Stealing home, p.20
Stealing Home, page 20
Ned balled his hand into a fist again, but instead of holding it restrained at his side, he brought it up, suspended between the two men. With his other hand, he touched one finger to his closed lips, then placed it, open-palmed, over the fist.
“Promise?”
Duke repeated the gesture. “Promise.”
The tortuous weight of the morning lifted, pumped out of his body as Ned shook his hand before bolting out the door that led to the side yard of the church, leaving Duke alone. He felt lighter. Lifted. And clean enough to face Ellie Jane.
He would get that opportunity soon enough, though not before the endless ordeal of going to the Picksville Congregational Church would be over. Still reeling from his pardon, he made the mistake of walking back into the sanctuary, only to find it nearly empty. A few souls gathered at the back near the open door. But empty enough that Duke's footsteps echoed on the polished wood floor.
Alone in church. He hated being alone. Anywhere. But this seemed like more than solitude. He felt insulated. Packed away. Wrapped in batting.
He reached down and touched the back of the pew. The wood was worn down to silk, rounded on the edge from the weight of so many shoulders. He sat down; it creaked beneath his weight. And he waited to feel something. Whatever it was that brought people back here time after time. What that minister wanted him to be when he was a kid in New York. Whatever might have appeased his father. Or healed himself.
But there was nothing. Nothing but muted conversations in the cloakroom. And then a scattering of sound. Footsteps. Small ones.
Duke turned around and saw the boy. Little kid—the one sitting next to Ned during the church service. He ran in from the back of the church but came to a skittering halt the minute he saw Duke looking at him.
“Sorry.” The kid's eyes were as round as quarters.
“What for?”
“Not supposed to run in church.”
“Why not?”
The boy scratched his head. Pondering the question of the ages. “God says.”
“Well then,” Duke said. “You'd better listen.”
Nodding sagely, the boy took careful steps until he reached the pew he'd been sitting in earlier that morning. He dropped to his knees and crawled underneath, clattering around for a few seconds before emerging with his prize.
“What've you got there?”
“A horse.” He held up the toy.
“Are you supposed to play with toys in church?”
The boy considered the question, scratching his head again. This time with the horse. “Sometimes.” He drew the word out, convincing himself.
“Good to know.” Maybe Duke would come back.
He stood to leave, and the boy—already forgetting rule number one—ran out ahead of him. Duke walked up the aisle, touching each pew as he passed. By the time he got to the back, even the cloakroom was empty, and as he walked out onto the front steps, he saw the congregation scattered across the short green grass in the park across the road from the church. Several long tables were set up in a row with platters and bowls and baskets of food set upon them.
He stood on the steps, frozen. Feeling as alone as he'd felt inside. Then, finally, a familiar face made its way up the street.
“Mr. Duke?”
He walked down the stairs at a quick clip, meeting Morris at the edge of the grass. Under one arm he had a folded blanket. Slung over the other was an enormous basket covered in a blue-striped kitchen towel. One glimpse beneath showed a pile of gold-crusted rolls piled to the rim.
“These is Mr. Ned's.” Morris leaned in close, as if sharing a secret. “He invited me to join you all in your lunch, if that's all right with you.”
“Us all?”
“You, Mr. Ned, Miss Ellie Jane, and the sheriff—once he checks on…” The boy's voice trailed off, but Duke knew.
“I think that's a fine idea.” Just then Mrs. Lewiston appeared at his elbow and, after another bout of inane giggles, took Morris's basket to one of the tables. “It'll give us time to talk before the game.”
“I don't know if I can get away again.”
That's when Duke noticed the boy's face. Swollen, bruised. He wanted to ask who hit him, but he knew. Talking about it wouldn't make it heal. And nothing could ever really make it go away. Instead, he put a companionable arm around Morris's shoulder and walked him toward what he considered an ideal spot—half shade, half sunshine. He and the boy worked together spreading out the blanket, but neither sat down. They just stood there, holding court at the blanket's corners as those who'd been given the bum's rush from the sanctuary now came by to meet the man. The legend. Though Duke was quick to point out to all of them that the true star of last night's game was Morris.
“He's got an arm, this one,” Duke said more than once to the crowd assembled around them. “Come watch this afternoon. Or, better yet, come see if you can get a hit off him.”
With each word of praise, Morris seemed to stand taller. Duke couldn't crawl inside his skin, but he had a feeling the bruise on his face hurt a little less with each passing moment. He knew Morris would come back to play again. There was nothing like the game to heal the wounds of home.
Just then, the same old man who'd stood up to read out of the Bible started hollering for everybody to quiet down for the blessing. A quiet rippled through the people, and all the men gathered at Duke's blanket—Morris included—took off their hats and bowed their heads. Duke did too, and while he never was one to close his eyes when Ellie Jane was saying grace at the Voyant house, this time he did. After all, Morris might be looking. Or that little kid with the horse.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Ellie Jane and Ned just walking up. He wasn't the only one who noticed either. That same ripple that got everybody quiet to pray worked backward, and soon all the women were whispering and pointing. Subtle as a frog in soup as his ma used to say.
But Duke saw what they saw, and he knew.
Mrs. Lewiston mowed down all the gossips making way to relieve Ellie Jane of Ned long enough for the man to carry the basket to the appointed table. Leaving Ellie Jane alone.
If Duke didn't say it now, he never would. And if he never did, he'd never be fully rid of the rock sitting square in the middle of his chest every time he looked at her. So, after instructing Morris to hold down the blanket until he returned, Duke made his way through the crowd.
When he was a kid, one of his jobs was to go out and check the traps his father had set in the woods around them. He always hated it when there would be a rabbit—very much alive—watching him with twitchy, panicked eyes, looking for some mode of escape. Forgetting it had nowhere to go.
That's what Ellie Jane looked like now. She clutched at the throat of her dress just as she had her robe the night before.
“Whatsoever things are pure.”
She'd traded the silly hat with the enormous feather for a simple straw boater that nestled at the top of her head, cushioned by the mass of curls pinned beneath it.
“Whatsoever things are lovely.”
Two more steps and he was close enough to touch her. But he didn't. Instead, he stood before her, his hands clasped behind him, and, with an apology and a promise, set them both free.
ARREST RECORD
20 May 05
Arrest: One Darnell Buddy, Negro
Age: 35
Height: 5 ft 6 in
Weight: 134
Charge: Public Intoxication, Disorderly Conduct, Assault
Sentence: 3 Days…20 May—23 May 1905
Fine: $5.00
paid 5-23-05
MORRIS
Tuesday, May 23
Before it was just Mama and me I had a daddy livin in the house and his mama besides and there was always music. Daddy blew a mouth harp and my grandma would sing songs she remembered learnin as a child. Mama was never one to join in but I'd see her workin round the edges of the room, maybe hummin a little bit or keepin time with her sweepin.
Grandma stayed with us no matter if my daddy was around or not. One time after we knew Daddy was gone for good Grandma took me in her lap like she always did of an evenin and started to sing me a song. Mama heard it from clear outside and came runnin in sayin, Don't you bring your slave songs into my house old woman. This ain't no cotton field.
I remember gettin real still on Grandma's lap and kind of shrinkin down. Not hidin just tryin to get small.
After that my grandma had to sneak me songs. She'd call me over and whisper them in my ear. My favorite was the one about Joshua. I'd be folded up in her lap or gathered up against her heart and she'd pat the rhythm out on me.
Joshua fit the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho. Joshua fit the battle of Jericho and the walls came a tumblin down.
When she came to the part about blowin the ram horns I'd fill my cheeks with air and hold it until she sang, For the battle is in my hand. Then I'd let it out makin the sound of crashin walls.
Then she'd tell me the story, fillin my head with pictures of the city. Walls higher than the trees made out of stones bigger than our house. Imagine that, she'd say. Thousands and thousands of those big ol rocks. And the Lord just turned them to dust.
I'd tell her I felt sad for all them people in the city but she'd hush me and say we weren't to question the Lord's decisions. She'd say sometimes He had to clear the clutter to do His work.
Now Grandma would probably rise up out of her grave and pull me down in it if she ever heard me say the name of Duke Dennison and God's Joshua in the same breath. But I can see them both the same. Ever since he worked to build that field it's like more and more of a wall fallin in town. I always thought all white people knew each other walkin around their town like one big body with a thousand legs. Everybody actin out the ideas from the same mind. But maybe not. Because now people are comin out of the dust to play the game.
And they're playin every day. Since that first Saturday baseball has become as regular for them people like eatin supper. Every evenin after five o'clock they just show up. Make up teams from whoever's there. Mr. Duke doesn't even head up a team every time. One Sunday he even made the calls so Mr. Ned could play. Every time I think to myself this will be the last time I'll get to play they choose me again the next—sometimes first thing.
Course that don't mean Mr. Duke knocked down the biggest wall of all. The one runnin down the railroad tracks separatin my side of town from the rest of Picksville. Sometimes I feel like the lone trumpet call flyin back and forth between the two with people on both sides and wonderin just who I am and what I'm doin. I know my mama don't approve though she never gave me another beatin after that first day. But she never come to watch me neither.
Some evenings I see her durin a game walkin right past the field on her way home from work. And she ain't the only one— there's lots of us who make their way cross the tracks every day. But did one of them even stop and look? Here's one of their own standin on high ground, forcin grown white men to swing a stick at air and they don't even bother to turn their heads.
Except that fool Darnell. When the sheriff let him out of jail on Tuesday he came to the field and sat down right on the track to watch. Made me nervous at first and the other team got three hits in a row. But those were the last hits they got and for the rest of the game all I threw was smoke and fire.
Still when it's over there's guys slappin my back and sayin, Good game son. And not just the ones on my team but the others too. Them that got a hit are braggin to their buddies and them that didn't kind of shake their fists and smile and say, They'll get me next time. All in all I'm bounced around until Mr. Duke sees Darnell waitin for me and asks if I'll be alright.
I say, Yeah he ain't nothin when he's straight.
So Mr. Duke tells me to go on home and rest up. He'll see me tomorrow. But he walks with me clear over to where Darnell is waitin, introduces himself like Darnell is any other gentleman in town, and hands me off.
Me and Darnell start walkin, quiet at first. He looks smaller to me today like he's had some of his spirit sucked right out of him. And he smells bad. Worse than usual. We're walkin slow and I think both of us would have been just fine if the other never spoke a word but a fool like that can't never keep his mouth shut for too long. And before we hit the top of the first street leadin into our part of town he says, Don't let them fool you.
I tell him, Ain't nobody foolin me.
And he just laughs not botherin to bring his hand up to cover his old yellow teeth the way he does whenever my mama's around.
He says, Oh you they fool alright. Up there throwin that little ball just how they want.
I say, I'm throwin a ball they can't hit! How does that make me a fool? More than that Mr. Duke is still payin me ten cents a strike. Even in the games. He says I throw that good. That if I was playin in the big leagues they'd be givin me a thousand times more than that.
Darnell just makes a hummin sound. Then he starts tellin me about a time when he was up in the city. How he saw this man that used to go around in the streets playin this little organ. He had a monkey that went around with him. Every time the man finished a song that monkey would go around in the crowd holdin out his little hat.
He says, That man couldn't play organ for nothin and he wouldn't have made a dime if he didn't have that monkey beggin for it. People was givin their good money to a cute little monkey with a hat. And you Morris my boy, he says, ain't nothin more than their beggin monkey.
I tell him, Don't nobody give me money except Mr. Duke.
He says, They're givin you a lot more than money. They givin you respect and ain't no price on that.
Which makes me feel like I'm winnin this argument and when I say so Darnell stops walkin and looks me straight in the eye and says, It's because you ain't nothin but a boy. A child. He tells me to just wait. Wait until their little monkey is old enough to do more than throw a ball. Wait until he's old enough to take their jobs and love their women. Wait until he's a man fully grown makin them look silly with their sticks.
He leans in closer, close enough that I can see the wet pink skin holdin back his eyes, and says, Why do you think there ain't no Negroes playin with the big white boys?
I want him to go away and stop speakin all this darkness to me but he has one more question. I can feel his breath on my face when he says, Tell me Morris. Do you ever get a hit?
And I don't say nothin because we both know the answer to that. No. Been up to bat a dozen times, and ain't never touched it to the ball.
I say, None of them can pitch to me. I always get a walk.
Darnell makes that hummin sound again and asks, Ever get hit with the ball when you're at the plate?
I feel a burnin behind my eyes and say, Once.
He asks, Did you ever score a run?
And I think of all the times I walked in from third. Or second. Never once runnin across that plate.
He says, Mark me boy. They done decided what your place is. They gonna keep you there.
We part ways after that. Darnell heads up the path to Cousin Eddie's where he'll get a bottle of hooch and disappear until he needs money for the next one. I'm standin at the corner with more than two dollars of monkey money burnin in my pocket.
So I run. Not home to Mama but back across the tracks past the field where Mr. Shiner's rakin the dirt through the park where I was invited to stay at a white church picnic—all the way to Miss Ellie Jane's street where she's walkin with Mr. Ned on one side and Mr. Duke on the other.
Usually when I'm on a street like this—with nice houses and fences and all—I keep myself real quiet tryin to blend in with the street. But this time I run right up behind them and shout, Hey!
Mr. Duke and Miss Ellie Jane stop and turn around. Then Mr. Ned does too and the four of us stand there starin at each other until Mr. Duke in that deep smooth voice of his says, Yes Morris?
I got hurt burnin up inside of me like I haven't felt since I don't know when. I don't want to hate this man and not just because I don't want that fool Darnell to be right. But because white and rich as he is he needs me. Ain't nobody ever needed me before.
But I don't want to need him not the way Darnell says so I reach in my pocket and pull all the money I have out of it and throw it down at his feet and say, I'm not goin to be your monkey boy no more Mr. Duke.
I'm scared to death that he's goin to laugh at me because I see a tiny snip of funny in his eyes but he don't. Instead he squats down in the street and picks up what I dropped, scoopin the dollar and dimes and nickels into his hand. Then he turns to Miss Ellie Jane and Mr. Ned and tells them he needs to speak with me alone if they wouldn't mind. I see the look on Mr. Ned's face and I know he wouldn't mind walkin his girl the rest of the way home alone.
So they leave and Mr. Duke waits until they're a piece away before he says, Son what the h*** are you talkin about?
I tell him everythin Darnell told me about that monkey and the music and the hat. And I got more pride in myself than to be anybody's toy. That I know what it means to work an honest job for honest pay. That I been doin that all my life before he got here and I'd be doin it long after he was gone. That I had a plan to go to California and I had the money to take me there without his stinkin strike dimes. And I knew exactly how much he gave me. And I was givin it all back. And I was never gonna play his stupid game again.
Mr. Duke stands there his hand full of our money, shakin the coins a little like he's goin to throw them down tryin to roll a double. He says, Morris do you like playin ball?
I tell him, Yessir.
He asks do I know how much they want to pay him to play?
I say, No sir.
He tells me, Ten thousand dollars. Before he even walks on a field or hits a single ball.
When I say that makes him one big ol monkey he laughs and says he guesses so. But that's what they think he's worth so he takes it. It's his job, all he knows how to do.
I say, Well nobody's payin you to play here with us are they? Of course not. And ain't nobody else earnin nothin on that field either. So I tell him, All I want is to be the same as everybody else. Same as you.
