Louise gripped Ann tightly and then broke into a jog across the park with the little girl draped across her arms. Suddenly Ann’s hands began to claw at where Louise had the handkerchief pressed to her chin. The whimpers transformed to wheezing and she stared at Louise, her eyes desperate as she struggled to breathe.
What was happening?
Louise summoned every ounce of strength and speed and fled across the park and along the sidewalk, running the three blocks to the Clarks’ house as if she were being chased by the devil himself. When the Clarks’ mailbox became visible, Mrs. Clark and Dr. Conway appeared next to it. Both darted toward Louise.
“She can’t breathe,” Louise shouted raggedly.
“Annie, darling!” Mrs. Clark called, reaching her arms out for her daughter, but Dr. Conway put a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Wait, Louise has a good grip on her,” he said, his voice calm and authoritative. The three of them sprinted across the lawn toward Miss Mabel, who stood at the front door. “Clear the kitchen table and fetch some towels and pillows, please.”
The housekeeper vanished inside. Dr. Conway, Mrs. Clark, and Louise followed.
“Keep the pressure on her chin, but avoid pressure on her throat,” Dr. Conway said, ripping open the girl’s dress to reveal her bare chest, which was clearly straining with exertion to breathe. “Ice, I need ice.”
Miss Mabel spun to the icebox, pulled out a block of ice, and used a pick to chisel off several large pieces that she handed to the doctor. He began rubbing them along the girl’s face and chest. Miss Mabel then tucked some pillows under the girl’s legs to elevate them and handed Louise a fresh towel. Next Miss Mabel pulled an orange box of Arm & Hammer baking soda from a cupboard and mixed a paste for the stings.
All the while, Mrs. Clark fluttered behind them repeating, “What’s happening? What’s happening?” Her voice broke higher and higher each time she spoke.
“Sit,” the doctor urged the woman without stepping away from Ann. “Catch your breath.”
“But what happened?” Mrs. Clark asked frantically as Miss Mabel firmly pressed her into one of the kitchen chairs. “And where’s Barbara?” she asked in a voice edged with hysteria as her eyes darted around the kitchen.
Louise gulped. The blood appeared to be staining the towel more slowly. “She’s following behind with Miss Francine, the Fergusons’ girl. She’s fine. I wanted to move quickly—”
The distant sound of Constance’s squalling cut through the house and Mrs. Clark’s shoulders collapsed.
“Go to your baby,” Dr. Conway said.
Mrs. Clark bit her lip, looking back and forth from Ann to an indeterminate spot on the ceiling in the direction of the upstairs nursery. “I’ll go, but only once that girl is away from my daughter.”
Confused, Louise looked up to see Mrs. Clark glaring at her, fury mottling her face.
“This is all because of you.” Mrs. Clark wept.
Never taking his eyes off Ann, Dr. Conway said, “Miss Mabel, take over so Louise can go home.”
Miss Mabel moved beside Louise and her hands covered Louise’s for a moment with a squeeze, before she nudged her aside.
Stunned, Louise backed away from the table. Suddenly she was also fighting for breath and she reached for her chest, her own hands slick with blood.
“I never want to see you again,” Mrs. Clark spat at Louise.
Louise cast a helpless look at Ann, who lay on the table, seemingly lifeless, and fled out the back door. She raced toward home, ignoring the stares of people she passed. Her chest burned and tears streamed down her face. Was Ann going to die? When she returned home, Julia and Junior were sitting on the steps, waiting for her.
Julia sprang to her feet. “What’s happened?”
Louise collapsed into Julia, burying her wet face into her sister’s shoulder. “Everything’s ruined.”
39.
May 1936
Chicago
JIM DROVE BETTY TO THE 132ND INFANTRY ARMORY FOR the Central AAU Women’s Track and Field Indoor Meet. Her breath fogged the window beside her, but she rubbed the condensation away and peeked outside, looking for Caroline and Tidye. Even after barely sleeping the night before, she felt wide awake and alert, as if electricity coursed through her veins instead of blood. She had developed a secret plan that would make her relay team win and increase their odds of receiving invitations to the Olympic trials, but now she needed to execute it.
This relay was her only chance.
A couple of weeks earlier, Coach Sheppard, her coach from the 1928 Olympics, had stopped by her home, the navy-blue blazer he wore with its AAU crest emblazoned on the chest looking crisp and a little intimidating.
“I’ve been hearing you want to give Berlin a try,” he had said, sitting in the parlor with one of her mother’s delicate teacups in his large hands.
“That’s true. I’ve been training with Caroline Woodson, though you probably knew her as Caroline Hale, and also Tidye Pickett.”
He raised his eyebrows, confused. “Didn’t Caroline have a baby?”
Betty pictured Joan’s gummy grin and the way she waved her chubby arms overhead as the women ran past her on each lap. During the track practices, Joan either dozed in her pram or sat on a blanket watching her mother run while her father coached. “She has indeed, but it hasn’t slowed her down in the least.”
“But can you actually do it? You’ve fully recovered from your injuries?”
Betty stiffened. Yes, her back and knees ached, and her left shoulder felt tight no matter how much she stretched it, but she had come too far to lose heart now. “I’m stronger than ever. I’m ready.” And as she spoke, she knew it was true. She was stronger, if not physically, certainly mentally.
“There are a lot of new fast girls running since you last competed in 1932. If you were to decide you’d still like to be involved in the AAU, but not race, I’m sure
