by Anne Mateer
I wished I could answer no, but I knew that wasn’t true. I shifted in my seat, remembering how many times lately I’d envied Clay, wished it had been my name on that draft letter.
Forgive me, Lord.
Ma elbowed me. Pastor Reynolds had dismissed the service.
Before Ma could scold me for my inattention, Mrs. Adams steered her toward some other Red Cross ladies. I ducked my head as Miss Morrison passed by, only to look up and see Janet Green, the telephone operator, wiggling her fingers at me with a shy grin.
I lifted my hand but turned away as quickly as I could. Tried to look occupied. I skimmed the crowd, looking for . . .
My gaze stopped on a face that caused a glimmer of recognition. A young woman—older than my high school students but younger than most of the congregation. A shapely form. A slender neck. Defined, classic features. She ought to be dressed in bright colors. Instead, her coal-colored dress spoke of suffering.
The funeral.
That’s where I’d seen her.
She’d walked with Mrs. Wyatt to the coffin, held her steady.
She bore some resemblance to the widow, with her dark hair and creamy complexion. Was she a relative? Niece? Sister? Friend? She stepped even with my pew, affording me a closer view of ivory skin, dark eyes, pert nose. I rose. She turned and reached behind her. JC appeared at her side.
He spied me. I smiled and nodded, wondering if I could wrangle an introduction to his companion. But they slipped past me without a word.
What had I been thinking, anyway? With the distraction of Miss Delancey out of the way, I had no desire to add another.
Outside, I greeted Mr. Glasscock from the dry goods store and Mr. Leland, who taught with me at the high school. But my eyes kept wandering back to the pleasing face sheltered beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Her lashes lowered as she chatted with several longtime Dunn residents. Then she hefted one of the little Wyatt girls into her arms. I inched closer even as I told myself to steer clear. Then Mrs. Wyatt was there, though I hadn’t seen her earlier.
She leaned toward the younger woman. “Did you hear that, Lula? The high school needs a music teacher. You could stay with me and do that.”
The woman—Lula—shook her head, her full lips pulled tight.
“But you’d be perfect in that job.” Mrs. Wyatt’s wan complexion brightened a bit. She shifted the little boy draped across her arms. Then she looked at Lula. Pursed lips. Raised eyebrows. Widened eyes.
The look that said, I know best what you should be about.
A look I’d seen too many times in my life.
Ma appeared beside me. “If we don’t hurry, our dinner will be burnt.”
I offered my arm and a smile, remembering my resolution to be more patient, more kind. More attuned to what God had asked me to do here. But I couldn’t help wishing to see Mrs. Wyatt’s friend once more before we left. I twisted around. Mrs. Wyatt and her brood were coming in our direction. I slowed our pace, heart pulsing in my ears. Then a man in uniform jogged up from the opposite direction. The one from the funeral.
Tall and stiff, he yanked his wide-brimmed campaign hat from his head. Mrs. Wyatt gestured to Lula, who nodded, then looped her arm through the soldier’s. Their unusual brigade retreated in the opposite direction.
The next three days, I walked to school instead of drove, relishing the smell of leaves crushed underfoot. Some would call it the smell of death. But not me. Autumn propelled us closer to winter. To basketball season.
I’d taken to sitting on the bleachers in the gymnasium before school, early morning sunlight casting gray squares across the rectangular floor. I wished the school board could provide a better facility for basketball. We needed space between the walls and the out-of-bounds lines. More seating for spectators. When this building was built about three years ago, few schools played basketball as anything more than a physical education activity. Now we traded games with the high schools in the towns around us. If we ever hoped to boast a winning program, we needed a proper place to play.
But the nation was at war. There could be no extraneous construction. Materials, money, and manpower were committed toward making the world safe for democracy, not bolstering athletics programs.
Leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped, head bowed, I begged God for inspiration. He directed the path of my life. Of that I was sure. So was there some greater purpose for me here in Dunn? Something bigger than myself or my mother?
Ma would have said God had more important things to think of—like those in harm’s way in Europe. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that He cared about kids like Blaze, too. Kids seeking to find where they fit in life, a reason for their existence.
Not that that reason was basketball, of course. Or any athletic endeavor. But so much could be taught—and learned—through the discipline of the game. I glanced at my wristwatch. Still a few minutes before classes commenced. Maybe I should chat with Principal Gray. We hadn’t had a private conversation for a couple of weeks.
No one was sitting behind the reception desk, so I proceeded straight toward the principal’s office and poked my head in.
Principal Gray grinned. “Come on in, Chet.” We shook hands, then he clapped me on the back. “How are your classes going?”
I slid into the chair opposite his wide desk, then leaned back and rested my left foot on my right knee. “Still trying to settle the kids down after a summer running free.”
“Thankfully, we have this blast of cooler air today. I always found it easier to teach without sweat rolling down my face.”
“Or my back.” A companionable silence settled between us. I liked that about Ronald Gray. He didn’t need to hear his own voice. He listened. Much like Mr. Slicer had in my boyhood days, Principal Gray filled a fatherly role in my life.
“I guess you heard I have to find a new music teacher.”
I grinned. “So Blaze said. Any candidates?”
“Not officially, though I heard a rumor of a possible applicant.” Principal Gray wiggled his eyebrows at me.
My gut twisted.
“Don’t worry, son. No one has designs on you at the moment.”
“Right.” I couldn’t keep the cynicism from coating my response. He didn’t see the artillery pointed in my direction every week at church. Perhaps I ought to switch to the Methodist congregation, where he attended. Maybe the women were more settled there.
Principal Gray chuckled. “I wouldn’t be too concerned. From what I’ve heard, you’ve become quite an expert at dodging women with matrimonial intentions.”
I shuddered at the remembrance of the previous music teacher’s thrice daily jaunts from the music room at the west end of the basement to my east-side, second-floor math classroom. Much like Fanny Albright’s visits to my basketball practices last season. Or Janet Conway, the domestic science teacher before Bitsy Greenwood, who arrived with hot cookies during lunch hour and always served me first. Those actions couldn’t be disguised as anything but interest. Interest I did my best to kindly discourage.
Principal Gray leaned forward, a bit of a twinkle in his aging eyes. “One day you’ll see a woman you won’t want to run from.”
I started to protest, then remembered a pair of intriguing dark eyes and thought better of it. Thankfully, Principal Gray had moved on.
“What are the prospects for our Bulldogs basketball team this year?”
The tension of matrimonial talk ebbed into the comfort of athletics. “We should be in good shape. Blaze is back, along with Clem, Virgil, and Glen. Four strong seniors and some underclassmen who came along nicely last year. Of course, it would help to have a legitimate gymnasium instead of that cracker box out there.” I nodded toward the rear of the building.
Principal Gray sighed, rubbed his forehead. “Oklahoma University’s gymnasium isn’t much better than ours. And with the war effort . . .”
“I know. Yet some of the surrounding high schools have managed to get nicer facilities.”
&nb
sp; He nodded. “If we could just come up with a way to persuade the school board—”
I leaned forward, a spark of an idea gaining flame. “What if we asked to use the town hall? Some schools do. Much more floor space in there.”
“It’s worth a try. I don’t think there’d be much issue with the boys, but I don’t know how people will feel about the girls playing in such a public venue.”
I thought of Blaze’s girlfriend, Nannie Byrd, and her teammates. Those girls had spunk. And my friend Giles, their coach, would be up for any challenge.
“I feel sure we could persuade them once they agreed to a venue change for the boys. But we need another incentive. Football is still the bigger draw as far as spectators.”
What would bring people to a game in a time of war? Spontaneous energy pulled me to my feet. I paced the small space as my thoughts ran in circles, honing in on a proposition that would multiply our chances of gaining the town hall for our games as well as increase support for the basketball program.
I looked down. A flyer on the corner of the desk caught my eye.
If you can’t enlist—invest
Buy a Liberty Bond
Defend your country with your dollars
I snatched it up, held it out toward Principal Gray. “Liberty bonds. A patriotic community initiative, spearheaded by the boys’ basketball team. Nickels turned to dollars. Dollars that will defend our country. ”
“What?”
An excitement I hadn’t felt since Clay boarded the train for camp and left me behind stirred my blood. “The new war bond campaign began two days ago. What if we convinced the town to let us use the hall without charge and donated the admission nickels toward buying liberty bonds at the end of the season? The town hall holds more people, so more money would be raised. Our team would become allies with those serving in France.”
I couldn’t stand still. Already I pictured the community’s support. “The war bonds could be held in trust for the school district to use when they mature. Thirty years, well out of range for when we’d need a new gymnasium, but it might give them an incentive to at least consider a new gymnasium when the war ends, knowing they have this bit of savings for the future.”
It could work. For our team. For our school. And if we had success on the court, it could be the reason God wanted me here in Dunn. Or at least redeem me in the eyes of my mother. Maybe even justify Blaze’s time and effort in his father’s estimation.
Principal Gray tented his hands and tapped them against his mouth. “It could work. It could actually work.”
I’d already leapt beyond the venue, beyond the money. Now I pictured Blaze’s skill and leadership, the teamwork of the seniors and the burgeoning talent of the underclassmen. If I could inspire them with the idea, sell it as their contribution to their country and to future generations in Dunn, Oklahoma, perhaps we could do more.
I knew the schools we’d play. We’d be evenly matched—in fact, I believed we could beat several of them. It could be our own challenge to ourselves: raise funds for the war, for our school, and leave a legacy of the first basketball team in Dunn to log more wins than losses.
“It’s a gamble whether the school board will agree to any of it, but nothing lost by trying.” Principal Gray was focusing on a point far away. His thinking look. Then his eyes returned to me. “If you want to propose this, I’ll support you. But you’ll have to take the lead.”
I dropped into the chair I’d abandoned, suddenly spent. “Absolutely. I’ll enlist Brian Giles’ help, as well.”
Before Principal Gray could answer, female chatter drifted in from the reception area. I eased from my seat and escaped the gathering in the outer office with nothing more than a tip of my hat.
5
LULA
I couldn’t shake Jewel’s great sorrow. Not in my classroom at the university. Nor at Mrs. McInnish’s boardinghouse. Nor while trying to solve a difficult equation or explain a basic concept. Jewel stared back at me from the faces of my students. Her crying echoed in my head as my pencil scratched across the page.
“Your mind is elsewhere, my girl.” Professor Clayton peered down at my paper. I followed his gaze. The square root of six is three? For heaven’s sake! I pushed an eraser over my error. Calculated again. 2.44948974278.
“These have been some rough days, Miss Bowman.” His face drooped with understanding. “Why don’t you put your work away for now? Go home early. Get some rest.”
He was right. I’d been pushing myself, trying to banish Jewel’s need from my head and my heart. But I was tired. So tired. I gathered my things. “I’ll be ready to finish this tomorrow. I promise.”
He smiled at me as if he didn’t quite believe my words. To be honest, I didn’t believe them, either. If only I could know how Jewel and the kids were getting along. Maybe I could go to Dunn on the weekends. Give her a break from the children, the housework. But to arrive late Friday night and leave again on Sunday wouldn’t do much to help her. Or me.
What if I paid someone to help her? I chewed my lip and toyed with that idea. It would require economy on my part. A cheaper boardinghouse. Turning my dresses, resewing them with the faded fabric to the inside, instead of buying new ones. Surely I could find enough extra in my pay to relieve her of the need to find work, at least for a little while. Not that she’d find much in the way of employment. Not in a small town like Dunn. Not with her eighth-grade education. Maybe in nearby Lawton?
Trudging into Mrs. McInnish’s, I sought out the newspaper to put my plan in motion. But Mrs. McInnish handed me a letter instead.
Miss Lula Bowman was penned across the outside in Jewel’s elegant hand. I tore it open, eager for news to relieve my anxiety, more determined than before to enclose a generous gift in my reply.
The front door slammed shut behind Miss Frank and Miss Thompson, their laughing chatter filling every crevice of the room. I angled my knees toward the wall, hoping they’d read my need to remain undisturbed. As they climbed the stairs and their voices faded, my eyes drank in Jewel’s words.
Dearest sister,
I hope this finds you well and happy. In spite of the reason for your visit, know that your presence here is greatly missed. The girls still can talk of nothing but Aunt Lula. You truly stole their hearts during your short stay. JC spends much of his free time at the livery stable. Mr. Timmons has kindly allowed him to help with the horses, but I fear that he needs more of me than I can give right now.
My heart clenched. Jewel, the one who’d set aside her own grief over Mama to help me through mine, shouldn’t have that guilt. Of course, back then she’d had Davy to help shoulder her burden. Now she had no one. I cringed.
Send someone to help her. Please, God? Someone besides me.
I devoured Jewel’s words about Daddy, but she had nothing new to report. He remained the same. Stricken in body, active in mind. I should have made time to go see him. Don would have driven me to Chickasha. But the thought of Don and Audra hounding me to stay with Jewel had overpowered my need to see my father. My champion. Or maybe it gave me the excuse to remember Daddy as he’d been before the stroke.
I returned to Jewel’s letter. Janice’s daughter, my twenty-year-old niece, had given birth to a son. Nothing from Ben in Texas, of course.
And then there is my own news, Lula. The news I suspected when you all were here but didn’t know for certain. The sweet, sad secret I’ve told no one but you, even now.
I closed my eyes, but only for a moment.
I’m going to have a baby, Lula. In March. Davy’s final gift, the last tangible reminder of our love.
My cheeks flamed, then my heart swam in my stomach. Losing Davy with four children to raise had been bad enough. But another child on the way? How would she manage alone?
Dread settled on my shoulders. My throat tightened.
Please, Lula, can’t you come and stay?
A vise squeezed my heart. I wanted to oblige. I did. But if I went—if I quit school—I
’d forfeit too much. My scholarship. My education. My employment. Daddy’s hope that one of his children would get a PhD. If I left here, I’d be Fruity Lu once again, giving up before I reached the end, getting distracted by other things. Couldn’t Jewel of all people see that?
I blew out a hard breath, but it didn’t relieve the pinch in my chest. I’d have to find a way to send Jewel money. My brothers and sisters might still think me a child, but I’d been taking care of myself for years. I could sacrifice my own comfort for Jewel and her children.
I rose, determined to stow the letter in my trunk upstairs and get on with finding a new, cheaper place to live.
“Everything all right?” Mrs. McInnish opened the front door to let in the evening air.
“Yes, Mrs. McInnish. Just fine.”
“Your sister, then? She’s well?” Concern laced the words, threatening to break my resolve.
“Fine. However, I—” If I said the words out loud, committed myself to my plan, then the roiling guilt inside would calm, right? “I’ll be looking for a new place to live. Less expensive, so I can help my sister’s family.”
Her eyes saddened. “I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Bowman. You’re a good boarder. You’ll have any reference you need from me. But are you certain . . .”
I sucked in a deep breath. “I’m certain. My sister has four children to support.” I sat hard on the sofa. Five, now.
Mrs. McInnish plopped down beside me. “What’s the matter, dear?”
“She’s—she’s going to have another baby. In March. She . . . she needs—”
Mrs. McInnish’s hand closed around mine. “She’s going to need more than money, I fear. She’ll need someone to stay with her.”
Her words haunted me through the commotion of supper and in the quiet of my bedroom. I paced the narrow space beside my iron bedstead, Jewel’s letter crumpled in my hand. I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d remain Fruity Lu for the rest of my days. The child who nearly caught the house on fire after leaving a lamp burning in the kitchen, who contaminated the well with a shovelful of manure. The girl with half-finished paintings littering the attic, scads of piano music disintegrating in a box in the cellar, a string of broken hearts behind her. The girl who threw away the prestigious Donally Award.
