Two Strikes on Johnny Page 4

  Johnny Doane was up next. He swung at the first pitch and missed. “Strike one!”

  “Ball!” A wide throw.

  Johnny waited out the pitcher and drew a walk. The bases were loaded, and Kenny Parks, who had replaced Mickey, was next batter.

  Johnny looked at Stevie on third and Buddy on second. Buddy was the tying run. If Johnny could score, he would put the Cardinals in the lead. Johnny sucked in his breath softly and leaned off base. “Hit it, Kenny!” he cried. “Hit it!”

  Kenny walloped a grass-cutting grounder through second. Johnny took off. The dirt puffed up at his heels as he ran. Stevie scored. Buddy scored. It was up to Johnny to break the tie.

  He raced around second. The coach at third motioned him on. Johnny touched the bag and sprinted for home. Everybody on the Cardinals' bench was standing up and yelling like crazy.

  “Hit the dirt, Johnny! Hit the dirt!”

  The catcher was waiting for the throw-in. I've got to make it, Johnny told himself. I've got to make it!

  He was tired, but he had only a little farther to go. He ran harder, then he hit the dirt in a slide that carried him across the plate. The catcher caught the throw-in, tagged Johnny on the shoulder with the ball.

  “Safe!” shouted the umpire.

  Manager Davis jumped from the bench and ran toward Johnny. He thumped Johnny on the back. “Johnny, you did it! You really put on the steam going home! Nice running, fella!”

  “Thanks!” whispered Johnny, a wide grin like a quarter moon on his face.

  The Cardinals didn't get another run, but neither did the Mudhens when they came up for their last raps.

  The Cardinals won, 7 to 6.

  Johnny's heart was light as a cloud as he walked home with Freddie and Mickey. Wait till he told Michael about this game. And every bit of it would be true!

  11

  “WELL, who won today?” Mrs. Doane asked. Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled.

  Johnny's grin spread from ear to ear. “We did! Seven to six! Where's Michael, Ma? I have to tell him about it!”

  “Oh? And what did you do — get a home run or something like that?” she chuckled.

  “No. But I got two hits. And I scored the winning run!”

  “Well! How about that?”

  Johnny looked around anxiously. “Where is he, Ma? Where's Michael?”

  “He went for a walk with Sand.” Suddenly her smile left her face. Her brown eyes grew worried. She walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. “Oh, dear!” she said. “Those black clouds are coming this way fast. It'll be raining hard in a few minutes.”

  Johnny grew worried, too. He forgot about the baseball game. Right away the only thing he was interested in was Michael. He saw a streak of lightning dart across the black distant sky. He heard the soft roll of thunder.

  He went up to his mother. “Mom, where did Michael go for a walk? Did you see him?”

  She pointed out the window. “Down the road toward the Turner farm. But he should be coming back any minute. He must have been gone an hour or more. Maybe he's visiting the Turners.”

  “What if he isn't?” Johnny said.

  She turned and put comforting hands on his shoulders. “Oh, quit worrying your little head about Michael. Sand is with him. And you know that Sand takes care of him almost as well as any one of us.”

  She looked at him that way for a while. Then she gently took her hands off his shoulders and looked out the window again. Johnny saw the smile fade a little. He saw the two tiny lines of worry come to the corners of her eyes.

  She's just trying to make me believe she isn't worried, Johnny thought. But she is. She's as worried as I am. I bet that Michael didn't go to the Turner farm. The Turner farm is two miles away. He never walked that far with Sand, unless Mom or Dad or I was with him.

  “Phone to them, Mom. See if he is at the Turners'.”

  She phoned. After a few moments she put the phone down. “He isn't there,” she said softly.

  “I'm going after him,” Johnny said. He started for the door.

  “Johnny, wait!” cried his mother. “I'll go with you! And put on your raincoat!”

  “Oh, Ma! You can't come with me!” said Johnny. “I can run a lot faster than you can! You — you'll just slow me up!”

  She stared at him. A tear shone in her eye and she dried it with the bottom of her apron. “But how would you know where to look, Johnny?”

  “I'll know,” he said. “I'll get my slicker, and Michael's, too.”

  He ran to his bedroom closet, yanked out the slicker, put it on, and pulled the hood over his head. Then he took out Michael's, folded it, stuck it under his slicker, and ran out of the house.

  Johnny felt big drops of rain strike his cheeks and his raincoat. They bounced on the walk. He ran out to the road and down the way his mother had said Michael had gone.

  The road was long and narrow and spotted with holes. On one side were deep woods, getting darker all the time. On the other side was a ditch lined with pussy willows, cattails, and chokecherry trees. Johnny scared up a pair of black crows perched on one of the trees. Caw! Caw! the crows screamed as they flew off.

  The rain came down harder and harder. It quickly washed the road and filled up the holes. Lightning pierced the sky and thunder boomed. Johnny kept running, his shoes kicking up a spray of water until his pant legs were soaking wet.

  Kee … rack! Tr … r … urnble! The sky opened wide and the rain fell heavily. I can't stop, thought Johnny. I can't! They might be at the bridge!

  The bridge was far ahead of him. He could barely see the white posts on both sides. If Mom said that Michael should have been home by now, maybe he and Sand were under the bridge. It was a steel bridge. A shallow creek flowed underneath it. Johnny had taken Michael and Sand there often. He had set his minnow trap in the water. The trap caught minnows and Johnny let Michael hold them in his hand for a while before putting them in the water pail to take home to his father.

  The creek was shallow most of the time. There were places you could easily walk across. But when it stormed, the creek rose high. It roared like a lion and twisted and frothed like a dragon.

  At last Johnny reached the bridge. “Michael!” he shouted against the noise of the storm. “Michael!”

  The only answer he received was the beat of the heavy rain. He crawled between the steel cables and started down the steep rocks. His heart pounded. Tears mixed with the rain on his cheeks. If Michael and Sand are not here, then the rain must've …

  Wuff! Johnny's heart skipped a beat. Wuff! Sand's bark!

  “Michael! Sand!” Johnny cried.

  12

  THEY were standing on a large rock close to the bottom side of the bridge. The water was gushing against the rock, spattering Michael's feet and Sand's paws.

  Sand barked again and wagged her bushy tail. She was standing in front of Michael, keeping Michael back from the water. Michael was holding her collar tightly. Johnny knew that as long as Sand stood on the rock, so would Michael.

  “Oh, Johnny!” Michael cried. “Johnny!”

  There was another, smaller rock near the large one on which Michael and Sand stood. Already the water had covered the smaller rock, but Johnny stepped on it. He took Michael's slicker from under his raincoat and handed it to Michael.

  “Here, Michael!” he shouted. “Put it on!”

  Michael unfolded it, pushed his arms through the sleeves, buttoned it up.

  “Okay! Come on, Michael! Hold out your hand. We must get away from here! The water's almost over that rock now!”

  Michael held out his hand. Johnny took it. “Come on, Sand,” he said. “Come on, girl. Let's go.”

  Slowly, carefully, Johnny led Michael away from under the bridge and the dangerous waters. He and Sand together helped Michael up the bank.

  They walked on the road toward home. Squish! Squish! Squish! went Johnny's shoes. His feet were soaked, but he didn't mind.

  “How — how did you know where
to find us?” Michael asked.

  “I don't know. I just thought about the bridge because we go there once in a while to catch minnows for Dad. And there isn't a house this way for two miles. I guess I figured that was the only place you could be.”

  “Were you home? Was Mom worried?”

  “Well, she wasn't worried too much. She said Sand would take care of you.”

  Michael grinned against the rain that spattered his face. “She did, Johnny. She always does. But I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come just now. She didn't want me to move from there. I guess she was afraid. I'd fall into the water.”

  They walked along for a while in silence. Then Johnny said, “Why did you walk so far from home, Michael? You never walked this far without me before. Even with Sand with you.”

  Michael's smile disappeared as if the rain had suddenly washed it away.

  “I — I didn't realize I had walked this far,” he answered quietly.

  “But you always seemed to know before. Almost exactly,” Johnny said.

  Michael had his eyes straight ahead. He didn't seem to have heard what Johnny had said.

  “Aw, forget it,” Johnny said then. “I didn't mean anything. Do you want me to tell you about the ball game today?”

  Michael did not answer right away, as if he were thinking. Then he said, “If you want to.”

  “Don't you care to hear about it?”

  Michael shrugged. “Was — was it a good game?”

  “It sure was. We won for a change. And I got two hits. I really did, Michael. Two hits! And you know what? I scored the winning run! I ran all the way from first and scored!” He stared at Michael. The expression on Michael's face had not changed at all.

  “You believe me, don't you, Michael? I really did get hits this time! And I did score the winning run! You do believe me, don't you, Michael?”

  “Sure, Johnny. I believe you.”

  But Michael didn't believe him. Johnny knew, just as sure as he was walking alongside Michael and Sand, that Michael did not believe a word Johnny had, said.

  13

  JOHNNY did not ask Michael to go with him when the Cardinals played the Rangers. He did not think that Michael would care to go. He knew exactly what Michael thought. What was the use of going to the ball game when all the players would be cheering Johnny just to make Michael believe that Johnny was. playing good baseball, and when Johnny would tell him he had made a double, or a triple, or a homer, when maybe all he did was to hit a pop fly, or strike out? Michael would rather stay home and listen to a big-league game broadcast over the radio. Then he could really believe what he heard, because he could be sure that every word would be true.

  However, Mr. and Mrs. Doane were anxious to see the game and they did not want Michael to remain home alone.

  “But Sand will be home with me!” Michael pleaded.

  “It makes no difference,” Mr. Doane said gently. “I'd rather have you come with us, Michael. I don't understand. I thought you liked going to the games with your brother.”

  “I did, but I don't care about it so much any more. Please let me stay home, Dad.”

  “Let me settle this,” Mrs. Doane said. “I'll stay home. Dad can go with Johnny. I have a lot of ironing to catch up on, anyway.”

  Johnny stared at his mother. He wanted to say, “Oh, come on, Mom. Come to the game.” He wanted her to come very much, but he kept his mouth closed. He figured that both his mother and father did not know the exact reason Michael didn't want to go to the game. That was something only between him and Michael.

  It was terrible to have Michael feel like that. Maybe he would grow up and never believe a lot of things that Johnny told him. He would not trust Johnny. That hurt; Johnny wanted to be trusted. It was a good clean feeling deep inside your heart when everybody trusted you. When your own brother did not trust you —that, well, that was the worst thing that could happen.

  “Come on, Dad. Let's go. I don't want to be late,” Johnny said anxiously. He only wanted to leave, though, because it was hurting him more and more to stand there near Michael and know exactly how Michael felt.

  “Okay, let's go,” said his father.

  Manager Davis had the line-up exactly the same as for the last game. Johnny had hoped that he could bat sixth or seventh in the batting order, but he had to be satisfied with eighth. At least he was in the starting line-up.

  The Rangers had had last raps in their first game with the Cardinals, so now the Cardinals had last raps. The game started. Marty French yelled at the infielders to make some noise, and noise they made. The air was hot and sticky, but none of the ball players even thought about that. As far as they were concerned, it was a perfect day for baseball.

  The Rangers' lead-off man popped out to first. The second batter hit a hot grounder back to Davie, who was pitching today, and Davie threw him out. The next man walked. Then a grounder to shortstop Stevie Little ended the first half of the inning.

  The Cardinals didn't do well, either. Peter hit a three-two pitch in the air back to the pitcher. Freddie fanned. And Davie flied out to left.

  In the second inning the Rangers' first batter clouted a double. The next man drew a walk. Then a fly ball was hit out to center.

  “I've got it!” yelled Johnny.

  He caught the ball, saw the runner tag up on second and race for third. Johnny reared back and heaved the ball as hard as he could. Butchie caught it on the first hop, shifted quickly, and touched the runner with the ball.

  “Out!” shouted the ump.

  “Thataboy, Johnny!” Johnny could hear Marty's voice all the way from the outfield.

  Two outs. The man on first had gone to second. Davie stepped on the mound, stretched, and threw. A hit! The ball bounded between first and second. Kenny Parks raced in after it. He fielded it, threw it home. The throw was wild. The runner scored. The hitter stopped on second.

  The next batter grounded out to third and the inning was over. The Rangers led, 1 to 0.

  Marty was first batter for the Cardinals. After hitting two long foul balls, he struck out. Butchie walked. Stevie reached first on an error by the shortstop. Then Buddy Greenfield came up. He was hit by a pitched ball and loaded the bases.

  Johnny Doane tugged on his cap. Ducks on the pond again. He would hit that ball this time. He just had to.

  Crack! A line drive to short! The shortstop fumbled it, picked it up. Every man was running for the next base. Butchie was making a beeline for home. His cap flew off.

  The shortstop threw the ball home. It sailed wide. The catcher couldn't reach it. Butchie scored. Then Stevie crossed the plate. Buddy stopped on third, Johnny on second.

  Two runs!

  Johnny wished that the hit had gone clean through the infield, instead of being an error. His batting average needed a boost. But he had knocked in two runs. He had put the Cardinals ahead. That was what counted the most.

  14

  KENNY PARKS hit a dribbler down the third-base line. The Ranger scooped it up and threw Kenny out.

  Two away.

  Peter walked. Freddie Turner tried twice to bunt. Both times he fouled the ball. The third time he swung and hit a clothesline drive to short. The shortstop fumbled the ball, then picked it up and threw Johnny out in a close play at third.

  The Rangers came up, anxious to even the score or get ahead. They began to yell at Davie.

  “Don't let them bother you, Davie, ol boy!” Marty shouted. “You're better than they are! Just throw 'em in to me!”

  But the Rangers pounded Davie's pitches hard. Before the inning was over, they had scored four runs.

  “Let's get those runs back,” Manager Davis said when the boys ran in. “Davie, you're up first. Get a hit, boy.”

  Davie fouled the first pitch over the backstop. The next two pitches were wide. Then he drove a hot grounder to second which looked like a sure hit. But the Rangers' second baseman speared it with his glove and rifled it to first.

  “Out!”
shouted the ump.

  Marty went to the plate. He dusted it off with his cap, then waited for the pitch.

  “Ball one!”

  “Ball two!”

  “Stee-rike!”

  Then Marty hit a chest-high pitch out to left center for a double.

  “There you are!” Manager Davis said excitedly. “Marty started it. Let's keep it going!”

  I wish Michael were here, thought Johnny. This game is getting more exciting every minute. Michael would be able to tell by the noise. He would hear just about everything and enjoy it almost as much as anybody else.

  Nobody would be faking a cheer for Johnny, either. Johnny had made Marty and the rest of the team understand that. And no matter what Johnny did, he would tell Michael the truth. Every bit of it. If Johnny struck out, he'd tell Michael so. If he missed a fly, or threw to second when he should have thrown to third, he would tell Michael so. If he hit a double, or a triple, he would tell Michael that, too.

  But then, what if Michael did not believe him? That was the thing Johnny was afraid of. What if Michael did not believe him?

  Johnny was sick at the thought. How long could he stand it with Michael feeling like that about him? They couldn't go on like that forever, could they?

  A loud shout brought Johnny's attention back to the game. He saw the white pill-like baseball hopping to the outfield, and Butchie running down the first-base line. A hit for Butchie! Marty circled third and galloped for all he was worth down the long stretch for home. He had his cap squeezed in his hand.

  “Come on, Marty! Run, run, run!”

  Then, just as the ball hit the ground for the hop to the catcher, Marty crossed the plate.

  Johnny laughed. It was fun to watch fat little Marty run bases.

  Butchie had reached second on the play. Now Stevie was up. Stevie fouled the first pitch, then popped out to the catcher.

  Two outs. Buddy Greenfield was up.