Prairie Hardball (21 page)

Andy caught up with us by the river. I had told Deutsch, Hugh Grenfell, and some of the constables where I had last seen Garth Elshaw on the trail. He was still there. Not dead, as I had feared, but not very well either. He put up no resistance when they strapped him onto a stretcher.

“Damn it,” Don Deutsch said as we watched the paramedics carry him out.

He was angry, and I didn’t blame him. Morley Timms, a harmless old man, had died because the cops were busy chasing the wrong rainbows. Not to mention me, a harmless middle-aged woman, scared half to death.

“I’ve got to tell you, Andy Munro is right,” Hugh Grenfell said. “Trouble just seems to find you.”

“But this time I wasn’t even looking for it. I was just taking a walk in the woods.”

Three cars rolled into the parking lot. Leading the parade was a police cruiser, followed by my father’s car and Jack Wilton’s. The doors all popped open at once like some circus act, and the whole damn gang rolled out: my parents, Andy, Edna, and Jack. Andy got to me first.

“You look like hell,” he said. “What have you done now?”

“And nice to see you, too,” I said. “I’m fine, thank you very much. So good of you to be concerned.”

The rest of the crew were a bit more appropriate in their greetings. My parents wanted me to go to the hospital, but I convinced them that it wasn’t necessary.

“To tell you the truth, all I want to do is get out of this place,” I said.

“I’ll pack the bags,” Andy said.

“Is that all right with you?” I asked Don Deutsch.

“I can’t say as I blame you,” he said. “But I’ll need a statement from you before you leave.”

“As long as I can shower and get into some dry clothes first. Oh, and I have to find my purse. It’s somewhere on the trail.”

“One of my men can look and bring it to the hotel,” Don said.

“It’s all right. If you want to come along, I can tell you where everything happened.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” my mother asked.

“I might as well get it over with.”

“I’m coming, too,” Edna said. She had her four-footed cane.

“We might as well all come, then,” my father said, and we set off down the trail.

I was glad for the company. Going back into the woods alone held no attraction for me. When we got to the place I’d been sitting when Garth Elshaw found me, I pointed it out to Don Deutsch.

“Which way did he come from?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I just heard a sound, turned around, and there he was.”

“How did he seem?” Don asked

“Fine. He was saying how Morley used to like to come here. Then he told me about these birds Morley had seen last week or something. He said he’d show me. I thought he was lonely. I felt sorry for him.”

I turned to Andy.

“Besides, I thought I could impress the hell out of you by bringing you back and showing you some fancy bird.”

“So you went along the trail with him,” Don said.

“Yeah. While we walked, we talked about Morley. I told him how sorry I was and so on, and we were speculating, or at least I thought we were speculating, on how and why he had killed Virna Wilton.”

We had taken up our single-file parade again.

“I think I can find where we went to,” I said. “And don’t forget to keep your eyes peeled for my purse. Anyway, he mentioned something about the way Virna had died, something you had told me the public didn’t know.”

We came to a bend in the trail, and I paused. It seemed too soon to come to it, but I thought I recognized the place where he had gone to look for the birds. I stopped and pointed it out.

“Right down there,” I said; then, to Andy, “There were American avocets.”

I showed him where to look. He looked slightly guilty, but couldn’t resist a peek. He came back grinning.

“Is it a new one for you?”

He nodded.

“Thanks.”

“Can we get back to the part where my life was in peril, then?”

Don Deutsch and Hugh Grenfell were squatted down by the water, looking at the churned-up riverbank where we had fought. It made me feel a bit queasy.

“What you did took guts,” Deutsch said.

“It wasn’t courage, it was survival,” I said.

The rest of the group caught up with us. My mother had my purse.

“I found it back there, beside the trail.”

“Thank you,” I said.

We all stood for a few moments looking at the river, then headed back up the path to the parking lot. We retrieved all our cars and retraced the route back to the hotel for the last time.

When we got there, the goodbyes began. Jack and Edna had been ready to leave when they heard about my adventure. Now they were anxious to get on their way to Edna’s house in Watrous.

“Well, Kate, I’m glad you’re still in one piece,” she said. “I would have hated to lose my newest friend. I think we should appoint you an honorary All-American Girl.”

“Not if I have to learn that stupid song,” I said.

“Now, keep in touch. I’ve written down my address and phone number for you. Be sure and send me the article you write.”

“I promise,” I said.

“I’m just sorry I never actually got to see the Hall of Fame,” she said. “It didn’t seem right somehow. I guess I’m going to have to come back.”

“It’s worth the trip,” I said.

“I’d hug you, but you’re all over in mud, so I’ll hug Andy instead.”

She did.

Then it was Jack’s turn.

“I’ll give you my card,” he said. “I still get up to Chicago from time to time. Maybe I’ll make the trip next time the Titans are in town to play the White Sox. We can get together. Go listen to some jazz or something.”

“That would be nice,” I said. We embraced and then he and Andy shook hands.

“If you ever go on the road with Kate, it would be great to see you, too,” Jack said.

“Maybe I will,” Andy said. “Keep an eye on her.”

“She could use it, if what went on here is any indication,” Jack said.

“Can the helpless female talk?” I asked. “It seems to me I managed to look after myself just fine.”

Jack turned to my parents.

“It was a pleasure to meet you both,” he said. “You’ve been a great help to me over the past few days. If you’re ever in Indiana, give me a call.”

He shook my father’s hand, and embraced my mother. She kept her arms at her sides but turned her cheek for his kiss, and I saw pain wash across her face in a brief, controlled, spasm. I had to look away, my throat tight.

“Good luck to you, Jack,” she said. “It was nice to see you again after all these years.”

“God bless,” my father said. “Have a safe trip home.”

Finally, Jack said goodbye to Don Deutsch.

“You’ll let me know how things turn out?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Thanks for everything. I may want to come back for the trial, if I can.”

“I’ll let you know when it is,” Deutsch said.

They drove off while we stood and waved.

“We’d better be getting a move on, too,” my father said. “Merle and Stanley are expecting us in time for supper in Saskatoon.”

Oh, God.

“I can’t do it,” I said. “I have to stay and give my statement, and to be frank, after the day I’ve had, I can’t face another of Merle’s meals. I’m sorry, Mum. Can you make excuses for me? Please?”

“Well, if you want to know the truth, I wish I could make an excuse myself,” she said. “I don’t know how my brother has survived all those years on her cooking.”

“We’ll drive down in the morning to catch our plane,” I said. “So we’ll say goodbye now.”

“I’ll just get the bags,” my father said. Andy went with him.

I turned to Don Deutsch.

“To save time, I’ll write out my statement on my laptop, then give it to you on diskette. That will save you having to transcribe it. I can bring it by the detachment to print out within the hour. Does that make sense?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

He left and I turned to my mother.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Certainly,” she said, crisply.

“You looked a little choked up, before, saying goodbye to Jack.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Well, I hope everything works out,” I said.

Andy and my father came out of the hotel with the bags and took them to the car. My mother and I followed.

“I’ll call when we get home,” I said, holding the passenger door open for her.

She got in, fastened her seat belt, and rolled down the window.

“Thanks for coming,” she said. “Both of you. I appreciated it. I just wish things hadn’t turned out the way they did.”

“Me too,” I said.

As the car drove away, Andy and I waved.

“Alone at last,” I said.

“I’ll pack while you write your statement.”

“And what then?”

“What’s the fanciest hotel in Saskatoon?”

“I’m not sure. The Besserer, maybe. It’s the grand old railway hotel, but I haven’t been there in years.”

“I’ll research it while you shower,” he said. “And book us the fanciest room in the joint. With hot and cold running room service.”

“And a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for the door.”

It didn’t take long for our life to get back to its normal, slightly chaotic, pace. Because Andy works days and I tend to work weeknights during the season, we can go days without seeing one another awake, but we managed to overlap on an off-day to bury Elwy’s ashes. We planted a lilac bush over him, so I’d remember him each spring, then Sally and T.C. joined us for a little wake. We drank champagne and told stories. Sally and I shed a small Presbyterian tear or two, but the evening was mostly telling stories about Elwy that made us laugh. It was a good way to say goodbye. T.C. told me about a friend with a litter of kittens, but I’m not ready to replace Elwy yet. I suspect Andy hopes I never will be, but I know from past experience that it won’t take long for another cat to find me, one way or another.

I thought about my mother a lot, and about Jack. I was tempted to confide in Andy, but managed to resist. Besides, I was too busy.

Work had turned into the kind of nightmare that only a pennant race can bring. The Titans had gone on a surprising winning streak, and were leading their division going into the stretch. Attendance was up, and callers to sports talk shows were whipping themselves into a frenzy about the possibility of a World Series in Toronto. This put extra pressure on everyone, not least the sports writers. Every game became important, and we were expected to take our magnifying glasses to every move the manager made or didn’t make. As well, every executive at the paper had ideas about what our coverage should be.

Our little corner of the newspaper, the toy department, as it is called by the news-side types, is usually a very pleasant place to work. Our editor, Jake Watson, is a genial and thoughtful man who actually believes that his writers are smart enough and responsible enough to recognize and follow through a good story, but with pennant fever sweeping both the city and the newsroom, he had to handle a lot of stupid questions and hare-brained suggestions from the higher-ups. This did not make him happy, and when Jake Watson isn’t happy, neither is his staff.

I tried to keep my sense of humour, but it was stretched pretty thin. I almost wished the Titans would go on a losing streak so I could go back to working in pleasant obscurity again.

A couple of weeks after our return, I was sitting in the press box at the Titan Dome watching the home team beat the hapless Tigers when my direct line rang. I noted the walk that had just been issued to the leadoff batter in the bottom of the fifth into my scorebook, then picked up the phone. It was Andy.

“Your mother just called,” he said.

“On a Wednesday?”

“I know. I thought it might be important. I told her to call you there, but she didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Thanks. I’ll call her back.”

“What’s happening in the game?”

“Titans winning big. Why don’t you turn it on?”

“I’ve got better things to do with my life,” he said.

“Well, pardon me. Anyway, it looks like it’s going to be a long night.”

The runner, Joe Kelsey, stole second.

“I won’t wait up,” he said.

“See you later.”

Single to left, bobbled, Kelsey scored, runner to second on the error. I could do this job in my sleep. I made the symbolic notations in my score book, then dialled my parents’ number, tucked the receiver into my shoulder and typed the scoring play into my computer while listening to the ringing signal.

“Mum, you called,” I said, when she answered. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, Kate, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just thought you should know.”

“Know what? Nothing’s wrong with Daddy, is it?”

Another walk and a wild pitch, moving the runners to second and third. The crowd cranked up the volume. I couldn’t hear her answer.

“You’re going to have to speak up, Mum. It’s noisy here.”

“I said, everything’s all right. It’s just fine. I called because Jack Wilton phoned me yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“It seems that when he was wrapping up Virna’s estate, her lawyer gave him a letter she had left for him to read after her death.”

“Oh.”

Short fly ball out to left, runners hold.

“Yes, she told him the truth. And he called me.”

“What was his reaction?”

“A combination of a lot of things, I guess. Surprise. Anger. Sadness. Excitement.”

I realized that my mother was describing her own feelings.

“He didn’t call me for several days,” she continued. “I guess it took some getting used to.”

Triple into the gap, two score. Pandemonium in the stands.

“Of course it did,” I said. There was silence on the line.

“Mum?”

“I told your father last night.”

“Oh, dear. How did he take it?”

“He was shocked, of course,” she said. “But I think he’s glad I told him.”

“And how do you feel about all this?”

“Relieved, I think, finally.”

“You’re sure?”

“At first, I was very angry with Virna, too. She had no right to do that without warning me.”

Walk.

“Well, Mum, maybe she meant to, out there at Battleford, and just didn’t get to it. You’re sure you and Daddy are all right?”

“Yes, he wants to speak with you in a minute.”

“Have you told anyone else? What about Sheila?”

“No, I think I’ll wait until I can tell her in person.”

Passed ball, runner to second. Runner on third scores.

“Is it all right if I tell Andy?”

“If you feel you must.”

“Not if you don’t want me to. But we share most things.”

“Use your own judgement, then.”

Single, runner scores. Manager out of the dugout, pointing to his left arm. I put my pencil down. The PA system blared forth taunting music to welcome the new pitcher.

“I mustn’t keep you from your work,” she said.

“It’s okay, Mum, we’re in a pitching change.”

“What’s the score now?”

“Let’s see. It’s 9–0, and counting.”

“That’s nice. I’ll get your father.”

She put the phone down. I typed the scoring plays into the computer.

“Well, Kate, your mother continues to surprise me,” he said, sounding a bit shaky, but also, what’s the word? Brave, I guess.

“Oh, Daddy, are you all right?” I asked. I was getting strange looks in the press box.

“I’m all right, just a bit astonished.”

“It was a long time ago,” I said. “Before she even knew you. Don’t be hard on her.”

“Kate, I couldn’t be as hard on her as she has been on herself for all of these years,” he said. “I wish she had told me from the beginning. Then we could have been part of this young man’s life all along.”

“It’s not too late now,” I said.

“I know that. I spoke with him earlier this evening.”

The warm-up was over. The batter stepped in.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Daddy?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

First pitch. Ground ball. Double play. Inning over.

“I will, but not too much. I know you’ll work it out. I’ve got to go now. Give Mum a hug for me. I love you both.”

I hung up the phone and watched the grounds crew race onto the field with their rakes and brooms. I dug in my wallet for the card from the All-American All-Star Flower Shoppe in Fort Wayne. Jack had written his home number on the back of the card. I dialled it.

A woman answered, a woman with a strong, cheerful voice and an upward inflection at the end of her greeting. I asked for Jack.

“Can I tell him who’s calling?”

“Tell him . . .” I paused.

“Tell him it’s his sister, Kate,” I said.