by Elise Hooper
He grinned and leaned against the doorframe. “Good, you’re still here.”
“Look, I’ve finally organized the music for the spring concert. Voilà!” She spread her hands. “Percussion, woodwinds, and brass. Everything is ready to hand out tomorrow.”
“Great, how about we go out dancing tonight to celebrate?”
“Celebrate? What? That I’m organized?” She flipped back her auburn curls. “What do you have up your sleeve, mister? You never take me out dancing unless you’re trying to butter me up for something.”
He looked around to make sure no students were within earshot and closed the door behind him. “Remember how I asked you about Helen Stephens at the basketball game last weekend?”
She nodded.
“You wouldn’t believe what just happened. I had some of the girls from the basketball team do a fifty-yard dash on the track and Helen tied the world record.”
She leaned back in her chair, looking pleased. “No kidding.”
“It was amazing. I suspected she was fast, but she ran that time untrained, without proper form, without knowing what she was doing. She wasn’t even wearing track shoes!” Describing it, he became breathless all over again. “If she starts training with the boys, I can try to get her ready for some bigger events. Who knows where all of this could lead?”
Mary Lou’s enthusiasm faded. “Before you get too far ahead of yourself, you’d better figure out where it will lead. Have you gotten a good look at the girl? She’s an outcast already. I covered Principal Newbolt’s math class a year or two ago, and the kids were merciless with their teasing. Do you want to make it all worse for her?”
“Worse? I figured being on a team might help.”
“Maybe, but you better talk with her parents. Make sure they’re willing to let her run with the boys.” Mary Lou chewed her lip. “Think the district will go for this? Girls don’t run track around here.”
Burton ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t thought of any of this.
“And didn’t you say she wasn’t even wearing track shoes? How will she get the money to pay for a pair? Why, she’s poor as a church mouse.” She reached out and took his hand. “Look, I’m not trying to rain on your parade, but think this all through before you get the girl’s hopes up.”
“I’ll go see her folks tomorrow evening. But what do you say? Still want to go dancing tonight?”
“Hmm, this girl must really be something to have put you in such a good mood.” She swept her hands over her hair to smooth it. “Sure, count me in. Now scoot so I can get everyone out of here and go home to doll myself up.”
“You’re perfect already.”
She pouted. “I know how the other girls will be looking at you tonight. They want to eat you up with a spoon.”
“No, ma’am, I only have eyes for you. I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock,” he said on his way out the door. He pictured Mary Lou and her green eyes looking up at him as he held her in his arms and the way she’d throw back her head to laugh, revealing the pale skin of her neck. Maybe she’d wear that jade-colored dress, the one she knew he liked, the one that twirled and showed off her gorgeous long legs.
Whistling, he ambled through the school lobby and passed the trophy case full of athletic awards, pausing for a moment to look at the rows of medals and trophies his boys had won in past seasons. Forget state champs, Helen could go further than that. She was special. It wasn’t just her speed. She had spirit and was smart, but she needed help, and it didn’t look like she had anyone in her corner. Right then and there, he decided he’d do whatever it took to take her as far as he possibly could. If he needed to pay for Helen’s track shoes himself, by golly, he would. He hated the idea of dipping into the secret stash of money he had been squirreling away for an engagement ring for Mary Lou, but how many times do you discover a world-class athlete smack dab under your nose?
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Burton drove across town to the Stephens farm, Mary Lou on the seat next to him. He watched her idly wrap a curl around her index finger as she gazed out the window and hummed. It hadn’t been hard to convince her to join him to meet the Stephenses. He had waited until after the dance hall closed and he was walking her home to bring up the subject of Helen again.
“Why do you need me?” she asked, shivering and pulling her camel-colored wool coat close. “I don’t know anything about running.”
By this point, they had reached her boardinghouse. The front porch light glowed. Inside the window of the front parlor, he could see Mrs. Eldridge, the sharp-eyed widow who owned the place, sitting in a chair, her eyes focused on the embroidery hoop clutched in front of her.
“I think you’re right. The Stephenses are going to be dubious about this whole idea of their daughter running with the boys. But if you’re with me, they’ll be dazzled by your beauty and won’t be able to say no.” He reached for one of her hands and pulled her close. Overhead, stars glittered like hard specks of frost in the clear, cold night air.
She rolled her eyes, but allowed herself to fold into his chest. The heat of her body against his made him want to keep her there forever. He breathed in how good she smelled, something flowery and sweet.
“I’m serious. You’ll add a healthy dose of respectability to this whole venture.”
“So I’m respectable, am I?” Her eyes gleamed in that beguiling way that made him forget everything except for how much he loved wrapping his arms around her.
“You’re always a model of respectability when parents and students are around.” He nuzzled her jawbone. “Of course, I like it that you’re not always so respectable when it’s just the two of us.”
“Oh, you!” She punched his arm playfully.
“Shh,” he whispered, hoping the old widow wouldn’t look out her window and see the two of them. He wanted every last minute alone with Mary Lou. “So, will you come with me?”
“I suppose if you can find something that girl is good at, maybe it will help her.”
Instead of saying thank you, he pulled her to him and kissed her. She relaxed in his arms and made a small sound of contentment.
On the road to the Stephens farm, his motorcar groaned over the potholes and ruts. When the house came into view, he scanned the place. Empty fields surrounded it in every direction. He parked next to the picket fence and straightened his tie. Then he took a deep breath, opened the door, and emerged, careful to avoid muddy puddles. As he went around the back fender to open the door for Mary Lou, the quiet of the place struck him. They were in the final gasp of winter and the days were lengthening, but it was still too early for planting. All farms were lonely places at this time of year, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this one felt particularly desolate.
The fence’s gate squeaked in protest as he held it open for Mary Lou and they stepped inside the yard. Ahead of them on the porch, a shaggy, gray-muzzled shepherd mix raised its head to watch them approach before dropping its chin to rest on its front paws.
Burton rapped on the door and squinted through the window beside it to detect any movement inside the house. Mary Lou reached for her hat to make sure it was angled just right.
A woman opened the door, wiping her hands on her apron. “Yes? May I help you?”
Burton took off his hat and held it to his chest. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Coach Moore and this is Miss Schultz from Fulton High School. Are you Mrs. Stephens?”
Her face blanched. “I am. Has something happened to Helen?”
“No, I’m sorry, she’s fine, ma’am,” he stammered, flustered. This wasn’t how he wanted their meeting to start. “There are no problems with her at all.”
Mrs. Stephens looked relieved before frowning in confusion. “So, what’s this about? My husband is in town at the moment.”
“That’s all right. Again, Helen’s not in any sort of trouble.”
She gestured for them to enter. He followed Mary Lou inside onto a faded Persian carpet, laddered with rents. The house exuded an air
of defeat. The ceiling and floor lines slanted—all angles showed signs of settling through long winters, parched summers. A scrim of dust textured the surfaces of the threadbare upholstered furniture and lumpy horsehair divan. But there were a few surprises. A rickety bookshelf lined the far wall, loaded with leather-bound books and paperbacks, an unusual sight in a rural farmhouse. Across from the bookshelf were an upright piano and a harp, both polished to a buttery shine.
Mary Lou clasped her hands together. “Ohh, who plays the harp?”
“I do.”
“And the piano?”
Mrs. Stephens nodded, her expression appearing to slip from guarded to something more neutral as she looked at the instruments.
“That’s wonderful. I’m the band director at the school.”
“That so?”
“Yes. In fact, the spring concert is approaching. This year’s orchestra and band are both quite good. May I give you a few tickets so that you can bring your family to enjoy some live music?”
A faint smile appeared on Mrs. Stephens’s face. “Thank you. I tried to get Helen to play the piano, but she couldn’t seem to sit still.” She waved toward the door leading to the kitchen. “I was in the midst of rolling out some biscuits; why don’t you both come on back and have a seat while you tell me about why you’re here?”
Mary Lou and Burton did as instructed and took seats at the kitchen table. The smell of flour hovered in the air. A paperback of The Good Earth was set facedown on the counter next to the board with the biscuit dough.
“I see where Helen gets her love of reading,” Coach Moore said, bobbing his chin toward the book. “She always seems to have a book in her hand. And she reads some pretty impressive literature for a girl her age.”
Mrs. Stephens gave a small nod. “May I make you both a cup of coffee or tea?”
Coach Moore cleared his throat. “We’re fine, ma’am, but thank you for offering. As you said, Helen may not be one for sitting still, but she’s truly a gifted athlete. Actually, that’s why we’re here to see you.”
Mrs. Stephens picked up her rolling pin but paused and looked at Coach Moore, ignoring the lump of biscuit dough lying on the floured cutting board on the counter behind her.
“Helen’s a remarkable runner, even without any training,” he said. “I saw her play basketball for your church and was astonished by her speed so I set up a time trial for her. She was faster than anything I expected. But see, the problem is that we don’t have a girls’ track team at Fulton High. So, if I could get your permission to have her run with the boys’ track team, I think she could experience all kinds of success.” His voice was sounding faster and faster and maybe even a bit desperate, but he didn’t know what else to do so he added a feeble, “Yes, ma’am. I really think she could. Really, she could.”
Mrs. Stephens stared at him.
Mary Lou leaned forward. “I know what you’re thinking, Mrs. Stephens. When Coach Moore came to me about Helen’s extraordinary talents, I couldn’t believe he’d even consider encouraging a girl to run. I mean, where will such a thing take her? A girl athlete? I can understand why you thought the piano would be a more productive pursuit.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Stephens said.
Burton shifted in his seat. Where was Mary Lou heading with this? But before he could say anything, she kept going.
“But here’s the thing,” Mary Lou said. “Helen isn’t interested in the piano and something like track could offer her some interesting possibilities. Did you know that running is something that could help her get into college?”
Mrs. Stephens placed her rolling pin back on the counter. “You don’t say.”
Mary Lou continued. “And if you’re worried about what people may think about your daughter training with the boys, I’ll avail myself to chaperone her to any meets she may race in.”
Burton kept watching Mrs. Stephens. “And I’ll be watching her like a hawk. Nothing untoward will happen under my guidance.”
Mrs. Stephens blinked and looked back and forth between them. “Do you honestly believe this could help her get into college?”
“Absolutely,” Burton and Mary Lou said in unison.
“I’m a graduate of William Woods College,” said Mrs. Stephens, joining them to sit at the table. “While there’s no doubt my circumstances are modest, I’ve held on to what I learned in college through thick and thin. I’d love to see Helen enjoy the same opportunity, but money is very tight these days.”
“I understand completely. I myself attended Westminster College,” Burton said, and Mrs. Stephens’s eyes flashed at the mention of the men’s school affiliated with William Woods. “With some instruction and experience, and if she keeps up her grades, of course, Helen could have a good shot at attending William Woods.”
Mrs. Stephens tapped her index finger against her lips as she thought. “My husband will be hard to convince. He can barely understand why Helen should even bother with high school. He thinks she should stop her education and divide her time between working here on the farm and in the shoe factory south of town.”
“Helen’s a good student.” Burton sensed he was close to getting Mrs. Stephens to agree with him, but it felt like a delicate balancing act so he picked his words with care. “It would be a shame to let such a promising young woman not complete high school and see what opportunities are available beyond that.”
Mrs. Stephens nodded. “Let me work on him.”
“Of course. In the meantime, do I have your permission to have Helen train with me?”
She paused and looked down at her chapped hands before returning his gaze, a determined glint in her eye. “Yes. She can start running, but let’s not make a big fuss about it. The fewer people that know about this, the better.”
Burton wanted to jump out of his seat and cheer, but he kept calm and crossed one leg over the other. “Yes, ma’am.”
30.
May 1933
Chicago
ALMOST A YEAR HAD PASSED SINCE BETTY’S PLANE crash. Dr. Minke’s prediction that one leg would be shorter than the other was right, so she limped. For months, she had told herself that learning to walk again would solve her problems. In reality, it almost brought about more unsettling questions. She could walk, but pain dogged her with every step. Stiffness plagued her left shoulder. She had returned to school for several weeks in the early spring, but abandoned her studies after deciding that her degree in physical education felt futile. She could not reconcile her hopes for the future with her reality of constant pain and frustration.
It wasn’t just Betty who felt stuck. Anxiety seemed to have brought the country to a standstill. Mr. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, a New Yorker, had assumed the presidency in March on a wave of hope, but Chicago remained locked in the claws of tough times. Over the last year, many of her Northwestern classmates had quit college as financial difficulties mounted upon more and more families, so Betty’s absence from the roster of the university’s graduates was one of many, but Bill would still be graduating that weekend.
On the evening before his commencement, Bill arrived at Betty’s house minutes after her parents had left to play euchre with the neighbors. A year ago, if Bill and Betty had found themselves alone, they would have made good use of their unchaperoned time entwined in Betty’s bedroom, but now she didn’t look up from the book she was reading. Bill entered the parlor, pecked Betty on the cheek. “Ready to go?”
“Let me fetch something, and I’ll be back,” Betty said, leaving Bill sitting in the parlor. She hurried to the bathroom, plucked a bottle from the medicine cabinet shelf, poured a couple of pain pills into her palm, and took them with a glass of water. Thinking of the graduation festivities ahead, she grimaced and tucked the entire bottle into her purse.
When she returned to the parlor, she found Bill pacing. The air in the room felt charged with something that she couldn’t identify, and he wore an expression uncharacteristic of him. Fear? Worry? Guilt?
“What’s
wrong?” she asked.
His blue eyes appeared tense, but before she could get more of a read on him, he glanced away. “Want to go?”
“Do I ever.” She reached for her hat, but snuck a look around the room. Her father’s glasses lay atop a stack of papers on the sideboard, and Bill’s pacing appeared to skirt that area of the room. She sidled over and saw a pile of bills. The hospital, the doctor, the visiting nurse—each invoice marked with a stamp saying unpaid. Her mind raced. Of course, her father’s income as a security guard wasn’t much, but some of the bills were from nine months ago. Betty swallowed and turned to face Bill.
“Did you see these?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it. Voices from the neighbors’ children riding their bicycles outside on the sidewalk echoed off the walls.
“Betty, I—”
“No, Bill, please let me talk.” Betty took a deep breath. She had no idea what to say, yet she had also been practicing this speech for months without acknowledging what she was doing. “I know Dr. Minke says I’m healed, but I’m not. You’ve stuck by my side and I know it hasn’t always been easy, but I worry that we’ve lost our way together. I need to take care of the debt of my medical bills. I need to figure out what’s next. And I think I need to do all of this on my own.” She paused, expecting him to argue with her, to say that he was committed to her no matter what.
But he didn’t say a word. He walked to the window and looked outside. Silence hovered over the house and Betty wondered if Bill could hear the thundering of her heart. Did she want him to fight for her?
He cleared his throat. “Sometimes you say you wish you were still running and going to classes, but on other days, you never seem to want to leave the house. I don’t understand you anymore.”
