Beyond the Lies: A Novel

By Vanderbilt Brabson III

Surpassing the expectations his father had for him, Anthony Morgan is poised to be the biggest phenomenon baseball has seen in years. Anthony’s future is set. He has worked hard for it, dreamed about it all his life, and can practically taste it! However, what Anthony could not foresee was the untimely death of his father—his mentor

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doretha Publishing, Inc
• Release date: Jan 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9780982842744

Book preview

One

Ten-year-old Anthony Morgan sat squirming restlessly in his seat and with good reason. Dinner time was always special in their home, a time when his family shared experiences, relaxed, and discussed their day. But the kitchen table was also the place where all family matters were addressed, and Anthony feared tonight would be no exception, especially for him. The faint growl of hunger normally heard in his stomach this time of day had been replaced by a gnawing uneasiness. It didn’t matter that the kitchen was filled with the inviting smells of his mother’s wonderful cooking. On this particular evening, food was the last thing on young Anthony’s mind. Anthony’s thoughts returned to the present—just in time to notice his father bow his head. Anthony followed suit.

Dear God, bless this food and thank You for providing it for our family. May it be nourishment and strength for our bodies, and, Lord, bless my lovely wife who prepared it, in Jesus’ name, amen.

Amen, Margaret repeated.

Amen, Anthony also repeated.

John wasted no time reaching forward and grasping the pitcher of freshly brewed ice tea in front of him. He filled his glass to the brim and took a sip, which was quickly followed by a deep refreshing drink.

My—my, now that’s good tea. It’s as good as you are fine, woman! he said with a smile and a wink at his wife.

Margaret blushed. John, don’t start.

Before the color had left Margaret’s cheeks, John abruptly changed the subject. Whew! I tell you, I think this country’s going crazy.

Margaret looked over at her husband. Are you talking about what happened earlier today?

John nodded his head as though just mentioning it took quite a bit of emotional effort. Yeah.

Anthony reached for his fork. What happened, Daddy?

I’m sorry, son, I thought everybody’d heard about it by now. Earlier today a man attempted to assassinate President Reagan just as he was leaving a speaking engagement at the Washington Hilton Hotel.

Really? Anthony’s eyes grew wide with surprise, which for the moment helped him forget his own personal discomfort.

Yes, but thank God they caught him, and now he’s in jail.

Anthony leaned forward. Did the president get shot?

Yes, I’m afraid so. Then softening his voice John continued, But the good news is it looks like the president’s going to be okay.

Wow, uttered Anthony under his breath.

Unfortunately, some of the men with the president also got shot. So, when you say your prayers tonight, son, pray for the president and for the other individuals who also were hurt. Okay?

Yes, sir.

John smiled. That’s my boy. Shoving a fork full of Margaret’s delicious green beans into his mouth, John’s taste buds savored the flavor. Her green beans were always seasoned to perfection in a slightly salted broth of sweet onions, oregano, ham bits, and honey.

As he rested his fork, he turned his attention to his wife. How’s your day been, sweetie?

Pretty busy. I fi-nal-ly, Margaret exaggerated the word for emphasis, completed Mr. Dixon’s taxes.

Did he ever find those receipts you asked for?

Margaret took a quick sip of ice tea before answering. Some of ’em.

John’s face reflected his contentment. He always enjoyed these evening meals with his family. I like Mr. Dixon. He’s a nice man, and his wife’s a real sweet lady.

She is, isn’t she? Margaret agreed. Then suddenly her facial expression changed as she remembered something. Oh!

Anthony wilted in his seat because he recognized that familiar oh in his mother’s voice and knew what was coming next. He sucked in his breath.

Margaret glanced over and gave her son a reproachful look. Speaking of sweet. John, you may wanna remind ‘Mr. Man’ here the popsicles in the freezer aren’t for breakfast.

Yep, no doubt about it. Tonight, would be no exception. For Anthony, the moment had arrived. Up until then, Anthony had sat anxiously in his seat, not knowing exactly when but confident at some point his mother would draw first blood, and true to form, she did.

Anthony immediately lost what little appetite he had. Sagging backwards against his chair, he took a long, deep breath, sighed, and waited to hear his father’s reprimand. He dared not look up. He resolved to sit quietly, gazing down at his hands that were resting in his lap.

Margaret spoke a little louder, making sure John clearly understood her position. The popsicles are treats, not breakfast food, and our son here is having a hard time understanding and obeying that.

Margaret Morgan was an attractive, thirty-four-year-old, fair skinned, medium build, strong-willed black woman with black, wavy, shoulder length hair. She had big, beautiful brown eyes, a semi-pointed nose, and full lips. She graduated from college with honors, majoring in accounting, a year behind John. Afterwards, the two were married and moved from Pennsylvania to a little southern rural community called Mascot, a few miles outside Knoxville, Tennessee, where John took a job as a mechanical engineer at a large utility. Margaret worked as an accountant for the same employer, but after Anthony was born, the two mutually agreed she’d become a stay-at-home mom. Before long, she began performing accounting services from home for individuals and local businesses. Now a decade after their son’s birth, her highly respected number-crunching skills, along with the reasonable rates she charged, had helped her build quite an impressive clientele list as well as a home-based business. Her business had proven to be quite profitable in providing a substantial amount of additional income for their family.

Although she was stunningly beautiful, John insisted Margaret’s brain was the most striking thing about her. Next were her beauty and her directness, or as some called it—her straightforwardness. Margaret was definitely no one’s pushover. Anthony knew better than to take anything his mother said for granted. But being ten years old, sometimes he just simply failed to think past the moment. At times this landed him in the old proverbial hot seat. And this was one of those times.

Anthony’s reaction to his mother’s chastising words was both typical and predictable. He donned the saddest face he could muster up and hoped for sympathy.

Mama! he whined, screwing his face up like a whipped puppy whose mother had just snapped at him to show her displeasure. On rare occasions, Anthony’s whimpering actually worked on Margaret, tugging at their indelible mother-son bond. However, those occasions were generally limited to those times when Anthony’s actions were the target of his father’s disapproval, not hers.

Don’t you Mama me! I told you if I caught you sneaking popsicles outta that freezer for breakfast one more time, I’d tell your daddy. Didn’t I?

Still unwilling to admit his guilt, Anthony’s head remained bowed and his lips stubbornly silent.

Didn’t I? His mother repeated a second time more forcefully, raising an eyebrow at her son’s stubbornness.

In response to her second admonition Anthony looked up, but his lips remained clamped tight.

Didn’t I? she repeated a third time, staring directly into his eyes.

Seeing the stern expression upon his mother’s face and hearing the seriousness in the tone of her voice alerted Anthony that his silence was no longer a safe harbor. He knew even in baseball after three strikes, the batter is out.

Yes, ma’am, he stammered—his voice slightly above a whisper as he again bowed his head contritely.

It’s not like there’s no other food in this kitchen to eat for breakfast. Sweetie, she said in a softer voice. How long you think you’re gonna stay healthy eating only popsicles for breakfast? Huh? Tell me. How long?

Mama, I don’t like oatmeal or grits! Anthony grumbled, a bit more forcefully than intended.

Boy, you’d better watch your tone with me! Do you understand what I’m saying?

Yes, ma’am. Anthony hoped he hadn’t messed up his chances for leniency.

John said nothing but quietly listened as he slowly continued eating his meal. He knew his silence and his presence showed Anthony that he supported his mother’s position. By nature, John was a quiet man, only confronting issues when he had no other choice. Besides, Margaret was better at it and actually seemed to enjoy it in some strange way. In their home Margaret took on the role of disciplinarian by default.

John Morgan was a good-looking, curly haired, broad-shouldered, brown-skinned man with high cheekbones. When he smiled, his eyes lit up. John believed you could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, so that’s the way he approached his role as a father. A former college baseball player, John was still athletically built. But in spite of that he wasn’t nearly as tough as his strong-willed wife. Listening rather than talking was more his parenting style.

Oatmeal and grits are good for you, Margaret said, shaking her index finger at their son to emphasize her point. In the mornings, you need a hot breakfast. Now what’s it gonna be—oatmeal, grits, or cream of wheat?

Anthony sighed, not fond of any of the choices offered. But at least he was being given a choice of the lesser of three evils. Cream of wheat, he offered in a quiet, surrendering voice, eliminating the other two options. Mama, do I have to eat it every mornin’?

Your father and I’ll discuss it, and we’ll—

Cough! Cough! Cough! John was having another one of his severe coughing spells. Each cough sounded harsh and worrisome to Margaret. She quickly jumped up from her chair and stood over him vigorously rubbing and patting his back until his coughing finally subsided. Afterwards, Margaret took her seat. But she was unable to hide the genuine concern creasing her brows.

Have you made that doctor’s appointment yet? she asked, closely studying her husband’s face for the answer she already suspected.

John reached for his glass of iced tea. I haven’t had time, but I will. He took a quick sip, his throat needing a respite from the coughing.

Yeah, right. You mean you haven’t made time! she scolded, making no attempt to hide her disappointment.

Honey, I really don’t need a doctor’s appointment for a silly little cold, John said dismissively, trying to minimize her worry and drop the subject.

Anthony looked from his father to his mother, relieved the heat of the discussion was finally off him, at least for the moment.

Oh! I see. You’ve had that so-called, silly little cold and cough now for what—hmm, almost two months? John, I think we can safely rule out a common cold, don’t you?

The problem with you, Margaret, is you worry too much!

The problem with you, John, is you don’t worry enough!

Margaret paused for a quick moment to collect and calm herself. And then she continued in a softer tone. Besides, sweetheart, you promised. Margaret knew how stubborn John could be, especially whenever she tried pushing him in any direction he didn’t want to go. Once he got his back up about something, he was like a stubborn mule—unwilling to budge.

Hey, can we just talk about this later? John asked, again trying to change the subject.

John, you promised—

John quickly set his glass down on the table. I didn’t promise! His tone clearly revealed his annoyance with her choice of words. I said that if it persisted, I would make a—

—Two months, John! Two whole months! You don’t consider severe coughing spells for two months as persisting? Margaret remained undaunted and determined.

John’s face lacked his usual, unreadable, poker-faced expression. Like a well-lit billboard along a busy interstate at night, what John was feeling was blatantly obvious on his face. His lips didn’t need to move for Margaret to see the irritation in his expression.

No one spoke for the next three to four minutes as they sat eating silently around the table. To Anthony those few minutes seemed like an eternity because silence was a stranger at their dinner table. Although the heat was off him for now, the silence left Anthony feeling uncomfortable.

Margaret sat eating quietly, glancing repeatedly at her husband and noticing the disquieted look on John’s face as he ate his food and sipped his tea. Suddenly it dawned on her that perhaps John had put off scheduling an appointment because he was afraid and feared the worst. She slowly leaned over, placed her hand lightly on his forearm, and tenderly kissed him on his cheek.

Sweetheart, we agreed, whether it was a promise or not, she said softly, just slightly above a whisper.

John set his fork down on the table, turned and looked into his wife’s eyes and began chuckling aloud.

What? she asked, smiling sheepishly. What’s so funny?

You are!

I am?

Don’t act so naïve. John turned to their son who sat watching them.

Anthony.

Sir?

Look closely and learn a lesson from what you’ve just observed. Remember this about women because you’ll be married someday. They’re the greatest sweet talkers in the world, especially when they really want something.

That’s not true, sweetie, Margaret protested, raising her chin haughtily and directing her words at their son. Actually, men are. Oh, and by the way, as you can see, they—like your father here—tend to conveniently forget the things they don’t wanna remember.

Face it, Margaret, you just won’t take no for an answer. You’re so predictable! John teased, still chuckling under his breath.

I’m not the only one here who’s predictable, John! Just look at you! You’re doing just what you always do.

What are you talking about?

You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re turning this conversation into something about me. Why? So we don’t have to talk about you. But John, this isn’t about me, and it isn’t about Anthony or anyone else! This is about you. Listen, Mr. Stubborn, I love you, and I want you well! So, tell me, between the two of us, am I the only one who does? Margaret’s voice cracked and her eyes moistened because of the emotion and frustration she felt. Her words were insightful and penetrating, and John knew it.

Okay…okay, he conceded, I’ ll make the appointment. Satisfied?

No!

No? John asked, surprised at Margaret’s response.

No. Not satisfied—relieved, she said as the moisture in her eyes threatened to spill out onto her cheeks. Very relieved. John, I love you. I’m just worried about your health. I want you well.

The sincerity in her face and the passion in her voice moved him. John’s eyes immediately reddened.

Come here, he said, beckoning with his arms. The two embraced, kissing and comforting one another. He felt bad for his flippant attitude, now realizing how important this was to her and to him.

Their tender moment of kissing and embracing was suddenly interrupted by the exaggerated sound of Anthony clearing his throat. Ah, do I have to sit here and watch all this mushy stuff? Anthony asked in a whiney voice.

Yes, you do, young man, Margaret said, cutting her eyes over at her son.

Getta room! Anthony said, grinning from ear to ear.

No, he didn’t, Margaret said in a hushed voice to her giggling husband. Then turning back to their son, she laughed. I beg your pardon, young man. This whole house is our room. It’s us behaving like this that got you here.

Yer talking ’bout doing the nasty aren’t you? Anthony laughed aloud.

No, no, she said, releasing John. I’m saying this conversation on this particular topic is over. Your daddy and you can talk more about this when you’re a little older but not this evening. Understand?

Yes, ma’am.

He’s a smart boy. He’ll probably be old enough by tomorrow, John laughed, winking at his son. Anthony burst into laughter, and Margaret looked over at John.

Oh, I see—you down with the jokes. No wonder he’s the way he is—some role model you are. Margaret leaned back and playfully slapped John’s shoulder with her hand.

Ouch! You’re such a tomboy! John feigned physical pain.

So, what’s your point?

Nothing. I actually love that about you, he said, still laughing as he tenderly kissed her forehead.

Honey, we need to get some closure on the issue we were talking about earlier, Margaret said in a low voice to her husband.

Which issue would that be? John asked, also in a low voice.

Popsicles.

Oh yes, popsicles, John repeated quietly. Haven’t you already said enough about that?

Margaret motioned toward their son with her eyes. Point is, John, you haven’t said anything about it.

Anthony rolled his eyes. Excuse me. Mama, Daddy—you know I can hear you guys, right?

John smiled and looked at Margaret, then Anthony. Hmmm, right. Well, let’s see if we can get some closure on this issue. Raising his eyebrows, John looked directly at their son. Anthony, what’re we gonna do about the popsicles?

Stop eating ’em for breakfast, Anthony said softly.

And what are you gonna eat instead?

Cream-of-wheat.

That’s my boy. John said, turning to Margaret. You heard it from his own lips. He’s gonna be eating cream of wheat for breakfast.

What’re you gonna eat for breakfast, Daddy? Anthony asked.

Me? Oh, I don’t know. I figure since I don’t like your mama’s cream of wheat, I’ll probably just grab one or two of those ole popsicles in the freezer!

His answer caught Margaret and Anthony totally by surprise. John and Anthony looked at one another and immediately burst into laughter.

Margaret playfully attempted to punch her laughing husband again on his shoulder as he struggled to hold her wrists to avoid another blow. The two adults tumbled from their seats onto the floor, laughing and giggling.

Forgetting his earlier apprehension, Anthony jumped from his seat and rushed around the table to join his parents and their laughter on the floor.

Dinner and family business were officially over.

Two

Later that evening in his room upstairs, Anthony sat quietly on his bed performing his nightly ritual—reading and organizing his baseball cards. Suddenly there was a tap at his bedroom door. Anthony jumped off the bed, crossed the room, and opened the door. Standing in the doorway were his mother and father, looking down at him with big smiles.

John smiled and handed Anthony a new pack of baseball cards. Somehow, I forgot to give these to you earlier.

Anthony’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Wow! Thanks, Daddy! John kneeled and hugged his son.

I’ve got some good news, he said, looking at his son eye to eye. Rube Foster has been inducted into Baseball’s Hall of Fame.

Margaret immediately noticed the puzzled look on their son’s face, so she gently nudged her husband’s shoulder with her left hand.

So, John, don’t you think you ought to at least tell our son who Rube Foster is and why this particular induction is so important?

Right, right, John said, glancing up at Margaret and back down at Anthony. Son, Mr. Foster was a star pitcher in the old Negro League many years ago. Not only did he become a league manager, but he was one of its organizers. John paused momentarily, allowing Anthony to digest the information. You see, good things eventually do come to those willing to work hard. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, son?

Yes, sir, Anthony nodded but not quite convincingly.

John smiled and gently squeezed his son’s nose with his fingers. Standing, he reminded himself Anthony was just ten years old. But even so because of hundreds of baseball cards and the games they watched together, Anthony knew more baseball facts and trivia than anyone John knew. When it came to baseball, his son was like a human sponge. Once he learned something, he didn’t forget it. John looked down, rubbed his son’s head, and smiled. Even if you don’t fully understand now, one day you will.

Margaret kneeled, embraced her son, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Good night, Booger.

Night, Mama, Anthony said as Margaret stood up.

As his parents walked away Anthony shut his bedroom door, raced back to his bed, and ripped open the new pack of baseball cards. One by one he began reading the coveted cards, deliberately trying to memorize the information on each card until he eventually drifted off to sleep.

John finished showering and walked back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped snugly around him. He was surprised to find Margaret still awake.

Thought you’d be asleep by now.

Why?

What’d you mean, why? You know why. As soon as your head hits the pillow, thirty seconds later—oh my, did I say thirty? I meant fifteen seconds later, you’re asleep.

Margaret tossed a pillow at John, which he quickly sidestepped and let fall harmlessly to the floor beside him.

Careful, Margaret, without your magic put-me-to-sleep pillow, you’re not gonna get any rest tonight.

Ha, ha, very funny. If you look, you’ll see that’s your pillow, not mine. Notice the drool on it?

John protested feigning shock at her accusation. I’ll have you know, I don’t drool!

And I suppose you don’t snore either?

I’ve never heard me snore, and I’ve been sleeping with me all my life. He jokingly pointed his finger at her. So, I guess it’s just your word against mine.

Margaret threw another pillow at him that John also sidestepped. She folded her arms, pretending to be displeased.

Sweetheart, why are you throwing pillows at me like some school girl with a crush? We’re married! Why don’t you just come on out with it and say you want me. Go ahead and tell the truth. Just say I want you, Big Daddy.

So, you want me to tell the truth? She laughed.

Sure I do. Say it! Let me hear the words.

Okay, okay. I want you, Little Daddy.

What? What’d you say? His male ego raced to the surface.

You said you wanted the truth.

That’s not the truth, woman! And you know it! Don’t you ever use that word ‘little’ in the same sentence with my name again!

Margaret laughed so hard tears filled her eyes.

That’s right. That’s right, have your fun while you can ’cause, honey, Big Daddy’s done cut you off!

Oh yeah, right. For how long, until your little butt hits the bed?

What’s up with you and this word ‘little’ all of a sudden?

That’s what you get for being too easy on our son tonight and making me the heavy.

Sweetheart, I wasn’t too easy on our son, John disagreed, reaching down and retrieving both pillows from the floor. It’s just that I’m not as hard on him as you think I should be. He’s a good kid. Lighten up a little! I keep telling you that you need to choose your battles. Not every single thing needs to be addressed so seriously—just the important things.

Margaret raised an eyebrow. Okay, I hear you. Then I guess you and I just need to be on the same page as to what’s important.

Without warning John quickly flung both pillows toward the bed—one of which struck Margaret in the face. Sweetheart, we already have, John laughed, it’s just that you keep adding more pages.

I do not, John, she chuckled, pulling the pillow from her face.

Oh, don’t give me that, he said joining her on the bedside. You do, and you know it. That’s why you’re laughing. You know it’s true.

John reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, rendering the room totally dark.

I forgive you, Margaret, he said, sliding under the covers next to his wife.

For what?

For using that despicable word.

What word?

You know what word.

So, does this mean—

Yes, it means you’re no longer cut off, woman.

Gosh, John, that’s the longest you’ve ever cut me off. I was becoming desperate.

Hey, no need to fear, Big Daddy’s here.

Walter Mitty, you’ve been watching way too much TV lately, she laughed.

The name’s Big Daddy. Ain’t no fantasy in my game. I’m the real thing.

Oh, my goodness, Margaret giggled.

Shut up woman and come here.

Shortly after midnight Anthony was awakened by the sound of loud banging coming from the front door downstairs. Moments later, still not completely lucid, he heard the familiar voices of his parents talking with someone. Easing out of bed, he tiptoed across the floor as quietly as he could, opened his bedroom door slightly, and peeped downstairs. His father and mother were dressed in their robes, standing in the doorway talking to Louise Cartwright. Louise, his friend Jesse’s mother, was standing on their front porch, holding the screen door open. She was obviously very upset.

Louise initially refused the Morgans’ invitation to come inside, but within moments they quickly persuaded the reluctant late-night visitor to join them. Louise tearfully and repeatedly apologized for her intrusion and the lateness of the hour. John assured her it was quite all right, and Margaret retrieved a box of tissues for their distraught friend.

Hoping to get a better view at what was going on downstairs; Anthony eased his door open just a little wider to appease his curiosity, but to his dismay, the door squeaked loudly, alerting John and Margaret he was awake.

Shoot! Anthony hissed in a low voice, wishing now he had never peeped in the first place. He quickly attempted to ease his door shut, painfully aware he’d already been detected by his parents. But before he could, Margaret stepped back, looked up, and spotted her son’s face through the partially opened bedroom doorway.

Young man, where are you supposed to be?

In bed, he answered timidly.

Then I strongly suggest you get there this instant!

Yes, ma’am. Anthony eased his door shut and shuffled back to his bed.

As he lay in his warm bed, Anthony attempted to imagine all the possible reasons his young mind was capable of conjuring up as to why Mrs. Cartwright was so upset and visiting their home in the middle of the night. Had someone died? Had Jesse run away? Maybe Mrs. Cartwright had run their car off the road and needed help. Who knows, maybe their house had burned down—maybe, maybe, maybe! After a short time of wearying himself with all the guessing, Anthony finally dozed off.

The night passed and when morning arrived, Anthony arose, wondering if he had actually imagined or dreamt the whole thing about last night. Although it was a Tuesday morning and the last day of March, schools were closed for teachers’ in-service day. For Anthony it was like having two Saturdays in one week. He was up bright and early, a feat his mother insisted he seemed quite unable, or at least unwilling, to do on any regular school day.

Anthony made his way downstairs in his pajamas and turned on the television, searching for cartoons and animated kid programs. Not finding any, he flipped the channel and began watching Mr. Rogers. He snuggled up next to the pillars on the couch to make himself comfortable as the enticing aroma of crispy fried bacon from the kitchen found its way to his nostrils. His wasn’t the only nose awakened by the smell of that frying bacon. The bacon’s aroma had made its way upstairs into John and Margaret’s bedroom. Margaret knew the smell of good ole country bacon was all it took to get John out of bed in the mornings. John’s eyes struggled to open, but the inviting smell of country bacon pulled him off the bed and he made his way to the bathroom.

Within minutes Margaret had the table set. Breakfast is ready! Let’s not wait till it gets cold, she sang out.

John appeared in the doorway and made his way to the table, as did Anthony.

As Anthony took his seat, he noticed an extra place setting on the table. Mama, what’s that extra plate for?

Before Margaret could answer her son’s query, they were distracted by the sight of a sleepy-eyed Jesse, who walked into the kitchen, stopped, and stared without saying a word.

Well, good morning, Jesse, John greeted his young guest.

Good morning, Mr. Morgan, Jesse’s small voice responded shyly.

What’s she doing here? Anthony asked, turning and whispering to his mother.

Now’s not a good time to talk about it, Booger, she whispered. But her expression clearly conveyed the message, We’ll talk later.

Margaret walked over and warmly greeted the little ten-year-old visitor with a hug and a kiss. Afterwards, she turned and looked back at her son.

Well, don’t just sit there, Anthony. Come and show Jesse to the guest bathroom. She’s gonna be our guest for a little while.

Huh! Anthony stammered.

Close your mouth, sweetie, before the flies blow through your lips. Now get over here and show Jesse where she can wash her hands.

Hi, Anthony, Jesse greeted him shyly as she attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes. Because it had been a long, taxing night for her and her mother, Jesse too was grateful there was no school today.

Hi, Jesse, Anthony greeted her with the same shyness as he walked over and took Jesse’s hand.

Come with me, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.

After Jesse disappeared behind the bathroom door, Anthony immediately rushed back to the breakfast table.

Mama!

What, Booger?

Please don’t call me that in front of Jesse! Okay?

Okay, Mr. Morgan, if you insist.

Why’s Jesse staying with us?

I told you earlier that now’s not the time to talk about it. Do you understand?

Yes, ma’am.

After a couple of minutes, a refreshed Jesse returned and took a seat at the table. The family bowed their heads, and John prayed for God’s blessing on the food and their lives. Afterwards, Jesse and Anthony immediately spent the next few minutes in a prolonged highly animated conversation ignoring their breakfast. After all, Anthony was not only Jesse’s best friend, but due to her temper and shyness, her only friend.

Anthony, Jesse, you two are spending way too much time talking and not eating your food, Margaret cautioned them.

Yes, ma’am, Anthony said.

Yes, ma’am, Jesse repeated. The two immediately began eating their food; however, within moments they were talking and giggling again.

John chuckled as he looked at the two gabbing away. Turning to Margaret he winked and spoke softly, Maybe we should have worked a little harder getting a sister for Anthony. You know it’s not too late.

The only thing you need to be working on right now are those eggs, bacon, and toast setting on that plate in front of you, Margaret said just before turning her attention back to Anthony.

Booger, you’ve already been warned. You’re doing way too much talking and not enough eating.

Booger? Jesse repeated, giggling softly and trying to hide her amusement behind the small hands covering her mouth.

Aw, Mama, Anthony whined.

If you’ll learn to obey me the first time I tell you to do something, it’ll be a lot less embarrassing for you. Understand?

Anthony dropped his head. Yes, ma’am.

Good! I don’t have a problem with you and Jesse talking at the table, but neither of you is eating your breakfast. And since it appears you two can’t eat and talk at the same time, then both of you need to eat now and talk later. Understand?

Yes, ma’am, Anthony replied.

Yes, ma’am, Jesse repeated.

Moments later as they were finishing breakfast, Anthony turned to Jesse and quietly whispered a warning.

If you tell any of the guys about this Booger thing, we won’t be friends anymore, and I’ll never speak to you again.

Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me—Booger! Jesse smiled, tossing him a wink.

Good grief, Anthony sighed, looking over at his parents who were laughing hysterically at Jesse’s response.

Mama, look what you’ve started.

Jesse, I think I’m gonna enjoy having you around, Margaret managed to say amid laughter. Maybe you can keep Anthony in line for me. That’ll be a big help!

Oh brother! Anthony moaned aloud, as he stood up and left the table.

Jesse jumped up and left the table right behind Anthony and joined her friend in the living room where they both plopped down on the couch in front of the television.

Don’t worry, Anthony. I was just kidding with you. I won’t tell anyone. Okay?

Relieved by her words, a sullen Anthony turned to Jesse. You promise?

I promise.

The two shook hands, and Anthony found in that handshake between friends a satisfactory measure of relief. As they sat enjoying one another’s company on the couch in front of the television, Anthony noticed a purplish looking bruise just beneath Jesse’s left ear.

Jesse?

What?

How did you get that bruise?

It’s notta bruise! she retorted.

But it looks like a—

It’s notta bruise, okay! Can we just watch television?

Anthony leaned backwards onto the couch, clutching a deck of baseball cards he had brought downstairs earlier from his room. What’s your problem?

I don’t have a problem, Jesse responded crossly, never taking her eyes off the television.

Anthony came the sound of his mother’s voice from the kitchen.

Ma’am?

Go straighten up your room.

Yes, ma’am. Anthony jumped up from the couch and headed for the stairs.

Jesse, Margaret’s voice rang out again.

Ma’am?

I need you to pull the sheets off each of the beds and put ’em in the hamper beside the washing machine.

Yes, ma’am. Jesse stood and turned to Anthony who was about to ascend the stairs to his room. Where’s the laundry room?

Anthony! came the sound of his mother’s voice again.

I know—I know! Show Jesse where the laundry room is!

As Anthony and Jesse busied themselves with their assigned chores, John set his second cup of coffee down on the counter and turned to his wife who was putting cleaned and dried dishes up into the cabinet.

How long you think Louise will need us to keep Jesse?

I talked to her earlier this morning, Margaret said, stopping and turning to her husband. Honestly, she really doesn’t know. She just wants all this to be over.

John brushed a few crumbs off his slacks. Well, I can understand that. I was just wondering, that’s all.

Margaret shook her head in disbelief. I can’t believe Bob’s such an idiot to go and do that, especially since he was already out on bail for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest.

John shrugged his shoulders. Yeah, I know.

Louise said when the two officers responded to her 911 call last night, Bob managed to punch one of the officers in the face and broke his nose before they got him subdued. I think a judge is finally gonna lock that fool up and throw away the key.

Margaret, I’m sorry to say, but it’s probably what he deserves. John was surprised that Louise’s bully of a husband hadn’t learned his lesson from previous run-ins with the law.

Did you see those bruises on Louise’s face, neck, and arms? Margaret’s hand instinctively flew up to her mouth as she fought back her emotions. And that precious little girl in there—smacking her around like he’s been doing. No one deserves that, especially a small, defenseless child, she said angrily.

John stepped forward and pulled his wife close, comforting her with his embrace. She was trembling in his arms as she fought back her emotions.

Sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay. Listen, Bob’s in jail where he belongs, and Louise and Jesse are safe now. If Louise wants to stay here awhile also, make sure she knows she’s welcome, okay?

John tenderly kissed the top of his wife’s head repeatedly, a gesture which seemed to always have a calming effect on Margaret, especially when she was upset.

I will. I’ll tell her. Margaret rested her head on John’s chest as she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer for her friend Louise and her daughter Jesse.

Three

As one week became two, and two became three, it became evident Jesse would be staying with the Morgans for a while. The spirited, young girl adapted quite well to living with them, mainly because Jesse was staying in her best friend’s home. And also because John and Margaret made her feel really welcome.

Since Anthony saw Jesse as just another one of the guys, he had no qualms inviting her to join his little community sandlot baseball team. At first Jesse refused. The refusal had nothing to do with the fact that she would be the only girl on the team. She refused because Jerry, another one of Anthony’s ten-year-old pals, was already a member of that team. And to say that Jesse and Jerry had a mutual dislike for one another would have been an understatement.

However, unwilling to take no for an answer, Anthony persisted day in and day out, asking and pleading with Jesse to reconsider, even offering to work with her daily to teach her the game. Finally, after a couple of weeks and in spite of her misgivings, Jesse changed her mind and accepted Anthony’s invitation. As promised, every evening Anthony and his dad worked with Jesse until she finally felt comfortable understanding the game as well as becoming proficient at hitting and catching the ball.

Only after Anthony and his dad agreed Jesse was ready, did Anthony call a team meeting and inform his teammates he wanted Jesse to become a member of the team. None of the players had a problem with Anthony’s announcement except Jerry. Jerry was so vocal about his objections that Anthony understood why his father had suggested he not bring Jesse to this particular meeting. He was certainly glad he had followed his father’s advice.

Jerry was never tactful whenever expressing his objections, and this meeting was no exception. He threw his cap on the ground, angrily protesting Anthony’s proposal and the final team’s vote to let Jesse join.

Ant, what’re ya doing to us, putting a girl on our team?

Jerry was a slim, brown-skinned kid who was long on words but short on temper. He had small ears but a big mouth, which fit his character perfectly because he did a lot more talking than listening. No one ever had to guess what was on Jerry’s mind because he was more than happy to let everyone know. Besides Anthony, the only other kids Jerry considered to be his friends were the other members of their sandlot team. And even one or two of them were doubtful—just depended on what side of the bed Jerry got up on that particular day.

All eyes turned to Anthony for his response to Jerry’s question and challenge.

’Cause she can play, Jerry, that’s why she’s on the team, Anthony retorted with determination written across his tense little brow. Inwardly Anthony was hoping Jerry would not push this issue to the next level by quitting and encouraging the others to quit too.

Ant, if she played another ten years, she still wouldn’t be good enough to play with us! She’s a girl! Jerry countered, splaying his hands in disgust.

Humph, Robby grunted, wondering what all the fuss was about. Heck, Jerry, you’ve never even seen her play. How would you know?

Who’s talking to you, hippo? Jerry snapped, whirling angrily in Robby’s direction. Besides, I don’t have to see her play. This ain’t no girl’s team!

Anthony raised his hand in the air, getting everyone’s attention.

Hey, listen up! We’ve all voted and had our say. Guys, I’m team captain, and all of you but Jerry voted to accept Jesse as a new team member. So, I’ll see you all at practice on Saturday morning. And Jesse will be coming with me.

Now, that’s what his dad, John Morgan would call exercising leadership authority. This thought brought a smile to Anthony’s face as he walked away.

Jerry stood speechless, drowning in his anger as he watched his friend Anthony walk away. For Jerry, this was far from over.

Saturday morning arrived and the team met at the old community sandlot ballfield to practice. When Jesse arrived with Anthony, all the boys, except Jerry, warmly greeted her. Jerry simply looked at her and sneered with contempt. He loathed the very thought of extending her even the smallest civility, not even for his friend, Anthony’s, sake.

Unwilling to be outdone and true to her nature, Jesse sneered back at him. Jesse was just as stubborn as Jerry and was in no way intimidated by his open hostility.

After they practiced for a while, Anthony divided the six of them into two teams. Jesse wound up on Jerry’s team, and neither was very happy about it before and during their practice game.

Throw me da ball, Jesse, Jerry yelled for the play, hoping to tag out an extremely overweight Robby who was struggling toward first base.

Galloping