Fast Girls

by Elise Hooper

  They passed a newsstand and Jesse’s face gazed out at them from the front pages of several different Berlin papers. “Everyone loves him, but you know, the word is that you’re the most photographed woman in Berlin,” Mack said, tugging Louise closer.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Our guide read it in one of the Berlin papers.”

  Louise laughed and rested her head on Mack’s shoulder.

  “I love your big, beautiful smile,” he said. “You should show it off more.”

  If melting from happiness was a possibility, Louise would have been a puddle on the sidewalk.

  BACK IN THEIR room in Friesenhaus, Louise and Tidye changed into their nightgowns and prepared for bed. “You sure look like the cat who ate the canary,” Tidye said, giving Louise a smug look before switching off the lamp between their beds. “Good for you. Mack is a dish.”

  Louise was happy the room was dark so Tidye couldn’t tease her more about the elation she knew to be written across her face. Mack was a dish. When he had kissed her good night in the Friesen-Garten, Louise could have stayed there all night in his arms. If Tidye and the others hadn’t shown up, she just might have, curfew be damned.

  “Did you hear that Helen received an invitation to a special party on Friday night?” asked Tidye. Only thin curtains hung over the windows and moonlight spilled through the gauzy fabric, bathing the room in a silvery glow.

  “Betty thinks that the German officials are doing everything they can to tire us out. The cold rooms, the parties. They want to see us at our events looking exhausted,” Louise said.

  Tidye snorted. “They’re certainly doing everything they can to intimidate us at every turn.”

  “True,” Louise said, pulling her covers to her chin. The Reichssportfeld alone defied comparison with anything she had ever seen. It had every sporting facility imaginable. Their guide had explained that the stadium could accommodate more than seventy-five thousand spectators. When Louise had entered into it with her teammates for a quick Opening Ceremonies rehearsal, she had not been the only one rendered speechless. Rows and rows of seating towered above them and the seating closest to the track was actually sunken, giving the track and field a stagelike setting. At the top of one of the entrance gate’s pillars, two gigantic clocks kept exact time, and inside the stadium was a large cauldron-like structure where a fire would burn throughout the days of competition.

  But if Louise was to arrive at events tired, it wasn’t going to be because of their cold room and attending too many parties. Every night, she had trouble settling down because her mind was filled with images of Mack. She would replay their conversations and remember what it had been like to wrap her arms around his broad back and kiss him. How was a girl supposed to fall asleep with visions like that filling her head? After a few minutes in the dark, Tidye’s breath became soft and steady, but Louise rolled over to her other side restlessly.

  A commotion in the garden under their window made her stop moving and tilt her head to hear better. Muffled giggling and whispering floated into their room. Louise crawled across her bed to the window, pushed the curtain aside, and peered out. Below in the courtyard, underneath the boughs of a linden tree, two figures merged into one. Louise concentrated on their shadows. After several moments, they separated. Judging by the taller one’s height and husky voice, it was Helen, while the other’s gleam of blond hair could only belong to Ruth. The women leaned toward each other again and then eventually parted. Ruth vanished from the courtyard as the door to Friesenhaus creaked open and then closed behind Helen.

  Louise remained staring into the courtyard. She had assumed the connection between Helen and Ruth to be platonic, but now she wasn’t so sure. She lacked the vocabulary to describe such a relationship, however of one thing she was certain: if Mr. Brundage was willing to throw Eleanor Holm Jarrett off the team for carousing, he would be horrified by whatever Helen was doing with Ruth. Louise felt a pang of sympathy that surprised her. Yes, Helen tended to be loud and too eager to take the spotlight, but without her remarkable athletic abilities, she would simply be an awkward, homely woman unlikely to find satisfaction in a conventional life. What did the future hold for someone like her?

  From her crouch, Louise’s legs began to cramp so she shifted to slide back into bed, but as she did, dark figures appeared visible in the wooded space beyond the garden below her window. Clouds scuttled across the full moon overhead, but as she leaned closer to the crack in the curtains and looked toward the woods, movement flashed through the darkness. For a moment she held her breath, but then exhaled, watching the moon, waiting for a spell when the clouds would clear and provide an unobstructed view of the woods.

  And then she got what she had been waiting for. The clouds cleared. Silver moonlight flooded the garden and the edges of the woods, illuminating a weird tableau. Through the trees, rows and rows of figures became visible. They marched in lockstep to a rhythm that Louise couldn’t hear but could feel in her chest as they moved. One, two, three. One two, three. Soldiers. The woods were full of them.

  As if they could feel Louise watching them, they halted, dropped, and raised rifles to their shoulders for a beat before standing. Shocked, she leaned away from the window, a cold fear gripping her. Had anyone seen her?

  A minute passed. She couldn’t resist looking again. The soldiers were back on the move. Marching and then dropping to their knees. They did it over and over again, and Louise realized they were practicing. But for what?

  She shrank back into bed and curled into a ball, almost expecting the soldiers to explode into the room at any moment. Yet Friesenhaus remained peaceful. Eventually she fell into a fitful sleep, and when she awoke to another unseasonably cold gray dawn, she peered out the window again to an empty garden and woods. No soldiers. In the light of day, the previous evening’s military exercises felt unlikely. Had she dreamed them?

  And then she saw smudged fingerprints on the glass of the window. Her fingerprints. The soldiers weren’t a dream. She had seen them.

  50.

  July 31, 1936

  Berlin

  SEVERAL NIGHTS LATER, BETTY STOOD BEFORE THE open door of a shiny black Mercedes-Benz and paused before climbing inside and settling into the deep leather seats next to Helen and Ruth. Though Betty tried to ignore it, she had a funny feeling about the evening ahead of them. Because of the high hopes pinned upon her, Helen had been issued the invitation to a party on Pfaueninsel Island thrown by Reichstag president Göring and Herr Goebbels, the minister of public enlightenment and propaganda. After securing Mrs. Brown, the wife of one of the team doctors, to chaperone, she had elected to bring Betty and Ruth too.

  “Don’t forget that you’re representatives of the United States,” Mrs. Brown reminded them as the car maneuvered southwest through the evening traffic clogging the city’s streets. “Be sure you act accordingly.”

  “According to what?” Ruth asked.

  “It’s an idiom.” Helen laughed. “Apparently we’re supposed to comport ourselves in a virtuous manner and represent our country with pride.”

  “I see.” Ruth fidgeted with the buttons running up her cream-colored silk frock.

  “Fräulein Haslie, it’s delightful that you’ve struck up such a strong friendship with Helen and Betty,” Mrs. Brown said, but her narrowed eyes belied the compliment.

  “She sure has,” Helen said, taking Ruth’s hand, immune to Mrs. Brown’s chilly tone. “And boy, have her translation and guide services come in handy.”

  “Mrs. Brown, that’s the most becoming color on you,” Betty said quickly, gesturing at their chaperone’s seafoam-green taffeta gown. “Where did you find such a fetching dress?”

  As Mrs. Brown launched into a full description of the shopping she had done in Paris the previous spring, Betty elbowed Helen, hoping to caution her. Helen was getting careless and seemed to be taking unnecessary chances and drawing attention to her infatuation with Ruth, and this worried Betty. Since their arri
val in Berlin, Helen’s star had been on the rise. Reporters, coaches, teammates, everyone wanted a piece of her. Scores of fans arrived to watch her practice and newspapermen peppered her with questions. Helen reveled in the attention and always had a snappy rejoinder to any question, a broad smile for the crowds. Everyone loved her.

  Betty’s earrings were pinching her so she unsnapped them as she watched Helen whisper something to Ruth. Was she jealous of Helen’s success? And if she really poked the tender feeling deep inside her, was she even a little jealous of Helen’s affection for Ruth? Since qualifying for the team in Providence, Betty had been trying not to stir up her doubts about her own running abilities, and Helen’s idolization of her had provided a comforting tonic while aboard the S.S. Manhattan. Did she miss being the center of Helen’s attention?

  Their car slid to a stop and Betty peered out the window to see swarms of partygoers swarming the dock at the River Havel.

  When Helen had first brought up the idea of attending the party, she had been souvenir shopping with Betty and Ruth in a boutique on Kurfürstendamm. At the mention of Pfaueninsel Island and Herr Goebbels, Ruth had appeared uncomfortable. “Are all of your teammates going?” she asked, riffling through a rack of colorful postcards. “I have not heard the other guides speak of it.”

  “No, I’ve gotten a special invitation and can bring a few friends,” Helen said, winking at Ruth. “Hey, when we’re done with racing, what do you say we try for a little day trip here?” She held a postcard of a grand palace. “Sanssouci Palace. It looks so beautiful and romantic and the name means ‘without worries’—isn’t that perfect?”

  Betty barely glanced at the postcard and instead focused on Ruth’s tense expression. It was unlike Ruth, who was normally so cheerful, to balk at anything Helen proposed. Since Ruth had mentioned that her family lived in Charlottenburg, Betty had been making inquiries of the other guides about the city and pieced together that the Haslies lived in an upscale neighborhood. The guides had been selected from Berlin’s finest families, which begged the question: Did Ruth’s parents serve in the Reich?

  “Ruth, why do you ask who else is going?” Betty asked.

  “It’s a party for some of the highest members of the party. Many important politicians will be there and . . .” Ruth’s voice trailed off. She gestured that they should leave the shop and led them a ways down the sidewalk to stand under a plane tree.

  Ruth shook her head and studied the people wandering past before whispering, “Betty, pull out your cigarettes and light one so we can talk a moment without drawing attention.”

  Betty lit one and raised her eyebrows at Ruth, awaiting explanation.

  “There are spies for the Reich everywhere. You both must be careful. Helen is a figure of interest and people are watching her.”

  Betty had taken a deep inhalation. “To be honest, Ruth, I’ve wondered where your loyalties lie.”

  “Betty, come on now—” Helen began, but Ruth stopped her.

  “No, it is fine. You are smart to be paying attention. Many of the guides probably are informers, but I am not. Because of my language studies and my father’s administrative position with the city, I was a good candidate for this program, but I have no real affiliation with the Nationalist Socialist Party.”

  Betty had figured out that most of the guides were proud members of the party. When she had spoken with Annette’s guide, the young German woman had plucked what she called a Nationalist Socialist friendship pin from her chest and handed it to Betty. The smooth, colorful enamel pin with its bold black swastika on its center had felt surprisingly heavy and Betty had tried to appear delighted, even as she pocketed the loathsome memento swiftly.

  Betty looked into Ruth’s vivid blue eyes. “But that still doesn’t really tell us why we should trust you.”

  When Ruth raised her hand to push back a loose strand of blond hair from her face, her hand was trembling. “My maternal grandmother was raised Jewish, but converted and married a Protestant,” she whispered. “My father has always identified as a Christian. This technically gives me the status of a mischling, but since my grandmother spent the majority of her life on the register in a Christian church, her origins have not been discovered. My family must hide this aspect of our ancestry. It is a secret. My father could lose his job. We are merely trying to fit in and not raise any questions in anyone’s mind. Please believe me when I say you can trust me.”

  “But surely they don’t keep track of everyone’s religion for generation upon generation. That sounds impossible,” Betty said.

  “If they can locate the information, they track it,” Ruth insisted.

  Helen inhaled sharply and took Ruth’s hand. “Your secret’s safe with us.”

  Betty nodded, although the truth was that she still didn’t really understand the full implications of what Jewish ancestry meant. Helen had spoken of the Führer’s speeches about creating a master race and eliminating the Jews, but the idea sounded far-fetched, impossible to carry out.

  “I’m very fond of both of you,” Ruth said, looking back and forth at Betty and Helen, but she allowed her gaze to linger on Helen.

  “I’m one of the most visible athletes here. Nothing can go wrong,” Helen said. “I’ll accept the invitation to keep our hosts happy, right? Let’s just go and see what all of the hullabaloo is about. It’ll make for an interesting story to take back home.” She folded Ruth’s arm under her own as if that sealed the deal.

  They had returned to shopping for small gifts to bring home, but the seriousness of that conversation had stuck with Betty. Helen was very knowledgeable about newsworthy people and events and their import, but with the breathless news coverage of her athleticism increasing every day, she seemed to believe she was invincible.

  Their car had been idling in a line of party guests unloading, and when a liveried servant opened the car door to help the women out, Betty startled.

  “Goodness, dear, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Brown asked. “Come now, let’s have some fun.”

  The older woman led the way and stood beside the car, smoothing her taffeta evening gown, appraising the scene.

  Helen groaned as she stepped from the car. “These heels are going to be the death of me.”

  “Then why on earth did you wear them? You should be resting your legs,” Betty said.

  “No dancing,” Ruth scolded.

  “Aye, aye, no dancing!” Helen gave a mock salute. “Thank you both for worrying about me, but you know the saying, beauty over death!” Helen shimmied and gestured at her full-length gown, a hand-me-down from a friend’s mother back in Fulton. “You don’t end up as glamorous as this without a few sacrifices. But come on now, admit it, aren’t you curious about this party?”

  “Berliners have been talking about it for months now. The most elite and fashionable people of the world will be here. And now, so are we!” Mrs. Brown said as the women crossed a pontoon bridge and let out a collective sigh as thousands of butterfly-shaped lanterns glowed overhead in leafy oaks, creating soft pockets of light in the darkness.

  A fair-haired, golden-skinned young man wrapped in a gauzy toga offered them a tray of coupes filled with icy-cold champagne. Betty took one and brought it to her lips, but paused to admire the fizzing bubbles racing toward the surface and the reflection of overhead lanterns before taking a sip. A twelve-piece band played jazz on a raised platform over a dance floor and beyond it stood a small white castle illuminated by torches. “It looks just like a fairy tale,” she said, sighing with contentment as the champagne danced along her tongue.

  “Yes, there’s a lovely English garden on the other side of the castle,” Ruth said. “There was also a beautiful building filled with flowers and plants, but it burned down many years ago.”

  “Aren’t you something?” Helen looped her arm through Ruth’s. “What else do you know about this place?”

  “Pfaueninsel means ‘peacock.’ At one point, a king kept quite the menagerie of exotic animals here, b
ut he eventually donated them to the Berlin Zoo. All that’s left are the peacocks. If we were here during the daytime, we would see them strutting around.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” Mrs. Brown murmured, her gaze roving the revelers. She raised a hand in greeting to a cluster of matrons and turned to Ruth, Betty, and Helen. “Ladies, excuse me while I chat with some friends. Don’t go far.” And with that, she swept off.

  “It appears there are all kinds of other creatures here strutting their stuff,” Betty said, watching a group of young blond women cavorting through the party in togas, tossing carnations into the air. Once the dancing women moved on, Betty caught sight of a familiar head of dark glossy hair. “Eleanor?”

  Their former teammate turned. “Darlings! Fancy bumping into you here.” Eleanor swept Betty into her arms and then turned to give Helen a once-over. She whistled in admiration. “My, my, Miss Stephens, you’ve come a long way from Oklahoma, haven’t you?”

  “Missouri,” Helen said.

  “What?” Eleanor cupped a gloved hand to her ear and leaned toward Helen.

  “I’m from Missouri.”

  “Missouri, Oklahoma, Timbuktu, does it really matter? We’re here”—she spread her slender arms wide—“at the most gorgeous party in the world. Now that’s what’s important, right?”

  Betty shook her head in delight. “You’re the last person I expected to see.”

  “Now, now, give me some credit. A girl like me doesn’t run home with her tail between her legs.” She wrapped an arm around Helen and Betty and pulled them close. “I landed a job as a reporter. Isn’t that a gas? Plan to see me all over town for the next few weeks. Wherever there’s action, I’ll be there.” She spotted Ruth. “My, my, who’s this beautiful creature?”

  After Helen introduced Ruth, Betty raised her glass to the group. “Here’s to all of us landing on our feet.”

  The women clinked their glasses together and champagne spilled over the edges and ran down their arms. Seeing Eleanor, the silkiness of her evening gown against her skin, the scent of gardenias in the air—something released in Betty. She lifted her wrist to her mouth and licked the champagne off, giggling.