Tears came to Helen’s eyes, and she felt weak with relief. Under the sheets, she stretched, enjoying a languorous sensation of fulfillment, drifting off to sleep. She was no longer alone.
HELEN AWOKE THE next morning feeling as though she was trying to cling to the outline of a memory that was just out of reach. The harder she tried to remember it, the further it retreated. She blinked from the heaviness of sleep and turned toward the whisper of her bedroom door closing in time to see the disappearing figure of Miss Albright. Helen’s breath caught in her throat.
Miss Albright. Or Polly?
In the glowing light of morning, Helen flinched. Visions of the two of them tangled together swept through her. Was it a dream? Surely what had happened—if it had happened—couldn’t have been right. Miss Albright had to be older, but how much older? Helen’s mind spun. Whatever might have happened last night—that was not what girls were supposed to do with each other.
She pried herself from the bed. The hands on the clock were already nearing seven o’clock. She washed and dressed in work clothes and descended the stairs.
Helen entered the kitchen and avoided looking at Ma and Miss Albright, focusing her attention on Bobbie Lee instead. His damp blond hair still revealed the tines of the comb that Ma must have dragged through it before starting breakfast. As she took her seat, Miss Albright said, “Good morning. Your hair still looks shiny and smooth.” She then turned to Ma and said, “Helen let me brush her hair last night and look at how marvelous she looks.”
Ma approached Helen with a freshly topped-off tureen of oatmeal that she placed in the middle of the table. “I can’t even remember the last time Helen let me near her with a hairbrush.”
Pa entered the kitchen from the yard and reached for an empty coffee cup from a cupboard, appraising his daughter. “Just like a horse, she looks better with a little grooming.”
Miss Albright’s jaw appeared to tighten. “Good morning, Mr. Stephens.”
“Don’t mind me,” he said, his voice gruff as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Just here for a refill before I head to the back fourth of the fields.”
Helen reached for the coffeepot.
Ma, not missing a thing, put her hands on her hips. “So now that you’re living in town, you’re drinking coffee? Better put milk in there. You’re only fourteen. Too much of that stuff at your age will stunt your growth.”
Pa chuckled. “Maybe stunting her growth wouldn’t be the worst thing. Make her look a little more like a girl.”
Helen pretended she hadn’t heard and instead turned to look at Miss Albright, but the woman’s face appeared ashen. She stared at Helen, her brow furrowed. “You’re only fourteen?”
“Huge, isn’t she?” Pa drawled.
It was at that moment that Helen sensed a shift in the air, as if a cloud had obscured the sun. A cooling. A settling. She had not dreamed up the night before. She knew it with startling clarity, and any sense of thrill that she felt vanished when she took in the stricken look on Miss Albright’s face. Helen’s fingers trembled and the coffee cup that was almost to her lips slipped and spilled down the front of her and onto the floor.
“Mercy me.” Ma sighed, surveying the mess.
“Girl, you sure make a hash of everything,” Pa muttered as he stalked to the back door and let it slam behind him.
Relieved to hide her stinging tears, Helen dropped to the floor to retrieve the broken shards of her cup. She took the dish towel Ma extended to her and swabbed at the pool of spilled coffee.
Miss Albright cleared her throat and rose. “Well, I’m ready to catch the next train to St. Louis. Mrs. Stephens, thank you so much for everything you’ve done to make my stay a comfortable one. Before I left town yesterday, I arranged for a ride and I believe he’ll be meeting me in front in a few minutes.”
“Of course. Helen, please help Miss Albright with her valise and walk her to the gate.”
Helen took a final swipe at the floor and stood and followed Miss Albright to the parlor. When they reached the front door, Helen pushed it open to allow their guest to walk out first. In the distance, waves of heat blurred the fields. The hot sky appeared to be the color of bone. A plume of dust appeared, indicating a vehicle was on its way.
At the gate, Miss Albright paused and turned to Helen. “I’m sorry for last night.”
Now it was Helen’s turn to feel stunned. The previous night had been one of the most exciting things that had happened to her, but now she was left with a sick feeling in her stomach. She felt mortified that she had acted on the feelings that had been swirling through her for years. And at the same time, how on earth had she possibly believed someone like Miss Albright could be interested in someone like her? Shame and sorrow engulfed her. “You’re sorry that it happened? Or you’re sorry it was with me?”
Behind Miss Albright, the station wagon slid to the gate. She glanced back at it and shook her head. “You’re a dear girl, but it’s hard to explain. Someday you’ll leave here and find all kinds of possibilities.”
“Someday?”
But Miss Albright appeared not to have heard her. She hurried to the car, opened one of the doors, tossed her valise inside and slid in after it, then slammed the door shut. As the car drove away, she looked forward, never once turning to see Helen.
From where Helen stood, the fields stretched as far as she could see in every direction. It felt hard to imagine the possibilities beyond the confines of Fulton.
21.
June 1932
Chicago
WITH EVERY PASSING DAY OF JUNE, CHICAGO’S HEAT increased and the sky paled as if the sun were baking the blue right out of it. Summer parties and outings filled Betty’s days. Sometimes her cousin Wilson took her up in the air in his little jaunty red Waco biplane. They’d sweep through the skies over Lake Michigan, admiring the views and taking in the cooler air high above the streets and buildings of the city.
And of course, there was Bill.
Back in February, when Betty had shown up for her dinner date with Bill at his house, she’d had no idea what to expect, but he turned out to be the kind of man for whom grand gestures came easily. She arrived to find him sitting at a table in the solarium next to a bay window, dressed in a suit with one leg tailored in a mystifying way that allowed for his cast. In the distance, the night sky glimmered off the surface of Lake Michigan.
After dinner, he directed her to look out the window. Four small orbs of light appeared as if floating. The sound of singing drifted in with the cold winter’s night air and she cracked the window open to hear better.
Let me call you sweetheart
I’m in love with you
Let me hear you whisper
That you love me too.
“What is this?” Betty breathed in amazement.
“I have some friends who sing in a barbershop quartet, and when I told them you were coming over and my entertainment options were limited, they offered their services.”
Keep the love light glowing,
In your eyes so true . . .
“They’re marvelous. This is a wonderful surprise.”
Bill looked pleased, but he gazed at her sideways as he spoke. “You know, Betty, you’re not the easiest girl to impress. You’re very accomplished, and I’ve had no idea what to do.”