Playing by Heart (13 page)

Blaze's jaw clenched. He knew his pa wouldn't let him go just as surely as I did. Too much work on their farm, and Blaze did most of it. But beyond that, Archie Clifton seemed to take some perverse pleasure in snatching away every vestige of happiness from his boy. As if he begrudged him every good thing.

It almost made me wish Blaze wore JC's shoes. Losing a father—growing up without him—seemed an easier lot than the one Blaze had been given.

L
ULA

By the Monday after Thanksgiving, my team of girls seemed to be getting the hang of the drills. Nannie, her feet spread wide on the floor, stretched her arms high as Bill tried to throw the ball around her to Gracie. Nannie managed to knock the pass out of bounds.

“Good job.” I approached the girls, motioning for the others to join us. “Did you see how she watched the ball the entire time?” Everyone nodded. “That's what we must do when playing defense, but of course when we are the ones with the ball, we have to find a way around a player like Nannie.”

“How?” Bill asked.

I frowned. While I was starting to understand the fundamentals of the game, I had yet to grasp the game as a whole. I needed to ask Coach Vaughn how the girls should balance the differing skills of defense and offense. “We'll talk about that tomorrow.”

“But our first game is in a little over a month and we'll miss a week of practice for Christmas!” Rowena whined. I glanced be
hind me, thankful, for once, for the distraction of the boys clamoring into the gymnasium in their shorts and sleeveless shirts.

“Go on, now. The boys need the court.”

The girls scattered. It took me a few minutes longer to collect my things. When I pushed open the gym door to leave, it banged to a stop, reversed, and collided with my nose.

“Ow!” I turned away, hand over my face.

“I'm so sorry!” Coach Vaughn turned me around, tipped my chin up. “Are you hurt?”

No moisture wet my hand, so I pulled it away and shook my head. “I'm fine, thank you.” When I glanced up, I almost lost myself in the endless depths of concern in his dark eyes—until I reminded myself that I was no longer a silly schoolgirl mooning over a good-looking boy. That was Fruity Lu, not me.

Besides, as the weeks had passed, Mr. Vaughn gave me every reason to believe I'd misjudged him. He no longer looked at me with that wolfish grin I'd seen at my first practice. He'd been kind. Respectful. Answered my questions seriously and without judgment.

In fact, I had two pages full of newly scribbled questions stuffed in an old geometry book, waiting to be discussed.

“Could we . . . That is, I have—”

“More questions?”

I nodded. I sincerely wanted to understand the game, to perform well in the role I'd been assigned. In fact, the more I learned about the game, the more I wanted my girls to win.

Just like I'd won the Donally Award.

Chet glanced at his wristwatch, then at the knot of girls just beyond us, their voices a frenzy of whispers. Heat rushed into my face as he leaned closer. “I'll only be an hour or so if you want to wait.”

I gulped, nodded. He joined his team. Nannie raced to my side, her fingers curling around my arm in just the spot where Chet's had been. The other girls swarmed around us, their giggles driving my spine ramrod straight. “Miss Bowman! Are you seeing Coach Vaughn?”

“No. Absolutely not. You know a teacher isn't allowed such dalliances.”

“That didn't stop Miss Delancey.” Gracie's snicker set off the others again.

Burning heat bathed my neck and spilled into my face. “Coach Vaughn and I are . . .” I blinked. What were we? Colleagues? Yes, that was it. “We're colleagues.”

Nannie's round face wrinkled at the word. “Is that all?”

Foxy linked her arm around mine. Bess did the same on the opposite side. Then they moved forward, carrying me along with them.

“Don't you think they'd make a striking couple, girls?” Nannie's question sparked yet another twitter of laughter. And a lovesick sigh.

I couldn't let them get such nonsense imbedded in their heads. I pulled free. “I appreciate your interest, girls, but I'm not looking for a relationship.”

Gracie's eyes grew as big as two full moons. “But Coach Vaughn's so . . . so . . .”

Bill's mouth curled into a saucy grin. “Miss Delancey dubbed him a rake because he didn't cotton to her attention.”

Miss Delancey had set her cap for Chet? Envy pricked, surprising me like the sudden jab of a pin. I didn't like the feeling. Not one bit.

Chet locked the gymnasium door while I pulled my coat closer around me. The days had grown shorter. Darkness would accompany my solitary walk to Jewel's house. But even as I warded off the December cold, I inhaled it, savoring the sharp, fresh scent with smoke lingering on its edges.

“It'll be warmer if we walk while we talk.” Coach Vaughn's voice startled me, reminding me I wasn't alone.

I bit my lip and glanced at the few stars winking overhead. Was he asking to walk me home, or just walk? He hadn't requested to walk me home since that first disastrous day of practice. The request I'd refused. Could I consent now without violating the conduct expected of a female teacher?

Surely it would be all right. He wasn't taking me on a date or anything, just accompanying me while we discussed school business. I took a deep breath and let it out in a stream of white. “We can walk.”

His hand touched my elbow as we started forward. I stopped. “Coach Vaughn—”

“Call me Chet.” His eyes stared into mine, darker in the dusky evening, but softer somehow, too.

“All right. But Chet?” My heart beat double-time.

He sighed. “Yes, Miss Bowman?”

I took a deep breath. “Lula. Just . . . Lula.”

He grinned. Tingles crawled down my arms and legs. I sucked in a chestful of air and prayed I could keep my heart from turning traitor to all my plans. I stared at the ground, swept almost clean of fallen leaves by the brisk north wind. “You don't have to walk me home. We can find a time to discuss my questions at school.”

“True. But we're here now. And you do have to walk home either way.”

I opened my mouth and shut it again. To decline his offer would be impolite. My feet fell into pace beside him. A new awkwardness stole between us. I wondered if he felt it, too. If he suddenly wished he hadn't suggested walking with me.

A horse and buggy passed. Then an automobile chugged by, leaving its acrid smoke behind. I waved the smell away from my nose and coughed.

“Don't you like the smell of oil and gasoline?”

“Not particularly.” I had no love for the smell of horse manure, either. I preferred things clean. I liked to walk to where I needed to go. Bicycle, if I decided to.

He slapped his hands on his chest and took a deep breath. “It's the smell of progress. I love it.”

A street lamp pooled its light around us. Chet stared into the distance, as if seeing something beyond a dusty Oklahoma street. He caught me looking and grinned like JC with a shiny nickel in his possession.

I blessed the darkness that once again cloaked our faces from each another. Chet had dreams, too. I'd glimpsed shadows of them in that faraway look. But he had something else—something I didn't have. He had peace about his current place in life.

I'd felt peace when Mama was alive. Then that peace had disappeared into the ground with her. The peace I'd imagined I'd find while accomplishing Daddy's dreams for me had never quite come to pass. My college diploma was nothing more than a paper with my name on it. Perhaps the peace would finally come with my next degree. Or maybe at the end of my days, looking back.

Yet Chet had it now, shining naked from his face.

I cleared my throat, searching for some topic of conversation to erase my unsettling thoughts. Basketball. Yes. That's
what we were meant to be discussing. I knew the girls had to be protected from strenuous overactivity as well as the roughness of the boys' game—or so the Spalding's guide said. But there were still fundamental skills that crossed both games. Chet had taught me some of them, and I wanted to know even more to give my girls the best shot at winning.

We turned the corner. The blaze of another street lamp illuminated a poster attached to the brick of a building across the street. A white-haired man dressed in red, white, and blue pointed his finger at us, the text underneath his image reading
I want YOU
for U.S. Army
.

“I guess you miss the other coach.” As soon as I'd said the words, I winced. Bitsy had told me Chet hadn't enlisted out of duty to his mother, and that it was a source of contention between them. I didn't want to dredge up an awkward situation. I searched his face, wondering if my words had shaken the tranquility I'd glimpsed earlier. But his expression remained the same. Or almost. Did I spy a bit of wistfulness—or had the wind blown shadows across his face?

“Giles. Brian Giles. He's a good friend.”

We moved forward. “Was it a good thing that he enlisted?”

Chet's hands disappeared into the pockets of his coat. “I can't think of any reason for it not to be.”

“Except that he could get killed.”

He frowned. “Except that.”

Fresh grief over Davy pushed tears to my eyes. At least Jewel hadn't had to send him to war, not at his age and with a family dependent on him.

I wanted to understand Chet from his own lips, not the tales of others, so I asked, “And having your friend join up didn't propel you to follow?”

He shrugged. “I have other responsibilities that preclude my involvement in the current crisis.”

The words sounded rehearsed, as if he'd said them a thousand times.

He ran a hand through the thick hair that curved away from his forehead, then threw me an almost apologetic smile. “I take care of my widowed mother. I'm all she has now that my brother Clay has shipped out to France. I feel quite strongly that it would be wrong to abandon her for the glory of going off to war.”

I let his words linger, thinking of Bo and the other soldiers I'd seen wandering about Dunn on leave from Camp Doniphan at Fort Sill. Did they make Chet feel as conspicuous as I felt among a gathering of new brides?

My heart bumped in my chest, and gooseflesh trailed down my arms. I stared at my mittened hands curled around my books—music, basketball, geometry. Quietly, I said, “I've often had to stand on the firm ground of my convictions when others thought I ought to be doing differently.”

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.

C
HET

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 remember 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.