Puddlejumpers (14 page)

On the day of his departure, Mrs. McGinty was in a foul mood. She barely spoke to him except to complain about the way he'd made his bed, deride him for his messy hair, and issue extra morning chores.

After putting away the mop and bucket, he started upstairs to pack. As he passed McGinty's office, she stepped into the hall with a scowl. “Ernie Banks, you'll be wearing a coat and tie this morning.”

Ernie nodded and slouched past her up the stairs. He could barely believe that he was really leaving and didn't want McGinty to see how excited he was. He was afraid she might still stop him from going.

With his Cubs cap pulled low over his eyes and dressed in a hand-me-down sports coat and mismatched tie, Ernie packed an extra pair of blue jeans, two T-shirts, underwear, socks, and his baseball glove into a battered suitcase plastered with Cubs emblems.

Feeling as if his feet weren't even touching the ground, Ernie said good-bye to a few kids, then lugged his suitcase down six flights of stairs and out the door. As he waited with Mrs. McGinty at the curb for a taxi, she made him open his suitcase and, just to spite him, confiscated his glove.

At the bus station, everything Ernie did annoyed her. She didn't like the way he scuffed his feet on the cement when he walked. She didn't like the way he slurped a drink from the water fountain. And she didn't like it that he was wearing “that ridiculous Cubs cap,” which she made him fold and tuck into his back pocket. She was so agitated, she even smoked a cigarette, which came as a huge surprise to him. He wondered what other nasty things McGinty kept secret from the rest of the world.

When his bus was announced on the PA system, McGinty steered him by the collar through the crowded station, then shoved him up the steps of the waiting Greyhound. “If it was up to me, you'd be on a bus to the reformatory. But mark my words, if you come back from that farm with even one hair out of place, you're gone.” Ernie only stared, which irritated her even more. She spat out her last words. “I'll be waiting for you, Ernie Banks. I'll be right here.”

The bus door banged closed between them. Out of her reach, he snapped his Cubs cap back on his head, then marched up the aisle and settled into a seat. As the Greyhound revved its engine, Ernie looked out the window to see McGinty giving him the evil eye. As much as he hated to admit it, he felt a twinge of sadness in saying good-bye. The old witch was the only adult he'd ever really known, and suddenly he felt completely alone.

When the bus started out of the station, he waved at Mrs. McGinty's frowning face and, knowing it would make her mad, offered a colossal grin from ear to ear.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Wrinkle in the Wheat

E
RNIE FELT A SCARY
enthusiasm as the skyscrapers became shorter and the gray pavement turned to green grass. He wasn't sure what it would be like where he was going, but he knew it couldn't be any worse than what he was leaving behind. He looked out the window at rolling hills and woods and wide fields planted with corn and wheat. After a while, the hypnotic passing of the checkerboard landscape and the rhythmic sound of the bus tires on the road lulled him to sleep.

“This is where you get off, son.”

Ernie woke with a start. The bearded face of the driver was staring down at him. Disoriented, he grabbed his suitcase from the adjacent seat and shuffled down the aisle. The few remaining passengers craned their necks when he tripped on his untied shoelace and tumbled down the steps, landing face-first in the dust of the Illinois countryside.

“You all right there, pardner?” the driver asked.

Ignoring the question, Ernie jumped to his feet and brushed off the dust.

“Okay, then—happy trails,” said the driver as he closed the door and noisily shifted into gear.

Ernie watched the bus motor away. He was standing in front of a dilapidated grocery store named The Trading Post. The plate glass was cracked and someone had nailed a sheet of plywood across the entrance with the words
OUT OF BUSINESS
scrawled across it in red paint.

Ernie sat on a weathered bench beneath a rusted sign that read
BUS STOP
. All around him, fields of withered wheat baked in the hot sun. He hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. Even a city boy could see that something was wrong. Everything was brown and dusty. The trees looked haunted. It felt like it hadn't rained forever.

Suddenly thirsty, Ernie swallowed and loosened his tie. A quarter mile down the old state highway, two church steeples rose above a small town. He could just make out a couple of signs,
THE TURKEY ROOST
and
THE WILLOW LOUNGE
, but it didn't look like there were any customers. He perked up when a car started in his direction, but then it turned and disappeared from view. Across the street and a few hundred feet in the opposite direction was a gas station, but it, too, was closed. Beyond that, there was nothing but parched fields.

Ernie remembered Mrs. McGinty telling him that some guy would be waiting for him at the other end, but he hadn't been paying much attention. Now he wondered if she'd made a mistake, or maybe this was her plan to get rid of him for good. Not sure what to do and roasting in the hot sun, he crossed the street and walked toward the shade of the abandoned gas station.

A big green dinosaur peered down from the dented sign. The gas pumps had white circular lamps on top with the same green dinosaur and the word
SINCLAIR
in red lettering, but the handles and hoses were missing.

Ernie looked back toward the town to see if anyone was coming. No one was. That's when he noticed the sign,
WELCOME TO CIRCLE
. It was about sixty feet away, just like the distance from the mound to home plate in the big leagues. He scooped up some stones from the side of the road, snugged his Cubs cap low on his head, scratched a line in the dirt, and zeroed in on the sign. He cleared his throat, then, imitating a play-by-play announcer, broadcast in a loud voice, “It's unbelievable, folks. The ninth inning, two outs, and Ernie Banks is on the mound for the Cubs, facing the most dangerous hitter in the game, the King of Swat, Babe Ruth.” He spit into his palm, then rubbed the stone. “Here's the windup, and the pitch…”

Ernie fired the stone, pegging the sign with a metallic clang. “Steee-rike, on the outside corner! The Babe took a mighty swing and connected with a big chunk of nothing.” He took another stone out of his pocket and jiggled it in the palm of his hand behind his back. He squinted at the road sign. “Banks, wasting no time, looks in for the sign.”

Suddenly laughter interrupted his game. Embarrassed, Ernie watched a kid on a black-and-white pinto pony canter from the field onto the highway, between his pitching mound and the sign. When Ernie heard her say, “Whoa, Sassy,” he realized the intruder was a girl.

Joey Woodruff was wearing a faded T-shirt boasting the slogan
ROOSTERS DON'T CROW FOR NOTHIN
'! and an International Harvester cap pulled tight over short brown hair. He thought she was somewhere around his age, with lots of freckles on her nose and a fierce look in her light brown eyes. He wondered how long she'd been spying on him.

Determined to maintain his pride, Ernie decided to ignore her. He stared in at his target, now mostly obscured by the pony and its rider, then went into his windup. He fired a stone that whizzed past the girl's nose and pinged the sign loudly. “Steee-rike two!”

Joey lowered the brim of her cap. She stared first at the sign, then at Ernie. “That's public property, you know.”

Ernie pretended she wasn't even there. In fact, to show how little he cared about her presence, he even exaggerated his radio broadcast. “Wrigley Field is going absolutely gaga, Cubs fans. One more out and we've got the Series. The whole season rides on this pitch. Banks looks in for the sign.”

“I wouldn't do that if I was you,” warned Joey.

“Here's the windup, the pitch…”

He reared back and fired his best fastball. It flew straight as an arrow, beaming for the sign, until Joey unexpectedly doffed her cap, caught the stone in its crown, then flung it deep into the adjacent field.

“That ball is outta here!” she cried.

Ernie stared dumbfounded as Joey trotted her pony up alongside him. She leaned down to read the name tag on his suitcase.

“You Ernie Banks?” she asked.

Exasperated, Ernie grabbed his suitcase and started for the Sinclair station. Joey watched coolly from her mount. “You always wear a tie when you travel?”

Ernie pressed on until the sound of beating hooves made him glance over his shoulder. He tumbled out of the way as Sassy galloped past.

“Are you crazy?” he yelled angrily.

Joey reined Sassy about and reared her up like a trick pony in the center ring of the circus. Ernie rolled in the dirt to avoid her clopping hooves. Joey expertly rode Sassy into position, leaned out of the saddle, and swooped up Ernie's suitcase before trotting into the wheat.

Ernie couldn't believe the audacity of this girl. “Hey, that suitcase is private property!” was all he could think to say.

“Can it, Mr. Cub. You're not in Chicago anymore.”

“Wait a second! I'm supposed to get a ride from back there.”

“This is your ride,” she said flatly.

Ernie watched, baffled, as Joey tied his suitcase to her saddle while trotting away down a narrow tractor lane sandwiched between two fields of dying wheat. He looked back at the bus stop. Beyond it, the town still looked empty. With no other recourse, he reluctantly followed, trudging a safe distance behind his new adversary.

“So how come they're dumping you on us?” asked Joey without looking back.

He didn't answer.

“I guess they got to dump you orphan kids somewheres,” she explained. “Last year we had a real runt. Lasted three days. Year before that was even worse. I told Russ to quit this 'be nice to orphans' thing but he says we got to share the good Lord's earth with rejects, I mean people like you less fortunate than ourselves.”

“Just keep it up,” warned Ernie.

“Keep it up what?” mocked Joey.

“Just get me there,” he snapped.

Joey wheeled Sassy around, reining her wide flanks into Ernie, and stared down fiercely. “Look, orphan—me and Russ got to harvest the wheat, least what's left of it, and we got no time for the likes of you. I'm sayin' it right now—you get in our way or even look at me or Russ sideways, I'll bust you raw!”

She untied his suitcase and dropped it to the ground, spilling his clothes in the dirt. Ernie stared in disbelief as she turned Sassy and started back down the lane. “And another thing, orphan…“

Her warning was interrupted when a dirt clod splattered against the back of her head. “Oww!” she screamed, then jumped from her pony and charged Ernie, tackling him. They grappled in the dirt like two snarling dogs determined to prove who was stronger. Only the sound of screeching brakes prevented them both from losing some fur.

The frozen combatants stared into the vintage grill-work of a black Cadillac scowling at them like an iron beast. They scrambled out of the way on hands and knees, Ernie to one side of the lane and Joey the other. The Cadillac accelerated, crushing Ernie's suitcase. He watched openmouthed as it sped away in a cloud of dust. Joey swung up into her saddle. “Come on, I'm supposed to bring you back!” she yelled. “Get on!”

Ernie spit dirt from his mouth with a defiant look. “That's your problem, Rooster. Not mine.”

She reined Sassy sideways, prancing. “Listen up, Ernie Banks—there's a war on out here and Russ' life could be at stake!”

“What are you talkin' about?” he demanded.

“Get on or get lost!” she said, then offered her hand.

The only thing he knew was that he didn't want to be left alone in this used-up and good-for-nothing boondocks. Swallowing his pride, he grabbed hold of Joey's hand and pulled himself awkwardly onto Sassy's rump.

“Next time, you're on your own. Git up!” she shouted, and Sassy galloped off. Not wanting to hang on to a girl, Ernie gripped the saddle with both hands in a desperate bid not to fall.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Grand Theft

S
ASSY GALLOPED
down a sloped field of pitiful, dried-out wheat. As they came in sight of the farmhouse, Joey insisted they dismount and steal through what had once been a flower garden but was now nothing more than clumps of hard dirt. Motioning Ernie to keep quiet, she led Sassy past a grave marker under a stooped willow. Carved into the wood was the name
PITCH
and the inscription
BEST DOG IN THE WORLD
. Joey touched the marker before crossing past a silo to the back of a big barn. She sidled along the old wooden structure to peek around the corner. Wondering what all the fuss was about, Ernie spied past her shoulder. Two overgrown twenty-year-olds, with no necks and brutish faces, lumbered from the backseat of the black Cadillac, one the hulking shadow of the other.