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    On Ashlyn's Bridge
    On Ashlyn's Bridge
    On Ashlyn's Bridge
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    On Ashlyn's Bridge

    By Derek McFadden

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    About this ebook

    An elderly sports writer is faced with the biggest crisis of his life, while a younger ball player, the subject of the writer's final column before retirement, is keeping a secret of his own.
    Read On Ashlyn's Bridge, a tale rooted in morality and love, and discover what it truly means to come of age, or remember what it felt like to fall in love for the very first time!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateSep 8, 2002
    ISBN9781469770710
    On Ashlyn's Bridge
    Author

    Derek McFadden

    Derek McFadden is the author of the previously-published On Ashlyn's Bridge. He lives in Redmond, Washington.

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    Book preview

    On Ashlyn's Bridge - Derek McFadden

    ON ASHLYN’S BRIDGE

    Derek McFadden

    Writers Club Press

    San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai

    On Ashlyn’s Bridge

    All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Derek McFadden

    No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

    Writers Club Press

    an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

    For information address:

    iUniverse, Inc.

    5220 S. 16th St., Suite 200

    Lincoln, NE 68512

    www.iuniverse.com

    Any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental.

    This is a work of fiction.

    ISBN: 978-1-469-77071-0 (ebook)

    ISBN: 0-595-24767-9

    Printed in the United States of America

    Contents

    SECTION 1.

    THE KID AND THE SCRIBE

    CHAPTER 1

    CHAPTER 2

    CHAPTER 3

    CHAPTER 4

    CHAPTER 5

    CHAPTER 6

    CHAPTER 7

    CHAPTER 8

    SECTION 2.

    MARTY TELLS HIS STORY

    CHAPTER 9

    CHAPTER 10

    CHAPTER 11

    CHAPTER 12

    CHAPTER 13

    CHAPTER 14

    CHAPTER 15

    CHAPTER 16

    CHAPTER 17

    CHAPTER 18

    CHAPTER 19

    SECTION 3.

    THE NIGHT WANES

    CHAPTER 20

    SECTION 4.

    EPILOGUE:

    A RAINY DAY IN MAY

    For everyone who has helped and encouraged me. I love and appreciate all of you. You each have a special place reserved in my heart.

    This book is especially for:

    My Dad and Ky; Mom; Pop and Grandma; MG; Pat; Kate; my sister Katie and brother James

    And to Corinne, who sat in fair territory, hoping Edgar Martinez would smack a base-hit right into her lap.

    She was like a second mother to me.

    Compassion is the progeny of humility.

    —D McF

    This whole sometimes-misguided, rambling tract was composed by one who is sometimes misguided and who tends to ramble. (Stand in awe of the irony).

    —D McF

    SECTION 1.

    THE KID AND THE SCRIBE

    CHAPTER 1

    The gray-haired sportswriter, who had invested nearly his entire working career in his current profession, just wouldn’t leave the young ballplayer alone, and thereby appeared not to condone the athlete’s proper preparation for the game that loomed very near. In truth, the sportswriter was too preoccupied with his own task at hand to be bothered by that of the young man. What the sportswriter needed desperately now was one last story; one last hurrah from a well-known fan and scriber of the good old game. Just one more before he went into obscurity, before he and his wife moved into their elegantly fashioned Florida dwelling to while away the last few years that they had to spend together. Then again, would they be years or was he just deluding himself with impossibilities? Was all of it just wishful thinking?

    The sportswriter’s wife was not yet seventy years of age, while he was nearly two years her senior, and in need of glasses whenever he took up a newspaper to read what he himself had put forth in his work that day.

    Yet it was she over whom the doctors kept a close watch. She had not long to last, and this they knew. They had informed him long ago of the tragedy that was her failing health. There was, however and sadly, nothing that could be done which would assist the older woman in the last season of her life.

    And so now, on his last official day of employment, Marty Higgins, noted columnist and lover of baseball, was searching high and low, leaving no stone unturned. His last story, he had told himself that morning, simply had to be something special, extraordinary, even; something that everyone would remember. Something that he might even be able to lose himself in, a momentary reprieve from the situation with his wife. He hoped that the young man, the ballplayer with the long, flowing blond hair and the unbelievable curve ball, could somehow expedite matters a bit. Perhaps he could give Marty a quotation or something. It didn’t need to be anything too special or earth-shattering. All the older man really wanted was a catalyst, something to get his last column off the ground. He could write the earth-shattering stuff himself later sitting at his typewriter. That was, after all, his trademark.

    Excuse me, Brady. Higgins began to speak, attempting to engage the young man in a quasi-friendly conversation.

    How are you, Marty? the ballplayer, Brady Broderick, asked. He stood dressed in his uniform, those pinstripes, the ones everyone wanted. And Brady had them, was a part of the team. He was a Yankee.

    Alright, Marty told himself, that’s a start. At least he’s talking to you, old boy. Some of them wouldn’t even do that much.

    As he thought on that fact, Marty began to hearken back through all of his years at the difficult yet enthralling employment that had, sometime long ago, become his reason for waking in the morning. It was a necessity now. He had to come to the ballpark, had to converse with the players, many of whom over the years he had befriended.

    His train of thought was broken suddenly when he came to a realization.

    You’re pitching today, aren’t you, Brady?

    That’s right, sir, the young Brady answered formally.

    How do you feel?

    Pretty good.

    Having spent a considerable amount of his life around individuals with similar attitudes and desires to win as was present then in Brady Broderick, Marty Higgins knew that he could trust the rookie to tell the absolute truth. One might argue that he was paid to know such things.

    Brady, he confided, this is going to be my last column. I’m retiring as soon as this ball game ends here tonight, and I was wondering, that is, if it’s not too big an inconvenience for you, if I could take some time to profile you in my column. I’ll ask you a few questions now, a few when the game is over. What do you say?

    As the youngster had no disagreement with the proposal, sportswriter and ball player began to talk in that capacity, Marty formulating inquiries in his customary style, Brady doing his own duty and returning with customary answers.

    At first, the interview did not appear to Marty to be anything like he had envisioned. He began to question his judgment, began to wonder if he had made the wrong decision by featuring Brady in his soon-to-be-written article.

    Little did he know that it was not any of the questions that he posed or any of the answers that Brady in turn gave that would in the end be the focus of that very last column. In actuality, the events that followed the ball game of that day would prove to

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