She tried again. “Why does this matter to you?”
He unfolded and looked at her, his expression serious. “When I came back from the war, I wondered what the hell I was doing. Nothing here had changed, but I felt like a completely different person. Everything seemed pointless. How could I just settle back into normal life after what I’d seen? After what I’d done?” He paused for a moment, gazing down the street before turning back toward her. “But slowly, I came back to remembering the man I had been. I gave up thinking I’d ever be him again, but I just wanted to feel a connection to him again and move ahead in a new way that felt meaningful, that honored the old me and the new me. Being a husband to your sister was the thread that brought me back.” He chuckled. “This probably sounds pretty crazy, huh?”
Betty stared at him. She understood completely.
“Since your accident, I’ve watched you go through a lot of the same sense of dislocation and figured I could help. Maybe running could be the thread that connects your new life to your old . . .” His voice trailed off and he studied her closely, looking for a sign of agreement.
Tears flooded Betty’s eyes.
“Aww, geez, Betty, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ve done a swell job at coming back from everything. Forget what I’m saying.”
She shook her head. “No, no, that’s exactly it.” Now she was crying and she sniffled. “I’m sorry, I never knew you went through all of that.”
“You were just a kid when I got back. How would you have known?”
“Still . . . thank you.” The inadequacy of her words horrified her. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. We can just run.”
She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Someone had understood her all along.
34.
March 1935
Fulton, Missouri
THE ICY AIR STUNG HELEN’S LUNGS AS SHE RAN DOWN the track’s straightaway at Westminster College. Coach Moore had decided to train her here, away from the scrutiny of the high school, since the college men didn’t give a whit that Helen was a girl. They were just pleased to have their level of competition intensified by her arrival and treated her as they would a younger sister, except she was a younger sister who could run fast. In fact, she beat the men at every distance.
And she wasn’t just fast.
She proved to be phenomenal at field events too. At Westminster, she tried the discus and javelin and discovered she could throw them stunning distances. She tried the broad jump and high jump and proved to be a natural in both of those events too.
But as she huffed her way along the track, she wasn’t thinking about field events. She wanted to race in the National AAU Championships being held in Missouri at the end of the month. Coach had brought it up with her and then the topic languished. Did he think she wasn’t good enough? With that worry gnawing at her, she increased her pace and ran the last half of the final lap at a faster clip. A cool northern breeze buffeted her as she sprinted the final stretch to where Coach Moore waited with his clipboard, stopwatch in hand.
“How’d I look?” she asked, sailing past him. She slowed herself to a jog and circled back to him.
“Why did you take that last two hundred so quickly?”
“To see if I could.”
“Huh.” Coach Moore turned his attention back to his clipboard and stopwatch as the rest of the runners glided over the finish, talking among themselves. The young men remained in a pack and drifted over to their head coach, who walked with them to the field house.
“So, Coach,” Helen said as the other runners moved out of earshot. “What about the National AAU Champs? You gonna send me to it?”
“I haven’t forgotten. I’ve had several meetings with the superintendent about it.”
“Several?” Helen groaned. “What? He doesn’t want me to race?”
“Let’s just say that he hasn’t been the biggest fan of the idea, but he’s finally agreed. And so have your parents. You can go and represent Fulton.”
“Holy smokes.” Helen put her hands on her hips and breathed in and out heavily, still recovering from her run. “How about the entry fee? Is the district paying?”
“Don’t worry about those details. Focus on running.”
“You’re paying it, aren’t you?”
“Don’t think about that stuff.”
She balanced on one foot, stretching her quadriceps. If the district wasn’t paying—and she was pretty sure her parents weren’t paying—there was only one other option. She glanced toward Coach’s old rattling Model A parked by the side of the track. He could hardly afford the two-dollar entry fee, but who else would be paying it? “Hey, thanks for sticking your neck out for me.” Her voice sounded thick with emotion, but she dug in for the last part. “I promise I’ll make you proud,” she croaked.
“You already have. Now let’s get you back to your boardinghouse because I know you have homework. What’s happening with Macbeth?”
“Lady Macbeth is the one running the show. Macbeth would never have killed Duncan if not for her urging. She’s bloodthirsty.”
“And power hungry too, right?”
“Yep. Once you murder someone, you’re on a slippery slope.”
Coach Moore laughed. “That’s an understatement.” At the field house, they parted ways. “I’m going to take care of a couple of things in the office, but go get changed and I’ll meet you out here in a few minutes. You can tell me more about Macbeth’s nefarious plans on our ride back to town.”
A COUPLE OF weeks later, Helen met Coach Moore outside the high school’s front door beside John and D.W., two boys from the high school track team.
“You ready?” Coach Moore called as Helen trotted up the walkway. “Don’t use up all your energy.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty,” Helen said, laughing, as she shouldered the strap of a canvas sack filled with a change of clothes, and they all walked toward Coach Moore’s old Ford. Mrs. Moore leaned out the car’s window and waved.
D.W. pointed at Helen’s navy-blue sweat suit. “Huh, you look like a real athlete.”
“I even have track shoes too, courtesy of the fellas over at Westminster. They loaned me today’s whole kit,” said Helen as they loaded into the car. “I can’t show up looking like a hayseed, isn’t that right?”
“You could dress up like the Queen of England and everyone will know you’re still a hayseed,” John said, giving Helen a light punch to the arm.
Helen leaned forward toward the front seat. “Miss Schultz, I mean, Mrs. Moore—I still can’t get used to calling you that—anyway, you sure are a sight. Fulton High isn’t the same without you. Rumor has it that the new music teacher is a real crumb.” She’d seen the new teacher, a thin young man with glasses that appeared to be about an inch thick.
“Don’t believe all the gossip you hear. I’m sure he’s doing a fine job,” said Mrs. Moore in a stern tone, but from the twinkle in her green eyes, Helen had the feeling she enjoyed hearing how everyone missed her. The district’s rule that women had to resign their teaching positions once they married seemed like an awful waste.