“If he’s willing to do that to her, imagine what he would do with us if we cross him.”
Louise shuddered, burying herself deeper under the covers. “Just focus on racing. Things will get better once we arrive in Berlin.” She hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt.
47.
July 21, 1936
Aboard the S.S. Manhattan
ON THE MORNING THEY WERE EXPECTING TO SEE THE Irish coast, Betty rose before dawn. One glance toward Helen’s bunk revealed her to be fast asleep. Finally. The pain in Helen’s shins had been getting increasingly worse, and her nighttime tossing and turning had been preventing either of them from sleeping soundly. Helen’s wool blanket draped over the edge of the mattress precariously as if it might fall off and drop to the ground. Betty considered tucking it back around Helen, but held back, not wanting to risk waking her.
Betty was still trying to figure out her new friend. Helen never spoke of the men on the team in a way that indicated any bit of attraction. Even when surrounded by their handsome teammates at Casino Night or while training on the track, she gave no indication of anything beyond friendly interest. There was no flirtation, only talk of news, training, the ship, and what to do once they arrived in Berlin. Her attitude provided a stark contrast to almost everyone else’s aboard the Manhattan. Bored with the amount of idle time at sea, almost all the athletes—Betty included—were consumed with finding romance at all times of the day and evening. Meals, training sessions, evening card games and cocktails—everything was an opportunity to assess interest in the opposite sex. It was great fun! Betty never found herself sitting beside an empty deck chair, and someone was always willing to offer her a cigarette or fill her wineglass. All of this made Helen’s disinterest in the opposite sex a curious thing. Of course, Betty enjoyed Helen’s company and she knew that the younger woman admired her, but—the way Helen watched her, followed her—sometimes the intensity of that admiration gave Betty pause. She didn’t know what to make of Helen’s behavior, and it felt safer not to encourage anything she didn’t fully understand.
Gently, she folded the edge of the blanket over the foot of the bunk and crept from the room.
When she reached the Promenade Deck, she faced east, toward the sunrise, where the sky glowed pale peach and a small ship approached the Manhattan to exchange passengers, mail, and supplies.
Three more days and they would be arriving in Germany.
Betty unfolded herself on a deck lounger and pulled her coat tightly around herself against the chill of the early hour. Two sailors scrubbed at the track with wire brushes, and at a spot farther down the deck, another woman perched on a deck chair watching the sunrise, a plaid blanket folded over her legs. Even with a scarf tied over her head, Betty knew it was Eleanor. According to all the whispers in the dining room, the swimmer had not left her cabin since the humiliating encounter with Brundage. Along with many of their teammates, Betty had signed a petition protesting Eleanor’s dismissal, but it appeared Mr. Brundage had no plans to reverse his harsh punishment.
Gulls wheeled overhead. More and more of them had been appearing as the coast approached. Betty rose and slid into the open deck chair next to Eleanor, coughing so as not to startle her. Eleanor turned and saw Betty. “Can’t sleep?”
Betty pulled her knees toward her chest. “I’m sorry the petition didn’t work.”
“Oh, darling, you tried and I appreciate it. Two hundred signatures! Didn’t know I had so many friends.” Eleanor kept smiling, but she looked drained. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a plan. This isn’t the last you’ll see of me.”
“Oh?”
“Well, let’s just say I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve. I’m going to call in a few favors.”
“Good. If only MacArthur was still the AOC president. Remember how much he liked us?”
Eleanor batted her lashes. “Do I ever. Sorry to break it to you, but I think I was his favorite.”
“Of course you were.”
“It’s hard not to love a girl in a bathing suit.”
“I’ll say.”
Eleanor fixed her hazel eyes on Betty. She wore no makeup, and with her hair awry, she appeared less the glamorous showgirl, more the young swimmer Betty had met eight years earlier. “Everything seemed less complicated when we traveled to Amsterdam, didn’t it?”
Betty’s stomach tightened as she gazed at the sea. Since finding the second boycott letter in her room, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. When she brought up the topic with other athletes, everyone seemed conflicted. Of course, no one approved of what Hitler was doing, but few of the athletes seemed knowledgeable about what was happening in Germany and they expressed reluctance to get involved in the doings of a foreign country. All except for Marty Glickman, one of the few Jewish athletes on the team. When he’d sat down next to her in a deck chair the previous day, she’d asked him what he thought about boycotting and he hadn’t missed a beat. “We need to defeat Herr Hitler’s appalling bigotry. We have the opportunity to show the world that his ideas about Aryan superiority are not only despicable, but wrong,” he had said, banging his fist against the armrest of his seat for emphasis. She felt grateful for someone with a strong opinion on the subject, and if she was honest, he’d said what she wanted to hear.
Eleanor stretched her arms overhead. “I suppose I should be heading down to my cabin. I like to avoid crowds these days.”
“I know. Good luck.”
“You too, darling. We’re all going to need it.” And with that Eleanor stood, straightening her long coat. She waved goodbye and strolled away, her head ducked down so as not to draw attention to herself.
WHEN THEY ARRIVED in
