“No, I did.” Beck eyed each player. “I told you not to take risks. Well, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Take risks?” Winnie’s brows rose.
“Yep.”
“But you said it’s not good strategy,” Lulu said.
“We’ll never know if we don’t try. The children at the hospital deserve our all, and you deserve to have fun. So go steal bases, whatever you want.”
Winnie boggled at him. “Beck Emerson, encouraging us to take risks? I never thought I’d see the day.”
He nudged her shoulder. “Just wait. The day’s not over yet.”
He was about to take a risk of his own where Winnie was concerned. After all, like he’d just told the team, he’d never know if he didn’t try.
Chapter Eight
By the top of the ninth inning, the crowd was so loud and exuberant that everyone’s nerves ran high, but in a good way like nothing Winnie had ever experienced before. The cheers resounding through the ball field seemed to feed her ability to pitch, to hit, to run. And oh, did the Liberty Belles hit and run.
Nora’s jacket was caked in dirt from sliding headfirst into bases. Rowena’s hem tore from all the lunges she executed to tag out the Patriots, and Dru’s brown curls frizzed out the back of her cap from her similar efforts at home plate. Sweat ran like tears down Colleen’s cheeks, and sweet, quiet Fannie argued with the judge that she was safe after sliding into home. Gladys hit two home runs and her mad dashes around the bases left her face red as a boiled lobster. Lulu took a tumble in center field that left her limping—but she’d caught the ball.
Winnie’s shoulder ached, but she didn’t care. They were not playing it safe, and they’d managed to score seven runs to the Patriots’ six.
Winnie scratched the soil in the pitcher’s box with her boot, a habit that enabled her to peek at the loaded bases out of the corners of her eyes. If the Patriots scored a run—or four—now, the Liberty Belles would have the rest of the inning to attempt to change the score.
But if Winnie struck out Paulette right now, with two outs against the Patriots, the Liberty Belles would win.
Winnie glanced at Beck. His hand rested on Ralph’s shoulder as they watched, too tense to sit on the bench. Beck’s jaw was set, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a twitch. It was as if his body told her to win and have fun at the same time, two opposing messages.
Paulette’s smug smile sent Winnie an altogether different message, one that made Winnie’s blood pound in her ears. She threw the ball. Hard.
Paulette swung and missed, just as Winnie had hoped, but the victory felt hollow when the judge yelled “Strrrrike!” Because she was angry at Paulette, unforgiving and oh, whatever this feeling was in her chest that made her want to protect Beck like a mother lion defending her cub, Winnie’s throw hadn’t been controlled, and Paulette might have hit it out of the field, enabling her teammates to score.
Some risks were worth taking. This one might not be.
Lord, help me want to forgive her. I know I’ve asked countless times, but now that she’s in front of me, I—
Paulette’s boots shuffled, a nervous gesture. Suddenly Winnie’s emotions shifted. Paulette was a person with weaknesses and hopes. Winnie wasn’t certain she’d forgiven her, just like that, but she wasn’t angry anymore.
Her second pitch reflected it. It was well aimed but too fast for Paulette to hit.
“Strrrike two!” The judge bounced on his toes.
Paulette pinked.
The crowd cheered, feet stomped, and her teammates hollered, but she heard one deep voice above all others. “That’s right, Winnie!”
She glanced at Beck, whose wide grin made her chest expand with love.
One last pitch—in the game, and in her career as a baseball player. Thank You, Lord, for the opportunity to play today.
Winnie threw the ball.
Paulette swung.
And missed.
“Strrrike three! Yer out, missy!”
The crowd was silent for half a second, and then cheers erupted throughout the field. With a score of 7 to 6, there was no need to play the second half of the inning. The Liberty Belles had won.
The team embraced in a large huddle near third base, Ralph at their center, and then broke to hug Beck with words of thanks.
Winnie held back, shy, but before she could take her turn hugging Beck, the Patriots arrived to shake hands. Winnie took Paulette’s hand. “Good game. You’re a terrific pitcher.”
Paulette grunted.
Stifling a laugh, Winnie turned back to her team. The field manager stood in their midst, calling for silence. “I’ve informed both charities represented today that Beckett Emerson of Emerson Works will match the game proceeds, so the Children’s Hospital and the Women’s Club Auxiliary will both receive donations.”
All eyes went wide, except for Lulu’s. “I have an announcement, too. Before the game, Beck gave his blessing. In a year, Alonzo and I will be married.”
Winnie cheered. Congratulations and kisses followed, and soon the families ambled onto the field, including Papa. Gathering her courage, Winnie met him halfway.
“Exciting game, Winifred.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Papa.” She prayed for words. “I have something important to tell you, something I should have told you from the start. I know you want me to marry Victor, but I don’t care for him.”
“I have eyes, daughter. I can see where your affections lie, and fear not, I approve.”
He did? There was nothing to approve of, though. Beck didn’t want her. “I’m not disappointing you?”
“Oh, ’twas an old man’s folly, thinking I could keep the business in the family, seeing you safe and cared for.”
“God will manage that some other way.”
“I suppose you’re right.” His eyes narrowed at something over her shoulder. “It seems Victor has other plans, anyway.”
Winnie spun. Gladys clung to Victor’s arm, and they stared at her and Papa with guilty expressions.
Bustling toward them, Victor frowned. “Gladys and I are courting. I hope you aren’t upset.”
“No, I just … Not at all.” Winnie saw now that he would have made some sort of overture long ago, had he intended to court her. “When did this happen?” Gladys had been asking Beck for all those batting lessons.
Gladys beamed. “I met Victor at your house, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot when he saw me at the game, so I asked Beck for help. I’m glad I did, because I hit well today.”
“I’m truly happy for you both.”
She meant it.
They strolled away, as did Papa, leaving a clear path between Winnie and Beck. He didn’t smile, but his eyes were soft as he strode toward her, only to be intercepted by Dru and Xavier. “Coming to the fireworks at Independence Hall, you two?”
Winnie nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Beck nodded. “We’ll find you there.”
We?
Beck smiled. “I asked your father if I could accompany you two to view the fireworks tonight. Well, me, Lulu, and Alonzo. If you don’t mind too much.”
“I don’t mind.” A grand understatement.
With a flash of his handsome smile, Beck bid them all farewell and met his friend Gilby by the entrance, all calm and normal. But Winnie’s heart was beating so fast, it was a wonder it didn’t puncture through her ribcage.
After a bath and an early supper with Papa, Winnie donned a patriotic blue ensemble. True to his word, Beck arrived at dusk, hat in hand. Alonzo and Lulu waited in the carriage, and after a lively ride spent discussing the baseball game, their little party arrived at Independence Hall to find a huge throng already gathered. Torches illuminated the dimming sky, and a brass band performed patriotic tunes.
It was indescribable, being in this place one hundred years after the Declaration of Independence was signed. Winnie gave thanks for her country as they found a viewing area, but before they could get comfortable
, Beck turned to Papa. “May I borrow Winnie for a moment?”
“I think you’ll need more than one, lad.” Papa grinned.
Beck offered his arm. When Winnie took it, her hand fit just right in the crook of his elbow, even if her limbs trembled a little. What would Beck say, now that they were alone?
He led her through the crowd. “Thank you for coming tonight.”
“Thanks for inviting me. I didn’t like how we parted. Is everything well at Emerson Works?”
“How kind of you to ask. Yes, my employees and my equipment are safe.”
“Taking precautions paid off.”
“Not where you’re concerned.” He smiled at the confused expression that must be contorting her face, despite her trying to hide her response. “I was upset after the fire—with myself, not you. I’m sorry I took it out on you. I had a lot of thinking to do, because you challenged me. But you were right. I’ve missed a lot, holed up in my office and fretting over possible troubles. You reminded me that while the world may not be the safest of places all the time, it’s also beautiful.”
“Precautions are wise, though. You showed me I need to take more. Pretending trouble doesn’t exist is inconsiderate.”
“There will always be trouble. Didn’t Jesus say that? But you make my troubles lighter.”
“I do?”
“I want to do the same for you.” His deep voice softened. “I love you, Winifred Myles. So much that it terrifies me. But you’re worth the risk.”
“So are you.” She swallowed hard. “I love you too, Beckett Emerson.”
Overhead, a large firework boomed, followed by a blast of golden light and a shower of sparks, but the glory of it couldn’t compare to the look of adoration on Beck’s face as he bent his head and lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was gentle but full of promise.
Her arms clasped about his broad shoulders, holding tight to him and what he offered. His heart. His love.
There, under the shower of a thousand sparks of light and the songs of celebration, Winnie knew love.
She might be a good pitcher, but this was one thing she would never toss away.
Epilogue
The late October wind bit into Winnie’s cheeks, but she snuggled closer to Beck as they strolled through the Independence Exhibition grounds before it closed next month. “Do you think Mr. Hires will sell his root beer? I’d like more than that small sample cup he’s offering.”
“I’m sure he will, and I’ll buy you bottles and bottles of it.” Beck chuckled. “Say, look where we are.”
The glass pavilion looked different in the autumn daylight than it had that June night when torches and lamps blazed golden light through it, but it was beautiful all the same. “I’m rather fond of this place.”
“Me too.” Beck cleared his throat, which sounded pinched all of a sudden. “I was thinking, Winnie. You had the right pitch, asking me to coach the Liberty Belles. But now I have a pitch for you.”
“Oh?” She grinned. “Creating another baseball team?”
“That wasn’t the sort of team I had in mind.” He peeked at her. “Remember our dance here, the night of the charity ball?”
His abrupt change of topics made her blink, but then her thoughts filled with the memory of being held by him while they moved in time to the music and how perfect the moment had been. “I’ll never forget it. I could have danced with you forever.”
“Your feet would have tired out eventually,” he teased.
“You’re not very romantic,” she teased back.
“I’m trying, believe it or not. This team I mentioned? Actually, I didn’t say team. You did. I said pitch, but—” He broke off, laughing.
Winnie didn’t catch the joke, but it was fun watching him laugh. Then her smile froze. Pitch. Team. Their dance.
This had nothing to do with baseball.
“Beck?” Her voice squeaked.
He took her hand and pulled her gently around the back of the pavilion, hidden from the view of others strolling the grounds, although anyone inside the glass building could see them if they happened to be watching—but the grounds were quiet this autumn afternoon, and the pavilion was probably empty. Beck cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her lips and sending a trail of fire down to her stomach. For a moment, she thought he’d kiss her, until he lowered to one knee.
Oh!
“The pitch I mentioned?”
She nodded.
“I’ll love you for all our days if you’ll forge a team with me. I love you with all that I am, sweet Winnie.”
“Beck.” His name came out as a whisper, an endearment, as emotion filled her throat. “Yes, oh yes.”
He was standing and kissing her before she could take another breath, but too quickly he pulled back. “Are you certain? I have but one arm to escort you, one arm to work for you.” He paused. “One arm to hold a baby.”
“You hold me just fine.” She bit her lip. “More than fine—”
Her words were lost to his kiss. Then kisses. She was as breathless and weak kneed as if she’d run around the bases, but she wouldn’t stop for anything—
A loud thump tugged her out of bliss back to the autumn world. And she gasped.
“There are people in the pavilion?”
“The rest of our team.” Beck didn’t sound the least bit embarrassed as he tucked her into his chest. Through the glass, happy faces looked out at them: Lulu and Alonzo, Dru and Xavier, Nora and her new beau Gilby, and Papa, nodding his approval.
“I asked his blessing.” Beck kissed Winnie’s temple.
“Thank you.” She waved at her loved ones and then they disappeared, hurrying outside to join them. In moments, she and Beck were surrounded by embraces.
Her pitch to Beck those weeks ago had been the right one, indeed.
But his pitch to her was even better.
She popped to her toes and told him so with a kiss.
Susanne Dietze began writing love stories in high school, casting her friends in the starring roles. Today, she’s the award-winning author of a dozen new and upcoming historical romances who’s seen her work on the ECPA and Publisher’s Weekly Bestseller Lists for Inspirational Fiction. Married to a pastor and the mom of two, Susanne lives in California and enjoys fancy-schmancy tea parties, the beach, and curling up on the couch with a costume drama and a plate of nachos. You can visit her online at www.susannedietze.com and subscribe to her newsletters at http://eepurl.com/bieza5.
A Gift in Secret
by Kathleen Y’Barbo
Dedication
To “The Girls”:
Linda Kozar,
Janice Thompson,
Sharen Watson, and
Dannelle Woody
You are my source of strength, inspiration, and entertainment.
Your prayers sustain me, and your texts kept me anchored to
Home and you when I needed it most.
Thank you for the love and laughter!
May we grow old together—in Texas!
A gift in secret pacifieth anger….
PROVERBS 21:14
Chapter One
New Orleans, Louisiana March, 1871
Absolutely not.”
Samuel Austin III rose and headed for the door. Allowing his father to convince him to attend this ridiculous meeting was his first mistake. Staying to hear anything else the late Thomas Bolen’s attorney planned to say would not be his second.
The old man had died a year ago, by his recollection. And while the funeral for the owner of Bolen Shipping had been elaborate according to the lengthy article in the Picayune, there were no Austins in attendance that day.
But then none were expected. Nor was his daughter, May, or her mother, Bolen’s wife, in the chapel to grieve him.
Heavy velvet curtains on the wall behind Mr. Breaux stood open, allowing the midmorning sunlight that slanted through the crystal vases arranged on a rosewood sideboard to cast pinpoints of color across the polished wood.
&nbs
p; A chair scraped against the floor behind him, but Sam kept walking.
“I assure you that Mr. Bolen was quite intent on having you take the reins of Bolen Shipping. In fact, he made it abundantly clear that the stakes should be raised to the point where you could not refuse.”
With his hand on the polished silver doorknob, Sam considered a response that would let the lawyer know he was talking to the wrong Austin. Sam Jr. would have accepted the offer to take back the company that was stolen from him without caring the terms.
“I feel it my duty to advise you,” Mr. Breaux said as Sam turned the knob. “Should you refuse Mr. Bolen’s most generous gift, you will be effectively putting his daughter in an untenable position.”
Sam yanked the door open. “I’m sure Miss Bolen will survive,” he said over his shoulder. “Bolens always do.”
“Without you at the helm, the company will be sold and the proceeds donated. Miss Bolen will have nothing. Are you certain she will survive that?”
He froze.
“I thought that might get your attention,” Mr. Breaux said. “Mr. Bolen thought so as well. Now if you’ll just return to your chair and give me a few more minutes of your time.”
“You assume I care what happens to a Bolen,” Sam snapped as he turned to face the attorney. “I assure you, no Bolen ever stopped to consider what happened to the Austins when our business was stolen from us.”
Mr. Breaux settled back on his chair and gave Sam a pointed look. “I assume you are a man given to actually caring what happens to a young lady who is soon to be destitute.”
“She can have whatever the old man left to me. I don’t want it.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mr. Breaux said as he peered at Sam over his spectacles. “The will is very clear in this. You may go from rags to riches, as it were, or Miss Bolen may go from riches to rags. It is all up to you.”
Everything in him wanted to tell the smug lawyer he was wrong. That he truly did not care what happened to Miss Bolen.
But that was a lie. And there had been enough lies between the Bolens and the Austins.
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 14