by Elise Hooper
Times had gotten tough around the Stephens farm. Ma cobbled together more and more one-pot dinners, and as meat became an increasingly scarce menu item, chipped beef on toast, a meal not often viewed as a delicacy in most quarters, was greeted by Bobbie Lee and Helen as a treat. Letters with the bank’s return address arrived in the mail drop with increasing frequency. Pa would read them with a scowl etched across his face, and then he’d mutter darkly and thrust the latest missive into a cupboard where Helen could see a stack of similar letters yellowing out of sight.
Pa’s presence at meals that spring and summer was a rarity as he wrung out every last minute of daylight to work, but he could always be counted upon to join them for Sunday supper. It was during one of these evenings in early August that Ma chewed her lip as she spooned out macaroni and cheese to each of them. Before she sat, she folded her scarecrow-thin arms across the bib of her apron and announced, “Helen should get her high school diploma. She needs to start classes at Fulton High next month.”
Helen and Bobbie Lee froze. The moment Helen had been dreading had arrived.
Pa appeared to ignore what she had said and raised his fork over his plate as if to dig in, but paused. “This is what happens when girls like you go to college. You start thinking everyone needs educating, but look at Helen.”
Bobbie Lee and Ma swiveled their heads in Helen’s direction.
“See? Look at her.” Pa glowered. “All she wears is work shirts and overalls. She’s no student.”
Helen lifted her fork with as much dignity as she could muster and surveyed her plate. She wasn’t hankering to get all dolled up each day like she imagined the other girls at school did, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to go. “I like history and reading and writing,” she said.
Pa snorted. “None of that’s useful.”
Ma batted a hand in the air as if brushing away her husband’s skepticism. “She’s going,” she said, her face stony. From her pocket, she pulled out a letter and pen and placed both items by Pa’s left arm. “I’ve secured her a room in the home of Miss Humphries, one of the English teachers. Her house is three blocks from the school. Helen will stay there during the week and come home on Friday evenings in time for supper.” She pointed to the document. “You’ll need to sign that.”
Pa’s fork fell to his plate with a clatter and he pushed the paper and pen away. “She ain’t staying somewhere in town. I need her here to help in the evenings.”
“You think she’s going to spend half her day marching to and from school? No. She needs time to study. Or are you planning to hitch up the wagon and take her back and forth?” Again, Ma pushed the letter in front of Pa, but now she hovered over the table, hands on her hips, glaring at her husband.
Pa shoved his chair away from the table, crossing one leg over the other. “How you think we’re going to pay for this?”
“The state’s making some money available for boarding rural students this year. I secured an allowance for us.”
“You been thinking about this for a while now, huh?”
“I have.”
Helen sucked in her breath and gawked, dumbstruck. This was a whole new Ma. Helen had never seen her stick to her guns like this. Ma’s jaw clenched and her face paled, but her resolute expression never wavered.
No one said a word.
“It figures Uncle Sam’s gonna waste his money on something like this. How about a little more help for us fellas working our knuckles bloody each day?” Pa’s eyes darted back and forth along the letter and then he scraped his chair toward the table and commenced eating again. “Fine,” he said, through a full mouth. “I’ll sign it, but I ain’t driving her back and forth from town on the weekends.”
“She won’t need any rides. She can walk.”
Pa kept his gaze on his plate and used his fork to spear his food with such force, Helen wondered if he was leaving gouge marks on the plate, but Ma slid into her seat, her head held high, and started eating. Helen exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Bobbie Lee.
Silence.
After several long minutes, Pa grabbed the pen to scrawl his signature at the bottom of the page, leapt to his feet, and stormed out the kitchen door to the backyard. With the gust of wind from the slammed door, the paper blew off the table and fluttered to the ground. Unfazed, Ma bent to lift the document and smoothed it against her apron, not looking at either child as she tucked it back into her pocket and then took a long drink of water from her glass. She turned to Bobbie Lee. “Now tell me about what Miss Cross taught you in Sunday school earlier.”
Helen only half listened as Bobbie Lee nattered on about his morning. Often, in the evenings before bed, if she poked her head out of her doorway and looked down the hallway into her parents’ room, she could catch a glimpse of Ma in the midst of her nighttime routine. Before Ma climbed into bed, she always paused in front of the diploma from William Woods College that hung on the peeling wallpaper above the lamp on her bedside table. She would stare at it, slowly wringing her hands together as she rubbed lanolin into her fingers, roughened from vegetable gardening, laundry, and washing endless dishes. Helen watched Ma’s faraway expression as she took in that piece of paper on the wall, and sometimes she’d adjust its black wooden frame, even though it always hung perfectly straight. Though the paper curled at the edges within its frame, the cursive lettering had faded, and the gold foil stamp looked dim, Ma appeared to take comfort in it.
Now, sitting at the kitchen table, she saw the faint glow of pink in Ma’s cheeks and the way her hand kept ghosting over her pocket, touching it to reassure herself the document was still there. Helen started to think. She glanced at the few pieces of macaroni remaining on her plate. For once, her appetite had left her. In its place was a hunger for something else. An education.
13.
September 1931
Malden, Massachusetts
BY THE END OF THAT SUMMER, BLUE RIBBONS AND medals filled the Stokeses’ front room from all of Louise’s running successes, but the most important award, the one that made her the proudest, was the Mayor Curley trophy. Louise had won this gleaming silver cup after clinching first place in Boston’s largest track and field meet, and it now held a place of honor, perched front and center on the mantel. It was Louise’s final year of high school and the outdoor racing season would be ending soon.
One evening Louise and Emily were preparing dinner in the kitchen when Mama appeared in the doorway. Julia and Junior were working on homework at the table and Papa was replacing a latch on the girls’ bedroom door that had become loose. Until Mama cleared her throat, no one noticed her arrival.
“Oh, you’re home early,” Julia said.
Louise turned and couldn’t miss the ashy pallor to Mama’s complexion. “What happened?”
Mama sighed and moved to the table, where she dropped onto an open chair and massaged her temples. “Mrs. Grandaway passed this morning.”
The children gaped, all thoughts of dinner forgotten.
“How?” Junior asked, his dark eyes wide.
Mama rubbed her palm across her forehead. “When I went into her room this morning to help her rise, I found her.”
“So you saw her . . . dead?” Julia asked.
“She looked peaceful.”
“Were you scared?” Junior asked with a noticeable gulp.
Mama shook her head with a weary heaviness. “No. She led a long, commendable life.”
“But what did you do?” Agnes said.
“I went about the business of making calls and alerting her family. My day’s been filled with preparations for her service and readying the place for guests. Her children descended upon the house, so I helped them find important documents, fed them, and made up the guest rooms for them to stay.”
“Is her body still there?” Junior asked.
Mama shook her head.
Papa moved to put his hands on Mama’s shoulders and rub them. “Mrs. Grandaway was an admirable lady. Always treated you well. W
hat does this mean for your job?” he asked, his expression solemn as he comforted her. With colder weather approaching, his hours would be reduced, as they were each winter when there was less to do in the Conways’ yard and garden.
“I don’t know. We knew the old lady was becoming frail, and she had her health issues to be sure, but this comes as a surprise. I’ve been so busy all day, I’ve scarcely had time to realize what’s happened.” Mama accepted a glass of water from Louise and drank it all in one gulp. “It’s the only place I’ve ever worked. Mrs. Grandaway hired me to work when I was about your age, Louise. Since then, the house has grown quieter as her children moved on to start lives of their own. Charlie and I are the only ones left.”
Louise felt a pang of sorrow when she pictured Charlie, Mrs. Grandaway’s driver and groundskeeper. He was older than Mama and always had butterscotch candies in his pocket. What would he do now?
“Are you sad she’s dead?” Junior asked.
“I’m sorry to see her go. Papa’s right, she’s taken good care of our family over the years in many ways.”
Louise remembered the last time she had gone over to Mrs. Grandaway’s to bring Mama a message. Of course, Louise never went anywhere in the house, just stayed in the kitchen, but even there, she got a sense of the old lady. Lists lay on the counter or were tacked around the room, all covered in a spidery but graceful script. These lists contained exacting directions for how Mrs. Grandaway wanted tasks completed. On the second Wednesday of each month, all windowpanes needed to be scrubbed with newspaper and a mixture of warm water and vinegar. The silver was to be polished every Thursday, and the china in the corner cabinet needed to be taken out every Friday, dusted, and placed with dinner plates along the back, salad plates stacked on the right, dessert plates to the left, and all other pieces in between in rows from largest to smallest.
“Where will you go next?” Emily asked.
“I don’t know. Jobs are not easy to come by these days.”
“Everyone knows Mrs. Grandaway was fond of you in her own special way,” Papa said.
“True, but you know as well as I do that no one’s hiring help, and certainly no one will pay me the wage that she did.”
Emily brushed some dust off the apron she wore and said, “I’ve been getting lots of compliments lately on my stitching at church. Mrs. Brown always tells me I could take in mending work, probably land myself some sort of sewing job too if I wanted.”
Mama nodded. “Your handiwork is lovely. Everyone’s been talking about that altarpiece you made. I don’t doubt that Mrs. Brown is right, but I don’t want anything taking away from your schoolwork.”
“I can sew during the afternoons and complete my schoolwork in the evenings. It will be fine.”
Mama cocked her head to gaze at Papa, and the two exchanged a glance. “That’s a good idea, but don’t get carried away with taking on too much. It should only be a little piecework. Nothing that keeps you too busy, nothing that detracts from your academics.”
Emily agreed and, without saying anything more, she and Louise went back to preparing dinner while Julia rose and set the table. Mama and Papa disappeared into their room, but their voices could be heard through the wall, low and tense. Louise envied the way Emily could help and it troubled her that she had nothing similar to offer. Running certainly didn’t pay anything. She would be done with school in the spring, but what would happen then? With no means and her dark skin, none of the nearby women’s colleges were realistic possibilities. She needed to start thinking about what would come next.
THE FOLLOWING DAY at practice after school, Louise lingered a couple of minutes to speak with Coach Quain. “Excuse me, sir, but are there any jobs that would use my running skills? Or could I win any money or something like that?”
Coach Quain tucked his clipboard under his arm. “I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“Well, what’s going to happen with me after I graduate in the spring?”
“I guess that depends. How’s your family doing, Louise?”
A cool breeze blew down the straightaway on the railroad tracks and dried leaves scraped along the ties. Louise wrapped her arms around her chest in an attempt to stay warm. “We’re fine. I’ve started thinking about getting a job.”
“Yes, I see. When I’m out on my postal route, I talk to a lot of folks. Would you like me to keep an eye out for you?”
“Thank you, sir. Is there any way I can make some money out of doing this? I’ve put a lot of time into training.”
He shook his head. “In fact, the AAU rules are pretty strict. In order for you to maintain your amateur status, you can’t accept any paying jobs pertaining to running, no cash prizes, nothing. You’ve been racing awfully well, though, and if you keep it up through the indoor season this winter, you could get an invitation to the Olympic trials in the spring.”
“Will the Olympics pay me?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“So what’s the point of competing in them?”
“I suppose it’s just an honor and could give you a unique experience. You could see more of the country and meet new people.” He scratched at his chin. “I’ll tell you what, though. Not many colored athletes have competed in the Olympics, and certainly no colored women, but there are no rules banning anyone. I believe you have what it takes. You just need to hang in there and stick with it.”
Uncle Freddie and her promise to keep racing flashed through Louise’s mind, and pride bloomed in her chest. “Thank you, Coach.”
“Of course. And while I’m on my route, I’ll keep an ear out for any work that may suit you. See you tomorrow.”
Louise nodded and turned away to run home. While Coach’s words sent a thrill through her, unique experiences and seeing more of the country weren’t going to pay the bills. Her family needed more money and she needed a way to find it.
14.
September 1931
Evanston, Illinois
BETTY HESITATED BEFORE PASSING THE STATUES LOOMING over the entrance to Northwestern University’s Patten Gymnasium. To her right, a sculpted woman in an empire-waist gown gazed toward Sheridan Road. It seemed promising that the athletic facility had a woman guarding over it.
“You getting to know Pat?”
A tall young man with bright blue eyes and a shock of blond hair combed back from his face stood beside Betty, pointing at the statue.
“Excuse me?” Betty asked.
“This is Pat. And that’s Jim.” He pointed to a statue of a man on the opposite side of the entrance’s steps. “Jim’s all right, but I’m with you, Pat’s much more captivating. And I’m Bill.” He put out his hand for her to take.
“I’m Betty Robinson, a new transfer.” Betty took his extended hand into her own. His palm had a sharp callus that scraped across her fingers, sending a tingle along her arm. He had big hands. Big but graceful. Long-fingered and wide-palmed, they connoted confidence, resourcefulness, and strength—they implied that he could be relied upon. Betty felt her face redden as she admired them, then pulled her hands behind her back as if that would clear her mind of thinking about Bill that way. “So why do you like Pat more?”
“She looks smart and her serious expression tells us she’s not suffering any fools. Look at the little guy crouched at her side. She’s the boss, you can tell.”
“She’s got a big job to do.” A steady stream of male students passed, coming in and out of the building. Betty bit her lip. “Looks like a lot is happening around here.”
“If I can be of service, just say the word.”
“I’m looking for Coach Hill’s office.”
“Sure, I’m heading into Patten and can take you there. He’s on the main floor.” Bill gestured for her to lead the way. “Where’d you transfer from?”
“I’ve spent the last two years at Thornton Community College, but I wanted a few more options than they offer. This could be a good fit for me.”
“Sounds like it’s Northwester
n’s lucky day. I’d say you’ve come to the right place,” he said, stepping ahead to open the door for her. “What are you planning to study?”
“Physical education. I’m a runner, actually, and hoping to coach someday,” she said quickly before she could change her mind. It felt like a test, telling this man that she was a runner. Maybe he’d raise his eyebrows and make an excuse to escape, uncomfortable with the idea of a girl who liked competition.
But he didn’t. If anything, he looked delighted.
“You don’t say. I’m on a few teams around here and, well, Coach Hill’s just the fellow for you.”
“I’m actually hoping he’ll take me on and coach me.”
“No kidding, that would be terrific. Here, his office is this way.” Bill ushered her to a warren of doors with frosted windows. When he faced her, his bright blue eyes seemed to look straight through her, and suddenly she felt nervous. Would Coach Hill be as open to her plan as this young man seemed to be? Bill seemed to sense her uncertainty and he straightened his tie as if girding himself to get down to business. “Would you like me to take you in there?”
Betty shook her head. “You’re kind, but no, I can do it. Thanks, though.”
“You bet. I sure hope to see you again soon. If you ask me, you’re just what this place needs. Best of luck to you, Betty.”
She waved goodbye and watched him saunter away with a confidence that she figured came from the ease of his athletic nature, but also from the fact that he had never had to worry that a team wouldn’t accept him on account of something as arbitrary as his sex. Did he have any idea of all the perks that being a man afforded him? Of course not. She hadn’t thought about it either until she started trying to figure out this complicated world of competition.