A Great Catch (4 page)

Exiting the front door of the Manawa Yacht Club, Emily paused and scanned the throngs of lake visitors for her doting aunts. Not spotting them, she headed toward the Grand Plaza. Maybe her aunts had given up this ridiculous notion.

A soft breeze made her skirt swish against her ankles, and a contented warmth spread across her chest. She loved everything about Lake Manawa. Having come to the resort since she was in high school, it was truly her summer home. She smiled at the husbands and wives, linked arm in arm, as they strolled along the boardwalk with children in tow. A baby’s cry made her turn. Lilly lifted Levi from the pram, and immediately the baby quieted. On the lake, a sailboat glided over the rippling surface. Maybe Trip Andrews was testing another of his creations. Off to the side, a family of picnickers began gathering up the remains of their lunch and folding a tartan blanket.

A perfect day.

“Emily!” Aunt Millie waved at her from a bench in the shade. “Over here, dear.”

So much for perfect.

Sidestepping a cyclist, Emily stepped toward her aunts.

Then she saw him.

Previously blocked by the trunk of a sturdy oak, the apparently balding man situated between her two aunts now stood as she approached. A Cheshire cat grin nearly reached his sideburns and made his large ears fan out from his face. She stifled a grimace.

Aunt Ethel hurried to her side, linking her bony arm in Emily’s free one. “Looks can be deceiving, dear. Let’s not make any hasty judgments.”

“Does he at least have teeth?”

Aunt Ethel leaned closer. “Emily, Marion might be a few years older than you, but—”

“Marion?”

Waving her arm in a circle, Aunt Millie indicated they should hurry. Aunt Ethel quickened her steps. “We don’t want to keep Mr. Wormsley waiting.”

Emily moaned. Wormsley? With her luck, he’d be a bug collector too. She shivered. Even thinking of spiders made Emily’s skin crawl. A nasty experience with an overly friendly wolf spider in the root cellar had left a lasting impression.

“Ah, here is our lovely niece.” Aunt Millie wrapped her arm around Emily’s waist and drew her close. “Mr. Marion Wormsley, I’d like you to meet our niece, Miss Emily Graham.”

Mr. Wormsley tipped his hat, and the sun shone off his scalp. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your aunts have told me all about you.”

Certain they’d left out most of the qualities that usually sent suitors running—her lack of gracefulness, outspoken manner, determination to use the brain God gave her—Emily smiled politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Wormsley.”

Emily Wormsley.
The ridiculous name caused a tickle to rise in the back of her throat. It erupted in a half-hiccup sound. Face hot, Emily covered her mouth with her gloved hand. “Excuse me.”

“You need something to drink.” Marion shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Why don’t I, uh, get you a beverage?”

Emily thanked him and waited to speak to her aunts until he’d gone toward the pavilion. “Whatever made the two of you think I might be interested in Mr. Wormsley?”

“Dear.” Aunt Millie patted her arm. “He’s such a sweet man. And he’s a marksman.”

The stooped shoulders of the slight man in the distance made that hard to believe. “He shoots?”

“No, dear.”

“Archery?”

“Of course not.” Aunt Ethel shook her head. “Mr. Wormsley is an expert horseshoe player.”

“Horseshoes?”

Aunt Millie clapped her hands. “Yes, aren’t you lucky? Luck. Horseshoes. Get it?”

Emily rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long afternoon, and right now she saw no escape. Perhaps she could trip over a bench.

“That one’s a leaner.” Marion pointed to the horseshoe he’d tossed, which had landed upright against the stake. “It’s almost as good as a ringer.”

“Oh, and we certainly encourage rings, don’t we, dear?” Aunt Millie squeezed Emily’s arm.

“He said
ringer
, Aunt Millie.”

“Why don’t you give it a try, Miss Graham?”

“Do call her Emily.” Aunt Ethel adjusted her hat. “Emily doesn’t stand on formalities.”

Emily’s mouth gaped. What were her aunts thinking?

Actually, she knew exactly what they were thinking, and she didn’t like it one bit.

Marion offered her the horseshoe. “Give it a try—Emily.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Wormsley. I’m not very athletic.”

Aunt Millie nudged her. “Do try for that ring, dear.”

“Ringer.” Emily sighed and accepted the proffered U-shaped metal. Stepping up to the line Marion indicated, Emily swung her arm back with force. When she raised her left arm to swing the horseshoe, the weight of it surprised her, and she lost her balance. The horseshoe flew high into the air, flipped three times, and came down with amazing speed. Before anyone could react, it conked Marion Wormsley on top of his derby-covered bald head, and he slumped to the ground.

Emily stared at the dazed man lying prone at her feet. Slowly he sat up, drew off his hat, and rubbed the egg-shaped swelling on the top of his head.

She squatted beside him. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wormsley.”

He looked at her, eyes glazed. “Who are you?”

“Oh my.” Aunt Millie wrung her hands.

“Don’t stand there, Emily,” Aunt Ethel snapped. “Get the poor man a drink or something, or better yet, get someone to help us.”

Wadding her skirt in her fist, Emily raced toward the nearest concession stand. Patrons lined up in front of the counter. Drink. Her aunt said to get Mr. Wormsley a drink. One-handed, she fumbled with her pocketbook and in her haste dropped it. The coins clattered as they rolled across the boardwalk surrounding the stand.

“Oh bother.” She stooped to retrieve the few that hadn’t slipped through the cracks.

“Need some help?”

She tipped her head up, and her eyes met Carter’s. He held out a quarter in his palm, and a grin spread across his face.

Plucking the coin from his grasp, she started to stand, only to find another gentleman’s foot on the hem of her skirt, holding her in place.

Carter caught her arm. “Excuse me, sir. I believe your boot is on the lady’s dress.”

The long-faced man grumbled an apology and stepped away.

“What’s going on, Emily?” Carter scanned her face. “You look flustered.”

“I have to get a drink for Mr. Wormsley.”

Carter frowned. “Why would you be buying refreshments for a man?”

“I hit him in the head and knocked him out.”

“Why?” The furrows deepened. “Did he try to hurt you?”

“Heavens no.” Worry knotted in her stomach. “Carter, please. I need to hurry. He needs help.” She turned to leave, but he caught her arm.

“Not so fast. You wait here and I’ll get the drink.”

Glancing back and forth from the concession stand to the horseshoe pit area, Emily absently rubbed her injured wrist through the towel sling. Surely Marion wasn’t hurt badly.

Within a minute, Carter returned. “The owner wasn’t happy about us leaving with the glass. I promised we’d return it. Lead the way, Slugger.”

Emily shot him a fierce glare and marched toward the horseshoe pit with the glass in hand.

Carter fell in step beside her. “Hey, easy, or you’ll get there with no water left. Is that him?”

Like heavy dumplings, dread and shame weighed in her stomach. Emily nodded.

Carter wasted no time in reaching her two aunts, who were attempting to assist Mr. Wormsley to his feet. “I’ll get him, ladies.” With one swift motion, Carter lifted the smaller man from the ground and deposited him on the bench beside the pit. “Good grief, Emily. What did you hit Marion with? A baseball bat?”

She lowered her head and mumbled the answer as she passed Mr. Wormsley the glass of water. Only a slight glance at the offending curved piece of iron, and Carter’s ever-so-slight smile told her he’d heard her.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Wormsley. It slipped.”

He rubbed his head. “I thought this was a safe game.”

“I’m sure it usually is.” Guilt washed over her.
Unless I’m around.

Carter squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Not every day you get knocked off your feet by a pretty girl, eh, friend?”

“Are we friends?” Marion blinked owlishly.

“Of course we are. You work for my dad.” Carter brushed the dirt off the man’s sleeve.

“If I’d have known stepping out was this painful . . .”

“Ah, but the company of the right girl is worth it.”

Emily felt her cheeks burn. Did Carter believe she’d step out with Marion Wormsley? “We need to get him home.”

“I’ll take him,” Carter offered. “I have to go into town anyway. That is, unless there’s more between the two of you . . .”

“No!” Marion sat up straight. “I’m sorry, Miss Ethel, Miss Millie. I’m not sure courting your niece is going to work out.”

Emily balled her fists. Dumped by Marion Wormsley! Could anything be worse?

Carter snickered.

So, it could get worse. Embarrassment flared to anger. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t have a graceful bone in her five-foot-seven-inch body.

If the horseshoe wasn’t so far away, she might try for another ringer. Only this time she’d ring Carter Stockton’s athletic little neck.

Carter hopped off the open-air streetcar, tucked his leather glove beneath his arm, and jogged toward the dock. If he missed the electric launch to the other side of the lake, he’d be late for the Owls’ opening home game. He shouldn’t have offered to take poor Marion home, but he couldn’t imagine Emily and her aunts managing the ungainly man on their own.

“Hey, hold up!” He waved his hat in the air, and the deck assistant paused in releasing the ropes. After thanking him, Carter hopped on board the launch and took an empty seat in the stern. The boat jetted away from the dock, the loud whir of the motor drowning out the conversation of the two ladies beside him.

Carter glanced at the shore in the distance and then at his pocket watch. He groaned. He’d missed most of the time the team used to warm up, but the jog to the boat had to count for something. The trail of sweat trickling between his shoulder blades confirmed it.

His insides heated a bit more as he pictured Emily’s flustered face, haloed by wisps of hair blown free in her haste to help poor, injured Marion. Did she have any idea how cute she was when her dander was up?

Shaking his head, he pushed away the thought. This was Emily Graham, Martin’s little sister and an all-fired-up suffragette ready to take on the world. Besides, this summer was about baseball, not courting. His team was counting on him, and he had his own reason to focus on delivering an undefeated season.

His brother.

“You one of those Owls?” an overly freckled man asked above the din of the engine.

Carter nodded toward him. “Yes, sir. Opening game tonight.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“It’s a long story.” Unbidden, Emily’s image took shape in his mind once again. The corners of his mouth lifted. A horseshoe. He couldn’t imagine how she’d managed that. And what was someone as talented and lovely as she was doing stepping out with Marion Wormsley, of all people?

“You boys any good?” the man called.

“Sure hope so.” Carter rubbed his hands together, itching to get on the ball field. He sent up a silent prayer to get there in time.

“What position do you play?”

“Pitcher.” Carter eyed the field set nearly a quarter mile from Louie’s French Restaurant. Nerves tingling, he berated the launch’s speed as it devoured every precious minute he needed to warm up for the game. It skirted around the nearly completed, man-made peninsula of a pavilion, which they’d named the Kursaal. Since there’d be little time to do much before the game, he stretched his arm over his head and pulled the tense muscles. The launch chugged into place at the dock. Unhurried, the captain closed the throttle and tossed a rope onto the dock. A dockworker caught it and secured the boat in place.

Carter jumped to his feet but paused to let the ladies disembark.

“Son, we understand you’re in a hurry.” The woman who’d been seated beside him stepped back. “You go ahead.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I couldn’t.” He took her elbow and helped her ever so slowly step out of the vessel. After assisting four other women from the launch, Carter raced down the path past the Kursaal and the restaurant toward the ball field. Sweat trickled from his brow. If they lost this game because of him, his team would never forgive him. More importantly, he’d never forgive himself, and it would ruin all his plans.

Finally, red and white striped uniforms dotted the field in the distance. Good, they were still warming up. Since they were playing another local team, maybe he’d get lucky and his team would be able to bat first. Carter sprinted the last few yards onto the field and met Ducky at home plate.

“Where have you been?” Ducky punched his catcher’s mitt.

Carter sucked in a lungful of air. “It’s a long story.”

“Hope she was worth it.”

Carter shot his best friend a glare. “Just give me the ball.”

“You haven’t warmed up.”

“Ducky, we don’t have time.”

“Now you’re worried about time? Don’t be a fool. You can’t pitch without warming up. Go on. Ned can keep pitching till you’re ready.” Ducky turned. “Pauly, go catch for Stockton.”

Pauly trotted off the bleacher and met Carter on the outskirts of the field. He punched his thick leather glove. “Ready?”

Carter nodded but stopped to watch the start of the game. Spinning his arm in a wagon wheel–sized circle, Ned sent the first pitch of the season toward the batter of the opposing team. Carter’s heart sank like an anchor when a crack echoed across the field as the bat made contact with the ball. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he watched the ball sail past Elwood Taylor in right field and land in the grass. Half the crowd cheered.

He motioned to Pauly. “Step back. I’m mad as a hornet right now.”

“At Ned?”

“No. Myself.”

“This is ridiculous.” Emily stepped over a puddle in the path leading from their camp along Lake Manawa’s south shore. “By the time we get there, the game will be over.”

“Then you don’t have anything to complain about.” Grandma Kate gave her a half grin.

Emily swatted a mosquito buzzing around her wide-brimmed straw hat. “There won’t be any seats left.”

“We’ll see.”

“Grandma, sometimes . . .”

“I can be as stubborn as you? Where do you think you came by that trait, dear?”

Emily smiled. If there was anyone she wanted to emulate, it was her grandmother. While she loved her own soft-spoken mother dearly, ever since she was a little girl she’d admired Grandma Kate—the fighter, the strong, independent woman who didn’t let anyone or anything stand in her way. Grandma didn’t need a man. She took care of herself, or at least she did now.

“What was Grandpa like?” Emily’s grandfather had died before she was born, and she often wondered about the man. Every time she asked her mother about him, her mother would tear up and say they’d talk later. Fearing she’d upset her grandmother as well, Emily didn’t speak of him often.

“Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking about how you don’t seem to need a man.”

They reached Louie’s French Restaurant, and Grandma Kate stopped by a thicket of burgundy peonies. “Emily, don’t confuse what I’ve had to do with what I want.”

“I don’t understand.” Emily adjusted her sling and bent to sniff the honeyed perfume.

“I can handle business matters without your grandfather, but I would much rather have him here.”

“To do them for you?”

Grandma Kate laughed. “Sometimes that would be nice.”

“But Grandma, you do an excellent job with your affairs.” An ant crawled onto her hand, and she shook it off. “Don’t you enjoy making your own decisions? Thinking for yourself? Not answering to anyone?”

“We all answer to someone. I answer to God, and so do you.” Grandma Kate started walking down the path again. “In some ways, your aunts are right. I have filled your mind with ideas about women being equal to men.”

“But you’re right.”

Grandma patted her arm. “Yes, it’s true. But equal doesn’t mean identical. Men aren’t unnecessary, dear. I miss your grandpa terribly. He was a part of me. We faced the world together. That’s how God planned it.”

The deep sadness mirrored in her grandmother’s pale eyes broke Emily’s heart. “What do you miss the most?”

Grandma Kate didn’t answer for several minutes. When she did, her voice was soft and far off. “I miss being the most important person in the world to someone.”

Tears pricked Emily’s eyes, and she let the poignant words soak in like a soft rain. She wanted to argue that her grandmother was the most important person in the world to her, but she knew that wasn’t what Grandma Kate meant. A longing, so deep and painful it made her heart ache, forced her to press her hand to her chest. She wanted that kind of love.

But it wasn’t going to happen. No man would ever make her the center of his world. Not too-plain, too-clumsy Emily Graham.

She swallowed the longing and sighed. It was just as well. She had her own fight to concentrate on. If she had her way, she’d be doing it on a national level someday, right alongside Carrie Chapman Catt. Like her grandmother, she was a fighter, and no one was going to stop her.

Emily glanced up and paused on the path. The fan-shaped baseball field, which she’d thought was still a good distance away, seemed to have sprouted from the earth. The Manawa Owls, sporting their red and white uniforms, had one man on second base and another at bat.

Grandma Kate stopped beside the packed wooden bleachers beneath a canopy for spectators and squeezed Emily’s hand. “Only God knows the plans He has for you. He made you. Let Him direct your path.”

Guilt swept over Emily. How long had it been since she’d asked God to direct her path or light the way? Of course she prayed. This morning she’d asked Him to bless her meeting with the suffrage league. He’d put the desire to do this work in her heart. Surely that was a good indication she was doing exactly what He’d have her do. Wasn’t it?

Carter Stockton rose from the bench when he spotted them, waved, and jogged over. “Well, if it isn’t Slugger. Maybe we could use you on the team.”

“And maybe you could use some manners, Carter Stockton.”

“Emily.” Her grandmother scowled at her. “And Carter, why on earth are you calling my granddaughter ‘Slugger’?”

“Never mind, ma’am. I apologize. You two need a place to sit?” In three long strides, he walked to the bleachers, then spoke to two men in the front row. Seconds later, they vacated their spots. He swept his arm toward the empty seats and bowed. “Ladies.”

“You shouldn’t have made those men move.” Emily hung back, but Grandma Kate nudged her forward.

A broad smile creased Carter’s face. “They volunteered. Enjoy the game.”

“Wait. Who’s ahead?” Emily asked as he jogged off.

“They are,” Carter called over his shoulder. “But not for long.”