“If you’re not careful, you’re going to be the best-dressed girl in Fulton,” Mrs. Moore said.
Helen shook her head in amazement at the riches being bestowed upon her all because of one good run. Her hand shook as she stroked the collar of the coat. It felt too good to be true.
“This’ll look fetching with my rabbit rifle slung across my shoulder, don’t you think?” she asked with a wink.
36.
May 1935
Chicago
“HAVE YOU READ ABOUT THIS GIRL, THE FULTON FLASH?” Jim asked as he and Betty enjoyed lunch at their favorite spot in the main quad at the University of Chicago.
“No, I haven’t read the sports pages in a while.”
“There’s a young girl out of Missouri, a high-schooler, who beat Stella Walsh and is winning races left and right. She’s being hailed as the next big thing.”
“Since Babe’s turned professional, I suppose reporters must be excited for someone new to keep everyone on their toes.”
Jim packed the remains of his lunch away into his sack. “Have you thought about trying out for Berlin?”
Betty snorted. “The next Olympics? No. Our morning runs are plenty, thanks.”
Jim dropped the subject, but over the next few weeks, Betty couldn’t stop thinking about his offhand remark. She was running well. Certainly not as smoothly and easily as she once did, but she often finished her runs well ahead of Jim now.
She decided to visit Caroline and see how her friend was faring with her new baby, a daughter named Joan. Maybe she would float the idea of training for Berlin to Caroline and check her reaction.
When Betty arrived at Caroline’s doorstep and knocked, her friend threw open the door and practically smothered Betty with the strength of her embrace. “You came!” Caroline shrieked.
“Watch out, I brought some of my mother’s delicious molasses cookies and I’m going to spill them all over the floor.” Betty laughed.
Caroline cocked her head toward inside the house as she accepted the plate. “I hope I didn’t just wake the baby.”
They waited a moment, listening, but no sounds could be detected, so Caroline led the way into her small kitchen to put the kettle on for tea and then the two tiptoed into Caroline and Howard’s bedroom to peek at little Joan lying swaddled in a Moses basket at the foot of their bed. Pink cheeks, a perfect swirl of dark hair, and a pert nose were the only parts of her visible above the folds of a pink crocheted blanket. The women backed out of the room and Caroline closed the door behind her.
“She’s a doll,” Betty said, embracing her friend.
“Thank you. It’s amazing how much time this tiny creature consumes. Do I look exhausted? I feel like I’ve aged twenty years in the last few months.”
“You look wonderful.” Since Joan’s birth, Betty had seen Caroline a couple of times. Each time her friend seemed a bit paler, her cheeks thinner, but she appeared happy. “And Joan’s filling out. She’s going to be tall like her mama.”
“You should see how quickly she pedals her legs in the air when she’s free. I keep telling Howard that we’ve got another runner on our hands,” Caroline said, leading them back to the kitchen.
“What about getting back into it? Running, I mean. I told you how I started training with Jim. Well, he brought up the idea of training for Berlin. At first I thought he was crazy, but now it’s all I can think about. What do you say? Would you want to train together? Any interest in giving the Olympics one more try?”
Caroline pulled the kettle off the stovetop before it whistled and poured water into a teapot. She sat, lost in thought as the tea steeped. “All things considered, Joan’s a dear little thing and a good sleeper, and I daresay I could use some exercise. What did you have in mind?”
“The IWAC’s folded because of the economy, but there’s the Catholic Women’s team. We could join and see how it goes.”
Caroline poured the tea into the teacups. “Howard misses running too. What if he coaches us in the evenings after you’re both done with work? Then I can bring the baby and she could nap in the pram while we run.”
“Do you think Howard would really want to do this?”
Caroline winked. “I can be very convincing when I put my mind to it.”
THE FOLLOWING WEEK, Betty met Howard and Caroline at a park down the street from where they lived. Caroline parked Joan, who was asleep in her pram, in the shade of an elm tree. “I got a good feeding into her before we left, so we’ll both be happy.” She took a final peek at the baby. “I also rang one of my teammates from Los Angeles. She lives here on the South Side too so I invited her to train with us. Before she gets here, I want to tell you something so you won’t be surprised: Tidye’s colored.”
Betty nodded, though she was surprised. She had never encountered black women runners, not during her tenure running for the IWAC and not in Amsterdam. “And she ran with you in the Olympics in Los Angeles?”
“Well, no. She and another colored woman, Louise Stokes, qualified for the relay and they both traveled to Los Angeles as part of the team, but they were pulled at the last minute. As the Olympics got closer and closer, things got strange. I don’t think the coaches were pleased to have them there, and not all of the other girls were very happy with their presence either. There were some black men who raced well in Los Angeles—Ralph Metcalfe, Eddie Tolan—but Tidye and Louise didn’t stand a chance. Bad enough they were women, right? Then pile on
