by Rosa Jordan
“Whoa! Whoa!” Luther yelled as the cart bounced wildly over the grass, tipping this way and that.
“Hang on!” Chip shouted.
Kate saw that Billy wasn’t going to stop at the shed, but intended to run under it. The shed was high enough for the goat and the cart to go under, but not high enough for the boys, who were standing up in the cart.
“Jump!” Kate yelled.
Chip and Luther leapt from the cart and went rolling across the grass, laughing like maniacs.
Mr. Wilson took the carrot tops from Kate and walked over to the goat shed. “Here, Billy,” he called. “Kate brought you a little snack.”
Billy snatched a mouthful of carrot tops from Mr. Wilson’s hand. When the goat chewed them, they stuck out both sides of his mouth like green whiskers.
“That wasn’t so bad for the first time,” Mr. Wilson laughed. “A little bit of practice and you boys’ll have yourself a first-class harness goat.”
Kate started to tell Justin that Mom was here, then saw Mom and Ruby walking across the yard toward them.
“Mrs. Martin, my brother Booker,” Ruby said in the same cold voice she used to use on Kate before they became almost-friends. “Booker, you remember Mrs. Martin, who lives down there on the highway?”
Booker grinned at Mom. “How could I forget? Used to walk right by her house to catch the school bus.”
“Not the way I remember it.” Mom smiled. “Can’t count the times I saw that bus coming down the highway, and you up Lost Goat Lane. You’d start running, and I swear you got there first every time. My husband used to say you were the only boy in Florida who could outrun a school bus.”
Kate stared at Mom in disbelief. Didn’t she realize what she was saying?
Suddenly it seemed that Mom did realize what she was saying. She turned very red and stammered, “I beg your pardon, Booker. I guess I ought not—”
Booker interrupted the apology. In a soft voice, the first time Kate had heard him speak in a soft voice, he said, “Just because I can’t run anymore, you figure I want folks to forget I ever could?”
Mom looked embarrassed.
“I don’t forget things either, Mrs. Martin. Like that time in Atlanta, and what you did for us.”
Mom’s face turned even redder, but before she had time to answer, Mr. Wilson walked over. “Afternoon, Mrs. Martin. What do you think of my almost-trained goat?”
“Must be as smart as he is handsome,” Mom said quickly. “The kids tell me our Sugar’s likely to bring us one just like him.”
“One or more,” Mr. Wilson grinned. “Billy’s got a history of siring twins.”
“I sure wouldn’t complain about that,” Mom said.
Chip and Luther galloped up. “What’re you doing here, Mom?” Chip demanded. “How come you’re not at work?”
“I came to take you home,” Mom told him. “Remember I said—”
“Awwww. Do we have to go?” Chip strung the question into one long whine.
“Yes, you do,” Mom said firmly. “Booker came to visit his family, and you kids are taking up all his time.”
“No problem!” said Booker with a grin that included all of them. “But I have to get something to eat pretty soon or I’ll be too weak for the big game tomorrow. You’ll all be back for the Big Game, won’t you? Around two?”
“What game?” Justin asked.
“Why, our family’s traditional Thanksgiving Day, break-a-window baseball work-up.” Booker looked from Chip to Kate to Justin. “Of course, we could play without you. But it wouldn’t be much of a game with Ruby and Luther and me by ourselves.”
“Ruby plays baseball?” Kate asked in surprise. She glanced at Ruby.
“Does Ruby play baseball?” Booker leaned toward Kate. “Why, Ruby could’ve played pro if it wasn’t for one thing.”
“What?”
Booker paused dramatically, as if he was about to reveal a big secret. “Fingernails,” he said in a loud whisper.
“Fingernails?” they chorused.
“Lethal weapons,” Booker said solemnly. “Same as carrying a switchblade. A ball sees nails like that, it just naturally tries to avoid them.”
“Oh, Booker!” Ruby grabbed a handful of his tight black curls and gave his head a playful shake. “Get real.”
Luther scrambled up into Booker’s lap. “Gimme a ride, Uncle Booker. A ride to the house!”
“You bet, pal.” Booker glanced up at Ruby. “Good-looking boy you got here, Sis. Not looking too bad yourself either.” He winked at Kate. “Except for the vampire fingernails.”
Mom smiled. “Come on, kids. You can come back tomorrow afternoon.”
As she pushed them toward the car, Chip yelled at Luther, and Luther at him, like they did every single day, “See you tomorrow!”
11
Mom’s Secret Past
Kate sat in the backseat with Justin, looking out at the cornstalks swishing past. They walked along Lost Goat Lane almost every day but it seemed totally different from the backseat of her mom’s car. But then everything about this afternoon had been strange. First there was Booker not being the way they’d expected him to be, and the bicycle not being a bicycle but part of a goat cart, and that weird conversation between Mom and Mrs. Wilson. Then there was Booker’s mysterious remark about Atlanta.
At that moment, as if he had been reading Kate’s mind, Justin leaned forward and put his elbows on the back of Mom’s seat. “What did Booker mean about Atlanta?”
“Oh, nothing. Your dad and I were in Atlanta once when Booker was in college there,” Mom said in a casual voice. “We went to see him play. Chip, get your feet off the dash.”
“You took us?” Chip asked.
“You and Kate weren’t even born. And Justin wouldn’t remember. He was barely walking.”
“Did Booker know you were there?” Kate asked.
“We went down to the field between innings,” Mom replied. “Justin had to go to the bathroom, so his dad took him. Booker and I …”
Mom stopped at the lane. “Okay, kids. See you later.”
They just sat there.
“What, Mom?” Justin asked. “What was it you and Booker did?”
Kate watched Mom’s face in the rearview mirror. It had that funny, faraway look again, like she was remembering something that made her feel good. But her hands were gripping the steering wheel tight. She took a deep breath and started talking.
“While I was with Booker down on the field, waiting for Justin and his dad to get back from the bathroom, Booker told me that he was trying to put together an event, him and some of his teammates. He wanted to bring them down here and play an exhibition game to raise money for a scholarship fund.”
Mom glanced at Kate out of the corner of her eye. Kate figured that she was getting to the part she didn’t want to tell them about. But Mom kept talking.
“Booker said he and his roommate could stay with his folks, but he needed hotel rooms for the rest of the team. Well, there’s only one hotel in town and everybody knows how Miss Tutweiler is. If she got wind of the fact that some of the guys were black, and one had a white wife, well, Booker was afraid she’d make up some excuse to keep them out. You know, pretend she was all filled up or something like that. So Booker asked me to reserve the rooms for them.”
“What did you tell Miss Tutweiler?” Kate asked.
“I told her I had a bunch of friends coming to town. Booker sent me the money and I paid in advance. I don’t know that Miss Tutweiler would’ve had the nerve to turn away the black ballplayers outright, but the mixed-race couple, well, she would have tried to find a way to keep them out. So I organized a welcoming committee with banners and everything. With folks waiting at the hotel to greet them, she couldn’t act like a throwback there in front of everybody.”
Kate laughed. “What did she say?”
“To me? Nothing,” Mom said, not laughing at all. “But she had plenty to say to other people.”
Kate had a
n idea of the kind of things Miss Tutweiler might have said to other people about Mom. She’d heard her grandma talking about how it was back in the old days when blacks were fighting for their rights. Kate knew that if a white person had black friends or even stuck up for blacks they got called names worse than the words you saw on the bathroom wall at school. But Miss Tutweiler was a very prim person, even if she was a throwback. Kate couldn’t imagine her using words like that.
“I thought all that civil rights stuff was before you were born,” Kate said.
Mom sighed. “Well, not exactly. By the time I started school, the civil rights bill had been passed and most places around here were officially integrated. But some people never change. What can I say? It takes most people a long time to learn to trust people who are different from them.”
Kate couldn’t tell if Mom was just talking about color differences or some other kind of differences. Why, Kate wondered, can’t you just get to know a person first and then decide if they’re trustworthy, instead of prejudging? But she didn’t ask because Mom was looking at her watch.
“Oh no!” Mom exclaimed. “I’m going to be late for work. Come on, kids. Hop out.”
Kate and Chip got out, but Justin stood there leaning on the open car door. “Mom,” he asked in a puzzled voice. “How come you never got to be friends with the Wilsons? I mean, if you knew Booker?”
“Honey, they live half a mile away. And your dad and I aren’t exactly the same generation as Mr. and Mrs. Wilson.” Mom smiled. “When Mrs. Wilson had her hands full with teenagers, I had mine more than full with toddlers. We really don’t have a thing in common. Now close the door, son. I’ve got to go.”
Justin slammed the car door and they all waved good-bye. Chip skipped toward the house singing, “Tomorrow, tomorrow. We’re going to play ball with Booker. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.”
Justin grinned at Chip’s silly song. Then he turned to Kate. “How about that! Our mom, a civil rights activist!”
Kate frowned. “That was back in Grandma’s days.”
Justin shrugged. “Yeah. But you heard what Mom said. Even after the laws changed, there were still people who didn’t want to give blacks their rights. If Mom helped those ballplayers from Atlanta get their rights in Miss Tutweiler’s hotel, that made her an activist.”
Kate nodded, but that wasn’t the only thing she was confused about. What Mom had said to Justin made it sound like she never wanted to be friends with Mr. and Mrs. Wilson because they were old. Wasn’t that prejudging, too? How could Mom know she didn’t have anything in common with the Wilsons if she hadn’t even taken the trouble to get know them? Maybe if Mom had tried harder, Ruby would have been more friendly right off.
Then Kate remembered how cold Ruby sounded to Mom on the porch. Maybe Ruby took one look at Mom in her work clothes, holding a paper bag instead of a nicely wrapped present, and thought the same thing about her that she’d thought about Kate the day they came to fetch Sugar: here’s some white-trashy person I don’t want to have anything to do with.
And why had Mom had been so quick to take offense at Mrs. Wilson’s remark about Chip having a big appetite? At home Mom was always nagging Chip to eat more. You’d have thought she’d be glad to hear that when they ate at the Wilsons’ he didn’t pick at his food!
Kate had always believed that when she got to be thirteen she’d understand grown-ups better, but it seemed that the older she got, the harder it was to figure them out.
12
Playing Ball with Booker
Booker was an amazing pitcher. Leaning sideways in his wheelchair, he’d do a windup that would send the ball over the plate at exactly the level and speed he’d intended, low and slow for the little boys, medium-hard for Kate and Ruby, and downright challenging for Justin. But no matter who was up, when Booker figured that person had had enough time at bat, he’d start laying balls across the plate that were just about unhittable.
They played work-up rules, which meant that when somebody was put out, everybody moved up one position, bypassing the pitcher’s position, which Booker kept for himself. Kate, who was up for the third time, made a decent hit, but the ball went straight to Chip on second, who threw it to Luther on first.
“Out!” Luther yelled before Kate’s foot touched the base.
Kate took over second base, and everybody moved up one position. It was Ruby’s turn to bat. Booker sent a fastball over the plate. Ruby swung but only grazed it.
“Strike one!” Booker intoned.
Booker laid another fastball across the plate, and again Ruby struck at it. The bat connected, but the ball rolled off.
“Foul ball!” Booker yelled.
The next ball was an easy one, but it didn’t do Ruby any good. Kate could see that she was already frustrated. Ruby swung too soon and missed completely.
“STRIKE THREEEE AND YOU’RE OUT!” Booker roared.
“You could’ve given me one decent pitch,” Ruby grumbled as she passed Booker on her way to second base to take over from Kate, who moved up to first.
“You’re blaming me?” Booker rolled his eyes at the others. “It’s the fingernails.”
Justin stepped up to the plate. Booker narrowed his eyes. Justin narrowed his own eyes. They understood each other perfectly. Everybody saw that Booker wasn’t going to fool around. This was serious baseball.
Booker pitched, Justin swung, and the bat connected with a crack. The ball soared all the way to the goat pasture. Justin rounded the bases in a flash and sat down on home plate to wait for Ruby, who had run after the ball.
“Oooh-weee!” Booker exclaimed. “There’s a natural-born ballplayer. Reckon you’ll be playing on the school team this year, eh, Justin?”
Justin, who had been looking pretty pleased with himself, dropped his shoulders into a slump. Kate knew that look and knew it meant trouble. It was the look Justin got when he brought home a bad report card.
“No point,” Justin said, his face turning sullen. “Coach said that unless you have a glove, don’t bother.”
Kate frowned at Justin, who was staring at the ground. There were actually only three reasons people didn’t get picked for the team: if they weren’t good enough, didn’t have good enough grades, or got into some kind of serious trouble. Justin was certainly good enough and he wasn’t in serious trouble, so the only possible reason he’d be kept off the team was bad grades. The bit about the glove was just Justin’s way of covering up for the fact that he might not make the team.
Booker must have figured that out, too, because he laughed. “You’re jiving me, right, Justin? Telling me your coach is so dumb that if he sees a boy with real good reflexes, a natural hitter, and fast, I mean, fast, he’s not going to pick that boy for the team just because he doesn’t have a glove?” Booker grinned at the others. “Now, I met some dumb coaches in my life, but I never met one that dumb.”
Ruby came panting back with the ball. She threw it to Booker and took up her position again on second base. “Have a heart, Justin,” she called. “I’m getting too old for long-distance running.”
Justin got to his feet and walked over to the plate. Kate saw immediately that he had changed. Instead of wanting to do his best, like before, now he had that old who-cares look on his face. He was going to screw up. She didn’t know how, but she knew he would.
Booker pitched again and again. Finally Justin’s bat connected. But this time the ball didn’t go long-distance. It went in a high arc and came down directly into Ruby’s hands. Kate knew that Justin had put the ball exactly where he wanted to. He had put himself out on purpose.
For a minute Booker just stared at Justin, who hadn’t even bothered to run for first base. Finally Booker said, “I get it. You’re so good you can be in or out, whichever you please.”
Since Ruby had caught Justin’s fly, that meant they changed places. Just as Ruby picked up the bat, Mrs. Wilson called from the porch, “You-all thirsty? Some ice tea here.”
“Thanks, Mama
,” Booker called back. “Just let me strike this gal out one more time.”
Although Booker pretended he was out to get his sister, his pitch was an easy one, and Ruby didn’t miss. The ball bounced into the outfield. Justin scooped it up and threw it to first. But Ruby was there ahead of it. She caught the ball and kept running.
“Hey!” yelled Justin.
“No fair!” shouted Luther.
“Catch her!” Kate cried.
Ruby touched second base, third base, and then cut over toward the pitcher. She leapt into Booker’s lap and rubbed the ball on his nose.
“Game’s over, game’s over!” Booker howled. “Gee, Sis, you sure put on some weight!” He pushed her off his lap and called out, “Go on up on the porch, everybody, and get yourselves some tea.”
Kate sat down in a rocking chair and quenched her thirst with a long swallow of tea. It might have been the best ice tea she had ever tasted, and this was definitely the best Thanksgiving she could remember.
Booker and Ruby stayed out in the yard for a few minutes talking, then Ruby went into the house. Booker wheeled himself up the ramp onto the porch. Kate had noticed the ramp, which went up to the porch from the side, but had never paid much attention to it. It looked like something Mr. Wilson had built, and now she saw why. It made it possible for Booker to get on and off the porch without anybody helping him.
Chip was sitting next to Luther on the swing. “What happened to your legs, Booker?” he asked.
“Hush up, Chip!” Kate was mortified. Chip knew perfectly well you weren’t supposed to mention people’s handicaps.
“They got blown off,” Booker said, reaching for a glass of ice tea.
“By who?” Chip asked.
“Don’t know exactly.” Booker squeezed a slice of lemon into his tea. “We were sent in behind enemy lines. The area where we landed was full of land mines, and I stepped on one of them.”
