When Wade turned in his overly starchy sheets to glance at his alarm clock, it was to find that the time was way, way earlier than he would have liked and that, of course, there was already bustling in the house. Letting out one last yawn, he got up from the bed and made his way down to the kitchen, silently stealing himself for whatever the day had in store.

He was, of course, excited to see his nephew after so long, but somehow whenver he thought of spending time with the little boy, he could only picture Violet glaring at him or chastising him that he hadn't done one thing or anything the way it ought to have been done.

What did she know, though? She wasn't the kid's mother. She was only the nanny. Didn't the fact that Sam was his blood relative mean anything? Wasn't that a deeper bond than any hired helper could have with him?

Wade made it to the last stair and turned to find both Violet and Sam sitting at the dining room table. Or, at least, he was pretty sure it was Sam.

The boy's curly blond hair, so much like his mother’s, was pressed down by what looked like a mining helmet and a bright light shone from the middle of it. When he looked up, the little boy's eyes were magnified to the size of protuberant softballs, and in his hand he held a tiny wooden toy and an even smaller paintbrush with what must have been three bristles on the end. In front of him were a myriad of different tiny paint canisters, almost like finger paint.

If this was odd, Violet certainly didn't make any effort to show it. She simply sat on the far side of the table, half-eaten toast in front of her and something frilly in her lap as she hand-sewed it.

Apparently whatever Sam had been eating was already cleared away.

"Good morning," Wade said and his nephew smiled at him without moving from whatever it was he was doing.

"Good morning Uncle Wade. It's nice to see you, but if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you stepped lightly in here? One vibration and my entire musket will be the wrong color."

Wade blinked. "Um, yeah, sure."

He tiptoed to the place beside Sam and examined his work. A little field of soldiers--all fully painted and with faux grass added to the base of their stands were assembled in front of him.

"Is this homework?" Wade asked.

"No," Sam said simply, then screwed up his face and stuck out his little tongue in concentration as he went back to his work.

"Right. Well. Cool."

"Sam is putting together a scale model of the crossing of the Delaware," Violet supplied, though she too didn't look up from her sewing.

"Right. Awesome." Wade nodded, then looked at the little boy again.

The last time he'd seen the kid, he'd been barely able to tottle around the house.

"I bet you're glad for the weekend," Wade said.

For a moment, Sam didn't respond--apparently too transfixed on the work at hand, but then he said, "I guess, yeah. Next weekend will be better, though."

"Why's that?" Wade asked.

"The fall festival. We've been getting Sam's costume ready for the parade for the better part of a month." Violet lifted the fabric on her lap, and Wade frowned.

Shit, he'd forgotten about the damn festival. Though, to be fair, there were only a few weeks out of the year when Sapphire Falls wasn't running amok over one knit-a-thon or dance-a-thon or firework festival. Anything, he supposed, to distract the people from the fact that they lived in Sapphire Falls.

"Right, well, I had something even better in mind for this weekend."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed, but then he said, "What do you mean?"

"I mean last night when I got in I bought the three of us tickets to a baseball game. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

He turned a triumphant glance toward Violet, but her face remained as impassive as ever as she continued with her stitching.

Sam, too, glanced at Violet, but then nodded slowly at his uncle. "Yeah, that could be fun."

"Well...great. I don't want to interrupt your project here, so I guess I'll just grab some coffee and do some quick work. Make sure you're ready to go in a couple of hours, okay?"

Sam nodded and Wade slid from his seat, careful to tiptoe again as he made his way out of the room. Still, before he slipped down the hall and toward the kitchen, he thought he caught a glimpse of Violet staring after him.

Good, let her stare. She thought she was the only one who could make sure Sam was taken care of? Today she was going to have a first-hand experience in exactly how capable he was and then he'd love to hear what else she had to say about it.

Bring it on.

* * *

"Do you think we can listen to Hamilton on the way to the park?" Though Sam had been quiet for the vast majority of the morning, Violet was still somewhat surprised that this was the first question out of the little boy's mouth.

Then again, she probably shouldn't have been. Experience had taught her that, when it came to Sam, reality rarely met up with expectations.

After his mother had died, for example, he had been sad, of course, but not in the way that most kids might have been. He hadn't acted out in class, become anti-social, or even blamed himself for the accident (though, of course, he had nothing to do with it). All of his therapists reported that, in spite of everything, he was as well-adjusted a child as any other--though there had been some concern over her eager interest in the career and inventions of Eli Whitney.

Then, when Violet had come onto the scene and Jimmy had been around, Sam never asked questions about his father. He didn't wonder where he was or why he spent his time elsewhere. Instead, he'd formed a group in his school devoted to the study of Benjamin Franklin.

Now, with yet another new guardian on the scene, he couldn't get enough of George Washington. The day Violet had brought home the cast recording of the musical Hamilton had been one of the best days of her life, and ever since then, Sam had practically demanded to listen to George Washington's songs at least once a day.

"We can certainly ask him," Violet said, leaning against the counter top as she watched Sam clean the paint from his brush.

"Cool." Sam wiped his brush on a paper towel.

"Now, you ready to go? Teeth brushed? Hair combed?"

"George Washington--"

"Nope. Not going to work. Go clean those teeth." Violet said, though it was hard to bite back her smile.

"Fine." Sam went off to do as he was asked and she walked into the foyer, her heart practically in her stomach. God, she wanted this to work out.

She supposed, on some level, she could give Wade credit for trying. It was, after all, better than taking Sam to the bar for wing night each week as Jimmy had done. Still, she couldn't help but to wonder what a kid like Sam would think of a baseball game.

"All ready to go?" Wade asked from the top of the stairs and Violet craned around to look at him. He was wearing a tight-fitting muscle Tee, the red and white Philadelphia logo emblazoned across the front of the shirt. His thick hair was covered by a matching bright red cap, and he gestured to Violet's own jeans and Tee-shirt with obvious dismay.

"Where's the baseball spirit?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Sorry, I was busy with Sam. Next time."

"Right." Wade looked around. "Where is Sam?"

"Brushing his teeth. He'll be down in a minute."

"Right. good." Wade nodded. "Should I have, um, asked him to do that myself or--"

"You're fine."

"Right." Wade nodded again, apparently intent on looking anywhere but her face. Not that she could blame him. She was feeling just about the same herself and with every passing moment it felt like the tension between them ticked up on notch higher, made it that much more difficult to breathe.

He doesn't remember, she reminded herself, but it was still with a swell of relief that she saw Sam sprinting toward them in his "Remember the Alamo" Tee-shirt.

"Ok, great, let's hit the road," Wade said.

"Shoes and coat," Violet instructed, then, turning to Wade, she added, "Do you mind if we listen to Hamilton in the car?"

"Um...I guess not." The confusion on Wade's face was enough of a give away that he had no clue what she was talking about, but she figured acceptance was acceptance as she led the little boy toward the car and instructed him to buckle his seatbelt.

Violet settled into the back of the SUV with Sam, and then queued up the album on her phone. When the opening music began, Sam started nodding his head along with the music, soundlessly mouthing the words as the narrator began to sing.

"What is this?" Wade asked.

"It's a musical about the life of America's first Secretary of the Treasury," Sam said, and then went back to silently mouthing along with the music.

"Right. Okay, excellent." Wade nodded. He focused on the road a while longer, then when they reached a red light, he twisted in his seat and said, "So, are you excited for the game?"

"Sure," Sam said. "It's America's pastime."

Violet grinned at him, but Wade pressed forward. "You know, if you like the game, there are a lot of different sports you can see in Philadelphia. There's a football stadium and a hockey rink and a baseball stadium."

"That's probably very good for commerce," Sam said and Violet pursed her lips.

"Well, you know that there are always softball games in the park in Sapphire Falls, too. Didn't you used to play, Wade?" Violet asked.

"Briefly." Wade turned his attention back to the road, but Violet sucked her lips in.

The guy had been in town for less than 24 hours and was already trying to rally Sam into moving to another state? She wanted to reach out and place her hand firmly on the little boy's shoulder, as if reminding him that she was there might ward off any hints Wade tried to drop. Not that it mattered. The subtext had apparently flown right over Sam's head, and he was back to nodding along to the music, smiling more broadly whenever it was George Washington's turn to sing.

Before long, they reached the stadium in the neighboring town and Wade parked just outside the wide, stone walls, below the giant blue pelican that served as the team's mascot.

"Okay, game time," Wade said, then gave the radio a grateful glance as Violet cut the music mid-lyric.

After showing the men at security their tickets and walking through the huge, stone entryway, Sam craned around, nodding with some degree of approval at the ivy climbing the walls and the ornate, old-fashioned detailing.

"Pretty, huh?" Violet asked him and the little boy nodded, his curls bouncing slightly.

"Very. I wonder what year it was built."

"We'll have to ask someone."

Either Wade didn't hear their conversation, or he chose to ignore it. Regardless, he pressed forward, glancing every now and then at their tickets and motioning for them to keep up. With Sam, this was no easy task. Every few feet or so, he wanted to stop to read one plaque or another or study the intricate detailing on the archways.

Finally, though, they managed to reach their seats right above the dugout and Wade smiled at them gratefully when everyone was settled.

"When was baseball invented?" Sam looked from Wade to Violet, his eyes taking on that little old man quality they always did when he was thinking deep.

Wade shrugged. "Don't know."

Violet typed the question into her phone. "1839."

Sam nodded knowingly. "An interesting year."

"I'm sure." Wade said. "So, Sam, do you know all the positions there are in baseball?"

Sam shook his head and Wade launched into an extensive explanation as Sam sat beside him, listening politely. When he'd finally finished, Sam blinked up at him, his expression staid, and said, "Yes, but who invented the game?"

"Oh, um, I don't know."

Violet, knowing this was coming, had already searched the question on her phone. "Baseball was invented by Abner Doubleday. He later when on to become a Civil War hero."

Sam's expression brightened at this. "Oh, wow. I wonder what he did in the war."

"We can look it up when we get home if you like. I think the game is about to start."

From the corner of her eye, she caught Wade frowning, but then they all turned their attention to the field as the national anthem began. For the first few innings, Sam watched patiently, if somewhat uninterestedly, as Wade explained to him what was happening on the field. Occasionally, he'd even added things like "Now, if the Phillies were playing, things would be a little more exciting," but Violet suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at this.

By the fourth inning, Sam's stomach had begun to growl, and Wade went to the food court with the promise of returning with traditional ballpark franks.

When he was safely out of earshot, Violet turned to Sam, a smile fixed on her face, and said, "It's okay if you don't like the game, you know."

Sam nodded. "I know. Uncle Wade seems to really like it, though, doesn't he?"

Violet nodded, too. "Just tell me if you want to go."

Sam shook his head. "It's always good to learn about something new. Today, I get to learn about baseball, right?"

"Right," Violet said. "You're absolutely right."

A moment of silence passed between them, but then, as if out of nowhere, Sam asked, "What do you think Abner Doubleday did in the war to make him a hero?"

Violet beamed at him. "Well, I don't know."

"But if you had to guess. I'm thinking he probably cut enemy supply lines."

"Like Alexander Hamilton?" She asked.

He nodded. "Games in times of war are meant to help morale, right? It would make sense." Sam shrugged.

"It would." Violet agreed. "Or maybe he just put on puppet shows. Ever think of that?"

Sam chuckled. "I don't think so."

"He could have." Violet smiled, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something.

It happened in a matter of seconds. Something was shooting toward them, right at Sam, so fast that she hardly had time to move--didn't, in fact, have any time at all. But then Sam must have seen it, too. He held his hands in front of his face, intent on defending himself, and then, after a little thunking sound, she looked down to find Sam holding a baseball in his bare hand.

"Huh. I caught it," he said. Without another word, he tossed the ball back over the dividing gate between themselves and the dugout.

"Here you go!" He shouted, and then he reeled around as men with gloves on their hands stared down at him.

"Lady, what do you think you're doing?" One red-faced man asked Violet, while another man focused his attention on Sam.

"What the hell, kid?"

Sam's eyes widened, and he glanced back toward the field before looking up at Violet. Everyone in the stands surrounding them was looking at them, and Violet gripping Sam's hand firmly before leading him back up the steps and into the little breezeway. When they finally reached the top of the steps, they ran into Wade, holding three hotdogs and a bucket of steaming french fries.

"What are you guys doing?"

"We're going to go read the plaques. Come on." She led Sam firmly, not even giving Wade time to hand the boy his hot dog before they hustled further away from their seats.

Perfect. Just perfect. Now poor Sam was going to wonder why every person in the stadium was mad at him just for returning something that didn't belong to him.

She knew it was wrong, that it wasn't his fault, but she wanted to glare at Wade with so much force that she burned him, and maybe she would. But first? She was going to make damned sure that this day was salvaged for Sam.

At this point, it was the very least she could do.