In Every Heartbeat (28 page)

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-ONE

P
ete, I’m not going to ask you again.” Jackson’s tone turned stern. He placed his hand against Pete’s chest. “Stay here with your mother and the kids. Let me talk to your father alone.”

Pete glanced over his shoulder. His mother stood beneath the canopy of Branson’s Market. She held Lorenzo close to her side, and the other children crowded around her. Did they huddle near to be close to their ma, or were they merely trying to avoid the chilly rain?

He turned back to Jackson. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to talk with him alone. If what you suspect is true, he’s bound to be defensive and dangerous.” Pete swallowed. “A gun was used on that clerk, Jackson. How would I live with myself if—”

“Don’t even think that way,” Jackson said. “I encountered plenty of unsavory characters in my battle to end child labor. I faced the barrel of a gun on more than one occasion, and I always emerged unscathed. I don’t intend to change that now.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Pete—I’ll stay safe. I’ve got a wife and two daughters at home who need me. I won’t do anything foolish. Now, stay here.” Jackson gave Pete a gentle push toward the canopy. Then he hunched his shoulders and trotted across the street, dodging raindrops. Moments later, he disappeared inside the apartment building.

Pete moved closer to his family. His brothers and sister stared up at him with wide, apprehensive eyes. His mother looked as worried as he’d ever seen her. For so many years, Pete had harbored resentful anger toward his parents—both of his parents. But looking into his ma’s tired, sad face, he wondered if she was just as much a victim of Pa’s apathetic selfishness as he had been. She certainly didn’t resemble the monster of his imaginings with her fingers combing gently through Lorenzo’s tousled hair.

Pete let his gaze drift from Lorenzo to Dennis to the older boys. What would become of his siblings if their home situation didn’t change? Jackson’s inquiries to remove the Leidig children from their parents and give Pete guardianship had gone no farther than a snail could race. He supposed he couldn’t blame the judge—he was a one-legged eighteen-year-old without a full-time job or a home to call his own. In the judge’s eyes, he couldn’t offer anything better than they were already receiving.

Yet Pete still wanted them. Desperately.

The market door squeaked open and the owner, Keith Branson, stepped out. “What’re you folks doin’, all standin’ out here?”

Although the question might have been perceived as a challenge, Pete heard no animosity in the man’s voice. “We needed a place out of the rain for a few minutes. If we’re in the way, we can—”

“Then come inside!” Keith waved his hand, smiling at the children. “Warmer in here. The missus has hot water boilin’ on the stove. Wouldja like a cup o’ tea? Or maybe some cocoa? My Norma makes the best cocoa in town—everybody says so.”

Lorenzo’s face lit. He looked up at his mother, his eyes begging. “Can we, Ma? Huh?”

To Pete’s surprise, Berta Liedig looked to him, as if seeking approval. A lump filled his throat. He offered a nod, and she ushered the children into the store with gentle nudges and murmured admonitions. Pete followed, and a pleasant shiver wiggled across his frame as warmth from the roaring woodstove in the center of the market reached him.

Mrs. Branson hustled forward, her gently lined face wreathed in a smile of welcome. “Oh my, you all look chilled to the bone! That rain’s sure turned our pretty November into a drearsome time, hasn’t it? Mrs. Leidig, there’s a real nice rockin’ chair over in the corner. Why don’t you sit a spell—you look plumb tuckered. You children come on over by the stove an’ I’ll get to pourin’ that cocoa. Nothin’ll warm you faster than a cup of cocoa with lots of milk. An’ cookies? Do you like cookies?”

Lorenzo nodded so hard his hair flopped. “Yes’m!”

Laughing, Mrs. Branson tweaked Lorenzo’s nose. “I thought so. Well, I got cookies, too. Oatmeal just overflowin’ with plump raisins. Come on over close, now.”

Berta sank into the rocking chair and rested her head on the curved back. But she kept her eyes trained on the children, who clustered around the stove while Mrs. Branson busied herself preparing the cocoa. With his family occupied, Pete returned to the front door and peered across the street, focusing on the apartment’s entrance. He sure wished Jackson would hustle on out of there.

Keith sidled up beside Pete and nudged him with his elbow. “Ever’thing all right?”

“I hope so . . .”

The man flicked a glance over his shoulder at the others, then inched closer to Pete. “That fancy man I seen out on the sidewalk with you all . . . he here to help?”

Pete nodded. “Yes. He’s a lawyer. We’re trying to get the children into a better home.”
Please let it be with me!

“That’d be a right good thing.” Mr. Branson heaved a sigh. “The missus an’ me were talkin’ the other night. Feelin’ purty guilty, too, I don’t mind admittin’.”

Pete sent the man a puzzled look. “Guilty? Why?”

“All that time we spent fussin’ about how nobody ever raised a hand to help them kids . . . an’ we realized we’d done nothin’ more’n fuss. We could’ve helped, too.”

Pete gave the man’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “I’d say you did plenty. You let them sneak off with fruits and vegetables without ever paying a penny. You made sure they were fed. That’s a heap more than others have done.” A hard edge crept into his voice.

Keith hung his head, his expression sorrowful. “But it weren’t enough. Not hardly enough. We seen that oldest one skulkin’ on the street corners, hangin’ with riffraff. I’m wishin’ now I’d’ve offered him a job. Idle hands’re the devil’s workshop, they say. If I’d’ve kept him busy, maybe—”

“Don’t blame yourself.” Pete shivered and slipped his hands into his coat pockets. Keith Branson was taking too much responsibility on himself. It was Gunter Leidig’s job to keep Oscar out of trouble—a job he’d failed at miserably. The tingling ache in his stump increased as it always did when he stood in one place too long. Yet he wouldn’t change this post until Jackson emerged. He tapped the tip of his peg on the floor. “No, sir, it’s not your fault. I should’ve come back long ago. I didn’t because I was scared of facing my pa.”

Keith’s head shot up, and his jaw dropped. “So you
are
a Leidig!”

Shame-faced, Pete nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry I misled you. But my lawyer friend is helping me change my name. Won’t be long and I’ll be Peter Rowley.”

“How come?”

The childish voice startled Pete. He turned awkwardly to find Lorenzo standing behind him with a steaming mug of cocoa held between his palms. Confusion marred the little boy’s face. “Does that mean you won’t be my brother no more?”

Pete wished he could go down on one knee before the boy and speak to him at his level. But the best he could do was prop his hand on his good knee and bend forward. “Of course not, Lorenzo. I’ll always be your brother.”

“But why’re you changin’ your name, then?”

How could he explain to this boy that the name brought ugly memories? His name made him feel shameful, knowing it was bestowed by a man who cared so little for his family. He detested his tie to Gunter Leidig. He sought words of assurance, but before anything came to mind, a loud
pop!
echoed from somewhere outside.

Lorenzo jumped. Cocoa sloshed over the rim of the mug and dribbled past his hands. “What was that?”

Pete stood up, looking around in puzzlement. Keith stepped closer to the door, his head cocked.

Pop! Pop!

The older man spun to face Pete, his eyes wide. “Those sounded like gunshots!”

“Oh, dear Lord. Jackson . . .” Pete stumbled past Mr. Branson and out the door, clear to the curb. Rain blinded his view, but he cupped his hands above his eyes and squinted through the steady downpour. Across the street, the apartment door burst open and a man leapt off the porch. Without pause, he ran pell-mell down the street and disappeared in the gray curtain of rain. But Pete got enough of a glimpse to recognize him. He quickly looked back at the apartment door. No one came in pursuit. That could only mean one thing.

He whirled toward the market to see Keith standing in the doorway, holding out his arms to keep the children and women inside. Pete hollered, “Mr. Branson, do you have a telephone?”

The man nodded.

“Call the police! And tell them we’ll need an ambulance— send them to the Leidigs’ apartment. You all stay here. I’ve got to tend to Jackson!”

Ignoring the stabbing pain in his stump, Pete ran across the rain-slick cobblestones as fast as his peg leg would allow. His soul implored with every clumsy step,
Please, Lord, let Jackson be all right
.

Libby cupped her hands around the steaming mug of coffee and scowled at Bennett. The earlier frivolity that had exploded on the lawn continued in the dining hall. Although the room always buzzed with conversation at mealtimes, this evening students remained long after the dinner hour to chat and sip coffee. Bursts of laughter rang from various corners, giving the room an air of festivity. It seemed everyone had enjoyed seeing Roy get a taste of his own medicine.

“I understand why you’d want to see Roy roundly defeated, but I do not appreciate being the cheese in a mousetrap.” Libby used her sternest tone to address Bennett. “If you were going to use me, you should have warned me.”

“Yeah, I probably should have.” Bennett’s voice carried no remorse, and to Libby’s increased irritation Alice-Marie released a little giggle at his nonchalant reply. He slipped his arm across the back of Alice-Marie’s chair and grinned. “But it would have spoiled the surprise.”

Another loud round of laughter burst from the group sitting behind their table. Libby leaned forward and raised her voice. “I nearly forgot to breathe when that masked man picked me up and started running with me!”

Bennett snickered. “Yeah. Half a dozen of ’em volunteered for that part of the plan. I chose Riley because I knew he’d behave himself and actually put you where I wanted you.”

She supposed she should thank him for his consideration, but another question filled her mind. “How did you get Roy to come, anyway? I can’t imagine him responding to anyone’s beck and call.”

“That was the beauty of the whole plan.” Bennett raised his face and let out a hoot of amusement. “He thought
he
was beckoning
you
, but in reality
we
were beckoning
him
. All it took was a few well-aimed messages sent in someone else’s name.”

“In other words, lots of falsehoods.”

“But look at the end result!” Bennett threw his arms wide and bounced a beaming smile from Alice-Marie to the surrounding tables of jovial students and back to Libby. “Wasn’t it worth it?”

Bennett’s comment teased at the fringes of Libby’s mind. Was an end result more important than the means used to achieve it? “I don’t know.”

Suddenly Bennett pulled his face into a grimace. “Besides, all you got was the brief scare of being swept off your feet. I’m paying a much higher price.”

“What’s that?”

Bennett toyed with his napkin, his head low. “To get Caroline to play along, I had to promise to take her to the drugstore for a sundae Saturday afternoon.”

Envisioning loud-mouthed Bennett with the meek, mousy Caroline, Libby hid a smile. “I think that’s a fair retribution for being involved in such deception—for Caroline.”

Bennett’s head bounced up. “Hey! That isn’t nice!”

Libby and Alice-Marie shared a laugh at Bennett’s expense. While their laughter rolled, someone tapped Libby on the shoulder. She shifted, still giggling, to look into Miss Banks’s serious face.

Libby gulped, swallowing her amusement. “Yes, ma’am?”

The dormitory matron handed Libby a folded slip of paper. “This telegram came for you. Sent by Maelle Harders.”

A chill inched across Libby’s flesh. She took the paper with a shaky hand. “Th-thank you.”

Miss Banks gave Libby a quick pat on the back, and Libby was certain she read sympathy in the woman’s usually unfriendly face. Spinning to face Bennett, she held the telegram aloft. “I’m afraid to open it.”

“Oh, stop with the dramatics, Lib.” Bennett rolled his eyes. “Maelle’s probably just confirming your travel plans for Thanksgiving— the break’s coming up, you know.”

Libby shook her head. “No. It’s bad. I know it’s bad.” She shoved the telegram across the table. “You read it.”

Releasing a long-suffering sigh, Bennett took the paper. He raised one eyebrow and shot Libby a you’re-being-ridiculous look, then he unfolded the telegram. His jaw dropped, and his face drained of color. Somehow Libby knew he wasn’t teasing.

She snatched the telegram away from him and read the brief message:
Jackson shot by Pete’s father STOP At hospital in Clayton STOP Please pray STOP
Libby pushed away from the table. Lifting her skirts, she raced for the door.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-TWO

H
alfway across the moon-bathed yard, Libby stumbled to a halt. Where was she going? She couldn’t outrun her worry and fear. She hugged herself, realizing she’d left her coat in the dining hall. Should she go back? Her chest heaving, she looked frantically right and left. The wind, growing ever chillier as evening turned to night, tugged at her skirt and hair. Shadows lurked in every direction.

In her mind’s eye, a parade of faces replaced the eerie landscape. Jackson, Maelle, Petey, even Hannah and Hester. She envisioned them with stricken eyes and trembling lips. Her heart ached for each of them, but mostly for Petey. His father had injured Jackson. Petey would bear a burden of displaced guilt for the rest of his life.

Please pray, Maelle had entreated. Such a short, simple request, but so much agony and pleading behind the words. Libby’s eyes flooded with tears, and she pressed her fist to her lips. She thought her chest might collapse, so great was the longing to do as Maelle had bid.

“Libby! Libby, wait!”

Alice-Marie’s voice reached Libby’s ears. She turned and spotted her roommate and Bennett trotting toward her, but she couldn’t talk to them now. She had a mission to complete—she must find God and beg Him to save Jackson. To save Petey. Alice-Marie and Bennett would only distract her. Catching her skirts again, she took off. Unmindful of direction, only aware that she must find the place of solitude where God resided, she ran.

She dashed between rows of towering trees that sent branches like reaching fingers toward the star-sprinkled sky. She emerged in a grassy field, and her race became hindered by knee-high grass. Grunting in frustration—she
must
find God!—she forged forward, and her foot slammed into an immovable object. She fell face-first into the cushion of thick dried grass with her legs draped across something hard and cold. The stone foundation, waiting like an open embrace beneath the moonlit sky.

Her lungs burning, unable to pull herself to standing on her trembling legs, she twisted around and collapsed with her arms and head resting on the length of cold, rough stone. Her fingers curled around the edge of one portion of the foundation, and warm tears washed down her cheeks—the first tears she’d allowed herself to shed since she was a little girl. There, all alone, she pressed her face to the solid, enduring foundation.

As she lay there, chest heaving and heart aching, the opening lines from a hymn they’d sung in the chapel at Shay’s Ford winged through her memory.
How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!
She shifted slightly, the stone abrasive against her cheek, as another line echoed through her heart.
Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed, For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.

One of Maelle’s gentle lessons from long ago crept into Libby’s mind:
Darling girl, when you ask Jesus to be your Savior, then God becomes your Father. You’ll be His and He’ll be yours for all eternity.

“O Jesus, save me, please . . .” The words groaned from her throat. “Please, be
my
God, my Father.”

And as another rush of tears poured down her face, Libby finally opened her soul to the One the song proclaimed would be with her. Her worry for Jackson, her concern for Maelle and the twins, her heartache for Petey’s burden—everything poured out in a torrent of tearful pleas.

“Please don’t take Jackson from Maelle—she loves him so dearly.

Please don’t let Hannah and Hester lose yet another father—they need him, Lord! And please . . . Please . . . Petey . . .” She gulped, her throat aching so badly she could barely speak. “He’s already had to bear so much. He’s served You faithfully despite it all. Please save Jackson so Petey won’t have to carry the guilt of his death. Please, God. Please . . . Please . . .”

As she prayed, a comforting presence flooded Libby’s frame. A feeling of peace and assurance—unlike anything she’d known before—filled her from the inside out. In wonder, she lifted her face to the star-laden sky. “You’re here, aren’t You, God? That means . . . I’ve finally found You. Oh Lord, thank You!”

She buried her face again, more tears flowing. Cleansing tears. Grateful tears. She had no idea how long she clung to the stone foundation, inwardly praising the One who held Petey, Maelle, Jackson—and her—in His capable hands, but when the tears finally ceased she pushed herself into a seated position. With her hips pressed securely against the stone, she marveled at the change that had taken place deep inside herself. A new awareness gripped her as surely as the stone foundation now supported her tired body. Just as this stone foundation remained despite the building’s destruction, so God remained—immovable, strong, sure—when all else seemed lost. How could she have been so blind as to look past Him? She’d searched so hard . . . and He’d been there all the time, simply waiting for her to stop running and fall into His arms.

The old Libby would have packed a bag and raced to the train station to go to Petey and Maelle. The old Libby wouldn’t have been able to rest, not knowing how Jackson fared. But oddly, Libby had no desire to go to her friends. She merely wanted to remain there, in God’s embrace, trusting Him to meet the needs of the people she held dear. Sitting there, content and at peace, she pressed her hands to her chest, feeling her strong heartbeat below. A smile curved her lips. “God, I know You’re here. I feel You in my every heartbeat.” She gulped, fresh tears flooding her eyes and making the stars swim. “Thank you for making me Yours.”

When she looked toward the cloudless sky, the moon, round and yellow, smiled down from its perch. Libby sighed, her breath hanging on the night air. A chill shook her body. It was late— Alice-Marie and Bennett would be worried if she didn’t return soon. She sent a tremulous smile upward. “We’ll talk again, soon.” Now that she realized God listened and cared, she would speak to Him often.

Gathering her skirts, she got to her feet and returned to her room. Alice-Marie was pacing the floor like a caged tiger. The moment Libby slipped through the door, she rushed at her and threw her arms around her.

“Oh, Libby! Thank goodness you’ve come back! Bennett is packing his bag. I’ve already started packing for you. He said he’d call the train station and find out when the next train for Clayton is due to depart, and—”

“I’m not going.”

Alice-Marie pulled back. “W-what?”

Libby gave her roommate a smile and crossed to her bed. She pushed the open suitcase aside and sat on the mattress. Linking her fingers in her lap, she released a sigh. “I’m staying here.”

“But . . . but . . .” Alice-Marie sank onto her bed, staring at Libby mutely.

Libby reached out and took her roommate’s hand. “Alice-Marie, there is absolutely nothing I can do for Jackson and Maelle or Petey right now. I’m weak and powerless. But God is strong.” The peace that had surrounded her at the base of the stone foundation washed over her again, lifting her heart and bringing a smile to her face. “I’ve placed my friends into His keeping, and I trust Him to care for them.” A little laugh trickled out, joyous and light. How freeing it was to trust God! “
He
is there, and that is enough.”

Alice-Marie shook her head, as if confused. “Are you sure?”

Although Libby knew her roommate was asking if she was certain she didn’t want to go to Clayton, Libby chose to substantiate her final statement. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Alice-Marie sighed, her shoulders wilting. “Then I’ll send a message to Bennett, letting him know you’d rather not go.” She rose and headed for the door. But before she left the room, she peeked back at Libby. “You seem . . . different somehow.”

Libby tipped her head, curious. Was it possible for Alice-Marie to see, on the surface, what had transpired in her heart? Even though she waited, Alice-Marie didn’t explain. With another little shake of her head, her roommate slipped out the door.

What had happened to Libby? Many times during the past two days, Bennett had puzzled over his friend’s strange behavior. In his cynical moments, he accused her of walking in her sleep; at other times, he envied her calm acceptance of everything going on in Clayton. Each time they met, she asked if he’d heard anything about Jackson, and with each negative report he expected her to clench her fists, growl in frustration, or declare she simply
had
to go to Clayton. But even though he saw worry flash in her eyes, something indescribable always chased it away.

Libby just wasn’t Libby anymore. And he couldn’t decide if that pleased or aggravated him.

At noon on Friday, he met Alice-Marie for lunch, always an agreeable diversion. But even Alice-Marie mentioned Libby’s change in attitude. “I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s not acting like herself. I’m really quite concerned for her. I think this situation with Pete and his family has driven her into a kind of madness.”

“Madness?”

“Well, how else can you explain it? She’s started reading her Bible each day—until this week, I didn’t even know she owned one! I’ve caught her several times on her knees praying, and there’s something in her eyes—a kind of dreamy expression that defies description. She’s only huffed at me once in the past three days! If that doesn’t mean something is amiss, then I don’t know what does.”

Two people at the table behind Bennett began arguing about who would win the pennant that year, their voices drowning out everything else in the room.

Bennett grabbed Alice-Marie’s hand. “C’mon. It’s too noisy in here. Let’s take a walk.”

“In this weather?”

He had to admit, being outdoors had lost much of its appeal. With Thanksgiving only a week away, fall had swooped in with gray skies, chilling winds, and occasional rainstorms. But the walls of the dining hall felt confining—he needed space.

“You can wear my jacket over your sweater, and I’ll hold you close.” He winked, smiling when she giggled and blushed. “Let’s go.”

They remained on the paved walkways rather than strolling across the grass. The recent rains had left the ground soggy, and Alice-Marie wanted to protect her shoes from patches of mud. As he’d promised, he tugged her snug against his side, but he admitted the closeness was as much for him as for her—warmth radiated from her body, staving off the cold.

Other students passed them. Everyone—men and women alike—smiled and nodded at him. Bennett found himself strutting. His popularity had doubled since word circulated naming him as the instigator in Roy’s humiliation. None of the others involved had openly admitted their part in the prank, but he didn’t mind. He’d take full credit, even if Roy plotted revenge. At least Roy had stopped pursuing Libby and stopped bothering other students so much.

Alice-Marie shivered and wriggled even closer to his side. “Are you going home for Thanksgiving, Bennett?”

Bennett had assumed he and Libby would return to Shay’s Ford. He hoped Pete would be there, too—and Jackson. “Probably.” He smiled down at her. “Why? Were you hopin’ I’d come to your house instead?”

Her face flooded with color. He should stop talking like this— he was giving her ideas. Now that he’d won over several of the Beta Theta Pi men, assuring his place in the fraternity despite Roy’s objections, he had no need to keep company with her. Besides that, with his increased status around campus, he could snag any girl he wanted. Be a lot more fun to play the field than stick with one. Yet he couldn’t seem to separate himself from Alice-Marie.

She bumped him with her elbow and gave him one of her simpering smiles. “I’m sure Caroline would adore showing you off to her mama and papa. Maybe you’d rather spend Thanksgiving with her.”

Bennett growled, baring his teeth, which only made Alice-Marie laugh. “You know better than that.” Tomorrow he’d endure his promised trip to the drugstore with the plain-faced girl, and then he’d be done with her. Good riddance, too. Her moony looks across the dining hall or from the other side of the lawn tried his patience.

Alice-Marie sighed. Her breath formed a little cloud that hung in front of them for a few seconds. The air was cooler than Bennett had realized. His hands were starting to feel numb. He slipped the one resting on Alice-Marie’s waist into the pocket of his jacket, which hung from her shoulders. With a slight push of his torso, he steered her toward the women’s dormitory. He’d deposit her in Rhodes Hall so he could reclaim his jacket. He needed it.

She offered him another secretive look, her strides narrowing until he was forced to slow his steps. “I know you can’t come for Thanksgiving—it’s such a short break and you’ll want to go be with your friends at the orphans’ school—but might you consider spending a few days of the Christmas holiday in Clayton?” Pink stained her cheeks, and Bennett suspected the color was unrelated to the cold air that brushed their faces. “I truly would like for Mother and Daddy to get to know you. The short minutes you and Pete were at the house last weekend didn’t give them sufficient time to become acquainted.”