take a while for his son to save up enough money for school, but now with another mouth to feed there was no way this was going to happen.
“We were goin’ to let you stay here, weren’t we?” Ben cried. “Free room. Free board. And all the money you were makin’ at the general store and at the sugar house, plus what you’re makin’ at the town hall as a pa’t-time janitor’s assistant. All that money you earned. Gone!”
Ben couldn’t say anything more. He turned on his heels and walked slowly out of the kitchen like a man defeated. Before retreating to the refuge of his porch, he stopped at the front door. As he opened it, his head down, he said in a low voice, “Congratulations to you and your wife, Johnny.”
Jonathan turned to his mother, awaiting her reaction, but she had none. She simply sat there, staring into space. She said nothing for the rest of the evening.
Well aware of his father’s disappointment in him, Jonathan sat in bed that night with his wife while the young couple worried together.
“But what else can we do?” Bea asked her husband, a tinge of worry in her voice.
Detecting the sour vomit on his wife’s breath, Jonathan wanted nothing more than to ask her to brush her teeth again, but he refrained from doing so because he didn’t have the heart to hurt her feelings, especially given her delicate condition. Wanting to comfort Bea in any way he could, Jonathan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her closer to him. As he did so, Bea tucked her head lovingly into his neck. For several minutes the two just lay there, quiet and motionless, contemplating what to do. Several ideas had popped into Jonathan’s head: giving the child up for adoption, working two jobs while going to school, and asking Ben and Anne to watch the baby while Jonathan went to school and Bea worked. None, however, seemed feasible.
First, as opposed as Ben and Anne were to Jonathan and Bea’s starting a family without being financially secure, they would not allow the young couple to give up their first and only grandchild. Second, Jonathan could barely find steady employment in one job, so how could he hold down two indefinitely? Third, his pride was too great to allow his wife to work, no matter the reason.
By the time Jonathan had thought of these three ideas, quickly followed by one reason why each would never work, he saw that Bea had drifted off to sleep. He was happy to see her look so at peace. By 3:00 in the morning, however, Jonathan could still not fall asleep. He had rolled Bea over onto her left side an hour before so that he could try to doze off, but too many things were dancing through his mind. Finally he got up, put on his robe, and went downstairs. He was headed toward the kitchen to see about getting some warm milk to help him sleep when he saw a faint light through a window adjacent to the porch.
He opened the front door and was immediately greeted by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. Ben was sitting in his chair, rocking back and forth and puffing on his fourteenth cigarette since dinner.
“Hi, pop,” Jonathan said happily. “What are you doing out here at this hour?”
This was the first time in his whole life that Jonathan had seen his father up past midnight, except for the time they had attended Ben’s best friend’s son’s wedding in Londonderry. The Bensons were the last ones to leave the reception at almost 1:30 that particular morning. It was also the one and only time that Jonathan saw his father dance. He would later attribute this to his father’s having had one too many gin and tonics.
Ben guffawed and shook his head. He seemed in a far better mood than earlier that evening. “Heh! A grandfather!” he snorted. “I’m goin’ to be a grandfather. I didn’t think of that until after I left you and your mother sittin’ there, wonderin’ if I was goin’ to do myself in.”
Jonathan sat in the small wooden chair next to his father and grinned. “I know, pop. This must be hard for you, but believe me we weren’t planning on this.”
Ben put his hand on his son’s, the cigarette between his index and middle fingers shaking so much that Jonathan thought the long ash would fall onto the back of his hand. “I want you to know, son, that I’ve always been proud of you. You find work in the lowest shitholes of this goddamn town. You do the work, and you keep your mouth shut. You do it for your family. You’re like me. I did the same thing when I was your age. I went to work, built me this house, and married your mother when I was established and had some sort of equity. I mean, it wasn’t much, but we never sta’ved. I did odd jobs around town. Even helped out a bit with that church over there, helped bring up the lumber and set the foundation. Hell, I even helped build that house over there. Yep! But gory if I didn’t do it all for my family. I worked even ha’der when you were born. But times ah’ different now. I didn’t have the sma’ts you got. You got a brain in you, son. I know you can make somethin’ of yourself. That’s why I was so ha’d on you tonight. I don’t want you to be what I become, an old man with no future.”
Jonathan reflected for a minute on what Ben had said. He wanted to break the tension his father had established through his self-estimate. “Hey, pop! You and me out this late. If we had neighbors, what would they think?” Jonathan chort
led, and soon his father joined in.
“Yep!” Ben replied. “They’d think we were winos or somethin’ juicy like that. It’s my greatest fear, I ‘spect. To become an old fah’t who spends his nights sittin’ out here on his porch smokin’ cigarettes and drinkin’ beer till dawn.”
Jonathan laughed. “Aw, c’mon, pop! That’ll never happen to you. You’re just like me—too much to think about right now. Believe me, pop, I don’t think you’re old. You’re my old man, but you’re not old.”
The heaviness of Ben’s heart eased at these words. Jonathan meant the world to him, and hearing his words meant more than Jonathan could ever know. Ben leaned over, grabbed the back of Jonathan’s neck, brought his head close, and kissed his son’s forehead. Jonathan, in turn, leaned back in his chair and saw the old maple tree in the distance.
“Hey, pop! What say you and I go climb that tree like we did when I was a kid? That’ll show any nosey neighbors how young you still are.”
Ben Benson peered over his right shoulder at the maple and snorted. “Yep! My old friend. I miss her. I haven’t spent much time with her these past few years.”
Jonathan nodded. “I know. Me neither, but you taught me more ways of climbing her all the way to the top than I can count. I remember every single branch and every single way you showed me.”
Jonathan closed his eyes halfway, lost in thought. “Do you remember, pop, how on hot, sticky days we’d get relief?”
Ben, still rocking in his chair, replied, “Yep! I told you that she’d be so happy to see us if we went and climbed her that she’d want to dance.”
Jonathan laughed loudly and continued, “Yeah, and you said that she’d ask her friend, the wind, to kick up a breeze for us so she could dance!” Jonathan kept laughing, although his amusement was beginning to die down.
Ben’s smile turned slowly to a frown. He said solemnly, “Yep. But the breeze wouldn’t come every time, would it, Johnny?”
As the weeks went by, Jonathan noticed his mother becoming more and more involved in his wife’s condition. Anne Benson made sure that Bea was comfortable, fed, washed, rested, and happy. It was also during this time that Ben was sleeping less and less. He’d spend countless hours awake, swaying back and forth in his rocking chair on the front porch and finishing pack after pack of cigarettes. He worried so for his son, daughter-in-law, and their unborn child. How were they going to make it with no house of their own, barely enough money to live on, and a baby to provide for? Ben Benson was determined, however, that his grandchild would always have a roof over his head and food in his belly.
In January of 1902, Jonathan came home in an ecstatic mood. He gathered his family together at the dinner table once again, but this time the news couldn’t have been better. “Mom, pop, sweetie.” Jonathan began. “My boss’s brother died!”
“Johnny,” his mother said. “Why is some poor man’s death good news?”
Jonathan, still out of breath, calmed down before responding. “My boss told me that his brother was an assistant plumber down in Providence. He died of a heart attack last week, and the plumber needs a new assistant. But he’s one of those untrusting kind of people that needs to know who you are, where you come from, and what all your business is. My boss says he vouched for my being a good janitor and someone who’s bright and willing to learn. He wants to start me off right away! I’ll be working full-time with full-time pay! Isn’t that great?”
The three sat silently in their places, utterly thunderstruck. They all were thinking the same thing. The money, the opportunity, and the possibilities for their future all seemed wonderful. No longer would the financial future of Jonathan’s unborn child be in question. But Providence, Rhode Island? It wasn’t exactly the moon, but it wasn’t just down the hill either.
Ben inhaled deeply, but it was his daughter-in-law who finally broke the silence. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart!” Bea said to Jonathan as she walked over, kissed him gently, and then hugged him.
Ben was about to speak, but Anne cut him off. “Providence?” she said. “That’s clear on the other side of Massachusetts! You’ll be leaving us, then, Johnny.”
“I know, mom, but this is a chance to give my child a life and my wife a home of her own.”
Just then Ben interjected. “Where will you live, Johnny? I mean, sure he’s promisin’ you more than what you’re makin’ now, but what about a roof over your head? You’ll be givin’ away your hard-earned money on rent you won’t be able to afford.”
Nodding as if to say he understood what his father’s concerns were, Jonathan answered, “I know, pop, but my boss inherited his brother’s house in Providence, and he’s willing to rent it to me for ten dollars a month. We can do it, pop! Trust me.”
Upon hearing this, Bea exploded with excitement. Again she kissed her husband, this time burying her head in his chest. Jonathan hoped for his parents’ approval, but despite any chance of a favorable reaction from Ben and Anne, he could tell they were gravely disappointed. They only looked back at him somewhat sadly because they knew they would not be present for their grandchild’s birth. Jonathan and Bea would be leaving them by the end of the week. Four months later, in May of 1902, Bea gave birth to a son whom they would name Jonathan Benson II.
Father Poole noticed Ben Benson’s eyes begin to water again as he finished relating the story. The old man sat back in his chair and sighed before reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out another non-filtered cigarette. As he was about to light it, Ben flinched as the bell in St. Andrew’s tower began to sound thunderously in the calm air. It echoed across the entire hilltop.
In a fit of rage that Father Poole had rarely seen, Ben said, “What in Sam Hill! Has A’gyle gone insane?”
“It’s not Argyle Hobbs,” replied the priest. “You know who’s behind that ringing, Ben. Lots of times when you and I get going out here and lose track of the time, I can’t hear Mrs. Keats’s dinner cymbal ringing. Sometimes Sister Ignatius, when she doesn’t see fit to talk to me directly, chooses other means by which to communicate. It’s usually when I’ve caught her sneaking a sniff or two of her glue.”
Ben Benson grunted quietly. “Right,” he said. “I guess I’ve just got lots on my mind. I ain’t thinkin’ clear.”
Father Poole leaned forward and put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I know, Ben.” He then patted the old man’s right cheek and said again, “I know.”
Both men remained silent for the next several seconds while the church bells continued their clanging. That’s when Ben erupted in a burst of frustrated anger.
“Goddamn it! Does she need to keep ringin’ those friggin’ bells? Who the hell does she think she is, Quasi-fucking-Modo?”
The priest knew better than to fake a laugh at Ben’s sarcasm. Instead, he said softly, “Come on, Ben. I think we’d better get you inside.”
The old man must either have not heard Father Poole or decided to ignore his suggestion, because he added, “Looks like she’s got lots o’ energy. You must’ve increased her ration of glue.”
Father Poole giggled only momentarily, knowing that this was a somber time for his grieving friend.
“Don’t worry, Father,” the old man continued. “I ain’t goin’ to break. Laugh if you want. I’ve been laughin’ at that crazy bitch nun for years!”
Lighting another cigarette, Ben sank back into his rocking chair and resumed his narrative. “Now after we heard about Johnny and Bea’s train wreck, Anne and I made the trip down to Braintree. It was just outside Boston, you see, where the accident had occurred. They’d been on their way up to see us. We hadn’t seen much of them, what with Johnny bein’ so busy with his plumbin’ business. His boss had been doin’ well, and Johnny, bein’ the loyal an’ ha’d worker he was, had earned himself a chance to buy half the business. The two became pa’tners after just two years. I knew my Johnny’d mak
e somethin’ of himself!”
Ben Benson looked up and beamed, thinking of how proud he’d been of his son. “Yep!” continued Ben. “So then they left to see us, but the train never made it. When we went to the station in Exeter to meet ’em, me and the missus were told there’d been a… a… .” Ben thought for a second before the word came to him. “A derailment,” he declared. “So we didn’t know what to expect. Then comes word that sixty some odd people were killed, and we immediately thought the worst. God forgive me, I prayed that, if it were a choice between my little grandson Johnny Jr. and my boy Johnny, I’d want my grandson to make it.” Father Poole could hear a quiver in Ben’s voice. “I wanted him be okay because he hadn’t seen the world yet. Hadn’t smelled the sweetness of a rose or climbed that beautiful lady over there with his dad, or… . Oh, goddamn it! Goddamn it all to hell!”
Father Poole went quickly over to Ben and put an arm around his friend’s shoulders. The old man had dropped his lit cigarette, which landed on top of his foot before rolling onto the floor. Ben took hold of Phineas’s forearm, and squeezed it gently.
“Thank God for you, Phineas,” said Ben Benson.
The old man again sank back into his chair but didn’t rock. Instead, he closed his eyes. Suddenly the church bells began clanging again. Ben jumped in his chair, as startled by the sound as he’d been the first time just minutes before. In a fit of rage he looked over to the rectory, leaned forward, and said as calmly as he could to Father Poole, “You tell her when you see her that if she ever rings those bells again like she’s doin’ now, and it ain’t for no religious reason, I’ll come over there an’ knock her so silly that she’ll need to sta’t sniffin’ that glue o’ hers through her eyeballs!”
Father Poole grimaced but patted his friend on the back, telling him that he understood what it was like to lose someone but that Ben should never lose sight of the fact that those who leave this earth await us in the hereafter.
Embracing Darkness Page 11