Bright Hopes. Pat Warren
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