One Man's Calling : One Man's Calling, ch 27 by Wayne Fowler |
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In the last chapter Ben rescued five Diamond Jim ladies after securing a place to hide them out in the country. “Ben, wait up!” It was Angelo. “My, my, don’t you dress up pretty,” Ben teased, causing Tony to snicker and Angelo to grimace and turn red. “What can I do for you, my friend?” Angelo glanced toward Tony, figuring how he could speak in a code that wouldn’t be accidentally repeated in a bad way. “I don’t know what you did, but I wanted to thank you. There’s been no, you know, demands. None at all. “And how’s it going? Great. It’s easy to figure. The ones that suck up to me are all on the take some way or other. And the ones who resent my promotion are the straight shooters. There aren’t many of them, but I’m tryin’ to win them over. I figure that if I lean on them for their expert … you know, their know-how …” “Great idea,” Ben agreed. “But I wanted to get you up to date on the woman-snatcher case. You read the papers?” Ben shook his head. “The city, meaning The Syndicate, is all up in a tizzy about some gang that is taking women and making them disappear.” Ben thought it comical that that was exactly what he was doing. “Anyway, there’s reports of a dozen already.” Ben wondered whether someone else got the same idea. More likely, he thought, that some women, seeing how others broke free, simply escaped on their own. “We’re on alert. The whole department is supposed to be on the lookout. You know what I mean?” Ben nodded, thinking through all Angelo was telling him, and how it would affect his rescue operation. “Maybe more praying?” Angelo, completely out of character, wrapped his arms around Ben, hugging him. “I want to thank you again, Ben. You are my true friend.” “And you mine, Angelo. Just watch your back. Don’t let two get behind you.” Ben had a vision of Jones and Max from Colorado, and then thinking of Diamond Jim’s two goons. After parting, Ben and Tony resumed their trek. “Ben,” Tony began. “Is that the same La Lama?” Ben chuckled. “No, Tony. La Lama is dead. God made him a new man.” Tony looked up to Ben in awe. +++ Ben preached at a new street corner near the stockyards that day, gratified by his reception. Many people stopped to listen. The whole day, though, part of his mind was in prayer and meditation. His main concern was that he not get ahead of God, or tease his ego by rescuing women in the face of increased security. He did not want to take Diamond Jim as a personal challenge, determined to beat him in reckless abandon of following God’s lead. But he couldn’t shake a certain ominous worry. There was a house of black girls in dire peril. He felt it. He felt the pain of their physical torment. Ben splurged, buying Tony a plate lunch that included a hunk of cake, but limited himself to a cup of coffee and prayer while Tony ate like a starving hound. Preaching that afternoon, Ben was consumed by the story of the Good Samaritan. The next day Ben sent Tony to the ball field and took himself to the waterfront. A taxi took him to a Diamond Jim bordello featuring black women. Ben positioned himself to be on watch, unnoticed. After a while he circled the block, the building having shared walls with the neighboring structures. Ben saw no guards, police or private. He figured that Diamond Jim only considered the whites at risk. Ben stayed into the evening when customers began to arrive, noting there were still no guards. The next day, Ben toured the area for means to get to depot number four. Taxis were out of the question, as were city buses that quit running at sundown. Soon enough, he found a black man who directed him to a black-attended church. “Whooie!” the preacher exclaimed. “I thought I was too late. Too late to be a part of the underground railroad, getting peoples to Canada. Whooie!” He slapped his thigh. “Yes suh. We c’n do it. Yes suh. Ah know … we got a blacksmith in ar’ very congregation. Wagon and driver be right ‘chere.” He pointed to the front of the church. “Well Reverend. That’s great, and all. But I really don’t feel led to involve anyone who might be threatened later. I really do appreciate the offer, though. Do you think your man would allow me to drive the team? He could pick up his wagon and team at Harrison and 5th.” “Believe he would, Brother. Would your women folk be needin’ anything? Food, clothes?” Ben’s eyes lit up. “Both?” “This building has a cellar. Bread and such and clothes will be here startin’ tamarra.” Ben thanked him profusely, telling him how proud Sister Sojournor Truth would be. “We do it for the Lord, Brother, for the Lord.” +++ The next night at nearly midnight Ben entered the front door of the bordello. Led by God, Ben picked out the boss, a stout, black woman. Sitting on a high stool behind a bar. “Would you like to leave this business?” Ben asked her, his eyes peering into her soul. “Lawdy, I would. An’ take all these girls with me.” “Any customers here?” “Only you,” she said to Ben. “Gather them up. Hurry. Tell everyone to put on their best walking shoes. Within minutes Ben led eight women – the boss and seven working women – down the alley behind the building and then the two blocks to the A.M.E. church where food and clothing enough for all eight awaited. Less than a handful of minutes later Ben headed the team west intending to avoid the train, driving the women the entire way to the farm at Babcock’s Grove, returning the wagon after the team had been fed and rested. “Whooie! The A.M.E. preacher exclaimed. “Heard all ‘bout it. Whooie! Praise the Lawd! You bes stay clear a’ this side a’ town, brother. Bes’ you stay clear.” Ben smiled, thanking the pastor for his role in the affair. +++ “We goin’ to the game today?” Tony asked as Ben came outside ready to start the day. “Who’re we playin’ today?” Ben asked. “New York Giants. They’ll prob’ly pitch Tim Keefe. He started out not so good this year, but lately hardly nobody can hit ‘im. I think he learned a new pitch, one that slides across the plate and umpires are lettin’ it go for strikes.” Ben scrunched his face at Tony, amazed at his knowledge. “What should I preach today?” Ben asked, wanting to steer their conversation spiritual. “I like how you compared baseball to life.” Tony’s voice grew excited. “You know, first base and second base and Satan and all that.” Ben tussled Tony’s hair, laughing. Too early for fans, but several ball park employees passing by, Ben began to preach. After a few moments, a frog in his throat stopped him for a drink of water. “Excuse me,” a man in an expensive suit called, quickly stepping toward Ben as if afraid to miss the opportunity. “ “Yes Sir,” Ben answered. “First, I want to give you this.” The man handed Ben a handful of dollar bills that turned out to be a hundred. “Thank you. It’ll be put to good use.” “I’m sure it will. Look …” “Ben.” “Ben. I’m Al Spalding.” “The president of the White Stockings,” Ben interjected. “Yes.” “You were a pitcher!” Tony exclaimed to Ben and Al’s chagrin – until Tony added, “One year you were their only pitcher! You won 47 games!” Spalding changed his demeanor. “For that young man …” He reached for his wallet, extracting a card. “You show that and you get into every game all year – for free!” Tony took it, staring at it with wide eyes and opened mouth. Both Al and Ben laughed. “Look, Ben, if I could arrange it, would you preach in my church? I mean, it isn’t mine, but the church where I attend.” Ben thought a minute, closing his eyes. “Mr. Spalding, I would be honored. But it isn’t my calling. But … you have a man right there …” Ben pointed toward the stadium. “Playing in your right field that God is calling right now.” “Billy Sunday?” Spalding’s tone had a hint of incredulity. “He’s listening for God’s call,” Ben said. Al Spalding thanked him and went his way. Ben tussled Tony’s hair. “Let’s preach,” he said to a grinning boy.
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Wayne Fowler
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