Fast Girls

by Elise Hooper

  Louise raised her gaze to see Barbara wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the sudden ruinous state of her older sister. The little girl’s face crumpled, but Miss Francine appeared at Barbara’s side and she waved Louise on. “You go ahead and I’ll follow with this one,” she said.

  Louise gripped Ann tightly and then broke into a jog across the park with the little girl draped across her arms. Suddenly Ann’s hands began to claw at where Louise had the handkerchief pressed to her chin. The whimpers transformed to wheezing and she stared at Louise, her eyes desperate as she struggled to breathe.

  What was happening?

  Louise summoned every ounce of strength and speed and fled across the park and along the sidewalk, running the three blocks to the Clarks’ house as if she were being chased by the devil himself. When the Clarks’ mailbox became visible, Mrs. Clark and Dr. Conway appeared next to it. Both darted toward Louise.

  “She can’t breathe,” Louise shouted raggedly.

  “Annie, darling!” Mrs. Clark called, reaching her arms out for her daughter, but Dr. Conway put a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  “Wait, Louise has a good grip on her,” he said, his voice calm and authoritative. The three of them sprinted across the lawn toward Miss Mabel, who stood at the front door. “Clear the kitchen table and fetch some towels and pillows, please.”

  The housekeeper vanished inside. Dr. Conway, Mrs. Clark, and Louise followed.

  “Keep the pressure on her chin, but avoid pressure on her throat,” Dr. Conway said, ripping open the girl’s dress to reveal her bare chest, which was clearly straining with exertion to breathe. “Ice, I need ice.”

  Miss Mabel spun to the icebox, pulled out a block of ice, and used a pick to chisel off several large pieces that she handed to the doctor. He began rubbing them along the girl’s face and chest. Miss Mabel then tucked some pillows under the girl’s legs to elevate them and handed Louise a fresh towel. Next Miss Mabel pulled an orange box of Arm & Hammer baking soda from a cupboard and mixed a paste for the stings.

  All the while, Mrs. Clark fluttered behind them repeating, “What’s happening? What’s happening?” Her voice broke higher and higher each time she spoke.

  “Sit,” the doctor urged the woman without stepping away from Ann. “Catch your breath.”

  “But what happened?” Mrs. Clark asked frantically as Miss Mabel firmly pressed her into one of the kitchen chairs. “And where’s Barbara?” she asked in a voice edged with hysteria as her eyes darted around the kitchen.

  Louise gulped. The blood appeared to be staining the towel more slowly. “She’s following behind with Miss Francine, the Fergusons’ girl. She’s fine. I wanted to move quickly—”

  The distant sound of Constance’s squalling cut through the house and Mrs. Clark’s shoulders collapsed.

  “Go to your baby,” Dr. Conway said.

  Mrs. Clark bit her lip, looking back and forth from Ann to an indeterminate spot on the ceiling in the direction of the upstairs nursery. “I’ll go, but only once that girl is away from my daughter.”

  Confused, Louise looked up to see Mrs. Clark glaring at her, fury mottling her face.

  “This is all because of you.” Mrs. Clark wept.

  Never taking his eyes off Ann, Dr. Conway said, “Miss Mabel, take over so Louise can go home.”

  Miss Mabel moved beside Louise and her hands covered Louise’s for a moment with a squeeze, before she nudged her aside.

  Stunned, Louise backed away from the table. Suddenly she was also fighting for breath and she reached for her chest, her own hands slick with blood.

  “I never want to see you again,” Mrs. Clark spat at Louise.

  Louise cast a helpless look at Ann, who lay on the table, seemingly lifeless, and fled out the back door. She raced toward home, ignoring the stares of people she passed. Her chest burned and tears streamed down her face. Was Ann going to die? When she returned home, Julia and Junior were sitting on the steps, waiting for her.

  Julia sprang to her feet. “What’s happened?”

  Louise collapsed into Julia, burying her wet face into her sister’s shoulder. “Everything’s ruined.”

  39.

  May 1936

  Chicago

  JIM DROVE BETTY TO THE 132ND INFANTRY ARMORY FOR the Central AAU Women’s Track and Field Indoor Meet. Her breath fogged the window beside her, but she rubbed the condensation away and peeked outside, looking for Caroline and Tidye. Even after barely sleeping the night before, she felt wide awake and alert, as if electricity coursed through her veins instead of blood. She had developed a secret plan that would make her relay team win and increase their odds of receiving invitations to the Olympic trials, but now she needed to execute it.

  This relay was her only chance.

  A couple of weeks earlier, Coach Sheppard, her coach from the 1928 Olympics, had stopped by her home, the navy-blue blazer he wore with its AAU crest emblazoned on the chest looking crisp and a little intimidating.

  “I’ve been hearing you want to give Berlin a try,” he had said, sitting in the parlor with one of her mother’s delicate teacups in his large hands.

  “That’s true. I’ve been training with Caroline Woodson, though you probably knew her as Caroline Hale, and also Tidye Pickett.”

  He raised his eyebrows, confused. “Didn’t Caroline have a baby?”

  Betty pictured Joan’s gummy grin and the way she waved her chubby arms overhead as the women ran past her on each lap. During the track practices, Joan either dozed in her pram or sat on a blanket watching her mother run while her father coached. “She has indeed, but it hasn’t slowed her down in the least.”

  “But can you actually do it? You’ve fully recovered from your injuries?”

  Betty stiffened. Yes, her back and knees ached, and her left shoulder felt tight no matter how much she stretched it, but she had come too far to lose heart now. “I’m stronger than ever. I’m ready.” And as she spoke, she knew it was true. She was stronger, if not physically, certainly mentally.

  “There are a lot of new fast girls running since you last competed in 1932. If you were to decide you’d still like to be involved in the AAU, but not race, I’m sure we could find something for you. Public speaking, maybe some assistant coaching.”

  “I want to try for one more Olympics.”

  “Betty, you’re an important figure in track and field. I know you have a lot of fans, but do you think there might be something to be said for retiring at the top of your game? Leave everyone remembering your important run in Amsterdam? After all you’ve been through, getting to Berlin will be tough.”

  “Coach, after my crash, I was told I might never walk again, forget running. But here I am, ready to race.” Her heart thudded in her chest as she spoke, but she pushed on. “You and I both know that winning at the Olympics is about more than physical superiority and conditioning. Only athletes who have the mental ability to tune out the distractions and noise will be successful in Berlin. I did that in Amsterdam and was one of the few Americans to win gold. I can do it again. If anything, my recovery should show you how strong I really am. I didn’t get to where I am without focus and tenacity. I’m telling you, you need me there.”

  He studied her and cleared his throat. “Well, we’ll see. There’s the Central AAU meet coming up later this month. How about we give you a shot at it to see how you look? What do you say?”

  “I want to do the relay. Caroline, Tidye, and I’ve been running well, and I think we’ll win.” She gazed at him with what she hoped was a steely glint. What she didn’t mention was her inability to lower into a starting crouch without hurting her legs, but as long as she wasn’t the first leg of the team, she could take advantage of the standing start positioning. No one would know of her limitation.

  He placed his teacup down and crossed his arms. “Really? I admire your confidence. Who’s going to be your fourth runner?”

  His skepticism made her jaw tighten, but she had no intention of giving away h
er plan, so she demurred with a lighthearted laugh and wave of her hand. “Oh, we have a few ideas. When do I need to name the final runner?”

  “I suppose you can wait until the evening of the event as long as you fill out an application and pay the event fee to hold a spot for your team.”

  Betty remained expressionless, but a wash of energy traveled through her as she considered her plan to win the relay. “I can do that. I’m in.”

  So here she was, sitting in the back seat of Jim’s car next to her sister, Jean, outside the armory, the car’s engine idling with its comforting hum. Jean exhaled from her Chesterfield and Betty inhaled the acrid smoke enviously. Maybe a cigarette would be just the thing to take the edge off her nerves, but before she could ask her sister for one, Jim clapped his hands together. “So, are we going to get this show on the road or sit here all night?”

  Jean let out a hoot and nudged Betty. “Let’s go!”

  Betty reached for the door handle. How lucky she was to have them with her. Her legs trembled as she reached for her bag, but that didn’t worry her. Nerves signaled excitement, and as long as they didn’t get the better of her, all the sparks and jitters were good. Under the darkening gunmetal sky threatening rain, the three of them climbed from the car. This was it.

  They hurried toward the entrance marked by the banners of the race’s sponsors, the Chicago Daily News and the AAU Polish-American Union. Once inside, Betty exchanged quick embraces with her family and then pushed her way toward the locker room to dress.

  BETTY, CAROLINE, AND Tidye stood on the side of the track, watching a tall woman practicing her starts.

  “So, that’s her?” Caroline asked.

  The woman towered over the other runners near her. When she turned in Betty’s direction, the William Woods College lettering on her sweatshirt became visible.

  “Yes,” Betty said. “I’m going to talk with her.”

  “What if she says no?” Tidye asked.

  “She won’t,” Betty said, hoping it was true.

  “Good luck,” Caroline shouted over the noise of the crowd as Betty wended her way toward Helen.

  Up close, the Missourian appeared to be a giant. When she caught sight of Betty, she stopped practicing. “Hey, you’re Betty Robinson, aren’t you? You’re here! I’ve been hoping to meet you.”

  Betty felt her face redden. “Yes, I’m Betty.”

  “I left my autograph book in my track bag, but would you mind signing it later?” Helen’s voice was surprisingly deep, but friendly.

  “Of course.”

  “Holy cats, this is exciting!”

  For all the hype surrounding her, Helen appeared a little awkward, but genuine. Her big-toothed grin was unselfconscious, and Betty couldn’t help feeling tender toward the younger woman. Her enthusiasm loosened a little part of Betty, the final piece of her that had remained locked, protecting her against disappointment, and she found herself smiling back.

  “Do you know if Stella Walsh is here?” Helen asked. “With the Polish-American Club sponsoring this, I hoped she’d come. She’s been saying all kinds of stuff about me to the newspapers and I’d sure like to beat her again tonight.” Helen suddenly looked stricken. “I mean, I’m not trying to boast, but I’d sure like to show that lady what happened a year ago in St. Louis wasn’t a fluke.”

  “It looks like you’ll have to wait, but from everything I’ve read, you’re a shoo-in for Berlin.”

  “Oh, I hope so. So what events are you in today?”

  “Only the 4-x-100-meter relay.”

  “You’re not doing the individual hundred-meter?”

  “No.” Betty licked her lips and took the plunge on the plan she had been hatching for months. “Listen, we could use a fourth on our relay team and I wondered if you’d be willing to anchor for us?”

  Helen studied her up and down and was about to say something, but the announcer’s voice crackled over the PA system: “Calling all runners in the special invitational fifty-yard dash to the starting area for check-in.”

  Hearing the call for her race, Helen began unbuttoning her sweatshirt and yanking it off. “That’s me, I’ve got to go. My coach will kill me if I miss my start,” she said, dropping to a bench to pull off her navy-blue sweatpants before hopping to her feet again. She held her warm-ups in her hands, her expression frantic as she glanced around the starting area for a place to put her things.

  “Here, hand those to me. I’ll stow everything under that bench.” Betty pointed to a spot next to them.

  “Thanks.” Helen handed her the wad of clothing. “This is my first meet without my coach and I guess I’m a bit on the ragged edge.”

  “You’ll be fine. Good luck,” Betty called.

  Helen ran toward her start, but called to Betty. “And yes, I’ll run the relay with you. I’ve never been on a team before.” She grinned and leapt over a hurdle on the side of the track, revealing a long and easy stride that could have easily measured seven or eight feet long.

  Betty shook her head in admiration. She pitied Helen’s opponents.

  BETTY FOUND A spot on the sideline where she could sit and stretch but still have a good view of the races on the track. Tidye and Caroline left periodically for their races, but Betty’s only race was the last one of the evening, so she had several hours to think about the relay.

  She kept an eye on the results of Helen’s preliminary heats. Sure enough, the girl from Missouri won everything and earned herself a spot in the finals in the 50-yard dash and the 100-yard and 200-yard sprints. Betty liked their chances for the relay. Helen appeared, pushing through the crowd, and found Betty sitting with her friends.

  “Here she is, our anchor! You made easy work of all of your races tonight. Well done,” Betty cheered before introducing Helen to Tidye and Caroline.

  “Thanks. So I’ve never run a relay before. What do I need to know?” Helen asked.

  “We don’t have much time, but let’s go outside to the sidewalk, so we can show you how the transitions work,” Betty said, leading her teammates through the spectators and the front door of the armory. “Caroline, do you have the baton and chalk?”

  “I do.” Caroline handed Betty the baton while she took several long paces to measure the relay’s transition distance and marked the starting and finishing lines with chalk on the sidewalk. When she finished, Betty explained the strict rules surrounding baton hand-offs.

  “The first thing to know is that you have to stay calm and trust your teammates. It’s when runners allow pressure and anxiety to get to them that there are problems, but with some practice, you’ll be fine. Look, Caroline and I will demonstrate. I’ll be you, Helen. Start here and take a few steps to get momentum. As Caroline approaches, she’ll call ‘Up!’ and you will reach back with your left hand, palm open. Like this,” Betty said, going through all the motions with Caroline.

  “You don’t look backward to see where the baton is? You just look ahead?” Helen asked, frowning.

  “Yes, trust Caroline,” said Betty. “You have nice big hands so it shouldn’t be a problem. Just open your palm wide and be ready to feel the baton. When you’ve got it, seize it and run. You’re our last runner so you won’t have to hand it to anyone. All you need to practice is receiving it. How about you two give it a try?”

  Betty and Tidye stepped aside and let the two other women practice. On their first run, Helen fumbled the baton and dropped it.

  “Sorry,” she said, lifting it from the sidewalk with an embarrassed grin on her face.

  “We can try it again, don’t worry,” said Caroline. “It’s dark out here so that makes it difficult.”

  It took the women several more tries to pass it off smoothly, but Betty noticed Helen was struggling to stay within the regulation zone when taking the baton.

  “Helen, you’ve got long strides so you’re going to have to be careful. Do it quickly,” Betty urged.

  “I’m having trouble not looking back to see where it is,” Helen confesse
d. “And it feels awkward to hold it in my left hand.”

  “That’s understandable, but you’ll get used to it,” Betty called out as they took position to try again.

  After several more unsuccessful hand-offs, Caroline shot a frustrated look at Betty. “Isn’t it time to head back for the individual finals?” she asked.

  Betty feigned a glance at her watch. No matter what time it said, she knew they were done. “Yes, we should go inside.”

  “These relays always look a lot easier than they actually are.” Helen wiped her hand across her forehead. “What if I can’t do this?”

  “Don’t worry, even if you have to start running from a standstill, you’re fast enough to make it up and we’ll be fine. Just try not to drop it,” Caroline answered.

  Helen bit her lip. “I’m going inside to get ready for my finals.”

  “Good luck,” Betty and the others called as Helen hurried away.

  Tidye tapped on Betty’s arm. “Why’s this proving so hard? Hand-offs are always tricky, but maybe we’ve made the wrong choice with her. Maybe she’s better on her own.”

  Betty smiled, hoping she didn’t look as anxious as she felt. “She’ll be fine. It’ll be easier inside, where the lighting is better.” She forced a laugh. “And I’ve worked too hard to be denied advancement now. We’ll do it.”

  Tidye turned to head to the locker room, but she hesitated. “It’s never too late for them to deny us advancement. You understand that, right?”

  Betty fought the urge to sigh and tried to sound upbeat. She knew what had happened in Los Angeles with the relay. “We’ll be fine. Really. Helen can do this.”

  Tidye’s expression remained dubious, but she nodded and walked away.

  Betty settled on a bench next to the track and twisted her wristwatch up and down her forearm as she watched Caroline meet with the other hurdlers in preparation for their upcoming heat. She needed the relay to go well. It was her only event, and AAU officials would be watching the results closely.

  HELEN REGRETTED HER agreement to run the relay. After she left Betty and the other girls outside, she assembled with the finalists of the 50-yard dash and tried to push her thoughts of the disastrous outdoor practice runs from her mind so she could focus on the races ahead.