Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10)

by David B. Smith

  “How’s her leg?”

  The officer pulled up a chair and sat down. “Well, it’s broken, of course; I guess you probably already knew that. But with those ski pants to protect her from the cold, it doesn’t appear there’s any further damage. I guess we have you to thank for that.”

  “I’m just glad she’s OK,” Bucky said thankfully. “Anyway, I’d say God should get most of the thanks. He helped me to hear her calling for help in the first place, and then he gave me the idea to start that fire so the helicopter finally saw us.”

  The officer nodded. “Somebody was looking out for you, that’s for sure,” he said with feeling. He shook Bucky’s hand warmly before pulling out his cell phone and moving a few feet away to take a call.

  Bucky looked over at Sam. “What do we do now?”

  Sam gazed at his friend thoughtfully. “Up to you, dude. After a day like today, do you still want to ski tomorrow?”

  Bucky drew a deep breath. “I’m fine. If you’re ready, I can keep up with you!”

  Sam studied a small piece of paper he had taken from his pocket. “The lodge we’re supposed to stay at is about eight miles from here. With the roads all snowed over, it’s going to be almost midnight before we get to bed.”

  “No, it won’t,” broke in a member of the ski team. “That big hotel right down the street just called. They’ve got a luxury suite waiting over there for you boys. And here are your free lift passes for tomorrow’s skiing.” He handed the tickets to Bucky. “We can take you over there any time you’re ready.”

  Later, as Bucky basked in a lengthy shower in the expensive suite, he felt its comforting warmth slowly extending to every part of his weary body. Drying himself off with the thick towel, he padded over to the oversized bed nearest the door.

  “This is sure great!” he grinned at Sam. “Boy, what a day!”

  “Yeah, with a lot better ending than I thought it was going to have,” Sam agreed.

  Before snapping out the light, Bucky turned to his friend. “I always say my prayers before going to bed.” He paused. “I guess I have plenty to thank God for tonight. Would you like to join me?”

  The older boy hesitated, then nodded, his earlier cynicism erased.

  “Thank you, Lord, for saving us today,” Bucky began earnestly. “For helping me to find Bonnie, and then protecting us, and helping me to get that fire started. And thank you for helping Sam to show the ski patrol where to find us.” He prayed for a few more moments before closing.

  Suddenly Sam spoke up. “God,” he said haltingly, “You know I’ve never prayed before. But now . . .” His voice seemed unsteady. “I think I want what Bucky has. I don’t know much about you except what he’s told me, but I’d like to know you. Please help me.” A long moment went by. “Amen.”

  Chapter Fifteen: Safely Home

  Two tired young men pulled up at Bucky’s house late Monday evening. The second day of skiing had gone uneventfully, but now every bone and muscle in their bodies was weary.

  “Come on in for a second,” Bucky invited as he unloaded his gear from the compact car.

  Sam hesitated. “It’s almost 10:00, man.”

  “It’s OK. Just for a minute,” Bucky urged.

  The front door opened just as Bucky was about to turn the handle.

  “Bucky!” Mom gave him a big hug, gear and all. Bucky could feel her cheek, smooth and cool against his chin. It was wet with tears. “I’m so glad you’re home!”

  For several seconds the pair stood in the doorway without speaking. Finally, Bucky said, “Mom, this is Sam. My friend.”

  Sam had been standing awkwardly just behind Bucky. Now he stepped forward timidly. “Nice to meet you.”

  Mom put a hand on his arm. “Bucky told me all about what happened – how you helped save him and that girl. On the phone this morning.” Suddenly she reached up and gave him a big squeeze. “Dear God, thank you so much,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes again.

  For a moment no one spoke. Suddenly all three began talking and laughing at once as the pent-up emotions of the past two days burst. Together the trio went into the kitchen where a pot of hot chocolate was soon ready.

  “Now tell me the whole story once again,” Mom directed. “You only gave me the barest details this morning.”

  Dad walked into the kitchen. “Am I missing something? I hear a couple of heroes just blew into town.”

  Bucky jumped up. “Hey, Dad!”

  “Welcome home, son,” Dad said. The argument from the last weekend was forgotten.

  Between sips of hot chocolate and bites of fresh doughnuts, Bucky and Sam related the entire adventure from start to finish.

  Mom shook her head in wonderment. “To think how God saved you kids.” Suddenly she put down her cup. “That reminds me! The parents of that girl, Bonnie, called here this evening. To thank you, Bucky.”

  Bucky looked baffled. “How’d they know to call here?”

  “I don’t have any idea. Somehow they got our number. Anyway, Bonnie’s doing just fine. They’re going up to get her tomorrow. She’ll be in a cast for several weeks, of course.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Mom shook her head. “Her mother said something about your ski pants. She figures without those pants her daughter probably would have lost her leg.”

  “Or her life,” Sam interjected softly.

  Bucky looked thoughtful. “I just thank God she’s OK.”

  They visited for a few more minutes before Sam finally said, “Well, I need to be going. Tomorrow we’ve got school as usual, and I don’t want my parents to be worried about where I am.”

  Bucky walked with him to the car. As Sam reached the door on the driver’s side, he paused. “Well, that was quite a trip!”

  “Oh, just routine,” Bucky retorted nonchalantly. Then, more quietly, “Listen, thanks again for everything you did. You were awesome, man, and I’m not going to forget it.” For a moment he considered bringing up Sam’s expressed interest in God from the evening before, but something held him back.

  As though he had read his mind, Sam said, “Don’t forget, I’m going to church with you this weekend.” His broad smile seemed to say, “Gotcha!” as he climbed into the little Nissan and squealed away from the curb, its red taillights flickering through the damp fog.

  It was obvious Tuesday morning that the story of the dramatic rescue had already reached the high school campus. Students crowded around both boys in the hallway to offer congratulations and hear the exciting details.

  Before algebra class Lisa came up to Bucky with her eyes shining. “I heard all about it,” she said softly. She looked at him, her pretty face unusually serious. “I’m really proud to be your friend.” She slipped a note into his hand. “That’s for later.”

  During English class a message was delivered to the teacher. Miss Cochran glanced at it, then motioned to Bucky. “They need you in the front office,” she said. “Somehow, I doubt that you’re in any trouble,” she smiled.

  At the main office, a news reporter was waiting, “Oliver Bendall,” he introduced himself. “From the News Chronicle. You mind if I get some info from you on this ski story? Your principal said you could take some time to tell me about it, since we’re on deadline.”

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  The reporter asked many questions and took careful notes as Bucky described the experience. At one point he paused, chewing thoughtfully on his pencil. “You say your ski simply fell off? And then you heard the girl call for help?”

  “Just like that,” Bucky replied, snapping his fingers. “It came loose for no reason at all, and two seconds later I heard her.”

  “Quite a coincidence,” the reporter mused, shaking his head.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Bucky corrected. “I really don’t think it was a coincidence at all. God made that binding come loose. No question about it.” Quietly, he continued to tell the experience.

  “Well,” Mr. Bendall reflected, when
Bucky was finished, “it’s quite an experience you guys had.” He jotted down several notes to himself. “I’m going to get some of this from your friend, too, and some pictures, if you don’t mind. Our readers are going to eat this stuff up. If I don’t get a front page out of this story, I quit.”

  It wasn’t until later that evening, just before worship, that Bucky remembered the note in his pocket. Carefully unfolding the single sheet of stationary, he read and reread the brief message written in Lisa’s delicate handwriting.

  “I’m sure glad you’re home safe,” part of it said, “and I’m proud of you for the way you helped rescue Bonnie.” A little further down he read, “Bucky, I’ve done a lot of thinking about our conversation at that party, and I really want to talk to you some more about what you believe and how to be a Christian.”

  The note concluded with a PS: “You are one special guy!”

  Bucky felt his heartbeat quicken as he folded the note and put it back in his pocket. What kind of relationship was he going to have with Lisa? It was a pleasant dilemma.

  A few minutes later as Bucky and Rachel Marie sat listening to Mom’s Bible story, the phone rang. Dad, who was sitting with them, went to answer it. A moment later he returned. “For you, Buck.”

  Bucky went into the kitchen and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Bucky? This is Bonnie.”

  “Bonnie!” Bucky gasped in surprise. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was much stronger than it had been up on the slope. “I’m at home; my parents came and got me from the hospital today.”

  “Boy, I’m sure glad you’re OK.”

  The two students visited for several minutes. “I have to go,” she said finally. “I’m still kinda weak, and I won’t be back to school until probably next week. But I wanted to call you up and say thank you. Bucky, you saved my life.”

  He shook his head. “God saved your life Sunday night. I’m just glad I was there to help him out a little bit.”

  The voice on the other end of the line was quiet for several moments. Then she spoke once again. “I remembered in the hospital how you kept praying for God to help us. And then I read in tonight’s paper about your praying while you and I were up there.” She paused. “My family hasn’t been to church since I was three years old. But when my mom heard what happened to us, and then read the story in the paper, you know what she said? She said, ‘Honey, we’re going to church this Sunday.’”

  Bucky hung up the phone moments later, his face glowing. Mom came into the kitchen. “Sounds like she’s OK?”

  He nodded. “Do you know what she said? For the first time in years her family’s going to go to church this weekend.” He felt a wonderful, almost overflowing sense of joy. “That is so cool.”

  Mom looked at him with a strange expression on her face. “Stand up,” she said.

  Bucky looked puzzled. “How come?”

  “Just stand up.”

  He stood. Mom walked over to him and gave him a big hug. “So I can do that,” she said softly. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

  They stood alone in the kitchen for a long minute.

  “I was kind of worried,” she said finally, “back in September. About your attending public school this year. And trying to be a faithful Christian there. But now I can see how God has used you in a very special way to reach out to other students. And I’m so grateful . . . and proud.”

  “Mommy!” A little voice from the doorway interrupted her speech. “What about our prayers?”

  Bucky reached over and picked up his sister, lifting her high in the air. “We’re comin’, squirt!” he laughed. “Like I told Sam the other night, I think we have our share of thank yous to send up to heaven.”

  • • • • •

  Bucky Stone Book #2

  Showdown at Home Plate

  By

  David B. Smith

  Chapter One: Going Out For the Team

  Chapter Two: Weekend Surprise

  Chapter Three: Algebra and the Gospel

  Chapter Four: Waiting For a Phone Call

  Chapter Five: Rescue in the Restaurant

  Chapter Six: Double Play!

  Chapter Seven: A Shot at Junior Varsity

  Chapter Eight: Miracle Catch

  Chapter Nine: The Game on the Line

  Chapter Ten: A Mini-Watergate

  Chapter Eleven: Called to Testify

  Chapter Twelve: Honor Code

  Chapter Thirteen: Hero or Goat

  Chapter Fourteen: The Agony of Defeat

  Chapter Fifteen: Picnic Table Conversion

  Chapter One: Going Out For the Team

  Bucky picked up the threadbare tennis ball that had been lying in the grass and tossed it lazily against the brick wall bordering the backyard. “Strike one,” he murmured to himself.

  Climbing out of his lawn chair, he ambled over to the fence and picked up the ball again. Pacing off the estimated distance to a pitcher’s mound, he took full aim at one of the large rectangular bricks. With a mock windup, he hurled the little green ball at the strike zone.

  “Not bad,” he mused as the ball hit the corner of the target. “Batter’s in a hole and the count is oh-and-two.”

  Just then Dad came around the side of the house, struggling to negotiate a fifteen-foot ladder around the corner. “Gimme a hand, would you?”

  Bucky trotted over and picked up one end. “Where to?”

  “Over there,” Dad motioned with a jerk of his head. “I need to fix the screen railing on that upstairs window.”

  Together they set the ladder upright next to the house and Dad began to climb. “Don’t tell me it’s baseball season already,” he called down, fumbling with the screwdriver in his back pocket. “I saw your major league pitches there a minute ago.”

  “Oh, right,” Bucky said sarcastically. “My forty-mile-an-hour fastball.”

  “Well, what about that sign-up sheet on the kitchen table?” Dad remarked. “Are you really thinking about trying out for the team this spring?”

  Bucky said nothing. Ever since last week, when he had seen the notice at school about baseball tryouts, the idea had been growing in his mind. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “Maybe.”

  “Well, why not?” Dad lowered himself one rung and looked down. “You know how to play.”

  “Oh, I know,” Bucky agreed reluctantly. “But that’s only softball. In elementary school. And half the; time we played it with a nerf ball. This is really baseball. I don’t know if I’d be any good.”

  “Never hurts to try,” Dad encouraged, resuming his work. “I suppose a lot of guys go out for the team. What are your chances?”

  “No idea.”

  “What do they call the freshman team? The frosh squad?”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty rinky-dink.”

  Dad gave the screen a pop with his fist and it jumped into place. “There,” he said with satisfaction. Stuffing his tools into his oversized back pocket, he clambered down the ladder. “Whooh,” he gasped, mopping his forehead. “It’s hot for February. Hard to remember your big ski weekend was just three weeks ago, and now it feels like summer.”

  Without any further suggestion, Bucky picked up his end of the ladder as they headed back toward the garage.

  Later that evening the subject of frosh baseball came up again.

  “When are the games?” Mom wanted to know.

  “I don’t know,” Bucky admitted, shaking his head. “I guess I don’t know very much about it at all. Seems like they’re scheduled for afternoons, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “Any on the weekends? So we can go?”

  Again he shook his head. “I’ll have to ask.”

  “Well, I guess it doesn’t hurt to try out,” Mom said. “When will that be?”

  “This next Wednesday and Thursday afternoons.” Bucky tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.

  “Is there anything you’ll need?” Dad wondered.
“Equipment or stuff?”

  “I don’t think so. I have a softball glove. I guess I’ll take that. I’m sure they’ll tell us what we have to have.”

  After school the following afternoon he made his way out to the athletic field where the varsity team was going through its drills. He stood on the sidelines for several minutes, watching the older athletes throw, catch, and take batting practice.

  Finally, he got up his courage and approached one of the coaches on the sidelines. “Excuse me, but I need to ask a question about practice,” he began, a bit timidly.

  The coach didn’t take his eyes off the action on the field. “Yeah, what is it?”

  “Well . . .” Bucky paused. “I guess several questions, really. I don’t know anything about it. How often are the practices, when are the games – stuff like that.”

  Finally, the man turned his attention away from the field and looked at Bucky. “Look,” he said, “what’s your name?”

  “Bucky Stone.”

  “What, sophomore?”

  “No, freshman.”

  The man grunted. “Over there.” He waved his clipboard toward the other side of the diamond. “That man in the red hat. Mr. Walker. He’ll be your coach; go ask him.”

  “Thanks.”

  Despite the brusque treatment, Bucky resolutely made his way over to the freshman coach. “Mr. Walker?”

  The man didn’t take his eyes off his chart. “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you some questions about frosh baseball?”

  “Sure. What can I do for you?” His encouraging tone was all Bucky needed.

  “This is all new to me,” Bucky explained. “My folks sent me to a Christian school last year, so I haven’t played organized baseball before; just softball. Can you tell me about practices and games and stuff like that?”

  Mr. Walker sized the boy up. “Freshman, huh? You’re pretty tall.”

  Bucky nodded. “Well, I’d like to try out for the team if I can.”