Playing by Heart (25 page)

I burst into Jewel's living room. “Mrs. Vaughn needs you. Her son died. In France.”

Jewel's face blanched. “Where's—” She tried to rise, but couldn't gain the momentum. Then I noticed Bo. He helped her to her feet.

“I don't have time to explain. Please, just go to her.”

Bo picked up his hat. “I'll motor her over. JC can watch the little ones.”

“Thank you.” I dashed back into the night. Main Street was dark and silent. At the livery stable, I heard only the nicker of horses, no human presence.

Could Chet have taken refuge outside of town? Walked to Fort Sill? Gone to the town hall in search of his team?

I went to the town hall first and yanked open the door. Only a scattered few remained. Principal Gray spied me and frowned. His forceful stride brought him near. “Miss Bowman, I—”

“Chet—have you seen him?” I almost yelled.

“No, he still hasn't—”

“I'm sorry. I have to go.” I turned and ran toward the school. The gym.

Even if he'd gone elsewhere to work through his personal pain, he'd eventually find his way back there. His place of peace. And pride.

Tripping over unseen impediments, stumbling down dark streets, I tried to pray. But no words emerged except
Jesus
,
oh, Jesus
.
I love him
. Oh, Jesus, help me find him.

I reached the gym, pulled at the doors. Locked, every one. My legs trembled. A sob burst from my chest. I eased down onto the stone steps, the evening chill seeping through layers of clothing and numbing my body. I covered my mouth, despising my weakness.

Crying over a man. One who loved a silly game. But also a man who loved his students and his mother. His brother. Even JC. A man whose friendship I'd come to cherish against all odds.

I lowered my head to my knees. How could a few short months uproot all I'd built my life on?

My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus'
blood and righteousness.

I sat up straight, the words as clear as a pane of glass. The storm inside me died. Had I done that? Had I built my life on a rock that wasn't solid? That wasn't Jesus? Had I been stubborn, like Nannie and Blaze, instead of steady in conviction, like Chet?

Whatever else I had or hadn't accomplished, Mama wouldn't be proud of that. She'd taught me the story of the wise man and the foolish man from the time I'd been tiny—and made sure I knew what it meant.

But after she'd gone I'd decided that music and laughter and someone to love and cherish meant a sandy spot on the beach,
while academic success and Daddy's attention assured me an unmovable foundation. Now I stood in a whirlwind, fearing my entire life would go
splat
at any moment. I covered my face with my hands, wishing tears would come and cleanse the heart that had veered so far from the truth.

My eyes remained dry. “I want You as my foundation, Lord. Nothing less.”

Peace ebbed through my tired soul, and for the first time in years, I had hope my prayer had been heard. I glanced heavenward. “Help me find Chet. Please.”

Clouds hid the light of stars behind their bulk. My hope vanished—the same sinking feeling as confronting a mathematical equation whose answer remained beyond reach.

“When all else fails, start again
at the beginning.”

Thanks, Professor.
I surged to my feet. Start over. I could do that. Grabbing hold of my granite tenacity, I retraced my steps to Jewel's house to begin the search for Chet once more.

C
HET

I paced the dark aisle of the church. Clay and I had talked about this possibility—that something might happen to him. It was a huge part of the reason I had agreed to stay with Ma. But now something
had
happened. And I'd abandoned Ma when she needed me most. I'd run away. I was still running away.

I glanced at the enlistment papers in my hand, then dropped into a pew halfway toward the front and hung my head. “Forgive me, Lord. I didn't even ask You. I didn't even ask.” I tasted the salt of tears, understood at once Peter's anguish at his betrayal of Jesus. Hadn't I just done the same thing—abandoned the trust bestowed on me by my Savior?

If only He would appear, fix me breakfast on the shore, and tell me to feed His sheep. Then perhaps I'd know that I, too, was forgiven. That I, too, still had a purpose to fulfill. Until then, I had to accept the consequences of my rash actions, whatever those might be, knowing full well I deserved every bit of trouble I received.

If only
Pa . . . If only Clay . . . If only Ma . . .

No. It was my doing. All of it. After years of quiet discipline, one rash decision would change the course of my life. I'd signed my name, given my word, said I would go fight.

What would happen to Ma? My students? My team?

I slammed my fist down on top of the pew in front of me. The game. I'd missed the game. I'd let down my team. Had they still played without me? Had they won?

Principal Gray would find another coach. My students would get another teacher. But Ma had no other sons. If I could be certain of Ma's welfare, then I could face my death with less remorse. For I felt certain death would be the end result of my enlistment, as it had been for Clay.

Time passed. Fast or slow, I had no gauge. My body grew stiff from the chill. Breath hissed in my lungs. I would brave the consequences of my actions. And yet even that resolve didn't fill the hollowness inside me. The emptiness reminded me of the days after we'd learned of Pa's death. Ma cocooned in her bedroom. Clay and I huddled together in a dark corner of the barn. Only now I didn't even have Clay.

There'd been no funeral for Pa. That made sense now. And once Ma had again found the light of day, we'd moved to another town, one that didn't connect us with my father's sad history—at least the version she'd told my brother and me.

To earn money, Ma washed other women's clothes, her hands turning red and raw. There was always an iron heating on our small stove, except when it was needed to cook supper. Years of scraping by. Financially. Emotionally. Yet she had carried the burden alone. For so long.

She'd watched her son go off to war, hoping his honorable
service would erase the shame of his father's actions, only to have him die untried.

For years I'd prayed for Ma to see that only God could heal the wounds that festered inside her, but I'd never imagined her pain to be so deep, so wide. Why would God allow Clay's death now? Hadn't it demolished any good He'd yet accomplished?

Creak.

Rusty hinges groaned behind me, same as they had when I'd sought refuge in the church. I didn't want to talk to Pastor Reynolds, or anyone. Quick steps clicked up the aisle before I could slip into the alcove leading to the side door. A whiff of lavender accompanied the shadow.

Lula bent to her knees in the aisle. Her soft hand cupped my cheek.

“Oh, Chet.” My name caught in her throat. I tried to turn away, but her touch held firm. Had she come to berate me? I'd done enough of that to myself. I didn't need her help.

“I thought . . . I thought . . .”

Was she crying? I grasped both of her hands in mine. Surely no other tragedy had befallen her family. “Tell me.” More of a breath than a whisper.

“You . . . you didn't come. You didn't— I went to find you. I found your mother. She—”

I tightened my grip on her hands. “What about Ma?” Could I bear any more guilt?

She shook her head. “Jewel's with her. But you weren't there and the boys—”

I shut my eyes, clenched my teeth. They'd lost. My hands fell from Lula's. I stared at my feet. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I wasn't there. It's all my fault.”

“Chet.” She forced my face toward hers again, but she
couldn't make my eyes meet hers. “Listen to me. You don't understand.”

“No,” I mumbled. “No one understands.”

Her hands pressed into my cheeks. “Blaze was worried. We were all worried. He . . . he came for me. I sat on the bench, acted as the coach in your place.”

My eyes jumped to hers as a soft stream of moonlight shot through the tall windows. “You?”

“Yes, me.” Her touch fell away. “My girls won tonight, I'll have you know. I can do whatever I have a mind to do. And I chose to put my mind to basketball.”

I almost laughed at her vehemence. I could have if my heart hadn't shattered.

“You would have been so proud of Blaze.” Her voice softened, spread over me like a buffalo robe on a frigid night. I wanted to curl into it, receive its warmth. “Blaze coached the team, really. I didn't do a thing. He was . . . amazing. And when they won—”

My head jerked up. “Won?” A current sparked in my brain, lifted me to my feet. I yanked Lula up with me. “They
won
?”

Her head bobbed up and down. I threw my arms around her, laughter ringing through the empty space. A giggle near my ear awakened my senses, the warmth of her breath on my neck, the smell of summer on her flesh. I ought to step back, pull away. Instead I inhaled, drinking her in as long as she'd allow, still marveling that she'd come to find me.

As I peered down into her face, the reflection of the moonlight caught the edge of tears shimmering in her eyes like lake water in midsummer. Her lips parted. I lowered my mouth toward hers even while telling myself I shouldn't.

Would I feel the crack of her hand to my cheek? I hesitated
only a heartbeat, waiting. She flinched forward. Our lips met, hers as soft and sweet as ripe berries, just as they'd been in my dreams. Her hands pressed against my chest before creeping to my shoulders, circling my neck. I pulled her closer, held her tighter. Never wanted to let her go.

Light saturated the room. We jumped apart, blinking at the brightness. I flung Lula behind me, felt her head press into the space between my shoulder blades, as if she could disappear from view.

“Chet? What are you—” Pastor Reynolds' head tilted, his brow wrinkled.

I let out a long breath, felt for Lula's hand, and pulled her to my side. No sense trying to hide.

“Miss Bowman?” Pastor Reynolds' eyes slashed back and forth between us. “I don't understand.”

“I . . . I came in to . . . to . . .” She glanced at me, eyes wide in a plea for help. Not blame. Not disdain. I wanted to sweep her into my arms again, cover her precious face with kisses.

Instead I squeezed her hand. “She found me here, sir. I'd—” I hung my head, lowered my voice. “We learned today that my brother, Clay, died in France.”

The pastor's hand landed on my shoulder. “I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” I glanced at Lula, her face almost bloodless with fear. I thought of Principal Gray's warning. Of Pastor Reynolds' place on the school board.

Pastor Reynolds scratched his head. “Lots of people out there looking for you, son. Did you know that?” His gaze slid to Lula, and I could read his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken. Lula and I. Close together. In the pitch-black church.

I kept my eyes steady on his, eager to convey our innocence.
Pastor Reynolds frowned. “This is a bit . . . disconcerting, to say the least.”

I'd hurt Lula by discarding her dinner invitation in order to stave off this type of situation. Yet I'd brought it down on her just the same. I needed to drop her hand, deny everything. But I couldn't. Not again. Never again.

“We've done nothing wrong, sir. Nothing. I'll explain that to whoever needs to know.”

Pastor Reynolds' eyes pinched into a squint. “I haven't said anyone's at fault here. Yet.”

Lula's fingers tightened around mine. I might have failed Ma and my team, but I would not fail her. I would find the courage to be the man I'd thought myself to be.

L
ULA

Pastor Reynolds told us to go, to find Mrs. Vaughn. Chet and I navigated the dim streets, my hand still captured in his. He told me everything. His mother's excitement over the game. The telegram. Even the revelation of his father's suicide. That he trusted me with such knowledge stole my breath. Perhaps he'd had a change of heart about me—about us—since abruptly declining the dinner at Jewel's house. I could only pray so.

We rounded the corner leading to his house. He stopped. I plowed into the back of him, nearly knocking him flat. Light blazed from every window of his home. Three motorcars sat in the yard. A welcoming party I suspected neither of us wanted.

Chet's focus remained tethered to the house. “I don't know what else to do but go inside. We haven't done anything wrong, you know.”

Flames of heat rushed into my face. Had he already forgotten about our kiss? That certainly didn't uphold the standard of conduct expected of a female teacher. And I doubted any school board member would think highly of Chet's involvement,
either. Thankfully, Pastor Reynolds wouldn't take the situation to the school board tonight. But he hadn't said that he wouldn't do that come tomorrow. If he did, the reputation I'd worked so hard to establish would be in tatters. Fruity Lu would arise and live forevermore.

Chet lifted my chin with his fingers. I tried to avoid his eyes, but they held me as surely as his arms had in the darkness of the church. “I realize this is all my fault, Lula. I won't let anything happen to your job. I promise.”

I knew he meant it, but I also knew he couldn't keep his word. Not about this. It was beyond his control.

“If the school board insists on your removal, I'll . . . I'll . . .” Suddenly, he stooped down on one knee. “Marry me, Lula.”

My heart reeled. He didn't mean it. As much as I found I wanted him to, I knew he didn't. And I couldn't decide which felt worse—to be passed over or to be proposed to as an honorable duty. Neither made me feel loved. Wanted. Valuable.

On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground
is sinking sand.

I tilted my chin upward as the words from the hymn played through my head. The Lord was my hope. I'd made that commitment earlier this evening. Not Chet. Not my own mulish adherence to a plan. If I stood obstinately on anything, it had to be on the rock of His Word. All else would falter, would fail. And yet, I'd trusted my own way so long, could I learn to trust another so quickly—even if the other was God?

I had but a moment to choose. Chet's dark eyes, alive with emotion and concern, drew me. I wanted to let them hold me.

I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but
wholly lean on Jesus' name.

Peace settled the flutter inside me. I didn't have to run after something to fill me, as I had after Mama died. I didn't have to
make any rash decisions. I could trust God to carry me—and my sister. “I can't, Chet. I'm sorry.”

Disbelief, hurt, and anger flickered over his face. He dropped my hand and stalked toward the house. Standing alone on the newly sprouting grass, I knew Chet would never propose to me again.

I half expected Pastor Reynolds to relieve me of my accompanist duties when I arrived at church early Sunday morning. But he didn't mention school or contracts or clandestine meetings in dark places. His silence gave me the boldness to ask if we could sing the hymn that had been replaying in my head since Friday night, the one that had found its way out of my fingers most of Saturday. The more I heard the words about Christ being my rock, the more I hoped they'd stick in my heart.

Pastor Reynolds gave me the nod to begin. I stumbled through the first two songs, my attention on the back door, watching for Chet and Mrs. Vaughn to arrive. In all the hullabaloo of the Vaughns' house Friday night, Chet and I never had a chance to say good-bye. Or thank you. Or even, I'm sorry.

By the time we reached our third hymn, I'd accepted Chet's absence, though it stung. In the light of day, didn't he recognize his impulsive proposal—and my refusal—for what they were?

The opening notes to “My Hope Is Built” birthed new shoots of faith in my heart, tender, like green sprouts from the dark soil seeking the warm sun. The second verse rang through the building on a choir of voices:

When darkness veils His lovely face, I rest on His unchanging grace;

In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the vale.

The third verse passed, then the fourth. Each bolstered my spirit, until the final notes of the chorus churned through every pore of my body.
All other ground is sinking sand.

The sermon in the song stayed with me all through the service, overpowering even Pastor Reynolds' carefully crafted words. After the closing song, I joined Jewel in the pew, waiting for the crowd to thin before she navigated her large belly through the narrow aisle.

“They aren't here.”

Jewel patted my hand. “Louise was nearly sick with worry that night. And they are grieving. Give them time.”

I rested my head on Jewel's shoulder, then lifted it again. “She told you? Everything?”

Jewel nodded, her eyes sad. “JC, take the children outside.” She pushed to her feet as they left. “It will take time for them to heal, but now that the truth's out, maybe they can.”

I wet my dry lips. “Even with Clay gone?”

“Louise loves Chet, but I think she's been jealous of him.”

“Jealous?”

“He moved forward, didn't stay stuck in his father's past. She couldn't get over it. Clay seemed more willing to live in that place of shame with her.”

Shame. I thought of Daddy. All my family. Of the shame they'd endure if the school board ousted me, effectively ending my career as a teacher at any level. Would I be able to move forward after that, leave the past behind? Fear jittered down my spine. “How heartbreaking. For all of them.”

Jewel took my arm, waddled toward the door. “Yes, but the
Lord is in the business of mending broken hearts. It's His specialty.” We stopped at the door. She looked out over the lawn. Then her face brightened. I followed her gaze to Bo—Russell in his arms, Trula and Inez tugging at his hand, JC nearby, frowning but not scowling.

“And has He mended your broken heart, sister?”

A flush broke out over Jewel's rounded face. “Yes, I think He has. Or at least I can say that the process is fully underway.”

I expected Principal Gray to arrive at my classroom door and order me from the building. First one hour ticked by. Then another. By my third class of the day, I attacked cantata rehearsals full force, assuming I'd be there to see our performance through.

The teachers' lunch table didn't include many male teachers any longer—most of them had gone off to war. Bitsy plopped down beside me. “The games Friday night were so exciting, Lula! But we missed you at the team dinner afterward. The kids had so much fun!”

She continued gushing, the others joining in. What little appetite I had fled. I excused myself, wondering if the conversation would turn to Chet and me in our absence. An uncharitable thought, to be sure, for Bitsy had never been one to gossip, though I didn't know the others as well.

I piddled around my classroom, guessing Chet wouldn't stop by. But when my door clicked open, I whirled in expectation.

My hope plummeted back to earth. Only Nannie, with Blaze following sheepishly behind.

Nannie motioned him forward, hands on her hips in her sassy way. “I told Blaze if he could have you on the bench during the
basketball game, he could come himself and let you tutor him in math.” She nodded at me, all business.

Blaze's mouth tipped into a wry smile. My lips twitched. No wonder Nannie was besotted with the boy. Sturdy build, flawless features, and natural charm—and he did what she told him to do.

Her expression melted into adoration as she clung to his arm and stared into his face. “Besides, I'd rather be his girlfriend than his teacher.”

Blaze blushed to the roots of his hair, returning her love-struck gaze with one of his own. I covered my smile, but needn't have, for they'd ceased to notice me at all. I cleared my throat. They both startled.

“I'd be happy to help you, Blaze.” I wanted to ask what had happened with his father after the game, but it felt . . . intrusive.

“And you'd better do what she says,” Nannie scolded.

“Yes, ma'am.” Blaze grinned down at Nannie, looking for all the world as if he would kiss her then and there.

My mouth warmed with the remembrance of Chet's lips on mine. A pang of regret stabbed. Perhaps I should have accepted his proposal, taken the piece of himself he'd offered.

Stop
it!
Like the proposal, the kiss was the result of the overwhelming emotion of the moment—of Clay and his mother and the basketball game. I was simply . . . there, looking needy. Maybe his absence now didn't so much reflect the hurt of my refusal but the relief that he hadn't inadvertently tied himself to me for life.