“Clearly you’ve never met Babe Didrikson,” Caroline grumbled.
“But Stella’s such a loner,” Betty said. “She never seems to have anyone at races with her and she always vanishes afterward, never talks to anyone. She doesn’t seem to have any friends. Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen her so much as laugh.”
Caroline considered this. “You’re right. She’s certainly different.”
At her mention of different, Helen became wary. “What do you mean?”
“When I think back to Los Angeles, she had a room to herself at the Chapman Park, where all of us gals were staying, but we never saw her. Even when she won the gold in the hundred-meter, she didn’t celebrate. She just left the stadium immediately and disappeared, even wearing her track clothes out onto the street afterward. She’s aloof, a loner.”
“Do you think it’s by choice?” Helen asked.
“Well, she doesn’t make things easy for herself. I mean, her choice to race for Poland hasn’t endeared her to anyone.”
“Why did she do that?” Helen asked.
“They offered her money.” Caroline shrugged. “She needs to make a living and it’s hard to do that as an athlete, especially a woman athlete.”
“But I think it was more than that,” Betty mused. “She doesn’t seem to belong anywhere. She’s lived in Cleveland for ages but doesn’t embrace this country, and yet she doesn’t really seem to be Polish either. Helen, think about it: Didn’t it feel strange to be on your own today?”
“It wasn’t as much fun as when Coach Moore’s around, that’s for sure.”
“Exactly. Racing unattached from a team, not having a coach, all of that can feel isolating, so we avoid doing it, but that’s how Stella races all the time. It must be hard.”
The bartender returned with four glasses balanced on his tray and placed them on the table, sloshing each one slightly, but he made no move to clean up the mess. “This is it. No more drinks this evening. These three ladies shouldn’t be here, mister. I don’t care how well they did tonight in a race.”
Howard stirred his drink. “Got it. I appreciate your enlightenment.”
The bartender frowned, but shuffled away.
“I’ll bet he’s in the back room now looking up the word enlightenment in the dictionary,” Howard said. The women giggled.
“To tonight’s win,” said Betty, lifting her drink toward Caroline, Helen, and Howard.
Helen’s eyes widened as she drank from her glass, and she could see Caroline and Betty exchange amused glances. The drink spilled down her throat and burned and it may have even taken the roof of her mouth off, but she liked it. She wasn’t afraid of its heat. Before she knew it, she had downed the whole thing, and a warm sense of relaxation spread through her. She could get used to this.
After a few minutes and more contemptuous looks from the barkeep, the group finished their drinks and went outside to the sidewalk. Helen looked at Caroline’s and Betty’s faces reflecting the lights within the bar and a sense of expansive affection came over her. She had meant to have Betty sign her autograph book, but she didn’t feel like digging around in her bag to get it out. And she wasn’t worried. After tonight’s success, she suspected she’d be seeing Betty in Providence.
40.
June 1936
Malden, Massachusetts
LOUISE TOOK A JOB IN THE LAUNDRY. THE WORK LEFT her hands chafed with lye and seared with angry burns, but it was a job. A job without responsibility for anyone else but herself. Now she understood what Mama meant when she had said it was a relief to not become entangled in another family’s affairs. Deep in the dark humid recesses of the laundry rooms, Louise told herself she couldn’t hurt or disappoint anyone.
The night after that terrible day in the park, Dr. Conway had arrived at the Stokes home. His skin appeared sallow and bags hung under his eyes. He found Louise in the kitchen, sitting at the table with Mama and Julia, listless. He greeted Mama with a respectful nod and cleared his throat. “Ann Clark is fine now. Her throat opened back up so her breathing stabilized, I stitched up her chin, and she’s exhausted, but she’ll be back to herself in no time.”
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
