The baseball season of 1951 doesn't arrive soon enough for young Jimmy Fletcher, and the perfect refuge for this 10-yearold boy during that enchanted summer in the fictional town of Marshfield is transformed into The Original Edison Field. That's where his dream of playing for the New York Yankees takes root. Unexpectedly, his quest ends all too soon.
Years later, he becomes a successful journalist in a small town, but his life is unfulfilled. Then, a magical moment occurs: The daughter he never saw grow up reappears in his life. She has holes in her heart that need to be filled, just as Jimmy does. The improbable circumstances soon take another unexpected twist. He rediscovers his ability to pitch and an unlikely fantasy comes true.
Moments before the final game of the 1993 season, Jimmy and his daughter run into a legendary player who instantly takes Jimmy back to 1951.
Cam Jansen and her friend Eric want to play baseball in the park with some other kids. But they need to find their lost ball first. Everyone gets together to search, and Cam says "Click " to start up her photographic memory. What was going on when the ball disappeared? Who has it? Where can it be now? Cam is ready to find out.
One day in late September I received the following letter from my lawyer:-"My Dear Bell,-"I shall esteem it a favour if you can make it convenient to call upon me at ten o'clock to-morrow morning on a matter of extreme privacy." At the appointed hour I was shown into Mr. Edgcombe's private room. I had known him for years-we were, in fact, old friends-and I was startled now by the look of worry, not to say anxiety, on his usually serene features."You are the very man I want, Bell," he cried. "Sit down; I have a great deal to say to you. There is a mystery of a very grave nature which I hope you may solve for me. It is in connection with a house said to be haunted."He fixed his bright eyes on my face as he spoke. I sat perfectly silent, waiting for him to continue."In the first place," he resumed, "I must ask you to regard the matter as confidential.""Certainly," I answered."You know," he went on, "that I have often laughed at your special hobby, but it occurred to me yesterday that the experiences you have lived through may enable you to give me valuable assistance in this difficulty.""I will do my best for you, Edgcombe," I replied.He lay back in his chair, folding his hands."The case is briefly as follows," he began. "It is connected with the family of the Wentworths. The only son, Archibald, the artist, has just died under most extraordinary circumstances. He was, as you probably know, one of the most promising water-colour painters of the younger school, and his pictures in this year's Academy met with universal praise. He was the heir to the Wentworth estates, and his death has caused a complication of claims from a member of a collateral branch of the family, who, when the present squire dies, is entitled to the money. This man has spent the greater part of his life in Australia, is badly off, and evidently belongs to a rowdy set. He has been to see me two or three times, and I must say frankly that I am not taken with his appearance."
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