The Youngest Hero (27 page)

“I said you ought to bring me that bat. It belongs to my son.”

He squinted. “
My
bat belongs to your son?”

“His name is scratched in the end of it.”

“What’s his name?”

“Elgin.”

“I’ll tell you what, lady. You want that bat, you can come and get it.”

“I can?” I said.

He laughed and continued his home run trot. “You can try.”

My heart slammed off my ribs. I stood, but Ricky had his back to me as he headed toward third base. When he reached the plate,
he saw me coming slowly. I looked right at him and headed toward the bat. He walked briskly to meet me. Was I risking my life
for a hunk of metal?

From a block and a half away I heard a slamming door and the rattle of a steel grate across a storefront. I wouldn’t hear
the jangle of keys on a belt until it drew closer, but something deep inside me hoped an adult would walk my way.

Ricky beat me to the bat.

“That’s my son’s,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“His name is scratched into the end there.”

Ricky turned the bat on its end and read aloud, “E-L-G-I-N. Hm.”

“Hm, what? May I have it, please?”

“What’s it worth to you?”

Now I heard the keys, louder as they came closer.

“It’s worth what I paid for it originally.”

“Which was what?”

“I don’t recall.”

Ricky’s eyes grew dark as the other boys giggled.

“Ten bucks’ll buy it, honey.”

“I don’t have ten dollars, and I wouldn’t pay for a bat twice anyway.”

The keys stopped. “What’s the trouble here?” a bearded man asked.

“Nothin that’s none of your business,” Ricky said.

“Just give her the bat,” one of the boys said. “You know it’s hers.”

“Maybe I’ll give her a beatin with it.”

“You’d better be kidding,” the man said. “Because to hurt her you’re going to have to hurt me.”

Ricky turned on the man. “What is your problem, dude? You’d best mind your business.”

“Stealing in my neighborhood
is
my business. And threatening people is my business. Let me tell you something, son, you don’t want to tangle with me. Give
the woman the bat, and we’ll be on our way.”

“You’re together?”

“We are now.”

Ricky swore and handed me the bat. “C’mon, guys,” he said. “The air stinks here.” He started off, but no one followed. “Well,
come on!” Still no one. He waved at them and swore again, disappearing around the corner.

Embarrassed, the boys resumed their game. I turned to the stranger. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Glad I came by,” he said. “Walk you home?”

“I’d appreciate it. I just live—”

“I know where you live.”

I shuddered and tried to keep my voice steady. “You do?”

“Course. The hotel over here, right?”

I nodded.

“I know your son. Sold him some baseball equipment.”

“Oh! You’re the one he calls—“ I stopped, not wanting to offend.

“What? What does he call me?”

“Biker,” I admitted.

He threw back his head and laughed. “Know what he told me once? That I had the same hair color as his mother. I saw you
come over to watch him play once, and I thought,
Hey, the kid’s right! Almost the same length too.
”

I stopped at my corner. “I’m grateful,” I said, taking a good look at him in the fading sun. His face was ruddy and freckled.
He appeared in good shape, mid- to late thirties, a generous smile. I offered my hand. “Miriam Woodell.”

“Lucas Harkness,” he said. “Friends call me Lucky or Luke. You can call me Mr. Harkness.”

He was laughing, but I thought that was a good idea. “I will,” I said.

“Do me a favor,” he said.

Uh-oh
, I thought.
Already he wants to see me again. I’m so tired of this
.

“Tell Elgin I have more stuff he might want to see.”

“Sure. What’ve you got?”

“A wood bat for one thing.”

“Really?”

“They’re hard to come by. I couldn’t give him much of a deal on it, but you know wood bats are used only in the pros, so it’s
the real thing. A light thirty-three-incher. Probably too big for Elgin, but he said he was looking for one.”

“Sounds like a great surprise,” I said. “Maybe I could come see it and he wouldn’t have to know.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you. You should be safe now, especially with that bat.” Mr. Harkness smiled and walked away.

I watched to see if he would sneak a glance back, but he didn’t.

At home I looked in my cash stash to see if I could afford a no-occasion gift. I had less than twenty dollars. What could
a big-league wood bat cost?

I was watching television when Elgin came in. “Got something for you,” I said.

“Good. Listen, Mom, I’ve got to tell you about practice.”

“Let me show you what I got you first. Something you thought you’d never see again.”

“Daddy?”

I scowled. “You’ll see him again someday.”

“So hurry, Momma. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

I reached behind the couch and brought out his aluminum bat.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “Where in the world—? Did Chico bring it? He knew who stole it.”

I shook my head. “I got it myself.”

Elgin turned it on its end to be sure it was really his. ‘This I’ve got to hear.”

“L
ucky, huh?” Elgin said. He sat shaking his head. “I can hardly believe it. I mean, I know you’re tough, but what if that Ricky
guy had started beating you with the bat?”

I shrugged. “I could see he was scared. He just wanted to play big.”

Elgin told me about facing Raleigh Lincoln Sr. “He didn’t even use the pitching screen. He waves me into the batter’s box
and tells me, ‘I’m gonna say only two things, kid. You don’t have to worry about me knockin you down or even brushin you back.
I’m not lyin, so you can just stand in there. I’ve got better control than anybody you ever saw.’ And then he says, ‘Don’t
feel bad if you can’t hit me. Nobody can, really.’ “

“So did you?”

“At first I didn’t know whether to believe him. His kid is a good guy, but you never know. So he throws the first three right
past me, and all three of em bang right off that center post of the backstop about waist-high.”

I smiled. “Bet you wished you’d been swingin.”

Elgin nodded. “He says to me, ‘Trust me, boy. Swing the bat. Show me what you can do.’ So I ground the next one right back
to him.”

“Hard?”

“Not really. He caught it behind his back. Both Fred and Mr. Rollins holler at him, telling him not to try that once I get
my timing. Rollins points to his knee and Fred points to his eye and everybody laughs. ‘He ain’t gonna get no timing!’ Mr.
Lincoln says, and he blows another one past me. He was throwing smoke. I say, ‘Give me another of those.’ He says, ‘Just like
that one, same speed, same location?’ and I say, ‘You wouldn’t dare.’ Well, he thinks that’s the funniest thing he’s ever
heard. He’s laughing and jumping, and he keeps repeating it.

“I say, ‘Yes sir, I dare you.’ He laughs and says, ‘Okay, white bread, here it comes, and I mean you’re gonna get all of it.’
I could see in his eyes he was gonna do it.”

“Did you or didn’t you?”

“I did. I drove it right back at him. It was a hard shot too. I just about died. Before he snagged it in that wrong-handed
glove, I was sure I’d hurt my third pitcher in a row. I swear I would have quit.”

“What did he do?”

“He did like this,” Elgin said, mimicking Lincoln’s double take. “You knew he had to have caught it on instinct because there
wasn’t time to think. Then he went and got the pitching screen while all the parents laughed. While he was kicking it into
place, he said, ‘You’re gonna see nothin but heat now.’

“Momma, I just loved it. Zing, zing, zing, they came barreling in. Some were tight, some outside, some up, some down. He set
me up, made me reach, jammed me, everything big leaguers do.”

“How’d you do?” I asked him.

Elgin sat back on the couch, grinning. “I hit him, Momma. I hit him pretty good. I swung and missed maybe six times, fouled
off a bunch, took a few. I only popped up a couple. I hit at least five off that pitching screen, one that would have killed
him. Two over the fence, both to right center. Lots of grounders.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said, ‘Folks, I’m not kiddin you. I’m throwing my best hard stuff. This is as fine a hitter as I’ve faced in a long time,
and I mean of any age.’

“Mr. Lincoln wiped his face and said, ‘One more pitch, boy. Hit this and we’ll make room for you on the city team.’ I knew
he was kidding, but I sure wanted to hit that pitch.”

“And—?”

Elgin shook his head. “I don’t know what he put on it, but it was faster and had more movement. He busted it in on my hands
and I just couldn’t get the bat on it. A few people clapped and cheered him. He came off the mound pointing at me. ‘Be clappin
for him,’ he said. ‘We all will be one day.’ Later he told me he was going to tell Mr. Rollins not to let me play this year.”

“What?”

Elgin nodded. “He said the whole thing was a setup. They wanted Mr. Lincoln to pitch to me. He didn’t bring his glove on purpose
because he wanted it to look like he’d just thought of it.”

I sat shaking my head. “What are you supposed to do if they don’t let you play?”

“Mr. Lincoln said there’s a high school summer team for sixteen- to eighteen-year-olds.”

“Oh, Elgin, I don’t know!”

“Momma, I need this!”

“What did Mr. Rollins say?”

“He said he’d be surprised if the league lets him keep me. But he also said, ‘Son, you’d better not get your hopes up about
that high school team. It’s carrying fourteen all-stars right now, and there’s not one who would be willing to give up his
spot.’ I asked him what am I supposed to do if I can’t play for him or the high school summer team. He said he didn’t know.
He said lots of people would be happy to coach a kid like me, but he also said he couldn’t promise I’d be playing ball at
all this summer.”

W
hen word finally came that I could not play for Maury Rollins’s team anymore, I went to a last practice, threw a little, ran
a little, said my good-byes, and heard my good-lucks. I would miss these guys. They didn’t know my secret, and I wasn’t going
to tell them. Worse, they didn’t love or care about the game the way I did.

Coach Rollins told me the way had been paved for me to try out for the summer high school traveling team. “Raleigh Lincoln
Sr. put in a good word for you, and Hector Villagrande is looking forward to giving you a look.”

“I’ll make it,” I said.

I had been running, throwing, doing sit-ups and push-ups, practicing my fielding, and of course, hitting. I figured out how
to adjust the machine to throw high, low, inside and outside, breaking balls from two directions. With each new setting I
went through hours of not being able to even foul off a pitch, but slowly I caught on. Now I could hit nine or ten decent
shots off the thing at its original setting, and two or three from each of the new ones for every basket of golf balls.

Mr. Rollins told me, “They’re practicing at the old Lane Tech field Saturday morning at ten. Hector will give you a look at
noon. It’s a long shot no matter what. Understand?”

I just smiled.

During the few days before my tryout, I worked out more, read more, saturated myself even more with baseball.

I had never seen Elgin like this. Living with him had been like living with baseball history, but now his constant chatter
and confidence were even getting to me. But I could hardly blame him. This was the break of a lifetime. Making this team would
get his name in the papers, maybe even in
Sports Illustrated
.

“I’d have to be the only kid on a high school team who’s not even in junior high yet, wouldn’t I, Momma?”

“I guess.”

“You know I would.”

“I s’pose you would.”

He was so hyper I wondered how he could sleep. But I didn’t hear him tossing or turning or getting up in the night. It must
have been those grueling workouts. Sweat dripped off him, even in that cold, damp cellar, and I imagined his muscles maturing,
growing, tightening. I just knew he would shine for Mr. Villagrande, and I was thrilled the tryout was on a Saturday.

“I want to go with you,” I said. “I won’t say anything. I won’t even let on who I am.”

“Momma, you’ll probably be the only woman there. They’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t want me to come?”

“It’s all right. The more people, the better I do.”

“Elgin, what size is your bat?”

“Thirty-two inches, twenty-three ounces. Why?”

“Just wonderin.”

“Is there any way I could get some metal spikes by Saturday?”

I shook my head and closed my eyes. “I’ll tell you what, El:
You make this team, and we’ll figure out a way to get you some metal spikes.”

“Momma, how could I not make this team? I’m hoping to lead the team in hitting!”

“I hope you do, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”