Playing by Heart

by Anne Mateer

  Chet’s hand cupped my elbow, and electricity jolted through my body, intensifying the steady thump in my chest.

  “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  I blew out a long breath, wishing my nerves wouldn’t show so clearly on my face.

  He leaned closer. The scent of winter and gasoline mingled on his overcoat. “It’s just a game. You’ll do fine.”

  Eight chattering girls pushed inside and retreated to the far end of the large room before peeling off coats and scarves to reveal bloomers and blouses. Though Chet had put a bit of distance between us now, the girls giggled and whispered as they glanced in our direction.

  Chet clicked the buttons on the wall, and electricity burst into the bulbs overhead, flooding the court with light. I shielded my eyes for a brief moment, then blinked the room into focus. My team clamored around me, adjusting the bows on the wide white bands that held back any stray hairs that might want to drift from their pins during play.

  “This is it, Miss Bowman. Aren’t you excited?”

  “Do you think we can win?”

  “Do I look good enough?”

  I laughed at the last one. Foxy primped and preened as if she were getting ready for a house dance instead of an athletic contest.

  When the other team arrived, I shook hands with their coach, a man of enormous height and few words. Chet’s team, clad in shorts and shirts, climbed into the stands, stretched long legs in front of them, and leaned their backs against the row above to watch our game. Townspeople filled in around them. In the crowd I picked out a woman I’d gone to high school with, a man that had been friends with my brother Ben, Pastor and Mrs. Reynolds, and Mama’s friend Annie Chiles. As a wave of nerves washed over me, I turned to the wall and wrapped my arms around my middle. Too many familiar faces—people who remembered me as Fruity Lu—for my comfort.

  “All set, Miss Bowman?” Principal Gray’s jovial voice didn’t help my queasy stomach. He was the one who’d landed me in this mess in the first place.

  Determinedly, I stood as tall as I could manage. “I’m ready.”

  Chet caught my eye. He inclined his head toward the girls from the opposing team warming up and then at my group clustered near the bench.

  “Nannie, get the girls ready.” I smiled thanks in Chet’s direction. “We’ve got a game to play.”

  “We don’t mind, Miss Bowman. Really we don’t.” Nannie walked beside me to the tiered benches at the side of the court after our game. Our loss. I cringed. We’d only scored four points. The other team scored twenty.

  Blaze led the boys in a series of shooting drills as they prepared to begin their contest. Nannie had filled me in on Chet’s deal with the school board. It was good of him to be so civic-minded and patriotic, but I found my stomach roiling with nerves on his behalf. Even if I was still new to the world of basketball, I knew that winning every single game was a monumental challenge.

  Nannie wiggled her fingers at Blaze, but he didn’t notice. She huffed, then turned her attention back to me. “It’s not like we were any good even when Coach Giles was here.”

  I tried to accept that as a compliment, but I couldn’t ignore that the crowd had snickered at my girls’ attempts to pass the ball. Defend the ball. Shoot the ball. Anything at all, really. The other team had noticeably overpowered us the entire game.

  My gaze drifted to Chet. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his pants, the matching brown jacket bunched up about his wrists. His attention never left the boys warming up on the court. I had more questions for him now that I’d seen an actual game played. My elbow tingled where he’d touched me earlier. Why did he have to keep chipping away at my resolve to keep men out of my life?

  Nannie climbed higher in the stands to sit with her teammates. I remained on the bottom tier, alone, elbows on my knees, chin in my hands. The boys moved from one end of the court to the other. Dribble, dribble. Pass, pass, pass. Shoot. The other team caught the ball before it bounced out of bounds and took it to the opposite end of the court.

  I took note of what resulted in a team scoring points and what didn’t, hoping to apply some of it to the girls’ game. But it wasn’t easy. The boys ran the length of the court. The girls stayed within their allotted lines, two girls in each of the three zones, each playing either offense or defense, not both.

  By the halfway mark of the game, my back and neck ached. I stretched my spine and dug my fingers into the soft places near the bone. Conversations grew louder in the absence of play, drifting to my ears.

  “They look better than last year, that’s for certain.”

  “We’ll see when they have to play Edgewise at the end of the season.”

  “Missed the girls’ game. Heard it was good.”

  I winced. Good?

  “Good as in good for a laugh. Wonder if they’ll score more than ten points the entire season!” A deep chortle, vaguely familiar.

  My fists tightened. I almost turned my head to find the speaker.

  Then his companion answered. “Especially since Fruity Lu’s the coach!” A slap resounded. Hand to thigh? Hand to bench?

  Didn’t matter. It felt like a hand to my face.

  My jaw clenched as I found the edge of my seat and gripped it as if to save myself from drowning. I shouldn’t have come back to this town. I shouldn’t have stayed. I shouldn’t have agreed to teach music or coach basketball or play the piano at church. Not when my past reputation lurked constantly in the shadows.

  I stared across the town hall, willing the mortification to recede before it spawned tears. If only I hadn’t found my attention planted on the last person I wanted to witness my distress.

  Chet.

  He stared right back at me, eyebrows bunching as if in consternation. I needed to leave. To be alone. But before I could reach my feet, a soft hand settled on my shoulder.

  “Do you want to come sit with us?” Bitsy smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back. I followed her to the other side of the bleachers, away, I hoped, from those who refused to let Fruity Lu be forgotten.

  Our boys won by ten points. I waited until the crowd around Chet thinned before approaching him. His grin widened when he saw me. I ducked my head, warmth crawling up my neck. “Congratulations. Your boys played well. At least, I think they did.”

  He chuckled. “They did indeed. I’m glad you noticed.”

  My head shot up, but his expression seemed amiable enough. In spite of my determination to limit my time in this man’s company, I needed his help. I let my gaze wander over his shoulder, away from his dark eyes and oval face, the strong nose and masculine mouth. Things I’d long ago schooled myself not to notice about a man.

  “I need a favor.”

  “All right . . .”

  “I need you to teach me more about the strategy of the game. I don’t want the girls to spend an entire season in disgrace due to my ignorance.”

  No smugness appeared in the set of his mouth or around his eyes at my confession. Instead, he seemed pleased. “I have a few things to finish up here, but if you’ll wait, I’ll drive you home and we can talk.”

  I stepped backward, flustered at the idea of riding alone with him. I could have explained our one walk together to anyone who’d questioned my motives. But climbing into his car was more . . . deliberate. I didn’t want to violate my contract with Principal Gray. But I didn’t want to refuse Chet, either. I wanted to learn strategy. And no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I wasn’t averse to spending time with Chet.

  After stuttering an acceptance of his kind invitation, I retreated to a corner until the crowd dwindled. Even Principal Gray left with his family. Relief drenched me like a spring thunderstorm.

  “Ready?” Chet pushed open the door and stepped aside to let me pass.

  I murmured thanks. As we walked to his automobile, I said, “You’ve done wonders with JC. Thank you for that.”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t done much. Listened, mostly.”


  “Jewel very much appreciated your telling her how he feels.” The conversation that had kept him from joining me in the kitchen on New Year’s Eve. How could I fault him for helping JC?

  He kicked at a pebble on the ground. “I know how much it helps to have a friend who understands what you are going through.”

  I glanced sideways at him, feeling the layers of the statement. He understood JC. But he seemed to understand me, too. And I, him. Both of us walked a path the people around us did not understand.

  “Yes, that makes a world of difference.”

  We fell silent, our steps in opposition to one another. His long and solid, mine clipped and light.

  “How’s Blaze doing in math class? Nannie’s always worried about him.”

  “He’s managing better now, thanks to you both. I believe he’ll graduate if he stays on course.”

  A blast of chill wind shook my hat and rustled my hair. I pulled the collar of my coat around my bare neck and shivered.

  Chet pulled a long draw of air through his nose and let it out through his mouth as we reached his motorcar. “I love autumn and winter. The cold, dark evenings in contrast to the warm, lit gym. Or town hall, as the case may be.”

  I almost laughed. Perhaps we didn’t understand each other as much as I’d imagined.

  He laid a woolen blanket over my knees before settling behind the steering wheel and starting the engine. “So what great basketball wisdom may I impart to you this evening?”

  My gaze swept over the street, looking for someone who would recognize me and alert Principal Gray. Best get the questions asked and be done with it, in spite of my wish to take a long drive with him in the Ford.

  “You watched the girls play. What am I missing in coaching them? Obviously they had little understanding of how to take the ball from the other team or keep it in our possession.”

  He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he started whistling, the tune barely audible above the chug of the motor but familiar in an odd kind of way.

  When words finally left his mouth, they came slowly, like uncertain steps. “I’ve watched you practice, and while you’ve taught them the technical skills, they seem to lack a passion for the game. The drive to succeed.”

  My chest puffed up with defenses but deflated just as quickly. If I acknowledged the truth, I’d noticed the same thing with my music students’ performance at Christmas. They had hit the right notes, but the songs had not had heart. I’d thought my lack of fervor for either music or basketball wouldn’t make a difference for my students as long as I taught them the basics. But I suddenly feared it had.

  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.

  22

  CHET

  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.