In Every Heartbeat (18 page)

On tiptoe, she left the study, then dashed up the stairs to Alice-Marie’s room. She retrieved her coat and then crept back down, holding her breath as she passed the parlor doorway. But she needn’t have worried. A question-and-answer session, with Miss Whitford at the center, held everyone’s attention. No one even looked up as she unlatched the front door and slipped outside.

She intended to visit the office of the newspaper that had printed the brief article and discover where this youth was being held. Then she would find a way to visit him. She would uncover his story and tell it in its entirety. Once she’d written a real story, she’d know where her passions lay—in the telling of imaginary tales or in reporting real-life events.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

B
ennett paced his small room, his hands balled into fists and his shoulders tense. Would this rain never cease? It had started early that morning, right after Alice-Marie and Libby left for Alice-Marie’s house, and continued all day. He’d planned to spend the morning working on the grounds—earning a little pocket money—and then get several guys together for a baseball game in the afternoon before it got too cold to play. But now evening neared, and he’d spent the entire day cooped up in his room with a roommate who never took his nose out of his books.

Bennett slammed his fist against the window frame and growled. “Dry up, huh?”

His roommate—a short, bespectacled kid named Winston— looked up from his book and frowned. “Are you speaking to me?”

“Talking to the rain.”

Winston sat in thoughtful silence for several seconds. Then he said, “I think that would be a singularly dissatisfying pastime, considering the rain is incapable of response.”

Bennett had no answer for a comment like that, so he turned back to the window and tried counting the raindrops that ran down the square panes. If Alice-Marie were here, he’d go over and sit with her in Rhodes Hall’s common room. The house matron was always right there, keeping an eye on everything they did, but if they held a magazine high enough, he could sneak a kiss before the nosy old woman cleared her throat and they were forced to lower the cover. So far Alice-Marie had let him kiss her three times. And the kisses had left him hungering for more.

Alice-Marie had invited him to go home with her this weekend, along with Libby. He’d been tempted, but he feared acceptance would give Alice-Marie the wrong idea. He didn’t want her around forever. He just wanted to have some fun with her right now.

Thunder rolled in the distance, letting Bennett know the rain intended to stay for a while longer. He snorted. Maybe he should’ve gone to St. Louis County with Alice-Marie. Giving her the wrong idea and having to backtrack later would have been better than being stuck in this room with Winston.

Stomping to the door, Bennett yanked his jacket from a hook. Winston set his book aside and offered a disapproving look. “Are you going out?”

Bennett jammed his hands into his coat sleeves. “Sure am.”

“But it’s raining.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it, Winnie?”

Winston’s scowl deepened. “Would you like the use of an umbrella?”

Bennett paused, his hand on the doorknob. “You have one?”

“I do.”

“I would like to use it, if you don’t mind.”

Winston carefully set his book aside and then knelt on the floor. His rear in the air, he pawed around under the bed, withdrawing several books, two pairs of socks, and finally a black umbrella. He held it out to Bennett. “My father gave it to me for my seventeenth birthday.”

Bennett plucked it from Winston’s hand and swung it around by its curved wooden handle. “Great gift.”

Winston ducked to avoid being bopped. “Please take care with it. He purchased it on one of his visits to England.”

Why’d they stick him with this boring kid, anyway? He and Winston had nothing in common. Next year Bennett planned to reside in a fraternity house instead of in the dorms. If he came back at all.

“I’ll be careful. See you later.” He hurried downstairs, but once he reached the ground floor, he couldn’t decide where to go. He couldn’t visit Alice-Marie or Libby—they were both gone. Pete would probably be studying—he was getting as boring as ol’ Winston.

He tapped the tip of the umbrella against the floor, and the tapping reminded him of Pete’s habit of tapping his peg leg. Even though he figured Pete would be studying, he’d go see him anyway. It would do Pete good to close the books and have some fun for a change. Maybe they’d play a game of gin rummy. He still had a pack of cards in his jacket pocket from the last time he’d played. Pete wouldn’t gamble, but they could play for pleasure.

After a few moments of fumbling, Bennett figured out how to raise the umbrella, and he darted across the slick grass to Landry Hall. He shook the raindrops from the umbrella before setting it in the corner of the foyer and clattering up the stairs. His wet shoes left footprints behind, but the floor would dry in time. Without bothering to knock, he twisted the knob on Pete’s door and swung it wide. As he’d suspected, Pete was at his desk, bent over a sheet of paper with a pencil in his hand.

“Hey, buddy, working on anything important?”

Pete jerked upright. “Bennett . . . you startled me.”

“Sorry.” Bennett kicked off his wet shoes and flopped across Pete’s cot. The springs creaked loudly in protest. “I came over to see if you wanted to play a game of cards or something. Some of the guys taught me a game called gin rummy—it’s pretty fun.” He patted his pocket where the deck of cards created a lump. “Want to?”

Pete sighed and massaged his temples. “I’d like to, Bennett, but I need to—”

“—work,” Bennett finished for him. He bounced up from the bed and crossed to the window. Bracing one hand on the window frame, he frowned at his friend. “Honestly, Pete, you’re turning into a real spoilsport. When’s the last time you did anything fun?”

“When I pitched for your baseball game.”

Bennett turned quickly to look out the window so Pete wouldn’t see his face pinch with anger. The campus chatter about Pete’s surprising performance had finally died down, but half the students still called him Peg leg Pete. They hadn’t given Bennett any special nickname to set him apart.

“That was weeks ago, buddy.” It took real effort, but Bennett kept his voice even. “I’d say it’s time for something again.”

“Too wet to play baseball,” Pete mused. He shifted his attention back to the papers on his desk.

“So who says baseball’s the only way to have a good time?”

Bennett took two long strides that brought him to the edge of Pete’s desk. “Aw, c’mon, Pete. Take a break. Play a round of gin rummy with me. I’m about to go out of my mind with boredom.”

Pete’s pencil continued scratching across the page. “Read a good book. Work on next week’s assignments. There’s got to be something you can do.”

“I don’t feel like reading, and I save Sunday afternoon for homework. This is Saturday. Fellas ought to have fun on Saturdays.”

Pete rubbed the back of his neck, yawning. “Tell you what, let me finish this and then I’ll try my hand at . . . what did you call that game?”

“Gin rummy.”

Pete made a face. “Sounds like an alcoholic drink.”

At Pete’s tone, Bennett experienced a flash of irritation. “Quit being so stodgy.” He sat on the bed again and threw his arms wide. “Just because you’re studying to become a minister, does it mean you have to act like one now? Can’t you be a regular guy now and then?”

Pete put his pencil down and turned in his chair to face Bennett. “You want an honest answer? No, Bennett, I can’t just be a regular guy. I haven’t been a ‘regular guy’ since that trolley rolled over my leg eleven years ago.”

Without meaning to, Bennett glanced at the empty pant leg dangling from the edge of the chair. Pete hadn’t strapped on his peg leg today—he must not have been out at all. Bennett lifted his gaze to Pete’s face. “But having a peg leg doesn’t mean you have to be so . . .
right
all the time. Honestly, Pete, it’d do you some good to relax now and then. Even at the orphans’ school, you were always everybody’s perfect little angel—never did anything wrong.”

And Bennett had never been able to compete with Pete in the good-boy department. Maybe that’s part of the reason he’d become such a hellion. At least the title got him attention. “You aren’t a preacher yet. Stop acting like one.”

Pete’s face took on that fervent older-than-his-years look Bennett had come to detest. “No matter what I’m doing—whether it’s throwing a baseball or working on my assignments or sitting here talking to you—God’s Spirit is with me. I represent Him. And I want to represent Him well. When people look at me, I want them to see God’s love played out before their eyes.”

Bennett made a derisive face. “That’s all fine and good. But you want to know what I think, Pete? I think you’re doing everything for Him, and He’s doing nothing for you.”

Pete stared at Bennett as if he’d lost his mind. And maybe he had, because once he started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. “If He’s so good and loves you so much, why’d He let you get hurt in the first place?”
Why’d He let me be abandoned?
“Where was He that day you slipped getting off the trolley?”
Or the years I spent scrabbling to take care of myself on the street?

Pete’s face turned red. “God didn’t make me fall. It was an accident.”

“Yeah.” Bennett twisted his lips into a scowl. “An accident that turned you into a cripple.”

“He saved my life! I could’ve died, but God saved me.”

“So you’re gonna spend the rest of your life preaching the Bible to thank Him?”

Pete gawked at Bennett. “I owe Him.”

“You owe Him.” Bennett snorted. “Seems to me you already paid Him well. He got a foot and part of a leg out of the deal.”

“Bennett!”

Pete sounded angrier than Bennett had ever heard him, but instead of being put off by it, he found it exhilarating. At least they weren’t sitting there counting raindrops. Bennett propped his elbow on his knee and gave Pete a cynical look. “God might not’ve made you fall, but He sure didn’t keep it from happening, did He?” Just like He hadn’t kept Bennett from living on the streets, fighting for a scrap of bread.

“It wasn’t God’s fault!” Pete thumped his fist on the desk. “It was—” His voice stopped abruptly, like someone had slammed a door and cut off the sound. He fingered the paper on his desk, crinkling its corner. Finally, so softly Bennett almost didn’t hear him, he said, “It was my folks’ fault. If they hadn’t kicked me out, none of it would’ve happened. God didn’t hurt me, Bennett. My own pa and ma did.”

Try as he might, Bennett couldn’t conjure up much sympathy. “Least you know who your folks are.” He hunched forward, staring at his own feet. “I don’t know anything about my parents, except that they didn’t want me—dumping me like they did on the doorstep of the children’s home. Not even a note pinned to me to let anybody know who I was or where I came from. The sisters had to give me a name. At least your folks kept you. For a while. That’s better than some people get.”

Rain pattered against the window and thunder growled softly, echoing against the rock walls of the hall. When he’d come over to see Pete, he sure hadn’t intended to think about his past. Bennett didn’t live in the past—he lived in the now. That’s the only thing that counted. Having fun now.

He slapped his knee and rose. “You gonna clear that desk off so we can play a game, or not?” He sounded belligerent, but he didn’t care. Pete needed to quit with the God-talk. God had never done anything for Bennett Martin—or whoever he was—and he didn’t intend to start trusting Him now.

“Yes, we can play, just as soon as I finish this.” He bent over his paper.

Bennett sat on the floor and tugged on his shoes. Then he stomped to the door. “Forget it, Pete. There’s always something more important than me. Pleasing God. Pleasing your professors. Well, go ahead and do what you need to do. I won’t bother you again.”

He heard Pete call his name, but he ignored him and took the stairs two at a time. No way Pete could hop after him fast enough to catch him. He grabbed up Winston’s English umbrella, snapped it open, and stepped out into the rain.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

I
f only he had two good legs! Pete slapped the banister at the top of the stairs. He wanted to run after Bennett and assure him he didn’t want their friendship to dissolve. Why did it seem he was losing the people who meant the most to him? First Libby, and now Bennett.

He blew out a mighty breath and hopped back to his room, where the assignment lay on his desk, awaiting completion. He’d specifically requested all of the week’s assignments in advance, and his instructors had been happy to oblige when he’d explained why he wanted to work ahead.

If he had everything finished by Wednesday, as he hoped, he planned to board a train on Thursday morning and journey to the place of his birth. He could hardly believe his parents were still living in Clayton, although no longer in the apartment they’d rented when Pete was young. But his pa still worked at the brewery, the noon-to-eight shift, according to the information Jackson had uncovered. Pete still remembered the yeasty smell on his pa’s clothes when he returned from work. And the sick stench of his breath when he’d spent too much of his paycheck on his employer’s product. If Pa had spent his paycheck on groceries instead of liquor, would he still have sent Pete out on his own?

Pete picked up his pencil to continue working on his essay, but his hand trembled, making legibility an impossible feat. He put down the pencil and closed his eyes. How he anticipated the moment when he’d be able to look at his parents, face-to-face, and tell them how much he loathed them for the pain they’d inflicted on him.

A Bible verse they’d studied in Pastor Hines’s class winged through his mind:
“God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.”
A twinge in his gut accompanied the remembrance. He’d just told Bennett that he wanted to serve God well, to be an instrument of God’s love to those he met. How did finding his parents for the sole purpose of verbally attacking them fit with being an instrument of God’s love?

But his parents didn’t deserve his love. They’d rejected him— thrown him out the way people threw away garbage. God could love them if He wanted to, but Pete had no use for Gunter and Berta Leidig. Once he’d had his say, he intended to talk to Jackson about something else.

He had no desire to hear congregants call him Pastor Leidig. The reference would be a constant reminder of his uncaring parents. He’d given it a lot of thought, and the best way to rid him of his worthless birthright was to throw off all the trappings of his former life. He wanted to be Pastor Rowley. Aaron and Isabelle wouldn’t mind, and Aaron’s parents—who’d become his surrogate grandparents— would be delighted to have Pete share their name.

Only a few more days of being Peter Leidig. He could hardly wait to make the change. But first, he needed to finish his work. Thoughts of his disagreement with Bennett fled as he focused once again on the waiting assignment.

Alice-Marie’s father cranked a lever and the Model T’s engine changed from a steady
chug-chug
to a sputtering, persistent cough. “Here you are, ladies. Back again.”

Libby fought against the vehicle’s vibrations and wrenched the back door open, eager to clamber out. Although she’d initially thought riding in a motorcar sounded exhilarating, the bouncing motion had churned her stomach. Or maybe it was the secret she now carried that had made her sick. Regardless, she sighed with relief when her feet found solid, steady ground.

Alice-Marie sat in the front seat, silent and ramrod straight, until her father rounded the car and opened the door for her. Even after she stepped off the running board, she kept her lips tightly clamped. Libby hadn’t known Alice-Marie was capable of prolonged silence. The girl even talked in her sleep. But during the entire three-hour drive from her home to the school, Alice-Marie had sat close-mouthed with her arms folded over her chest. The cold wind whisking into the car hadn’t chilled Libby as thoroughly as Alice-Marie’s disapproval.

Mr. Daley moved to the rear of the Model T and opened the small trunk area. He lifted out Alice-Marie’s bag. “Here, punkin. Do you want me to carry it in for you?”

“No, thank you.” Alice-Marie’s words came out stilted, as if her tongue were relearning how to talk. “I can manage quite nicely.” She leaned forward and planted a peck on her father’s mutton-chop-whiskered cheek. “You’ll come for me again Thanksgiving weekend?”

“You know I will.” Mr. Daley lifted Libby’s bag and held it out to her. “Elisabet, are you going home for Thanksgiving?”

His innocent question nearly suffocated her. She clung to her bag’s handle with both hands and bounced the bag with her knees. “N-no, sir. I don’t believe so.” How could she go to Shay’s Ford and watch Maelle and Jackson fawn over their new daughters? “I’ll probably stay here and do some writing.”

A loud huff exploded from Alice-Marie’s lips, and she stuck her nose in the air.

Mr. Daley scratched his chin. “Well, I better head home. It’s a long drive, and dark will catch me if I’m not careful. Good-bye, Elisabet. It was . . . nice . . . meeting you.” He offered Libby a brief impersonal smile, then turned to Alice-Marie. The father and daughter shared a few whispered comments that didn’t reach Libby’s ears, but her face burned at their furtive glances.

Alice-Marie gave her father’s cheek another kiss. “Good-bye, Daddy.” Mr. Daley climbed into the driver’s seat, and Alice-Marie and Libby stood beside the road until the Model T spluttered around the corner. Then, without a word, Alice-Marie spun on her heel and began marching toward the dormitory with her bag banging against her leg. Libby trotted along behind her.

Alice-Marie threw a stormy look over her shoulder. “Don’t even think of apologizing. I won’t accept it.”

Libby bristled at Alice-Marie’s superior tone. “I wasn’t going to offer.”

Alice-Marie came to a halt and whirled to face Libby. Fire sparked from her eyes. “You should be ashamed of yourself, leaving the house the way you did. And then refusing to tell my parents where you’d been. Why, you behaved abominably! But then what should I expect from an
orphan
? I should have listened to Mother. She tried to tell me not to waste my efforts on a girl raised with no parental influence, but I foolishly believed I could have a positive impact on you. Now it’s clear to me your behavioral patterns have already been well established, and I shall never—”

Anger coursed through Libby, carried on a wave of embarrassed hurt. “You were trying to make an
impact
on me? There’s nothing you could teach me worth knowing!”

“Oh no?” Alice-Marie threw her bag on the ground and angled her chin high. Her eyes snapped with fury. “What about how not to be a misfit? If it weren’t for me including you, no girl on this campus would give you a moment of time.”

Libby’s jaw dropped. “That’s not true.”

“For heaven’s sake, Elisabet, how can you be so obtuse? As if any decent girl would befriend you after you involved yourself in fisticuffs right in the middle of the campus on your very first day here. Were it not for my excusing you, you would have been shunned from the very beginning.”

Libby started to defend herself, but Alice-Marie continued railing without a moment’s pause.

“And then you hide away in our room, refusing to join any of the clubs or groups on campus.” She swept a disparaging look over Libby from head to toe. “You leave your hair hanging down your back like a curtain instead of putting it up, the way any self-respecting woman would do. Your shoes, if you bother to wear them, are always half unbuttoned. Your fingertips are covered in ink stains, your nails are chipped. . . . I’ve never met a girl so unconcerned about her personal appearance.” She made a sour face. “You might be exceptionally beautiful, as my cousin Roy is so fond of pointing out, but you do not
fit
, Elisabet Conley. And it’s become abundantly clear to me that you never will, because you don’t care enough to try to fit. To fit would require reaching out to others, and apparently you are too self-centered to do so.”

Alice-Marie balled her hands into fists and tapped one toe furiously. “I took you to my home as a favor to you. To give you an opportunity to see how civilized people live and socialize with one another. To show you what your life could be like if you would only cast aside your uncultured ways and behave like a refined human being. But how do you choose to repay me? By sneaking off in the middle of an important meeting!”

“But I was only trying to—”

“Mother was mortified; Daddy was shocked.” Alice-Marie’s shrill voice covered Libby’s explanation. “And because of your poor behavior, I was forced to bear a lengthy scolding for exposing our family and Mother’s friends to such outlandish conduct. Well!” She tossed her head, holding her palms out. “I have washed my hands of you and your strange behaviors. I will
not
offer excuses for you. I will
not
be your friend anymore. You are now completely on your own—just the way you like it.”

She snatched up her bag and marched off toward their dormitory, her nose in the air.

Libby stared after Alice-Marie, too stunned to speak. As much as she wished to deny it, the view she’d been given of herself through her roommate’s eyes wasn’t pretty. The word
misfit
had hurt, but the other descriptions inflicted a deeper pain. Alice-Marie intimated she was someone uncaring toward others, someone who flouted convention and shunned companionship. Libby had always wanted to be like Maelle, a person comfortable being herself. But while Maelle certainly flouted convention, she was a deeply caring woman who reached out to others.

Within her soul, Libby cared. At this moment, she carried a burden bigger than she knew how to hold. But she’d been unable to tell the Daleys where she’d been and what she’d learned. She couldn’t find appropriate words to describe the worry, revulsion, and dread her errand had created.

So she’d remained silent in the face of their questioning. And in doing so, she’d put a huge gap between herself and Alice-Marie. Not until that moment had Libby realized how much she’d come to depend on her roommate’s companionship.

The wind picked up as the sun slunk slowly toward the treetops, and Libby shivered. She scooped up her bag and hugged it to her aching chest. Oh, if only she hadn’t left Alice-Marie’s house. If only she’d ignored Miss Whitford’s advice. If only she hadn’t seen that newspaper article. . . .

Discover where your true passions lie,
the author had instructed Libby. For years Libby had dreamed of becoming a reporter. But for the first time, she realized reporting the truth—telling the whole story—could prove difficult. Heartbreaking. For her, and for some of those reading the truth.

Libby impulsively lifted her face to the sky. Might she find an early evening star so she could wish this newly discovered knowledge away? She sighed, dispelling the childish thought. Wishing changed nothing. She’d uncovered the truth behind the short lines of print in Mr. Daley’s newspaper. And somehow she must find a way to tell Petey about the youth sentenced to hang in the basement of the St. Louis County courthouse. Because that boy was Petey’s brother.