A Great Catch (11 page)

Suddenly she realized how little she actually knew about Carter Stockton. He’d always seemed so capable and sure of himself, but this was a different side. The desire to know everything about him flooded over her—to know what he thought, where the pain came from, and what he dreamed his future would hold.

“Enough serious talk.” A smile creased his face, and his gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. “Lunch with a beautiful girl should end with a taste as sweet as the dessert.”

Heat infused her cheeks like a potbellied stove in the winter, and her heart beat wildly against her ribs. Would he kiss her? The depth of the wanting surprised her. She held her breath.

“Hey, Stockton!” Ducky called from the diamond. “Ready to play some ball?”

Carter blinked and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sounds like the boys are here.”

He stepped back and released her hand. They bent to gather the blanket. Each grabbed a corner, and a lighthearted tug-of-war ensued. Emily pulled hard and, for a moment, made progress, only to realize too late that Carter was allowing her to win. He gave her a mischievous grin and let go of the blanket. She toppled to the ground and giggled. He dramatically fell down beside her.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked.

When he held up the tin her aunt had given her, the laughter died on her lips.

Whatever the tin was that Carter held in his hands brought horror to Emily’s beet-red face. Though tempted to read what it contained, something deep inside told him it would be the worst mistake of his life.

“I think this fell out of your pocket.” He passed it to her, catching the title by accident. He forced his lips to remain rod straight.

Even though he considered himself fairly well-versed on women, this product was new to him. Bust food? Did women have to feed those?

Emily jammed the tin in her pocket, refusing to meet his gaze. She gathered the blanket against her chest. “I’d better hurry. I’ll be late as it is.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll get the basket and walk you home.”

“No need. I can get there on my own.”

He didn’t argue with her. Whatever had occurred here in the last couple of minutes had her wound as tight as a spring, and maybe she needed some time to herself. He collected the basket and helped her fold the blanket. “Tomorrow I’ll provide lunch. And remember, I’d love to see you cheering for me tonight at the game.”

A bit of sparkle returned to her moss-green eyes, and a smile curled her lips. “I’ll try to come, but who said I’d be cheering for you?”

“Okay, boys, let’s call it a day.”

Due to the game against the Neola Knights tonight, Carter planned only a short practice for the Manawa Owls. He’d heard the town of Neola had five hundred citizens planning to board a special excursion train to come see their team play. He hoped some of them brought blankets to sit on, because if they all showed up, there wouldn’t be enough room on the bleachers.

Even with that excitement, the time on the field seemed abysmally long. After he called the practice, he gave his usual pregame pep talk and followed the boys toward Manhattan Beach for a well-deserved swim.

Once he changed into his bathing suit, he dove off the end of the pier and plunged deep into the cool lake. Surfacing, he treaded water. A few of the guys called to him, asking if he wanted to join them on the toboggan run. He waved them off. Today he wanted to be alone.

With a crawl stroke strengthened by hours of pitching, he cut through the water, his thoughts churning like the waves. Why did he let his brother’s success get to him?

His conversation with Emily had hit home. He was a good baseball player, plain and simple, and it wasn’t a matter of pride. In fact, he felt humbled whenever he thought about it. God had given some people the ability to carry a tune, but He’d given Carter the ability to throw a ball.

Thankfully, it was the one talent He hadn’t given Nathan.

At least on a ball field, Carter could be somebody. A picture of Mrs. Sylvester, his fourth-grade teacher, pointing to his arithmetic paper formed in his mind. Though he’d received 100 percent on it, she still frowned. “You do realize your brother was doing sixth-grade math by your age.”

Even now the words stung.

He pushed his body harder, his heart pounding in his ears with every stroke.
Nathan’s so good. Nathan’s the best.
At home. At school. Even at church. It never stopped.

Nathan. Nathan. Nathan.

With papers sprawled on every table of the Yacht Club’s upstairs room, the ladies of the Council Bluffs Equal Suffrage Club sat divided into the work groups Emily had dispersed. The air crackled with excitement. Never had she seen the women get so energized by one of their efforts.

Everywhere she turned, Emily heard discussions about the upcoming game. She’d placed Greta in charge of seeing to the Bloomer Girls’ meals. Marguerite took the lead on publicizing the event here at the lake, while Lilly took charge of putting ads in the newspaper. To Emily’s surprise, Olivia volunteered to oversee the poster designs. She even offered to pay for printing them and said she’d distribute them.

Emily picked up her notebook and pen. They’d still need to construct additional bleachers to deal with the crowds, arrange a welcoming ceremony of some sort for the ladies upon their arrival, and determine a way to bring a woman’s right to vote to the forefront of the entire event. So much to do, but at least this was an excellent beginning.

Greta scurried over and handed her a menu. “Do you think this will work?”

Emily smiled. “I think that’ll be enough food to feed an army.”

“Like you said, we don’t want any of the Bloomer Girls to leave our city and say we weren’t good hostesses.”

“In your hands, I think there’s no danger of that, Greta. Thank you.”

“Emily.” Olivia waved her over. “The girls thought you should be the one to decide which design to use.”

Olivia’s ever-present cohort, Mrs. Penny Poppleton, turned over the designs, and a little thrill surged through Emily when she caught sight of them. A beautiful pencil drawing of a Bloomer Girl adorned each poster. One sketch sported the female baseball player in a pair of loose-fitting trousers, and in the other, the player wore a skirt.

“Who made these? The artwork is wonderful.”

“I did.” Olivia raised her eyebrows. “Don’t look so surprised, Emily.”

“I—I—I didn’t know you could draw. That’s all.”

“Well, now you do. So, which picture do you prefer, Madam President?”

Did she detect a note of teasing in Olivia’s voice? Emily picked up both posters and held them out. The comical one would never do, but she’d play along for a moment. “I could never choose which to use. They both are delightful. Do you have a favorite?”

Olivia seemed pleased to be asked. “As a matter of fact, I do. The one on the right is better. The player seems more lifelike, less silly.”

Suddenly Emily recognized the face on the more cartoonish poster on the left. It was her own! Olivia had drawn her upended with her feet in the air, bloomers displayed beneath her skirt for all to see, and a ball bouncing off her head.

Emily’s cheeks burned along with her anger. It would most certainly garnish attention, but not the kind Emily wanted. How could she ever be taken seriously if she was the subject of cartoon drawings?

“Use this one.” Emily thrust the first poster back at her grinning nemesis. “I’ll keep the other one for my scrapbook.”

After hauling her Underwood typewriter outside to the table beneath the shade trees, Emily settled herself in a straight-backed chair and ratcheted a sheet of paper into the machine. The stark white paper stared back at her. But instead of words, only Carter’s face appeared in her mind, along with the fear about the upcoming baseball practice tomorrow. She’d missed his game Thursday night, but he hadn’t seemed too miffed when she showed up for practice on Friday.

They worked on throwing, and she’d shown improvement. Not nearly enough, but it was a start. Then he’d announced it was time to tackle batting, and her fears multiplied faster than the lake’s mosquitoes after a rain. He must have noticed because he’d whisked her off for lunch at one of the Midway’s lunch counters and kept the conversation far from baseball. Afterward, she returned with him to watch the Manawa Owls practice, and following that, he’d quizzed her mercilessly about what he’d taught her so far.

She took a deep breath of the crisp, morning lake air and released it slowly before turning back to the typewriter. These articles were overdue now. In an effort to get them done, she’d risen before everyone else and snuck from the cabin. Between her work with planning the game and spending time with Carter, she’d neglected her obligations this week. She couldn’t let it happen again. Her personal life could not interfere with the cause. Nothing was more important than that.

A twinge of guilt tugged on her heart.

God was.

Why did it have to be Sunday? Surely He understood how much she had to do and the importance of it all. There simply wasn’t a choice. Besides, God wasn’t going anywhere. He’d still be there when she finished the articles.

She set her fingers on the ceramic-topped keys. What should she write about this month? Two recent arguments she’d faced came to mind. One man had told her that because all women did not support a woman’s need for the right to vote, the suffrage claim held no merit. This, of course, was ridiculous. Many women had yet to realize they were important factors in the government of this nation.

Another argument she’d heard recently was that men had already given women the right to have an education, to own property, and to work in professions once closed to them. “So,” one man had asked, hooking his thumbs in his vest pockets, “why do they now need to vote? What do women hope to gain from that?”

She could answer that question easily. While it was true some of the country’s best colleges had opened to women, many still did not admit them. Owning property still had its limitations, and while there were women doctors, lawyers, and scientists, they were not as accepted as their male counterparts. Giving women the right to vote raised them to equal status, and future rights would then be harder to deny.

The cabin’s screen door creaked open. Grandma Kate hiked up her skirt and crossed the dewy grass. “Emily? What are you doing? Church services begin soon. There’s no time to write.”

“I can’t go this morning. I need to finish these articles.”

Grandma Kate sat down across from Emily and placed a hand on her arm. “Dear, that’s hardly seeking first the kingdom of God.”

“God understands.”

Her voice was soft and warm. “I’m sure He does, but do you?”

Before Emily could return to typing, Britta arrived bearing a tray with a pot of coffee and a basket of fresh sweet breads. She poured them each a cup.

“Thank you, Britta.” Grandma Kate stirred a spoonful of sugar into her cup. “Ethel and Millie will be along directly.”

Emily took a sweet roll from the basket and slathered it with butter. The first bite of spicy cinnamon and apples melted on her tongue. Her favorite. It was gone before her aunts even stepped out the door.

Her grandmother cleared her throat. “You still have time to get ready.”

“Grandma . . .” The plea in her voice came out more like a whine. Why was she acting like this? Her grandmother was right. Still, how would she get it all done if she forfeited this opportunity for an empty camp, free from all distractions?

Her grandmother swept her hand over the typewriter and papers. “This will all still be here when we get back.”

“I guess you’re right.” Emily stood, gathered her papers, and lifted the typewriter into her arms. “But this afternoon, you have to help keep Aunt Ethel and Aunt Millie busy so I can complete my work.”

Grandma Kate laughed. “And who will keep Carter Stockton busy?”

Kate watched her granddaughter balance the typewriter and attempt to open the screen door with her right index finger. The typewriter started to tip, but Emily managed to recapture it before the impending crash.

Releasing the breath she’d been holding on Emily’s behalf, Kate pressed a hand to her heart. What was she going to do with that girl? When she was younger, Kate had been constantly driven too, but willing to skip church?

Deep inside, concern fanned into worry. This morning was only a symptom of something she’d seen growing in her granddaughter. Should she confront her? Kate sighed and picked up her teacup. No, it wouldn’t do any good. Emily needed to see this hole in her faith for herself.

The canvas edges on the meeting tent flapped in the breeze. Carter eyed the row of chairs he’d been trying to save. Services were set to begin in minutes, and if Emily and her entourage didn’t hurry, someone would snag them.

Then he spotted her, a vision in a white gauzy dress, walking beside her grandmother with her two aunts in tow. Emily’s hat seemed to bloom with pink roses, while her grandmother, in soft blue, paled beside her. She walked slowly to accommodate the older women, but the ladies seemed to have no trouble keeping up with the conversation.

She spied him and shyly wiggled her gloved fingers in his direction. A few minutes later, they approached and he stood.

“I saved some seats for you ladies.” He motioned to the row of wooden folding chairs.

Aunt Ethel’s lips curved downward. “I don’t like to sit this far back, but if I must . . .”

“It’s a perfect spot.” Aunt Millie winked at Carter. “Ethel, why don’t you take the aisle seat so you can see better?”

This seemed to appease Ethel, and the women filed in. Chuckling, Carter took his seat beside Emily. “You look lovely. It was getting so late, I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

“Neither was I.”

Before he could ask what she meant, the service began, and they stood to sing. He held the hymnal for her and found her sweet soprano a perfect match to his sometimes off-key baritone. Neither of them would be asked to perform, but he was certain the sound of two believers lifting their hearts in song brought a smile to the Lord.

Somewhere between the preacher’s opening words and the conclusion, Emily’s rose-scented perfume reached his nose. He wondered what the preacher would say if he kissed her right in the middle of the sermon about Haggai. It was hard to concentrate on how the Israelites were too busy to rebuild the temple when he was entertaining thoughts of building a life with the special lady beside him.

“God didn’t dwell in their hearts back then,” Brother Fossen said. “He dwelt in the temple. And when the Israelites said they were too busy to do His work, it was like saying they were too busy to have God in their lives.”

Emily fidgeted beside him and opened her fan. Odd. It didn’t seem warm to him.

Brother Fossen’s deep voice rose. “Mark my words, brothers and sisters, if you don’t let the Lord make your paths straight, you’ll spend most of your life running in circles.”

Following the chorus of “amens,” the congregation rose. Emily again sang beside him, but not with the same exuberance. The words seemed to come out strained from her lips. Glancing at her face, he found her eyes closed, and when she opened them, they glinted with unshed tears.

With a sigh, he chastised himself for not listening closer to the sermon. Now he had no idea what the preacher had said that had moved her.

And one thing he’d learned about Emily. Asking her may or may not yield an answer.