God's Kingdom Read Online Free PDF Page B

behind the pitcher. By the second inning the Knights were down 16–0.
    In the top of the fourth inning the farmer appeared to report that the first game at Fenway was in the seventh-inning stretch. The Yankees were ahead 7–2.
    â€œWhat’s the story with White River?” Charlie asked.
    â€œStill out on call,” the farmer said. “Their wench cable snapped in two. They had to send to Barre for a new wench cable.”
    Later that inning, a blue hound with a frayed hank of rope around its neck ran out of the woods onto the playing field. “Look there, boys,” Harlan said. “Somebody’s nigger chaser done got loose.”
    â€œJesus, Harley,” Charlie said. Then he looked at Jim. “I hope you’re getting all this down in your head, Mr. Storywriter.”
    Without quite knowing why, Jim took himself out of the game and went to sit in the bus, where it was cool and dim and quiet. After a while he drifted off. When he woke up, it was late afternoon. The PONY Leaguers had gone home to Bradford. The Sox had lost the first game of the twin bill and were behind 4–0 in the nightcap.
    Some of the boys decided to go skinny-dipping in the pool under the bridge. A passenger train with a glass-domed excursion car went by on the trestle and the Knights whooped and wagged their business at the excursionists. A lady looking out of the observation car put her hands over her eyes.
    The farmer returned to report that there was no further word from White River and the Sox had now fallen behind 8–1 in the second game. The Yankees’ ace pitcher, Allie “the Chief” Reynolds, had given up only two scratch hits.
    An argument broke out between the Knights over which one of them could “get a bat on one of the Big Injun’s fastballs and at least foul it off.” Jim believed that he knew the answer to this question but didn’t offer his opinion.
    Toward evening the Knights held a temperance meeting. They stood around the trash barrel in the pull-off and passed the last dipperful of Black Label from hand to hand. Each team member took a sip and spoke a short piece.
    â€œMy name is Stub Kinneson and I believe in a higher power.”
    â€œMy name is Porter Quinn and I am not an alkie on account of you can’t be on beer.”
    â€œMy name is Faron Wright. I use to be an alkie until I quit the hard stuff.”
    Faron handed the dipper to Jim, who passed it along to the constable.
    â€œJim don’t drink,” Porter explained to the officer. “Not even beer.”
    â€œJim here is living proof that you don’t have to drink to have a good time,” Stub said.
    The constable held up the dipper to toast the White Knights. “From this day onward I am a full-time Hoover repairman,” he said. “Here’s your tow truck, boys.”
    The driver from White River wore a cap that read “Junior” over the visor. Junior backed the truck up to the shattered entrance of the bridge. He hitched the tow hook of his new cable to the rear axle of the Ark and winched it back onto the floor of the bridge. A few more timbers and boards rained down into the river.
    While the boys negotiated payment, Jim got his jacket out of the bus and walked down to the river one last time. He took the official American League baseball Charlie’d given him out of his jacket pocket and tossed it up in the air and caught it. Then he cocked his throwing arm. Just before Jim hurled the ball as far down the river as he could, Charlie grabbed his wrist. Charlie took the ball from Jim, and on it, with his ballpoint lawyering pen, he printed, “To Jim’s girl, Pinky. Love, Joe DiMaggio.”
    Charlie flipped the ball back to Jim. “Enjoy Montreal, bub. You can borrow my pickup.”
    *   *   *
    To Jim’s surprise, the Ark of the Covenant was still drivable after its ordeal, though the steering wheel pulled hard to the right