Playing by Heart (18 page)

My teeth ground into one another. I had no understanding of a man who didn't want his child to have a better life than he did.

“Archie says he needs his boy on the farm. All day. Every day.”

I snorted. “Of course he does. I don't have to be a brilliant mathematician to know that free labor plus sky-high grain prices equal cash in the bank.”

“I know.” Principal Gray rubbed a hand across his forehead. “But he and I made a deal, eventually.”

“A deal?” Coffee sloshed onto the table as I set my cup down with a thud.

“Reed finishes this year of school—and basketball—with no more interference from his father. After that, he'll work two years for Archie as payment for letting him continue his education after eighth grade.”

“And Blaze agreed to that?”

Principal Gray hesitated. “He did after I talked with him.”

I leapt from my chair. “Why would you encourage that? He needs to get away after graduation. He needs—”

Principal Gray held up his hand. “He needs a reason to keep going and get his diploma. If he thinks Archie will release him from his obligation to the farm after two years, he can see an end of things. That's all I wanted for him at the moment. A tangible finish line.”

My lungs emptied.

“Look, Chet. I've known Archie Clifton a long time. I doubt he'll stick to his end of the bargain, which will release Reed from his. I'm just buying us some time. We've got to keep watch on the boy, though. Don't want him to do anything stupid in desperation.”

“No, we don't.” I took my leave, almost limp with exhaustion. I'd hoped for so much more than this for Blaze, but I had no control over the situation. I could only pray.

By Sunday evening, I fell into bed exhausted, but dreams of Lula made my sleep fitful. She laughed, spun away, playing the coquette as if she had suddenly become her predecessor in
the music room. A tug at my arm turned my head. It was Ma, pointing into a trench. Brian Giles' tortured face stared up at me, unblinking. Clay knelt beside him, covered in mud. Shots pounded overhead. Everyone dove for the lowest point, crashing into one another. Then Lula's face appeared above me, her hand caressing my cheek, her lips moving toward mine.

I sat up with a start, heart pounding, chest heaving. A shaky hand reached for my wristwatch on the small table beside my bed.

Four thirty. Earlier than I usually got up. But sleep wouldn't return now. I let out a soft growl. What was this girl doing to me? I needed to focus on Blaze, on basketball, on Ma.

I threw back the quilts, let the unheated air smack me fully awake. I washed and shaved and shivered into my clothing, then stared into the small square mirror above my washbasin. The season was far from over. I would forever be crossing paths with Lula in the gym and at the town hall. I had to find a way to keep my heart safe.

After combing my hair into place, I shrugged into my jacket and tugged my shirtsleeves over my wrists. I'd take advantage of the early hour to spend some time in the gym, praying. Then I'd devote my day to instructing my students and encouraging my players. If Lula was around, I just wouldn't let the conversation veer in any direction besides math tests and basketball. Nor would I let my gaze linger on her sweet face.

L
ULA

I hurried out of the gym after practice, as I'd taken to doing after I forgot the date with Chet. It was nice getting home earlier. I had a chance to tidy the house, spend time with the children, help Jewel cook, wash the dishes, and then enjoy a bit of conversation with my sister after the kids went to bed.

So why did my thoughts constantly stray toward Chet Vaughn? He was a distraction I ought to be thankful to be rid of. I could go my way at the end of the school year with no regrets. Begin again the arduous task I knew only too well—earning and saving money for tuition.

And yet odd moments found me wistful, missing the way Chet and I used to talk about basketball or the students at school. But my apology had come too late, apparently. He avoided me. I didn't blame him—I wouldn't want to pursue a friendship with me, either. What kind of friend forgets an appointment agreed to only hours before?

While he still responded to my occasional basketball or math class questions, our comfortable companionship had disinte
grated like frost in daylight. I'd said I was sorry, but I didn't know how to repair things between us.

The door to the school was just closing when a deep voice shouted my name against the late afternoon bluster. I turned, searched the street. A man jogged in my direction, his face lost beneath hat and scarf and raised coat collar. I took a step forward. Chet? Had he finally forgiven me? Then I froze.

Too tall to be Chet. Too broad. The coat flapped open to reveal a leg clad in khaki.

Bo.

Disappointment shivered my insides. Then my inner chill turned to ice. Had something happened to Jewel? To the baby? Panic surged from my toes to my throat.

I met Bo in the middle of the street, clutched his arms, and stared into his squinted eyes, trying to read his secrets before hearing the words. “Is it Jewel?”

“How did you know?” A strangled whisper. His scarf fell aside, revealing a face contorted with pain.

Oh, dear God, no. No. This was my fault. I should have been home more. Helping more. I grabbed the lapels of Bo's coat and buried my head in his chest. His arms wrapped around me, stilled the shaking.

“Lula?” Chet's voice.

My heart froze as cold as my nose. I raised my head, Bo's arms still encircling me. Only I wished I hadn't. Chet's focus moved from my face to Bo's hands, clasped at the back of my waist. My stomach dropped so far I feared it would drag me into a deep hole in the ground.

I jumped from Bo's embrace, hands flying up to cover my cheeks. But the expression that had been stony the evening I apologized now turned to steel. Chet changed direction.

I wanted to follow, to explain. But Jewel—I had to hear about Jewel.

Bo tugged at my coat sleeve. “I need to know how to help her, Lula. I need to know how to tell her.”

I wiped away hot tears before I faced him. “What's happened to my sister?”

He blinked. “What? Nothing's happened to her. That I know of.”

“Then what did you—”

“I know she misses Davy. I miss him, too. But she's . . .” He toed the light dusting of snow on the ground. “I can't leave her to fend for herself.”

Balled hands flew to my hips. “And just what do you think
I'm
doing here? It isn't like I don't have a life of my own to live!” I pushed past him, against the stiff wind. First, he'd scared me to death over Jewel, then he'd sealed my fate with Chet. A sob bubbled in my chest.

“Please, Lula.” Bo's hand stopped me. “I . . . I love her.”

His revelation poked a hole in my chest, let out all the air I'd been holding inside. He loved her. The bare anguish in his eyes testified to the truth of it.

First Davy, now Bo. They loved Jewel, wanted to protect her.

Why did that make me so envious? How could I be jealous of something I had no desire to possess myself? I'd long declared I wouldn't marry. I intended to pursue my studies, make Daddy proud. Show my siblings they couldn't dictate my life.

My jaw tightened. “You can't help her, Bo. She misses her husband.”

His chin dropped to his chest. “I know. But I'd hoped . . .”

For the first time, I took a good look at Bo the man, not the pawn in Jewel's matchmaking game. My heart hadn't grown so
hard as to disregard his feelings. In spite of my vows to abstain from marriage, Jewel hadn't made any such vows of her own, not even in her deepest grief. My sister had flourished as a wife and a mother. She'd been happy. She deserved to be happy like that again.

“You won't tell her, will you?” He sounded like JC asking me not to let Jewel know he'd eaten the last sliver of pie. My heart turned as soft as fresh bread. At least I no longer feared Jewel pushing him in my direction. I only hoped she wouldn't object to me pushing him toward her. A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. For all the times she'd badgered me about men, it was time I returned the favor.

Another game, another loss for my girls. I didn't stay to watch the boys' game. The sight of Chet's friendliness with everyone but me cut too deeply.

On Saturday afternoon, I filled the church with the melodious hymns Pastor Reynolds had selected for Sunday's service. They felt different under my hands now. More than a collection of notes on a page. In the agony of losing the Donally Award—and losing Chet's friendship—my soul opened to the music like rain-soaked ground under a trowel.

And yet my senses remained on alert, wondering if my mysterious visitor would slink into the shadows today. But for the better part of an hour, I played to an empty room and for my own satisfaction—and that of Pastor Reynolds, ensconced in his small office behind the sanctuary.

A creak stilled my hands as my head snapped toward the back of the room.

JC shielded his eyes from the sunlight streaming through the
tall windows lining the walls. “Aunt Lula? You coming home for supper?”

“Yes. I'm just finishing up.”

“I'll wait.” He slipped into the last pew, much like my other solitary listener. I ran through the final hymn with half my attention on the music, half on my nephew. I couldn't deny that Chet's time with him had helped him work through some of his grief. Their relationship made me happy. Except when it made me sad. Regretful of my forgetfulness.

The notes swirled about the room. JC's face relaxed while my guilt heightened. I needed to help my nephew, too. Not leave it all to Chet. Maybe that was the lesson God wanted me to learn. To pour my heart into my own family, not lose it to a stranger.

As JC and I walked home together, I asked about school and the horses in the livery stable. His eyes lit with pleasure as he described each one—not only their appearance but their personality.

“Aunt Lula, can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.” I rested my hand on his head as we walked.

“Do you think Uncle Bo is sweet on Mama?”

I hoped my face didn't show surprise. Was this why he'd been so antagonistic toward his father's best friend? I hadn't realized a boy his age would be aware of such things.

My observant nephew needed to know the truth. But Bo had revealed his heart to me in confidence. I had to honor that, too. I prayed for wise words. “Your daddy and Bo knew each other a long time, even before your daddy met your mama.”

“I know. Daddy told me they met just afore the turn of the century, after Oklahoma Territory opened up and both their families came for the free land.”

“I imagine that's right. Anyway, Bo knows that with your
daddy gone to heaven, your mama needs a friend to help take care of her.”

“She has you. And me. Isn't that enough?”

“Bo's nearer her own age than you or I. That makes a difference sometimes.” I had no intention of getting into the complexities of the relationship between a man and woman with a ten-year-old boy. “What makes you think he's sweet on her?”

His shoulder lifted, then fell again. “Sometimes he looks at her the same way Bobby Fellman looks at Maria Tanner.” He rolled his eyes heavenward, and we both laughed. But I didn't want to lose the moment to plow a smoother path for Bo, should he need it.

“You know, someday your mama might decide to marry again. It's hard to be alone with five children.”

JC stopped, looked up at me with solemn eyes. “I know. Maria Tanner's mama died three years ago and she got a new mama for Christmas that year. I figured I'd better look out.”

“I'm glad you realize it's a possibility, but don't set yourself against it just yet. Remember, God knows what you need even if you don't think you need it.”

JC shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and scowled. “Mr. Vaughn told me the very same thing.”

Don took us for a quick visit to his ranch on Sunday afternoon. When Daddy heard my voice, he turned his face to the wall. Janice told me not to think too much of it. Don's wife, Audra, said he barely took food now. Which didn't make me feel any better.

I stayed up late after we got home, scrubbing floors, trying to tire out my body so it would close down my mind and let me sleep.
But a late night meant a groggy Monday morning. Just before noon, I scrubbed musical notes from the chalkboard with undue vigilance and prepared to work on indirect proofs with Nannie and a couple of the other girls on the team. But the thought of mathematics no longer brought the same satisfaction as before. Now it fueled visions of Chet instead of Professor Clayton.

I hadn't had much experience with men, except in my high school years. Back then, I'd willingly been the scatterbrained, happy-go-lucky girl, following Jewel's example of surrounding myself with laughter and music, ignoring anything that required too much contemplation. At least until the day I'd overheard Wes Granger talking to his friends. The day I'd returned to school after Mama's funeral.

A dark cloud had shrouded my world as I'd trudged off to school that autumn morning, an ache as deep as an oil well in my chest. Jewel had Davy to hold her while she cried. I thought I'd have my boyfriend Wes, but except for a brief nod at the funeral, he hadn't comforted me.

Maybe he was afraid of my brothers and sisters. Or Daddy, who had turned so gruff as to frighten even me. Maybe Wes feared the tears themselves. We were, after all, only sixteen.

With my head hung low, I crossed the spongy grass toward the corner of the schoolhouse, all of us still in one building in this brand new state of Oklahoma. I pressed my books against my chest to hold in the pain of a world without Mama. When I heard the voices, I stopped, not wanting to be noticed. Then Wes's familiar cadence rose above the rest. My heart soared as I listened, my name on his lips.

“Fruity Lu? She's fun, but I'd never settle down with a girl like that. Likely she'd forget to add sugar to the jam or to darn my socks.”

My heart slammed to the ground and I froze. Wes couldn't have meant those words.

“Life would never be dull,” one of the other boys said. Several chuckled. Heat rushed into my face. I swayed, put a hand on the schoolhouse wall and held myself steady. Surely Wes would defend me.

He laughed instead. “My brother says there are girls you have fun with and girls you marry. And if you marry the fun ones, they'll plague you with wanting to go dancing and be romanced all the days of their lives.”

I took one step backward. Then another. After the third, I turned and fled to Jewel's house, ran past the spinning record on the Victrola and up the stairs to the room they'd declared mine. I threw myself on the bed and sobbed.

An hour later, I sat up, dried my tears. With Mama gone, I had to take care of myself. And I knew how. Daddy had always scolded me to leave off parties and dancing and music and apply myself to my studies. It was the only thing he'd ever wanted for his children—an education. If I made Daddy proud, I wouldn't need any other man's approval.

Not long after that, the predictability of mathematics filled the gaping hole in my heart. I grasped hold of its regularity and refused to let go. And sure enough, Daddy noticed. He talked to me when I came home for visits. He bragged about his little girl to everyone who would listen.