At Every Turn (14 page)

But that mattered little to me right then. Not in the face of Webster’s sacrifice.

 17 

B
y the time we boarded the train back to Langston on Monday morning, I longed for the openness of our country home, the breeze that meandered through the tall windows on all but the fiercest days of summer.

The minute we walked through the front door, I tore off my hat and flung it into the morning room.

“Alyce!” Mother scolded. “Do behave yourself.”

Without bothering to reply, I charged up the stairs two at a time. “Grandmother? We’re home!”

I stopped in the doorway of her room. She lay at an odd angle, as if she’d fallen asleep while sitting and then gradually slid to one side.

“Grandmother?” A step forward. Then two. Wooden movements. Attempting to swallow down my fear. I laid a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t stir.

“Granny?” I shook her just a bit.

Nothing.

“Father! Clarissa!” I backed out of the room, stumbled down the stairs, screamed their names again, reached for the telephone. The operator’s words jumbled in my ears.

“We need the doctor right away,” I told her. My voice sounded too calm. My lips felt dry. My hands like ice. I replaced the earpiece and whirled around.

Mother stood behind me. She laid a hand on my arm. “I’ll send the doctor up when he arrives. You go sit with her.”

I nodded so many times I wondered if my head would ever stop bobbing. I raced back to the bedroom. Father and Clarissa stood over Grandmother, straightening her body, talking in hushed tones.

“Is she—” Now my hands squeezed each other white as I waited for an answer. Father’s pale face frightened me more than Grandmother’s unresponsiveness.

“There’s still a beating in her chest,” Clarissa said. “I put one of her pills on her tongue. I spoke with her no more than ten minutes past.” Her lilt calmed me some.

I closed my eyes and dropped to my knees at Grandmother’s bedside, tears dampening the sheet. A heavy hand settled on my shoulder. I reached up and covered it with my own, letting my fingers curl around my father’s and squeeze tight.

The next thing I knew, Dr. Maven rushed into the room and Mother knelt beside me, her hand gripping mine. I leaned into her, felt her arm cup my shoulder and pull me close. For the first time in many years, I laid my head against my mother’s chest and sobbed.

“I can’t tell you what will happen next.” Dr. Maven’s mouth drooped with each word. “Clarissa did right getting those nitrates into her, but beyond that we just don’t know.”

Father crossed the room, hands behind his back, shoulders slumped. None of his usual swagger or strength. “Who
does
know? We’ll take her there. Europe even.”

The doctor shrugged. “Even if I knew someone who could help you, she’s too weak to move at the moment. You’ll just have to bide your time here.”

Time. The one thing Father couldn’t buy with his money. With the tip of my shoe, I traced a line in the Turkish rug at my feet. How much time did we have? Days? Weeks?

Not Grandmother, Lord. I need her.

I let my lungs take in as much air as they would hold before breathing out again. A whisper floated across my heart.
Trust Me.

Could I trust the Lord with this? Money, and even my reputation, paled in comparison to my grandmother’s life. Gathering every ounce of courage I could muster, I pushed up from the sofa. Grandmother had lived in this house for over twenty years. Not once had I heard her complain of her circumstances. Not her blindness. Or her heart problems. Or the pain that lived in her joints. Not the fact that her son lived for himself and not the Lord. Whatever the issues in her earlier life, by the time I could comprehend her words and actions, she showed only fortitude—and faith. And she’d bequeathed both of those to me long ago.

Circling Father’s stout body with my arms, my heart twisted under his tortured gaze. He didn’t share his mother’s faith, but he loved her all the same.

“We’ll take care of her, Father. You and I and Mother. And Clarissa will help, as well. We’ll cherish every minute God chooses to leave her here on this earth with us.” I knew I’d see her again in heaven one day, but I sensed it wasn’t the right time to remind my father of that fact. Instead, I prayed once more for his salvation.

Throughout that night and most of the next two days, I sat with Grandmother. Then on Thursday morning Clarissa ordered me from the room. “Go get some fresh air. Your mother is on her way up to sit with Mrs. Benson.”

Yes, I did need to get out of the house. Just for a little while.

Clarissa left the room. Quiet returned, broken only by Grandmother’s shallow breaths. The smell of late-summer roses drifted in through the open window, along with distant clanks and clatters from the carriage house.

Webster and I hadn’t spoken since I’d joined Father and Lawrence in the grandstand. Not that I’d expected to see him again on race day. But now, after the long hours at Grandmother’s side, I remembered my jewelry. Had he managed to find someone to buy the pieces—or had he forgotten amidst the chaos? Perhaps he had the money and was waiting for a private time to settle it in my possession. And what about my pay as the driver? That would be even more significant to my cause.

My mind returned to the race. Driving that car had seemed more right than almost anything I’d ever done before. Like I was born to have a steering wheel in my hand and a gas pedal beneath my foot. But could that be right? If God had intended me to drive a race car, why had He made me a woman?

I’d given my life to the Lord, and His word encouraged me to marry a godly man, to raise godly children, to work in the church. Not to fritter away my time racing motorcars. But so far I had no husband, no children. No important occupation, other than taking care of Grandmother and striving to honor my parents.

And gathering three thousand dollars for the McConnells’ mission work in Africa.

I’d never before resented what I didn’t have. Now it chafed like a shoe on the wrong foot. And I couldn’t fathom why.

“How is she?” Mother’s hand rested gently on my shoulder, her eyes fixed on Grandmother’s face.

“The same.”

Mother studied me now. “You need sleep. Or fresh air. Maybe both.” She shooed me from the room, and I found I didn’t mind a bit.

After a quick breakfast, I grabbed an ordinary straw hat and scurried outdoors. I needed to see Webster, to ask him about the money, to talk with him about the race. Anything to make my mind forget to worry about Grandmother.

A faint whistle skidded past my ear. I perked up, hastened my approach to the garage. One of the double doors remained shut; one stood half open. “Webster?”

The whistling ceased. Metal clunked against wood. He met me in the dim light, his serious gaze searching my face.

“How is she?” He tipped his head toward the house. “The old lady.” His words held reverence, not disrespect.

“She’s holding on. We don’t know—”

He nodded, relieving me of the need to say more. I cleared my throat. “I was wondering . . .”

Then I remembered what Father had told me—that Webster had been slated as the original driver. Why had he relinquished that role to me? His opportunity for personal glory and monetary gain given to an untested girl who, if discovered, would bring certain disgrace. Would I ever be able to adequately express my gratitude? And would Webster be willing to give up his position to me again?

“Webster, Father said that you were supposed to—”

“The money.” He turned and jogged deeper inside the building. When he returned, he pressed a fold of bills into my hand. “Eight hundred and fourteen dollars.”

“Eight hundred . . .” I stared at it, then at him. That much money for a few minutes of driving in circles with other cars? I felt my mouth hanging open and forced it shut again.

He grinned. “It’s for both—the jewelry and the driving. I thought you’d be pleased.”

Over eight hundred dollars. Combined with what I’d held onto from before, that put me a third of the way toward my goal—a goal I had less than five weeks left to accomplish. If I could race just two or three more times . . .

The part of me that thrilled at the thought of returning to the track warred with Mrs. Tillman’s voice in my head. It wasn’t ladylike. Or Christian-minded. It was deceitful, in fact. If Grandmother were well, I’d ask her what to do. But that option didn’t exist. I swallowed hard and let go of the words. “When can we do it again?”

Webster lowered his head, peered into my eyes. “The next possibility is Cincinnati, but it’s a longer race. Three hundred miles on that brand new million-dollar board track. Should be something to see—or experience.”

One hundred and fifty laps instead of ten. Could I drive that long, that fast? My chin lifted. “I want to try.”

He toed the ground, studying the dirt before looking back into my face. “Your father came to me on Sunday night asking about the driver. I managed to avoid details.” He closed my fingers around the bills. “Just be sure and hold on to that money. If you hope to have it all by mid-September, you won’t have many more opportunities to earn it. Not by racing, at least.”

Hold on to the money. For me that was easier said than done. I thrust the cash toward him. “You keep it for me. I’ll just give it away again. I know I will.”

He raised his hands in objection. “Oh no. Not me.”

I frowned. Another race, maybe a stronger finish, and I’d be close to the goal. But how could I ensure I wouldn’t give it away before the McConnells returned?

“I guess I’ll have to hide it from myself, then. But I’ll know where I’ve hidden it, so it won’t do much good.” I sighed, staring at the bills.

Webster mopped his face and neck with his usual work rag.

My shoulders slumped. “Please help me, Webster.”

His face reddened. Was it the heat?

He shook his head, but I read exasperation, not refusal. Then he snorted out a soft laugh. “Do you have some kind of container for it?”

I nodded. “Grandmother—” The word caught in my throat. I pushed past the worry. “Grandmother gave me a box. I’ll get it.”

I dashed from the garage to the house, scaled the stairs, and flew into my bedroom. Pawing through my clothes, my fingers grazed the raised beads. I pulled out the box, shoved in all the money I’d collected, and replaced the lid. Then I raced back to the garage.