American Girl

Indiana

The newspaper clipping fell out of the scrapbook when the elderly woman removed it from the shelf. Struggling to bend, she picked up the yellowed journal and gazed upon the headline. Even after so many years, a tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek.

Buck Rhodes was a fine man. When she was a young girl, barely out of her teens, he escorted her to all of Indianapolis's social affairs. He made her feel like the grandest lady in town when he took her arm and walked her home from church. The only thing she did not admire about him was his obsession with fast cars.

Ready to take any dare, Buck challenged anyone with a motorcar to race against him. Whether on a city street or country lane, he was prepared to take off like a shot at a moment's notice. Lena Walsh cautioned him against speeding, particularly with her in the car.

"One of these days, you're going to get yourself killed," Lena remarked, leaning in the roadster's open window. "I won't go driving with you again."

Hugging herself tightly around the middle, Lena walked away. The road stretched out long in front of her. They had driven miles outside Indianapolis on that Sunday afternoon. When they pulled up behind another roadster filled with young men, Buck challenged them to a race. Without warning, he pushed the accelerator to the floor and roared along the dirt road, throwing up dust.

The other car kept up the pace. The young men hung out of the windows, hooting and hollering. Buck gripped the steering wheel tightly and fixed his eyes intently on the road ahead. Lena recognized the glare of determination in his eyes. The speedometer inched up to 50mph, then 60. The roadster remained beside them. Buck hitched himself forward in his seat and focused his eyes on the horizon. The speedometer hit 70 and 80.

Lena braced herself and hung onto her hat. She felt the wind lift it and clamped her hand down tighter. The roadster continued to gain speed. The other car fell behind, yet Buck continued to accelerate. Lena shouted for him to stop.

Finally, Buck slammed on the brakes. The tires kicked up dirt, and the car spun. As it spun, it pivoted on two wheels. Lena felt the car tilt, and she screamed. It landed on its side, the wheels still spinning.

"You okay?" one of the young men asked, rushing to the vehicle.

Buck raised himself through the window and then turned to assist Lena. She glared at him menacingly and refused his assistance. Instead, she pulled herself out of the car. Standing on the side of the road, she straightened her pelisse dress and adjusted her hat.

"Not a scratch on me," Buck boasted, grinning from ear to ear.

"Speak for yourself," Lena muttered, dusting off her clothes.

"That was some race," the first young man exclaimed. "Cade Kellaway." He stuck out his hand.

"Buck Rhodes." He grasped the hand heartily and shook it. Noticing he hadn't introduced her, Lena snorted and turned away.

"This is Denver Marks and Willy Kerr." Cade indicated his companions. "That was some real fancy driving. Where'd you learn to do that?"

"Practice." Buck grinned, slapping Cade on the back. "How about a hand turning my sassy lady back on four wheels?"

"Sure, Mister," Denver exclaimed. The three young men righted the roadster while Buck stood by watching. After lauding over Buck for several moments, they climbed into their own car and sped away.

When Buck finally turned toward Lena, she had begun walking toward Indianapolis. He pulled his roadster beside her and paced his speed with her footsteps. Leaning out the window, he grinned at her, flashing his perfect white teeth.