Embracing Darkness (15 page)

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 chortled, 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 make 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.

Ben Benson, however, dismissed the notion of an afterlife. Resuming the thread of his narrative, he continued, “So being that Bea had only her mother who died the year before, little Johnny Jr. came to live with us.”

Father Poole interrupted by asking, “How did Johnny Jr. survive the accident? I mean, with his parents both being… well… killed.”

“Bea saved the boy’s life,” answered Ben. “She held him in her arms. He must have fallen asleep during the trip, and she cuddled him in her arms as she always did when he fell asleep. That woman saved her boy’s life!”

“So your grandson came to live with you,” said Father Poole. “That much is clear to me. But in the four years I’ve known you, you haven’t mentioned him much. In fact, now that I think of it, this is the first time since I met you that you’ve gone into such detail about anyone in your family. I mean, you mention Anne from time to time, and your son on occasion, but never in such detail as now. Why is that, Ben?”

Ben replied, “Because I feel that now it all needs to come out. There ain’t no one left to tell my great-granddaughter about her family. I’m 86 years old, Phineas. I’ve got a ha’t condition, had two strokes, got diabetes and a’thritis in everything but my prick, and I don’t see myself ever needin’ that no more. Do you think I’m going to live to see the daughter of my grandson grow into an adult?”

Father Poole hadn’t known about any great-granddaughter.

“My grandson’s wife,” continued Ben, “probably doesn’t know about our family history. So one day I’ll leave it for you to tell her, if you don’t mind. I have a feeling they’ll bury him in Connecticut, but she’ll probably come see me after the funeral. I’ll introduce you, and we’ll get to see my great-granddaughter.”

“I’d be surprised if they don’t bury him here,” Phineas said. “It’s the only way you’ll be able to say goodbye. You obviously shouldn’t make such a long trip down to Connecticut. I can call her up if you like. Perhaps, being a man of the cloth, I can persuade your grandson’s wife otherwise.”

“No, Father!” Ben interjected energetically. “Please. I don’t want them here now. I had to deal with my own son’s death, and it nearly killed me. I’m finished with all the mourning nonsense—my son twenty-seven years ago, my wife fifteen years back. Johnny left me ten years ago, and in that time he visited me only twice but not since his daughter was born. You hear that, Father? Not even once did my grandson come to show me his little baby girl. She’s two now. Funny the way things a’e sometimes.”

Father Poole didn’t know where Ben’s mind was wandering, but the priest knew that he needed to get the old man back on track. “Ben!” the priest shouted. “You are going to see your great-granddaughter one day. And do you know why? Because you have to teach her how to climb the maple.”

This got Ben Benson’s attention. He looked from the grass back to Father Poole, who was almost standing over him. “Your grandson, Johnny Jr.,” Phineas continued. “Did you teach him about the tree? Did he ever learn how to climb her? Did you teach him as you taught your son and me?”

Ben nodded. “My grandson loved that tree. I went up with him a few times when he was a little boy.” He grunted as his next thought made him reflect on his old age. “I haven’t climbed to her summit since the days I would go up with my son.”

Father Poole persisted, trying to keep his friend’s life from fading. “Well, you need to be there for your great-granddaughter! Do you hear me, man? You’re not done with this old world yet! Remember your great-granddaughter. You need to go on so that you can teach her how to climb and love that tree as you have, as your son and grandson loved it.”

As Father Poole said this, both he and Ben Benson heard the rustle of leaves. It came from the mighty tree, whose top leaves and branches were swaying slowly in the lazy wind.

“You know what’s missing on this hilltop, Phineas?”

“What’s that, Ben?”

“The sound of children laughing. There are no children on this hill. I miss the sound of a child’s laughter, ever since Johnny Jr. Now all I hear is the breeze or the church bells, that crazy bitch callin’ you to dinner.”

Phineas chortled again, this time not hiding it.