Playing by Heart by Anne Mateer Page B

she tied on her apron. Then she shooed us into the front room. Two phonograph records later, we sat down to supper, Giles spilling his news, Ma flitting around the table like a schoolgirl instead of a middle-aged woman.
    â€œEat up, Brian. There’s plenty more.” She smoothed his hair, patted his cheek. He chewed and smiled. The same scene had been repeated with Clay a hundred times over. But never with me.
    I shoveled black-eyed peas and ham into my mouth, sopped up the gravy with a square of corn bread. And changed the subject. “So what about your basketball team? What do you think will happen to them?”
    Giles wiped a trail of butter from his chin. “I feel real bad about that, but I talked with Principal Gray right after I enlisted. He said not to worry. He’d find a replacement coach as well as a teacher to cover my classes.”
    I pushed my plate away. Principal Gray knew. Had he known when I’d spoken with him before? Of course he wouldn’t have felt free to tell me even if he had. Suddenly all my plans for war bonds and a new gymnasium felt impossible. I’d pictured Giles and me making it happen together.
    â€œYou know, I’d counted on your help to recruit the school board’s support for a new gym.”
    Ma picked up our empty plates. Giles thanked her. Once we heard the water flowing in the kitchen, he leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “What are you up to now, Vaughn?”
    I lowered my voice. “I plan to bolster Dunn’s contribution to the war effort and maybe secure us a new gymnasium when the fighting’s over.”
    I’d stayed late at school for several days, putting the plan onpaper. The more figures I considered, the more convinced I was it could work.
    His eyebrows arched. “You always did have ambition.”
    â€œIf you’re still here a week from Thursday, I’d love to have your support at the school board meeting.”
    â€œYou got it.” The legs of his chair thumped to the floor. “I don’t leave until the following Saturday. But you don’t need me. You’ll have the school board seeing things your way in no time.”
    He had more confidence in my powers of persuasion than I did. I shook my head. “Even if I do, I’m going to miss having you on my team.”

13
    L ULA
    On the second day of my new job, I finished reading the book and the journal on teaching music. Julia Ettie Crane insisted students start with learning to read written music. I’d already surmised that the former teacher had subscribed to this theory. I had a phonograph in my classroom as well as a supply of classical recordings. She’d left a few popular songs, too. But I decided not to pay attention to those. Not if I intended for my students to take this class seriously. To take me seriously.
    Teaching my students to recognize the arrangement of notes on the page was similar to teaching mathematical formulas. Not as enjoyable as working out equations, perhaps, but just as fundamental. If the students demonstrated some proficiency in reading music, we could move quickly to performing the more difficult pieces.
    Once I felt the students knew the notes by sound and sight, I’d adopt the approach of Dr. Hollis Dann of Cornell University: that the aim of music in schools should be toward culture andrefinement, cultivating music makers, not noise producers. We would be serious vocal musicians.
    It helped some, settling my philosophy on the subject matter I would teach. And realizing that high school students were less likely to criticize a female teacher than their collegiate counterparts. Especially a female music teacher.
    I arranged my scribbled lesson plans, then picked up the pamphlet on basketball and skimmed the pages once more. It was like trying to read Chinese. And I only had a couple weeks to figure it out.
    With a sigh, I stuffed the pamphlet into my handbag. Maybe it would look