Weeping Angel (30 page)

She couldn't ask him now, not with so many people milling around. Amelia caught a glimpse of Narcissa and Cincinatus Dodge. The mayor was decked out in his best suit, this being the more important holiday in town at which he officiated. Narcissa was more radiant, more lovely than Amelia had ever seen her.

Amelia had dashed over to Narcissa's as soon as she pulled the rags out of her hair and wiped off her face to tell her about the change in plans. Narcissa had been concerned over her going with Pap O'Cleary, and her fears weren't quelled by the announcement she was now attending the picnic with Frank. She cautioned Amelia not to enter into anything with blinders on. Amelia had reassured her she wouldn't.

Narcissa gave Amelia and Frank a cordial smile, then kept walking through the crowd with her husband.

“I don't see any coffee to be had,” Frank remarked, pulling Amelia from her thoughts. “You'd think they would have some.”

“Why don't we get strawberry frappés instead?” she suggested.

“I've never had one of those.”

“You haven't?” She laughed. “Why, my goodness. You've never had shrub nor a milk shake. Where have you been?”

“Here and there.”

She smiled. “You'll have to tell me where exactly here and there are.”

“I might.”

Just within eyesight of the ice-cream stand, Amelia wished she'd never made the suggestion. Emmaline Shelby stood at the corner of the table with Orlu Blue, and she looked up at precisely the same moment Amelia noticed her. The woman's face turned white with astonishment.

Too late to steer in the other direction, Emmaline was coming right for them, leaving Orlu behind. “Well, as I live and breath, it's Frank Brody,” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? With her?”

Frank gazed over Emmaline's shoulder. “You forgot Orlu, Em.”

“Orlu Blue?” She shrugged. “I didn't really come
with him. He met me here.” She shot Amelia a withering glance. “Is that what happened with you two? You ran into each other?”

Amelia would have set the woman straight if Frank hadn't intervened and said, “Circumstances brought us here together.”

“Well, then it wouldn't be imposing for me to steal him away from you, Amelia.” She hooked her arm through his. “Why, Frank, honey, there's this darling bisque doll in the fishing booth you've just got to hook for me.”

Frank didn't budge, and Emmaline tripped. She gazed at him with a frown worrying her lips. “What's the matter?”

“I'm with Miss Marshall, and it wouldn't be polite if I just went off and left her, would it?”

From the look on her face, Emmaline would have disagreed if not for the fact Cobb Weatherwax chose that moment to step up to the group. He'd prettied himself up in a scarlet linen shirt with neck lacings and frontier trousers made out of buckskin. He wore a fringed bag at his waist, and a stovepipe-shaped top hat made out of beaver felt on his mane of hair. He cradled his long Kentucky rifle.

“I seen you acrost the way thar, and I come to say howdy.” Lowering the barrel of his gun, Cobb nodded at Amelia. “Miz Marshall. Yore looking fitten for the day.”

“Thank you, Mr. Weatherwax.”

Amelia noted Emmaline didn't hide the wariness on her face when it came to staring at Cobb. Her eyes roamed over his figure, pausing on the silt brown hair that covered most of his head. She stifled a shiver of revulsion, and it angered Amelia. Cobb may not look fashionable or handsome, but underneath all that hair was a true genius.

There was a moment's silence before Frank made
the necessary introductions. “Miss Shelby, this is Cobb Weatherwax. Cobb, this is Miss Emmaline Shelby.”

“Pleased t'metcha, Miz Shelby.” He doffed his hat. “Didje know the base of that perfume yore wearing comes from beaver's castoreum?”

Emmaline took a step backward so Cobb couldn't get close to her. “No, I didn't know that.”

“Well, it is. Beavers are good for many things. Most of 'em yore not aware of, I'm sure.”

“I'm sure.” Emmaline kept backing away. “If you'll excuse me . . . Orlu is waiting.”

Amelia watched the woman retreat, glad Cobb had come when he had. Emmaline wasn't giving up on Frank, and her gall put Amelia in a dour frame of mind.

Amelia said nothing further as Frank and Cobb purchased the strawberry milk shakes. She waited for Frank under the shade of an alpine larch, feeling good he hadn't gone off with Emmaline when she invited him. Whatever had been between them was apparently over—at least in Frank's eyes.

Frank returned, handed her a glass, and the three of them sipped the cool confections while watching the events around them.

Amelia's attention was pulled toward a group of men who'd converged next to the beer barrel, hotly debating the subject of baseball team captains again. It was fairly clear since Oscar Beamguard owned the mercantile, and he was donating the flour bags for the bases and the lines, he would be in charge of one team. Up for grabs was the leader of the opposing side, and thus far Wendell Reed was in the running, seeing that he had a healthy amount of recruits from his sawmill. In contention with him was liar Stock, owner of the Tumbling T ranch.

The two men shouted at each other, then suddenly Wendell punched liar in the nose hard enough for
blood to dribble out of his nostril. Before anyone could blink an eye, liar got a lick into Wendell's bread basket.

“Oh, my!” Amelia gasped, horrified as all parties involved broke out in fisticuffs. “Someone should do something!”

“Like what?” Frank asked, obviously unaffected by the brawl. The tone of his voice suggested he'd witnessed such spectacles many times.

“I don't know,” she answered just as a spry sawhand jumped on liar's back for a ride. “Something!”

“Hyar.” Cobb Weatherwax shoved his glass at Frank and strolled toward the scuffle. He raised his Kentucky rifle to the air and kicked off a shot of black powder. The explosion tore up a Japanese lantern, and tiny pieces of colorful paper littered the air.

All those tangled-up men froze, and Cobb in his calm voice recommended, “I think there ought to be a better way to settle this hyar fight, gentlemen.” When no one objected, he continued. “I don't think thar's a dispute as to who's going to head one team. It's t'other we got to worry over, but I cain't see no problem on that. I know yore man. He's Frank Brody.”

Frank cursed under his breath, and while holding both his and Cobb's glasses, raised his hands. “Hell, no. I'm not playing ball.”

By now, the fracas had collected a fair share of onlookers, one of them being Daniel Beamguard. “Come on, Mr. Brody. I want to see you knock the cover off the ball.”

A few others joined in with their agreement, even those who were involved in the fight. The crowd pressed Frank to the point where he started glancing around for an easy escape.

Amelia couldn't understand his reluctance to play a harmless game of baseball. She didn't know much about the game other than the haphazard way the men
of Weeping Angel ran around a square after swinging at a pitched ball, gave off mild oaths when they didn't hit the ball, and got dirty when they caught the ball.

Cobb said, “Frank, I really think you ought to show them ezactly what you can do.”

“Please,
Mr. Brody,” Daniel begged. “It's the Fourth of July picnic, and it just wouldn't be the same without a baseball game. I've just gotta see you hit a ball. I won't hardly stand it if I don't get the chance.”

A few of the other boys chimed in as well.

“Please!”

“Come on, Mr. Brody!”

Frank shook his head in resignation. “All right. One game.”

“Hooray!” Daniel Beamguard exclaimed.

“If we're going to play, we'll play serious.” Frank turned to Amelia after passing off the frappé glasses to the twins, Walter and Warren. “I'll be back in a minute.”

He left and she followed the easy way he moved with her gaze. He had a tall grace to his stride, making him stand out from the other men. She wondered where he was going, but soon the crowd got moving, and she didn't have time to miss him.

While Frank was gone, the men set up the diamonds by laying a series of flour lines and using the remaining Pink Label sacks with just enough inside to be plump bases. Chairs were set up in a half square around the playing field, and the chalkboard from the schoolhouse was brought in. Reverend Thorpe was designated as the scorekeeper—he being the only trustworthy one in the bunch, while Daniel Beamguard complained about having to be in charge of his father's bats. He wanted to field for Frank, but Oscar wouldn't hear of that.

Teams were drawn up, most of the sawmill workers opting to play with Frank; the cowboys from the
Tumbling T hooked up with Beamguard's Mercantile after Oscar promised each man a free month's supply of canned beans if they played for him.

Then the sides were named: the Moon Rock Warriors and the Mercantile's Majors.

Frank was back in a matter of minutes. Amelia stared at him as he came toward the diamond, not prepared for the change in his attire. He wore a pair of blue, round-lens glasses—the kind the catalog sold for weak eyes—and a flannel cap that said
Chicago
rested on his jet black hair. He carried a uniform bag and had put on a funny pair of lace-up shoes. He hadn't given up his white shirt and the fine red brocade vest or his black linen trousers.

“Holy smoke!” Daniel said in awe. “He's wearing a Chicago White Stockings hat.”

“What's the glasses for?” Oscar asked, scratching his head.

“So I can see the ball.”

“You got eyesight trouble, Brody?”

“No.”

“You'll cut your eye out with a shattered lens if you get hit in the face with the ball.”

“If I get hit in the face with the ball, then I'm deserving of having my eye cut out,” Frank said caustically as he deposited his bag on the ground. Turning, he sized up his players. He counted them off. “I'm short a man.”

Daniel jumped up and down. “Me, Mr. Brody! I'll be your man!”

“No, you won't,” Oscar bristled. “You get on over to the sidelines and wait until I call you.”

Frank gazed at the spectators, especially Cobb. “Any man who makes his living by shooting ought to have a good eye and a steady hand—the two most important qualities in a pitcher. Cobb, come here and be on my team.”

Cobb took a long moment to answer. “I guess I could try it. I ain't never thrown a ball afore. Thrown a line trap at a beaver on occasion.”

“That'll do.”

The men gathered around, and from where Amelia sat, she was able to hear Frank.

“All right. We'll play by Hanlon's basic rules.”

“Who the hell is Hanlon?” Oscar asked.

Frank frowned. “Ned Hanlon.” When that didn't get a rise out of Oscar, Frank clarified. “He managed the Baltimore Orioles in '94 and taught the players to back up bases and each other, and to change positions for cutoff throws.”

“Huh?”

Frank adjusted the brim of his hat. “Aw, hell. Just go out there and shag some balls.”

All the men nodded.

Daniel took a seat next to Amelia, and she smiled at him. “Do you know how to play this game?”

“Heck, yeah.”

“Then perhaps you'll keep me informed as to when I should applaud.”

“Sure, Miss Marshall.”

At Amelia's left sat Narcissa and Cincinatus, and just five chairs down, Emmaline Shelby. Emmaline didn't glance her way, but Amelia watched her from the corner of her eye. The woman pretended to be enthusiastic about Orlu playing for the Majors, but her gaze was pinned on the man heading up the Warriors.

Reverend Thorpe flipped a coin, and Frank called it to hit first. The game began amidst a loud cheering. Amelia tried to follow what Daniel was telling her, but he used abbreviations that were confusing.

“He's ahead of the count, Miss Marshall,” Daniel said when one of the Warriors was up to bat.

Just when she thought she could understand the
game, the rules appeared to change, and she couldn't keep track. The batters seemed to take a long time at the plate, shifting and adjusting their stance. It was a waste of time. For all the preparations and precautions, Orlu struck them out anyway.

Holding on to her umbrella, Amelia tried to remain sedate under the shade her parasol offered. But as soon as Frank went up to the plate, as Daniel called it, she sat straighter and waited for him to take a swing.

He fingered the bill of his cap, then bent down to rub some dirt on his hands. His flexing backside strained the fabric of his trousers; the cut of his clothing suddenly seemed too tight. Amelia felt a tingling consciousness of the strength of his muscles. She had to fight the urge to sway toward him. It was Daniel's voice that stopped her.

“Come on, Mr. Brody! Hit a good one.”

Oscar glared at his son and shook his head disapprovingly.

Frank picked up his bat. He wasn't playing with one from the mercantile, but rather the Spalding Daniel had made a fuss over. Amelia couldn't see anything special about the wood. It looked like a bat to her.

The crowd began making calls, trying to rile the game. As far as Amelia could tell, nothing special had happened. Two strikeouts seemed pretty boring. She wanted to see someone connect with the ball.

Orlu tilted the angle of his cowboy hat, wound his arm back, and let the ball speed toward Frank.

Frank sliced his arm through the air, the tip of the bat catching a piece of the ball. It flew through the sky like a bird going too fast to see clearly at first. The two men standing in the outfield raced to catch the ball but crashed into each other while the ball landed and bounced toward their feet.

“He walloped a fast ball to the left!” Daniel screamed while he nudged Amelia.

The onlookers went wild as Frank tossed his bat and made it as far as third base. Amelia was just as enthusiastic as everyone else, frantically clapping.