Playing by Heart (17 page)

Smiles erupted as the girls gathered their things.

“See you at practice, Miss Bowman.” Nannie waved good-bye.

The silence they left behind threatened to smother me, and I still had fifteen minutes until my next class would arrive. I sat on the piano stool. My fingers grazed the keys. Then they pressed a bit harder, one note at a time. I swung my knees under the keyboard, both hands moving now, touching white keys and black, sending the hammers pinging against the strings.

I no longer saw the numbers on the chalkboard or the notes on the sheet of paper in front of me. My senses recognized
only music as my fingers picked up speed. Emotion surged like a swollen stream over drought-weary land. It settled, pooled, and curled into the dry crevices of my spirit like it had found the place it belonged. My soul calmed. My hands stilled. The notes lingered. I opened my eyes—when had they drifted shut?—to find my students in their places, wonder on their faces.

I stumbled to my feet. They stared as if they'd never seen me at the piano before. I cleared my throat. “Pull out a sheet of paper. We're taking a quiz.”

C
HET

Over the two weeks after Lula stood me up, we had only one conversation—about the date of my next math test. She offered no apology. No explanation. Angry just thinking about it, I slapped my hat to my hand before jamming it on my head and turning up the collar of my coat to ward off the bitter January wind for the short jaunt to where I'd parked my automobile. If Lula hadn't wanted to go out with me, why had she said yes in the first place?

Women. They all played games. Just different ones. Miss Delancey's was a game of chase. Was Lula's hide-and-seek? Whatever it was, I had no desire to take part.

I walked faster, shoving my hands into my pockets, growling under my breath. I felt a bit guilty for taking out my frustration on the boys during practice, but in the end it wouldn't hurt them any. We'd been playing well, winning. But half a season remained that would decide the fate of the Dunn High School basketball program, for we would never move forward without the proper facilities.

I only hoped that the school board kept their word. Unlike Lula.

“Don't you have a game to go to?” Ma asked.

Of course she paid attention now. When I wanted to be left alone. When I wanted to find an excuse to arrive at the town hall near the end of the girls' game instead of at the beginning.

“Didn't you want me to clear the ashes out of the stove?”

“Not right this minute. Tomorrow would have been soon enough.”

“Well, I have time now.” I dumped another shovelful of gray dust in the bucket, a thin cloud of grime rising to my face.

“You'll have to wash—”

“I know.” I stomped out the door and dumped the ashes on the compost heap. I had no call to snap at Ma. I had to get Lula out of my head, return to the firmness with which I'd staved off practically every other female of marriageable age who had crossed my path. If Lula had been the one trying to capture my attention instead of the other way around, I wouldn't have had any problem whisking her from my mind.

“Sorry, Ma,” I said as I came back inside. She nodded. I gathered my things.

By the time I reached the town hall, I'd settled a bit. My boys were lounging among the spectators. I greeted them with curt nods. One by one, they straightened, faces sober. At least I knew they remembered the stakes. We needed every win to force the school board to keep their end of the bargain. We were a team, just like our brothers and uncles and cousins holding bayonets and going over the top together. We'd do the same. Fight the battle. Win the war.

Students, parents, and teachers filled in the empty spaces in the stands, each one clinking their coin into the tin cups at the door. The team from Shady Grove eyed my players as they clustered on the opposite bench. I paced the area between the seats and the wall, watching, thinking, praying—anything to keep my eyes from straying in Lula's direction. But one piece of conversation above me stopped me cold.

“She's still a good looker. And not married if she's teaching.”

I looked up. A ruddy-faced man seemed to be holding court with a few others. Farmer types. Mid-twenties. Thick and broad. All with eyes sweeping toward Lula sitting on the home team bench. “Guess she hasn't made a catch yet, so look out. She's pretty and all, but not a brain in her head that I could ever see.”

Not a brain? If they thought that, they were the senseless ones.

“I'm surprised she's still around. You remember when she took up with the debate club? Two weeks and she was gone again. Never could commit to anything.”

“But that was because she was sweet on Randy Wade. Remember?”

A deep chuckle. “She always was the life of the party. Maybe I should invite her out sometime.”

A new voice interrupted. “Who are you talking about?”

“Lula Bowman. You know, Fruity Lu.” Guffaws rained down.

Fruity Lu? My eyes sought Lula on the opposite side of the court. I couldn't reconcile their descriptions with the woman I knew.

I had half a mind to find a reason to throw these dolts from the hall. But of course that wasn't really my place. I shoved my hands into my pockets and prayed for calm as I strolled in front of the stands. Then I rested one shoulder against the cool wall
and crossed my arms. I'd keep an eye on that group after the game. And an eye on Lula, as well.

The whistle blew to end the girls' game. I still hadn't located Blaze in the stands. It wasn't like him to miss Nannie's game. Wasn't like him to be late at all.

I pulled Virgil aside. “Have you heard from Blaze?”

He shook his head. “But we talked about the game at school today.”

My jaw clenched. Something was wrong. If I had to guess, that wrong had to do with Archie Clifton. I raked my fingers through my hair, not caring if it stood on end. “If he doesn't show, I'll count on you to lead the way tonight, Virgil.”

“Yes, sir.” The senior's Adam's apple slid up and down his thin neck. He returned to the team and motioned for them to gather round.

Part of me wished I had an assistant coach to entrust them to, leaving me free to check on Blaze. For no matter how hard I tried to tell myself it was nothing, I knew it was
something.

Principal Gray slapped me on the back and started talking, but I could only hear noise, not words.

“Could you run out to the Clifton place and check on Blaze for me?”

“He isn't here?”

I shook my head.

Principal Gray donned his hat, shrugged into his coat. “I'll pay Archie Clifton a visit. You and the other boys just keep to your task, get the job done.”

“Yes, sir.” I motioned my team over, spoke confident words of encouragement and prayed they didn't recognize the hollow ring.
It wasn't that I didn't believe they couldn't win without Blaze, it just didn't matter quite so much compared to his well-being.

“Felix.” I pointed to a freshie who had shown promise in practice. “Take Blaze's position at right guard.”

“Yes, sir,” he squeaked. He joined the other starters on the court.

The official blew his whistle and tossed the ball in the air. Virgil leapt up and swatted it toward Clem, who threw it to Felix. A few seconds later, the ball dropped through the hoop. I breathed a sigh of relief along with another prayer, for if I knew anything about Blaze, I knew he'd not miss a basketball game unless it were a matter of life and death.

Every muscle in my body clenched during the final three minutes of the game. When the whistle shrieked, I sank against the wall, spent. Two points. We'd won by two. But at least we'd won. The boys knelt around me, faces solemn, eyes questioning. I wished I had something grand to tell them.

“I'm proud of your tenacity. You stuck in there and made it happen. Good job.”

Heads lowered, one by one, until only Virgil looked me in the eye. “Any word on Blaze, Coach?”

I shook my head. Virgil's head bowed, too.

“Get on home, boys. Enjoy your victory.” If only I hadn't turned and seen Nannie's face splotched red from crying.

I loitered long after the game ended, hoping for Principal Gray's return. He never came. I hurried up the block to my car, head bowed against the swirling wind. Until a shadow caught my eye. A figure pushed away from my Tin Lizzie.

Lula.

I stopped, breath trapped in my chest.

“Hi, Chet.”

She glanced around, her tongue darting across her lips. My heart drummed in my ears. Had she brought news of Blaze?

She took a tentative step forward. “I'm so sorry. For the other day. You know.” She looked at the ground, took a deep breath. “I should have said that earlier, but I, well, I—”

Her gaze lifted to mine. “I got some unexpected news that day and—” She shook her head. A curl fell over her eyebrow. I wanted to tuck it back in place beneath her hat. I pressed my hands into fists to squelch the urge.

“What's wrong, Lula? Do you know something about Blaze? Tell me. Please.”

She looked confused. “Blaze?”

White breath streamed from my mouth. “He didn't show up at the game tonight. You didn't know?”

She shook her head, looked away, and moved beyond reach. “I went home. I just came back to say I'm truly sorry—and I hope we can still be friends.”

Friends.
The word hit like a punch in the gut. Lula Bowman had no more interest in me than . . . than Archie Clifton had in Euclid's postulates. The sooner I got that through my thick skull, the better.

In the gray of predawn, I stalked Principal Gray's house for some sign of life. I hadn't slept much. Not with concern over Blaze and reliving the conversation with Lula. At least with Lula I knew where things stood. She wanted to be friends. But I couldn't see my way clear to that. Not when her presence stirred feelings I'd long denied myself.

By the time light shone out a downstairs window, I'd convinced myself Blaze was fine. I'd been worried for nothing. But the moment my friend answered my tentative knock at the door, I knew it wasn't true.

Principal Gray invited me inside. His wife brought us coffee and then retreated to the kitchen.

“Well?” My nerves coiled tight, ready to spring if he kept silent another moment.

“I went out there, like you asked. Archie Clifton met me with a shotgun.”

“A shotgun?”

“Of course, I'm not scared off that easily.” He chuckled. “Archie Clifton thinks he's a tough son of a gun, but I was a sooner before I was a school teacher, so I have some grit in my back pocket, too.”

I grinned, picturing Principal Gray at the helm of a covered wagon, racing for his plot of land. Maybe this would turn out better than I'd feared.

“Still, it took some talking to get him to let me inside and see Reed.”

“But you did see him.” I took a sip of coffee, hoping to calm the pounding in my chest.

“I did. He wouldn't say much, but who could blame him? Archie kept that shotgun crooked in his elbow while we talked—while
I
talked.”