Stumptown Kid (8 page)

Mom quickly brushed at her eyes. “You can still see Luther,” she said. “I promise you that. Now, come on.”

“Vern’s nothing like Dad,” I said in a quieter voice.

“No, he’s not,” she said. “But you
will
be civil to him.”

“He broke Mrs. Banks’s window—”

“He explained to me about Mrs. Banks and her window, and he’s going to pay for it. Now, come on.”

Mom nudged me and I got up and followed her into the living room. Vern was standing there puffing on a cigarette.

“Charlie has something he wants to say,” Mom told him. “Go on, Charlie.”

“Sorry I yelled,” I mumbled. It was the same kind of lie I told him when I said he wrote a good song. A lie to keep Mom happy.

“Well, Charlie,” Vern said. “I just want to steer you in the right direction. Because I care about you, son. You know that, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer. Instead I walked past him and out the screen door.

I crossed the yard to the maple tree and sat down under it.

Thinking about Vern made me feel sick. I hated him for kissing my mom. I almost even hated my mom for liking him. And I hated the way he talked about Luther and all the other colored people in the world.

I leaned my head back against the tree. If only Dad would come home. I bet he and Luther would be friends.

I thought I’d gotten over the worst part of missing my dad. But today I missed him so much, my chest ached more than ever.

* * *

The next afternoon, just before five o’clock, I headed toward Landen’s to wait for Luther. He’d called me to say he found a place where he could stay. It was a room in a boardinghouse not too far from Stumptown. I said I’d help him move his stuff from the lean-to to his room.

Luther really didn’t need help, seeing as how he could stuff all the things he owned into that gunnysack of his. But it was a chance to spend some more time with him.

I was a little disappointed he was leaving his camp because it was such a great place. But when he told me it rained last night and he got soaked and cold, I was happy he’d be more comfortable with a real roof over his head.

When I got to Landen’s, the big door was standing open. I pulled open the screen door and went inside. Four ladies were lined up at the counter, waiting to sell their eggs. They were all carrying small wooden crates with handles on top.

Luther was on the other side of the counter with Mr. Landen. He was so busy he didn’t see me at first. I walked around the ladies and went to the far edge of the counter.

After a minute or so, Luther looked up and smiled. “I’ll be with you in a bit, Charlie,” he said.

I nodded and leaned against the counter to wait.

The lady who was first in line at the counter handed Luther her box.

Mr. Landen looked up from his paperwork near the cash register. “You want to watch Luther candle eggs, Charlie?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said.

“Come around the counter.”

Luther took the lady’s box, glanced over at me, and nodded toward a back room. I followed Luther into the room and we stopped at a large table at the side. Sitting on the table was a contraption that had a metal frame and two holes in the top. A strong light shone out of the holes.

Luther opened the lady’s egg box and carefully took out the top tray of eggs. He whisked the eggs by twos out of the cardboard tray, held them up to the two lit holes, then put them into different trays that sat to the side on the table.

“Why’re you doing that?” I asked him.

“Making sure they’re not rotten or don’t have chicks in ’em,” Luther said.

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“See,” he said, pausing with two eggs. “You don’t want to see shadows when you hold ’em up to the light. If they’re bad or have chicks, you’ll see shadows.”

I didn’t see any shadows.

He finished candling the eggs in no time—he only found one egg with a shadow in the whole six dozen—and went to the woman at the counter and gave her back her empty box. Mr. Landen wrote up a slip of paper for the eggs, then paid the lady from the cash register.

When Luther took the next lady’s eggs, I said, “I’ll wait outside for you.” He nodded, and I went to wait on the sidewalk.

I sat on Landen’s front stoop. It wasn’t so hot today, and the street was busy with cars. People were going home from where they worked downtown.

Four guys scuffed along the sidewalk about a half block away, yelling at cars going by, but I didn’t pay much attention to them. I was watching an ant carry a piece of bread three times its size along the sidewalk. I wished I was so strong I could lift something three times my size. Ants are like little Supermans. They do things that seem impossible when you really think about them.

I was paying so much attention to the ant, I didn’t know what was happening till four pairs of sneakers stopped in front of me.

“Hey, Stumptown. Whatcha doin’?” Lobo asked. “Watchin’ a stupid ant? Guess that makes you pretty stupid, too.”

He brought his foot down hard and squashed the ant and its load of bread. Then he laughed.

I squinted up at Lobo, my heart doing the crazy dance it does every time I see him. I was mad because he killed that innocent ant, but I was also pretty scared, if you want to know the truth.

“You shoulda seen Stumptown run away from me yesterday, he was so scared,” Lobo told his friends. “Ran right into the storm sewer!” His friends laughed.

I stood up and I could feel my legs shaking.

“We got a score to settle, Stumptown,” Lobo said, pushing his face into mine.

I guess I was still feeling pretty bad about running away the last time, because I stood my ground even though I was scared. “I’m tired of you callin’ me Stumptown,” I said. “My name is Charlie.”

Lobo laughed. “Well, too bad, ’cause Stumptown’s all I’m callin’ you.”

He gave me a hard shove, and I slammed back into Landen’s door. Lobo grabbed me by my shirt and pushed me off the step, onto the cement sidewalk. He fell down on top of me and started punching me in the ribs.

Suddenly an arm reached down and hauled Lobo off me. I scrambled to my feet.

“That’s enough,” Luther said in a big voice. He had a good hold of Lobo’s shirt. After a few seconds, he let go.

Lobo whirled around to Luther. “Who’re you?” he said. “This ain’t none of your business.”

“It is when you’re chasin’ off customers,” Luther said. “And besides, Charlie here is a friend of mine.”

A sneer worked its way over Lobo’s face. “I shoulda known. Stumptown has a colored friend.”

I wanted to punch him hard for trying to hurt Luther’s feelings. I lunged at Lobo, but Luther grabbed me. He didn’t look hurt or mad. He said in a serious voice, “You boys can settle this on the baseball diamond.”

“Huh?” I said.

I frowned at Luther and gave him signals with my eyes to tell him this was a very bad idea. But he didn’t seem to get it.

Lobo snorted. “You want the Wildcats to play Stumptown and his girlfriends? We’ll kill ’em!”

Yeah, Luther,
I thought.
They’ll kill us.

“That’s right,” Luther said calmly. “Charlie’s team plays you and your team. In three weeks at Scott Park.”

Three weeks? Was Luther crazy?

Lobo said, “Sure. You got yourself a deal, Stumptown. Three weeks.” He snorted. “We’ll beat you so bad, everybody in Holden’ll be splitting their pants laughing.”

I looked at Luther again. He had a little smile on his face.

Great,
I thought.
In three weeks, all us Stumptown kids will be so embarrassed, we’ll want to leave town. But maybe that’s better than getting killed.

Then again, maybe it isn’t.

Luther, we can’t beat Brad Lobo and those guys at baseball,” I said as we walked along the sidewalk toward the river. My insides were all jumpy. “They’re the best players in Holden. They’ll beat us bad.”

“Now what kind of thinkin’ is that?” Luther said.

“Honest thinking,” I said.

“Well, that’s where we’ll start, then,” Luther said. “A whole lot of baseball is played in the mind, Charlie. Remember at practice yesterday when you didn’t hit the ball? Your swing was wild. But as soon as you concentrated on watching that ball and you said out loud you could hit it, you creamed it.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll be different when we’re playin’ against Lobo and a bunch of great ballplayers.”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, Charlie,” Luther said. “You should play just as good in front of Lobo as you do in front of me.”

I looked up at Luther walking along beside me. “That would take a miracle. Geesh. I’m already scared, and I got three more weeks to think about it.”

Luther smiled. “You’ll do just fine, Charlie.”

When we got to his camp at the river, we gathered up his things and put them in the gunnysack.

“It’s a good thing nobody came along and took everything,” I told him.

“Nobody’d want this stuff,” Luther said.

“What about your crystal set?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Most people would look at the oat box and the wires wrapped around it and say, ’What’s this piece of junk?’”

“Yeah, if they didn’t know what it could do,” I said. “Like pull in a ball game from clear down in St. Louis!”

We climbed up the slope and started off toward the boardinghouse. Luther carried the gunnysack over his shoulder. I lugged two of his old blankets to lighten his load a bit.

“That Lobo fella sure seems to have it in for you,” Luther said.

“That’s ’cause I flattened him the other day,” I told him. “I didn’t even think about what I was doing. He started after Walter, who’s not very tough, and it just made me mad.”

Luther nodded. We stopped at the corner and crossed the street. “It was nice of you to stick up for your friend.”

“Well, if I get points for doing good then,” I said, “I’d have to lose a couple for running away the next day. Lobo came after me, and I ran like a scared rabbit into the storm sewer to get away from him.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that, Charlie,” Luther said. “Fighting never solved nothin’, anyway.”

“I was a coward,” I said, my voice low.

“No, you were wise, Charlie,” Luther said. “You fought to protect someone weaker who couldn’t defend himself. But you avoided a fight when Lobo came after you.”

I knew Luther was trying to make me feel better. But I still felt bad about being such a chicken.

We got to the boardinghouse a few minutes later. It was a huge white house with a big porch on the front. A stairway went up the side of the house, and there was a door at the top. We climbed the porch steps and knocked on the screen door.

A lady with white hair answered.

“Oh, hello, Luther,” she said, smiling, “you’re just in time for supper.” She turned to me. “And who is this?”

“This is Charlie Nebraska,” he said. “Charlie, this is Mrs. Hollingsworth.”

“Hello,” I said.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie.” She looked at Luther. “Why don’t you take your things up to your room now? Then come down and join the rest of the boarders in the dining room.” She slipped a hand into her apron and pulled out two keys.

“Now, Luther,” she said, “this key opens the front door and the door at the top of the outside stairs. This other key opens your room. We rarely lock the outside doors, but if we do, you can get in.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, taking the keys. “I’ll be right down for supper. Charlie, you can come up and take a look at my room if you want to. It’s real nice.”

I followed Luther up the stairs and down the hall.

He stopped in front of the last room. It had a big brass 3 on the door. He pushed the key into the keyhole and unlocked it.

Just then the door across the hall opened and a short, skinny man walked out. He glanced up at Luther and looked real surprised. “Who’re you?” he demanded, like Luther was breaking in or something.

“Luther Peale.” He held out his hand. “I’m the new boarder.”

The skinny man glared at Luther and didn’t shake his hand. “The new
boarder?
” he said. “In
this
house?”

Luther stiffened but nodded. “That’s right,” he said in a soft voice.

“We’ll see about
that,”
the man said. He stormed off to the end of the hall and down the steps.

Luther froze.

“Maybe I shouldn’t move in so fast, Charlie,” he said. “I might not be stayin’.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Mrs. Hollingsworth owns this place, right? If she says you can stay, you can stay.”

Luther gave a little sigh and stepped into the room. I walked in behind him. He was right. It was a nice place, clean and kind of sunny. A bed was pushed up against the inside wall, and a chest of drawers stood next to the back window.

“Lots of space,” Luther murmured, opening the closet door. “Don’t have much to hang in it, though.” He gazed over his shoulder. “Mrs. Hollingsworth had sinks put in every room.” He pointed to the sink next to the closet. A small mirror hung over it. “Bathroom’s across the hall.”

“How many people live here?” I asked.

“Three other men upstairs here,” Luther said. “I take it we just met one of ’em. Mrs. Hollingsworth lives in the rooms downstairs. She makes breakfast and supper for everybody.”

I frowned. “I hope you’ll still eat with us sometimes. It sure is better than eating with Vern.”

“Well, thank you, Charlie,” Luther said. “I’d like that.”

We put his things away. They only took up one drawer and a few hangers. He took a paper bag out of the gunnysack. He didn’t open it but set it on the floor in the back of his closet. I figured it was more of that Tennessee moonshine. But I didn’t ask, seeing as how it was none of my business.

“Say, Charlie, would you do me a favor?” Luther asked.

“Sure.”

He took out a dollar and handed it to me. “I need some paper to write my daddy and brothers. Could you get me a tablet I could tear paper out of? And some envelopes?”

“Sure,” I said. “Woolworth’s has that stuff.”

“No hurry,” he said. “Just when you’re over that way. Now, you better go. I got to go down for supper.”

We heard shouting downstairs, and Luther opened the door to the hallway.

“I ain’t livin’ with a Negro,” the voice shouted. “If he’s here, I’m movin’
out.”

“Charlie, you better take the outside stairs tonight.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he went on. “See if you can get the team to come practice about seven. Over at the diamond where I saw you playing before.”

I planted myself in front of him. “Okay, but I’m walkin’ downstairs with you.”

Luther nodded. “All right, Charlie, but you follow me down.”

I walked behind Luther to the end of the hallway and down the stairs. When we got to the bottom of the steps I could see the dining room just past the living room. Two men sat stiff at the table like they had metal rods inside their backs. They stared at their plates.

The third man, the skinny one we saw upstairs, got up. “Mrs. Hollingsworth,” he said, pointing his finger at the old lady, “if you let that boy set down here, I’m packin’ up and leaving.”

Mrs. Hollingsworth, sitting at the head of the table, turned to Luther. Her face was as white as her hair, and her eyes looked scared. She said in a quiet voice, “Mr. Peale, please sit down and join us for supper.”

The skinny guy shoved his plate off the table and it crashed to the floor, spilling slices of beef, potatoes, and green beans across the rug. He cussed in a loud voice and stormed into the living room, past us, and up the stairs.

“Mrs. Hollingsworth—” Luther said, his voice hushed.

But she held up her hand. “I never did like him anyway, Luther,” she said. “You sit down here and enjoy your supper.”

The two men at the table looked uncomfortable, but nodded at Luther. I couldn’t believe how calm Luther looked. His insides had to be jumping like mine. He nodded back to them, then turned to me.

“Charlie, I’ll see you at the park at seven,” Luther said.

“Okay,” I said. “See you.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlie,” Mrs. Hollingsworth said. Her voice was soothing, like she was trying to smooth over what just happened.

“Same here, ma’am,” I said.

I walked out the front door, down the sidewalk, and headed toward home.

* * *

I called everybody to tell them about practice. None of them could wait to get coached by a professional baseball player. Even Will said he’d be there. Eileen’s voice sounded kind of funny, but she didn’t explain why. I found out when I got to the baseball diamond that night.

I could see that something was up when I saw Luther standing at home base looking worried. Parents were piling out of their cars, along with their kids. Eileen’s parents were there, along with Walter’s and Brian Malone’s. They all looked real serious as they walked toward the baseball diamond.

“What’s goin’ on?” I asked Will.

“Eileen said her dad doesn’t like it that Luther’s coaching,” he said.

“Why?” I asked him. “Because he’s colored?”

“I don’t know,” Will said. “Could just be ’cause he doesn’t know Luther.”

“But Luther’s a professional,” I said. “He’ll be a great coach! Are they going to let her brothers play?”

Will shrugged.

“Well,” I said, “Casey played with the Wildcats, and Coach Hennessey can be mean and boss people around. Besides, Luther’s a way better coach.”

Will scowled. “Hey, Hennessey’s a great coach, Charlie. You shouldn’t say all that just because you didn’t make the team.”

I stared at Will. “Even if I was playin’ with the Wildcats, I wouldn’t like the way he acts,” I told him. I looked over at Luther. “I just want to know why people are suspicious of Luther when he’s nice to everybody and he knows so much about baseball.”

Will didn’t say anything. He just turned and walked away. I didn’t have time to think about Will, though, because Mr. McNally walked up to Luther right then.

“We came down here to find out what’s going on,” Mr. McNally said. “How come you want to coach these kids?”

“They asked me to help,” Luther said quietly. His back was straight as a telephone pole, and his words were slow and careful. “I thought maybe I could give them some pointers. Help ’em be better players.”

“Where did you come from?” Mrs. Malone asked. “And why did you come here to Holden?”

“I’m from Tennessee, ma’am,” Luther said. “Hurt my arm playing ball. I come up north lookin’ for work.”

“So what’s in this for you?” Mrs. Holladay asked, narrowing her eyes a little bit.

I walked over and stood next to Luther. “Nothing’s in it for him,” I said. “He’s a
professional
baseball player, and he’s helpin’ us. He’s my friend, and all of us want Luther to coach us. Right, Eileen?”

“Right,” she said, nodding hard.

“Right, Brian?” I asked.

Brian’s mom looked at him sharply. He looked uncomfortable and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Will?”

Will nodded but looked away.

Mrs. McNally spoke up. “Mr. Peale, some of us were a little uncomfortable because we don’t know you—”

“And he’s livin’ down on the river like a tramp,” Mrs. Malone butted in.

“I did spend a couple of nights camping, ma’am,” Luther said. “Till I got me a room.”

Mrs. Malone still didn’t look happy.

I was sorry for Luther because everyone was so suspicious. But I spoke up. “He lives in a boardinghouse over on Willet Street.”

Mrs. McNally swatted at a mosquito and said, “Well then.” She smiled. “I don’t see why Mr. Peale shouldn’t teach the kids. Maybe if a parent comes to the practices—”

“I’ll come,” offered Mr. Malone. His wife looked doubtful, but she didn’t say anything.

Walter’s dad wiped a hand over his chin. “Well, it’s okay with me as long as a parent is here.” Walter smiled at him.

Mrs. Malone spoke up. “Johnny O’Toole won’t be here. His mother and father won’t let him play with a …” Her voice trailed away.

I wanted to say,
His name is Luther Peale,
but something told me to keep my mouth shut.

“Well, my Jim won’t be playing, either,” said Mrs. Holladay. “Come on, Jim, let’s go.”

“You said you’d hear what everyone has to say,” Jim protested.

“I’ve heard enough. Let’s go.” She turned and walked off toward the parking lot. Jim looked at Luther and said quietly, “Sorry.”

Luther nodded to him. Jim followed his mom toward the parking lot, but turned back to look over his shoulder. I held up a hand to thank him for trying.

“So, I guess everything’s settled, then,” Mrs. McNally said. “Mr. Peale is nice enough to help the kids, and we’ll have a parent at every practice.” She smiled at Luther. “Thank you, Mr. Peale.”

He nodded again and said softly, “Ma’am.”

“I’ll stay tonight,” Mr. Malone offered.

Mrs. Malone turned, shaking her head, and walked to their car. The rest of the parents looked awkward and stared at the ground. A few called out “Thank you” to Luther. Then one by one, except for Mr. Malone, they shuffled off toward the parking lot.

Luther watched them go. His face didn’t tell me what he was thinking.

What a day. First Lobo was mean to Luther, then the man at the boardinghouse didn’t want him living in the same house with him, and now these parents made him feel bad for trying to help us.

It was kind of a surprise to see some of these people—the parents of my best friends—act so different from how I knew them. Or how I thought they were. It was like you could suddenly see a part of them that they usually kept hidden in the dark.

I felt sorry for Eileen and her brothers. They had to watch their dad act so mean for no reason. I would’ve been real embarrassed.

But I bet Luther felt a lot worse.

“Sorry about all of that, Luther. But I’m glad we can have our team.”

Luther sighed. “Yeah.” He looked around at us kids. “Well, I guess we can start practice now.”