In Every Heartbeat Part 13

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 G.o.d-talk. G.o.d 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 G.o.d. 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.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

If only he had two good legs! Pete slapped the banister at the top of the stairs. He wanted to run after Bennett and a.s.sure 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 a.s.signment lay on his desk, awaiting completion. He'd specifically requested all of the week's a.s.signments 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 antic.i.p.ated 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 cla.s.s winged through his mind: "G.o.d is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in G.o.d, and G.o.d in him." "G.o.d is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in G.o.d, and G.o.d in him." A twinge in his gut accompanied the remembrance. He'd just told Bennett that he wanted to serve G.o.d well, to be an instrument of G.o.d'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 G.o.d's love? A twinge in his gut accompanied the remembrance. He'd just told Bennett that he wanted to serve G.o.d well, to be an instrument of G.o.d'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 G.o.d's love?

But his parents didn't deserve his love. They'd rejected him- thrown him out the way people threw away garbage. G.o.d 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 a.s.signment.

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Alice-Marie's father cranked a lever and the Model T's engine changed from a steady chug-chug chug-chug to a sputtering, persistent cough. "Here you are, ladies. Back again." 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 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 embarra.s.sed hurt. "You were trying to make an impact impact on me? There's nothing you could teach me worth knowing!" 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 unb.u.t.toned. 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 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 not offer excuses for you. I will offer excuses for you. I will not not be your friend anymore. You are now completely on your own-just the way you like it." be your friend anymore. You are now completely on your own-just the way you like it."

She s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 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. 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 pa.s.sions 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. 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 bas.e.m.e.nt of the St. Louis County courthouse. Because that boy was Petey's brother.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

How do you know he's Pete's brother?"

Libby toyed with the straw in her tall soda gla.s.s, giving Bennett only a brief, impatient look. She hunched farther into the high-backed booth in the corner of the drugstore and hissed, "Didn't you hear anything I just said? The man at the newspaper office said the boy's name was Oscar Leidig."

"And?" Bennett slurped a bite of ice cream.

Libby wished she could yank the dish and spoon away from him. She'd consumed very little of her vanilla phosphate, too tense to enjoy the treat Bennett had purchased. His appet.i.te, however, appeared to be intact. He'd already finished one ice cream sundae and started on a second. "And what? His last name is Leidig!"

Bennett laughed. "Lib, you always let your imagination get away from you. You hear a name and right away you think-"

"What else am I supposed to think? The man who covered the trial said the boy is tall, with blond hair-he showed me sketches made during the trial. He looks exactly like Petey." Libby had spent the past three days mulling over the few facts she'd gleaned from the newspaper reporter when she'd sneaked away from Alice-Marie's house. The knowledge had eaten at her until she could no longer hold it inside. So she'd asked Bennett to accompany her to the drugstore for a private chat. Libby hugged herself, remembering the artist's renditions of the trial lawyers, judge, and defendant. The emptiness in the defendant's eyes-eyes so much like Petey's- continued to haunt her.

"There are lots of tall, blond-haired men in the world, you know. They aren't all Pete's family members." Bennett swirled his spoon through the etched gla.s.s bowl, turning the remaining chocolate sauce and melting ice cream into a mushy brown mess. "There's probably more than one Leidig family in a town the size of Clayton. It's possible the kid is related to Pete-maybe a cousin or something-but he doesn't have to be Pete's brother. Has Pete ever mentioned a brother named Oscar?"

Libby shook her head. "But that doesn't mean anything. He could have a brother named Oscar and we wouldn't know it, because Petey never talks about his family. He thinks of Mr. and Mrs. Rowley as his parents now."

Bennett took one last bite and then pushed the dish away and clanked the spoon onto the table. "Yeah. They always treated him him like a son, but-" like a son, but-"

Libby waited for him to finish, but he clamped his lips shut and stared to the side. She asked, "So what do I do, Bennett? How do I tell him?" Ordinarily, Libby wouldn't ask Bennett for advice. His cavalier att.i.tude usually made him respond flippantly rather than seriously. Yet she hoped the seriousness of the situation would elicit sympathy and cooperation from Bennett.

Bennett rested his elbows on the edge of the table. "All right, Lib, let's pretend for a minute that this kid-this Oscar Leidig-is Pete's brother. He's committed a crime-" Pete's brother. He's committed a crime-"

Libby grimaced, remembering what the newspaper reporter had told her. "A terrible terrible crime." crime."

"A terrible crime," he repeated. "And he's going to pay for it with his life."

The imagination Bennett had mentioned earlier painted ugly pictures in Libby's mind. She shuddered. "That's right."

"So that means he's going to be dead."

Libby wished Bennett wouldn't speak so matter-of-factly about something so distressing. "You're far too indifferent about this, Bennett!"

He flipped his palms toward her. "I'm just stating the facts. Isn't that what you wanted to do-uncover the truth? Well, there it is. If this kid's already condemned to die, what difference does it make if he's Pete's brother? The judge has already given the sentence. How will telling Pete change anything?"

Libby stared at Bennett in silence, digesting what he'd said. Although she didn't care for his apathetic tone, his statement made sense. Might it be better to keep the information to herself? Telling Petey would only bring him pain-especially since there was no hope of saving his brother.

"But if you really think he needs to know," Bennett continued, "you better find out for sure whether this boy is Pete's brother. Get all the information before you go running to Pete and telling him his kid brother has been convicted of murder. Did that newspaper man tell you who the kid's parents were?"

"He only told me what he'd gleaned from sitting in on the trial-the boy's name, what crime he'd committed, and the sentence." Libby slumped in the seat. "I got the impression no one really cares much about this boy. He's just one of any number of young troublemakers running wild, wreaking havoc. The newspaper man even seemed relieved to have one less ruffian on the streets." She sighed. "Maybe I should tell Petey just so someone else cares about this boy. Everyone else seems completely indifferent."

Bennett reached into his pants pocket and withdrew some coins. He flipped a nickel onto the table next to his ice cream dish and slid out of the booth. A humorless laugh left his throat. "His brother or not, Preacher Pete would hurry right to the jail to talk to the kid."

Libby nodded solemnly. Yes, Petey would care. Even if the boy sitting in that bas.e.m.e.nt cell was no relation at all, he'd care- because Petey had a heart of gold. Even with all the difficulties he'd been forced to bear-being abandoned by his parents, mistreated by people, and losing his leg-he chose to pour himself into others rather than feel sorry for himself. He'd make a wonderful minister. Her heart panged as she realized, once again, how his becoming a minister would separate them one day.

Libby rose, and Bennett draped his arm across her shoulders as he led her toward the door. They walked in silence to the campus, their breath sending little clouds of condensation into the cool evening air. When they reached Rhodes Hall, Bennett turned Libby to face him. "Can't tell you what to do, Lib. But I wouldn't say anything to Pete unless I had all the facts. If you really think he should know, find out for sure whether this Oscar Leidig is really his brother or not."

"But how can I do that?"

Bennett chuckled and brushed his knuckles along her jaw. "Seems simple enough to me. Ask Pete."

"If I ask Petey, he'll want to know why I'm asking, and there will be no way to avoid telling him what his brother has done."

Bennett shrugged and turned to head down the sidewalk toward his dorm. He called over his shoulder, "Then go ask the kid."

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On Thursday morning, Pete plopped his suitcase open on his bed. He stood staring into the empty case, gnawing his lower lip in indecision. What did a person wear when seeing his parents for the first time in almost a dozen years?

He decided to wear work trousers and a soft chambray shirt for travel; he would don the suit Aaron and Isabelle had given him as a graduation gift when he went to his parents' apartment. Pa and Ma wouldn't expect him to look like a gentleman. He smiled, antic.i.p.ating the surprise he'd certainly witness in their eyes. He hoped to glimpse pride, too-a displaced pride, since they'd had nothing to do with the man he'd grown to be. Would that pride change to shame by the time he'd finished speaking his piece?

He hopped to the wardrobe on his good leg and withdrew his suit. Turning awkwardly, he made his way back to the bed. Every jarring step drove deeper his angry resentment toward Gunter and Berta. Once I've said what needs saying, the anger'll be gone Once I've said what needs saying, the anger'll be gone. He prayed that would prove true.

His hands shook as he meticulously folded his pants, jacket, and shirt. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and broke out across his back, making him feel sticky. Nausea attacked, and he sank onto the edge of the bed. Holding his stomach, he willed the feeling to pa.s.s. Nerves . . . just nerves. But he had to gain control before he boarded the train or the motion would surely make him sick. Gritting his teeth, he finished packing and strapped on his peg leg. He glanced at his pocket watch.

The train was scheduled to leave at ten o'clock. He'd eat breakfast, let his stomach settle, and then head to the station. And by tomorrow I'll be rid of Gunter and Berta-and their hold on me-for good. And by tomorrow I'll be rid of Gunter and Berta-and their hold on me-for good.

With that thought hovering in his mind, he walked across the grounds toward the dining hall. Halfway there, pounding footsteps sounded behind him, and he braced himself in case the runner accidentally b.u.mped him when pa.s.sing. But to his surprise, the steps halted and someone threw an arm around his shoulders. His surprise grew when he looked into the grinning face of Roy Daley.

"Morning, Peg leg."

Roy's firm grip on Pete's shoulder combined with his swaggering gait made Pete feel off-balance. His muscles tensed as he fought to keep his footing. "Good morning."

"Mind if I join you for breakfast? Somethin' I'd like to discuss with you."

Puzzled, Pete shrugged. What could Roy want? The other man had ceased hara.s.sing Pete and Bennett, to Pete's relief, after the Sunday baseball game. In fact, Roy had kept his distance, ignoring them so thoroughly Pete believed he'd forgotten they existed. His sudden friendliness put Pete on his guard.

They entered the dining hall side-by-side, with Roy keeping a grip on Pete's shoulder as if afraid he might bolt. Roy waved at a table of friends, smirking and raising one eyebrow in a way that seemed to communicate a secret message. Pete's apprehension grew more intense by the minute. Roy pointed to an empty table and gave Pete a little push toward it.

"Have a seat, Peg leg, ol' buddy. I'll get us both some breakfast and be back in a minute."

Uncertain but unwilling to cause conflict, Pete pulled out a chair and sat. He watched Roy amble to the front of the line. Two students voiced mild protests when he b.u.t.ted in front of them, but Roy laughed and plopped two plates on his tray. Pete looked over to the table where Roy's friends sat. They each wore a smirking grin, their eyes darting from Roy to Pete. A cold chill raised the fine hairs on the back of Pete's neck. What was Roy up to?

Roy came to the table and slid a plate of food in front of Pete. "There you go. Waffles today-they look good. Eat up." Roy began sawing off a large chunk of waffle.

Pete kept his hands in his lap. "Do you mind if I say grace?"

Roy's fork paused midway between his plate and his mouth. Then he let the fork clatter onto his plate and held his hands wide. "Be my guest."

Pete bowed his head and offered a brief prayer of blessing. When he finished, Roy cleared his throat and plucked up his fork once more. He took the first bite without saying a word. As soon as Pete lifted a bite to his mouth, Roy drawled, "So, tell me about Miss Conley."

Pete nearly choked on the bite. He chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of milk. "Tell you . . . what?"

Roy snickered. "Everything." He popped another bite in his mouth and talked around it. "I already know from her roommate she's an orphan-doesn't bother me. I know she wants to be a journalist-that'll probably pa.s.s. Women and careers . . ." He snorted softly, then grinned. "But what I don't know is how she's connected to you and Martin. You all were thick as thieves at the beginning of the year, but now you've kind of . . . I don't know . . . split up, I guess." He forked up another bite of waffle. "So . . . is she your girlfriend?"

Pain stabbed Pete's chest. How he wished he could say yes. But he shook his head.