Puddlejumpers (11 page)

Her gaze zeroed in on Ernie, who was laughing with Nate LeCroix at the back of the room.

“Ernie Banks,” she called. “Might you have any idea who ate the cookies and drank the milk we left by the tree?”

Ernie answered without blinking. “I wouldn't know, Mrs. McGinty. Probably Santa Claus.”

The others snickered, but McGinty silenced them with an icy look. She knew that no other boy would ever turn him in. Ernie had been at Lakeside longer than anyone else and he'd earned a certain respect with his seniority. She'd also heard the whispers. Although Ernie was small for his age, he never gave up when he got in a fight. It wasn't a good idea to squeal on Ernie Banks.

“Oh, that's very funny, lad, very funny indeed,” she said. “But in my book that's stealin', plain and simple. You'll be mopping the kitchen floor right after breakfast.” A thin smile cracked her face, then she clapped her hands twice. “Line up, boys.”

Everybody scrambled to form two lines facing the door. Mrs. McGinty waited until everything was absolutely quiet. Only when she was satisfied did she lead the boys out of the dorm and down the stairs.

The Lakeside orphans enjoyed a breakfast of pancakes and scrambled eggs in the cavernous third-floor dining room. There was even hot chocolate. Usually it was oatmeal or cold cereal and toast. But today was special.

Ernie and Nate sat next to each other, wolfing pancakes smothered in maple syrup. When Ernie's plate was clean, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of chestnuts.

“My last two. I saved them for Christmas.”

“From that tree on Fourth?”

Ernie nodded.

“I can't believe you still have chestnuts from September. What are you, a squirrel?”

“Maybe,” he answered, grinning. “Want one?”

“No thanks. Why do you even like those things?”

He shrugged. “I just do.”

Nate reached under his seat and gave Ernie a bag from Cleary's Sports Shop. “Merry Birthday,” he said with a grin.

Although today was his thirteenth birthday, Ernie expected it to be lost in the Christmas festivities, as usual. McGinty had made Christmas his birthday because that was the day she'd found him.

Ernie opened the bag and pulled out a brand-new baseball cap. He held it in his hands as if it might break. He'd never gotten a gift from a friend before, and this was an authentic Chicago Cubs cap. He touched the red
C
on the front with his fingertips.

Nate smiled. “I would have bought you the whole uniform, but they didn't have your size. Try it on.”

With a big grin, Ernie put on his new cap. The one thing he and Nate shared above all else was baseball. They both loved it, especially Ernie. Maybe it was because of his namesake, the legendary Hall of Famer Ernie Banks, or the fact that Wrigley Field was just down the street. Whatever it was, they both had it bad. The Cubs were Ernie's team and the Cardinals were Nate's, and they could talk baseball anytime, anyplace, anywhere.

From day one they'd spent hours and hours playing catch in the alley. Nate had been an all-star catcher on his Little League team in St. Louis. Ernie had always wanted to try out for Little League, but McGinty wouldn't allow it. Nate said it was a rotten deal because Ernie was the best pitcher he'd ever caught. He would get in his crouch, flash a sign, then Ernie would wind up on his imaginary mound and let fly. He had a decent curve, but nobody had a better fastball than Ernie. At least that was Nate's opinion. When they weren't calling balls and strikes, they were poring over Ernie's baseball card collection. He'd been collecting for almost five years, saving every penny, nickel, and dime from his meager Lakeside allowance and spending it on cards.

Ernie gave his friend a big bear hug.

“You're welcome.” Nate laughed. “Now let me finish my eggs.”

Suddenly Mrs. McGinty swooped behind them and delivered her famous “Irish Uppercut,” which meant she took her hammy fist and pounded it on the top of each boy's head. They both winced, pretending it hurt more than it really did.

“You'd better stop your shenanigans,” she scolded. She swiped the cap from Ernie's head and threw it in his lap. “No headwear at the breakfast table. Even you should know better than that.”

“But…”

“Another word and you'll be cleanin' bathrooms all day,” she warned.

As soon as she was gone, Nate scrunched up his face and did an uncanny impersonation. “You'll be cleanin' bathrooms all day…and using my fat head as a mop!”

That got Ernie laughing, and his laughing got Nate laughing. Tears rolled down their cheeks and their stomachs hurt from trying to hold back their laughter.

After Ernie finished mopping the kitchen, he sat next to Nate among a throng of boys in front of Lakeside's spindly Christmas tree. He adjusted his new cap as he waited expectantly to receive his present. One by one, they were called to the front, where Mrs. McGinty, wearing a Santa hat, doled out presents like a strict teacher giving out a set of bad report cards. Ernie reached into his pocket, pulled out a candy cane, and offered it to his friend.

“Where'd you get that?” asked Nate.

“Off the tree. I didn't think Santa would mind,” he replied slyly. Before Nate could take it, Ernie passed one hand in front of the other and made it disappear.

“I can never figure how you do that,” said Nate. “Okay, where is it?”

Ernie shrugged, then reached under Nate's armpit. “What's it doing here?” he asked in mock surprise as he pulled out the candy cane.

“Ernie Banks,” called McGinty.

He thought he was about to be reprimanded again, but instead it was his turn to receive a gift. He slipped the candy into Nate's pocket and hustled to the front.

“Thanks, Mrs. McGinty,” Ernie said as she handed him his present. He tried to take it, but she wasn't letting go.

“Just be glad it's not a lump of coal,” she said, then finally released her grip. “Merry Christmas.”

Ernie ripped off the wrapping before he even sat down. It must have been a mistake or an amazing stroke of luck, because it was exactly what he wanted.
A Rocky Harmon wristwatch!
He was the star home run hitter of the Chicago Cubs. Ernie set the time by the clock on the wall. Rocky's arms twisted like a contortionist to point out the minutes and hours. Strapping it on his wrist, he decided it was the best gift he'd ever received, except for his portable radio from the year before, and of course his new Cubs cap.

When it came time for Nate's gift, Mrs. McGinty looked instead at Ernie and smiled a peculiar smile that he didn't understand. Not until she said, “Nate LeCroix won't be opening a Christmas present this year. Instead, he'll be getting a new family. Come on up, Nate, and join your parents.”

Into the room stepped the Goodmans, a well-dressed, middle-aged black couple Nate had met with several times. Nate shared a look with Ernie. Ernie knew his friend had liked them a lot, but they didn't say much about it because it was dangerous to hope for things when you were an orphan.

Nate walked shyly toward the Goodmans until they wrapped him in a warm embrace. Everyone applauded. Ernie sat frozen like a deer caught in headlights. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Kathryn Moss, the young social worker. She was pretty and funny and all the boys liked her, even Ernie, though he tried not to show it.

“You okay, Ernie?” she asked.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, then nodded. Kathryn didn't say anything more, but she sat beside him while Mrs. McGinty handed out the rest of the presents.

Up in the dorm, Ernie watched as Nate packed his belongings. They both knew they'd probably never see each other again. It was Ernie who broke the silence.

“Your new mom and dad look nice,” he said.

“Yeah,” answered Nate, without looking up.

Ernie wanted to do something for Nate, but he just wasn't sure what. Suddenly he reached under his bed and pulled out a shoebox that was hidden in the bedsprings. It contained his prized baseball card collection, with full teams and plenty of doubles for trading. He handed it to Nate. “This is for you.”

Nate shook his head. “No way.”

Ernie was adamant. “I want you to have them.”

“Aw, Ernie, I can't. It's too much.”

“No, man, they're yours now. You keep 'em.”

“Are you sure?”

Ernie nodded. “I'm sure.”

They tapped fists, then Ernie presented his thumb. With a grateful nod, Nate pressed his thumb tight against Ernie's, then they rotated a quarter turn. “Brothers,” they whispered.

Mrs. McGinty bustled into the dorm, interrupting them. “Let's go, Nate, no time to socialize, the Goodmans are waiting.”

“I have to go,” said Nate.

“Yeah,” answered Ernie, sadder than he'd ever felt before. He touched his heart, then reached out to touch Nate's. He wasn't sure why he did it, but the look in Nate's eyes told him it was okay. His friend balled his fist and tapped him back, then tucked the shoebox under his arm, picked up his suitcase, and started across the room.

Ernie called out, “Way to go, man. You made it.”

Nate turned at the threshold and, with McGinty standing right beside him, said in his best brogue, “Ernie Banks, you'll be the death of me yet!” It sounded just like the old battle-ax.

Ernie couldn't help but laugh. McGinty cuffed Nate, then stormed over to whack him, too. “Now shut your trap,” she hissed.

He watched as McGinty marched Nate down the corridor and out of his life. Alone now in the cavernous dorm, he stared out the window at the gray Chicago sky. A tear snuck down his cheek, but he angrily wiped it away.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he'd never let them see him cry.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Waterloo

A
T THE BEGINNING
of January, the Lakeside board of directors decided that every boy should know how to swim. Mrs. McGinty stationed herself by the door of the idling bus and checked off each boy's name as he got aboard. Ernie waited at the back of the line of nine- and ten-year-old boys. Lakesiders his age had been to the YMCA pool many times and were already able swimmers. But not Ernie. McGinty had always found a way to keep him from going. Now, because of the new policy, she was forced to include him.

Impatient, Ernie circled to the back of the bus, where he stomped on a row of ice puddles, which was one of his favorite things to do. Every puddle felt like an invitation, no matter the season, and he never passed one without romping through it.

“Ernie Banks!”

Looking up, he saw McGinty's disapproving glare, then jumped onto one last puddle, cracking the ice.

“You've got five seconds to get aboard this bus,” she said. “Or face the consequences.”

Once on the bus, McGinty made him sit next to her and lectured him the whole way across town about “responsibility” and “fulfilling his potential.” He almost wished he'd stayed in the dorm.