Playing by Heart (21 page)

Her eyes widened. “And your mother's all right with that?”

“Ma's actually quite good with the situation. Once she learned of Blaze's plan to enlist after graduation, she's fussed over him like a hen with a new chick. In the next three months, he'll get all the attention he's been denied since his own ma left. Of course, she refuses to address him as Blaze. It's Reed or nothing.”

Lula laughed, really laughed. Victory surged through my chest, every bit as heady as winning a close game. I wanted that feeling to last forever. I wanted to spend my life listening to Lula laugh.

L
ULA

The band took a break, but Chet didn't let go of my hand. I liked the strength of his fingers curled around mine. The warmth of his grip. It made a girl feel special. But just as that thought flit through my head, a voice oozed between Chet and me, thicker and sweeter than sorghum.

“Why, Mr. Vaughn. You aren't going to let one lady take up all your dances, are you?”

Miss Morrison's sly gaze sidled in my direction as she inserted herself between us. Chet's hand fell from mine. I suddenly felt empty. Especially when Miss Morrison angled toward Chet and cut me out of the conversation altogether.

I wanted to yank the lace and feathers right off her close-fitting hat. But I could control my temper, just as I had with Mr. Graham in my mathematics classroom. I stepped around her, placed myself at Chet's other side. He grinned at me, then raised his hand to rest on my back, near my waist. As if he'd soon lead me away.

“Principal Gray! Do come chat with us.” Miss Morrison
pulled Mr. Gray into our small circle. His gaze traveled to Chet's arm, then to my face. His disapproving look turned my knees to jelly.

“I . . . I think I'll sit for a while.” I managed a weak smile for Mr. Gray. I couldn't even look at Chet. I stumbled back to the empty table, glad it sat near a wall, in the shadows. Maybe no one would see the mortification burning in my face.

When the music started up again, Chet led Miss Morrison to the dance floor. After a glance in my direction, Mr. Gray sauntered to the other side of the room. I blew out my held breath, slumped in my chair. Did the principal believe I'd violated the teachers' code of conduct? But other teachers were dancing together . . .

As a new song began, Chet slid into the seat beside me, his arm stretching across the back of my chair. He leaned closer. The scent of something spicy—his shaving lotion, perhaps?—filled my nose, set my head spinning. Did he know how intoxicating he was?

I couldn't tear my eyes from his lips as they widened into a grin. “So tell me how a talented musician such as yourself ends up at college studying mathematics.”

A coffee cup sat near. I clutched at it, stared into the dregs. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I do. I promise.” His breath caressed my cheek. I wanted to lean into it. Into him. But the thought of Principal Gray's stern eyes lifted my back from the chair, every muscle taut.

I wet my lips, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I'm not a musician. Not in the true sense. I never had enough discipline. Never could see it through long enough to discover if I had any real talent.” My finger traced a triangle on the tablecloth. “I had a reputation for flightiness in my younger years.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fruity Lu.”

I sucked in stale air, held it tight in my chest. Increased my death grip on the cold coffee cup.

Chet noticed. He pried my fingers loose, held them in his hand. “I heard it said during a game but couldn't reconcile it with the woman I know.”

His gentle tone pulled the air from my lungs. My head dipped. “I tried to be like my sister, surrounded by friends, the life of the party. Flitting from activity to activity was part of that. But after Mama—” I swallowed hard, then spoke fast. “After Mama died, things like music hurt too much. I needed . . .” The words stuck in my throat. I needed attention. I needed love. But I couldn't say those things to Chet. “I needed a change.”

He looked as if he wanted to speak, but he didn't. I pulled my hands into my lap. “I made my own way in college, against the wishes of my family. Except for Daddy. He encouraged me. In June, I received my bachelor's degree and a prestigious prize in mathematics to allow me to continue on to graduate school.”

His eyebrows lifted. “So that's what you were doing when Davy died, working on your master's degree?”

I looked away from his kind eyes. I couldn't bear the idea that he might stop seeing me as a woman and begin seeing me as a threat. “And teaching a college class. There was even the possibility of coauthoring an article with one of my professors.”

“And when you found out Jewel needed you, you gave up your studies and your work. You agreed to teach music and coach basketball.”

I gave a hesitant nod. “Although
agreed
is a strong word. I needed a job to support us. This was the only one I could find.”

Something pulled my gaze across the room. Mr. Gray and
Miss Morrison in close consultation, both looking in our direction.
A job I might now lose
if I continue this tête-à-tête.

I pushed to my feet. “And of course I'll return to those things after this school year ends.”

The music grew louder. Chet grabbed my hand and grinned. “But this year isn't over yet.” He started for the dance floor. I stumbled along behind him, tears pressing at my eyes. I didn't want to draw attention, to cause a commotion, but I also didn't want to expose myself to Principal Gray's scrutiny. I needed this job more than I needed the pleasure I felt in Chet's embrace.

Then Chet stopped. I pushed up on my toes and peered over his shoulder. Towering and thick, a man blocked our path. Face like flint. Eyes smoldering like coals.

“You high-handed backside of a mule! Who gave you the right to take my son from me?” The bass voice bellowed across the room. The music faltered. The buzz of conversation ceased. Principal Gray inched through the frozen crowd. Mrs. Vaughn stood nearby, eyes wide, hand covering her mouth. Was this Archie Clifton? I prayed Blaze and Nannie were nowhere in sight.

Chet let go of my hand. Stood taller. “I didn't take your son. You agreed to let him stay with your brother. After you reneged on the agreement you made with Blaze and Principal Gray. Remember that?”

Chet's anger seemed to push back those who'd crept close. I wanted to yank his coat to pull him back, too. Remind him that men like Archie Clifton weren't worth arguing with. But I couldn't move any more than the others could.

Archie's leathered features twisted. “There's nothin' in the pages of a book he needs to know to walk behind a plow.”

Chet stepped forward, hands fisted at his sides. “Unless he doesn't want to walk behind a plow. At least, not your plow.”

“Why, you—” Mr. Clifton raised his meaty fists. Women screamed. Mr. Clifton swung. The pop of flesh meeting flesh, bone meeting bone. Chet fell backward, his foot crushing mine. I stumbled, hit the ground, feared my dinner might land there beside me. Instead, I found Chet in my lap, shaking his head, holding his jaw.

How dare Mr. Clifton strike Chet! Chet had only ever helped Blaze. He didn't deserve Mr. Clifton's scorn any more than Blaze deserved his father's tongue-lashings. I scrambled from underneath Chet. He sat on the ground, dazed. I found my feet just as Archie reached for Chet's shirt front. I stepped between them, heart exploding against my chest in thundering beats. “If you want to hurt Chet, you're going to have to go through me,” I said, my voice far stronger than I'd expected it to be.

The man's arm fell limp. Then he roared. “This is none of your business!”

Several men stepped forward to restrain him. He turned on them like an angry bear.

“I think it
is
my business, Mr. Clifton.” My voice remained steady in spite of the tangle of anger and fear inside me. “You see, I've been helping Reed with his mathematics, so if you have an issue with Mr. Vaughn, you have one with me, too.” It wasn't a complete lie. I helped Nannie, who helped Blaze. But he didn't need to know that.

Chet groaned behind me. Mr. Clifton looked confused.

“Mathematics. You know numbers? Figurin'?” I tipped my head. A snicker nearby drew a look of pure hatred from Mr. Clifton. Distraction. Leverage. “I trust you agree that your son ought to know how many acres you plant, how much seed is needed for each acre, what price is to be paid for the crop, and how much profit is needed in order to sow again next season?”

“Of course I do, but he knew that much learnin' four years ago. He should have quit school then. And no schoolmarm can tell me different.”

“That's a shame, Mr. Clifton.” I laced my fingers in front of me, slowly, calmly. “Because Oklahoma is an up-and-coming state that needs educated men to help her grow strong and successful. Blaze—Reed—needs all the education he can get, in the classroom and out of it. Mr. Vaughn has taught him the value of having a plan and sticking to it, both in getting a diploma and in the sport of basketball. And if Bla—Reed—chooses to enlist after graduation, he'll learn even more about life and people and sacrifice.”

Chet stood next to me now. Mr. Clifton cut a glance in his direction.

“Did he tell you he's enlisting?” Something like fear lidded Archie Clifton's angry eyes. At the bottom of it all, did he actually care for his son?

Chet stepped forward, shielding me from Archie. “He's mentioned it. But he wants to finish school first. I won't apologize for helping him do that.”

With a growl of rage, Mr. Clifton charged forward. Hands grabbed from all sides, holding him back, then dragged him from the town hall. Chet never flinched. At least not until he turned to lead me from the building, too.

“I'm sorry it ended like that” was all Chet said when he dropped me off at Jewel's house. My hands had trembled in my lap the entire drive, his mother squished between us, chattering about how the confrontation had almost given her the vapors. He didn't even look at me as he tipped his hat and left me standing on Jewel's porch.

Was he unhappy that I'd stepped in? Uncertainty roiled like a spring storm in the western sky as I slipped into the house, locked up, and clicked off the one lamp still glowing.

On Sunday morning, I left the oatmeal cooking on the stove and fled the house when my sister shuffled into the kitchen, telling her that I needed to practice the hymns again before the morning service. When I sat at the piano in the gray predawn light, the tension I'd been holding released through my fingers. Classical music. Popular music. Hymns. Each one seemed to express what I couldn't say in words, to explain myself to myself. Only when I looked up at the numbers on the wooden board did I realize that I wasn't alone.

The shadow woman slipped away again before I could see her face or ask her name.

I'd wanted my first meeting with Chet after the dance to take place in public, but also away from the prying eyes of my girls, their imaginations as rampant as Jewel's. But I didn't see him at church. Neither him nor his mother. It wasn't as if I didn't look. I did. Far too often.

Bo's presence at our Sunday dinner kept Jewel's mind off my evening with Chet. And yet a part of me wished to spill the details to her, to ask her opinion as to what it all meant. I didn't trust myself to read situations between men and women in the same way I trusted myself to read numerical equations or musical notes.

By Monday afternoon, my fingers ached from endless cantata practices. Basketball ought to have been a welcome relief, but my anxiety spiked as I wondered when Chet would arrive, how I should act, what I should say. My mouth went dry. My hands turned damp. And I remembered all the reasons I didn't involve myself with men.

I strode onto the court, where my starters were attempting to block a pass from under the basket into the center area. “You can't just stand stiff, girls. You have to watch the ball. Try to anticipate where the girl who has it will throw it next.”

I set myself near Rowena. Arms straight over my head, legs wide apart, just like in the picture from the Spalding's guide. “Now, pass the ball to Bill.”

Rowena grinned, held the ball at her chest, and pushed it toward Bill. I jerked my arms down, fingers reaching to grab the slippery leather sphere. But it passed too fast. And I twisted too far. I couldn't stop my momentum. My feet tangled. My knees buckled. I landed in a heap on my side.

“Oh my goodness! Miss Bowman, are you hurt?” Nannie yanked on my arm, trying to help me up. I pushed to my knees, trying to roll the kink from my neck. Then a larger hand reached down to assist me. I looked up. Into Chet's grinning face.

Bill and Rowena snickered behind their hands. I'd look foolish to refuse, so I set my hand in his and hopped up as quickly—and as modestly—as possible. I brushed off my skirt, then turned my attention immediately to the girls. “Obviously, that isn't quite how it's done, but you get the idea. Don't just stand there. Reach for the ball. You have to want possession of it more than the other girls.”

A picture of Blaze as the ball jumped into my head, the tenacity with which Nannie would defend it or pursue it if another girl wanted possession. The way I felt when Miss Morrison wiggled her fingers and batted her eyes at Chet.

My heart fluttered, thoughts straying to places I didn't want them to go. After the basketball season ended, Chet and I wouldn't have a legitimate excuse to spend time together. I'd be forced to stand aloof, watching other women, women like Miss Morrison, jostle for position beside him at church.