“Long past in Charleston.” Celeste mentioned the most beautiful city along the Atlantic seaboard. “I love to watch the land change. Heading east, the roll becomes gentler, then nearly flat. If we instead cross the Potomac, head west, the Blue Ridge Mountains greet us. I never tire of looking at our country.”
“Are you going to take the train out to California?”
“Not this year. Let Ramelle and Curtis settle in. You know, Fannie, you disembark in Los Angeles and you can smell oranges, especially in spring. The orange blossoms explode. Curtis swears the groves along the trolley line will eventually give way to homes but I rather hope not.”
“It’s the automobile. The trolley lines are one thing. Look what’s happening to Philadelphia.”
“True.” She lifted her chin from her hand to face Fannie. “What our grandparents said begins to make sense, doesn’t it? How the changes upset them. I suppose every generation looks back and believes all was better when they were young.”
“We aren’t that old. We’re forty-three,” Fannie quickly replied. “I don’t mind getting old. I just don’t want to look old.”
They both laughed.
“But I thought you’d solved this problem. You’re only as old as who you are sleeping with.”
Fannie slapped Celeste’s left hand with her right one. “Don’t be beastly.”
“Simply observant.”
“Well, then, have you observed the nest of mice living merrily behind the tapestry of the Ascension?”
St. Paul’s Episcopal sheltered not only mice but sparrows in the drain gutters, as well as bats in the belfry, literally.
“Time we confirm some cats,” Celeste suggested. “Saint Hubert would bless us.”
“I thought Saint Hubert was the patron saint of hounds and hunting?” Fannie replied.
“I’m sure in his goodness he can extend his blessings. How did you find out about the mice?”
“Juts.” Fannie folded her arms across her ample bosom for a moment. “She prowls around. The Lutheran youth group can hold her attention only so long, so when they visited our youth group, she went off on her own. I became curious and had to inspect the tapestry and you know, I could hear them.”
“Reciting the liturgy, no doubt.”
“You are sacrilegious. A lightning bolt might hit me sitting next to you.” Fannie grinned. “You know, your sister is telling everyone what you gave to the academy. She believes you are halfway to converting.”
“I am not. And I gave the money because she brought up a very good point and one I had never considered. She set aside moral uplift to focus on politics. She says we will lose the vote. Another generation must be trained to fight for it. Carlotta said women must be trained to participate in government when the time comes that we can. She says it better than I do but she was rather passionate about future generations.”
“One hundred thousand dollars plus one hundred is a lot of passion. Why the hundred dollars?”
“For Betty Ermdorf, a working student.”
“Ah. Do you think I should give money to Smith? I suppose we all should, given what women are facing.”
“I think you should do whatever you think right.”
“I hate it when you force me to do the right thing.”
“Fannie, you came up with it.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have shown me a way out of it. I mean, you had to give to your sister, really. She’d bedevil you endlessly. If I give, it will be out of the goodness of my heart, and I’d rather go to Nova Scotia.” She paused. “For the summer. I’ve never been and it’s supposed to be beautiful.”
They chattered, teased, laughed until the train pulled into the Baltimore station with that distinctive thud. Both women carried light valises and Fannie waved to a man in a chauffeur’s uniform.
“Come on.”
Celeste fell in behind her friend, stepped into the car, and in a few blocks they stepped out at the imposing hotel.
The two checked in to their separate rooms, meeting downstairs half an hour later.
“Fannie, you can’t pay for all this. I’m giving you half.”
She waved this off. “It’s a tiny payment for all your liquor I’ve imbibed. If you feel like walking, the distance to the diamond is a bracing walk. We can catch a ride back.”
“Love to. I can only sit so long.”
Twenty minutes later they sat behind first base. Built in 1914 for the Baltimore Terrapins, the stadium had been bought in 1916 for the minor league Orioles. It filled up. Many wanted to see the practice game. The season was a ways off, but fans wanted an early look, for the sportswriters were predicting a banner year.
The temperature climbing into the low sixties, the sky filled with a few fleecy clouds, promised a comfortable afternoon. It was warmer in Baltimore than in Runnymede.
“I’ve been trying to get you down here for years.” Fannie nestled in her seat.
“I go to the high school games.” Celeste smiled. “But Ramelle isn’t much for professional sports. I gave up on that years ago. It even takes effort to get her to the Maryland Hunt Cup.” Celeste cited the most famous amateur steeplechase in America.
A roar filled the stadium and out trotted the boys. They were all Orioles but playing against one another. Fannie explained who was who. The coaches would study each position.
“A few fellows are getting a step slow,” Fannie added.
“But if a player is good at bat, isn’t that when you move him to first base?” Celeste knew a bit about baseball, as two of her brothers had played, Stirling at Yale, Spotts at West Point.
“Usually.”
“What do you think is the toughest position?”
“Umm.” Fannie pondered. “Well, the catcher has to be the smartest, really, has to remember all the batters from the various teams, and Celeste, what thighs, what divine thighs. The shortstop needs to be the quickest, maybe the best athlete, and he has to think fast, too. Then again, if you think about it, sometimes the second baseman is almost like a shortstop between first and second. Baseball is complicated. I don’t think a man can be stupid and be a good baseball player.”
“True.” Celeste nodded. “I always thought the biggest sports test, though, is boxing. A man has to be strong, be able to change his plan if it isn’t working, all the while he’s taking so much punishment. I don’t know, it all hangs on his shoulders.”
“Does. Same with tennis and golf. You can’t blame anybody but yourself. However, I like team sports.”
“You were good at them,” Celeste complimented her.
Fannie shrugged. “We did have fun, didn’t we? Ah, here we go.”
“Do you know all these players?”
“In what manner?” Fannie raised an eyebrow, which made Celeste laugh.
“I meant in a conversational manner.”
“I do, and that’s why we will meet the owner and the boys at a small gathering early this evening. It’s a small ritual for the die-hard fans and most especially for the advertisers.” She pointed to the billboard for Old Line Manufacturing, one of the Chalfonte companies. “Stirling is shrewd.”
Maryland is called the Old Line State.
“I hadn’t even noticed.” Celeste was surprised. “But yes, he is shrewd. Farsighted.”
The game began with the first batter out, the number two batter hitting a blazing single through the second baseman that rolled halfway out into right field. The run was stopped at first, though, thanks to a hard run and pinpoint pitch by the right fielder.
By the time the game reached the fourth inning, the crowd realized that practice game though it might be, it was riveting.
The shortstop, leaping off the ground, almost parallel to it, caught a ferocious drive, landed on both feet, and twirled with balletic grace to toss the ball underhanded to the third baseman. The runner from second skidded to a stop, dirt flying up in the air, turned to run back to second, and the game of cat-and-mouse began. The shortstop s
tepped close in on the runner, who was clever. The third baseman taking a catch faked a throw to the second baseman but instead pitched it to the shortstop, who caught it and with one swoop tagged the runner out.
The stands erupted.
On her feet with everyone else, Fannie cheered.
Sitting back down, she informed Celeste, “His second year. He’s got everything. So does the center fielder. An incredible arm and, of course, he’s the number four batter. I think we’re going to have a good year.”
Afterward, the two took a taxi back to the Belvedere and relived the game, renewed. Just getting out of their routine had rejuvenated the ladies.
“How long before the party?” Celeste asked.
“Six o’clock. An hour.”
—
Players, the coach, the owner, some advertisers, a reporter from the Baltimore Sun, and plenty of other people were jammed into the large elegant room, a bar at one end.
Fannie, who knew most everyone, introduced Celeste. After all these years, Fannie was accustomed to men’s reactions to Celeste. Celeste appeared never to notice.
They walked up to a group of three men, the center fielder, back to them, was speaking to the shortstop and the left fielder. At first the men didn’t notice the ladies.
“Back when men were men—” The center fielder, Frank Lombard, didn’t finish.
Shortstop Ben Battle quipped, “and the sheep were scared shitless.” He just noticed Fannie and Celeste out of the corner of his eye, too late. “Beg your pardon.”
Fannie laughed. “Probably the truth.”
“Frank, Ben, Gene, this is my best friend, Celeste Chalfonte. It’s her first Orioles game.”
Gene Ischatta, a star, stared at the tall beauty, bowed low and declared, “I throw myself at your feet.”
Celeste coolly appraised him. “Higher.”
Gene took a step back, swallowed hard. He knew he was out of his depth.
Frank said, “I hope you’ll come to our games. We aren’t all like Gene.”
“That’s reassuring.” Celeste smiled.
Ben remained quiet. Fannie pushed Celeste along until she’d met everyone there.
“I’m leaving you to your own devices. I need a word with Tony.” Then she whispered, “Big team star, Gene thinks he can get in any woman’s pants. You took care of him.”
Tony Kursinksi, a favorite of Fannie’s, was from York, Pennsylvania, almost a local.
Celeste glanced around for a second then heard a deep voice behind her. “Miss.” She turned to face Ben Battle. “I do apologize for the rough talk.”
Ben Battle, at six feet, stood two inches taller than Celeste.
She stared into his deep brown eyes, set in one of the most beautiful faces she’d ever seen. “You were very funny.”
“Do you know baseball?”
“Not pro ball, Mr. Battle, but my brothers played, one at Yale, and the brother we lost in the war played at West Point.”
Ben reached out to touch her, then withdrew his hand, for a lady must offer her hand, never the reverse. “I’m sorry for your loss. I lost a brother, too.”
She reached for his hand, holding it for a moment. “Life changes in an instant, does it not?”
“It does. I was over there. Because I’m speedy, I was a messenger. I never thought I’d see home again, much less play ball.”
“Mr. Battle.”
“Ben, please call me Ben.”
“Then you must call me Celeste. Do you mind if we sit over there? Fannie has trotted me through Baltimore. We walked to the stadium. A good day for walking.”
“Mrs. Creighton’s a regular at the home games. She’s faithful. Well, you being her best friend would know.” He smiled, a kind smile. His teeth were white and even.
“You don’t smoke.” Celeste noticed.
“No.”
“Your teeth are so white.”
He laughed. “I don’t smoke. I don’t chew, and my mother made me brush with baking soda. Your teeth are white, too.”
“I don’t smoke either. Do you ride?”
“I used to ride the plow horses when I was a kid. Gentle beasts.” He smiled, held his arms out. “My feet stuck out like this.”
“Mine, too, when I was little.”
Celeste set aside conventional chat, leaned toward him. “Do you think animals have souls?”
“I do.” His voice dropped. “One of the worst things about the war was the horses, the supply trains, the horses being killed. At least we men knew what we were doing. It haunts me.”
She reached for his hand again. “I didn’t mean to bring up sorrows.”
He held her hand, not wanting to release it. “My mother told me, and I didn’t know what she meant, but I do now, ‘You don’t grow up until you learn to thank God for your sorrows as well as your joys.’ ”
She squeezed his hand before letting it go. “You have a wise mother.”
“Yours?”
“Gone. She was wise, but she expected more of me than I could deliver. I was, it seems, a horse of a different color, to return to horses for a moment.”
“I can’t imagine you disappointing your mother.”
“Well…” She thought a moment. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but when I was at that perfect age for the marriage market, I was sent to England. Mother hoped I would become a duchess or at least the wife of an earl. Ben, it was suffocating! I couldn’t possibly.” She laughed a silver laugh. “And so here I am with you watching my first pro game.”
“Practice.”
“Yes. You are speedy and graceful. And I assume you like what you do.”
“Ah”—he folded his hands together—“now I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Yes, I love it. I love the excitement, pitting myself against rivals, but someday I would like to…” He paused. “I would like to make stained-glass windows. I saw windows so impressive in France. Yes, we have beautiful things here, but there, windows from the twelfth century, from the fifteenth—such beauty. I would like to create beauty.” His face flushed. “Ah, I don’t know where I get these ideas.”
“Good ones. And really, Ben, there was no baseball in the twelfth century. Had you lived then I’m sure you would have been working on cathedrals.” She then asked, “Did you study art in school?”
“I finished high school. I’m not very well educated. Not like you. I can tell you are. I read a lot. I look at buildings. I especially like churches, but pretty much, I’m ignorant.”
“Far, far from it.”
They talked. One by one, people left.
Fannie came over. “Celeste, shall I see you in the morning? Train leaves at nine. We can take a later one.”
“No, nine is fine. I told Henry I’d ride at two, back out on the old steeplechase course.”
Ben’s face registered disappointment. “I hope I will see you again, Mrs. Creighton.”
“You know you will.”
As Fannie left with Tony, Ben’s face still registered disappointment. “You must look beautiful on a horse,” he remarked shyly. “You look beautiful now.”
“You’re kind. I try to ride every day, and my groom, once one of the best riders in the Mid-Atlantic, often goes out with me. Old though he may be, I have to work sometimes to keep up with him.”
Relief spread over Ben’s handsome face as he figured out Henry was her groom, not her beau. They talked and talked.
Celeste finally heard the grandfather clock in the front hall chime two. She looked at her wristwatch. “I am so sorry. I lost track of time and you were too much of a gentleman to leave me here. But Ben, I don’t know when I’ve talked so much or enjoyed myself so much.”
“Me, too.” He stood up and held out his hand for her to hold as she got up.
She walked to the front desk, asked for paper and a pen. She wrote down her address, the name of the train from Baltimore to South Runnymede, and her phone number.
Handing it to him, she smiled. “It’s about an ho
ur on the milk train if all goes well. Please come visit. You can stand with a foot in each state. Runnymede is smack on the Mason-Dixon Line. It’s actually quite beautiful. You like churches. We have grand ones, and I can show you something no one else can. I can show you mice living at St. Paul’s Episcopal church behind a tapestry of the Ascension.”
He laughed, looked down at the fine handwriting. “I would like that.”
“And within two weeks, South Runnymede High School will play baseball against North Runnymede High School. They do everything but take the field with rifles. You’ll be amazed at what’s in this little town.”
“I know. You’re in it.”
Impulsively she took both his hands in hers, drew him close, and kissed him lightly on the lips. She was too shocked to apologize or explain.
“Celeste, I will be there if I have to walk.”
As Celeste walked to her room, she heard the roulette wheel of love spin.
Red buds on trees threatened to open to spring green at any moment. A warm wind from the west enlivened birds flying from swaying branch to swaying branch.
Juts and Ev walked through the square.
“Want to go to Cadwalder’s?” Ev asked.
“No. Dimps Jr. will be there. If she even opens her mouth, I’ll shove her teeth down her throat. I promised Momma I’d stay out of trouble.”
“You have,” Ev noted.
“Momma says I have to finish this year. I’m going to quit then.”
Ev motioned for her friend to sit on a park bench with her, the one near the Confederate statue.
“If I go home, Mother will first ask me do I have any homework. Then do it. If I do it, she’ll give me chores. You want to quit school. I want to run away from home.”
“Ah, Ev, you don’t mean that.”
“Maybe not, but I sure get tired of being told what to do.”
“Me, too. It’s not Momma so much as Mr. Thigpen. Wheezie can get on her high horse too, but she’s left me alone. All she thinks about is Pearlie. She’s taken my side against Dimps. We both have to deal with Rhodes messes. Wheezie can be a good egg when she wants to be.”
Ev watched a cardinal perched on a branch, announcing his presence to the world. “Mother says if we all just wait, they’ll get their comeuppance.”
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