Stealing Home Read Free Page B

scrapes, putting up with his fighting and sassing – she was too sickly and poor to care for him. That left a foster home. Or, worse, an orphanage. Away … alone … with no one who loved him…. No, it was too terrifying to think about.
    So he was stuck – with relatives who didn’t want him.
    Miss MacNeill came around the side of her desk and took Joey’s hands. “Joey, this is a wonderful chance for you. A new family, a new start. Surely it’s not too hard for you to be a good boy, is it?”
    “Well…”
    “You do manage to behave once in a while, don’t you?”
    Joey chuckled. “Yeah.”
    “Not too often,” Mrs. Webster teased.
    “Hey!”
    Miss MacNeill smiled. “It’ll work out, Joey, you’ll see. They’re family, after all.”
    Joey grunted. It still rankled.
Behave or else.
But maybe Miss MacNeill was right. They
were
family. Mama’s family.
    “All right,” he said. “I’ll try.”
    “Attaboy,” Miss MacNeill said, and Mrs. Webster patted his hand.
    Miss MacNeill spoke to Mrs. Webster, making arrangements, then turned back to him. “It’s settled, then, Joey. Mrs. Webster will pack up your things and bring you down here on Monday. Then I’ll take you over to meet your new family in Brooklyn.”
    Joey was tugging his Yankees cap over his black curls when it hit him.
    “Brooklyn!” he said in disgust. “That’s Dodgers territory. I’m goin’ to live with Dodgers fans in Brooklyn!”

C  H  A  P  T  E  R
3
    W alking beside Miss MacNeill down a tree-lined street in Brooklyn, Joey clutched a battered suitcase that Mrs. Webster had packed for him.
    He’d actually choked up saying goodbye to the old lady. When she’d wept, he’d had to rub something out of his own eye. Then she’d said, “Now you behave yourself, you hear?” and he’d replied, “You ain’t the boss of me,” and felt much better.
    Now, though, he was too busy checking out his new neighborhood to think about Mrs. Webster. When he and Miss MacNeill had stepped off the streetcar at Utica Avenue, it had been like stepping into a new world. Compared to Courtlandt Avenue up in the Bronx, Utica Avenue was busy and rich-looking. New Studebakers, DeSotos, and Fords rumbled past on either side of the streetcar tracks. Stores sported new red-and-white stripedawnings and crisp, clean signs. GROSSMAN’S CHILDREN’S WEAR, said one, and the window was full of frilly dresses and sharp-looking shorts sets. FELDMAN’S TOYS had jumpropes and roller skates and dolls piled high. The sidewalks were swept clean. There were no piles of garbage, no smell of pee in the alleys….
    But what was most amazing to Joey was the sea of white faces. Men, women and children, old and young, all white. A few people looked at him curiously, but no one seemed bothered. Maybe he
would
fit in.
    Miss MacNeill paused in front of a drugstore called Gershon’s. “I need some chewing gum, Joey. Do you mind?”
    Inside was a newsstand. “I’ll wait for you here.” While Miss MacNeill went to the candy counter, he picked up a Brooklyn newspaper and turned to the sports section. In the bustle of getting ready the day before, he hadn’t heard the Yankees’ score.
    “Jackie Robs Pirates’ Ace with Ninth Inning Homer,” read the headline. Jackie Robinson, of course. You didn’t have to be a Dodgers fan to know who that was. Joey scanned the opposite page. “Robinson Notches Twelfth Stolen Base.”
Man, that guy is fast,
Joey thought. All those people who’d said a Negro would never make it in the major leagues – bet they were eating their words now. Black, white, or purple – Jackie was showing them that itwasn’t color that mattered, it was skill. And boy, did he have it.
    Joey scanned down the page. “Brooklyn Skipper: ‘Jackie’s Got the Goods.’” “Robinson Says Scare Tactics Won’t Stop Him.” Cripes, enough already. He turned the page. There, finally –
    A voice behind him said, “Yanks Double Red Sox, 6-3.”
    Joey