The Youngest Hero (37 page)

T
wenty games into the season I sent Elgin’s stats to Billy Ray:

Billy Ray called me at my office. “You say this is with an American Legion team?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Elgin is thirteen now?”

“Just turned.”

He whistled through his teeth. “Yes, ma’am, I think I had better visit you.”

Now he sat in our transient hotel flat with his briefcase on his lap, his knees together to support it, the toes of his wing
tips pointing at each other.

“What I need to know, Miriam,” he said, in his slow, liquid way, “is exactly what you want. I’m retiring, but I will gladly
represent you for as long as Elgin plays the game. That could be a long time, but it could just as easily be a short time.
I advise you to move cautiously with his best interests in mind. There is likely money to be made in short order. I expect
that you would be wiser than your late husband was.”

“I’m assuming that’s not a question,” I said. “You know me well enough.”

“I know you,” he said with a smile. “You probably wouldn’t want a penny of Elgin’s money. Neither do I, but we’re both going
to be involved until he’s of age. I will charge you only my hourly rate. That will not come due until he has realized some
income.”

“Excuse me,” Elgin said, “but are you sure you don’t want a percentage? It could be millions.”

“Oh, it likely will be,” Mr. Thatcher said. “But I don’t need it and I don’t want it. Enough people will come to you with
their hands out, and I advise you to ignore them. Very few will have your interests at heart. I never want to be accused of
being one of them.”

“That’s why you’re here,” I said. “What happens now?”

“The baseball rules say a team can’t draft a kid until his high school class graduates. If he doesn’t sign and goes to college,
he can’t be drafted until after his junior year.”

“Any way around it?”

“It’s never been tested in baseball. When I represented Bernie Pincham things had already changed in basketball. Years ago
the hardship rule was instituted where a kid could inform the league if he was an underclassman and wanted to be entered in
the draft. Now it’s just standard procedure. The NBA can’t keep a kid out of a draft just because he’s young.”

“Well, that’s the issue here, isn’t it?” I said.

“Everyone knows you can’t draft a high schooler till he graduates, but what about a junior high kid? It’s never come up.”

“So, what will you do?”

“Take the gentlemanly and inexpensive route first. I will inform the commissioner’s office that we want Elgin in the June
draft. If that is refused for any reason, I establish the hardship situation.”

I stiffened.

“Now, Miriam, I know you’re a hardworking and proud woman. You’re solvent and even saving money. But the fact is, your income
qualifies you for food stamps.”

“You know better than that.”

“Of course, but don’t be so proud that you stand in the way of your son living out his dream. Your humble means may help make
Elgin the youngest player in the history of pro sports.”

“But you won’t go that route unless we have to, right?”

“Right. Meanwhile, I’ll set up at the Hyatt Regency downtown. Steer every request, every offer, every approach to me. I’m
sure more than one team has already been in the baseball commissioner’s office trying to convince him it would be in the best
interests of baseball to allow a child into the June draft. On the other side will be local social workers and the huge, independent
baseball machine that has always been a law unto itself. Baseball doesn’t need this, but the public may force baseball’s hand.”

I scowled. “It’s a shame Elgin can’t play at a level where everybody else can compete with him.”

“Then you want me to push the commissioner.”

“I want Elgin to keep his priorities. No travel till school’s out, and he’s goin nowhere without me.”

Mr. Thatcher was taking notes. “This is good,” he said. “Elgin, how is your team going to feel if it loses you halfway through
the season?”

“I don’t know,” Elgin said, “but I don’t think I’d like it.”

Thatcher raised his eyebrows. “If you do get into the draft and some team signs you, you’re theirs.”

Elgin said, “Somebody told me the rookie leagues aren’t much better than Legion ball.”

“Probably true,” Billy Ray said. “Are you saying you don’t want to sign with a team that starts you lower than, say, A ball?”

“How about double-A?” Elgin said.

Mr. Thatcher set his briefcase on the couch. “Try this on,” he said. “Let’s say we get you into the draft. Then you go on
record that you won’t sign with anybody until the Legion season is over. That’ll make you look wonderful.”

“I’d go to the majors right now if I thought they’d let me, but nobody’s going to do that. I owe it to my team to stick with
them.”

“That’s going to be good for Legion ball, because the crowds will start showing up for your games. We’ll stipulate that whoever
signs you gets you only after the Legion season, provided they start you no lower than double-A and that you are invited to
spring training with the big club next spring.”

I sucked in a huge breath. Spring training in the majors? Maybe Mr. Thatcher was getting ahead of himself.

“Let me explain it this way, Elgin,” he said. “Everyone will think it’s a publicity stunt. I will look like a bad guy. But
if you’re a first-round pick, you deserve a huge signing bonus, and I’ll get it for you. A double-A first-round pick who goes
to spring training, publicity stunt or not, gets a certain amount.

“Do I think you’re going to earn a starting spot on a big-league club before you’re fourteen years old next spring? Of course
not. For one thing, your mother won’t let you play until school’s out. But you can go to spring training during spring break,
and if you perform well, your stock will rise.”

Momma stood and paced. “Elgin, you’d better start getting changed. Mr. Thatcher offered to drive us to the game.”

More than a thousand crowded the little ball field that night. At least a dozen scouts were there, some with video cameras.
On my way to infield practice, two men in suits asked to see me.

“Son, I just need a second,” one of them said, and several others gathered around.

“I’ll want a minute too, Elgin.”

“Me too, son.”

“Ho! Hey! Wait a minute over there!” It was Coach Koenig. His face was red and he was running. “Woodell, get to your position
if you want to play tonight! Now!”

“We just needed a second with him, Coach,” one of the men said.

“I told you, he’s not talking to anybody during the season. And when he’s available, he will have counsel.”

“Coach?” I said.

“I told you to get on the field!”

“I will, but I just wanted you to know that I have counsel. He’s here.”

“You have an agent?” one of the scouts demanded.

“He didn’t say that!” Koenig shouted.

“He did too! Now where is he?”

“He’s not an agent,” I said as Koenig dragged me away. “He’s an attorney, and he’s right up there with my mother.”

“Oh, Elgin,” Koenig whined, “you never should have told em who your mother was.”

I
had just begun to tell Billy Ray about Lucas, and I was irritated that he seemed to ignore me. I stopped and waited for his
attention, but when he spoke, he was still looking elsewhere.

I followed his eyes to a group of men, all seeming to hurry up the stadium steps while pretending not to. Mr. Thatcher leaned
toward me.”Don’t say one word, understand? Don’t even acknowledge who you are.”

The men approached, notebooks and business cards in hand. Some had radar guns bulging from sport coat pockets. Most wore stopwatches
around their necks.

“Are you Mrs. Woodell?” two asked.

It was all I could do to keep from nodding. What could be wrong with admitting who I was?

“Depends,” Mr. Thatcher answered, rising. “Who may I say is calling?”

The men looked at him, then at me, then back at him. He began distributing his cards.

“Thatcher’s the name. I represent the Woodells. You may reach me by phone, fax, snail mail, or e-mail, or you may reach me
for the next few days at the Hyatt Regency downtown. For now—”

“Well, I’d like to speak with you right now, if possi—”

“For now,” Mr. Thatcher repeated, “I am engaged in a private conversation and do not wish to be disturbed.”

“Can you tell us when you might be available?”

“During the game when Chicago is in the field. But not in the first inning.”

The scouts began to take seats near Billy Ray and me.

“Gentlemen, please,” Billy Ray said, “give us some space. I will talk with each of you, I promise.”

The scouts moved down a few rows. “I’m sorry, Miriam. You were saying?”

“That Lucas will be here later. He wants me to start preparing Elgin for the news about us.”

“That you are to be married?”

“Oh, my, no! But the other day, we uh, held hands for the first time and—”

Billy Ray grinned. “Perhaps you need me to break that news to your son.”

“Don’t mock me. Lucas and I have talked for hours about how seriously we take each other, and we said long ago that we would
just be friends.”

“I don’t need to tell you, that doesn’t work for long, Miriam.”

“Well, we thought it might. He told me I would know if he ever changed his mind. He said he wouldn’t even hold my hand unless
he was in love with me.”

Mr. Thatcher looked away again, clearly embarrassed. I quit talking.

He turned back to me. “Don’t misunderstand my discomfort, Miriam,” he said. “I miss my wife.”

“Don’t tell me something’s happened to Miz Thatcher!”

“No, no. I was with her just this morning. But Miriam, when you have a long, happy marriage, you miss one another whenever
you’re apart.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Maybe. Your story got to me. You see, Shirley and I felt the same way when we courted. We weren’t pretending to be just friends.
Anyway, she felt the same way Mr. Harkness feels. I’ll be pleased to meet him.”

Lucas and I had taken a walk one night while Elgin was in the cellar. We had laughed a lot, talked a lot, been quiet even
more. We stood closer to each other, brushed shoulders as we sat and laughed. I had held his gaze a little longer than normal,
just enough to increase my pulse and wonder if my face had flushed.

On the way back to my flat, he held my elbow as we crossed the street. That implied nothing, but when we were safely across
he let his hand slide down to mine. He’d silently declared himself, unless he a bad memory.

I had so longed for his touch that my hand in his was every bit as meaningful and warm and loving and sensual as an embrace.
I gripped his palm firmly, trying to convey all I wanted to say.

Though we didn’t touch each other again when he was saying good-bye, we might as well have. We held each other’s eyes long
enough to communicate.

Elgin had forgotten to take his spikes the last time he worked at Lucky’s, so I’d agreed to take them there for repair. When
I walked in Luke looked up and smiled. I set the shoes on the counter then thrust out my hand as if to shake his. He looked
puzzled, but shook my hand. When he did, I covered his also with my other hand.

“I’m Miriam Woodell,” I said. “You must be Lucky.”

“I am today,” he said, also covering my hands with his. And there we stood, four hands entwined, looking deeply into each
other’s eyes. When another customer entered he went back to business, but I was encouraged.

I wanted to confirm that he was coming to Elgin’s next game, so I waited as he tagged Elgin’s shoes and waited on the next
customer. The man made a small purchase and thanked Luke, who said, “Now, if you want a real deal, you can have that glass
bowl over there for two dollars.”

The man looked at it. “You’ll never sell that monstrosity,” he said.

Luke laughed heartily. “Yeah, I’ll probably have to pay someone to take it off my hands. Would you believe I paid nine dollars
for that and had it priced at twenty for a while?”

“No!”

Luke held up a hand. “Honest. Proved I was human, didn’t I?”

“Proved you were an idiot,” the man said, smiling.

“We’ve all got those ugly glass bowls in our lives, don’t we? Sure you don’t want it? I’m willing to take a seven-dollar loss
on it.”

They both laughed as the man left.

I approached again. Luke was still smiling. “Maybe it looked pretty in the dim light of the estate sale.”

I looked at the piece and shook my head. “It’s so ugly it’s cute.”

“You like it,” he said.

“I kinda do,” I admitted.

“You’re not serious.”

“No, but sort of. I mean I wouldn’t use it for anything but a conversation starter.”