Cherry Blossom Baseball Page 11

  “Need some help?” Eddie asked as he pulled the bike upright.

  Michiko brushed the dirt from the palms of her hands. Why is he always around when I’m in trouble?

  Michiko got up from the ditch and pulled her bike back onto the road.

  “Get on,” Eddie said as he leaned his bike against the fence. “I’ll help you balance.”

  Michiko had no choice but to listen to his instructions.

  He ran a short way alongside her, holding on to the thick wire rack that spanned the back fender. The bike jolted along the pebbly drive. She panicked, jammed on the brakes, and landed on the grass.

  “Don’t be so hard on the brakes,” Eddie said, pulling the frame off of her for a second time. “Before long you’ll be cooking with gas! Just keep practising.”

  He guided her back up to the road. There, Michiko watched him swing his leg over the bar of his own bike and soar toward Mr. Downey’s farmhouse with ease.

  The next day, she didn’t have to be reminded to pick up the mail. She wobbled down the lane on the bike, stuffed the contents of the mailbox into the basket, and wobbled back. Most of it was for Mr. Downey. There was one letter for the Palumbos, and to her surprise two envelopes for her. Michiko recognized the handwriting on both. One was a birthday card from Mrs. Morrison and the other was in writing she had seen often enough across the top of her test papers at school to know exactly whom it was from. She ripped open the envelope.

  No. 17 Platoon, B Company

  No. 20 Canadian Infantry Training Camp,

  Brantford, Ontario

  March 15, 1945

  Dear Michiko,

  How kind of you to write to me. I was getting the feeling everyone had forgotten me. I know your aunt was not happy with my decision, especially the idea of serving a country that has treated us so badly, but everyone has to do their part to bring an end to this war.

  There are fifty-three of us, all from B.C., all in one platoon. We are being drilled and taught how to salute, when to say “Sir,” and how to make a bed “army style.”

  I’ve been fingerprinted, had my picture taken, and been given an ID card. I’ve also been given a new haircut. You wouldn’t believe it.

  Our day starts at 6:00 a.m. Our beds have to be made and we are to be dressed and ready to go by 7. We start every week with a route march, leaving the camp at 7:30 and getting back at noon. We march the whole time with only two fifteen-minute breaks. Not too many of us have sore feet, which surprised the officers. I guess it’s because we have all been without any kind of transportation for so long, we are really used to walking.

  Today is my First Aid Test final, which will end that course and give me a bit more free time. Next time, I won’t have to race through my letter like a steam engine.

  On Tuesdays we visit the rifle range. We also have to know how to keep a rifle clean. I was very surprised to find out how difficult they are to fire. Yesterday after­noon we got to play some baseball. I wondered if the rifle practice would affect my pitching, but it didn’t. How’s your pitching arm these days?

  I guess as your old teacher, I should ask you about school, but I won’t. Do you like Ontario? Have you made lots of new friends? I bet Hannah is growing fast, and Hiro has found plenty of trees to climb. Please give my best to the rest of your family and have a Happy Birthday.

  Kaz

  She leaned back and held the letter to her chest. Michiko could hear her uncle’s warm, kind voice behind the words and see the crinkles that appeared in the corners of his chocolate brown eyes when he smiled. But what will happen to that smile and the shine in his eyes when he finds out Sadie has disappeared? Michiko remembered her teacher saying soldiers counted on good news from home to lift their spirits. What should I do?

  Michiko wiped her finger across the top of her birthday cake. “Here, Hannah,” she said, putting some of the fluffy icing into the baby’s mouth.

  Hannah licked her lips and smiled. Then she opened her mouth and her arms wide.

  “See what you have done,” her mother said. “Now Hannah will always want it.”

  “Always want what?” Sam scooped up the little girl with hair that stuck out like the feathers of a baby bird. “What does my little flower want?”

  “Cake,” Hiro said with his hands on his hips.

  Eiko opened the drawer and handed Michiko a long knife. “You can serve,” she said.

  As Michiko slid their pieces onto the plates, the smile pasted on her face hid her real feelings about her birthday. There was no party, as the other girls at school had. Her mother had made her a new skirt, and there was a pair of white knee socks to go with it, but no running shoes.

  “Cake!” Hiro demanded. He picked up his fork and banged it on the table.

  “Cake, please,” Sam said with a smile as he settled his tiny daughter back into her chair. “Happy twelfth birthday, Michiko. Now you can get married.”

  “Don’t be silly,” her mother said with a smile. “She has plenty of time for boys.”

  Her father beckoned her into the living room, where a bedsheet covered a large, boxy shape. Her father removed it with a flourish to present a handmade chest of buffed birch, lined with cedar. Michiko gasped. The tansu was a traditional gift for girls that turned twelve. All the Japanese girls in camp talked about filling these hope chests with embroidered pillowcases, dresser scarves, and table cloths. Now Michiko had one too, but the catcher’s glove and a pair of running shoes she hoped to put inside it had nothing to do with marriage.

  BATTER UP

  Michiko usually ate with Billy, but he wasn’t in the lunch room. She spotted his little sister sitting on her own. “Annie,” she called, “come and eat with me.”

  The dandelion-haired little girl piled her lunch into her arms and hurried over.

  “Where’s Billy?” Michiko asked.

  Annie spoke through a mouthful of sandwich. “He’s mad at me.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t throw the ball the way he wants,” she said. “He yells at me so much, I told him I’m not playing anymore.”

  Michiko’s eyes lit up. “Tell him to come over to my place. I can throw him the ball.”

  Annie stopped chewing. “Can I come too?”

  “Sure,” Michiko said. “You can play with Hiro and my baby sister.”

  Mary plunked a brown paper bag down on the table beside her. Michiko looked up and gave her a wide grin. Her plan of helping Mary at lunchtime was working. “I’d love to see your baby sister,” Mary said. “I bet she is really cute.”

  “Not when you have to change her diaper,” Michiko said. “You can come any time you want,” she told Mary, but she didn’t say it with confidence. She knew Mary lived in a huge, fancy house at the edge of the village. Carolyn was on the same street, quick to point out they faced Lake Ontario, far away from where the lower class lived.

  After school, Billy crossed the road carrying his baseball bat, glove, and ball. He used a practice swing to demonstrate his perfect slice.

  Michiko tossed the ball in his direction.

  Billy let it pass. “Is that the best you can throw?” he jeered as Hiro and Annie ran for it.

  Michiko gave him a hard stare.

  “Ball one,” someone called out. Michiko looked up to see Eddie leaning his bike against the tree. So that’s who’s going to help out around the farm, she thought.

  Billy straightened his shoulders at the sight of Eddie and looked to the road. “H-e-a-d-s up!” he yelled to the two tiny outfielders. “This one is bouncing right off the barn.”

  Something her grandfather used to say popped into Michiko’s head as she positioned herself for the next pitch. “Don’t value a badger skin before catching the badger,” she yelled back. Only she was thinking of the leather skin of the ball.

  Michiko threw another ball, and Billy let it go by.

  “I could have hit that one if I wanted,” he said, “but I’m looking for something meaner.”

  Eddie took a
seat in front of Hiro’s jars of bugs that lined the porch. His white T-shirt seemed to glow against his smooth, tanned skin. “Ball two,” he yelled out with a grin. “When are you going to stop talking and start swinging?”

  Michiko’s next ball landed low. Billy swung and blasted a hit down the lane.

  “Foul ball,” Eddie yelled.

  Annie ran to retrieve it.

  “I think you are a worse pitcher than my little sister,” Billy complained as he leaned on the bat, waiting for Annie to roll them the ball.

  Michiko planted her feet in the grass, wound up, and fired the ball at him.

  Billy swung and missed.

  “Strike two,” Eddie called out. He stood, went to his bike, and pulled a leather glove from the handlebar. “I’ll catch the next one.”

  Billy narrowed his eyes and pushed out his lower lip. He put the bat to his shoulder and glared at Michiko. “Put some fire on it,” he shouted.

  Michiko decided to try one of her Uncle Kaz’s specialities. She gripped the ball with her middle fingers, pulled it to her chin, and wound up. Just before she let the ball go, she put the brakes on it. Billy’s eyes grew wide at the sight of such an easy hit. He swung so hard, he spun around and fell to the ground.

  “You’re out,” Eddie said as Annie and Hiro fell on the grass, laughing. He turned to Michiko. “Where did you learn to throw like that?”

  Michiko thought about her grandfather teaching her to pitch. With a stick, he’d drawn a line from the plate to where she was standing. Then he showed her how to take a step with her front foot, push off with her back, and let the ball fly. It whizzed across the plate, his open fingers pointed at the target. “You do this one thousand times,” he said, “step, turn, snap, one thousand times.”

  One thousand times! Michiko recalled her astonishment. But she did it. Not all in one day, but a couple of hours after school, against the wall of the drugstore, and before she knew it, she could pitch better than the rest of her class, even the boys.

  “My grandfather loved baseball,” she replied, returning from her thoughts. She didn’t bother to mention that her Uncle Kaz had been a professional ball player until the war.

  Eddie squinted and studied her face. He picked up the bat and sauntered up to the patch of dirt they used for home plate. “Let’s see what you’re made of.” He tossed Billy his glove. “Isn’t that right? Mitch?”

  Michiko blinked. He recognizes me. She swallowed hard and planted her feet in the grass. Just as she was about to deliver her first pitch, her father and Mr. Downey walked across the front lawn. Sam tapped his boss on the shoulder and pointed. They stood with their arms crossed.

  She threw. Eddie let her first pitch pass.

  “Ball one,” Billy called out.

  Michiko threw him a fastball. Eddie swung and missed.

  “Strike one,” Billy yelled out in glee.

  Michiko moved the ball around in her hand. Her father lowered his arms and moved in closer. She took a deep breath, wound up, and let the ball go. Eddie swung and missed.

  Her father grinned and elbowed Mr. Downey.

  “Strike two,” Billy yelled out. “You’re in trouble now.”

  Annie danced about the field, and Hiro copied her.

  Michiko remembered what Uncle Kaz had told her about his pitching when he played for the Asahi team: Always mix it up.

  She threw the ball straight at him, and he tapped it foul.

  Eddie’s face went red.

  Michiko rested her pitching arm against her leg and closed her eyes. If she were to strike him out, he might get angry and say something about giving her a ride home right in front of her father. She opened her eyes when Annie came up with the ball. She grabbed it, holding her fingers in the “okay” position, focussed on Billy’s glove, and threw.

  Eddie swung and missed.

  Billy stood up, looking at the ball in his mitt, with his mouth wide open. Her father gave her a thumbs-up and nudged Mr. Downey again.

  Eddie tossed the bat to the ground. He took off his hat. Droplets of sweat sat along his hairline. He wiped his hand across his brow. “Thirsty work, all this striking out.”

  “Oh,” Michiko said. All her mother’s advice about how to treat visitors came to her in a rush. “I’ll get you a drink of water.” She ran into the house and paused at the sink to catch her breath. When she pushed open the screen door, Eddie sat on the porch holding one of Hiro’s bug jars.

  Michiko handed him the glass with a shaky hand. As she looked into his sky-blue eyes, their fingers touched, making hers tingle.

  Eddie grinned as he took it. “I did the same thing when I was a kid,” he said. “I had hundreds of bugs in my bedroom.”

  “Once he came home with the skull of a mouse,” Michiko said, relieved Eddie wasn’t angry she’d struck him out. “Hiro has to let all the bugs go at night.”

  “Good thing,” Eddie said. “When my snake escaped, my mother went wild.” He drained the glass. “Looks like I’ve got to get to work,” he said. Then he walked off toward the orchard.

  Michiko tucked her ponytail under her baseball cap and followed Billy out of the parking lot. She was thrilled to be invited to watch him try out for the town team. His dream, like all the other boys trying out, was to play on a winning team. Each year the Bronte Horticultural Society awarded embroidered hats. If Billy’s team won, the team caps would have the initials BB on them, for Bronte Braves.

  “Hello, Mr. Ward,” Billy called out as he waved to one of the teachers when they reached the back of the schoolyard. The grey-haired man, wearing a Yankees cap that had seen a lot of seasons, had a stomach that hung over his belt like a bag of rice. As he hitched up his sagging pants, he eyed Michiko’s ball cap.

  Billy whispered to Michiko as they walked toward him. “He’s a real baseball nut. He had the radio on the whole time we were in gym class just to listen to the World Series.”

  “I’ve never seen a cap like that before,” the coach said. “What’s the team?”

  “Asahi,” Michiko replied. “Best in the west.”

  “The west?” Mr. Ward asked. “You mean like Texas?”

  Michiko gave him a thin smile. “West of the Rockies,” she said.

  Billy left her to join the boys on the field. Michiko knew every boy in the district wanted to make the cut. They all had the same hope of working their way up the ranks, playing in front of a scout, and making a professional team. Billy talked nonstop about the St. Louis Cardinals and their World Series results. He’d told her a million times he’d be wearing their white woollen tunic and red striped socks once he finished high school.

  Most of her class was there to watch. Mary waved to her from a tartan rug on the grassy mound under a tree at the back of the field. Carolyn sat beside her.

  Michiko walked to the blanket and sat down. Her bottom hit something hard. She pulled out Eddie’s baseball glove and put it on her lap. Her fingers crept inside, and she opened and closed the leather pouch.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Carolyn screeched. “You have no business touching anything that’s not yours.” She reached across to yank the glove away.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Eddie asked as he appeared at their side. “My dad sent to the States for it.”

  “Hi, Eddie,” Carolyn said in a high voice as she adjusted the straps of her shoes instead.

  Michiko handed Eddie his glove, and he headed toward the field. He turned back and called out, “You can see better from up here.”

  Michiko stood up to go, but Mary caught her hand and said, “You might get hurt.”

  “Let her,” Carolyn said. “It’ll serve her right.”

  Michiko jogged over to the fence. Her eyes met Eddie’s, and he gave her a wink. For some strange reason, her stomach did a flip.

  TRYOUTS

  Billy warmed up with a couple of pitches as they watched from the sidelines.

  “They’ve put him on the mound to see what he’s made of,” Eddie said
. “Hopefully all your coaching has paid off.”

  “He knows where the plate is,” Michiko said.

  Mr. Ward pawed through a couple of pages on a clipboard and then looked up. “Donald Maitland up to bat,” he called out.

  Donald stepped up to the plate. Billy struck him out. Donald slung his bat in despair and went back to the bench.

  “Robert Wells,” Mr. Ward called out.

  “Bobby can really hit,” Eddie told her. “He was on the team last year.”

  Billy threw two strikes. On the third pitch, Bobby hit a sharp bounce to Billy’s right. He caught it, spun left, and threw it to first.

  “Out,” yelled the coach.

  Bobby looked at Billy as if he had just seen him for the first time and left for the bench.

  Jimmy Johnston was next at bat. He hit it high but short. Billy raised his hands for the catch, took a step backward, and stumbled. Michiko’s fingers flew to her face as Billy’s arms moved at his sides like a windmill. He went down, but the ball landed in his glove.

  “Way to go,” Eddie called out.

  Coach Ward blew his whistle, sent Billy to the bench, and consulted his clipboard. “That’s it?” He looked around and then walked over to Michiko and Eddie. “You trying out?”

  “Not for Junior League,” Eddie answered with a grin.

  “Not you, numbskull,” the coach said, “your buddy, the one that played ball out west.” He leaned in front of Eddie and hollered at Michiko. “Hey kid, what’s your name?”

  Her eyes widened.

  “It’s Mitch,” Eddie told the coach. He turned to Michiko with a huge grin.

  “You want to play baseball?” the coach asked. “I’m trying to make an even dozen.”

  Michiko turned and looked at Eddie with surprise.

  “You want to play?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  Eddie pushed her shoulder. “Then get on that mound.”

  “Okay, Mitch,” the coach bawled out as he walked away. “You’re at bat. Bobby, you can pitch. Mark, let’s see you as catcher. You five in the field. Let’s play some ball.”