At one in the morning, Henry wandered through black Hester. He avoided the seedy sections and streets, though he could hear the nightlife of voices and laughter, of people going full out for high times playing poker and dice games, and he could see all the money passing hands and all those empty souls trying to drink their sad lives away.

Henry reached Tyson's Pub, and the thought of a drink sounded right nice.

The lights were still on!

Maybe Charles was still there, cleaning up after the last of the patrons had left.

Henry had managed to travel unnoticed, but then he heard the rumble of a car turning onto the street. He ducked into the dark of the alley beside the pub, holding his breath as he stood next to the dented trash pails filled with scraps of decaying food.

A police car slowed to a crawl, as it passed in front of the alley.

The cop seemed to be searching for someone. Probably looking for a robber inside the bar, because of the lights. For a second, the policeman seemed to be staring directly into the alley ... at Henry. But then the cop sped off, and the car coughed plumes of smoke in its wake.

Moments later, Henry emerged from the alley and peeked through the front window of the pub.

The lights flickered inside, but the dingy bar looked as deserted as the overnight streets of the Colored Market District.

Henry sighed. The sign on the door read, "Closed for Business." He gave the knob a twist, and it made a rattling sound as if to mock him.

What was he even doing out here anyway? He should have just stayed at home, and let Sarah take care of him.

Henry was about to turn around and head home when Old Man Charles shuffled out of the back room, pushing a broom across the floor. Henry rapped on the glass of the window.

Charles looked up. His eyes grew round with concern, and he hurried to the door.

A half hour later, Henry found himself sitting at the bar, holding a rag against the top of his forehead. He'd already changed into a large black shirt that Charles had given him and was working on his second medicating glass of beer

"I can't believe how everything's turned out, Charles. All I wanted to do was play baseball!"

Charles furrowed his brow. "You want to stop talking there. Just keep that rag in place. I don't want you bleeding all over this bar after I just got it cleaned up."

The feeling of sleep started to tug Henry's eyelids down.

"After that drink, you ought to go home," Charles said. "Let your wife give you a proper patch-up job. You look worse than the garbage pails out back."

Henry gave a humorless laugh. "Thanks, Charles! Exactly what I wanted to hear."

Charles grunted and began rinsing used mugs at the tap behind the counter. "And when you get back home, you better apologize to your wife for leaving her like that."

Henry nodded, his eyes cast downward. He realized he had turned a bad situation worse, but he would make it up to Sarah. "I should just give up on baseball," he muttered. "It's gotten me into nothing but trouble. It didn't matter that black folks wanted me to play for the Pioneers. Whites thought I was a threat! All I was trying to do was play a lousy game! The game I love! Instead, I've lost my livelihood, my pride, my ... everything. I was jumped by a bunch of bigots! I got whipped senseless ... all because of my color! On top of that, Sarah's probably worried about me. It's all one giant mess!"

"It know it seems bad now," Charles said as he set a washed mug into the dish rack. "But you're a great baseball player. And I don't know if you heard, but the Pioneers lost the last game of the season. They looked pretty bad out there. They aren't the same team without you and Willy. Not the same team at all."

"He's telling the truth!" The voice came from the door, clicking shut now.

Henry turned and saw a familiar, white face, one that he wasn't too pleased to see.

"Henry! What happened to your face?" Mr. Bell asked.

Henry glared at Frank Bell, intentionally ignoring his question.

Charles said, "Henry, you want me to show this man the door?"

"Not yet," Henry muttered.

"Just say the word, and he's out of here faster than a foul ball," Charles said. "I'll be in the back room taking inventory if you need me, okay?"

Henry nodded. He set the rag on the counter and cut his eyes at Mr. Bell. "So what do you want?"

Frank took a stool beside Henry. "I came to talk to you about the team. I couldn't help but overhear the tail end of your conversation. Your friend is right. The Pioneers aren't the same without you."

"Me and Willy could have told you that was going to be the case, but you were too busy firing us!"

"Hey, I never fired you!"

Henry rolled his eyes. It was true, but getting benched was almost the same as getting fired.

Mr. Bell's eyes narrowed, his gaze raking over Henry's bloodied and bruised face.

"What are you looking at?" Henry released an exasperated breath. "Look, it doesn't matter. How'd you even find me?"

"The police commissioner owed me a favor," Frank said. "He sent a car out to look for you. It wasn't too hard to track you down in your state."

Henry raised his brow. "Why would you go to that much trouble to find me?"

Mr. Bell held his breath before blurting it out. "I want you to come back to the Pioneers ... you and Willy. I made a mistake, trying to bench you. We need the two of you if the Pioneers are going to have any shot in the playoffs."

Henry snorted. "Why would you want me back? I'm colored, remember? Won't that embarrass Union Steel? Having a black baseball player on an all-white team?"

Frank reached into his pocket and withdrew a small square of paper.

It was a photo of Mr. Bell's son, Peter. It appeared to be a more recent picture. Peter was still in military dress, but his outfit looked slightly different than in the framed photograph on the corner of Mr. Bell's desk.

Frank proceeded to recount Peter's experience, his words full of emotion. "His platoon was ambushed. Peter was about to be shot. He'd be dead right now if it weren't for the bravery of a fellow soldier. He took the bullet meant for Peter. He died for my son –" Frank's voice trailed off.

Henry's heart plummeted. It was a heartbreaking story. He knew how much Peter meant to the Frank and to the Bell family at large.

Mr. Bell met Henry's gaze. "A black man gave his life, so that Peter could live. My son! Color didn't matter to that soldier. And it didn't matter to Peter when that poor soul was dying in his arms."

Frank paused and took in a deep breath.

Henry could see he was having trouble fighting back his emotions.

"What about Peter?" Henry asked.

Frank gave a heavy swallow and nodded. "He was hurt, but he's going to be okay. What happened to Peter has taught me a valuable lesson ... that the color of a person's skin doesn't matter. What really matters is the color in our hearts ... and in our dreams. Henry Louis, your dream is baseball, and the Pioneers could sure use your help."

Henry took in everything that Frank had said. It all sounded fine, but there were still two big problems standing in the way. "What about your father and the league board? They're not going to like me coming back to the team."

"You just come back to the Pioneers. I have a plan." Frank smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "It's going to take some guts to pull this off, but I think we can do it. What do you say?"

Guts!

Henry felt a jolt as the word echoed in his head.

There's not a person in Hester with the guts to stand up to the Vigilantes.

"I'll come back," Henry said with a slow nod, "but on one condition."

"Condition?" Mr. Bell said, curiosity lining his face. "What sort of condition?"

Henry met Frank's eyes. "I could use your help on something important."

Mr. Bell shot a quizzical look. "If I can do it, I will."

"You know the police commissioner pretty well, right?" Henry asked.

"That I do," Frank said, his expression gleaming with pride. "Commission O'Reilly and I go way back. A couple years ago, I donated their new headquarters and all of their equipment. Say, what kind of help do you need?"

Henry's expression grew serious. "Let's just say, I could use your help, dealing with some Vigilantes."