The Boxcar Children Summer Special, Page 2

  “Mom, this takes time,” Susan said quietly. “They want to make sure they pick the right people for the right positions.”

  “How long can it take?” Mrs. Miller snapped. “I can think of several positions that you could play.”

  Susan managed to change the topic and Jessie was relieved. It was obvious that Mrs. Miller liked having things her way!

  “Do you want to walk around the field with me?” Ann stood up. “I’d like to walk some laps while we wait for the news. It makes me edgy just sitting doing nothing.”

  “Sure, I’ll come with you,” Nicole said, gathering up her napkin and paper cup.

  “Me, too,” Violet said, jumping to her feet. Being around Mrs. Miller was making her very nervous.

  “How do you like Greenfield so far?” Violet asked Nicole a few minutes later. The three girls were walking briskly around the outer edge of the field. Each one knew that if she were chosen for the team, she’d soon be running two or three miles along the same path every day.

  “I like it a lot since we met all of you,” Nicole said. “I thought it would take a long time to make new friends, but Michael said joining this team was a good way to get started.”

  “I’m glad he thought of it,” Violet said. “But we’ll still be friends, whether we make the team or not.”

  “Oh, I hope we do,” Ann said suddenly. She stopped and peeled off her jacket. “I’m going to put this with my bat, and I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” When she left, Nicole told Violet about her family, and Violet told her all about Grandfather and how he had found the Aldens living in a boxcar.

  Nicole looked surprised. “You mean you were orphans, living on your own?”

  Violet nodded. “We thought we wouldn’t like our grandfather, but then he found us and took us into his house, and everything changed. He’s the best grandfather in the whole world,” she said. “We have a wonderful home, and a dog named Watch, and a really nice housekeeper, Mrs. McGregor, to take care of us.”

  “They’re announcing the team!” a boy said, whizzing by them.

  “Oh, let’s hurry.” The three girls jogged to the center of the field where Chuck was standing with his clipboard. Coach Warren was at his side, and he leaned over and whispered something in Chuck’s ear. Chuck nodded, and then motioned for everyone to gather around him.

  “First, I want to thank everyone for coming. I know you all tried your hardest.”

  Jessie glanced over at her sister, and noticed that she had her fingers crossed and had squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Jessie hoped that they would all be playing baseball together the following day.

  “We have the final team list,” Chuck said. “Anybody who isn’t chosen for the team can still be a substitute player. They’ll fill in if anyone gets sick or drops out.” He shaded his eyes from the sun. “Okay, here goes: Alden . . . ”

  “Which one?” Violet blurted out, opening her eyes.

  Chuck glanced at his list. “Both,” he said. “Jessie and Violet.”

  “Yippee!” Jessie threw her arms around her sister. “We made it!” Both girls were still hugging each other when they heard Nicole’s name called out. “Great! We’ll all be together!” Jessie said, pulling Nicole into the circle.

  “Michael Parker . . . Susan Miller . . . Ann Richmond . . . ”

  Violet was glad that the shy girl had made the team.

  “Where is Ann?” Jessie asked.

  “Look, there she is.” Nicole pointed to Ann, who was running across the field toward them. Nicole started waving, and then stopped and frowned. “Something’s wrong. She’s crying!”

  “Ann, what is it?” Jessie asked when Ann reached them. Ann’s eyes were red, and her face was streaked with tears.

  “My dad’s bat . . . ” she sobbed. “It’s gone! I think someone stole it!”

  “Oh Ann, I’m so sorry,” Nicole said. “We’ll help you get it back.”

  Jessie and Violet exchanged a look. The Aldens had another mystery to solve!

  CHAPTER 3

  The Search

  “Tell me exactly where you left it, Ann,” Jessie said calmly. “We’ll all work together and look until we find it.” Jessie knew how important the bat was to Ann.

  “I left it in the dugout,” Ann said tearfully. “Chuck said it was okay to put our things in that big wooden cabinet.”

  “We’ll spread out,” Jessie said, scanning the field. The field was crowded with parents and kids making their way back to their cars. “Violet, why don’t you get Benny and Henry to help you search the picnic area?” She turned to Nicole and Michael. “Could you two check the dugout again? Ann and I will cover the field.”

  Jessie and Ann walked quickly toward the center of the field, weaving in and out of the crowd. Twenty minutes later, Ann was ready to give up. “It’s no use. We’ve gone over every inch of ground,” Ann said, sniffling.

  Henry and Benny caught up with them. Jessie knew from the look on their faces that they hadn’t had any luck either.

  Henry spoke first. “I’m sorry, Ann. We looked everywhere.” He shrugged helplessly. “It seems to have vanished into thin air.”

  “We even asked Coach Warren and Chuck,” Benny piped up. “And Mr. Jackson.”

  “No one even saw it?” Ann cried. “What am I going to tell my father?”

  “It still might show up,” Violet said, hugging Ann. “Someone might have taken it by mistake, and he or she will bring it back tomorrow.”

  That night at dinner, the Aldens celebrated with Grandfather. “I’m very proud of all of you,” he said, looking around the table. “Two baseball players, a batboy, and an assistant coach.”

  “Not quite an assistant coach,” Henry said, smiling, “but thank you, Grandfather.”

  “Did you learn much about baseball today, Benny?” Grandfather asked.

  “I know I need a lot more practice,” Benny said, reaching for a breadstick. “Chuck pitched some balls to me and I swung at them, but I didn’t hit any.”

  “You know, I played a little baseball in my day,” Grandfather said. “Maybe I can give you a few pointers before it gets dark.”

  “Yippee! Let’s go!” Benny was ready to scramble off his chair, but Mrs. McGregor stopped him.

  “Not so fast, young man. You wouldn’t want to miss my hot apple pie with ice cream, would you?”

  Grandfather laughed at the look on Benny’s face. “Don’t worry, Benny, we have time to do both. Enjoy your pie.”

  Later, at bedtime, Benny told Henry about all the tips Grandfather had given him. He had learned so many things! “Do you know what it means if you swing high one time and low the next time?”

  “That you should play another position?” Henry teased him.

  Benny made a face. “That you’re probably closing your eyes. Grandfather was right. That’s exactly what I was doing!”

  “It’s getting late, Benny,” Henry said mildly. He knew his younger brother was very wound up. Benny really loved to talk!

  “And do you know what else? It’s okay to be afraid of getting hit by the ball.”

  “Is that so?” Henry asked.

  Benny nodded. “Even major league players are afraid of getting hit.” He yawned, and scooted down under the covers. “But you have to watch the pitcher, and when the pitcher throws the ball, watch the ball.” He pulled the quilt up under his chin. “You have to watch the ball all the way . . . to the bat.” Benny’s voice trailed off.

  “I’ll remember that,” Henry said softly. Benny was sound asleep. Tomorrow was going to be a big day for all of them.

  The next morning, Coach Warren divided the team into groups. Jessie, Ann, and Nicole found themselves working on fielding drills.

  “Okay, everyone!” Chuck blew a sharp blast on his whistle. “You already know how to catch . . . ”

  “We do?” Ann muttered under her breath. She was upset because she still hadn’t found her missing bat.

  “So what I’m going to teach you is fielding
, or getting ready to catch,” Chuck continued.

  “I just hope this is easier than pitching,” Jessie whispered to Ann.

  “One thing you can be sure of,” Chuck went on, “baseballs are almost never hit right at the fielder.” He casually tossed a ball in the air and caught it. “So that means you have to be ready to move. The best way to get ready is to face the batter. Stand with your feet apart, as far apart as the width of your shoulders.”

  Jessie took a step out to the side and hunkered down a little.

  “That’s good, Jessie,” Chuck said. “Lean forward a bit. And Nicole, keep your weight on the balls of your feet.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever get the hang of this,” Nicole said an hour and a half later. They were sprawled under an oak tree taking a break before learning some new drills.

  “I never thought water could taste this good,” Ann said, taking a long, cool drink. Susan Miller walked by, swinging her bat, and Ann suddenly sat bolt upright. “That’s my bat!” she said under her breath.

  “What?” Jessie looked up in surprise.

  “My bat! Susan has my father’s bat.”

  Ann started to scramble to her feet, but Nicole held her back. “Wait a minute. How can you be sure?”

  “I’d recognize it anywhere,” Ann said, her eyes flashing.

  “But why would Susan take it?” Jessie said. “Her mother bought her all new equipment. Anyway, I can’t believe she’d take something that didn’t belong to her.”

  “I can’t let her get away with it,” Ann said, flinging Nicole’s hand off her arm.

  “Wait a minute. Let’s make sure before you confront her.” Jessie glanced over her shoulder. They waited until Susan set the bat against a tree and headed for the pay phone. “Now’s our chance,” Jessie said, as the three girls dashed across the field.

  “She put tape on it,” Ann said a minute later. She was clutching the bat, picking at a strip of thick black tape. “But this is it all right. Here are the notches underneath.”

  “Was she trying to disguise it?” Nicole asked.

  “Maybe not,” Jessie said. “Sometimes people put tape on the bat where they grip it.”

  “What do we do now?” Ann said quietly. “Susan’s on her way back.”

  “We have to give her a chance to explain,” Jessie said.

  “This better be good,” Ann said. She was clutching the bat tightly to her chest.

  “Hi, everybody,” Susan said.

  Ann got right to the point. “This is my bat,” she said flatly. “I’d like to know how you got it.”

  Susan looked blank for a moment. “Your bat . . . ” she stammered. “I didn’t know. Honest.”

  “See these notches? My father put them on.”

  “But they were covered up with tape. I had no idea it was yours.” She looked at Jessie for support. “Why would I take someone’s bat?”

  “Where did you get the bat?” Jessie said.

  “In my locker. I thought the coach put it there for me.” Her eyes were welling up with tears. “My mother bought me a brand-new bat but I left it at home today. I’d never take something that wasn’t mine.” She wiped her arm across her eyes and hurried across the field.

  “Well, now what?” Nicole asked. “Are you going to tell Coach Warren?”

  “I’m just glad I got my bat back,” Ann said. “I’m not going to say anything.”

  Chuck blew the whistle just then, and everyone returned to practice. Chuck was helping Jessie practice catching fly balls, when he spotted her autographed glove. “It says Hank Aaron. Is this for real?” He examined the signature. “I guess it is.” He slipped his hand inside the glove. “I’ve always been a fan of his.”

  When they broke for lunch, Jessie put her glove in her locker. Mr. Jackson had assigned each player a green metal locker. Henry and Violet joined her at the picnic table, and Benny came racing up with Michael and Nicole. Everyone was starving.

  In between bites of her cheese and tomato sandwich, Nicole told everyone about Susan and the bat.

  “At least she got her bat back,” Violet said.

  “But it doesn’t solve the mystery of who took it,” Henry said. “Not if Susan’s telling the truth.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Nicole said. “She was really upset. She was crying!”

  “Well, let’s all be extra careful.” Henry advised. “Jessie, where’s your glove?” he said suddenly.

  “It’s safe,” she told him. “Put away in my locker.”

  Except Jessie was in for a surprise. When she returned to her locker after lunch, she saw the door swinging open.

  “Ohmigosh!” Nicole blurted out. “Someone’s been in your locker. Is everything okay?”

  Jessie looked inside. The locker was empty. “No, it’s not okay,” she said, close to tears. “My glove’s gone.”

  Violet came up behind her just then, and realized what had happened. “Oh, Jessie, I’m so sorry,” she said. “What do we do now?”

  Henry, who was right behind Violet, spoke first. His voice was low, his expression tight. “We catch a thief,” he said grimly.

  CHAPTER 4

  A Fake!

  “I’m sure your glove will turn up, Jessie,” Violet said the next day. “After all, Ann found her bat, didn’t she?”

  In the hands of another player, Jessie thought. It was nine o’clock in the morning, and everyone was lined up to practice hitting.

  “Be more aggressive, Susan,” Chuck shouted. The blonde girl nodded and hit the ball again as Jessie watched. After a few more hits, Chuck signaled for the next player to step forward, and Susan dropped back to the end of the line.

  “I think we’re getting better,” she said to Jessie. “At first I couldn’t hit the ball at all. Now I’m getting two out of three.”

  “All our practice is paying off,” Jessie said.

  “Baseball is taking up a lot of my time,” Susan said. She flexed the fingers on her right hand. They were cramped from gripping the bat too tightly. “I’ve had to let my painting and drawing slide.”

  “You’re an artist?”

  Susan looked a little shy. “My aunt’s the real artist in the family. She gives me art lessons every week, but I’ve had to cut back since I started coming here.”

  The line moved forward then, and Violet tried gripping the bat the way Chuck had showed her: fingers half an inch away from the knob, with the middle knuckles lined up.

  Meanwhile, Benny was getting some advice on baseball from Mr. Jackson. “Do you know how to tell if you’ve got the right bat, Benny?” The two were sorting through the equipment during the morning’s practice.

  Benny shook his head. “No, they all look alike to me.” He put down a stack of helmets, hoping Mr. Jackson would go on talking. There was so much he could learn about baseball, and he didn’t want to miss a word.

  “I’ll show you a little trick, son,” Mr. Jackson said, handing Benny a shiny new bat. He positioned Benny’s arm so Benny was holding the bat straight out in front of him. “Count to ten, Benny.”

  “One . . . two . . . three . . . ” Benny had no idea what Mr. Jackson was up to.

  “Getting a bit tired?” The bat sagged a little as Benny kept on counting. “That means it’s too heavy for you. The secret is to hold the bat straight out for ten seconds. If your arm doesn’t droop, it means it’s the right weight.” He handed Benny another bat. “Try this one.”

  “Wow! I bet you know everything in the world about baseball.”

  “I’ve been around the game a long time,” Mr. Jackson said. “Seen a lot of changes in my day.” He paused and rubbed his neck thoughtfully. “Of course, not all the changes are for the good.”

  “Like what?” Benny scooted up onto a workbench, with his feet dangling off the edge.

  “In my day, baseball was a boy’s game,” Mr. Jackson said gruffly. “Nowadays the girls all play.” He swept a screwdriver and a saltshaker off the workbench into a drawer.

  Benny sta
rted to reply, but Henry walked into the dugout just then with a pile of clean towels. What was wrong with girls playing baseball? he wondered. His sisters played!

  Later that morning, Nicole and Violet decided to dash to a nearby store for lemonade. Although the day was sunny and warm, the field had been muddy and practice had been hard. “We have ten minutes for break,” Nicole said a little breathlessly. “That’s three minutes each way, and four minutes to buy the drinks.” Coach Warren was very strict about breaks, and anyone who came back late had to run laps.

  “Is it lunchtime?” a dark-haired woman asked when they entered the store. Violet recognized her from tryouts. She had been with Susan Miller.

  “Not yet,” Violet said politely. “We just have a short break. Are you Mrs. Miller?”

  “No, I’m Susan’s aunt, Edna Sealy,” Mrs. Sealy said.

  “It seems like I’ve been waiting for hours.” She looked disgusted. “How long can that stupid game go on?”

  Nicole and Violet exchanged a look. Mrs. Sealy didn’t seem to like baseball. So why did she bother coming to practice?

  “Did you see Susan hitting this morning?” Violet asked. “She’s doing much better. Chuck says she has a lot of talent.”

  “I guess you could call it that,” Mrs. Sealy said sourly. “If you think it takes any talent to hit a ball with a stick. And no, I didn’t see her play. I dropped her off this morning and have been doing errands ever since.” She watched as the girls scooped up their drinks. “Tell Susan to try to finish early.” She sighed. “I’d like her to get some painting in today.” She walked to the window, and Violet noticed that her tennis shoes were caked with bright red mud. Where had she seen that strange color before? she wondered.

  “We will,” Nicole said, darting out the door. Poor Susan, she thought. The coach had already told them that practice would be running late. Her aunt would really be upset.

  The Aldens had lunch with their new friends, Nicole and Michael.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be a pitcher,” Michael moaned. “My arm feels like it’s ready to drop off.” He rubbed his upper arm with the flat of his hand.