Bright Hopes
Charming was the word, Pam thought as she looked about. A rich carved mantel above a huge stone fireplace, highly polished floors with gently faded area rugs in floral designs, and furniture you could no longer buy. Running a hand along an overstuffed rose couch, Pam smiled. “Are these your things?”
“No, not a single piece. I arrived with only my clothes.” Rosemary went through the arch into the dining room and past into the spacious kitchen. “It even came with dishes and pots. Don’t you just love it?”
Strolling past the drop-leaf table and an antique Singer sewing machine, Pam agreed. “Who owns this place now?”
Rosemary poured lemonade into two glasses tinted pale gold. “I don’t know. Relatives of one of the original families of Tyler, I think. When you get to meeting people around here, you’ll learn that half the town’s related in some way to the other half.” Handing Pam her drink, she tilted up her own glass and drank thirstily.
Sipping, Pam wandered back into the living room. Lace curtains billowed at the front bay window, dancing in a lively late-afternoon breeze. A large maple tree just outside shaded the whole front yard. She saw a squirrel with bulging cheeks scamper busily up into thick limbs and get lost in the leafy top. Turning, she sat down on the comfortably sagging sofa with starched doilies pinned to each armrest and sighed.
“It’s like time has stood still in this house. I feel like I walked into a fifties movie.”
Rosemary flung herself into the chair opposite Pam. “Maybe the forties, even. I was lucky to find this apartment.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind my moving in with you?” Pam asked with a worried look.
“I told you back in Chicago that I’d love the company. There’re two large bedrooms and a big bath with this marvelous claw-footed tub. And I’m not even here much, what with working at Tyler General Hospital, my commitment to the Davis Rehab Center in Chicago and my backpacking trips.”
“I’ll pay half the rent, of course. I can’t believe how low it is compared to Chicago apartments.”
“Isn’t it great?” Rosemary finished her drink and set the glass aside. “So tell me, how are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Honestly? No pain, no numbness, no tingling? Don’t lie to me now. I’m your therapist, remember.”
“I remember. I truly feel great. No symptoms at all. I think I’m solidly in remission.”
“Good.” Rosemary nodded. “If you have any problems—I mean any—let me know. Therapy works best if we catch the problem early. You know how sneaky MS is. One day you notice a little blurry vision, next day your big toe goes numb, and the third day you try to stand and you can’t feel anything from the knees down.”
Pam stared into the cloudy remains of her drink. “I know. Believe me, I don’t want that happening. I’ll tell you at the first sign.”
“This job at the school, do you think you’ll have a lot of stress with it? Stress can aggravate your condition, you know.”
Pam shrugged. “No more than anyone else starting in a new position in a new town.” She looked up, remembering the man who’d tackled her, the warm way he’d looked at her, then the way his eyes had frosted over when he learned who she was. “What do you know about Patrick Kelsey?”
Rosemary swung both legs over the fat arm of the easy chair, scrunching down comfortably. “His family goes way back. He’s a descendant of one of the first families. His parents own and operate Kelsey Boardinghouse on Gunther Street not far from here. Plus his father works at the Ingalls plant and his mother is receptionist for Dr. Phelps. Anna’s real personable. I want you to meet George Phelps, too. He’s a good man in case you need a doctor.”
This wasn’t what Pam wanted to hear. “Why would Patrick have turned so moody back there in the square, when before he heard my name, he was smiling?”
“Maybe he wanted the job you got. He teaches gym and coaches varsity basketball. He’s some kind of hero around here, dating back to his high school football days.”
“Sounds like the people of Tyler take high school sports seriously—and have long memories.”
“You got that right. Fierce loyalty around here. They give newcomers a hearty welcome, then sit back and wait for them to prove themselves. They accepted me, so don’t worry.”
“But you’ve been here three years. It seems I was here three minutes and managed to offend one of their favorite sons.”
“Patrick will come around. He’s really a great guy, always helping people, very family oriented. I’ve often wondered why he’s never married.” Rosemary eyed Pam as she slipped out of her running shoes. “Maybe he’s been waiting for the right woman to come along.”
Pam shook her head. “Don’t look at me. Besides, he seems a bit touchy. If he’s lived here all his life, it can’t be my fault I got the job and he didn’t. Or is it having a woman coach he’s against, possibly?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it. Don’t add to your own stress level.”
“Good idea.” Pam stretched and yawned. “I should unpack, go get some groceries and turn in early tonight. I want to look around tomorrow, and Monday morning I meet with the principal.”
“Oh, she’s nice. Everyone likes Miss Mackie. And she’ll understand about your limitations with MS.”
Pam leaned forward, her eyes serious. “I don’t plan to tell Miss Mackie or anyone else that I have multiple sclerosis. And I don’t want you to say anything, either.”
Slowly, Rosemary raised a questioning brow. “Do you think that’s wise?”
“I don’t know. I do know I need to prove myself, and I can’t do that if everyone’s waiting for me to fall over from fatigue or show up one day in a wheelchair.”
“But if they know, they can—”
“No. Please, Rosemary.” She had to make her friend see. “This is my life and my decision. When we first started working out together at the rehab center, I was going through the aftermath of depression, really feeling sorry for myself. Well, I’ve spent all the time doing that that I plan to. You’re the one who challenged me to learn to live with MS, and I’m honestly trying to. I realize that remissions are temporary, but I feel good and I don’t want constant reminders that I could slip back again any day.”
“Remission periods can last for months, even years.”
“I’m hopeful that’s the case with me. But I want no quarter given because I’ve got a problem here. I want to earn people’s respect, not their pity. Listen as my friend, Rosemary, not my therapist, and try to understand.”
Gracefully Rosemary untangled herself from the chair and walked over to Pam, hugging her as she sat down on the couch. “I do understand. I just don’t want to see you hurt. Over the past two years, I’ve grown to care about you a lot.”
Pam blinked back a quick rush of emotion. “Me, too. I just have to do this my way, okay?”
“Sure.” Rosemary stood. “Now, let me get your bag, so you can unpack while I start dinner. You can shop tomorrow. Tonight I’m cooking my specialty. Chicken chow mein.”
“Sounds great.” Pam searched for her keys. “I hope you’ll make enough so Samson can have dinner, too. He loves Chinese.”
“Not dog food?”
Pam grinned at her friend’s surprised look. “He never touches the stuff. And he likes a wedge of lemon in his water dish.”
“Of course he does.” Rosemary smiled at her friend. “I’m really glad you’re here.” Glancing down, she pointed. “Grass stains. I hope they come out of your slacks.”
Pam considered the green stain on her pantleg. “Think I could get Patrick Kelsey to clean them for me?”
“You really should get acquainted with him. He knows the boys at Tyler High better than anyone else. They trust him.”
Pam tossed her keys in the air and caught them in her fist. “Then I guess it’ll be my job to get them to trust me. Why haven’t you gotten to know him better, since you think he’s so swell?”
Rosemary shook her head. “I’ve been divorced five years and I intend to stay that way. Once burned is twice shy.” She sobered, studying Pam’s face. “Do you ever hear from Bob?”
“No, never. It’s best this way, really. When something’s over, it should stay over.”
“Amen,” Rosemary agreed.
CHAPTER TWO
“YOU LOOK even younger than your picture,” Josephine Mackie said, rising and offering her hand to her new football coach.
Pam smiled as she shook hands with the principal. “I know. It sometimes keeps people from taking me seriously.”
“Not after they hear about all you’ve accomplished,” Miss Mackie said, resuming her seat and indicating the chair across from her desk. “I’m very impressed with your credentials.”
“Thank you.” Despite her somewhat austere looks, there was a warmth about Josephine Mackie that had Pam relaxing.
“It must have been thrilling, being in the Olympics.”
“An unbelievable experience, yes.”
“You won your gold medal when you were only twentyone. I’m surprised you didn’t try again the next time. You were only twenty-five.”
“I’d planned to. I’d even begun training. But younger women were my competition, and although I hated to admit it, the body doesn’t respond at twenty-five as it does at seventeen no matter how hard you try. And the old-timers have more difficulty getting sponsorship money. I decided to turn professional.”
Miss Mackie smiled. She had no trouble understanding the body’s limitations. She glanced down at Pam’s file, then back up. “I hope you’ll understand that I need to ask these questions. Although the college where you coached spoke highly of you, you wrote on your application that they fired you. Why was that?”
“I have no problem answering that question.” Pam crossed her legs and adjusted her cotton skirt. “In training for the Olympics, I learned that an athlete must try to be the best he can be, to push as hard as physically possible and to keep a positive attitude about winning. When I began coaching, I approached the team with the same no-excuses, hard-work strategy. The college administration didn’t agree with my perfectionist methods, even though we’d gone from last place to second in our division. They thought I expected too much from the boys.”
Honesty, even at her own expense. Miss Mackie liked that. “Our Titans aren’t in last place, but we haven’t had a championship team since 1972, the third consecutive year they won the title.”
“That’s impressive. Who was your coach then?”
“Dale McCormick, the man who just retired. He was a real fireball back then, but he seemed to run out of steam.” She watched Pam’s crossed leg rock rhythmically as she sat. Not nerves, she decided, but rather Pam seemed to have trouble remaining idle. “You look as if you have a lot of energy.”
“I do. And a great deal of enthusiasm and love of football.”
Josephine crossed her hands over the closed file. She had no regrets about hiring this young woman, yet it wouldn’t hurt to bring up the concerns voiced by Patrick Kelsey last week. They were apprehensions shared by several others on the school board, she was certain. “Tell me, do you run into any problems as a female coaching young men in an almost exclusively male sport?”
Pam nodded. “A few. I find as I go in that the boys have their reservations. Many think that women don’t even understand football, much less how to coach the game. I usually let them make their jokes, get it out of their systems, and then we get down to work. Once they see that my methods work, they forget I’m a woman. The same theory applies to the school board.”
Miss Mackie found it difficult to believe that young men would forget Pam was a woman, but she let it go. “You certainly have a great deal of confidence.”
If only you knew, Pam thought, but she smiled. “I’ve found that focusing on your strong points and learning to compensate for your weak points builds confidence. And going into a game—or a new job—with confidence is half the battle.”
Leaning back in her chair, the principal studied the young woman seated across from her a long moment, then nodded. “I like your attitude, Pam. I believe you can put the Tyler Titans back into the running for the championship.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“So now, are you settled in? You mentioned you’d be sharing a friend’s apartment.”
“Yes. Rosemary Dusold. She’s a physical therapist and she has a lovely place on Morgan Avenue.”
“I know the house. Beautifully refurbished a while back. Marge Peterson lives on Morgan Avenue. She runs Marge’s Diner right off the town square.”
“Oh, yes. I drove around town yesterday, getting oriented. Is the food pretty good?”
“I don’t eat out much, but they tell me it is. The diner is sort of a gathering spot for folks around here.”
“I noticed it was crowded when I passed by. You’ve lived here all your life?”
“Yes. Tyler has its drawbacks, but I’m comfortable here. It’s a nice, quiet way of life.”
“Coming from Chicago, I like the country atmosphere. I drove out to a lake yesterday and saw this beautiful old place they’re evidently renovating. I believe the sign said Timberlake. I’m glad it’s being redone instead of torn down. These old buildings have such charm. Tyler might attract even more visitors when they finish.”
Miss Mackie pressed her lips together tightly. She’d heard some disturbing things at the Hair Affair last week—that a long-buried body had been found on the grounds of the lodge. However, she hated gossip and wasn’t about to pass any on to this newcomer. “I’m not sure Tyler wants tourism. We kind of enjoy being a sleepy little community.”
“Who owns Timberlake, do you know?”
“Judson Ingalls. His family goes just about as far back as the founding of Tyler. The Ingalls family also owns Ingalls Farm and Machinery and a variety of other holdings.”
“I believe Rosemary and I drove past his home on Elm Street. A beautiful Victorian house.”
“You’ll undoubtedly meet Mr. Ingalls at the games. He’s a member of the Booster Club and a big supporter of our athletic program.” Leaning forward, she changed the subject. “Do you have any questions about your position?”
“Well, I’d hoped you might have some films I could watch on last year’s games. Some of those players are probably on this year’s team as well, and it would give me some idea of their capabilities. Naturally, I’d also like to see the boys’ school records so I can get to know them a bit before we meet next week.”
“I believe our gym teacher, Patrick Kelsey, can help you with all that. Dale McCormick turned over all records to Patrick when he left. I can arrange an introduction or give you his number.”
Pam felt herself stiffen a bit and hoped the astute woman hadn’t noticed. “We’ve met, in the town square last Saturday. I have to ask you. Did Patrick Kelsey want to be football coach?”
So they hadn’t hit it off, Miss Mackie thought. She wasn’t surprised, after her last conversation with Patrick, although she’d hoped he would keep an open mind. “I suspect he did. Patrick played football here at Tyler when he was in high school, and he was an outstanding athlete. He’d been out of college a couple of years before he moved back. Dale McCormick was still doing well with our football teams, but we badly needed a basketball coach. I called Patrick and persuaded him to take over that spot. He’s made those boys into winners, and I think he’s happy in basketball now.”
Pam folded and refolded the edge of her skirt thoughtfully. “I got the impression he wasn’t pleased at my arrival. I could be mistaken, of course, but...”
Josephine sighed. “You’ve been honest with me, so I’ll return the favor. Although he’s only thirty-four, Patrick’s from the old school. He’s not really a chauvinist—after all, he works for a woman and he’s always shown me a great deal of respect. Also, his mother manages two jobs and he adores her. Maybe he’s in the habit of protecting women because he has three younger sisters. At any rate, Patrick doesn’t feel women belong in football.”
That sounded pretty chauvinistic despite Miss Mackie’s explanation, Pam thought. “Is he going to be interfering with my coaching?” she asked quietly. Better to find out now than later.
“Absolutely not.”
“Are you giving me carte blanche, the authority to coach this team my way then?”
The wording was a little strong for her liking, but the principal had to let Pam know she was behind her. “Yes, I am. For one trial season.”
“I understand.”
Miss Mackie’s fingers drummed on the desk top. “Patrick has been told to give you every assistance. He may try to push his ideas on you, as he’s quite opinionated when it comes to sports. And he used to assist Coach McCormick. But you needn’t listen to him. The methods Dale and Patrick used obviously haven’t worked in recent years. I’m anxious to see what you can do. Patrick will back off, you’ll see.”
Pam seriously doubted that. In her mind’s eye, she pictured those intense blue eyes, the solid bulk of his shoulders, the confident stance. Back off? Not Patrick Kelsey. But despite his formidable good looks and his past football glory, he would soon learn that Pam Casals was no pushover.
“I’m sure we’ll manage to keep from coming to blows.” With a smile, she stood. “Thank you, Miss Mackie, for your time. And your confidence.”
“You’re very welcome. I look forward to seeing more of you.”
Leaving the principal’s office, Pam walked down the main-floor corridor, glancing into open classrooms. Curiosity leading the way, she made her way around back to the gymnasium and paused to look it over. Then she moved toward the locker rooms and sports office.
The locker rooms, one for boys and the other smaller one for girls, looked the same as they did in most schools, as did the connecting showers. From there, she walked up a ramp to the football field. It was well maintained, with lights for night games and a fairly new digital scoreboard. The extensive wooden bleachers on both sides were freshly painted, and there was an enclosed announcer’s box. Impressive, Pam thought, remembering she’d been told the Tyler Booster Club actively sponsored improvements.
Retracing her steps, she again passed the gymnasium with its polished floor and headed down a hallway. At the first door, she looked up and read the nameplate. Coach Kelsey. Above it was an empty slot where Coach McCormick’s name had evidently been and where her nameplate would likely go. So she was to share an office with Patrick. Interesting.
She tried the knob but found it locked. Not unusual, since there were probably files inside and possibly equipment. She could go back to Miss Mackie and ask for a key, but she decided to wait.
Staring at the door, she wondered if Coach Kelsey would allow her nameplate to be put into the top slot. With a smile she turned. She would bet her silver medal he wouldn’t.
* * *
PAM STOOD at the far end of the bleachers, watching the football players arrive for the first day of practice. She wore running shoes and gray sweats, and had her hair tied back in a ponytail. Holding her clipboard, she studied the boys, trying to match them to the players in the game videos she’d been scrutinizing for days now. These were the young men who’d successfully tried out in the spring. Most of them had learned the ropes on the junior varsity team.
She’d gotten a key to the office from Miss Mackie and pored over their scholastic records as well. Some were impressive; others were not. She’d found the films neatly boxed and carefully labeled and taken them home to view, leaving Patrick Kelsey a note explaining their absence. She had yet to run into the man himself again.
It was a lovely day, a sunshiny August afternoon, and she was anxious to get started. Around her neck, she wore a yellow whistle dangling from a chain. Putting it to her lips, she gave three long blasts and motioned the boys over.
“Take a seat on the bleachers, fellas,” she invited as they straggled over. Most wore wary expressions and she couldn’t blame them. The unknown always made a person hesitant.
The Wednesday edition of the Tyler Citizen had featured a story about her as the newest addition to the high school staff. They’d run her picture, played up her Olympic achievements and done a commendable job in extolling her coaching experience. The boys and their parents had likely read the article. By the looks on their faces, none of it had removed their skepticism as to her ability to coach them.
Uphill all the way, Pam thought with a familiar tug. When had anything ever come easily to her? Dad had always told her that victories hard won were the sweetest. She believed her father.
Moving to stand in front of the seated group, she looked up at them and smiled. “I’m Pam Casals, your new football coach. I...”
Whistles, nervous giggles and veiled comments followed the announcement as the boys elbowed one another, laughed and stared. Pam patiently waited for them to resettle.
In the back, a heavyset boy wearing a shirt with Italian Stallion emblazoned across the chest stood to be heard. “Hey, you’re a girl!” More guffaws and laughter.
Shifting her feet, Pam smiled indulgently. “Thank you for noticing. Now, I’d like you to forget that I am.”
That announcement was greeted with whoops and hollers and more rib-tickling laughter. Pam banked her annoyance, trying to remember that these were young boys ranging from fifteen to nearly eighteen, feeling the need to assert their masculinity. And feeling safe within their familiar group. But enough was enough.
“Let me ask you a question. Are you proud of the Titans’ record last year, winding up sixth in an eight-team league?” She saw a few faces lose their grins, others look a bit chagrined. “Would you like to play on a winning team, to walk proud, to be the best there is? Would you like to be Class A champions?”
There was a hushed silence for a moment, then a couple of them shouted out.
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
“You bet.”
“Good,” she said, nodding. “Because I want to work with champions.” More cheers and punches of agreement. “I’ve spent a lot of hours lately studying your game films from last year. And I want to tell you all something.” She paused, waiting until she was certain she had their complete attention. “I think you guys have the potential to beat any team in the league.”
The grins were wide now, the affirmative nods and comments that followed rousing. They were beginning to picture themselves as champions, Pam noted with satisfaction. The first step.
When they quieted, she continued. “We’re going to learn three things before our first game. One is conditioning. You have to get in shape and stay in shape. Two, we’re going to learn to play football.”
A blond boy shouted out, “We already know how to play football.”
“Perhaps you do. But we’re going to learn to work together as a team. I want no superstars here. I want team effort. There are no unimportant positions in football. It’s one for all and all for one, straight across the board. And three, we’re going to learn how to win.”
They were strangely subdued as they studied her. Moving her eyes from face to face, she saw the beginning of a reluctant respect forming on a couple. Uphill, but not impossible, she decided. Now if only she could deliver.
“As your coach, I have only two rules. One is that if you don’t pass your classes, you don’t play. Rule number two is that if you don’t come to practice, you don’t play. There are no exceptions to either rule. Other than that—” she paused to flash a big smile “—we’re here to play ball, to have fun and to win.”
“Yea, coach!” a redheaded boy yelled out, followed by several other shouts of agreement.
“Okay, now. Grab your helmets and pads and get out on the field. I want to see what kind of training exercises you’ve done in the past, and I want to watch you run through a few plays so I can see what we need to work on.”
Some whispering together, some openly discussing her talk, they filed off the bleachers and disappeared toward the locker room. Several paused to say a few words to someone seated on the bottom bench at the opposite end. It was only as the last of the boys walked out of sight that she recognized Patrick Kelsey. Unwinding his long legs, he started toward her.