Closing his eyes, he reminisced about his algebra/religion visit with Lisa the night before. A tiny smile began to spread across his face as he remembered the final minutes of their time together.
“Wake up, Stone!” The voice of his baseball coach penetrated the pleasant daydream.
“Yes, sir,” he blurted, scrambling to his feet and picking up his new glove.
“What were you grinning about?” the coach needled him. “Hitting a home run in the bottom of the seventh?”
“Oh, not exactly,” the young athlete said evasively. “But I’ll try to do that too.”
“Well, get in line for calisthenics. Come on, let’s go; we’ve got a big scrimmage today.”
After a brief set of exercises, the coach gathered the group of ballplayers into a circle around him. “OK, guys,” he began, “first scrimmage today. We’re going to designate a red team and a blue team. For the next few weeks we’ll use the same divisions. More convenient that way. Got it?”
The boys nodded their eager approval.
“Here’s the lineups.” Glancing down at his clipboard he began to read off positions.
“Bucky Stone, blue squad, center field,” he announced at last.
“Who’s up first?” one boy wanted to know.
Mr. Walker made a scribble on his chart. “I guess I forgot to decide that,” he chuckled. “Red bats first today.”
Grabbing his mitt, Bucky headed out to center field. Finding a bare patch of discolored grass, he decided to use that as his mark. He settled in just a shade to the right-hand side of second base, where he could have a clear line of vision to the pitcher’s mound and home plate. Looking over into left field, he noticed Dan Litton stretching and trying to work a kink out of his left thigh. He took a moment to trot over and say hi.
“Boy, I’m glad you’re over here with that throwing arm of yours,” he offered. “Help back me up on short fly balls, OK?”
“Sure.” The other boy gave a tug on his cap and grinned. “Help call those fly balls, too. Just holler ‘Back’ or ‘Up’ if you have a good bead on one coming my way.”
“Sure thing. Same here.”
Bucky trotted back to his position just as the first batter was climbing into the box. The blue team pitcher was wild at the start, and the first two batters reached base on walks.
“Time!” called the shortstop, jogging in to offer a word of encouragement.
The three outfielders stayed in their positions, shielding their eyes from the sunlight.
“Play ball!” Coach Walker bawled as the third hitter settled into his crouch.
The first pitch was right down the middle. “Strike!” called the assistant coach, who was filling in as a practice umpire.
“Way to go!” Bucky hollered from center field.
The next pitch was in the same location. With a smooth stroke, the hitter connected. A screaming line drive whistled right up the middle, sinking fast. Bucky charged forward as the ball came toward him. Reaching down with his gloved hand, he snagged the wicked drive right at his ankle tops. Pulling the ball out of his glove, he hurled quickly toward second base, where the lead-off batter, so sure that the drive would land for a single, was now frantically scrambling back to the bag. “You’re outta there! Double play!” Coach Walker motioned him to the sideline. The chagrined baserunner trotted back to the dugout while the blue team whooped.
“Good grab,” Dan grinned, as Bucky trotted back to his position. “That looked like a base hit all the way.”
“Thanks.”
In the second inning, Bucky came up to bat for the first time. With a runner on second and nobody out he remembered the coach’s instructions: “Get that runner over to third base any way you can. Try for a hit, sure; but do whatever it takes to get him to third where he can score on a sac fly or a ground-out.
The first pitch was perfect, waist-high on the outside part of the plate. Timing his swing, Bucky sent the ball scooting between first and second. The second baseman dived in desperation for the hard-hit grounder, but the ball rolled through for a single. Charging hard, the right fielder picked up the ball and flung it toward home plate, hoping to nail the runner trying to score.
Seeing the high throw, Bucky accelerated and sped toward second base. The throw to the plate was late; the catcher’s return throw to second was on the mark, but Bucky slid in safely under the shortstop’s tag.
“Time!” hollered Coach Walker. He motioned the defensive team to come in closer. “Listen up, you guys.” He thumped his clipboard for emphasis. “That’s one mistake we’re not going to make this year. Don’t chase runners from second to home on every base hit. Unless you have an excellent chance of nailing him there you just give the hitter an extra base every time. Now we’ve just thrown away the double-play possibility.” He paused. “You fielders gotta help each other out there. If there’s no chance for the play at the plate, holler ‘Second!’ or ‘Cutoff!’ You got that?”
The right fielder nodded glumly.
“Center fielder’s gotta help call that play,” Coach pointed out. “But don’t chase that runner; it just gives away too many extra bases.”
He trotted off the field. “By the way,” he added as he reached the sideline, “that was a good piece of hitting right there. Hit the ball to the right side, get that runner over to third. Plus, you got a base hit and an RBI out of it. Nice going, Stone! The rest of you guys, take some notes.”
Bucky glowed with the words of praise as he danced off the bag with an extra-long lead. Two pitches later, the blue team’s catcher hit a shot right past third base and down the line. Bucky scored easily on the long double. Panting happily, he took his place in the dugout, waiting for the end of the inning.
After the game, a rousing 9-4 victory for blue, he trotted into the locker room with the other fielders. “Not a bad start,” he grinned at Litton.
“Yeah, we did OK.” The left fielder was feeling cheerful, too, following a towering home run over the center field wall in the sixth inning. He tossed his glove up on top of the dilapidated lockers and traded high fives with everyone on the blue squad.
As Bucky turned the final corner and wheeled up Woodman Avenue, the smile faded, replaced by a worried look. Parked in front of his own home was a police cruiser, its lights still flashing slowly, blinking red and blue.
Jumping off his bike, he noticed that the family car was in its usual place in the garage. Fear clutched at his heart as he went in through the kitchen door. The house seemed strangely quiet.
A uniformed officer was sitting at the kitchen table, filling out a long form.
The officer looked up, ready to speak, when Mom burst through the door, her face ashen. “Your sister’s missing!”
Chapter Four: Waiting For a Phone Call
Mom took a deep breath. Her eyes, reddened from crying, began to fill with tears again. “Rachel Marie’s missing. From school.” She fumbled in her pocket for a piece of tissue. “1 just came from there.”
Bucky felt his knees go weak. “How . . . how did . . .” He fumbled for words.
Wordlessly, Mom motioned him into the living room. Together the pair sat down on the large couch. For several moments neither said a word. Mom’s tiny sniffles punctuated the quiet of the empty house; in the kitchen the police officer’s portable radio unit crackled.
Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke. “I went to pick Rachel Marie up earlier than usual, but she wasn’t there. The supervising teacher on the playground remembered seeing her just a few minutes before, but all of a sudden she wasn’t with the other kids who always stay for after-school care. We looked all around – the classroom, restrooms, everywhere – but she just wasn’t anywhere.”
Bucky sat quietly, his pulse pounding, thinking hard. “How long ago was this?”
She looked at her watch. “About forty-five minutes ago.”
“You’re sure she couldn’t be somewhere at school that you didn’t look?”
Mom sighed, fatigue a
nd anxiety written on her face. “Well, just wait. I haven’t told you the worst.” Bucky steeled himself.
“While we were looking,” Mom said slowly, “one of the older kids came up to us. She’s pretty sure she saw Rachel getting into a car and leaving the school.”
“What?”
Mom began to cry again. “Some kind of blue car. The kid thinks. Not for sure.” She swallowed hard. “Bucky, I’m afraid somebody took Rachel.”
Bucky gasped. “Mom, Rachel knows not to ride off with someone like that. You’ve told her and told her.”
“I know it.” She shook her head. “I can’t understand it either. But this student was pretty sure.”
“Did she see who was driving?”
Mom shook her head again. “No. Just said it was a blue car.”
Random thoughts darted through Bucky’s mind – his little sister’s tinkly laugh, her first-grader arms around his neck. Tears flooded his own eyes. “Mom, what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” his mother whispered, her voice catching. “I wish your dad was here.”
“Is he on his way?”
“I called him right away; he should be home any minute.” She looked at her son. “By the way, what are you doing home so early? Didn’t you have a game today?”
Bucky nodded. “Our first one. I forgot my glove, is all. I was going to zoom home, pick it up, and race right back.” He looked down at the carpeting. “I guess I better try to call the coach.”
Mom nodded dully. “I hate for you to miss your first game, but I sure need you here, honey.” She clutched at his arm.
He leaned over and held her close for a minute. So small and frail, he thought to himself. “I better call.”
Walking into the kitchen, he moved over to the wall phone. “Excuse me,” he spoke to the policeman, who was still writing. “I need to call my coach.”
The young policeman looked up suddenly. “Oh, sure. But make it quick, will you? We need to keep this line free, in case . . .” He paused.
“In case what?”
The officer winced, then turned to face him. “We don’t know who may have your sister,” he said gently. “But chances are we might hear from them soon.”
“You mean kidnapping?”
“We just don’t know,” the officer admitted.
“I can just use my cell instead.” With fear clutching at his heart, Bucky poked in the familiar digits and listened to the phone ring in the high school’s physical education department. A secretary picked up the line. “Is Coach Walker in?” Bucky blurted out.
“No, he’s out on the field for the game already,” she responded. “Can I take a message?”
“Tell him . . .” Bucky paused, thinking. “Tell him I had a family emergency at the last minute. I’m sure sorry.”
The voice on the other end softened. “Who is this?”
“Stone. Bucky Stone.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard him mention your name. Well, I’ll tell him you called, Bucky. And good luck, whatever the problem is.”
“Thanks.” Quietly he flipped the phone shut. As he did so, the front door opened.
“Dad!”
Bucky’s father walked over and put an awkward arm around his son’s shoulders. “Where’s your mom?” he asked.
“In there.” Bucky motioned toward the living room.
Wordlessly, Dad made his way into the next room and wrapped his arms around his wife. Bucky stood in the doorway alone, watching the distraught couple clutching each other.
Sitting down at the table, he turned to the officer. “Do you have anything to go on?” he asked.
The young patrolman shook his head, “Just the brief description of the car, and that may not be right anyway,” he muttered. “Blue, four doors, maybe.” He tapped his pencil on the table top in frustration. “I’m really sorry, kid. But if we don’t get some kind of break . . .”
“I’m going up to my room for a minute,” Bucky said to the police officer, his voice hollow.
Upstairs the boy eased himself onto his bed, leaning his head against the wall. Over in the far corner, his eye caught a familiar sight. One of Rachel’s dolls was perched against his dresser where she had left it just last night. Again, tears flooded his eyes.
“Oh, God,” he whispered in desperation, “please help us. Please, Jesus!” He whispered the same line over and over in the afternoon shadows. Right now the slender hope that he could get his little sister back, and have her safe and well at home – to have things be normal again – felt like the most elusive and wonderful dream in the world. If God could just give him back Rachel Marie . . . he would never again take that gift for granted. He would treasure every moment, give God the glory for every moment of family . . .
The jangle of a telephone shattered the stillness. Its dim ring echoed upstairs as Bucky’s head jerked up hopefully. Springing to his feet, he moved quickly downstairs and into the kitchen just as the officer picked up the phone.
“Yes, he is,” the patrolman said, as Bucky burst in. “But please keep this brief.” He held out the phone.
“Bucky?” The feminine voice on the other end was unmistakable. “Are you OK? Who was that answering the phone?”
“Oh, hi, Lisa.”
“Bucky, what is it? What’s going on?”
Briefly he told her what had happened.
“Oh my God,” she murmured, her voice registering shock and emotion. There was a long silence between the two students. “How are your folks?”
“Scared. So am I.” His voice shook and he didn’t bother to hide his emotional fragility.
She hesitated. “I guess all you can do is pray,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I will, too,” she added.
“Thanks. I gotta go; we have to keep this line free, just in case. But thanks for calling.”
“Sure.” Her voice was soft. “‘Bye, Bucky.”
He replaced the wall receiver and looked up. Mom and Dad had joined the officer at the kitchen table. Mom looked a little more composed now; Dad held her hand tightly as they talked with the policeman.
“There’ve been several cases like this lately, seems like,” he muttered to Bucky’s parents. “Someone just parks next to a school playground, especially right after school lets out. You know, teachers are busy keeping track of so much right then. It’s no big trick to get some first or second grader into a car, and away they go.”
“But for what?” Dad asked.
“Could be anything. Child molestation, usually.”
“Oh, dear God,” Mom said, her face white. “Oh, Phil, we’ve got to do something.”
Dad shook his head in frustration. “Just keep praying, babe,” he muttered.
A half hour went by in relative silence. No phone calls. Glancing at his watch, the officer made a notation on his report pad. “I probably ought to get going,” he said reluctantly. “We’ve done about all we can for tonight: a full description of your girl and the car.”
“Can’t you stay just a little longer?” Mom asked. “Something’s bound to happen.”
He shook his head. “If anything comes through, we’re just ten minutes away,” he said kindly. “And I’m on the late shift; you just call and I’ll be back right away.”
The front doorbell rang. When Bucky opened the door, he saw Lisa standing there in the darkness.
“Hey,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“Still nothing,” he responded glumly.
She hesitated. “I don’t want to be in your family’s way, but I didn’t know if maybe you’d want some company.”
“Sure, come on in,” he said, his spirits reviving a bit. “I’m glad you came.”
As he closed the door behind her, she held out a bowl. “Oh, and my mom sent this. Just some taco salad, in case you guys needed it.”
He tried not to show his surprise. “Tell her thanks,” he said. “Nobody’s eaten a thing.”
The pair stepped into the kitchen wh
ere Bucky made brief introductions.
“Have a seat,” he offered, pointing her toward a chair. She sat down next to him. No one looked up when she quietly slid her hand into his.
Several wordless minutes went by before the policeman stood up again. “Well, like I said, guess I better get back. I’ll stop by again before quitting time. Call me if anything happens.” He made his way toward the door, nodding grimly toward Bucky and Lisa. “Hang in there, kids.”
Just as he stepped onto the porch, the telephone rang again.
Chapter Five: Rescue in the Restaurant
Mom was closest to the phone. Letting it ring twice, she picked it up, clutching the receiver to her ear with an unsteady hand. “Hello?” A moment later she turned white. Almost staggering, she caught herself, covering the receiver with her other hand. “Get the officer back in here!” she whispered to Bucky. “It’s them.”
“Go on,” she said into the receiver.
Bucky moved toward the front door, his eyes still on his mother. Suddenly, her face lit up. “You’re what?” She whirled around, facing the others in the room. “She’s safe! Rachel’s safe! Someone’s bringing her home! . . . Yes, I’m still here!” she almost shouted into the receiver. “Oh, dear God!”
Dad grabbed her around the waist. “Baby, what is it?”
She held up her hand. “Just a second,” she whispered, her face beaming. Then into the phone: “Yes, I can give you directions. Hang on.”
Instructions given, she turned to her husband. “This lady has Rachel, and she’s bringing her home.” She took a deep breath. “Oh, God, thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!”
Moments later, everyone was hugging each other, laughing and crying at the same time. The policeman stood in the background, a huge smile on his face.
“How soon will they be here?” Dad asked.
“In about half an hour,” Mom said. “The lady was calling from Glen Rock.”
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 13
