Playing by Heart

by Anne Mateer

  He didn’t respond. Inwardly, I cringed. Had I misunderstood and shared too much?

  I raised my head. In the shadow of the streets, his gaze met mine. His eyes shone. “Thank you for telling me that,” he whispered.

  My foot turned on the uneven terrain. He reached for my arm. Steadied me.

  “I appreciate your help,” I said, wondering if he knew I meant it for more than keeping me upright.

  And then we were standing at Jewel’s front walk, without a word of basketball having passed between us.

  20

  CHET

  All through basketball practices the week before Christmas, my eyes strayed to the empty seat on the bleachers where Lula often sat during our drills, sometimes scribbling notes on paper, sometimes watching with her pencil tapping against her lips.

  The basketball questions she’d posed had been thoughtful. Detailed. As if she truly wanted to understand the game. And yet it wasn’t those conversations that came to mind when I thought of her. It was that first time she’d let me walk her home. We’d talked of other things, things more personal in nature. And I’d begun to wonder what it would be like to have Lula as a friend—someone who understood my need to stand by what was right, even if it wasn’t what I wanted or what others wanted for me.

  And yet after that conversation our time together had been spent discussing basketball strategy and rules. I took it as a challenge to try to steer the conversation back toward more personal things. But while she maintained an amiable manner, Lula was a formidable opponent against my efforts to get to know the woman behind the sweet face and quick mind.

  I blew my whistle to stop the boys’ sprints. Two players flopped to the floor. One walked the court with his hands on his head. Several bent with hands on their knees. Blaze stood upright, barely winded, a grin covering his face.

  After a quick word of encouragement from me, the boys gathered their things and began the slow exit. I clapped Blaze on the back. “Need any help with your homework?”

  He shook his head. “I’m going to Nannie’s tonight. She says Miss Bowman explained things six different ways, until she finally understood. Now she’ll try to smash the information into my thick skull.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Blaze. There’s plenty in your noggin. Don’t make up your mind beforehand that you won’t get it.”

  “I’ll try. Thanks, Coach.” He jogged away as I locked up the gym, whistling “All the World Will Be Jealous of Me.”

  Let’s suppose that the lips I found kissing a rose

  Were to tell me to look in your eyes,

  If I’d find there a light that for me only glows,

  More and more would my heart realize . . .

  Could I kindle such a look in Lula’s velvety brown eyes? I was far more familiar with warding off marriage-minded females, not wooing ones who sparked my interest.

  I climbed into my Tin Lizzie. Thoughts of Lula led me to thoughts of JC. I turned on Main Street instead of continuing toward home, past the empty barber shop, the dry goods store, the grocer’s. Was JC at the livery stable this late? I eased my motorcar to the edge of the street and cut the engine.

  When I peeked into the dim barn, JC’s mop of dark hair poked over the wall of a far stall. “Hey there,” I called.

  JC grinned. “Hey, Mr. Vaughn.”

  We hadn’t had much chance to talk since basketball had taken up most of my free time, but over our few sodas, we’d forged enough of a friendship to allow me to dig deeper now. “How have things been going at home? Everything all right between you and your ma?”

  “Yes, sir.” His shoulders drooped a bit as he returned to brushing down a gentle mare. “I’ve been doing what you said—reminding myself that Mama’s more sad than I am.”

  “That’s good. Thinking about others before yourself is the way Jesus told us to live.”

  His arm dropped to his side. “But it sure would help if Mama and Aunt Lula wouldn’t treat me like I’m Russell’s age. I’m the man of the house.” He slapped his chest. “I can take care of things when Mama doesn’t feel well and Lula’s at school. Don’t they know that?”

  Not feeling well? I knew what it felt like to be a boy in a house with a grieving mother, but had Mrs. Wyatt’s grief made her ill? I wondered if Ma knew. She seemed to feel an affinity with the young widow. Maybe she’d want to help out. “Your ma’s been sick?”

  JC lifted one shoulder, let it fall again. “She’s gonna have another baby. In the spring.”

  My gut clenched. Was that why Lula had come to stay with her sister? I suddenly felt selfish for wanting her company for myself. “Then it’s even more important that you be the man of the family, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Serious brown eyes met mine.

  I had an idea for a practical way I might help the boy. More than just buying him a soda once in a while, or giving him advice. “What if I talked to your ma?”

  A scowl twisted his dirt-smudged face. He wiped a sleeve across his dripping nose.

  I held up my hands, anxious to salve his pride. “Not outright, you understand. Just in general conversation. I could let her know that you’re ready to take on more responsibility for the family. But you have to remember, you can’t just run out on them when you get upset. The man of the house doesn’t do that, even when his insides ache so bad he wants to hit something. Or cry.”

  JC stared at the straw-covered floor. “I know. I’ve been doing better now that Aunt Lula plays the piano at church. Honest I have.” He looked up, eyes pleading for me to believe him.

  I smiled, encouraging his efforts.

  He shrugged again. “But I guess you could talk to Mama for me. Uncle Bo certainly won’t.”

  “Uncle Bo?”

  “Pa’s friend. He’s around whenever he has leave from Fort Sill.”

  The man in uniform I’d seen Mrs. Wyatt introduce to Lula at church. I thought of the way she’d noticed the recruitment poster, of our discussion of Giles and Clay and my own lack of service. She wouldn’t be the first to fall to the “khaki craze,” as the girls at school called it. Was Bo why she wouldn’t let me any closer than basketball?

  “Don’t you like him?” I asked, fighting down jealousy.

  JC rubbed the horse’s nose before stepping out of the stall and securing the latch on the door. “He’s not my dad.”

  “No, he’s not. And neither am I. No one will ever be your pa, but maybe he just wants to be friends, like you and I are.”

  His eyes narrowed as if my defense of the man roused his suspicions against me, too. I needed to find a way to ask Lula about Bo.

  “C’mon, JC. I’ll drive you home in my Tin Lizzie.”

  The boy’s face lit faster than an electric lamp. If all it took to stay in his good graces was a ride in my automobile, we would be friends forever.

  I thought I’d get a chance to talk to Mrs. Wyatt about JC at the Christmas concert at the high school, but she wasn’t there. Only Lula attended, dressed in something soft and filmy, very unlike her usual school clothes. I couldn’t take my eyes off her as she led her students in Christmas carols.

  Nor were the Wyatts at church the following Sunday. Instead, Mrs. Wayfair sat at the piano, pounding out the familiar hymns of the season, albeit with less skill than Lula had done a few nights earlier.

  Not until the next Sunday did Ma and I sigh in relief to see Lula in her place at the piano. After the service, Ma and Mrs. Wyatt spoke near the front of the church. I headed in that direction, but on my way there I spied Lula seated in a pew, one child on her lap, another smashed against her side. I wanted to stop, to ask how she was, tell her I’d missed her at practices, but I didn’t feel comfortable doing any of that until I’d made good on my promise to JC.

  Mrs. Wyatt stuck out her gloved hand. “What a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Vaughn. My son tells me you and he are quite good friends these days.”

  I glanced around to find JC. He sat with Lula now. “I hope so, Mrs. Wyatt. I rememb
er what it’s like to be a little boy without a father.”

  My gaze cut to Ma. A storm cloud seemed to have settled over the face that had been so agreeable moments before. I sighed. She hated when I referred to Pa in any fashion. But I couldn’t worry about that now. “I’d very much like to talk to you about JC sometime, ma’am.”

  She laid a hand on my arm. “Call me Jewel, please. And I’d like that very much. Perhaps—” She glanced toward Ma. “Perhaps you and your mother would like to join us tomorrow night for a New Year’s Eve dinner? We thought we’d celebrate new things to come. Good things.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. I cleared my throat and looked down at my hat in my hands.

  “We’d be glad to join you.” The huskiness in Ma’s voice surprised me.

  I glanced behind me at JC and Lula. I certainly wouldn’t object to some time in Lula’s company, but I told myself I’d keep JC at the forefront of my mind.

  We arrived at the Wyatt house Monday night with a custard Ma had baked that morning. Jewel thanked her while Lula flew from kitchen to dining room with a look of sheer terror across her face.

  I couldn’t help but grin—and wish I could follow her about the house.

  Instead, Ma helped the women get the food on the table while JC’s sister—Trula, if memory served—pulled me toward the living room. I settled on the sofa while JC dug out a checkers set and arranged it on the floor, and the toddler crawled into my lap and sat, thumb in mouth, head resting against my chest, just under my chin, completely content. The two little girls chattered simultaneously, competing for my attention. I hoped they’d call us to the table soon. I was used to high schoolers—I didn’t have a strategy for handling such young children.

  A knock at the door. Before I could lumber to my feet with the little boy in my arms, the girls raced from the room.

  “I’ll do it!”

  “No, let me!”

  The door opened while the girls argued.

  “Uncle Bo!” they squealed in unison. They arrived back in the living room with a man in uniform holding each of them by the hand. The same man I’d seen Jewel introduce to Lula.

  My gaze slipped to JC as I lowered his little brother to the floor. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed, JC watched Bo as closely as a mountain lion watches its prey. If this was “Uncle Bo,” I was about to get a chance to make my own judgment about him.

  Before I could extend my hand in greeting, Jewel bustled into the room. “Bo!” She held his hands in hers a few seconds longer than a simple greeting could account for. “We’re so glad you could come!”

  Ma slid into the room after Jewel. Lula was nowhere to be seen.

  Bo grinned. “After all the holiday passes, I didn’t think I’d be able to weasel another. But I did.”

  The man nodded toward Lula when she appeared in the doorway. I glanced at JC. His scowl deepened. I envied him. It was the same look I wanted to wear.

  Jewel pulled Ma forward. “I want you to meet my dear friend, Captain Bo Nelson. He and my Davy”—she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes—“were lifelong friends.”

  Ma’s eyes shone. “My son, Clay, is in the service, too.”

  Bo glanced in my direction. I shook my head.

  Ma sighed. “No, my other son. He recently shipped out to France.”

  For some reason, this information made Lula frown. Then she blinked and cleared her throat. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Jewel pulled Bo toward Lula. “Bo, dear, will you please escort Lula to the table? JC can bring me, and Mr. Vaughn can accompany his mother—just like one of our old parties!”

  Bo offered Lula his arm. She blushed and lowered her eyes.

  My mouth turned as dry and gritty as sawdust. I crooked my arm for Ma but couldn’t take my eyes off Lula. I hoped Ma and I could eat and excuse ourselves as quickly as possible.

  But once our meal commenced, everything changed. Jewel and Bo drew Ma into gentle conversation and Lula hardly glanced at the man seated to her left. Of course, she didn’t look at me, either. A cup of milk spilled. Lula mopped it up and dried the child’s tears. The littlest one grinned and giggled, poking his finger into a pile of mashed potatoes. Of all the children, only JC remained solemn, darting a glance at me every now and again. I needed to find a way to speak to Jewel about him—and perhaps to Bo, as well. Though I didn’t relish additional conversation with the man if he was meant for Lula.

  “So tell us, Mr. Vaughn, have you been able to teach Lula the finer points of the game of basketball?” Jewel’s mouth twitched upward. Lula kept her head down, eyes intent on her food.

  “I believe she has things figured out. The season starts a week from Friday. I do hope y’all will come to some of the games.”

  Jewel gave Lula a long look. “I imagine we will since my sister is involved. And of course you’ll come to some games, too, Bo. Won’t you?”

  He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “If I can get away, certainly. Although if the rumors are true, we’ll ship out soon. I don’t know if I’ll be able to wrangle much more leave.”

  Jewel’s face turned pale. “You’ll go to fight?”

  He nodded, lifted another bite of beef, then set it back on his plate again, something unspoken passing between him and the widow of his longtime friend.

  Lula wiped Trula’s mouth and then rose, stacking three empty plates to take with her into the kitchen. She reached for my plate just as I lifted it. Her soft, warm hand brushed mine on the rim of the dish. I wanted to grab hold, to not let go. But of course I didn’t. She blushed deeply and scurried to the kitchen.

  Why was she so timid around me? What treasures lived locked behind those dark eyes?

  I pushed back my chair. “I’ll help clean up.”

  “Absolutely not!” Jewel sprang to her feet and steered both Bo and me toward the front of the house. “Lula, please join us. The dishes can wait.”

  A few moments later, Lula walked stiffly into the room, crossed to the fireplace, and stabbed at the wood with an iron poker. The ashy log splintered, sending a nest of sparks flying up the chimney. Then she wobbled to the stool at the piano and sat facing the keyboard, hands clasped in her lap, gaze fixed on her hands.

  JC leaned on the edge of the instrument while Bo complimented the meal and the company. I pulled out my handkerchief and wiped my forehead. I needed to move away from the heat, but was it the fire or Lula?

  I ran my hand over the top of the walnut cabinet that housed a phonograph, then let my fingers graze the keys of the piano. A sheet of music propped on the ledge above the ivories caught my eye: “All the World Will Be Jealous of Me.”

  “That’s one of my favorite songs.” I nodded toward the music. “Will you play it?”

  She popped to her feet. “I really don’t think that’s appropriate for today.”

  I tipped my head. “Something else, then?”

  “I . . . I don’t—” She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “I’d better finish the dishes.” She spun to leave the room, but Jewel caught her by the arm. “Mr. Vaughn, perhaps I will take you up on your offer to help your mother and I tidy the kitchen. JC, please help the children get ready for bed.”

  “Mama!” he whined. I silenced him with raised eyebrows. If he wanted to be the man of the family, he needed to help his mother when she asked him to.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He trudged off, his little brother in tow, both sisters following along behind.

  “Bo and Lula can entertain each other, can’t you?” Jewel grinned at the two of them. Bo returned the gesture, but Lula looked as if Jewel had asked her to climb on the back of wild bronco.

  I knew I ought to follow Jewel to the kitchen, but I couldn’t leave Lula alone with Bo. I slipped off my jacket and laid it over the back of a chair. Then I unbuttoned my cuffs and rolled my shirtsleeves toward my elbows. “Why don’t you entertain Mr. Nelson, Jewel? I have great expertise in the area of dishwashing, so if Miss Bowman will lead the
way . . .”

  Lula brightened, and I took hope that my company was apparently not as odious to her as Bo’s.

  “Come, dear. I’ll help, too.” Ma wrapped an arm around Lula’s waist and led her to the kitchen.

  I took a step to follow, then remembered JC and knew what I had to do. I cleared my throat. Jewel and Bo looked at me in surprise, as if they’d forgotten anyone else was in the room. I sat on the piano stool. “While we’ve got a moment, I’ve been hoping to talk to the two of you about JC. . . .”

  21

  LULA

  Thoughts of our first basketball game of the season had me flustered. Or at least I told myself it was the basketball game. The truth was I couldn’t think of New Year’s Eve, of Chet at our dining room table, without feeling . . . undone. And the memory of him rescuing me from Jewel’s matchmaking? It still left me breathless.

  Only he hadn’t followed me into the kitchen. He’d stayed with Jewel and Bo while his mother had helped me clean up. Did that mean he hadn’t meant to rescue me at all?

  Nannie poked her head into my classroom at noon. “You know the game’s at the town hall, right?”

  My mouth dropped open. The town hall? Not the gymnasium here at school? “Are you certain?”

  She nodded, eyes dancing with excitement. “Coach Vaughn arranged it. We’re to use the admission money to buy war bonds. The town hall has room for more people.” She disappeared again before I could form a reply.

  After my final class of the day, I ducked my head and trudged through the cold January evening to the town hall, the air fragrant with the scent of coming snow and billowing smoke from those keeping warm indoors. My heart bounced against my ribs like a basketball under Blaze’s hand. Steady but firm and quick.

  Even in the unlit hall I could make out the two sets of spectator stands placed along one side of the court taped off on the floor. Two poles with baskets hugged the walls at opposite ends of the rectangle.

  The door opened behind me, letting in a wave of cool air, but it shut just as quickly. I turned, expecting my girls but finding Chet. The building suddenly felt too warm. I removed my coat and draped it over the bench where I would sit with my players.