Sarah pulled up to the news stand and hopped off her bicycle, leaning it against a telegraph pole tacked with flyers. She reached up and adjusted her cap and then untied the package from the back of the bike. She squinted through the bright rays of sunlight streaming down from the early afternoon sky.
"Hey there, Sarah!" Mr. Opus called out.
Sarah looked up from her bike and smiled. Mr. Opus was sitting on a wooden stool behind the counter. Above the rectangular structure, a white sign with black lettering read:
Stanley Opus, Proprietor
Magazines, Cigars, Cigarettes, Candy, Soft Drinks
On the street behind her, automobiles continued to zip past, spouting out big puffs of smoke and fumes. The clamor of car horns blaring, people chattering, kids playing, and dogs barking filled up the noisy South Side of the Black District.
Mr. Opus gave Sarah a wave and a smile. "How you doin' today, pretty lady?" he asked as Sarah came up to the counter. "I see you brought me some sunshine. Let me see a smile. Send some of that sunshine my way!"
"Afternoon, Mr. Opus," Sarah said, smiling. "I have the car mirror you ordered."
She set the brown paper-wrapped package on the counter.
"Thanks so much, darling," he said. "Hold on just a second. Let me get the money from the till."
Sarah looked at the newspapers displayed in front of her, perusing the day's headlines while she waited. She saw the Hester Gazette to her right, prominently displayed.
The headline read "Soldiers of Hester Heading Overseas!" Beneath the bold print there was a face she recognized: Peter Bell, Linda's son. Everyone knew the Bell family for bringing three things to Hester: steel, jobs, and prosperity. Peter wore a smile and an army uniform that looked two sizes too large. His buttoned-up shirt was five inches too long, and his military-green pants sagged at his hips.
Sarah's eyes lingered on the photograph for a moment. She wondered how someone so young could put their life on the line and go off to participate in a fight that had nothing to do with America. On the night she met Linda, Sarah overheard her talking about Peter, anxiety etched in every word. Sarah couldn't imagine how these boys managed to quiet their fears long enough to get on those boats and leave their families behind.
A bell gave a jangle as Mr. Opus pressed a lever, and the register drawer popped open.
"Here you are," Mr. Opus said. He shut the cash register with a clang and handed three crisp dollar bills to Sarah.
"Thank you, Mr. Opus." Sarah folded the bills in half and slid them into her front shirt pocket.
"Great. How's your uncle doin' by the way? I haven't seen him down here for quite some time."
"He's doing okay," Sarah said. "He doesn't like to go out much anymore. And lately his hip has been giving him some trouble. Other than that, he's good. He's got more than enough projects around the house to keep him busy."
Mr. Opus nodded. "Good to hear. Your Uncle Albert is a good man. I try to send him customers every chance I get..."
As Mr. Opus continued talking, Sarah plastered a smile over the sullen expression that threatened to emerge. She knew her uncle and Mr. Opus went back a long way. Back to their baseball days in Birmingham, Alabama.
Something had happened to Uncle Albert in Birmingham. Something terrible that made him stop playing the game he loved.
On several occasions, Sarah had asked her uncle what had happened. He wouldn't say. And neither would Mr. Opus – an old promise to an old friend that he would never tell a soul. Sarah knew asking him again now would only be futile.
"Sarah dear, you okay?" Mr. Opus asked.
Sarah blinked a few times, feeling confused. "What?"
Mr. Opus gave a tentative look. "I lost you there for a second."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Sarah said, heat rising in her cheeks.
"No worries," Mr. Opus said, "You must have a lot on your mind, young lady. Aren't you forgetting something?"
Sarah thought hard for a moment. "Oh yes!" she said, holding up an index finger. Then she grabbed a copy of the Hester Gazette and dropped it onto the counter.
"Can you ring this up?" Sarah asked, all perky.
"Sure can," Mr. Opus replied, chuckling.
Sarah reached into the pants pocket of her mechanics uniform, withdrew a nickel, and slid it across the counter top.
"Thank you, kindly," Mr. Opus said.
Sarah's gaze drifted to the paper, trailing down the left side to a smaller article. Still the words caught her attention. They read "Union Steel Pioneers Sign Negro Player." Sarah felt her jaw go slack as her gaze locked onto the photograph. There was that young man she'd met three weeks ago. Henry. Only this time he wasn't panicked and dripping with blood. No, he was smiling. But despite appearing happy, his eyes looked as distant as the blue sky above.
Sarah picked up the paper, staring at Henry's picture. What was he doing playing for a white team? The same team that had sent him running off with a head injury? What on earth had happened since she'd last seen him?
Sarah's heart fluttered in her chest as an idea started to blossom in her head.
"Mr. Opus," Sarah said. "Do you still sell tickets to the Pioneers games?"
"Well, yes sweetheart, I do," Mr. Opus said.
"You have tickets to their first home game?"
"Sure do," he said. "But if you're thinking of buying, I think you'd better do it soon. I have a feeling these tickets are gonna go quick now that they got a good Negro player on the team."
Sarah nodded. "Yeah, I think you're right. I'm sure a lot of people will want to see how he does."
"Including you?" Mr. Opus asked with a grin and a wink.
Sarah laughed. "I guess so," she said. "How much for two tickets?"
"One dollar," Mr. Opus replied.
"Here you go," she said, passing the bill over the counter.
"Thanks sweetheart. You give me just a minute to dig up those tickets."
Sarah folded up the newspaper and shoved it into her back pocket.
Mr. Opus returned a moment later, holding two small slips of paper.
"Here you are," he said. "Two tickets to the Pioneers' first home game!"
"Thanks so much, Mr. Opus."
Sarah slid the tickets into her front pocket before saying goodbye to Mr. Opus. Then she climbed back on her bicycle and pedaled away.
She couldn't wait to show the tickets to Uncle Albert.
If anything would get him out of the house, it would be tickets to a baseball game.
Author's Note
YOU GUYS ARE SIMPLY THE BEST!
THANK YOU FOR ALL THE READS AND SUPPORT!!