Chuckles all around. Virna was the most famous of them all, the one who made the cover of Life magazine the year the league was founded.
“It’s been quite a day,” she continued. “Meeting with my teammates and our former foes, talking about the good old days, has been a wonderful experience. But above all, to be recognized by the Saskatchewan Baseball Hall of Fame Committee as a part of the baseball history of our home province is especially sweet.
“As most of you know, I don’t live here anymore. With my friend and colleague Wilma Elshaw, I stayed on in Fort Wayne after the league folded and we made a business and a home for ourselves. I’m sorry she couldn’t be with us tonight.”
Her voice faltered, just for a moment. I looked at Jack, who was staring intently at her, tense in his chair, willing her to make it through. She smiled at him, then continued.
“Her brother, Garth, and I were speaking earlier about what kind of message she would have wanted me to deliver on her behalf. Because she exemplified the spirit of our league. She was tenacious, determined, and full of life and the sense of fun that surrounded everything she did. I think she would have wanted to say that the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League gave meaning to her life, as it did to the lives of all of us here. That it wasn’t easy way back then to pull up roots and chase a dream, but it was worth it. Some called us crazy, many said it wasn’t a womanly thing to do. But we did it anyway, and in doing it, changed our lives forever. And tonight, we thank you all for the honour you have given us, and are proud that we showed them what players from Saskatchewan are made of. Thank you very much.”
The applause started at the head table and spread around the room, but she put up her hand for quiet.
When the room fell silent again, she squared her shoulders in her Belles uniform and began to sing, in a clear and true soprano voice.
“Batter up. Hear that call. The time has come for one and all. To play ball.”
Behind her, the other women pushed back their chairs to stand and join her. Edna Summers made her way to the piano, sat down at the bench, and began to play the peppy tune.
“For we’re the members of the All-American League.
We come from cities near and far.
We have Canadians, Irishmen, and Swedes.
We’re one for all, we’re all for one,
We’re All-American.”
The audience began clapping in rhythm, the women at the table linked arms.
“Each girl holds her head so proudly high,
Her motto do or die.
She’s not the one to use or need an alibi.
Our chaperones are not too soft and they’re not too tough,
We’ve got a president who really knows his stuff.
We’re one for all, we’re all for one,
We’re All-American.”
As bad as the song was, they sang it wonderfully. When they had sung it twice through, the women on the dais milled around, hugging and laughing. The stand-ins, like Garth Elshaw, looked embarrassed, but pleased to be part of it all.
“Look at your mother,” Andy said. “She’s flying high.”
She was a woman I had never seen before, her Mrs.-the-Reverend dignity thrown out the window that memory had opened. All of them looked younger than they had when they first came into the room. They were younger, because they had all stepped through memory’s window.
The formal part of the evening wasn’t quite over. The emcee stepped back to the podium to thank everyone.
Then, as is apparently traditional at the induction banquet, we finished with one last song: what else, but “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” Everybody stood, clasped hands, and swayed back and forth and sang with great gusto. I know I did. So did my father, and Sheila and the girls. Damned if that corny song didn’t catch even Andy up into its spell.
Once it was over, I excused myself quickly and headed for the Ladies’ room. As I left it, I saw Jack Wilton, on his way out of the Men’s. Spontaneously, we hugged each other. He had a nice hard body, and he held on a moment too long.
“You must be so proud of your mother,” I said.
“Wasn’t she something else?”
Morley Timms came out of the Men’s room, and almost bumped into us.
“Upsy-daisy, excuse me! Not watching where I’m going.”
“That can be dangerous,” I said.
“I’m just lost in a fog,” he smiled. “All those beautiful women just spin my head. Your mother’s one in a million, Mr. Wilton, I’ve got to tell you. One in a million.”
He turned to me.
“Your mother, too, of course, she’s one in a million, too.”
“Guess that makes them two in a million, eh, Mr. Timms?” Jack laughed.
“You got ’er, fella,” he responded, then tottered off, chuckling. “Two in a million, that’s a good one.”
“He’s quite a character,” I said.
“I’ve never met anyone named Morley before. I’ve always wanted to.”
“I guess it’s a very Canadian name.”
“We had a dog called Morley when I was a kid.”
“So what happens now, do you think?” I asked.
“I suspect we’re going to be around for a while yet. Could I interest you in a cocktail?”
“You’ve said the magic word.”
He offered me his arm, with a slight bow. I took it, with a slight curtsey. The first person I saw when we sashayed back into the room was Andy. He was standing with a couple of strangers, and didn’t look at all pleased, despite the pink poodle he cradled in his arms.
I steered Jack in his direction, then let go of his arm.
“I think Andy needs rescuing,” I said. “He looks a bit trapped.”
“Oh, those are the policemen we talked to this afternoon.”
Now that I looked, I realized they both might as well have had COP stamped on their foreheads. I stepped next to Andy.
“There you are,” I said, brightly. “I see you have a new friend.”
Andy grinned and held the poodle out to me.
“Your prize, madame,” he said.
“Mine?”
“The bunnies won.”
“Congratulations,” said the younger of the two men.
“Oh, yes, sorry,” Andy said. “This is Staff Sergeant Mickey Morris of the Battlefords RCMP, and Inspector Walter Digby, the head of the detachment.”
“It’s very nice to meet you both,” I said. “And I’m glad that you were right about those letters. Everything went off without a hitch.”
“It did,” Digby said. “It was certainly an unusual evening, but, happily, uneventful. Good evening, Mr. Wilton. Nice to see you again. Your mother is quite a woman.”
“Yes, I think I’ve heard that sentiment before,” he said.
Chapter 12
“What do you think that cop meant about it being an unusual evening?” I asked Andy on the way home.
“Just what you suspect,” he said. “Before you got there he was making some remarks about the suitability, or lack of it, of women in the hallowed Hall of Fame.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t around then.”
“So am I. Believe me, so am I.”
“It wasn’t such a bad night, was it?” I asked. “Didn’t you manage to sort of enjoy yourself?”
“Not half as much as you did. But then, I didn’t have anyone at the table to flirt with.”
I looked at him, waiting for some sign that he was only kidding. It didn’t come.
“Andy Munro. I can’t believe you’re jealous.”
“Who says I’m jealous? I just thought you were coming on a bit strong to Jack Wilton. In front of your family, too. I was surprised, that’s all.”
“I was only being friendly. I was being polite. This may be a foreign concept to you, but that’
s the way we do things in Saskatchewan.”
“Oh, I see. Draping yourself all over some good-looking guy is just manners on the prairies. I’ll try to remember that.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” I said.
“I guess you’re just a different woman when you come home to your roots,” Andy continued, sarcastically. “I guess I’ll just have to get to know this new, what’s your euphemism?—oh, yes, polite—woman who homes in like a heat-seeking missile on the best-looking guy in the room and takes it upon herself to make sure that he won’t forget his visit to the Saskatchewan Baseball Hall of Fame.”
“All right, whatever this is really about, let’s drop it,” I said. “We’re almost at the hotel. But, for the record, I am not after Jack Wilton. I think he’s nice, sure. I thought you did too. But you’re the only guy I want. You have been since the first day I met you. And if you don’t believe that, too bad for you.”
The silence lasted until we pulled into the hotel parking lot and Andy shut off the car.
“I’m sorry,” he said; finally. “You’re right. It’s not about Jack. I’m not sure what it’s about, if you want to know the truth. I guess I just feel a bit out of place here. I don’t know how to fit in. And I’ve probably had too much to drink. So, let’s just drop it for now.”
“That’s a deal,” I said. I undid my seat belt and turned towards him. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re jealous.”
I leaned over and kissed him. He put his arms around me awkwardly in the tiny car and turned the kiss into something more urgent, more passionate, until stray headlights lit us up.
“Maybe we better stop with the free show,” I said, pulling back. “It’s probably my parents.”
“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want to scandalize them,” he said.
We got out of the car to the sound of giggles. There they all were: my parents, my sister, and the two little girls, plus Edna Summers and the Wiltons, just getting out of another car. I was glad for the darkness that hid my blushes.
“Kate and Andy, sitting in a tree,” Claire chanted, in full sugar overload, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then . . .
Sheila got her hand over her daughter’s mouth before she got any further.
“Good party, eh, Mum?” I asked, when they caught up with us.
“It was wonderful to see all the girls again.”
“See, you were worried for nothing.”
“I wasn’t worried. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“I can’t imagine,” I said. “Who was it, Daddy, just the other day, who said that all the women wouldn’t have anything to say to each other? It couldn’t have been Mum.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It must have been some other person, because nobody was lacking for words tonight.”
“Some of them wouldn’t shut up,” Sheila teased. “They had to be practically dragged out of the room.”
“Stop it, all of you,” my mother said. “I let my hair down for once in my life, and you aren’t going to ruin it for me.”
Sheila hugged her.
“No one is trying to ruin anything. We’re proud of you.”
“Thank you, dear. I can always count on you.”
We headed for the door, and caught up with Virna, Edna, Jack, and some of the other women in the lobby.
“Come on, Helen, the girls are going to the bar, just like the old days,” Virna called. “Ditch the hubby, ditch the daughters and the grandchildren. It’s All-Americans only.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” my mother said to us.
“Why not?” my father asked.
“Sure, Mum, go ahead,” I said. “It’s your night.”
“Well, maybe just for a few minutes.”
“That’s the spirit,” Virna said, ushering her towards the bar.
The rest of the family got on the elevator, leaving Andy and me with Jack.
“Would you join me for a drink?” he asked.
I looked at Andy.
“You go ahead,” he said. “I’ve had enough.”
“Please don’t make me drink alone,” Jack said.
“I’m sorry, Jack. It’s awfully late. I should go up, too.”
“No, Kate, go ahead,” Andy said. “It’s not even midnight, but I’m going to be asleep in about ten seconds anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
He smiled at me and nodded his head.
“I’m very sure.”
He kissed me and hit the elevator button.
“Just don’t wake me when you come to bed.”
When Jack opened the door to Shooters, the hotel lounge, the noise was formidable. It was Saturday night in small-town Saskatchewan and the joint was jumping. Prairie Oyster was playing on the jukebox, fighting to be heard over the general racket of conversation and the electronic bells and whistles of the gambling games. I saw Garth Elshaw and Morley Timms in the crowd of locals, native and white, young and old, most in advanced stages of inebriation. It was no place for a lady, but there the whole crew of them were, in the middle of the room, having laid claim, somehow, to the best table in the house.
We made our way to the bar and grabbed a couple of empty stools as far away from the speakers as we could get. Jack got the bartender’s attention, and I ordered a beer.
“Whatever’s on tap and local,” I shouted.
“Great Western okay?”
“Sure.”
“Scotch for me,” Jack yelled. “Double, lots of rocks.”
“This is wild,” I said, when the bartender had left. “Look at those crazy women. I can’t believe my mother’s with them.”
“How come?”
“It’s not the kind of thing she lets herself do. Fun is not her middle name.”
“My mother loves a party,” Jack said. “She’s having the time of her life.”
I looked over at the table. Virna was holding forth to some young men at the next table. I couldn’t hear what she was saying over all the racket in the bar, but, judging by her gestures, she was clearly teasing them. They were spellbound and the women at the table were all laughing.
“She’s probably bragging about her career,” he said. “Probably challenging them to a softball game tomorrow.”
“You seem fond of each other,” I said.
“We’re all each other has got. Especially since Aunt Wilma passed away. But even before then, we were close.”
“You had an unusual upbringing, I guess.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t easy without a dad in the fifties.”
“At least you had someone to teach you baseball,” I said, “which is more than most kids of widows have.”
“Oh, yes, I had that,” he laughed. “Parents’ sports day at school was a gas. All the other mothers were on the sidelines. Mom and Aunt Wilma were out on the field kicking butt.”
I laughed.
“Other than that, it was like the conventional fifties small-town life you used to see on TV. Except ours was the Harriet and Harriet Show. No Ozzie. People were pretty tolerant, mainly. Most of them, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. It’s not important,” he said. “What about you? Where did you grow up?”
“In a little town called Indian Head, near Regina. Population 1,000, give or take. It was about as dull as you could get. I had a normal daughter-of-the-preacher kind of upbringing, and got out of there as fast as I could.”
“Now you’re a big-city woman.”
“All the way.”
“Do you ever think about coming home?”
“For about ten minutes every visit. Then something reminds me of why I left.”
“It’s funny. I’m the opposite. I went to the big city—Chicago—and crashed and burned. I guess I turned out to be a fish that’s happi
est in a smaller pond.”
“Where do you live now?”
“Back home again in Indiana,” he said. “Good old Fort Wayne.”
“That’s not Indian Head, by a long shot,” I said.
“No, it’s a good-sized town, over a hundred and fifty thousand.”
“What do you do there?”
“I took over my mother’s business.”
“The flower shop?”
“What? It seems a funny job for a guy, you mean? A straight guy?”
“Whoa. I’m the last person to make gender-based judgements, remember?”
“Sorry, I guess I’m a bit defensive,” he said. “Yes, I run the shop, in theory. She is supposed to be retired, but she still lives upstairs, and it’s hard to keep her out of things.”
“This is a problem?”
“There are certain clashes in business style, shall we say.”
He signalled the bartender for another. I put my hand over my half-full pint and shook my head.
“She doesn’t like change. I happen to believe that the nineties aren’t the same as the fifties. We’re both pretty strong-willed, so it gets tense from time to time.”
“But you’re obviously devoted to each other.”
“Of course we are,” he said. “It just doesn’t look like it, sometimes. But we provide lots of amusement for the staff when we get into one of our knock-down, drag-outs.”
His mother chose that moment to come and say good night.
“Look after my boy, Kate. Don’t let him stay up too late.”
“I’m going up soon, Mom,” he said, kissing her warmly. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m proud of you.”
I stood and held out my hand.
“I’m so glad to meet you,” I said.
She ignored my hand and kissed me on the cheek.
“That goes double for me,” she said. “And it’s nice to see you two kids getting to know each other after all these years.”
She walked away as if she had never touched a drink, head high, ignoring the other patrons, who were goggling at her Belles uniform as if they had just seen a pink elephant.
Prairie Hardball Page 7