Dirt In The Skirt - Chapter 2
Dirt In The Skit - Chapter 2 - Tryouts
I say this a lot, but I don’t know what I would do without @theministerskat , Beta Extrodinare!
“Hurry up, Claire! We’re going to miss the train if ye dinna run faster!” Geillis shouted over her shoulder.
As the pair bustled through the station, Claire saw the steam rise from the train’s engine stack as it began its journey to Detroit. For once the redhead was right - they were going to miss it if they didn’t book it.
And run they did. As they sprinted past the caboose, Claire caught site of the grizzly Scot through a window of the train. The look on his face was all the evidence she needed to know that he had not expected their arrival. Smirking to herself, she wondered just what he was mumbling under his breath as they raced by him.
Claire and Geillis were able to catch up to the train, toss their luggage to a waiting attendant, and with his helping hand, they clambered successfully aboard the locomotive.
“I see ye changed yer minds,” Murtagh said, motioning for the women to join him at a table he managed to reserve in one of the cars.
Responding with only a glare, Claire sat down opposite him. She still wasn’t sure about the man, there was something a little rough about him that made her uneasy.
“So, what’s next then?” she asked the baseball scout. “Are we heading straight to tryouts in Detroit?”
“I canna wait to get to Detroit!” Geillis cut in before the gruff Scotsman could answer. “I’ve always wanted to see Leoch Field.”
“We have another stop to make first,” Murtagh said matter-of-factly. “I’ve one more girl to look at just outside of Cleveland. A lass by the name of Mary Hawkins. Word is she’s good with a bat.”
They found Mary Hawkins tucked away in the gymnasium of the local high school. She was surrounded by the varsity baseball team, their coach by no coincidence was her father, Silas Hawkins.
Claire watched in fascination as the young girl made her way to the plate. It was clear to anyone watching that she was shy, doing her best not to make eye contact with anyone, save her father. One could hardly fault Mary. Murtagh had let it slip that she had lost her mother at a young age. Growing up with just her father, it was only natural that Mary would follow in his footsteps and carry on his love of baseball. Crossing her fingers, Claire silently hoped that Mary had what it took to impress the scout.
Claire moved to sit beside Geillis, who had already seated herself a couple rows up in the bleachers, ready to watch the action before them. Murtagh lurked around the perimeter of the room, trying to remain inconspicuous. Several young men formed a makeshift outfield, scattering themselves around the gymnasium, one remained in the center of the court to take up the position of pitcher. Ball after ball was thrown in Mary’s direction, she had quite the eye for telling which ones to swing at and which should be left to the umpires call. After she successfully sent several balls soaring through the air to the other end of the room, her father called for her to show off more of her talent.
“Mary, darling, switch to leftie,” Silas instructed.
Mary nodded in acknowledgment, and without saying a word or making eye contact with anyone other than her father, moved to the other side of the plate. Once again she carefully studied each ball as it approached the strike zone. Never swinging at those she knew would be called a ball, but always making contact with the ones that would be considered a strike.
It wasn’t long until Claire heard Murtagh muffle a grunt of sorts to get Silas’ attention. She hoped he would offer Mary the same chance she and Geillis got from him. Mary was one hell of a batter, the best female hitter Claire had ever seen.
“Ye say the lass is yer daughter?” Murtagh asked Coach Hawkins.
“Yessir. It’s just been the two of us. Her mother passed when she was very young. Raised her the best I knew how. She’s been holding onto a bat since she could walk.”
“I think I’ve seen enough,” Murtagh said, glancing over to where Mary was standing. Unwilling to make eye contact with him, she was wringing her hands, unsure of herself.
Claire watched patiently as Murtagh’s face began to show signs of deep thought. She was shocked when she heard him say, “We’ll let you know.”
Claire was outraged and confused. Mary was a strong player. It didn’t make any sense why Murtagh wouldn’t offer her a chance to even try out. Claire watched him motion for them to follow, but she wasn’t going anywhere.
“What are ye on about?” Murtagh asked, finally noticing that neither Geillis or Claire were moving.
“We aren’t leaving without Mary,” Claire said, placing her hands on her hips.
“Yeah,” added Geillis as she crossed her arms in front of herself. “She’s great!”
“The league isna a place for children. She canna even make eye contact with anyone but her da for Christ sake!” he justified.
“Well, if she’s not going, neither are we,” stated Claire as she placed her hand on her hip.
“Aye, I second that.” Geillis chimed in.
Within the hour, Claire, Geillis, Murtagh, and Mary were all waiting for their train to Detroit. Claire and Geillis were sitting together on a bench, allowing Mary and her father some privacy as they said their goodbyes. Claire was keeping an eye on Murtagh. She wasn’t convinced that he wouldn’t try and leave Mary behind at the first chance he got. Deep down she knew she was right for putting up such a fight with Murtagh. Mary was an excellent ball player. If they wanted the league to be successful, she needed to have the chance to try out.
Glancing over at the young girl, Claire could tell that this would be the first time she was ever away from her home. She remembered what it felt like when she left her parents’ farm for the bustling city of Boston, scared and excited all at once.
The train gave it's final warning for boarding, causing Claire and Geillis to grab their bags and make their way towards the platform. Turning to look at the young girl, Claire noticed that she was still occupied by saying her goodbyes.
“Weel, are you coming lass?” Murtagh grumbled as he directed the lot of them towards the door where the train was waiting.
Claire and Geillis were the first to board, leaving Mary the chance to give her father one final hug before Murtagh grumpily continued.
“Ye see lass, I canna take ye to Detroit if you dinna leave the station.”
“Here we are, then. Welcome to Leoch Field,” Murtagh said as he ushered them up to the player registration table. “Get out there and show ‘em what ye got. And try not to embarrass me.”
As the girls busied themselves with the sign in paperwork, he gave one last grunt and turned to leave.
“Wait, you’re leaving already?” Claire asked curiously. “Won’t you be staying for tryouts?”
“Nah, lass. My job here is done. Just a scout remember.”
“So that’s it then?” Geillis chimed in.
He nodded in response. “‘Tis time for me to head on home. But I wish ye lasses nothing but the best of luck.”
And with a tip of his hat, he made his way off the field.
Claire was amazed at how many girls there were at the tryout. Women from all walks of life were scattered around the field. She could make out small groups that had gathered together to talk, while there were others focused on warming up. Taking a moment to quickly count, she estimated that there were at least 100 league hopefuls. As if reading her mind, she heard one of the many girls speak.
“You know, Annalise, they have over a hundred girls here,” Louise said sizing up the three new arrivals.
“You’re right Louise. That is quite a large number. Some of you will have to go home.” Annalise said looking directly at Claire.
As if to help her friend prove her point, Annalise threw the baseball she had been holding without warning directly at Claire. Without flinching, Claire caught the ball with her bare hand, inspected it, and threw it neatly back to its owner.
“How did you do that?” Annalise asked, shocked that Claire had caught the ball with such ease. “Louise, did you see her catch that ball?”
“Well, what I meant to say was, some of these other girls will have to go home,” Louise said motioning to the girls behind her.
The remainder of the day was spent on a variety of drills designed to show off their skills. Once all the women were spread out across the center of the field, they started out with calisthenics, stretches and jumping jacks, designed to prepare their bodies for the day ahead.
When the trainers were sufficiently happy with their warm-ups, they separated the girls into several smaller groups. Each group, with its own drills to work on, moved to its own location on the field. The girls would work at their stations, whether it be fielding, throwing, pitching, or catching until they heard the sound of the whistle. The drills were meant for more than just weeding out the pers with the true talent from those who lacked the natural ability.
Giving the girls a chance to show what they were made of under the pressure of a real game, it was also a great way for the trainers to understand who would be best suited to play with one another. Some girls had a knack for working well with others, with almost a sense that they were able to read each other’s minds. Wordless communication that just made the gameplay so much more seamless.
As the day ended, the mass of girls gathered together, patiently waiting for the team assignments. Within seconds of the lists being posted, the board was surrounded. Everyone furiously scanning to see if their name was listed under one of the three teams, The Boston Beauties, Hillsborough Hitters or The River Run Belles. One by one the girls who found their name would celebrate with a shout of excitement. Those who did not make a team were faced with returning home and parting ways with the girls that hadn’t made the cut.
The remaining girls made their way back to the field, separating themselves into their respective teams. It wasn’t long before a well-dressed gentleman made his way over to all of them. He was wearing a fine suit, clearly coming from good money. He walked with a confidence that not all men of the time did, only those who found themselves in a position of power. Clearing his throat to get their attention, he addressed the women before him.
“Congratulations to those who made the cut. Ye are now officially members of the All American Girls Professional Baseball League. For those of ye that dinna know, I’m Dougal Mackenzie. General Manager of the All American Girls’ Professional Baseball League.”
Waves of murmurs made their way through the group of girls at his announcement. The excitement hung in the air, thick enough to touch. Claire would have been lying to herself if she had admitted that she wasn’t looking forward to this. Ever since Murtagh showed up at the farm, she had been waiting for this moment. Getting the chance to prove herself by playing her favorite sport. Especially one that was dominated by male players.
“If ye are all quite finished,” he said trying to regain the attention of the players before him. “After we’re done here, all ye lovely ladies will be fitted for yer uniforms. Ye’ll be introduced to yer team manager and chaperone later on. ”
As Dougal finished talking, a young girl of no more than 20 made her way out from the dugout. She was clad in a dress, belted at the waist. The skirt wasn’t nearly long enough, and clearly designed by the men who wished to see the girls play. Any player worth their salt was sure to offer up quite the show bending over to field a ball.
“Mon Dieu! How do you expect us to play in such an outfit? Are we supposed to be baseball players or ballerinas?” asked Annalise.
“Oui, where shall I keep my cigarettes?” added Louise. This garnered a nervous laugh from the crowd.
“There willna be any smoking for players, or drinking for that matter,” Dougal stated, clearly not amused by their attempt at a joke.
To be honest, Claire wasn’t particularly thrilled to have a skirt as her only option while playing ball. It was much easier to wear bloomers, which offered a wide range of motion. Not to mention trying to slide into base. They were sure to get dirt in their skirts and other places.
“‘Tis an awfully short skirt,” grumbled Geillis.
“If ye willna wear the uniform, I’ll find a lass that will. All those who were just cut would be willing to trade in their train tickets if I asked them to play in a bathing suit,” Dougal was not going to listen to any arguments on the subject. “And in addition to the uniforms, each of ye will have regular classes at Charm and Beauty School. Every player in this league will be a lady.”
He was leaving the choice up to them. Wear the skirt, act like a lady, and play - or pack their bags and return home.
