Louise would have thought she didn’t have more tears to shed, but somehow, she did. Her head dropped to her arms and she sobbed.
The doctor rested his hand on Louise’s back. “That little girl is lucky she was with you. It was an accident, not your fault. Your calm reaction and speed saved her life, and I’ve made that clear to the Clarks in no uncertain terms.”
“Yet you sent me away when I was helping.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“But Mrs. Clark fired me.”
Dr. Conway rubbed his hand over his face. “I know. Maybe once she’s had some time to collect herself, she’ll rethink that choice.”
But Dr. Conway’s words meant nothing to Louise. She knew it had been an accident. Rationally, she understood this, but it didn’t matter. She felt guilty. It was as if Ann’s accident slit open all of her emotional scars from Grace’s death and left the wound gaping, raw and bleeding.
Since that day in the park with Ann Clark, Louise had moved through her days as if in a trance. It had been several years since Louise had replayed the memory of finding Grace, but the routine returned to her that night and she slept poorly. Exhausted, she stopped attending track practices. Mrs. Brown, the woman who owned the laundry, went to the same church as the Stokeses, and as word got around about what had happened with the accident, she had been quick to offer Louise a job. It was fortunate that Mrs. Brown took a sympathetic view of the situation, because Louise was hardly a model worker. She was distracted and directions became jumbled in her mind. Batches of laundry got mixed together and customers complained of missing items. She spilled water on the floor, making it easy for the other laundresses to slip.
“Girl, you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t start paying attention to what you’re doing,” Mrs. Brown had scolded after Louise dumped a load of sheets into a vat of boiling water with a large splash.
Louise didn’t even care. She deserved to be hurt. She could see concerned expressions on the other women’s faces and wished she were invisible.
After two weeks or so—Louise couldn’t be sure how much time had passed—Mrs. Clark arrived in the entrance of the laundry, fanning herself against the heat. “May I please speak to Louise Stokes?” she asked.
Mrs. Brown waved her hand toward the door in approval and Louise wiped her apron across her face. Walking toward Mrs. Clark to step outside and stand in the fresh air, her knees felt as though they had turned to jelly.
Mrs. Clark wore a well-tailored walking suit and her hair, face, hands—everything about her—looked as impeccably groomed as always, but her eyes appeared dull. She pulled a soft linen handkerchief embroidered with delicate flowers from her pocketbook and handed it to Louise.
Louise hesitated before taking it from her and dabbing it to the back of her neck.
“Louise, I’ve come here to say that we need you back. The girls miss you terribly.”
“The girls miss me?” Louise echoed numbly.
Mrs. Clark bit her lip. “What I mean to say is that we all miss you. What happened with Ann was an accident. It wasn’t your fault, and I regret some of the detestable things that I said. I wish you’d come back. You’ve been a great help to me over the years, and I’m very grateful for that.”
“Did you know I lost a little sister? She died.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Louise wanted to take them back. Why was she telling Mrs. Clark, a woman who had never shown any genuine interest in her, about the most painful moment of her life? Mrs. Clark flinched and somehow this calmed Louise. It gave her a sense of hurting the woman a little and, though she wasn’t proud of this, it bolstered her.
“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
“She had just turned three and was playing with matches. I was supposed to be watching her, but I’d gone outside for a moment. When I came back in, I found her on the kitchen floor, burning, and tried to put out the flames, but I wasn’t fast enough.” Tears welled in Mrs. Clark’s eyes, and Louise kept talking, describing what she saw before she fell asleep each night. “She was wearing her favorite dress, a pretty light blue dress, the color of the sky, but it was on fire. When I finally got the flames out, I left my younger sisters and brother with her while I ran to get Dr. Conway. But Grace died a couple of days later.”
“I’m so sorry. How old were you?”
“Eight.”
Mrs. Clark gave a small sob. “But it was an accident. You were so young.”
“Knowing something was an accident doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I’m sorry, Louise. I’m sorry for all of it.” Mrs. Clark put her arms around Louise and the two hung together. Louise wept for Grace, and for Ann, and for herself, and it made her feel better that Mrs. Clark was weeping too because she wanted the woman to see her, to know her, and to understand what Ann’s accident had meant to her.
A knot inside of Louise’s chest released, and she took a deep breath, the first one in ages. “I’d like to come back,” she said hesitantly, but her agreement did not quite feel right and she thought for a moment. “I’ll work for you until the first of July, but then I need to find something new. A fresh start.”
NORMALLY WHEN LOUISE left the laundry for the day, she dragged herself home, wrung out and wilted, but after Mrs. Clark’s visit, she finished her shift and went home with a clear heart and feeling unburdened. She had talked about the most painful moment of her life, one she blamed herself for, and wasn’t met with condemnation. Mrs. Clark, a woman who had always been unyielding in bestowing any sign of connection, had been sympathetic. Louise now could understand what had happened through the eyes of someone else. She had been young. Would she have blamed Ann if something had happened to Barbara? Of course not. She saw this now, and while the realization brought her a measure of freedom, she knew her guilt wouldn’t vanish overnight. She’d have to be patient, and being patient with herself didn’t come naturally, but ambling along the sidewalk, she felt lighter. She tilted her chin toward the sun and savored the warm breeze that blew down the street. She was eager to see the Clark girls again, but it was time to find a new job. A new opportunity. She didn’t know what it would be yet, but she needed a change. The prospect of possibility rippled through her, gave her a lift.
When she arrived at the house, the front door flew open and Junior tore out of it and down the steps waving a letter in his hands. Mama appeared behind him and stood in the doorway, a broad smile splitting her face.
“Look what’s arrived! Look!” Junior yelled. “You’ve qualified for the Olympic trials!”
Louise took the letter and read through it. As she had known they should have, her racing results from the winter and spring seasons had qualified her for Providence. Now she actually believed it.
Part 4
July–August 1936
THE PROVIDENCE DAILY SUN
“Missouri Girl Smashes World Record”
July 5, 1936
Providence—Missouri’s Helen Stephens kept yesterday’s meager crowd of 2,000 spectators at Brown University’s stadium riveted as she won all three of her events as a one-woman track team from William Woods College. The girl known as the Fulton Flash set a blistering pace in the 100-meter dash to finish five yards ahead of the second-place racer, Chicago native Annette Rogers. Her time clipped a tenth of a second off Stella Walsh’s previous best time of 11.8 seconds and set a new record. Handling the competition with ease, the eighteen-year-old also won the discus and shot put.