A Great Catch (5 page)

“Play ball!” Umpire Harvey Hill, a former classmate of Carter’s, pointed at the Owls.

Emily and her grandmother had been there for nearly two hours now, and the sun was casting shadows on the field. The game was tied at 2–2. Carter had not allowed a single hit since he’d taken over on the pitcher’s mound. But that was seven innings ago. How long could he keep that up?

Carter drew the ball to his chest as he squinted at the catcher. He looked away, both hands hugging the ball to his chest, then he kicked and wound his arm like a windmill before hurling the ball toward the batter so fast Emily lost track of it.

“Strike three! You’re out!”

The batter glared at Carter and threw down his bat. A glimmer of a smile broke through Carter’s stoic expression as he ran in from the pitcher’s mound. The others joined him on the bench.

First to bat, the Owls’ shortstop connected on the second pitch and made it safely to first base.

Carter stepped to the plate next but was facing a different direction than the shortstop. Emily couldn’t see his face. He balanced the ash bat in his hand and hit the dirt a couple of times. The breeze carried the dust cloud away. Then, setting his stance wide and sure, he held the bat aloft over his left shoulder.

The opposing pitcher threw the ball directly at him. Carter jumped out of the way. The ball whizzed by him and landed with a thud in the catcher’s mitt.

“Strike one!” the umpire shouted.

Carter shook his shoulders and stepped back to the plate. He swung at the second pitch. The ball flew toward right field and landed in an open spot. Carter raced toward first base.

“Not bad for a southpaw,” a man behind Emily said.

“And for a hurler,” his friend added.

Although Emily knew southpaw referred to Carter being left-handed, she was tempted to turn around and ask why they doubted his batting abilities. But she chose to remain silent. A lady could learn much by listening to those around her.

“Yeah,” the first man agreed. “Most pitchers are the weakest batters on the team.”

So, Carter Stockton was a bit of a wonder. Why didn’t that surprise her?

The Owls took the lead by the end of the eighth inning. As the game continued, Grandma Kate pressed her hands to her back. “It’s getting late, Emily. Perhaps we should go.”

Carter sent the baseball sailing toward the batter, and the umpire called the second strike in a booming voice.

“Now?” She glanced at Carter.

A smile graced Grandma Kate’s wrinkled face. “I thought you didn’t want to come.”

“I never said that.”

“You implied it would be a complete waste of time.”

Emily wanted to cheer when Carter struck out yet another one of the Merchant Browns. “Although I still believe I could have used my time more wisely, I must say, this has been invigorating.”

“It has at that.” Her grandmother flicked open a Battenberg lace fan and waved it in front of her face.

“And it’s almost over. I don’t think a slight delay in our departure will make any difference in what I complete today.”
Or don’t complete.
A familiar tug of guilt pulled on her. Responsibilities, forgotten for the last two hours, suddenly felt heavy on her shoulders again.

The batter stepped back in place, and Emily held her breath as the ball sped over the plate.

“Strike one!” Hill called.

Applause and cheers erupted around her.

Carter glanced at her and nodded. She could practically see the win going right to that cocky, curly-haired head of his. If he won, he was going to be insufferable. He already had an air of confidence about him. And why shouldn’t he? He was good-looking, athletic, and wealthy. He could play all summer long even if there was work to do.

She, on the other hand, couldn’t afford to play. After all, it was her job to find something that would unify the ladies in their fight. They needed something to get behind, and it needed to be public, where the community could see a woman could do anything a man could do.

If only she could teach men like Carter a lesson. Wipe that smirk right off his chiseled face.
Lord, okay, I’m trying to turn to You first. Do You have any ideas?

“Think they’ll pull this off, Lyle?” the man behind her commented to his buddy. “If they do, I’ll be back to watch every game.”

“You know what I’d pay to see? These boys up against one of those Bloomer Girls’ teams.”

“A girls’ team wearing their bloomers in public?”

“Yeah, ain’t you heard of them? They were in the newspaper the other day. They’re teams of girls as good as men, and they travel around the country doing exhibition games against men’s teams. They put on a real show.”

“In bloomers?”

“Well, they can’t very well run around bases in a dress.”

A smile spread across Emily’s face.
Thanks, Lord. That was fast.

With her healed wrist finally freed from the sling, Emily padded down the path, a rubberized swim bag swinging from her wrist. Only four days ago she’d attended the Owls’ game. Now, armed with all the information she needed about one of the Bloomer Girls’ teams, excitement bubbled inside her. She could already picture Marguerite’s and Lilly’s faces when she shared her idea. If the Council Bluffs Equal Suffrage Club could sponsor this game, it would speak volumes for what women were capable of.

Bright sunshine, clear skies, and friends—could the day get any better? She’d even managed to avoid Carter this morning. And since it was the weekend, the beach would be crowded enough that she wouldn’t see him there either. A row of honking geese waddled single file across the gravel path as she neared. She giggled and stopped to let them pass.

Marguerite waved at her from the door to the ladies’ bathhouse on the lakeshore.

“Where’s Lilly?” Emily glanced across the way at a clump of men, who appeared to be laughing uncontrollably in front of the men’s bathhouse. She thought she recognized the Manawa Owls team members, though it was hard to tell with them out of uniform. But she knew Carter was not among them.

“Lilly’s inside getting ready.”

“Good,” Emily said. “I have an idea for the club I want to talk to you both about.”

Marguerite opened the door to the changing facilities and waited for Emily to pass through. “Can’t you just enjoy yourself for one day?”

“I can enjoy myself and still get done what I have to. It’s called efficiency.”

“It’s called boring.” Marguerite nudged her toward one of the curtained dressing areas. “Now hurry up. I haven’t been swimming all summer.”

Drawing a striped serge skirt over her bloomers, Emily talked to her friends through the curtain, explaining her plans for the Bloomer Girls’ competition. She pulled the curtain aside and peeked around it. “Wouldn’t it be a great way to show women can do whatever a man can do?”

Lilly tied a yellow ribbon below her knee around her black stockings. “If you can get the Owls to agree. I’m not sure most men would want to be shown up by a group of women.”

“The women aren’t guaranteed to win.” Emily stepped from behind the curtain and held out a flower-bedecked bathing cap to Marguerite.

Marguerite helped Emily slip the cap over her bun. “But you sure hope they will. Do you think Carter’s team will say yes?”

“I was hoping you’d ask him.” Emily tucked the fringe of curls around her face inside the cap. “No one can say no to you.”

“It seems to me if anyone has any pull with Carter Stockton, it’s you, Miss Emily Graham.” Lilly adjusted her sailor collar. “The way he was fawning over you after you fell.”

Emily placed her hand on the bathhouse door but didn’t turn the knob. “Believe me. Carter thinks I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

No watch was needed for Carter to know he was late again. The boys on the team planned to meet to swim at one this afternoon, and it had to be nearly half past. He hadn’t been to this section of the beach in a couple of summers, and chances were, they’d not waited for him. He’d have to change quickly and find them in the water—probably at one of the toboggan slides out in the middle of the lake.

He hurried to the men’s bathhouse and swung open the door.

Emily’s eyes, wide as saucers, stared back at him from beneath a hat with way too many flowers on it.

Then, before he could react, she slapped his cheek so hard he saw stars.

Girls screamed.

Emily gaped at him. “Carter Stockton, what in heaven’s name are you doing?”

Marguerite pushed her out of the doorway, and she and Lilly joined Emily outside the bathhouse before slamming its door shut.

Carter rubbed his bright red cheek. “What are you doing in the men’s bathhouse?”

Emily propped her hands on her hips. “From the screams of the ladies inside, clearly this is not the men’s facility.”

Loud guffaws erupted around them as a group of men converged on Carter. A mustached man with black hair parted down the center slapped him on the back. “Good one, huh?”

“Ducky, is this some kind of joke?”

A freckled redhead lifted the sign reading
Men
from the nail on the door and replaced it with the sign reading
Ladies
. Holding his sides, he doubled over in laughter again. “You should have seen your face, Stockton.”

“You know these miscreants?” Emily scowled at them.

“They’re my teammates.” He glared at each of them. “My soon-to-be-deceased teammates.”

“Ah, you have to admit it was funny, and no harm was done,” the red-haired man managed between chuckles.

Marguerite giggled beside Emily and pointed to the men’s bathhouse. “If you boys don’t hurry, I think Mrs. Neville is about to get the surprise of her life.”

Like crabs on sand, the team members scrambled to the building. Marguerite and Lilly followed to watch the show.

Emily started to leave as well, but Carter caught her arm. His gaze swept her from head to toe, and an appreciative smile seemed to curl his lips. Heat rushed to her cheeks even as she chided herself for such foolish thoughts. Carter Stockton was
not
looking at her that way. Still, she pressed her hand across the exposed flesh above her white sailor collar.

“Since I gave you that scare, Emily, maybe I can make it up to you with some ice cream after we swim. It’s the least I could do. I feel really bad about this. Between your wrist and the bad luck with Marion, you’ve had quite a week.”

Her jaw tightened, and she glared at him. Did he feel sorry for her again?
Poor Emily. The girl who couldn’t even get a man like Mr. Wormsley to be interested in her.
She didn’t need his pity, she didn’t need his help, and she certainly didn’t need the questions his attentions would elicit from her friends and aunts. She jutted out her chin. “I don’t need your mercy social outing.”

“But—”

“Go back and play with your friends, Carter. That’s what boys do, isn’t it?”

Carter wanted to punch something. He’d struck out, and Emily marched away as if he’d threatened to kill her firstborn. The form-fitting striped bathing costume hugged her narrow waist, and the bright yellow, pink, and red flowers on the ridiculous cap bounced with every step. What was with that woman? He’d asked her to join him for ice cream. Simple. Easy. Fun. And she’d called him a boy. A boy!

Fine. If that’s how she wanted it. From now on, he’d keep his mouth shut.

“What’d you do?”

Wheeling around, Carter found the diminutive Lilly at his side. “Excuse me?”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Well, Emily steamed off like a hot teakettle, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you said something.”

“All I did was offer to take her out for ice cream.”

“And?”

“I said it was the least I could do. You know, to make up for my mistake after she’s had such bad luck this week with Marion Wormsley and her wrist. I feel sorry for her.”

Lilly lobbed him on the side of his head with her palm.

He jerked back. “What was that for?”

“Someone needs to knock some sense into you.”

“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong. I mean besides the door thing, which was an accident.”

Lilly sighed. “I’m not going to spell it out.”

“What? Why?”

“That”—she poked him in the chest—“is what you need to discover on your own.”

Then, for the second time in less than three minutes, a woman stalked away from him.

Emily waded in the waist-deep water toward the toboggan slide with Marguerite and Lilly flanking her. Complete with a bathhouse attached for sled rental and refreshments, the thirty-foot-tall structure sat off the shore of Manhattan Beach, ready to thrill bathers.

As they paddled toward the slide, Emily let the ripples carry away her anger and humiliation.
The least he could do.
The words echoed in her ears. Carter felt sorry for her, and it stung. She didn’t want it to, but it did. She hated pity. Everyone felt sorry for her. She could hear them now.
Poor Emily can’t cross a room without tripping. She’d drop her own head if it wasn’t attached. She’ll probably trip down the aisle at her wedding.

She bit her lip, silencing the voices. No one needed to worry about her wedding. There wasn’t going to be one. Marriage was a complication she didn’t need, and she had more important things to consider. Later this afternoon, she was speaking on the pavilion steps. The other ladies were joining her, and a rousing speech was necessary for both them and the community.

They reached the dock surrounding the slide’s bathhouse and climbed the wood ladder onto the platform.

“Stop right there.” Marguerite put her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “You need to get rid of whatever it is you have going on in your head. The next hour is for fun.”

Emily shrugged. “Maybe I should head back and work on my speech.”

Lilly linked her arm in Emily’s. “No, ma’am. Marguerite and I don’t get away without our little ones very often, and you need a break. Before all your suffrage work, you used to be the one dragging us off to have a good time.”

Marguerite’s blue eyes sparkled, and Lilly’s no-nonsense expression left little room for argument. Emily laughed. She’d never win with either of them. Besides, they were right. More and more, the suffrage fight had consumed her time. “Okay. Let’s go enjoy ourselves.”

Plopping a dime on the counter, the three ladies rented a long toboggan from the clerk to share. Giggling, the three of them carried the heavy toboggan through the passageway and up the staircase leading to the slide. At the top, Marguerite sat in the front, and Lilly wiggled into place behind her.

“Your turn.” Lilly tilted her head, looking back. “No bolting to practice your speech.”

Emily rolled her eyes and eased one stocking-covered foot onto the toboggan. She froze when she heard a familiar voice behind her. Her heart thundered against her rib cage. Carter and his teammates were climbing the stairs. Heat rose from her sailor collar to her flower-covered cap. She grabbed Lilly’s shoulders. She couldn’t face him again—not yet.

“Emily, be careful.”

Lilly’s warning came too late. Slipping on the slick wood, Emily shoved the toboggan forward with her foot. Her friends careened down the chute, and she landed with a thud on the deck. Tears pricked her eyes. Her bottom hadn’t hurt this bad since her father caught her putting a frog in her brother’s pocket.

Laughter surrounded her, accusing her of what she already knew. She was clumsy, plain and simple.

“Emily?”

With hooded eyes, she peered up at Carter standing over her. What she wouldn’t give to sink into the water below and never resurface.

He offered his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. I slipped getting on.”

“I sort of guessed that.” His eyes danced with amusement. “It happens sometimes.”

The cleft in his chin deepened with his grin, and he stood there, broad-shouldered and so male she couldn’t breathe. Escaping him became a necessity. She whirled, intending to head back down the stairs.

Carter caught her wrist. “You can ride down with me.”

More heat flooded her face, and the afternoon sun seemed to pour down with greater intensity. She considered walking away, but the pain in her backside predicted a less than ladylike gait. He’d see her waddle, and her humiliation would double. But riding down the toboggan run with him?

“Carter, I’m not sure.”

His eyes darkened. “Is it because of earlier?”

“Aw, ease up on her, Stockton.” Ducky stepped forward. “It’s not her fault if she doesn’t want to be around a cad like you. Walking into ladies’ bathhouses and all.” Comfortable teasing laced his voice. “She can take my toboggan, and I’ll ride down with you.” He flopped the toboggan down on the deck and held out his hand. “Will that work, Miss Graham?”

“Yes, thank you very much.” She took his hand and gingerly seated herself. Picking up the reins on the toboggan, she turned to nod to Ducky to release her. Instead, she found Carter. Her eyes widened.

“Hold on.” The smile had crept back into his voice. “You’re about to go on the ride of your life.”

The sled lunged forward and her stomach lodged in her throat—not from the ride as much as the unspoken promise Carter’s words seemed to hold.

“Do I look all right?” Emily pressed a shaky hand to her stomach. From inside the pavilion, she could see folks gathering at the foot of the stairs. Apparently, word had gotten around about today’s speech. She swallowed hard. “I think the butterflies in my stomach have butterflies.”

“You look fine.” Lilly straightened the patriotic red and white satin banner that lay diagonally across Emily’s chest with
Votes for Women
sewn on in bright blue letters. “And you’ll do great. I think this is the biggest crowd we’ve had so far.”

“That’s not helping.” Emily filled her lungs with lake-scented air. “I guess it’s time. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck, but I’ll pray for you.” Lilly nudged her in the direction of the steps.

Emily stepped out of the pavilion and scanned the crowd. Although it contained mostly women, a few men stood with their arms firmly crossed over their chests. This wasn’t going to be easy, but she hadn’t expected it to be.

She lifted her voice. “Ladies and gentleman, or should I say sisters and brothers, hear me. There are wrongs in this country we have in our power to right, and change is within our grasp. It is up to us to reach out and grab hold of the opportunity.”

“Go home to your babies!” A burly man in his fifties pushed to the front. “A woman’s place is in the home.”

Emily stiffened. Should she respond to him, tell him she had no children, or continue with her plans? Deciding it best to ignore the comments, she pressed on. “Allow me to tell you why this fight is of the utmost importance.

“A woman in Davenport who had been repeatedly beaten by her husband, fearing for her life, chose to separate from him. He now has her children, and she has no right to see them.

“A woman in Tabor killed a man in the presence of her husband. She cannot be tried for what she’s done, but her husband can.

“A woman, a sister, in Des Moines inherited her parents’ farm, and her husband drank it away. He died from his consumption of alcohol and left her penniless.”

“That’s his God-given right!” the heckler shouted. “She belongs to him.”

Nerves and anger tangled inside her. How dare the man? If he kept this up, he’d ruin her speech. She’d never dealt with a heckler before.

Then she spotted Carter shouldering his way through the crowd. He stepped directly behind the heckler. “Let her talk,” he said loudly. “I want to hear what the lady has to say.”