by Elise Hooper
Helen inhaled sharply and pushed herself up onto her elbow to be closer, to see how Polly’s skin glowed luminous in the moonlight. “You’re beautiful,” Helen murmured.
It was at that point Polly leaned in and brought her lips to Helen’s. Astonished, Helen squeezed her eyes closed and concentrated on the gentle pressure coming from the woman’s soft lips, the flicker of her tongue. Helen leaned in to deepen the kiss. This was nothing like what had happened with Jimmy years before in the school’s outbuilding. This was tender and soft. Every part of her tingled. Her eyes shot open. How can people close their eyes during this? She wanted to see exactly what was happening, to make sense of what was happening.
This felt both entirely unexpected, yet also somehow exactly like what she had been waiting for. At first she didn’t know what to do, and she watched how Polly’s face transformed into delight, so she settled into feeling what was happening instead of thinking about it.
The two became breathless as they merged into a tangle, hands everywhere, sighs of delight. An urgency overcame Helen and she pressed her body harder against Polly’s. It felt as if her insides were reconfiguring into a million sparks. And then an explosion blossomed deep inside Helen—at some point her eyes had closed, but now they popped open in both shock and thrilled excitement. She tried to catch her breath. How had she gotten carried away and let all caution evaporate?
Gently, Polly began to extract herself from the bed and Helen’s heart stalled, but when she pushed her hair from her face to get a better look at Polly, a sated smile stretched across the other woman’s face. Helen exhaled. Polly had seen Helen stripped of all pretending and not only was she not disgusted—she looked pleased.
Tears came to Helen’s eyes, and she felt weak with relief. Under the sheets, she stretched, enjoying a languorous sensation of fulfillment, drifting off to sleep. She was no longer alone.
HELEN AWOKE THE next morning feeling as though she was trying to cling to the outline of a memory that was just out of reach. The harder she tried to remember it, the further it retreated. She blinked from the heaviness of sleep and turned toward the whisper of her bedroom door closing in time to see the disappearing figure of Miss Albright. Helen’s breath caught in her throat.
Miss Albright. Or Polly?
In the glowing light of morning, Helen flinched. Visions of the two of them tangled together swept through her. Was it a dream? Surely what had happened—if it had happened—couldn’t have been right. Miss Albright had to be older, but how much older? Helen’s mind spun. Whatever might have happened last night—that was not what girls were supposed to do with each other.
She pried herself from the bed. The hands on the clock were already nearing seven o’clock. She washed and dressed in work clothes and descended the stairs.
Helen entered the kitchen and avoided looking at Ma and Miss Albright, focusing her attention on Bobbie Lee instead. His damp blond hair still revealed the tines of the comb that Ma must have dragged through it before starting breakfast. As she took her seat, Miss Albright said, “Good morning. Your hair still looks shiny and smooth.” She then turned to Ma and said, “Helen let me brush her hair last night and look at how marvelous she looks.”
Ma approached Helen with a freshly topped-off tureen of oatmeal that she placed in the middle of the table. “I can’t even remember the last time Helen let me near her with a hairbrush.”
Pa entered the kitchen from the yard and reached for an empty coffee cup from a cupboard, appraising his daughter. “Just like a horse, she looks better with a little grooming.”
Miss Albright’s jaw appeared to tighten. “Good morning, Mr. Stephens.”
“Don’t mind me,” he said, his voice gruff as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Just here for a refill before I head to the back fourth of the fields.”
Helen reached for the coffeepot.
Ma, not missing a thing, put her hands on her hips. “So now that you’re living in town, you’re drinking coffee? Better put milk in there. You’re only fourteen. Too much of that stuff at your age will stunt your growth.”
Pa chuckled. “Maybe stunting her growth wouldn’t be the worst thing. Make her look a little more like a girl.”
Helen pretended she hadn’t heard and instead turned to look at Miss Albright, but the woman’s face appeared ashen. She stared at Helen, her brow furrowed. “You’re only fourteen?”
“Huge, isn’t she?” Pa drawled.
It was at that moment that Helen sensed a shift in the air, as if a cloud had obscured the sun. A cooling. A settling. She had not dreamed up the night before. She knew it with startling clarity, and any sense of thrill that she felt vanished when she took in the stricken look on Miss Albright’s face. Helen’s fingers trembled and the coffee cup that was almost to her lips slipped and spilled down the front of her and onto the floor.
“Mercy me.” Ma sighed, surveying the mess.
“Girl, you sure make a hash of everything,” Pa muttered as he stalked to the back door and let it slam behind him.
Relieved to hide her stinging tears, Helen dropped to the floor to retrieve the broken shards of her cup. She took the dish towel Ma extended to her and swabbed at the pool of spilled coffee.
Miss Albright cleared her throat and rose. “Well, I’m ready to catch the next train to St. Louis. Mrs. Stephens, thank you so much for everything you’ve done to make my stay a comfortable one. Before I left town yesterday, I arranged for a ride and I believe he’ll be meeting me in front in a few minutes.”
“Of course. Helen, please help Miss Albright with her valise and walk her to the gate.”
Helen took a final swipe at the floor and stood and followed Miss Albright to the parlor. When they reached the front door, Helen pushed it open to allow their guest to walk out first. In the distance, waves of heat blurred the fields. The hot sky appeared to be the color of bone. A plume of dust appeared, indicating a vehicle was on its way.
At the gate, Miss Albright paused and turned to Helen. “I’m sorry for last night.”
Now it was Helen’s turn to feel stunned. The previous night had been one of the most exciting things that had happened to her, but now she was left with a sick feeling in her stomach. She felt mortified that she had acted on the feelings that had been swirling through her for years. And at the same time, how on earth had she possibly believed someone like Miss Albright could be interested in someone like her? Shame and sorrow engulfed her. “You’re sorry that it happened? Or you’re sorry it was with me?”
Behind Miss Albright, the station wagon slid to the gate. She glanced back at it and shook her head. “You’re a dear girl, but it’s hard to explain. Someday you’ll leave here and find all kinds of possibilities.”
“Someday?”
But Miss Albright appeared not to have heard her. She hurried to the car, opened one of the doors, tossed her valise inside and slid in after it, then slammed the door shut. As the car drove away, she looked forward, never once turning to see Helen.
From where Helen stood, the fields stretched as far as she could see in every direction. It felt hard to imagine the possibilities beyond the confines of Fulton.
21.
June 1932
Chicago
WITH EVERY PASSING DAY OF JUNE, CHICAGO’S HEAT increased and the sky paled as if the sun were baking the blue right out of it. Summer parties and outings filled Betty’s days. Sometimes her cousin Wilson took her up in the air in his little jaunty red Waco biplane. They’d sweep through the skies over Lake Michigan, admiring the views and taking in the cooler air high above the streets and buildings of the city.
And of course, there was Bill.
Back in February, when Betty had shown up for her dinner date with Bill at his house, she’d had no idea what to expect, but he turned out to be the kind of man for whom grand gestures came easily. She arrived to find him sitting at a table in the solarium next to a bay window, dressed in a suit with one leg tailored in a mystifying way that allowed for his cast. In the
distance, the night sky glimmered off the surface of Lake Michigan.
After dinner, he directed her to look out the window. Four small orbs of light appeared as if floating. The sound of singing drifted in with the cold winter’s night air and she cracked the window open to hear better.
Let me call you sweetheart
I’m in love with you
Let me hear you whisper
That you love me too.
“What is this?” Betty breathed in amazement.
“I have some friends who sing in a barbershop quartet, and when I told them you were coming over and my entertainment options were limited, they offered their services.”
Keep the love light glowing,
In your eyes so true . . .
“They’re marvelous. This is a wonderful surprise.”
Bill looked pleased, but he gazed at her sideways as he spoke. “You know, Betty, you’re not the easiest girl to impress. You’re very accomplished, and I’ve had no idea what to do.”
“You seem to have done just fine. And really, I don’t need impressing.”
“Easy to say, and yet—” He paused and the expression of genuine befuddlement on his face made him look so boyish and sweet that Betty felt herself weakening.
That evening had been the beginning and the end all at once. It surprised Betty how easy it had been to fall for Bill. He was confident and that made him appreciative of others. She never sensed he was trying to compete with her and they had an easy compatibility, the kind of friendship that felt like it had been cultivated over years balanced with an electrical current between them that made the discovery of each other seem brand new. They became a steady item. At first, they spent afternoons and evenings alone, talking and laughing, developing silly jokes and stories, but as Bill regained his mobility, they socialized and headed to the cinema and then dances and parties. And he was good for her. When she worried about the news headlines touting the talents of Babe Didrikson, the rising track star from Texas, Bill reminded Betty how good she was and told her not to worry.
“You should try something different. Give yourself a change from athletics,” Bill mused, reading the newspaper one afternoon at Betty’s house. “Look here, the Miss Chicago Pageant is next weekend. You should do it. Wouldn’t that be a lark?”
Betty giggled. “When I was in high school, I did all of my school shows. I could sing and dance for the talent segment.”
“So why not try this? It will keep your mind off Babe.”
“You’re right, why not?” Betty said, nodding and leaning over Bill to jot down the pageant entry information. Several days later, she surprised herself by winning a spot as a finalist.
A WEEK LATER Caroline visited Betty at her house, and the two sat on Betty’s pale pink eiderdown comforter with two color harmony charts spread in front of them.
“See? With your blond hair, you’re supposed to wear delicate colors like pink.” Caroline pointed to the chart with the picture of a brunette. “I’m supposed to wear deeper shades and dark red lipstick.”
There was a knock on the door and Betty’s father leaned in.
“You’re home!” said Betty.
Caroline pulled at Betty’s arm to see the time on her wristwatch and then hopped off the bed. “How’s it almost three o’clock already? Howard’s picking me up outside in a few minutes. I’ve gotta go.” She scooped her sandals off the floor and headed toward the door.
“I don’t care what these charts say, I’m not giving up bright colors,” Betty called after her.
“Suit yourself. Bye!” Caroline said, laughing.
Betty’s smile vanished as she took a good look at her father and realized his face appeared ghostly. “Goodness, what’s wrong?”
Mr. Robinson grimaced. “I need to talk with you.”
Betty knocked the color charts aside. What was this all about? She walked to the parlor and found her father pouring himself a brandy from the sideboard. Odd. He never drank at this time of the afternoon. She sat on the love seat and he took a seat in the wing chair across from her, swirling his brandy, his gaze lost somewhere on a spot on the Persian carpet underfoot.
Without preamble, he said, “I lost my job today.”
She gasped. “How?”
“All winter my supervisor’s been urging me to let some of the staff go, but I kept refusing and even offered to have my salary reduced to cover some of the budget shortages. My negotiations have been in vain because now we’ve all been fired.”
Betty struggled to make sense of it all. “Should I look for a job?” she asked, half expecting the offer to be dismissed, but her father’s silence revealed his uncertainty. Her heart sank. Everything had been going so well lately. Bill. Her training. School. Sure, the Robinsons had been tightening their belts over the last couple of years, everyone had, but life had felt steady. Jean, her sister, and her husband, Jim, weren’t going to get rich off his job as a professor at the University of Chicago, but he was tenured, worked consistent hours, and enjoyed his students. Over the last year, Mr. Robinson’s job had become precarious, but he had been with his company for as long as Betty could remember. How was it all gone?
“I’m going to try to find something new, of course. You should still plan to race in the Olympic trials next month, and hopefully you’ll qualify for Los Angeles. Beyond that, I don’t know what will happen.”
Betty felt as if the air had been knocked out of her chest. This was serious. “What about school? There’s only one more year.”
Mr. Robinson’s shoulders sagged. He raised his glass slowly as if it weighed a hundred pounds and slugged back its contents. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to afford it.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Betty awoke to another sweltering day. Outside the window of her second-floor bedroom, the leaves hung on the oak trees, limp and faded as butcher paper. The dull drone of motorcars hummed in the distance, and the usual clamor of early morning bird chatter was subdued. Her sheet lay in a tangled mess at the foot of her bed, pushed down sometime while she slept, so she tugged it up and spread her coverlet over the mattress. All night, worries had circled her mind and kept her from sleeping well.
She groaned as she swung her legs off the bed, but was brought up short by a postcard from Amsterdam pinned to her wall. Only a couple of weeks to go until the championships. She needed to focus on that. She had been waiting almost four years for another trip to the Olympics, and it was almost here. The first time around almost seemed like a dream. This time, she’d be able to enjoy it, knew more what to expect. And now she knew she was good, not just a fluke. Maybe Olympic success would lead to new opportunities, chances to help support herself. Some of the Olympic swimmers had gotten film contracts. Who knew what could happen?
She pulled a seersucker shift from the closet and dressed. The mirror reflected her lean legs and tanned, toned arms, and she ran a brush through her sun-lightened short hair.
Betty headed to the kitchen and found a plate of sliced melon waiting on the counter. She slid a cool piece of the fruit into her mouth with her fingers, savoring the sweetness as it hit her tongue.
Out of the corner of Betty’s eye, she noticed a Marshall Field’s shopping bag resting on the floor by the kitchen door. A tuft of fur poked out of the top. Betty leaned over to inspect the tan-colored cashmere coat with its soft rabbit-fur collar and pale pink satin lining as her mother appeared in the doorway.
“What on earth is your favorite winter coat doing out here in this heat?” Betty asked.
“I never really wear that old thing anymore, and it can fetch a good price. A little bit of money to stash away, just in case.” Her mother placed the shopping bag into the pantry and turned back to Betty. “Is Bill coming around today?” she asked, her voice unnaturally chipper.
Betty wanted to embrace her, say something about how they would be fine, they’d figure out a way to get through this hardship, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead it was easier to nod and feign cheeriness. “Yes, we’re go
ing to have a picnic by the lake later, but first I’m going to ring Wilson and see if he’ll take me up in his plane. It’s the only place I imagine where I’ll find any break from this heat.”
“You and Bill should go for a swim in the lake.”
“Maybe.” Betty took a final bite of melon. She hadn’t yet told Bill about her father’s unemployment and how her future at Northwestern looked uncertain. She wanted to focus on the National AAU Championships. Bill had been following the news about Babe Didrikson and Stella Walsh in the newspapers, even stopping by the library to read papers from their hometowns, Dallas and Cleveland.
When he had stopped by to pick her up last night, Bill had pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and reported that Babe’s times in the 100-yard sprint didn’t come close to Betty’s. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’ve beaten Stella twice now, and Babe’s strengths, while impressive, do not lie in sprinting. She’s good at everything else, but she’s not a threat to you.”
“You sure? I’ve been worrying.”
He winked. “I’ve got some ideas about how we can help you relax.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
“Let me take you to this new little spot I’ve found to park by the lake.” He tugged at the neckline of her dress as he spoke and nestled close to kiss her earlobe.
As Betty thought back to what they had done to entertain themselves the night before, her face heated, but her mother didn’t seem to notice. It had been almost five months now and everything had been going smoothly with Bill, but if she wasn’t returning to Northwestern in the fall, what did that mean for the two of them?
Betty decided she needed a distraction and telephoned her cousin Wilson to ask if he’d take her for a ride in his plane. After he agreed and told her to meet him at the airfield at one o’clock, she telephoned Bill. As the hour neared, she powdered her face, fetched her flying cap and goggles, and sat outside on the front stoop in the shade waiting for Bill to appear. His Chevrolet coupe rounded the corner and Betty trotted down the front walk and pulled open the passenger door to hop inside.
