Asked For

by Colleen L. Donnelly

  The tokens bumped together in James’ pocket, their sound a dull ping, a reminder that Mr. Morgan thought he was good, good enough for two tokens instead of just one. The tinny noise jangled out its compliment, one he decided he didn’t need, and one he’d decided to return.

  James turned down the sidewalk toward Mr. Morgan’s restaurant. He’d slammed the ball harder than ever at practice today. It was his first homerun, an electrifying jolt of wood against ball that still vibrated clear to his teeth. Hustle it up a little, the coach had yelled at the outfielders when James’ hit dropped behind them. They saved their best for the games, making it look like James’ homerun didn’t count. But it did count. He’d torn around the bases because it meant everything to him—meant he didn’t need compliments or tokens to spur him on. Not from Pop, and not from Mr. Morgan.

  James’ reflection appeared alongside him in Andy’s father’s hardware store window. He paused and glanced at himself, at the James that had hit his first homerun. He straightened and wished he had the long, lanky limbs Pop had. He jabbed his arms to the right and the left. They didn’t react like snakes. If long legs and quick arms were what he needed to be really good, then Pop was right, baseball wasn’t in his blood. He dropped his arms back down to his sides. Something was in James’ blood, though, and that something had sent him around the bases for a score today. He studied his dark hair, his tan skin, his stout build. Magdalena said he was handsome, handsome like Mama was pretty, just neither one of them knew it. He thought that was a funny thing to say. Handsome wasn’t what helped him hit a homerun today.

  Andy appeared within James’ reflection. Funny expressions, contorted mouth and eye gyrations, and silly faces blurred James’ image enough it looked like there were two of him, one handsome and fairly sensible, the other not quite as handsome and rarely sensible. James grinned. Andy ran along the inside of the store’s front to the door and popped out onto the sidewalk.

  “You looking for me?” He still had his ball clothes on from practice, just like James did, but Andy’s were dirtier because he fell a lot. James thought it was to make everyone laugh, maybe to hide the fact Andy wasn’t a very good player. Or maybe Andy didn’t really care.

  “Naw, I was heading home.” He glanced at Mr. Morgan’s restaurant next door and jangled the two tokens in his pocket.

  “Whatcha got there?” Andy tipped his head to the side and stared at James’ pocket. “You got money? You never have money.”

  James tried not to blush. No one in his family had money except Pop. Harold and Alex made enough to go out on their double dates now and then, but Pop didn’t give them any more than that for wages. He said they were old enough to earn their keep, and they were expected to help at the shop to pay their way. James had given them the dollar Magdalena had given him. He knew they deserved it, and they’d been excited. Magdalena always acted like she didn’t have much for all the work she did, but James knew better. She bought little things for Mama and his sisters, just none of them ever let on.

  “It’s just a couple of tokens. I was taking them back to Mr. Morgan to…”

  “To get two ice creams?” Andy’s eyes lit up and his tongue ran over his lips. Andy bounced up and down on his toes. Andy was right, except for Magdalena’s dollar he’d given away, James never had money. He pinched the tokens together. He’d never had a thing he could share with his friend.

  “You want ice cream?”

  “You betcha!” Andy raced to the restaurant’s door and yanked it open. “Come on!”

  James hesitated. This wasn’t what he’d intended to do. If he hadn’t jangled the tokens he could have returned them privately, thanked Mr. Morgan, and been on his way. He would have been in and out and no one would ever have known. James had never gone into Mr. Morgan’s restaurant before. They all knew how Pop felt about Mr. Morgan, and only Magdalena dared to go in. Andy opened the door wider, sweeping his arm to usher James in.

  James stepped to Andy and dug the tokens out of his pocket. He held them out. “Take these and go have a double. On me. Well, on Mr. Morgan.”

  “You aren’t coming in? Don’t you want ice cream?” Andy let the door close.

  “I need to get home. You go on.” James jiggled his hand, the coins clinking like dull little bells. “Take them. It’s fine.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll wait until you can go with me. It’s more fun that way. And besides, they’re yours. I already used mine.”

  James dropped his hand and stuffed the tokens back into his pocket. He looked at his friend and then at the doorway. “Oh, all right. Come on, I’ve got a little time.”

  Andy’s long thin arm shot out and yanked the door open again. He stood back and waited for James to walk through first.

  “You go ahead,” James said.

  Andy darted through the door and held it from the other side for James. James drew in a deep breath and followed him.

  Mr. Morgan looked up as the door closed behind James. The light from the front windows highlighted Mr. Morgan’s face. His look of casual welcome changed to surprise when his eyes lit on James. His features became animated with a boyish excitement as he set the glass and the white towel he was drying it with aside. James had never seen him move so quickly. Mr. Morgan nearly ran around the counter as he hurried to meet the boys.

  “James, Andy, come in. Come over to the fountain, and I’ll make you both something.” He waved them in the direction he’d come from.

  Andy beat Mr. Morgan to the counter. He hopped onto a red stool and was swiveling in circles before either Mr. Morgan or James reached him. James watched his friend spin. It looked like fun and he wanted to do the same, but it wouldn’t be right. He didn’t intend to come in here for fun, and Pop would have something to say if he spotted him.

  “Have a seat.” Mr. Morgan nodded toward the stool next to Andy, who was nothing but a blur now. “What can I get for you boys?” he asked from the far side of the counter, wiping his hands on the towel again.

  Andy screeched to a halt. “Anything?”

  James frowned. Andy surely was in here often enough to have plenty of ice cream. He didn’t know how Andy’s parents could keep him out, with their store being right next door. James laid his glove on the counter and dug the two tokens back out of his pocket. “We want two ice creams.”

  Mr. Morgan didn’t answer. He was eyeing James’ glove. He touched the soft leather and looked up. “You like this glove?” he asked.

  James watched Mr. Morgan’s fingers trace the smooth leather that had broken in so well. “It’s the best,” he said. “Much better than the old one my brothers handed down to me.” James cupped the tokens in his hand and extended them across the counter. “I have these for our ice cream.”

  Mr. Morgan looked at James’ hand. He nodded and took the tokens and stacked them near the register. “It’s the best there is. Your glove, I mean.”

  Andy resumed spinning, and Mr. Morgan turned his back to the boys, his hands and arms reaching and dipping and spooning up ice cream like a master. James glanced at the front windows, the tinkle of silverware and glass in the background as Mr. Morgan worked. James would only do this once, only because of Andy.

  Mr. Morgan finally turned and presented them with two dishes of ice cream. Three candied mountains were aligned in each bowl, white mounds dripping with a sugary sheen of chocolate lava, forests of fruits and candies sprinkled down their sides. James tried not to let his eyes pop or his mouth drop open like Andy’s had.

  “That’s…that’s a token’s worth of ice cream?” James finally asked.

  “Yep.” Mr. Morgan scooted the dishes in front of him and Andy. Andy’s finger made a road through the running chocolate as Mr. Morgan handed them spoons. James looked up. Mr. Morgan’s gaze caught him, it was so familiar. It was the same one he’d seen a long time ago, the time Mr. Morgan showed him how to choke up on a bat, the time he said Mama was beautiful.

  “Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” James touched his spoon. Andy tried to s
ay the same, his mouth full, chocolate smeared over his lips. Mr. Morgan smiled, his eyes a mix of white and dark brown. James thought his eyes were exactly like his sundaes—white, chocolate, and something very sweet. How could Pop hate him so much?

  “Dig in.” Mr. Morgan nodded at James’ dish. James picked up the spoon he’d been toying with. He’d never had a sundae before. Never had ice cream much to speak of, at all. Once at a birthday party Andy had. James had never forgotten it. Mr. Morgan resumed washing and drying glasses. “I see you’re both in uniform, and you’ve got your glove.” Mr. Morgan nodded toward James’ glove on the counter. “So let’s talk about baseball. What do you say?”

  James set the spoon back down. If Mr. Morgan had mentioned fishing, building fences, pulling weeds, any of those things, he would have been fine. But baseball? He stared at the ice cream. It would have been better if he’d kept Magdalena’s dollar and given it to Andy to buy ice cream instead of using those two tokens. He wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t the way he wanted to play baseball.

  “You boys have improved. I’ve been watching you.” He’d turned. His eyes were on James, and he was talking to him. Andy wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were full of love over what little sundae he had left. “Your brothers still helping you and your teammates practice?”

  James shook his head. “Well, once in awhile. They work for Pop now, so there isn’t much time.”

  “They like girls now, too,” Andy finally spoke. His spoon clattered to the counter, and he rubbed his stomach. “Not as much as I like ice cream sundaes, though.”

  Mr. Morgan laughed. “That will change in time. Someday you’ll discover how sweet young ladies are. Even the ones you never thought it of.” His smile deepened and his gaze drifted away, possibly to some faraway sweetness, one maybe even sweeter than the chocolate covering Andy’s face.

  “Glen?”

  Mr. Morgan’s smile disappeared. He looked to the door that led to the kitchen where Ida, his sister, stood.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  Ida resembled Mr. Morgan. She even wore an apron like his. She started to speak but paused and wiped her hands on the skirt of her apron as she stared at the two boys.

  “Hi, Miss Morgan,” Andy chirped. “Mr. Morgan gave us ice cream. It was delicious!”

  She nodded. “I see that. I’m glad you liked it.”

  James wanted to thank her, too, and tell her how good it tasted. But he hadn’t taken a bite yet. His shiny, clean spoon twinkled, catching a glint of light from the front windows. His ice cream had changed from three mountains to a swirling sea of white and brown, islands of fruit and candy floating on top.

  “Me too,” he offered lamely, hoping no one would look at his dish. “Thank you.”

  Ida glanced his way, then looked back at Mr. Morgan, her brows drawing together.

  “I asked what you want,” Mr. Morgan reminded her.

  “When you’re finished, I need your help in the back. I hope it’s soon.” She glanced one more time at James, then retreated through the doorway she’d been standing in. When she was gone, Mr. Morgan rubbed his hands on the towel again, cleaning them, scrubbing them harder than he needed to.

  James dug into his ice cream pond, ladled a thick scoop of chocolate and vanilla into his mouth. He would eat it and go, head home, let Mr. Morgan do whatever needed to be done in the back. The syrupy, cool sweetness jarred him. He slowed, let it trickle down his throat, then ladled another spoonful and slid it into his mouth. He could feel Andy’s eyes on him. He could hear him toying with his spoon. James looked at his friend and shook his head. Flavor and sugar flooded his senses as Andy’s eyes begged for a bite. He’d never tasted anything like this; he didn’t think he could share it. “Mmmm, mmmm,” James muttered as another cool sweet bite filled his mouth. It was better than Andy’s birthday. It was like he imagined heaven.

  Mr. Morgan watched James. His face was all business now, the glow in his eyes gone. James scooped another spoonful from his dish. The sundae was divine. Bite after bite sweetened James’ world, erasing everything else, making him forget that not all of life was wonderful.

  “You gonna eat it all?” Andy looked distressed. James grinned, he could feel the cold chocolate on his lips. Maybe pitching a winning game warranted a treat after all. If Mr. Morgan thought his pitching deserved something like this, maybe small rewards now and then were justified. He scraped every glistening spot of sweetness from the dish with his spoon. He wanted to lick it clean, but he didn’t. Andy’s shoulders sagged and his spoon clattered back to the counter.

  “No need to talk about baseball, sir,” James said, running his tongue over his lips. “You just said it all.”

  Light filtered back into Mr. Morgan’s eyes. “Sundaes open doorways to the soul,” Mr. Morgan said.

  James looked at Andy. Both of them frowned.

  “They’re the key that unlocks doors. Serve them to the right person at the right time, and they’re medicine for the heart.” He paused and looked at the boys hard. “You deserved these. Now I expect great things from both of you on the diamond.”

  Andy slid off his stool, grinning, and headed to the door. James could hear it open and knew Andy was waiting for him. James paused. He thought Mr. Morgan might be right. The sundae wouldn’t make him a better player, but it had certainly brightened his outlook. Mr. Morgan must have served other sundaes to people like him, people who needed it but didn’t know it until the sundae unlocked their door. “Thank you, Mr. Morgan. We’ll play extra hard.”

  Mr. Morgan nodded. He wadded the towel in one fist and propped himself on the counter, leaning on both straight arms. He looked at James, then at Andy, then back to James. “It’s almost a handicap to be born with natural ability at something. You never have to work hard, you just do what’s easy and stay satisfied because you’re a little better than everyone else. But other people are born with heart instead of talent. That’s actually better. Heart is God’s greatest gift to pass from a parent to a child. People with heart never stop getting better. They press onward, they love in exceptional ways—maybe sometimes in unconventional and unexpected ways—but still exceptional.”

  James looked at Mr. Morgan. His heart rate kicked up and he could feel it beat a little harder. Mama. His chest swelled. Mama. It was her heart in him. Her heart, her soul. Not Pop’s. Not Pop’s natural ability. He saw it now. That’s why he was different from Pop, and that’s why he could be better. He didn’t need baseball in his blood, because it was her he had, her heart. He was like her. That’s why he worked hard. He saw it. He saw it all as if the door had just opened.

  “Mr. Morgan? Would you serve my mama a sundae someday? I know she hardly ever comes to town, and never comes in here, but if you get the chance, would you do it for her? I think she needs it.”

  Mr. Morgan glanced at the counter and scoured a spot with his towel. His face took on a hue even darker than his usual deep tone. “There is always that right time, remember that.” Mr. Morgan looked up. “And it’s wrong to pass it up. I always watch for it in everyone, and that includes your mama. When the time’s right, I’ll make sure she knows there’s a sundae waiting for her here. Now you get on, and in the meantime you be all the sundae she needs, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.” James smiled. “I will.” He chased after Andy, and they bolted through the door. Mr. Morgan wasn’t so bad. Too bad Pop wasn’t more like him.

  Chapter 14

  Lana 1934

  “Magdalena has turned into a good helper,” Lana said from a chair near the table. She’d been standing but had to sit, her newest infant, Gail, heavy against her shoulder.

  “Here, let me take her.” Ella was quick to Lana’s side, lifting the sleeping infant away.

  Gail was healthy, her birth not as difficult as the doctor had feared, but Lana had seen the scolding in his eyes every time he looked at Cletus during his visits to their home. She’d never had a doctor attend a pregnancy before, but when he’d heard she was ex
pecting, he stopped by, checked her, taking great pains to assure she and this infant were safe.

  Lana had told the doctor that it wasn’t Cletus’ fault she was pregnant. She’d consented, knowing full well, when she resumed being Cletus’ wife, this might happen. The doctor tried to weigh his expression before he let it show on his face, but it was there in his look, the thing he must see too often, and the thing that was true. She was a woman who was a wife, doing what she had to do, whatever the cost. And Lana had survived the cost. Physically. Cletus had warmed to her while Gail was invisible in the womb. Now that Gail was out, Cletus was cold again, unforgiving in his disappointment. Lana didn’t know if she could survive the emotional cost, she didn’t know if her daughters could, either. She didn’t know if he’d let them.

  “You really don’t need to be here.” Lana looked up at Ella. “It’s not like last time. I’m stronger than I was after Alex.”

  Magdalena marched from the bureau, four plates stacked in her little hands. She set them on the table, then arranged them perfectly, just as Lana had taught her, just as Cletus had taught Lana years ago.

  “You need one more plate,” Lana reminded her. Magdalena looked at her, then at the table where her father’s spot was missing a plate. She’s pretending. Lana gauged her oldest’s face. She rides a horse that doesn’t exist, and she’s pretending her father doesn’t, either. Lana waited. Magdalena stood for a moment, then returned to the bureau where the plates were kept. She brought one more to the table and set it near Pop’s spot, far from the edge and off center. Magdalena turned to the bureau for silverware, tall, straight, and stubborn. Just like her father.

  Lana looked at Ella, the older woman biting back a grin. Ella pulled a chair near Lana’s and dropped into it, Gail still sound asleep. “Your babies are all such sweet things,” Ella said, patting Gail. “Even that one.” She nodded toward Magdalena.

  Magdalena marched back toward the table, four spoons splayed erect in her fists, like the winning hand in a round of poker.