Playing by Heart

by Anne Mateer

I stopped. Listened. Was that a groan from inside? I rushed into the dark house. A shadowy figure rose from the sofa at my entrance, but the rustle of fabric told me it wasn’t Chet. In fact, as the specter sat down again, head bowed, its size and posture struck me as familiar.

  Was this the mysterious person who listened while I practiced at church?

  Groping in the dark, my hand finally landed on a light switch. Click. The room brightened in an instant. Mrs. Vaughn’s desperate eyes met mine, haggard lines creating furrows around her eyes and mouth, as if she’d aged six years in the six short days since I’d seen her last.

  “What’s happened? Where’s Chet?”

  Her gaze drifted toward the open front door. Everything inside me froze. Chet was dead. It was the only explanation for his absence, for his mother’s despair.

  And in that moment, I knew I loved him. No matter that it was impossible or that I’d told my heart no. I loved him, and I didn’t want to live without him. My legs gave way. I dropped to the sofa.

  Like a child with a forgotten plaything, Mrs. Vaughn held out her hand, a ball of paper resting on her palm. I smoothed it flat and forced the typed words to pierce through my anguish.

  Clay.

  Clay was dead.

  Not Chet.

  My heart soared, then plummeted. Oh, Chet. I’m so sorry. To lose his brother in a place so far away. No comfort in a body, a funeral. At least Jewel had that with Davy. A time to say good-bye, to digest the reality.

  Instinctively, I pulled Mrs. Vaughn into my arms. I had only my presence to offer as comfort, but it was apparently more than Chet had given her.

  Anger flared. How could he leave her alone? He didn’t even have the excuse of feeling obligated to be with his team, for he hadn’t been there for them, either.

  “Where is he?” My words were quiet and calm, the opposite of those in my head.

  She eased from my embrace, her focus refusing to leave the hands fumbling with a limp handkerchief in her lap. “I . . . I said terrible things, told him what I swore I would never reveal.” With a shuddering breath, she finally met my eyes. “I’d determined my boys would make up for what their father did, no matter what. I thought it would make me happy. But I’ve found that bitterness is a deadly disease, Miss Bowman. It spews its venom in the worst possible moments.”

  What was she talking about? Make up for what? A wad of tears hung in my throat. My heart pumped faster. Maybe Chet had a reason to run.

  Mrs. Vaughn clutched at me, clung to me. “Find him for me. Please. If I hadn’t been such a stubborn old woman, I’d have only lost one son today instead of two.” She slumped into me as if she’d used up every ounce of strength.

  I wanted to run, to do as she bid. But I couldn’t leave her like I’d found her. I removed the hat askew on her head and helped her stretch out on the sofa. I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead as if she were Inez or Trula, not a woman near to my mother’s age.

  She held my hand to her damp cheek, gratitude shining in her eyes.

  “I’ll find him and bring him home, Mrs. Vaughn. I promise.”

  I burst into Jewel’s living room. “Mrs. Vaughn needs you. Her son died. In France.”

  Jewel’s face blanched. “Where’s—” She tried to rise, but couldn’t gain the momentum. Then I noticed Bo. He helped her to her feet.

  “I don’t have time to explain. Please, just go to her.”

  Bo picked up his hat. “I’ll motor her over. JC can watch the little ones.”

  “Thank you.” I dashed back into the night. Main Street was dark and silent. At the livery stable, I heard only the nicker of horses, no human presence.

  Could Chet have taken refuge outside of town? Walked to Fort Sill? Gone to the town hall in search of his team?

  I went to the town hall first and yanked open the door. Only a scattered few remained. Principal Gray spied me and frowned. His forceful stride brought him near. “Miss Bowman, I—”

  “Chet—have you seen him?” I almost yelled.

  “No, he still hasn’t—”

  “I’m sorry. I have to go.” I turned and ran toward the school. The gym.

  Even if he’d gone elsewhere to work through his personal pain, he’d eventually find his way back there. His place of peace. And pride.

  Tripping over unseen impediments, stumbling down dark streets, I tried to pray. But no words emerged except Jesus, oh, Jesus. I love him. Oh, Jesus, help me find him.

  I reached the gym, pulled at the doors. Locked, every one. My legs trembled. A sob burst from my chest. I eased down onto the stone steps, the evening chill seeping through layers of clothing and numbing my body. I covered my mouth, despising my weakness.

  Crying over a man. One who loved a silly game. But also a man who loved his students and his mother. His brother. Even JC. A man whose friendship I’d come to cherish against all odds.

  I lowered my head to my knees. How could a few short months uproot all I’d built my life on?

  My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.

  I sat up straight, the words as clear as a pane of glass. The storm inside me died. Had I done that? Had I built my life on a rock that wasn’t solid? That wasn’t Jesus? Had I been stubborn, like Nannie and Blaze, instead of steady in conviction, like Chet?

  Whatever else I had or hadn’t accomplished, Mama wouldn’t be proud of that. She’d taught me the story of the wise man and the foolish man from the time I’d been tiny—and made sure I knew what it meant.

  But after she’d gone I’d decided that music and laughter and someone to love and cherish meant a sandy spot on the beach, while academic success and Daddy’s attention assured me an unmovable foundation. Now I stood in a whirlwind, fearing my entire life would go splat at any moment. I covered my face with my hands, wishing tears would come and cleanse the heart that had veered so far from the truth.

  My eyes remained dry. “I want You as my foundation, Lord. Nothing less.”

  Peace ebbed through my tired soul, and for the first time in years, I had hope my prayer had been heard. I glanced heavenward. “Help me find Chet. Please.”

  Clouds hid the light of stars behind their bulk. My hope vanished—the same sinking feeling as confronting a mathematical equation whose answer remained beyond reach.

  “When all else fails, start again at the beginning.”

  Thanks, Professor. I surged to my feet. Start over. I could do that. Grabbing hold of my granite tenacity, I retraced my steps to Jewel’s house to begin the search for Chet once more.

  36

  CHET

  I paced the dark aisle of the church. Clay and I had talked about this possibility—that something might happen to him. It was a huge part of the reason I had agreed to stay with Ma. But now something had happened. And I’d abandoned Ma when she needed me most. I’d run away. I was still running away.

  I glanced at the enlistment papers in my hand, then dropped into a pew halfway toward the front and hung my head. “Forgive me, Lord. I didn’t even ask You. I didn’t even ask.” I tasted the salt of tears, understood at once Peter’s anguish at his betrayal of Jesus. Hadn’t I just done the same thing—abandoned the trust bestowed on me by my Savior?

  If only He would appear, fix me breakfast on the shore, and tell me to feed His sheep. Then perhaps I’d know that I, too, was forgiven. That I, too, still had a purpose to fulfill. Until then, I had to accept the consequences of my rash actions, whatever those might be, knowing full well I deserved every bit of trouble I received.

  If only Pa . . . If only Clay . . . If only Ma . . .

  No. It was my doing. All of it. After years of quiet discipline, one rash decision would change the course of my life. I’d signed my name, given my word, said I would go fight.

  What would happen to Ma? My students? My team?

  I slammed my fist down on top of the pew in front of me. The game. I’d missed the game. I’d let down my team. Had they still played without me? Had they won?
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  Principal Gray would find another coach. My students would get another teacher. But Ma had no other sons. If I could be certain of Ma’s welfare, then I could face my death with less remorse. For I felt certain death would be the end result of my enlistment, as it had been for Clay.

  Time passed. Fast or slow, I had no gauge. My body grew stiff from the chill. Breath hissed in my lungs. I would brave the consequences of my actions. And yet even that resolve didn’t fill the hollowness inside me. The emptiness reminded me of the days after we’d learned of Pa’s death. Ma cocooned in her bedroom. Clay and I huddled together in a dark corner of the barn. Only now I didn’t even have Clay.

  There’d been no funeral for Pa. That made sense now. And once Ma had again found the light of day, we’d moved to another town, one that didn’t connect us with my father’s sad history—at least the version she’d told my brother and me.

  To earn money, Ma washed other women’s clothes, her hands turning red and raw. There was always an iron heating on our small stove, except when it was needed to cook supper. Years of scraping by. Financially. Emotionally. Yet she had carried the burden alone. For so long.

  She’d watched her son go off to war, hoping his honorable service would erase the shame of his father’s actions, only to have him die untried.

  For years I’d prayed for Ma to see that only God could heal the wounds that festered inside her, but I’d never imagined her pain to be so deep, so wide. Why would God allow Clay’s death now? Hadn’t it demolished any good He’d yet accomplished?

  Creak.

  Rusty hinges groaned behind me, same as they had when I’d sought refuge in the church. I didn’t want to talk to Pastor Reynolds, or anyone. Quick steps clicked up the aisle before I could slip into the alcove leading to the side door. A whiff of lavender accompanied the shadow.

  Lula bent to her knees in the aisle. Her soft hand cupped my cheek.

  “Oh, Chet.” My name caught in her throat. I tried to turn away, but her touch held firm. Had she come to berate me? I’d done enough of that to myself. I didn’t need her help.

  “I thought . . . I thought . . .”

  Was she crying? I grasped both of her hands in mine. Surely no other tragedy had befallen her family. “Tell me.” More of a breath than a whisper.

  “You . . . you didn’t come. You didn’t— I went to find you. I found your mother. She—”

  I tightened my grip on her hands. “What about Ma?” Could I bear any more guilt?

  She shook her head. “Jewel’s with her. But you weren’t there and the boys—”

  I shut my eyes, clenched my teeth. They’d lost. My hands fell from Lula’s. I stared at my feet. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I wasn’t there. It’s all my fault.”

  “Chet.” She forced my face toward hers again, but she couldn’t make my eyes meet hers. “Listen to me. You don’t understand.”

  “No,” I mumbled. “No one understands.”

  Her hands pressed into my cheeks. “Blaze was worried. We were all worried. He . . . he came for me. I sat on the bench, acted as the coach in your place.”

  My eyes jumped to hers as a soft stream of moonlight shot through the tall windows. “You?”

  “Yes, me.” Her touch fell away. “My girls won tonight, I’ll have you know. I can do whatever I have a mind to do. And I chose to put my mind to basketball.”

  I almost laughed at her vehemence. I could have if my heart hadn’t shattered.

  “You would have been so proud of Blaze.” Her voice softened, spread over me like a buffalo robe on a frigid night. I wanted to curl into it, receive its warmth. “Blaze coached the team, really. I didn’t do a thing. He was . . . amazing. And when they won—”

  My head jerked up. “Won?” A current sparked in my brain, lifted me to my feet. I yanked Lula up with me. “They won?”

  Her head bobbed up and down. I threw my arms around her, laughter ringing through the empty space. A giggle near my ear awakened my senses, the warmth of her breath on my neck, the smell of summer on her flesh. I ought to step back, pull away. Instead I inhaled, drinking her in as long as she’d allow, still marveling that she’d come to find me.

  As I peered down into her face, the reflection of the moonlight caught the edge of tears shimmering in her eyes like lake water in midsummer. Her lips parted. I lowered my mouth toward hers even while telling myself I shouldn’t.

  Would I feel the crack of her hand to my cheek? I hesitated only a heartbeat, waiting. She flinched forward. Our lips met, hers as soft and sweet as ripe berries, just as they’d been in my dreams. Her hands pressed against my chest before creeping to my shoulders, circling my neck. I pulled her closer, held her tighter. Never wanted to let her go.

  Light saturated the room. We jumped apart, blinking at the brightness. I flung Lula behind me, felt her head press into the space between my shoulder blades, as if she could disappear from view.

  “Chet? What are you—” Pastor Reynolds’ head tilted, his brow wrinkled.

  I let out a long breath, felt for Lula’s hand, and pulled her to my side. No sense trying to hide.

  “Miss Bowman?” Pastor Reynolds’ eyes slashed back and forth between us. “I don’t understand.”

  “I . . . I came in to . . . to . . .” She glanced at me, eyes wide in a plea for help. Not blame. Not disdain. I wanted to sweep her into my arms again, cover her precious face with kisses.

  Instead I squeezed her hand. “She found me here, sir. I’d—” I hung my head, lowered my voice. “We learned today that my brother, Clay, died in France.”

  The pastor’s hand landed on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” I glanced at Lula, her face almost bloodless with fear. I thought of Principal Gray’s warning. Of Pastor Reynolds’ place on the school board.

  Pastor Reynolds scratched his head. “Lots of people out there looking for you, son. Did you know that?” His gaze slid to Lula, and I could read his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken. Lula and I. Close together. In the pitch-black church.

  I kept my eyes steady on his, eager to convey our innocence. Pastor Reynolds frowned. “This is a bit . . . disconcerting, to say the least.”

  I’d hurt Lula by discarding her dinner invitation in order to stave off this type of situation. Yet I’d brought it down on her just the same. I needed to drop her hand, deny everything. But I couldn’t. Not again. Never again.

  “We’ve done nothing wrong, sir. Nothing. I’ll explain that to whoever needs to know.”

  Pastor Reynolds’ eyes pinched into a squint. “I haven’t said anyone’s at fault here. Yet.”

  Lula’s fingers tightened around mine. I might have failed Ma and my team, but I would not fail her. I would find the courage to be the man I’d thought myself to be.

  37

  LULA

  Pastor Reynolds told us to go, to find Mrs. Vaughn. Chet and I navigated the dim streets, my hand still captured in his. He told me everything. His mother’s excitement over the game. The telegram. Even the revelation of his father’s suicide. That he trusted me with such knowledge stole my breath. Perhaps he’d had a change of heart about me—about us—since abruptly declining the dinner at Jewel’s house. I could only pray so.

  We rounded the corner leading to his house. He stopped. I plowed into the back of him, nearly knocking him flat. Light blazed from every window of his home. Three motorcars sat in the yard. A welcoming party I suspected neither of us wanted.

  Chet’s focus remained tethered to the house. “I don’t know what else to do but go inside. We haven’t done anything wrong, you know.”

  Flames of heat rushed into my face. Had he already forgotten about our kiss? That certainly didn’t uphold the standard of conduct expected of a female teacher. And I doubted any school board member would think highly of Chet’s involvement, either. Thankfully, Pastor Reynolds wouldn’t take the situation to the school board tonight. But he hadn’t said that he wouldn’t d
o that come tomorrow. If he did, the reputation I’d worked so hard to establish would be in tatters. Fruity Lu would arise and live forevermore.

  Chet lifted my chin with his fingers. I tried to avoid his eyes, but they held me as surely as his arms had in the darkness of the church. “I realize this is all my fault, Lula. I won’t let anything happen to your job. I promise.”

  I knew he meant it, but I also knew he couldn’t keep his word. Not about this. It was beyond his control.

  “If the school board insists on your removal, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Suddenly, he stooped down on one knee. “Marry me, Lula.”

  My heart reeled. He didn’t mean it. As much as I found I wanted him to, I knew he didn’t. And I couldn’t decide which felt worse—to be passed over or to be proposed to as an honorable duty. Neither made me feel loved. Wanted. Valuable.

  On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.

  I tilted my chin upward as the words from the hymn played through my head. The Lord was my hope. I’d made that commitment earlier this evening. Not Chet. Not my own mulish adherence to a plan. If I stood obstinately on anything, it had to be on the rock of His Word. All else would falter, would fail. And yet, I’d trusted my own way so long, could I learn to trust another so quickly—even if the other was God?

  I had but a moment to choose. Chet’s dark eyes, alive with emotion and concern, drew me. I wanted to let them hold me.

  I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

  Peace settled the flutter inside me. I didn’t have to run after something to fill me, as I had after Mama died. I didn’t have to make any rash decisions. I could trust God to carry me—and my sister. “I can’t, Chet. I’m sorry.”

  Disbelief, hurt, and anger flickered over his face. He dropped my hand and stalked toward the house. Standing alone on the newly sprouting grass, I knew Chet would never propose to me again.

  I half expected Pastor Reynolds to relieve me of my accompanist duties when I arrived at church early Sunday morning. But he didn’t mention school or contracts or clandestine meetings in dark places. His silence gave me the boldness to ask if we could sing the hymn that had been replaying in my head since Friday night, the one that had found its way out of my fingers most of Saturday. The more I heard the words about Christ being my rock, the more I hoped they’d stick in my heart.