A week later, Winnie wasn’t certain having a coach made much of a difference after all. Standing in her pitcher’s square in the park, she gripped the ball and wished for an end to the worst practice they’d had since Beck agreed to coach.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t a good instructor. On the contrary, he had been patient, informative, and encouraging. The Liberty Belles had experienced a sense of invigoration and excitement under his guidance—at least, until today.
The ball slipped repeatedly from Dru’s hands, Colleen’s throws went everywhere but their intended targets, Winnie herself batted foul ticks, and Lulu hadn’t arrived yet. The weather probably didn’t help. Clouds all but obscured a colorless sky, baking the earth below with humid heat, and the team’s moods reflected the heavy atmosphere. Irene’s feet dragged over the limp grass as she took her turn at the bat. From her position in the outfield, Irene’s sister Nora, the right scout, tugged her cap from atop her thin, mouse-brown hair and waved it like a fan over her face. Her counterpart in left field, tiny, dark-haired Fannie, shoved her cuffs as high on her arms as she could while still maintaining her propriety.
Beck had stripped his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, too. The crisp white cotton of his tailored shirt emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and chest—not that Winnie should be noticing such things. Just that he was no doubt as hot as the rest of them. Other than beads of sweat on his brow, however, he didn’t show any signs of being overheated, only focused, standing several feet to the side of the home plate, his eyes narrowed.
Winnie wouldn’t complain, either. Practice was too important. She couldn’t do anything about the way her clothes stuck to her sweat-damp skin, other than pray for a breeze and determine to do her best, despite her discomfort.
As Winnie’s arm pulled back to pitch to Irene, Colleen strode past her, stopping her short. Colleen’s position as short scout enabled her to move freely about the field, but she trod right out of the diamond. “It’s too hot, Beck. Why don’t we call it a day?”
Beck shook his head. “Tomorrow’s our lone practice game against the Patriots, and we’ve only been out here twenty minutes. Not everyone is even here yet.” Meaning Lulu. Every other day this week she’d arrived with Beck, so she must be with her beau.
A small figure emerged from the willow oak near third base and dashed behind the red maple near home plate. Winnie grinned. “We have a visitor.”
“Ralph, go home!” Colleen stomped forward. “You don’t belong here.”
“I can be at the park if I want,” a high voice shouted back. “You don’t own it!”
With brows raised, Beck sauntered over toward Winnie. “Who’s our guest?”
“Ralph, Colleen’s brother. He’s our unofficial mascot.”
A small head donned in a tweed cap peered around the tree. “What’s a mascot?”
“A nuisance.” Colleen rolled her eyes.
“Ah, sisters,” Beck muttered. “Come on out, Ralph.”
Grinning, the boy leaped out, his freckled cheeks round as young apples. “I get to play?”
“No,” Colleen said.
“Yes and no,” Beck amended. “It’s a ladies’ exhibition, so we fellas can’t be on the team. But we can help, and I need a special assistant.”
Ralph’s face screwed up like he’d been presented with cod liver oil. “What’s that?”
“A batboy. Someone to make sure the striker has a bat, chase balls, that sort of thing. Do you know how to hit?”
“Sure do, mister.”
“Call me Beck.”
Winnie’s chest warmed with affection. Ralph couldn’t be more than eight or nine, but Beck had found a way to include him. She grinned until Gladys, the dishwater-blond basetender, held out her hand for Beck’s inspection. “Blisters, see? Aren’t you proud?”
“I am.” Beck chuckled. “They prove how hard you’ve been working.”
Gladys wiggled her fingers for him and giggled. Blech. Winnie squeezed the ball. “Striker to the line!”
“Oh, that’s me!” Gladys gave Beck a saucy smile. “I’m not sure I’m holding the bat right. Could you show me again?”
“Let’s see.” He sauntered with her to home base while a fresh rivulet of perspiration snaked down Winnie’s back, along with a wave of irritation. Gladys didn’t need help holding the bat any more than Winnie needed help lacing her boots.
But he was happy to help. In the past week, he’d taught them a few tricks, like how to aim where the opposing team was weak. The team had also started additional exercises, such as taking vigorous constitutionals each day to strengthen their bodies.
He’d also taught them how to better hold the bat. Now he wrapped his arm around Gladys to correct the position of her elbows. “Try a swing. Does it feel better?”
“Oh, yes.”
Winnie’s gaze caught Dru’s—until Dru crossed her eyes. Biting back a laugh, Winnie squeezed the ball. “Ready, Gladys?”
She was ready to bat, all right—her eyelashes, not the ball. “Thanks, Beck.”
“Happy to help.”
Winnie snorted and pitched the ball. Gladys squealed. “Not so fast!”
“Sorry.” Winnie didn’t mean to throw that hard.
Beck rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, it’s a good reminder that the pitcher for the Patriots, Paulette, may throw harder than you’re used to. We should all practice batting different types of balls. Try again, ladies.”
He looked at Winnie when he spoke, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile. Winnie couldn’t help but smile back. Despite his initial reservations, Beck was a good coach. Thanks, God, for bringing him here to help us.
Gladys hit the next pitch high over Winnie’s head.
“Got it!” Colleen called out, forestalling Fannie, who was rushing in from the outfield. Colleen caught it on the second bounce.
Beck pumped his fist in the air. “Excellent. Colleen called the play, and Fannie was there to assist if necessary. Well done.” In the past week, he’d coached them not just on technique and strategy, but communication as well. Now when they played, the person with the best chance of catching the ball announced her intention, preventing multiple players from rushing toward the ball at the same time.
Every player smiled at his praise.
“Sorry I’m late!”
At the frantic voice, Winnie turned. Lulu scurried over the grass, followed by a square-jawed young man with slick-backed blond hair. A glance at Beck’s mulish expression confirmed that he was Lulu’s beau, Alonzo.
“Forty minutes late, Lu.” Beck shook his head.
“I said I’m sorry.” Lulu hadn’t changed into appropriate practice garb. Instead, she wore an almond-colored confection of a dress that would be dusty in moments. “What position should I play?”
“You’re up as striker.”
His tone didn’t sound harsh to Winnie, but Lulu, as his sister, must have interpreted something in it because she glared at him and snatched the bat Ralph offered.
Ignore it and practice. Winnie tossed the ball.
Lulu’s hit sent the ball flying foul. It struck an oak tree beyond third base.
Beck shook his head. “Concentrate, Lu.”
“I am.” But she glanced at Alonzo, who stood in the shade of the tree.
“I’m serious.” Beck stepped closer. “One week from tomorrow is our exhibition game, and tomorrow is our practice game against the Patriots. We’re not ready.”
Gladys chuckled. “We will be in a week. Tomorrow’s only our practice game.”
Only? Winnie’s stomach tightened. She was competitive, true, but this wasn’t just about winning for winning sake. “It’s more than that.”
Gladys balked, but Beck held up his hand. “No, Winnie’s right. This is our chance to see what sort of team they are, and they’ll gain insight into our team, as well.”
Which, right now, didn’t look cohesive or threatening.
Dru nodded. “Then let’s show them what we’re made of, Liberty Belles.”
Before Winnie could pitch, Beck held up his hand to her. “Colleen, take over as pitcher. Winnie, come over here for a minute.”
He scooped a ball from Ralph’s bucket and held out his arm, as if to guide her off the field. For some inexplicable reason, it sent her insides aflutter, like she was nervous. How ridiculous. What was there to be nervous about? He was her coach. Wiping sweat from her brow, she accompanied him to the tree the ball had bounced off of a few minutes ago. He pointed. “See this knot right here?”
Belly high and scarred grayish brown, the knot was hard to miss. Some years ago, the tree had lost a limb, producing a saucer-sized wound on the trunk that scratched her fingertips when she touched it. “What of it?”
“I want you to hit it.” He held out the ball.
“Target practice.” Their fingers brushed as she took the ball, sending a jolt up her spine.
“Precisely. Try this—here.” He sidled alongside her, taking her right hand with his and drawing it back a little farther from her body than she usually did. “I’m sure this feels strange, but sometimes your elbow stays tucked into your side.”
It felt strange all right but not because of her arm’s motions. His words tickled her ear, his breath warmed her cheek, and the faint, rich scent of his cologne filled her senses and sent her pulse ticking. It was strange, unfamiliar, and even a little frightening. At the same time, she wanted to drop the ball and grip Beck’s fingers and—
Oh! She was as bad as Gladys, swooning because her coach had to get close to her to help her.
Maybe bad wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t a bad thing to be drawn to Beck. Who wouldn’t be? He was kind and brave and generous and handsome. She might as well admit to herself how much she liked everything about him, from his concern for his employees to his love for his sister, his deep voice to his broad chest. Oh no, did she really just think about his chest? Stop it, Winifred. It’s one thing to be drawn to him, but it’s another thing altogether to behave like a ninny.
She swallowed hard. “I’ll hold my elbow farther from my body.”
“Let’s see.” He stepped back, leaving the right side of her body afire with heat that had nothing to do with the sultry weather.
Deep breath. Don’t rush. She untucked her elbow and swung her arm back. The ball released from her fingers and hit the oak trunk just south of the knot.
“Well done.” Beck scooped up the ball and tossed it to her. “Still in the strike zone.”
“I’ll hit that knot.” It would give her something to focus on other than the strange things Beck’s proximity did to her pulse.
“I know you will.” He continued to scoop up the ball and return it to her after every pitch. She’d hit the knot twice when he paused before tossing the ball back to her. “I should make sure the others are ready for the practice game tomorrow. I’ll send Ralph over to fetch the ball for you if you’d like to keep hitting the target.”
Nodding, she stepped to take the ball from him. “Thank you, Beck.”
His brow scrunched in a confused expression before he grinned. “It’s nothing. You’re a good pitcher, but trying to hit a target is an easy way to clarify your aim.”
“Not that.” Although yes, his knowledge about baseball and his gentle coaching to help the team were just two more of the many things she liked about Beck. “Thank you for coaching us.”
His smile turned shy, and almost conspiratorial. “I’m happy to do it, really. Your friend Victor is right. I have a tendency to stay in sometimes. It’s good to be part of a team again. I hope you know I’m here for you.”
That was another thing she liked about Beck. He didn’t say things he didn’t mean. And she was starting to become aware that she wanted him to be there for her—and not just as her coach.
The next afternoon, Beck paced behind Dru as the practice game against the Patriots neared its dreadful conclusion. Despite their best attempts, the Liberty Belles floundered, and by the ninth inning, the score was 8 to 2 in the Patriots’ favor.
It probably didn’t help that the umpire chosen from among the spectators was Jocelyn’s husband, a biased observer if ever there was one since his sister-in-law pitched for the Patriots, and the blond-haired lawyer seemed to know as much about baseball as a turnip.
Rowena slid into home plate a fraction of a moment before their team’s catcher caught the ball. Jocelyn’s husband squinted at Paulette. “Is that an out?”
“Yep,” Paulette said.
“No,” Beck and the entire Liberty Belles shouted.
“It’s out, dear.” Jocelyn’s sweet tone held a hint of iron.
“Out,” Mr. Jones determined.
Jocelyn clapped. What had Beck ever seen in her?
The two of them had been children back then, but he’d hoped they’d grow up together. Her rejection damaged him worse than the bullet he took in the shoulder. Now, though, all he felt when he looked at her was cool relief that God had spared him from marrying her. This was a practice game for an upcoming charity exhibition. Why did she need her sister’s team to win even if it meant bending the rules? To trounce Beck once again?
Despite the bent rules in the opposing team’s favor, the Liberty Belles weren’t playing well. Before the bottom of the ninth, Beck waved the team over. “Nora, Lulu, are you hurt?”
Both women rubbed their shoulders, no doubt still smarting from their outfield collision. Nora shook her head. “I should’ve called the ball, like you taught us, instead of thinking I’d get it instead of Lulu.”
But neither of them had caught it. Instead they’d bumped into each other and the ball tangled in Lulu’s skirts. Nora and Lulu both knew better. Frankly, the entire team seemed to have forgotten some basic skills, but this wasn’t the time to scold. Their faces revealed they knew well how they fared.
“Colleen, you’re first up to bat. Paulette knows you’re a strong striker so she’ll send you unfair balls to prevent you from making a solid hit.”
“Coward.” Rowena sneered.
“It’s strategy.” Beck shrugged. “You’re good players. Don’t take unnecessary risks; just try to get on base.”
“Will do, Beck.” Winnie, as ever, was all business when it came to baseball. “You heard him, gals, let’s get on base.”
Paulette pitched a laughably low ball that skirted Colleen’s shins.
“Foul tick,” Jocelyn’s husband called.
“That wasn’t foul, it was unfair.” Winnie’s tone was kind but firm. “A foul tick goes out of bounds. Three unfair balls are termed a ball. Three balls and Colleen walks to first base.”
“So she needs eight more of those low ones?”
“Yes.” Winnie sounded far more patient than Beck would have if he’d responded. It was all he could do not to rub his face and groan.
Once Colleen endured nine deliberately horrid pitches and planted atop first base, Lulu hit the first pitch Paulette sent, but it was caught before it hit the ground. Gladys hit next and got to first, but the cost was Colleen being called out before she reached second base. Dru’s hit sent the Patriots scurrying in a blur of gray skirts, but the small victory was short-lived. Irene’s ball was caught just as Lulu’s had been, and even the baseball-deficient Mr. Jones could count to three.
“Three outs. That’s the game!”
Beck shook his hand as his grim-faced team shook the hands of the Patriots. Even Ralph extended a hand, at least until Paulette laughed. The sound sent a chill over Beck’s skin. “A little Liberty Belle boy, how adorable. Half a man, like their coach.”
Not even a bird chirped to break the silence that followed. Beck had heard worse and wouldn’t dignify the remark with a response, but Ralph’s face scrunched, like he knew he was being mocked but wasn’t sure how. And that made Beck’s ears burn hot. “Ralph is an invaluable member of the team—”
“And my brother,” Colleen intruded, her face pink.
“And Beck is my brother.” Lulu stomped forward, her defense surprising him.
“And an amazing, remarkable man.” Winnie stepped toe-to-toe with Paulette. Where Lulu’s defense warmed him, Winnie’s words almost knocked Beck flat. Remarkable? She wasn’t finished, though, and her knuckles popped as she curled her fingers, as if she just might hit Paulette. “I find it inexcusable that you would denigrate the sacrifice he made serving our country—”
“My, this Centennial celebration has you in a patriotic lather. Beck knows I’m teasing.” Paulette blanched, but her smile was as sweet as Jocelyn’s used to be. “Right, Beck? We used to tease when you were at the house practically every day.”
She’d been like his little sister then. Now he didn’t know her at all. He could say a million things to her, and some would be quite satisfying, but most of them would be sinful. He shook his head instead. “Good day, Paulette.”
Beck beckoned the Liberty Belles to their bench. “Ladies?” He walked ahead of them, offering a brief prayer for the best words to say to the team despite what just happened with Paulette, a distraction if ever there was one.
“Poor form, that Paulette,” Dru said.
“I’d like to rub her face in the outfield,” Rowena muttered.
Beck reached their bench. “Circle up.” When the Belles had gathered, Beck glanced back. The other team was dispersing fast. Good. They didn’t need to overhear this. “Ladies, and Ralph, Paulette’s intention was to upset us because it gives her team power over ours. We’re better off ignoring her.”
Ralph tapped Colleen’s elbow. “Why are Beck and me half men?”
Colleen bent down, but everyone was listening in. “Because you’re nine years old, and Beck only has use of one arm.”
Ralph made his cod-liver oil face again. “That’s stupid. Being short or not having an arm doesn’t make you half.”
Beck chuckled. “Thanks, Ralph. Thanks to all of you for coming to my defense, truly. You’ve touched me with your protective natures, but now we need to talk about today’s game. If the point of it was to learn about them while they learned about us, they’ll have a happy evening, because we revealed ourselves to be a disorganized mess while they worked like an oiled machine in my iron works.”
Beside him, Winnie shook her head. “You’re right.”
“We tried.” Gladys offered a cheerful smile.
“Did we?” Rowena glared at Lulu.
“I’m sorry I struck out.” Irene hung her head.
“At least you caught the ball,” Fannie said. “I couldn’t seem to do that today.”
Dru nodded at Beck. “We didn’t work together as a team.”
“They looked like one, though.” Colleen gestured to her green plaid skirt. “We don’t match.”
Beck was responsible for that error. “The team caps I ordered are coming soon. Sorry about the delay. They would’ve helped us look more like a team today.”
“It was more than that.” Colleen looked at him pityingly. “The Patriots wore gray. It made them look more uniform. Maybe we could all wear ensembles that are the same color, too.”
Dru snapped. “Something patriotic. Red?”
Fannie’s head shook. “The only red in my wardrobe is evening wear, nothing suitable for baseball.”
“Nora and I don’t have anything red at all,” Irene said. “Mama frowns on crimson.” Colleen’s brows rose. “Pity, it’s in vogue this season.”
Beck’s eyeballs started to ache. This was worse than waiting for Lulu at the milliner. “You can discuss clothes when I’m gone, but first—”
“Why don’t we wear brown?” Gladys clapped.
Rowena snorted. “Why brown?”
Gladys tipped her head to the side. “Because we’re the Liberty Belles. We could be the same color as the actual Liberty Bell.”
“The bell isn’t brown. It’s metal,” Rowena protested.
Beck stepped backward. Maybe none of the ladies would notice if he slipped out of the circle and gathered his coat. He could address their strategy issues tomorrow.
“It’s brownish, and the yoke is elm. Brown.” Gladys’s voice raised in pitch.
Colleen held up a hand. “I’m not wearing brown. It’s not flattering on me.”
Beck was almost to his coat, and once there he could call Lulu and tell everyone he’d see them tomorrow—
“Blue, then. It’s patriotic, and everyone should own something blue. Don’t you think, Beck?” Dru’s query drew him up short.
Caught. “Blue is … nice.”
Nora’s head shook. “I don’t have anything plain blue. Just my blue-and-gray plaid wool.”
Beck rubbed the bridge of his nose. How many colors were left?
“Wear that, Nora.” Winnie spoke at last, her tone flat. “We don’t have to match exactly.”
Lulu sighed. “It doesn’t matter what we wear. We won’t win, anyway. We’re horrible.”
Beck’s gaze rose, catching on Winnie’s. Her gaze fixed on him, but her words were for the others. “This isn’t about what we wear or how well we play. It’s about what we’re playing for.”
Ralph’s hand shot up. “I remember. The love of the game and Colleen’s last chance to run in public before she marries Ives.”
Colleen’s jaw went so wide she could swallow a baseball. “I ought to box your ears.”
Ralph’s hands covered his ears in protection. “It’s what Father said.”
Beck chuckled as he ruffled Ralph’s hair.
Winnie’s head tipped to the side. “I can’t blame her, Ralph. I like running in public, too. We all do, I think.” Her glance skittered over Lulu. “But we had another goal in mind. A reason to do our best.”
“The hospital.” Dru’s arm went around Winnie.
“Oh, yeah,” Ralph marveled.
Winnie hugged Dru back. “Tomorrow I think we should cut practice short and visit it.”
Beck had always liked Winnie, from the minute he saw her. The way she defended him from Paulette touched him, and he couldn’t help wondering what she would have said before Paulette cut her off.
Winnie was lovely, kind, caring, generous, and at this moment especially, a far better coach than he was.
He straightened his cap as well as his shoulders. “I’ll make arrangements.”