American Rebirth

by Norma Jean Lutz

  Rachel leaned on her knees to study the first batter. Her stomach sank as she recognized this batter. Sam’s team would not be able to get anything past him.

  Larry let the first pitch go. It was so far out of the strike zone that the other team burst into laughter.

  “It’s okay, Larry, just keep your focus,” Sam called out. He clapped his hands in encouragement.

  Larry wound up again. The pitch was straight this time, but not very fast. The batter had plenty of time to get a good look at it and swing hard. He whacked the ball right over Sam’s head and into left field. Steve Jones scrambled after it. By the time he chased it through the grass and heaved it to the infield, the batter was standing on second base, grinning at Sam.

  Larry looked lost. Rachel saw Sam go to the mound to speak to him. She knew he was trying to make Larry feel better.

  The second batter came up to the plate. The runner took a generous lead off second base. It was as if he knew what would happen next. Larry only threw one pitch. The batter swung. Rachel groaned. She could tell from the sound that the hit was a home run. The batter whooped his way to first base and then kept going. While the outfielders retrieved the ball, the two players from the

  Seventh Street Spades trotted around the diamond victoriously. The score was two to nothing, with no outs in the first inning.

  Larry walked the next two batters, with eight very wide pitches in a row. Sam crouched in his position. There was still hope for a double play if the batter hit the ball to Joe. Joe could snap the ball to Sam on second, who would throw it to Jim. Rachel knew it could all happen in one smooth motion they had practiced a hundred times. She held her breath.

  But the next ball did not come to shortstop. It went to right field. The runner on second base scored easily, and now there were runners on first base and third base—and still no outs. Rachel sighed. Three to nothing. This was going to be a long game. And they were getting killed in the first inning.

  She turned to Annalina. “Sam’s team is not doing well yet. Three members of the other team have touched all the bases, including home plate. That means they’re ahead three to nothing. But, Sam’s team hasn’t come to bat yet.”

  Again, Annalina nodded, but Rachel was sure she didn’t understand what Rachel was trying to explain to her. As Rachel searched for words to better explain what had happened, she thought she caught a glimpse of Simon standing at the edge of the park. When Rachel looked back, though, Simon was gone.

  Rachel turned her attention back to the game. Larry walked another batter. The bases were full. Rachel watched as Sam put his hand up for a time-out. The team gathered on the pitcher’s mound. “Just a minute,” Rachel whispered to Annalina. She slipped down to the front of the benches again where she could hear what was going on.

  “We have to help Larry out here,” Sam was saying.

  “You mean we have to get him out of there,” Joe said.

  “That’s exactly right.” Sam took the ball from Larry and slapped it into Joe’s hand. “You’re the pitcher now.”

  “But who’s going to play shortstop? What about the double play ball?”

  “Look, you’re used to throwing at me and hitting the mark in double plays. You have to do the same thing throwing at the plate. Larry can cover second, and I’ll play short.”

  “It seems to me that we need help in the outfield,” Steve said. “That’s where all the hits are going.”

  Sam shook his head. “Not anymore, right, Joe? From now on, the ball doesn’t leave the infield.”

  Joe nodded seriously.

  “But the bases are full,” Steve reminded everyone, “with no outs. We’ve got to watch the play at the plate.”

  “Come on,” chided the captain of the Seventh Street Spades. “Are you going to play or not?”

  The boys on the Spades howled with laughter. “Maybe they’re too weak from their desk jobs,” one of them said. “Baseball is too much like physical labor. You actually have to move your muscles to play.”

  “That must be it!” another one scoffed. “They’re in no condition to play against a union team.”

  Joe snapped his head around to Sam. “Are you going to let them get away with saying that?”

  “The only thing to do,” Sam said calmly, “is to pull ourselves together and prove we’re the great team we know we are.”

  Rachel felt proud of her brother as she made her way back to her seat. Clearly, though, the team was in a lot of trouble. She saw Sam move the ball from Larry to Joe. But she also knew that no one was as good as Simon. They needed Simon more today than they ever had before.

  “Hit ball,” Annalina said. “Boy hit ball.”

  “That’s right,” Rachel said. “We just didn’t want so many boys to hit the ball.”

  “Hit ball,” came the snickering voices behind them. Rachel turned around and glared at Mariah again. Mariah laughed aloud.

  “You’re sitting with a scab,” Mariah said loudly. “Did you know that, Rachel Borland? You’re sitting with a scab. I saw her father driving a streetcar yesterday.”

  Rachel glanced at Annalina. “Is that true, Annalina? Is your father driving a streetcar?”

  “Drive? Ja, Papa drive.”

  So it was true. Mr. Borg was driving one of those empty streetcars rattling around town.

  It was all Rachel could do to keep from edging away from Annalina. But it would do no good, and Rachel did not want to hurt Annalina’s feelings. She glanced at Annalina’s face. Her new friend did not look as excited as she had a few minutes earlier. She understands, Rachel thought. She understands what Mariah is saying and what those other girls are doing.

  The game had to get better. Rachel could not imagine that it could be any worse.

  She watched as Joe got ready to throw his first pitch. He took a long time, and he looked over his shoulder at Sam two times. Finally, he threw the ball. It was a good pitch—right into the strike zone. The batter let it pass. But at least Joe Rugierio had thrown the first strike of the game.

  Rachel sighed in relief. If only Joe could do that a few more times. Once again, Joe got ready to hurl the ball. Another strike! The Seventh Street team had stopped laughing.

  On Joe’s third pitch, the batter swung. It was a weak hit and took a long time to dribble to shortstop. Sam fielded it easily, but it was too late to throw it to home plate. He had to settle for throwing the ball to Jim at first base. One run scored, and the other runners advanced. But at least there was one out. The score was four to nothing, with runners on second and third.

  The next batter got a good hit. Both runners scored, and the batter ended up on second base. Six to nothing. Then Joe struck out a batter. It took eight pitches, but he did it. Two out.

  Rachel just wanted the inning to be over. They were down by six runs, but it was only the first inning. The Spitfires had some good hitters on their team. If they could just get a chance to bat, they might be able to even the score.

  Glancing across the field, Rachel was sure she saw Simon leaning against the fence with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  By the time the inning was over, the Seventh Street team led by eight runs. Now Rachel just wanted the game to be over. She was certain Sam must feel the same.

  CHAPTER 7

  A Fight in the Family

  I’m so glad you stopped by, Linda.” Mama poured three cups of tea: one for herself, one for Aunt Linda, and one for Rachel. Mama usually did not include Rachel in the grown-up tea talks. Rachel was going to be on her best behavior so Mama would do it again sometime.

  “Easter is just a few days away,” Mama said. “We need to make plans for dinner after church.”

  “It’s my turn to have the family over,” Aunt Linda said. She dropped a sugar cube into her tea.

  “Are you sure?” Mama asked. “I would be happy to have Easter dinner here.”

  “Nonsense,” Aunt Linda said. “You’ve had the last two birthday parties. Let me do it.”

  Rachel did no
t care where Easter dinner would be. But she did care what they would eat and hoped it would be something she could help prepare. Rachel sat down at the kitchen table next to her mother and across from Aunt Linda. Sam was at the end of the table. Mama had not offered him any tea. Rachel knew he would not drink it anyway.

  “Can we have that currant glaze on the ham?” Sam asked. “Do you mean the one that Agnes makes?” Mama asked. “That’s the one. I love that glaze!” Sam smacked his lips. “I’m sure she will be willing to make the glaze—just for you.” “I’ll get the ham, of course,” Aunt Linda said, “and the sweet potatoes.”

  “What will we make, Mama?” Rachel asked. “What would you like to make?”

  “Pies,” Rachel answered. “I want to learn to make a good pie crust.”

  “Ugh!” Sam groaned. “Do you have to experiment on the rest of us?”

  “Hush, Sam,” Mama said. “Your sister is turning into a fine cook. You should be glad to have her around. I know I am.” Rachel beamed.

  “What kind of pies?” Aunt Linda asked.

  “Peach, apple, strawberry, cherry.” Rachel listed all her favorites. Mama chuckled. “We’ll see what kind of fruit preserves we have in the cellar.”

  “Can we use Pillsbury’s Best flour for the crust?” Rachel asked.

  “Of course. How could we live in Minneapolis and not buy the best flour in the country?”

  “Where’s Ernest?” Mama asked. “Maybe he has some suggestions for the menu.”

  “He’s in the living room going over some papers,” Aunt Linda said. “If we ask him what he’d like, the list will be far too long to accomplish.”

  Mama laughed.

  A knock on the front door brought the menu planning to a halt.

  “Sam, please go see who that is,” Mama said.

  He darted off to answer the door. Rachel cocked her ear toward the voices that drifted into the kitchen from the hallway.

  “It’s the Browns!” Rachel jumped to her feet. “I wonder if Freddy is with them.”

  Mama glanced at Aunt Linda. “I’m sorry, Linda, I had no idea they would be coming by.”

  “It’s all right. You didn’t know Ernest and I would drop in, either. We’re all here. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  Aunt Agnes appeared in the doorway. Her seven-year-old son Frederick was right behind her.

  “Is Stanley with you?” Mama asked.

  Aunt Agnes looked over her shoulder nervously. “I left him in the living room with Ernest and Sam.”

  “Have Ernest and Stanley seen each other lately?”

  Aunt Agnes and Aunt Linda both shook their heads emphatically.

  “Then they’ll have a lot to catch up on,” Mama said optimistically.

  Rachel was not so sure it was a good idea to leave Uncle Stanley and Uncle Ernest in the same room.

  “What do you have to eat?” Freddy demanded.

  “Frederick!” his mother scolded.

  “I’m sorry. Cousin Dorthea, might I have a bit of a snack?”

  Mama smiled. “Such a little gentleman. Of course you may have a snack. Rachel, why don’t you see what we have?”

  Rachel got up and went to the icebox. “How about leftover chicken?” she suggested.

  “White meat or dark?” he asked suspiciously.

  “It’s a leg.”

  “Good. I’ll take that.” “Freddy,” his mother coaxed. “Thank you, Rachel, I would like the chicken leg.” “We were just discussing Easter dinner,” Mama said. “Linda has offered to have everyone at her house. And Sam has put in a request for your currant glaze.”

  Aunt Agnes sighed and glanced toward the door that led to the living room. “A family dinner would be nice. We haven’t done that for a long time.”

  Rachel put the chicken leg on a plate and set it in front of Freddy. Aunt Agnes had a strange look on her face.

  “What is it, Agnes?” Mama asked.

  Aunt Agnes hesitated. She glanced at Aunt Linda.

  “It’s all right,” Aunt Linda said. “I can see that you’re nervous about Stanley and Ernest being together. To be honest, I am, too.”

  “I hate to create a situation where they might quarrel,” Aunt Agnes said.

  “But we can’t stop bringing the family together because Stanley and Ernest don’t agree on unions and management. Stanley and Ernest have known each other a long time. I believe they are genuinely fond of each other.”

  “I’m sure they are, too,” Aunt Agnes said. “And they both love you, Linda. But lately Stanley is so edgy about this union business. I can’t predict how he will behave.”

  “They seem to be doing just fine right now,” Mama said. “You left Stanley in the living room with Ernest, and we haven’t heard a peep out of them.”

  “That’s not necessarily good,” Aunt Agnes said. “It means they’re not speaking to each other at all.”

  Just then, Sam entered the kitchen. He slumped into a chair. “I’d rather listen to you talk about recipes,” he said, “than sit in there with the two of them.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem. They’re just sitting there staring at each other. Uncle Ernest pretends to be working on his papers, but I don’t think he really is. And Uncle Stanley is making me crazy, jiggling his leg all the time.”

  “Jiggling his leg?” his wife said in alarm. “That means something is on his mind.” She turned to Sam. “Didn’t he say anything at all?”

  Sam shrugged. “He asked me about my baseball team. But I don’t think he heard a word I said.”

  “Is he twitching his moustache?” Freddy asked, his mouth full of chicken.

  Sam nodded.

  Freddy and Aunt Agnes looked at each other. “Papa’s going to be angry, isn’t he?” Freddy said what they were all thinking.

  Just at that moment, the voices in the next room exploded. Rachel’s heart raced as she jumped out of her chair. Sam was ahead of her, bounding into the living room. Mama and the other women were right behind them. They stood at the edge of the living room. The men seemed not to notice anyone had entered the room.

  “You’re an intelligent man, Stanley,” Uncle Ernest was saying. “I do not understand why you are behaving like such a simpleton on this matter.”

  The color was rising in Uncle Stanley’s face. “You see the world one way, Ernest, and I see it another way.”

  “You see the world the way you want to see it,” his brother-in-law retorted. “You want the unions to be powerful, so you inflame the average person. You fill their heads with ideas that can never come true.”

  “The unions will make their ideas come true—and life will be better for the average worker.”

  Uncle Ernest slapped the table next to his chair. Rachel jumped back.

  “When will you understand that the people who own these businesses have something to say on these questions?” he shouted.

  “You want to create a perfect world for the average worker, but you want the owners to pay for it—men like Charles Pillsbury and Thomas Lowry. They’ve worked hard to build up their businesses.”

  “They’ve made themselves rich by keeping their workers in poverty!” Uncle Stanley stood up and towered over Uncle Ernest.

  “Mama?” Rachel whispered. “Shouldn’t we do something?”

  “I’m not sure what to do,” Mama answered.

  “Don’t do anything,” Aunt Linda said. “Stanley and Ernest are grown men. Eventually they have to work this out.”

  Sam was not convinced. “What if they don’t?”

  Carrie tumbled down the stairs from her room and ran to her mother. “Mama, why are they yelling?”

  Uncle Ernest pushed his papers aside and pulled himself out of his chair. He was not as tall as Stanley, and his cork leg made him unsteady for a moment. But he stared up at his opponent and continued his side of the argument. His jaw was set, and his words were clipped.

  “Am I to believe that you think getting no
pay at all is better for those workers than the pay Mr. Lowry offers?”

  “The wage cut is only part of it. The strikers are standing on a principle, Ernest.”

  “And their children are going hungry for the sake of that principle,” retorted Uncle Ernest. “Does the principle justify the way they terrorize the new drivers or the way they taunt anyone who tries to ride a streetcar?”

  “They are doing what they believe they must do.”

  “And what if they are wrong?”

  The front door opened and Papa came in. Instinctively, Rachel flew across the room and snuggled against him.

  Papa put down his medical bag next to the door and looked around the living room.

  “What in the world is going on in here?” Papa demanded. “I could hear you halfway down the block.”

  The two men did not answer. They continued to glare at each other.

  “Don’t bother to answer,” Papa said, “because there is no good answer. There is no excuse for the way you two are behaving. I don’t care what is going on in the streets, and I don’t care what the politicians are saying. You will not bring your arguments into my home.”

  Uncle Stanley broke his stare and turned to Papa. “I’m sorry, Donald. Of course you are right. We let things get out of hand.”

  But Papa was not finished. “Stanley, Ernest is married to your sister. I would think that out of respect for Linda, you would make an effort to be civil to him. And you, too, Ernest. Do not forget that Stanley is Linda’s brother.”

  “You are quite right, of course.” Uncle Ernest turned around and picked up his papers. “Linda, I believe we should leave now.” He moved toward the door without so much as glancing at his brother-in-law.

  Rachel watched Aunt Linda’s face. Whatever she was thinking or feeling, she did not show anything in her face. Aunt Linda turned to Mama and Aunt Agnes.

  “I’ll telephone you,” she said. “We’ll finish making our plans for Easter dinner over the phone.”

  “Are you sure we should get together?” Aunt Agnes whispered, glancing up at her husband. “It could be very unpleasant.”

  Linda kept her voice even. “Easter Sunday celebrates the resurrection of our Lord—victory over sin. That includes family arguments. I will not let this union business destroy our family.”