Playing by Heart (15 page)

Frustration shook me as surely as the cold wind whipping
through the open sides of the automobile. I hadn't sought either position, but the Lord had put me in the path to receive them. How was I to succeed at them if I had no hope of inspiring my students?

The motorcar stopped, and the engine silenced. Two downstairs windows of Jewel's house glowed bright, alerting me that she was awaiting my arrival.

Chet looked straight into my eyes. “I didn't mean to criticize. Please don't take it that way. You are doing the best you can in a difficult situation.”

My vision blurred. Never had anyone known me as fully as it seemed he did by that one statement. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and weep into his chest. Pour out all my insecurities. My hopes. My longings. Even the womanly ones I'd buried beside Mama. Instead, I fumbled to open the car door. At least in the darkness he wouldn't be able to see the wetness in my eyes.

“Lula?” He jumped out and raced around to help me to the ground. His fingers brushed lightly against my elbow.

Pride clogged my throat, but one corner broke away, letting the words past. “So will you help me? With the team?”

He stared into my face so long I wondered if he'd heard my questions. Then he blinked, stepped back. I almost stumbled forward.

He combed a hand through his hair. “I'll do what I can. Maybe if Blaze talked to Nannie—”

“No!” The harshness of the word surprised me. I moderated my tone. “I don't want her to . . . to think any less of me.” In spite of another gust of cool night air, my face burned.

Chet shook his head and moved closer, leaning his face toward mine. “I wouldn't let anyone think less of you.” He took my
hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow. In an instant, we were moving again, toward Jewel's house. I thought about inviting him in, chatting a while longer.

But I dismissed the thought. I had to protect my job and the welfare of Jewel's family, even if I did desire, at the very least, to call this man my friend.

C
HET

At the front door, Lula's hand slipped from my arm. I dipped my hat and bid her farewell, wishing I didn't have to. I jogged down the few steps to the yard. Then I stopped. Turned. She hadn't yet gone inside. It almost seemed as if she were feeling the same way I was, and it gave me courage.

“Let me take you to Lawton tomorrow,” I called to her. “We'll talk about basketball. Maybe see a picture show. Eat ice cream.” When had a prospect for a day delighted me more?

She didn't blink or twitch. She stood there, eyes wide. I moved a step closer. “Please, Lula?”

She rocked forward on her toes, her small tongue darting out and circling her lips. Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and whispered, “I'd love to.”

I didn't remember returning to my automobile or driving home. But suddenly I was in the house, peeling off my coat, hanging it and my hat on a peg by the kitchen door, dropping my leather case beneath.

“Ma?”

No answer. Was she angry that I was late? The light bulb blared overhead, but I saw no evidence of supper. The range was cold and the house beyond was dark.

“Ma?” I turned on lights, put a record on the gramophone—“All the World Will Be Jealous of Me”—and stretched out on the sofa. Had I really just asked Lula out? And had she said yes?

I sang along to my favorite song. When it ended, Ma still hadn't turned up, so I put a pot of coffee on to boil. Where could she have gone? Should I be worried? She had a few friends, but she rarely spent time with them outside of Red Cross meetings or church, though she
had
taken to stopping by God's house at odd hours.

My stomach rumbled, but even hunger couldn't dampen my spirits. I'd downed two cups of coffee by the time Ma bustled through the door.

“Sorry I'm late,” she mumbled, immediately gathering eggs and bacon from the ice box and then slicing bread to toast in the oven. As the iron skillet popped and sizzled, I retrieved dishes from the cupboard. She finally filled one plate, then the other. I carried them to our small table.

I placed a napkin in my lap as I inhaled the sharp smell of pepper and meat. My stomach grumbled again, but I folded my hands and bowed my head, saying a blessing over our meal before forking some eggs into my mouth, trying to appear hungry for food instead of for the hours to tick away until I could see Lula again.

Ma watched me, silent. Not a new thing. Our conversations had dwindled when Clay left. Long ago, when my father still lived, I remembered him teasing Ma out of her silent sulks. I hadn't had much success with the technique. But then I'd had only seven years to watch and learn from him, and most of those years I wasn't paying much attention.

Clay, on the other hand, could charm Ma into giving him
the last morsel of food standing between her and certain death. Clay seemed more like Pa that way. Maybe just the mention of my brother would loosen her up.

“You reckon Clay's over there yet or still crossing the pond?” I sopped up the runny egg yolk with my bread.

Her eyes lit. Her mouth opened. Then one corner of her mouth dragged toward the floor. “I couldn't say where Clay is, but you sure look like a hound that's been in the henhouse.”

I bit into a slice of bacon, savoring the flavor.

“How did your game turn out?”

“We won.” Easy enough. But her scrutiny made me nervous. “So where were you when I got home?”

She shrugged. “I ran over to the church.”

“Oh? A meeting going on?”

“Not exactly.”

“So you were . . . ?”

She dabbed her napkin to her pursed lips. “Can't I take in the peace of the church building if I have a mind to?”

“Of course.” The last of my egg slid down my throat as I wondered if my prayers for her were on the verge of being answered.

“I saw that motorcar of yours earlier. At the Wyatts' house.”

Perspiration dampened my armpits. I pulled at my collar, wishing I could open a window. “Our game was at the town hall. You remember—we're raising money for liberty bonds.”

Ma's eyebrows arched, the same look she'd given me when I was a boy and had tried to hide some misbehavior. Like tipping over outhouses.

“I, uh, I also drove Lula—uh, Miss Bowman, home afterward.”

She stiffened.

Why had I called her Lula? Too familiar. Too telling.

“She had some questions about basketball. Coaching, you know.”

Ma picked at the food on her plate. “Did she now? I'm surprised a girl that serious about music would give much thought to something like basketball.”

“Serious about music?” From what I could tell, Miss Bowman was serious about mathematics. That was the subject that made her face light up like a shooting star in the night sky. Not when she talked about music. In fact, had she ever talked to me about music? I couldn't remember her mentioning it—odd, now that I thought of it, considering it consumed her school days and her Sundays.

I couldn't quite reconcile Ma's comment with the times I'd observed Lula at the piano, either. She hit all the notes. Quite well, actually. But I'd never felt she gave herself to the music in any emotional sense. I'd assumed music was a job to her, a skill she possessed that allowed her to make a living.

“You're sweet on her.”

My fork clattered to the plate. Ma and I didn't discuss matters of the heart. She'd never spoken of her feelings for Pa. Nor had she encouraged Clay or me to take a wife. Of course, I'd never given her much concern on that score. School and church and athletics had consumed me both when I was in high school and now. But Lula was changing everything.

Ma pushed away her plate and crossed her arms. “So you won't leave me to go into the army, but you'll cast me aside to take a wife?”

My mouth dropped open. She didn't mind if I left for France but didn't want to share me with another woman?

“For heaven's sake, Ma. I've only known Lula a few months.”
I slapped my palm on the table. “And if I judged correctly from our dinner with the Wyatts last week, you seem to like her, too.”

Ma grumbled something as she cleared the table. I didn't even try to decipher her words. Instead, I began to imagine what it would be like to be married to Lula. To come home to love and peace. To conversation and laughter and comfortable silences. To a woman with dark hair and warm brown eyes accentuating the creaminess of her skin. To a wide mouth that looked so kissable when it pulled into a rare grin.

Yes, God had called me to care for Ma. But He'd also brought Lula into my life—and my church, my workplace, even my basketball world. He must've had a reason for that. And I intended to discover what that reason was.

I surveyed my slicked-back hair, then straightened the knot of my necktie and grinned at myself in the mirror. I felt like a schoolboy again. Something had smoldered to life between Lula and me. I prayed she felt it, too.

“I'm leaving, Ma.” I grabbed my hat, donned my coat. Ma rocked in her chair, elbows on the wide arm rails, hands clasped, mouth in a decided frown. I wanted to walk out the door and leave her to sulk, but at the last moment, I relented, crossed the floor, and planted a kiss on her sallow cheek.

Though it didn't change her expression, it made me feel better. I'd tried. And besides, even Ma couldn't ruin this day. Thoughts of Lula already had my spirit soaring as high as an airplane in a clear sky.

Almost too soon I stood at the front walk leading up to Jewel Wyatt's house. I gulped down an onslaught of anxiety. I hadn't courted a girl since Grace Widmore, in high school—and that
had only been sitting in her parlor on two Saturday nights while her parents looked on. Even then, Ma's disapproval drew me home again, in spite of the fact that Clay ran after every pretty face that looked in his direction.

I straightened my shoulders. Should caring for Ma preclude having my own corner of joy in the world? Joy in the form of a young woman with a pretty face and oodles of brains in her head? I grinned as I sauntered to the front door. I'd never been one to back down from a challenge.

Shrieks and squeals leaked out of the Wyatts' house, along with a peppy tune that filled in the empty spaces. My knock silenced everything. Mrs. Wyatt appeared at the door, her expression a question mark.

“Why, Mr. Vaughn! To what do we owe this pleasure?”

A swirl in my gut. Had Lula not told her of our outing? But then, why would she? Mrs. Wyatt's push for Lula to take interest in a man needled Lula the same way Ma's push to enlist did me.

“Who is it, Jewel?” Bo stepped out of the front room.

Every muscle in my body went on high alert. Had he come to see Lula, too?

JC squeezed between his mother and Bo and the doorframe. “Hey, Mr. Vaughn. Can we go get a soda today?”

Bo clamped one of his meaty hands on JC's shoulder. “I'm sure Mr. Vaughn has more important things to do, son.”

A storm roiled across JC's face. Jewel might have taken to heart my admonition to treat JC more like a man, but apparently Bo had not. If I hadn't already committed the day to Lula, I'd have whisked JC out of the house so he didn't have to spend the afternoon with “Uncle Bo.” But today wasn't about JC.

“I've come for Lula.”

Jewel's eyebrows dipped toward her nose. When she glanced
at Bo, my confidence faltered. I clasped my hands behind my back, suddenly thankful for winter and the reprieve from arriving with flowers in hand.

“Imagine that. Two of you here and Lula nowhere to be found!”

“Where is she?”

JC glanced back at his ma. “Johnny Wilhelm came with a telegram. Then Aunt Lula left. Said she'd be back later.”

Jewel's nervous laughter sank my stomach further. “Well now. I guess that answers our questions. Do you want to wait, like Bo, or shall I just tell her you dropped by?”

Dropped by? We had a date. She'd agreed to go. Had Bo come at her encouragement as well or was his presence just a coincidence? Had she forgotten our hastily made plans, or did she regret saying yes to my invitation in the first place? Either way, she wasn't here now, and when she returned, Bo would be.

I wouldn't.

Whatever the reason for her absence, she'd made it clear where I ranked in her world. I slapped my hat on my head, determined that Bo wouldn't see my discomfiture. “It wasn't important. I'll see her at church tomorrow—or Monday at school.” I stalked back to my Tin Lizzie.

Perhaps God was punishing me for eroding the edges of my conviction, for not keeping my attention completely on Ma. I didn't know. I only knew I wanted to drive and drive. Not stop until I'd left Dunn—and Lula Bowman—far behind. Then I wouldn't have to face Ma's questions or Jewel's look of pity. I could live life on my own terms, without thought of another.

Another. JC.

I reversed direction and motored back to Jewel's house. I'd take JC to Lawton. We'd spend the afternoon in the Kingwood Theater, then drink sodas at the drug store. Not my planned companion for the day, but one I understood far better.