By the end of their shortened practice the next afternoon, Winnie’s muscles ached. So did her pride. Despite her best attempts to remember her lessons about aiming, her pitches went afield.
“What’s wrong?” Dru came alongside her during a break.
“Paulette Perry. How dare that woman say such a vile thing about Beck, even as a joke?”
“I don’t know, but it didn’t seem to bother him. Or if it did, he turned the other cheek.” Dru nudged her arm. “Want to visit the art gallery at the Centennial Exhibition with me and Xavier tomorrow? You and I missed it on our jaunt, and you might enjoy it.”
It was kind of Dru to invite Winnie out with her and her beau, but Winnie wasn’t in the mood. She needed to pray and think. “I think I need a quiet evening.”
“Sure.” Dru took her turn at bat with Colleen pitching.
Was that why Beck hadn’t spoken up? He’d turned the other cheek? Winnie respected and admired it even as she wasn’t sure she wanted to follow his example.
“Forgive, as I have forgiven you.”
Winnie sighed. Help me want to, Lord. That might be the logical first step.
She was still praying and mulling during the ride to the Children’s Hospital in one of the carriages Beck had rented. Colleen, Nora, and Dru shared her coach, chatting about Colleen’s upcoming wedding. Dru nudged Winnie’s shoulder.
“I don’t expect it’ll be long before Rowena and Fannie’s beaus propose. What about you?”
Winnie’s throat dried. “Me?”
Rowena bent forward. “Do you think Victor will ask for your hand?”
The others watched Winnie with expectation, but Winnie shook her head. “He’s not my beau. He’s …” She searched for a word. “Papa’s protégé.”
“I didn’t necessarily mean Victor, Winnie.” Dru grinned. “Surely another gentleman has caught your eye?”
Winnie’s eyes widened in warning at Dru. “I don’t have a beau.”
“But there’s someone,” Rowena persisted.
Nora giggled. “I think it’s Beck. She gets all moon-eyed when she looks at him.”
“He’s our coach, that’s all.” Winnie’s arms folded. “We were talking about betrothals. What about you, Dru? Don’t you think Xavier will propose?”
“I hope so.” Dru chuckled. “It’s long past time. But let’s talk more about Beck.”
“Or his friend Gilby,” Nora said with a sigh. “Every time he comes to the field with a paper or question for Beck, my knees wobble.”
Dru stared Winnie down. “Do your knees wobble for Beck?”
The carriage lurched to a halt in front of the Children’s Hospital and there was, thankfully, no time for anyone to press her further.
But there was nothing to tell, honestly. True, she was drawn to Beck and just thinking of him made her insides spongy as a trifle dessert, but she and Beck were nothing but a team member and coach. Descending from the carriage to Beck’s waiting smile made her wish it was something more, though.
“Welcome, ladies and gentleman—pardon me, gentlemen.” Smiling down at Ralph, one of the physicians, a balding, thin fellow named Dr. Post, greeted them on the hospital stoop. “We are so grateful you are playing an exhibition game on our behalf.”
“We appreciate your work, Doctor.” Beck shook his hand. “Are you certain a tour won’t interfere?”
“Not at all. Some of our patients are eager for visitors and would like to meet you.”
Beck grabbed a bucket of pale-brown baseballs and brought them inside—oh, as gifts. How thoughtful! He caught her smiling at him and she flushed hot.
On the brief tour, Winnie attempted to view the hospital through the others’ eyes. She’d been here countless times, reading to patients and rolling bandages. Dru had come a few times, as well. But what did the others think, passing bed after bed of tiny ones too ill to be treated at home? Beck offered each child a ball, and Dr. Post laughingly warned them not to throw them at the nurses.
Dr. Post led them to a larger chamber full of cots. On one bed, two nightclothes-clad boys younger than Ralph sat cross legged, a pouch of spilled marbles between them.
“Are you playin’?” Ralph leaned to look.
“Just lookin’.”
Beck squatted beside the bed. “Those are some fine marbles.”
The freckled boy coughed. Dr. Post patted the boy’s head. “Kenny, Zechariah, greet our guests, the Liberty Belles baseball team.”
“Baseball? I can’t wait to play again once I go home,” Kenny said.
The curly-headed lad, Zechariah, didn’t respond when Beck offered them each a baseball. He just flicked a marble with his forefinger.
Dr. Post moved on, introducing other children, but Winnie held back when Beck didn’t rise from his position on the floor. He peered up at the lad. “Do you like baseball, Zechariah?”
“Sure. But I can’t play no more.”
His right sleeve was pinned closed where the boy’s elbow should be. She hadn’t noticed, but Beck had. Slowly, Beck’s hand pulled his left arm up to rest on the bed. “This arm of mine doesn’t work. It’s still here, but I can’t use it. It’s floppy as a dead fish.” He pulled a face, which made the boys chuckle. “I play a little baseball anyway.”
“You do?” Zechariah’s brows shot under his curly fringe.
“Sure. Not well, maybe. What do you think, Miss Myles?” He looked up at Winnie.
“You throw better than I do, Mr. Emerson.”
“Catching isn’t always easy, but the thing is, I can do most of the same things I did before I got shot in the war. Just a little differently, is all.”
“I reached for the firewood, and my brother wasn’t done with the ax.” Zechariah’s voice was soft. Winnie’s stomach lurched. What a tragic accident.
Beck’s swallow was audible. “But we persevere, don’t we?”
Feeling a little like an interloper, Winnie stepped back. Beck was ministering to Zechariah, and even Kenny’s attention was fixed on him. His care was its own sort of medicine, a lesson that might make a difference in the way they lived their lives. To persevere, even when it was difficult. She dabbed a tear from her eye.
The tear became several as Winnie glimpsed her team with the children. Gladys read to a girl with a bandage over her eye. Ralph, Irene, and Nora engaged in a game of jacks on the floor with three boys. Rowena and Colleen chatted with patients, and Lulu perched on the bed of a young woman with bandaged hands, perhaps twelve years of age, to comb her hair for her.
Maybe like Winnie, they would be blessed by the visit, even though they’d been the ones who’d come to learn and be a blessing.
After thanking Dr. Post and promising to return, the Liberty Belles sauntered out to the carriages, chattering about the children. Beck and Winnie followed, their pace slower. One ball remained in his bucket, and he pocketed it. “How’s that for planning?”
She looked up at him. “You were wonderful with those boys. Especially Zechariah.”
“I’ll keep him in my prayers. He has a rough adjustment ahead.”
“But it will be a little easier, now that he’s met someone who’s been through it.”
“He made a few things easier for me, too, although he has no idea of it. He reminded me of how far God brought me through my experience. That, and there’s always hope.” He assisted her into one of the carriages—not the one she’d ridden over in. This one contained Lulu and Gladys, who chattered the entire way to Gladys’ grand manse at one end of Rittenhouse Square. Beck saw her to the door, then returned, smiling at Winnie.
“Would you mind if we leave Lulu and the carriage at our house, and I’ll walk you home? I’d like to ask you something.”
Winnie startled. A walk alone with Beck? “Of course.”
If Lulu thought Beck’s request strange, she didn’t show it, hurrying inside mumbling something about Alonzo calling soon. Beck offered his arm and Winnie took it, starting down the street until they reached the green of the square. “Shall we cut through? I don’t think you mind walking on grass.”
She laughed. Her hem was stained with it, as well as mud, since they hadn’t changed after practice. “Not at all.”
Birdsong among the green leaves overhead and the fresh scent of scythed grass filled her senses. Her house was in sight, but she didn’t want to stop walking on Beck’s arm—although she couldn’t ignore the trepidation in her chest. “Is anything wrong?”
“Of course not.” He stopped walking. “Why?
“Because you said you had a question for me.”
“I do.” Beck’s brow furrowed. “About yesterday, when Paulette said what she did to me and Ralph. Why did you defend me?”
Beck shouldn’t have asked so bluntly, if at all. It had sounded like he was begging her to state how she felt about him, and while he’d love to know, he wasn’t in any sort of position to court a woman.
Although he couldn’t remember why at present, when she looked up at him through those thick dark lashes.
But that was neither here nor there. He shouldn’t have asked because he already knew the answer. Winnie had defended him because she was the sort of woman who didn’t tolerate injustice. How to take the question back? “I appreciate you stepping up for me, I do. It touched me that you cared—you and Lulu. So, I don’t have a question after all. Just—thank you.”
He sounded like an idiot.
She flushed. “So you saw my hand fisted. I didn’t think I was a violent person, but I was so angry, I didn’t even realize what I was doing.” Her head shook. “What she said to Ralph was unkind. He’s a child. But what she said to you—well, you were there. Even now, thinking of it, my stomach is as tight as my fist was yesterday. I don’t think I would have struck at her—I’ve never hit anyone—but I’m capable of things I never thought I could be, I suppose.”
“We all are.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “But thanks for coming to my defense.”
“The Liberty Belles care about you.”
“I care about them, too.” Some more than others, though. Maybe it was time to revisit his decision not to court anyone.
“Winnie!” A high, childish voice carried across the green. A dark-haired little girl in a pink dress and straw hat dashed toward them, followed by a woman whose gray gown all but shouted “governess.”
“Good afternoon, Penny.” Winnie smiled at the governess. “Miss Foster, good day.”
“Good day, Miss Myles, sir.” Miss Foster’s clear eyes curved with her smile.
Winnie performed introductions, sharing that Penelope Beale was her next-door neighbor. Little Penny curtsied. She hadn’t risen to her full height, however, when she scowled up at Winnie. “You’re dirty.”
“We’ve been playing baseball.”
Her mouth formed an O. “I want to play.”
Miss Foster touched the child’s shoulder. “They aren’t playing anymore, Penny.”
Beck pulled out the ball that he’d pocketed at the Children’s Hospital. “We could play for a few minutes, if that’s well with you, Miss Foster.”
She nodded, so Beck held up the ball. “Hold out your arms and catch.”
Penny held her arms stiff in front of her. Winnie molded Penny’s hands so they cupped open, as if they were about to receive water for washing. He sent the ball the short distance between them, and it hit Penny’s forearms and bounced to the grass.
She scrambled for the ball before he could bend to pick it up. “Again!”
“As you wish, madam.” He tossed. It hit her cupped hands and bounced off. She retrieved it and threw it directly at his stomach. “Ooph.”
Winnie’s mouth moved. Are you hurt?
No, he mouthed back. “Nice throw, Penny.”
This time, the little girl caught the ball. Beck, Winnie, and Miss Foster clapped, and Penny bounced, making the ruffles on her pink dress wobble. She was a darling little—
Oomph. Now that ball to the gut hurt.
Winnie’s hand flew to her mouth. Oblivious, Penny hopped up and down and clapped. “Again!”
“I think it’s enough for today.” Miss Foster took her charge’s hand. “Are you injured, sir?”
“No. I’d not be much of a coach if I didn’t get hit now and again.” He managed what he hoped was a genuine smile. “Perhaps we’ll see you at the exhibition.”
“I shall ask Mr. and Mrs. Beale,” Miss Foster said.
Penny waved. “I hope you win, Winnie. Win Winnie. That’s funny.”
“It’s hilarious,” Beck agreed.
Miss Foster nudged her charge along.
Beck tossed the ball to Winnie.
Winnie caught it and, absently, sent it back, an easy catch for his one hand. “Are you hurt, really?”
“I’m fine. She’s got a good arm, though.”
Winnie chuckled, but her eyes were sad. “I was only a little older than she is when my mother died. I missed her so much—I still do—but even though I had a lovely nanny, she wasn’t my mother. Does that make sense? Penny’s mother travels often. I suspect Mr. and Mrs. Beale are only here now because of the Centennial. Miss Foster is a wonderful governess, but I think Penny misses her parents. There is a certain loneliness about her sometimes. I don’t wish it to always be so for her, so I pray for her.”
“God will care for her.”
“And for the rest of us.” She waggled her fingers, expecting him to return the ball, so he complied. Their gentle game of catch continued. “I’m trying to remember that for myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Papa wants me to marry.” She caught the ball and tossed it back. “He doesn’t want me to be alone when he passes on.”
“So you’ll marry soon, then?” The thought didn’t sit well on his stomach.
“I told Papa I’d consider the matter. I’m confident the exhibition game will be my last. Female squads are temporary things, and the domain of the young and unwed.”
It was clear how much Winnie would miss it. He clutched the ball tight in his fingers. “I know a little what it’s like to not play baseball anymore.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Forgive me, I didn’t think.”
“That isn’t what I meant. Just that … I understand.”
Her gaze softened. “Thank you. But unlike your circumstance, I know when my last game will be. That’s why I am trying to squeeze all the fun I can out of it before it is too late.”
“I haven’t had fun like this in a long time.”
“It’s difficult to resist Penny.” Winnie laughed, the sound pleasing and musical as a carillon of bells.
Penny was fun, all right, but that wasn’t what he’d meant. Winnie had reminded him life could be enjoyable. He threw the ball to her, but it slipped through her hands like water.
She burst into laughter. “I am a butterfingers all of a sudden.”
“Please tell me you plan to wipe your buttery hands before the game, then.”
“You are incorrigible.” She lobbed the ball at him, laughing too hard to aim.
It landed at his feet. “Aren’t you supposed to be a pitcher?”
Her laughter paused so she could mock gasp. “Incorrigible!” She dashed for the ball and threw it at him, but she started laughing again and the ball sailed so high and far to his left that he didn’t even try to catch it. Not that he could have, because all of a sudden he was laughing so hard he couldn’t move.
His stomach hurt, and not just from Penny chucking the ball into his midsection. When he managed to catch his breath, an inelegant snort escaped Winnie’s nose.
Her eyes widened.
So did Beck’s. “Was that you or a horse?”
They burst out laughing again. After a moment, she staggered to where she’d thrown the ball so far from him. “I’ve a mind to throw this at you, like a snowball—”
Her words cut off. She straightened, staring at her house. While they’d been teasing, a coach arrived, and her father’s protégé Victor stood watching them, his mouth set in a disapproving line.
Winnie rubbed her mouth, as if wiping off any trace of a smile.
Regret soured Beck’s stomach. Laughing with her in the square was not criminal or indecent, but it was unconventional. “I should have taken more care with your reputation, Winnie. I’m sorry.”
She looked up at him, blinking. “Don’t be a goose, Beck. We did nothing wrong. Papa is accustomed to me causing a scene. I do play baseball, after all.”
But Victor’s presence certainly dampened Winnie’s mood. He clearly didn’t like that Winnie laughed with Beck. Maybe he was more than her father’s protégé. “Is he your beau?”
“He accompanies us socially, like to the charity ball next week at the Exhibition, but a beau? I’ve never—that is, no.” Her words came out in a rush. “Will you be there? At the ball?”
“Yes.” He decided that instant. “Lulu wants to go.”
“Wonderful. We will see you there.”
“And tomorrow at practice.”
Her cheeks reddened again. “Well, yes.”
Beck rocked back on his heels, feeling lighter in his chest. “Thank you for today. For the hospital. And for this.” Whatever it was.
“Thank you, too, Beck.” Her smile warmed him to his toes.