Playing by Heart

by Anne Mateer

  I sighed. I might have known news of my presence in Dunn would have spread. “Yes, sir.”

  He shook his head. “Such a sad situation. Davy will be missed in this town. He was a friend to all.”

  I nodded, a lump lodging in my throat. Davy had been coming around to see Jewel since I was just a bit older than Inez. He’d acted more a brother to me than my own. “Hang on, Fruity Lu,” he’d tell me. “One day they’ll all see that you and Jewel are the cream of the crop.” Then he’d wink and tug on my ear. He even slipped five whole dollars into my hand the night I announced I intended to go to college.

  “So you’re staying with your sister indefinitely?”

  My eyes snapped to the principal’s. “No, sir. Only until I resume my graduate studies in mathematics next fall.”

  My heart stuttered. What if they withdrew my scholarship? Would I be stuck in Dunn for the rest of my days? Forever known as Fruity Lu, who could never finish what she started?

  Principal Gray tented his fingers in front of his mouth. “You’ve taught school before, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir. I went to normal school first, got my teaching certificate, then taught until I had enough money to pursue my B.A. When funds ran out, I taught again. I graduated last spring. I received the Donally Mathematics Award—post-graduate tuition as well as a position teaching a first-year class at the university.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “And how was that going?”

  “Fine.” My gaze slid away from his, but I forced it to return. “Of course with my sister’s situation . . .” I let the words trail to nothingness. It wouldn’t do to pronounce Jewel’s delicate condition to this man, even if it would soon become apparent to all.

  “So you’re seeking a position only until the end of the school year.”

  “Yes, sir.” Would that prejudice him against me?

  His smile put me at ease. “As a matter of fact, I do have an opening, Miss Bowman. I lost a teacher a few weeks ago. Our music teacher. The question is, do you know anything about music?”

  My stomach knotted. I didn’t want to lie. And I didn’t want to lose any hope of employment. I had no other recourse that would support Jewel and her children and me as teaching would. “I did have some musical training in my youth, but I haven’t pursued it in many years.”

  He nodded. Then he pulled a paper from a drawer in his desk and slid it across to me. “We keep to the same rules of conduct as most other schools. No loitering downtown, especially around soldiers. We expect you to be at home between eight p.m. and six a.m. unless you are attending a church or school function. No smoking. No dying your hair. Skirts no more than two inches above your ankle. No keeping company with men—including riding in a carriage or automobile with a man other than your father or brother. And of course I assume you understand that you are not to marry during the term. I can’t afford to lose another teacher to matrimony this year.”

  I pulled back my shoulders and sat up straight as I read through the list. “Mr. Gray, I am fully dedicated to my profession as a teacher, be it in high school or college. I assure you there is no cause for concern over my personal habits. I do not keep late hours or keep company with men. Ever. And even if I were so inclined, I’ve come to Dunn on behalf of my sister. I won’t have time for any other dalliances.”

  A grin stretched Principal Gray’s face. “Wonderful! Then the job is yours.”

  He hopped from his seat and scanned the books on a nearby shelf. Then he pulled two from their places and extended them toward me. “You know how to teach, and you know something of music. These books will help you put them together.”

  My confidence deflated. I didn’t want to teach music, but to turn down the job at this moment seemed foolhardy.

  “Go on. Take them.”

  My hand closed over the spines. A gold-stamped title on a dark cover: Music Teacher’s Manual by Julia E. Crane and a quarterly journal entitled School Music.

  “Principal Gray, perhaps you have a more qualified music teacher already on staff? I’d be happy to switch places. I could teach math, science, English . . .”

  Principal Gray chuckled. “I have no other options for a music teacher, Miss Bowman. God obviously sent you to fill this spot.”

  I lowered my eyes, seeking courage from somewhere near my feet. Was God leading me in this direction? “It’s just that I’d prefer more of a challenge.” I raised my gaze to his, hoped he’d read the desperation in my face. “I’m used to intellectual stimulation, not days of . . .” I lifted the books in my hand, as if they could better convey what I thought.

  Mr. Gray’s eyes seemed to twinkle as he rubbed his hand across his mouth. My shoulders tensed. Was he laughing at me?

  “Please understand, Mr. Gray. I’m grateful for the offer of this position and of course I’m happy to take it if you have nothing else, but . . .”

  “Actually, the position of music teacher does come with another responsibility.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m also losing a teacher to the army. I need someone to cover—”

  A male teacher leaving? His responsibilities would be more desirable than music. Energy surged through me, straightening my spine, curling my lips into a rare smile. “I’ll do it.”

  This time Principal Gray smiled unapologetically. “It’s quite a challenge, Miss Bowman. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “Of course.” I wet my lips. Something to stimulate my mind, to keep me anchored in academic pursuits. “I’ll help wherever you need me.”

  He opened a bottom drawer in his desk and pulled out a pamphlet. My heart pulsed against my chest, so eager was I to wrap my hands around the challenge. I accepted the slim volume, looked down in giddy anticipation.

  Spalding’s Official Basket Ball Guide for Women, 1916–1917.

  I blinked. The words remained the same, as did the ridiculous picture of two girls in bloomers facing each other on the front cover, one holding a ball, the other with her arms outstretched. My chin jerked up. “I don’t understand.”

  Amusement danced across his face. Irritation coiled tight inside me. I’d presented an earnest request, and he made sport of me? This was the result of being a music teacher instead of a mistress of mathematics. I wanted to fling the pamphlet to the desk and stalk out the door. But I needed this job. So I set the pages down with slow deliberation, then removed my hands quickly, as if holding such a thing might bring physical contamination.

  The smile slid from Mr. Gray’s face. “Miss Bowman, I—” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I took your offer to help in any capacity needed as a genuine one.”

  I swallowed. “And I assure you, my intent was sincere.”

  He pushed the pamphlet in my direction. “As was mine. Besides teaching German, for which I have a retired teacher willing to take over the classes until I find a suitable replacement, Brian Giles coached the girls’ basketball team. I must have someone to take over that responsibility. I’d already determined it would be required of the new music teacher because, again, I have no other options.”

  “But I don’t know anything about”—I flipped my hand toward the collection of pages—“games.”

  “You are a smart young woman, Miss Bowman. And if my guess is correct, a good teacher, too. That’s all a coach is. A teacher of athletics instead of academics. I believe if you would study the game a bit, you’d find the intellectual depth you seek in the strategy involved. But beyond that, I simply need your help. Practices don’t begin until November, an hour at the end of each school day. You’ll be able to read up on the rules and drills and strategies before then. The games will commence in January and conclude in early March, so you see, your time coaching basketball will be more than manageable with your other duties. And if you need any help, I’m sure the boys’ coach can give you some pointers.”

  I had come about the music post against my better judgment. Could I really take over something as silly as girls’ basketball, as well?

  “Miss B
owman.” Principal Gray waited until I looked at him. His eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. “Did I mention the coach receives extra pay?”

  If I hoped to save anything at all for my continued education, every extra cent would be beneficial. But to stand in front of this town—Fruity Lu in the ridiculous position of basketball coach?

  Could I sacrifice my pride for the sake of my sister and her family? Principal Gray and I stared at each other in silence.

  I took the pamphlet.

  Principal Gray clapped his hands together. “Congratulations, Miss Bowman. I have no doubt you will give our music students and our female basketball players your very best. A man in my position can ask nothing more.”

  10

  CHET

  Giles leaned back in his chair and belched. I glanced at my wristwatch and pushed my chair from the table. “Time to head back, boys.”

  We each left money for our meal with a bit extra for our waitress.

  As we neared the high school, Giles pulled me away from the group. “Hey, Vaughn, can I talk to you a minute?”

  I slowed. “Sure.”

  “I’ve been thinking . . . I mean, I’ve considered . . .”

  A bell clanged inside the building. Our conversation dropped. We picked up our pace. I charged inside, determined to reach my classroom before the final student did. I glanced over at Giles. His eyes went wide. “Look out!”

  I slammed into something. Someone. A small cry. A tumble backward. Books falling, sliding. Instinctively, I reached out. I couldn’t catch her arms. She sat. Hard.

  My eyes focused.

  Lula.

  I stared at my feet, fighting a grin. Not the best introduction, but an official introduction all the same. Finally. “I’m so sorry, Miss . . . ?” I reached out a hand to help her up.

  She blinked as if she were going to cry. That wouldn’t do. Not at all.

  “Let me help you.” Squatting beside her, I took her elbow in one hand, reached my other arm around to cradle her back, then lifted her to her feet. Lighter than a sack of sugar. Would she prove as sweet?

  Her pretty mouth pulled into a frown. Best try again. “Are you injured, Miss . . . ?”

  “Bowman,” she finally answered. “Miss Bowman.”

  Giles stepped between us. “The new music teacher, I presume?” He handed her the books that had skated across the floor.

  She hesitated, then reached for them, moving one small pamphlet inside a larger volume. A blush stole up her thin neck and colored her cheeks.

  She was even prettier when flustered. My heart surged forward in spite of my efforts to apply the brake. Last year had been a delicate dance, avoiding Miss Delancey’s pursuit. And yet I couldn’t ignore this woman. She seemed . . . vulnerable. Yet strong. Determined, but lost somehow, too.

  “Do forgive us for not paying attention, Miss Bowman.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. Now if you’ll excuse me?”

  She took a step toward the front doors. I blocked her path.

  Her eyes sparked. “Do you wish to knock me down again, or do you have another aim, Mr. Vaughn?”

  “Ah. I see you already know my name. Chet Vaughn.” I held out my hand. “My mother is friends with your—with Mrs. Wyatt.”

  She squinted.

  “I talked with JC. At the funeral.” My voice died away. Great job, Vaughn. Bring up the funeral.

  “Nice to meet you. I have to go,” she whispered.

  I stepped aside, watched her leave the building.

  Lula Bowman. The new music teacher. Would she remain as alluring after I got to know her better?

  I was almost afraid to find out.

  11

  LULA

  I couldn’t exit the building fast enough. Escape Mr. Vaughn and his eyes as dark and soft as a barn cat I’d once called Midnight. Escape the kindness and curiosity in his soothing voice. Escape those sturdy shoulders, the solid build not often found in academic men.

  A man like Mr. Vaughn would no sooner look at me with romantic intentions than, well, than that insolent boy Mr. Graham would.

  I pressed the books to my chest as my feet carried me forward. No direction in mind, just escape. My breath caught as I remembered that I’d signed my name to a contract that forbade any entanglements of the heart.

  With long, deep breaths, I took comfort in numbers. Recited mathematical formulas. Concocted arithmetic problems. Walked until my legs ached. Until I noticed a familiar steepled building rise up on my right.

  I stopped, peeling the books from their place over my heart. JC had asked me to continue playing the piano at church, and Pastor Reynolds wanted me to, as well. I stared at the white spire poking into the blue sky. Had the Lord directed my steps to this place? Whether it was the Lord or my own two feet, I knew I was where I needed to be.

  The heavy door squeaked as I pulled it open. I found Pastor Reynolds in his small office at the rear of the church, the afternoon sun slanting through a high window and surrounding him like a halo. I could find no reason to tiptoe around the issue. “Have you found a permanent pianist yet?”

  He removed the spectacles from over his nose. “Why no, we haven’t.” He glanced out the door, as if fearing Mrs. Wayfair herself would suddenly appear before us. “I confess, I had hoped you’d decide to accept the job.”

  My face heated. Pastor Reynolds hadn’t been in Dunn long enough to know of my reputation as Fruity Lu, who came and went on a whim. He only knew me as Jewel’s sister, the one who’d come home to support her. “Can you tell me a bit of what would be expected as pianist?”

  “Of course.” He motioned me to a chair. I sat. He paced. “I would supply you with a list of hymns—three or four—a week in advance. You would simply provide the accompaniment to our worship services.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes. And for your time, we are able to offer a small stipend.”

  I sat up straighter, wet my lips. “A stipend?”

  He smiled. “Mrs. Wayfair volunteers her . . . talents, but our usual practice is a paid pianist. We’d be happy to welcome you into the position, Miss Bowman.”

  A bit more money in addition to fulfilling my pact with JC. Maybe the Lord had led me here, after all.

  Pastor Reynolds stopped pacing. “You are welcome to practice here at the church whenever you’d like.”

  My throat tightened. Yesterday, I’d not had time to coddle my fear of playing in public after so long an absence. But it would have to be faced now. I ought to practice, lest I be deemed as incompetent as my predecessor. And I’d rather do it here than at school. Or at Jewel’s house.

  “Thank you. I believe I will.”

  “I’ve already inserted the hymn numbers for next Sunday into the board.” The kindness in his grin settled me a little. “I’ll be writing out my sermon, but if you don’t mind, I’ll leave my office door cracked. I don’t often get the pleasure of a melody to accompany my study.”

  He left me alone in the narrow sanctuary. I rubbed warmth into my hands, then plucked a hymnal from a table at the back before circling the upright mahogany piano at the front of the room. Its dark wood gleamed in the bath of sunlight through the window panes. The intricately carved panels above the keyboard drew my touch. This piano had been in the church since before I could remember, hauled over miles and miles of prairie, coming to rest in Oklahoma territory long before it officially became a state. I pulled out the matching round stool and sat, my feet resting near the brass pedals at the floor.

  The spine of the hymnal cracked as I opened it. I ran through the first two songs listed, my fingers remembering enough to be more passable than Mrs. Wayfair. But as the notes swirled around me, I knew I wanted to be more than passable. I wanted to be a rousing success.

  I took a deep breath and turned to the third song. I didn’t recognize the title, and the tune didn’t come easily to my hand. Four flats in the key signature. I peered at the notes while my fingers slipped and faltered. After three times thr
ough, my mistakes grew fewer.

  My taut muscles relaxed. I sought the words, trying to fit them to the music, but as soon as I did, my hands leapt back into my lap and the sound dissipated. I stared at the words. Perish every fond ambition? All I’ve sought, and hoped, and known?

  I folded my arms across my chest, contending with the words on the page. I would never give up my ambition. I’d strive to prove myself worthy of Daddy’s hopes. To show the people of Dunn that Fruity Lu was only a distant memory. Grown up.

  The urge to pray pressed firmly against my chest. I don’t understand Your ways, Lord. Why now? Why this? Mama would’ve said God could handle my questions and my doubts. But Mama wasn’t here. And Daddy’s voice rang loud in my ears. “You can’t rely on anyone but yourself.”

  In that moment, I knew the blackness of my heart. But I couldn’t bring myself to crack open the door and let in a sliver of light.

  I sighed. In spite of my feelings or the words of the song, it would have to be played. Just as music would have to be taught and basketball coached. My chin lifted. If I had to do these things, I would do them to the best of my ability. Give no one cause to resurrect my past flightiness.

  I began the hymn one last time, just to be sure of myself. Then a movement caught the corner of my eye. My fingers landed on discordant notes as the swish of a skirt accompanied the click of the closing door.

  I stood, waiting. When the woman didn’t return, I wondered if I’d really seen anyone at all.

  I found Jewel in the front room of her home, Russell in her lap, turning the pages of a picture book. I cupped the boy’s chin and rubbed noses with him. He giggled, raised his arms. I hoisted him to my hip and bounced until he cackled with laughter. The sound eased the boulder of uncertainty that threatened my breath. Then I looked at my sister. My vision blurred as sadness caved my chest. Her entire future had changed. Mine had only been deferred for a few months.

  “Well?”

  I focused on the far wall. “I’ve accepted the position of music teacher at the high school and pianist at the church.”