From the Publisher
“Stealing Home is pure poetry wrapped in wisdom. Allison Pittman gifts us with characters deep and true, dialogue that’s real, and a plot that moves us to laughter and to tears while keeping us turning pages. I want to go to Picksville and watch the next baseball game. I want to meet Duke and Ned and Ellie Jane and Morris especially and all the other people whom Pitman brought into my heart. When I grow up, I want to write like Allison Pittman.”
–Jane Kirkpatrick, award-winning author of A Mending at the Edge and A Flickering Light
“Stealing Home took me by surprise with gripping characters who dare to defy traditions of race, relationships, and what it means to be a woman, a man, a friend. With baseball in the 1900s as a metaphor, Stealing Home is a skillfully woven story about believing in the game of life, love, and ultimately in the victory of change.”
–Tina Ann Forkner, author of Ruby Among Us and Rose House
“There is no doubt about it. Stealing Home has earned a place on my keeper shelf. Allison Pittman’s wonderfully drawn characters captured my heart and never let go. I hurt with them, laughed with them, loved with them, and cried with them, and I will surely never forget them. Don’t miss this book!”
–Robin Lee Hatcher, best-selling author of Wagered Heart and A Vote of Confidence
“The fabulous ensemble cast of Stealing Home broadens the scope of Allison Pittman’s well-crafted novel, setting it apart from typical period romances and grounding the story with historical relevance. Yes, readers will want Ellie Jane to find love, but they’ll want much more than that, too–justice for Morris; hope for Ned; peace and victory for Duke. And they won’t be disappointed. Stealing Home drew me in from the first pitch and held me until the final strikeout.”
–Christa Parrish, author of Home Another Way
“Allison Pittman hit one out of the park with Stealing Home. The superb cast of characters in this tender story of hope, love, and healing settled in my soul and made me long to stroll down to the town square and linger a while. An unexpected delight in this lovely tale was the narration by Morris, an innocent yet perceptive young man who knows the citizens of Picksville better than they know themselves. More than the story of a few characters, Stealing Home is a study of small town life at its very worst and its shining best.”
–Megan DiMaria, author of Out of Her Hands and Searching for Spice
“Allison Pittman is a master at creating a fictional world so real you’ll never want to leave it. She balances light humor with insights into romance that make you re-examine your own heart and soul. She keeps you guessing all the way to the grand slam of an ending. And when she writes about baseball, you feel as if the bat’s in your own hand, swinging at the fastest ball you ever saw. Stealing Home covers all the bases–a home run of a novel.”
–Caroline Coleman, author of Loving Soren
“Written with an elegant flair, Stealing Home is a tremendous story of love, patience, and hope against hope.”
–Alice J. Wisler, author of Rain Song and How Sweet It Is
Read an Excerpt
She took the job at the railroad ticket office quite by accident when her father, Sheriff Floyd Voyant, was summoned to the station to arrest the ticket agent who had shown up drunk to work one morning.
It was early June, just after graduation, and Ellie Jane—needing to stop by the post office anyway—had accompanied her father. At the insistence of Mr. Coleman, the station manager, she settled behind the desk to fill in for the afternoon.
She had been seventeen years old. She never left.
Some people, she supposed, might find it monotonous to sit in a little glass booth, day after day, but not Ellie Jane. These were her finest hours, chatting with her fellow townspeople. She might ask, “Oh, do you have family in Tennessee?” or “Didn’t you just travel to Boston last month?” And the person on the other side of the glass would be forced to reply, even if grudgingly so, with averted eyes and terse comments.
If she were to run into any of these same people in the town square, while running errands in the Picksville shops, they might walk right past her or make a quick detour into the butcher’s shop. But here, if they wanted her to slide that ticket through the little archway cut into the glass, they’d have to engage in a bit of conversation.
This afternoon, the first Tuesday in May, Ellie Jane was finishing her modest lunch of an apple, cinnamon butter bread, and tea, when a tentative knock at the glass window got her attention. It was Morris Bennett, a little early to take advantage of passengers needing help with their bags.
“Miss Ellie Jane?” His voice was soft and muffled. “I gots a telegraph message for you.” He slid a slip of paper through the arched opening at the bottom of the glass.
“Why thank you, Morris.” Ellie Jane sent him a smile few people outside of her family had ever seen. It was carefully controlled— an attempt to hide the excitement of such an occasion. Other people might receive telegrams every day from friends and family who lived in places they took the train to visit. But Ellie Jane’s whole life was here—equally divided between her little glass booth and the home she shared with her father. There was, of course, her brother, Dave, in Chicago, but his was a busy, exciting life that left little time for frivolous messages home.
She fished around inside her little cloth handbag to slip the boy a dime, which he took with a wide toothy grin and dropped immediately into his pocket.
“Anything else today, m’am?”
Ellie Jane checked the watch pinned to her blouse.
“The two-o’clock will be here soon, Morris. Perhaps you’d like to stay and see if any passengers need help with their bags?”
“Yes, m’am.” He touched the rim of his cap and sauntered toward the platform, hands in his pockets and whistling.
Despite her curiosity, before opening the telegram, Ellie Jane carefully put away the remains of her lunch in her bucket, wiped the corners of her mouth with a pretty floral napkin, and removed the square sign telling any potential ticket buyer that the window was closed for lunchtime.
Then, with nervous fingers, she opened the envelope and saw that the message was indeed from her brother. Her reaction differed each time she read the short note: first a giggle, then confusion, then a rather cold fear.
David was sending her a man. And he was coming on the twoo’clock train.
From the Trade Paperback edition.