In Every Heartbeat Part 2

Bennett pushed his jacket flaps aside to slip his hands into his pants pockets. "Don't bother to thank me, Pete. You know I can never pa.s.s up a good fight. Didn't bother me at all to come to your rescue."

The furrows in Pete's forehead deepened. "That's just it. I didn't want you coming to my rescue. I could have handled the situation fine. There might not have even been a fight if you hadn't come charging over there with your fists in the air. The Bible says-"

Bennett held up both palms. "Hold it right there. I know you're planning to be a preacher. You want to spend your days praying and sermonizing? Go ahead if that's what makes you happy. But you aren't my my preacher. So don't sermonize at preacher. So don't sermonize at me me."

Pete dropped his head back and sighed. "All right." He met Bennett's gaze again. "I tell you what: I won't fling sermons at you if you won't fling your fists around for me. Pact?" He held out his hand.

Bennett frowned at Pete's hand for a moment. He wasn't sure he liked the tone Pete used. His pal sounded sore about something, but what? Thanks to Bennett, Pete'd kept his nose clean . . . and unpunched. He ought to be grateful that Bennett had stepped in when he did. But if Pete wanted to fight for himself next time, so be it. Bennett wouldn't deny him the pleasure.

He grasped Pete's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Pact, buddy. From now on, your battles are your own."

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"Your battles are your own." Pete replayed Bennett's parting comment as he limped toward Landry Hall. The big rock building loomed ahead, its many-windowed roof peaks reminding Pete of eyes peering across the campus. The first time he'd seen the Bible college building, he'd liked it. Built of stone-st.u.r.dy, immovable. Unlike some of the other buildings, no towering trees shaded Landry, and the stones glowed like gold in the waning sunlight. The building seemed a sanctuary. Pete liked the idea of having a place of refuge.

"Your battles are your own." The words continued to niggle at Pete's mind as he made his way through the corridor to the staircase. He was able to hop up the stairs using only his good leg to support himself, but tonight he took them with two feet on every step. Trudging progress. Left, right; left, right. One riser at a time. The words continued to niggle at Pete's mind as he made his way through the corridor to the staircase. He was able to hop up the stairs using only his good leg to support himself, but tonight he took them with two feet on every step. Trudging progress. Left, right; left, right. One riser at a time. Click Click with the peg leg and with the peg leg and clunk clunk with his boot sole. Slow going, but quiet. with his boot sole. Slow going, but quiet.

He reached his room and closed himself inside. The soft snap of the door latch echoed, and despite the warmth of the room, Pete s.h.i.+vered. He'd never had a room all to himself. Before his folks kicked him out, he'd shared a three-room apartment with his parents and five younger siblings. At the orphans' home, he and Bennett roomed with six other orphaned boys. Before that, he'd slept at the Rowleys' market in a storeroom with an ever-changing population of street boys. Even when he'd spent nights on the street, there'd been other homeless kids around.

He wished he could room with Bennett, but they were in different programs. Besides, everyone enrolled in the Bible college had a private room. The professors said it would give them the privacy they needed to study, pray, and meditate. Pete supposed he'd get used to the silence eventually.

He removed his new store-bought jacket and hung it on the back of the desk chair, then sat on the edge of the squeaky little bed in the corner. He looked out the window at the grounds, now shadowed as the sun slipped behind the trees. Heaving a sigh, he spoke aloud in the empty room. "Your battles are your own, Pete." A rueful laugh left his lips. "That is, if you can keep Libby from fighting them for you."

Humiliation washed over him, making him break out in a sweat. What must those who watched the evening's squabble on the lawn think of him? A grown man, being defended by a slip of a girl. He'd seen the smirks, heard the disparaging comments. Libby, unwittingly, had branded him a coward. And a cripple. He hated that word. He hated that Libby had used it to define him.

He unstrapped his wooden leg and tossed it aside, then pushed to a standing position. He found his balance quickly after years of standing on one foot and hopped to the window. Bracing his palms on the smooth, cool stone ledge that formed the sill, he peered across the campus, but the memory of Libby's fierce expression as she defended him filled his vision.

Libby was feisty-she'd always been. Just as he was. And Bennett, too. They'd had to be feisty to survive. Libby had lost her parents in a carriage accident; Bennett didn't even remember his folks; and Pete's pa and ma had kicked him out to fend for himself when he was only seven years old. If he, Libby, and Bennett hadn't been aggressive, they might have rolled over and died.

Even though they'd each eventually found their way to the orphans' home and the loving attention of Aaron and Isabelle Rowley, they still carried that childhood feistiness into adulthood. The only difference between him and his friends was his missing leg. He looked down at the empty pant leg dangling a few inches above the floor, and anger rose up, hot and all-consuming. He'd have two good legs had it not been for his parents, Gunter and Berta Leidig.

Aaron Rowley had told Pete he needed to forgive his parents, and Pete agreed, but he didn't know how to let loose of the resentment. He wouldn't have been on that trolley, carrying an armload of newspapers to sell on a corner, if they hadn't sent him out into the cold. He'd never forget the shock and pain of the trolley wheel rolling across his leg. Three brief seconds of time had changed his life forever. And he'd never forget the parents who'd allowed it to happen through their lack of responsibility toward their child.

Pete slapped the window frame and hopped back to the bed. The mattress complained when he plopped down, but he ignored the squeak and undressed, laying his pants and s.h.i.+rt neatly across the seat of the chair to wear again tomorrow. Then he stretched out and put his linked hands beneath his head. He stared at the ceiling, eager to sleep but disturbed by that simple statement: "Your battles are your own." "Your battles are your own."

The truth was, from the time he'd been a very small boy, his battles had been his own. And he had one big battle he was now ready to face. One he'd been gathering courage for years to face. He intended to find Gunter and Berta Leidig and tell them, very honestly, exactly what he thought of them. Then maybe this ever-present cloud of resentment would fade away.

CHAPTER FOUR.

You aren't going to pledge to a sorority?"

Libby turned from the washstand, a towel pressed to her chin, and looked at her roommate. The girl's aghast expression made her want to laugh. She placed the soggy towel over her lips and cleared her throat, chasing away the bubble of laughter. "Actually, no. I don't see the point."

"But . . . but . . ." Her roommate, Alice-Marie Daley from Clayton-in St. Louis County, didn't Libby know-rose from her perch on the edge of her bed and held out her hands in supplication. Her ruffly nightgown billowed around her ankles in an explosion of s.h.i.+mmering pink. "Everyone, but just everyone everyone, pledges to a sorority or fraternity!"

Libby turned back to the round mirror hanging above the washstand and continued drying her face. Alice-Marie walked up behind Libby and talked to her reflection in the mirror.

"I intend to pledge Kappa Kappa Gamma. They're one of the oldest sororities, which Mother says is very important-it's all about the history history of a thing, you know." She giggled, nudging Libby's shoulder. "But what I like about them is their flower. The fleur-de-lis. I just love the way it sounds. of a thing, you know." She giggled, nudging Libby's shoulder. "But what I like about them is their flower. The fleur-de-lis. I just love the way it sounds. Fleur-de-lis Fleur-de-lis." She emphasized each syllable, rounding the vowels.

Libby resisted rolling her eyes. "Uh-huh." Damp tendrils of hair stuck to her temples, and she rubbed at the fine strands with the towel.

Alice-Marie fluffed the long tresses falling down Libby's back. "Your hair is very, very long. Do you always wear it down? Mother says the Grecian style is now all the rage. That's why I brush mine back into a tight roll. For the hairstyle to hold, I have to keep my hair at a manageable length. But with my natural curl, it's still very difficult to control. Maybe I should let mine grow longer and hang loose, too."

Libby s.h.i.+fted sideways a bit, removing herself from Alice-Marie's fingers. "I like mine long." Maelle wore her hair long. Most of the girls at the orphans' school wore their hair shoulder-length for easy care, but Libby had pitched a fit each time Mrs. Rowley approached with a scissors. Mrs. Rowley had finally given up. If long hair was good enough for Maelle, it was good enough for Libby.

"Well, you have pretty hair anyway," Alice-Marie said. "So very, very soft, but dark, almost like an Indian's." She released a nervous-sounding giggle. "You aren't aren't an Indian, are you? Even your skin is browned . . . but that an Indian, are you? Even your skin is browned . . . but that is is from the sun?" She smoothed her own creamy cheek with her fingertips, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the mirror. "Mother says white skin is the sign of a true lady. I always wear a hat or carry a parasol if I must be out in the sun too long." from the sun?" She smoothed her own creamy cheek with her fingertips, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the mirror. "Mother says white skin is the sign of a true lady. I always wear a hat or carry a parasol if I must be out in the sun too long."

Libby draped the sodden cloth over a little wooden rod and turned to step past Alice-Marie.

But Alice-Marie moved directly into Libby's path and clasped her hands beneath her chin, flattening the abundance of ruffles on her nightgown's neckline. "Elisabet, you simply must pledge a sorority. Pledge to Kappa Kappa Gamma with me, please? You'll be completely friendless if you don't pledge!"

Swis.h.i.+ng her palms together, Libby gave Alice-Marie a grim look. "Then I suppose I'll just have to be friendless."

Alice-Marie's mouth fell open in a perfect O. She stared at Libby as if she'd seen an apparition.

Libby flounced past her roommate to the wardrobe and tugged her simple white cotton gown over her head. "Alice-Marie, please don't think me unsociable, but I'm not here to join clubs and make friends. I came to learn journalism. I intend to find a job in town, which will probably take up a great deal of my time. Between a job and studying, I don't see how I'll have time to spare for clubs and such."

Alice-Marie crawled into her bed and nestled against the pillows. She puckered her lips into a pout. "Oh . . . poor dear. You have to work to pay for your own schooling? Won't your father pay the bill?"

Libby couldn't decide if Alice-Marie was sympathetic or appalled. But she answered honestly. "I'm here on scholars.h.i.+p. My schooling is paid for by a benefactor to the orphans' school where I've lived since I was a little girl. I do need to earn spending money, but I want a job not so much for the money as the experience."

"Ooooooh!" The single word ran up the scale and down. Alice-Marie fussed with her blankets, her eyes zinging everywhere around the room except directly at Libby. "You-you're an orphan?"

Libby'd heard that tone before, and she'd never liked it. Why did people react so negatively when they discovered her parentless state? She'd done nothing to create it, so why should people act as though it meant there was something wrong with her? But then again, maybe there was was something wrong with her. No one had seemed to want her after her parents died. "Yes. I am." something wrong with her. No one had seemed to want her after her parents died. "Yes. I am."

"I see." Alice-Marie pulled the covers to her chin and wriggled lower on the mattress. "Well, that's sad. Hmm. Well, as I said, I plan to pledge Kappa Kappa Gamma, and I'd like to run for a position on the Women's Council. I also hope to be accepted to the Women's Pan h.e.l.lenic Council. As long as it doesn't interfere with playing tennis. I'm so glad they have a court right here on campus. I adore a good game of tennis."

Libby imagined Alice-Marie playing with a racquet in one hand and a parasol in the other. She released a little snort. "Are you here for entertainment or education?"

Alice-Marie lifted her head. "What did you say?"

"Nothing. Just that I hope you enjoy all the . . . activities."

"Oh, I intend to. Mother says the most interesting women are those who are well-rounded, so I need lots of experiences to . . . well . . . round me out!"

A high-pitched giggle carried across the room and pierced Libby's ears. She pulled the covers over her head. "Good night, Alice-Marie."

"Oh? Are you ready to sleep?" She sounded more puzzled than miffed. "All right, then. Do you want me to turn out the light?"

"Unless you plan to sleep with it on."

The covers must have m.u.f.fled her sarcastic words because Alice-Marie said, "What was that?"

Libby flapped the covers down and spoke loudly. "Yes, please turn it off."

"Very well. Good night, Elisabet. Sleep well. Mother says a proper night's sleep is very important."

Libby buried her face once more. Mother says Mother says . . . Envy nearly turned Libby's chest inside out. How she wished she could tell someone, "Mother says . . ." But she didn't have a mother. Not even an adopted mother. She could say, "Mrs. Rowley says . . ." or "Maelle says . . ." But then people would ask, "Who's Mrs. Rowley? Who's Maelle?" No one ever had to ask, "Who's Mother?" . . . Envy nearly turned Libby's chest inside out. How she wished she could tell someone, "Mother says . . ." But she didn't have a mother. Not even an adopted mother. She could say, "Mrs. Rowley says . . ." or "Maelle says . . ." But then people would ask, "Who's Mrs. Rowley? Who's Maelle?" No one ever had to ask, "Who's Mother?"

Libby rolled to her side and squeezed her eyes tight. She was eighteen already-a woman herself. And she was going to be a well-known journalist. Someday, people on the street would say to one another, "Did you read today's Gazette Gazette? Elisabet Conley says . . ." Then they'd quote directly from her articles. Alice-Marie's mother was only known to Alice-Marie; Libby would be known to thousands. And when that day came, it wouldn't matter one bit that she was an orphan.

When Libby awakened the next morning, she discovered Alice-Marie had already dressed and gone. She squinted at the round windup clock on her roommate's bureau and released a squawk of surprise. Almost eight-thirty! Breakfast would end in another thirty minutes. After she'd skipped supper last night, her stomach pinched painfully. She planned to visit the various newspaper offices in town today to seek employment; she needed food to keep up her strength.

She jumped out of bed, slipped into the brown worsted skirt and weskit she'd worn yesterday, and tied her uncombed hair into a ponytail at the base of her skull with an unpretentious piece of brown ribbon. Her fingers trembling, she groped in the bottom of the dark wardrobe and located the black leather satchel Maelle and Jackson had given her to keep her writings organized. For a moment she held the satchel on her open palms, like a servant bearing a crown on a pillow, and held her breath. Within the leather case rested her hope for the future.

Please, oh please, let them be good enough!

She usually allowed Petey to do the praying, but this plea formed in the deepest parts of her being.

Hugging the satchel to her heart, she flung the door open and started to charge into the hallway. She barely remembered to look first. To her relief, the hall was empty. She ran to the staircase and clattered downstairs, her shoes making a terrible racket.

Her feet never slowed as she dashed across the gra.s.sy courtyard. Expertly she dodged other students, ignoring their laughs or warnings to be careful, and careened into the dining hall, where she skidded to a stop just inside the door. There she paused to straighten her skirts and smooth the stray wisps of hair around her face before stepping into the room with a decorum that would have made Isabelle Rowley proud.

Most of the tables were empty; only a few students still sat in small groups to finish eating or to chat. She scanned the room for Petey or Bennett but didn't find them. Disappointed, she picked up a tray. With her satchel tucked under her elbow for safekeeping, she crossed to a long wooden table near the kitchen, where bowls and platters waited. Most of the offerings had been picked over-only a dab of scrambled eggs, a withered apple, and a few dry-looking pieces of toast remaining. With a sigh, she scooped the eggs onto her plate and took a piece of toast.

Looking down at the unappetizing items, she thought about the wonderful waffles and fried sausages Cookie Ramona prepared for breakfast at the orphans' school. Her mouth watered. If only she were in Shay's Ford right now!

"Elisabet!" A lilting voice carried across the room.

Libby turned and spotted Alice-Marie with three other girls at a far table.

Alice-Marie waved her hand. "Join us, Elisabet!"

Libby stifled a sigh. She preferred to sit with Petey and Bennett or by herself, but she couldn't think of a way to gracefully refuse the invitation. So she carried her tray to the table and sat down next to her roommate. "You were up early."

Alice-Marie simpered. "Yes. I had a meeting with"-she pointed to each girl as she stated their names-"Margaret Harris, Kate Dunn, and Myra Child." Tipping close to Libby, she whispered, "They're soph.o.m.ores, and they're all members of Kappa Kappa Gamma." Sitting upright, she beamed at the others. "This is Elisabet Conley. She's from Shay's Ford, and she's my roommate."

Libby nodded at each of the girls in turn, then dug in to her plate. The eggs were cold and flavorless, the toast dry and hard, but she ate every bite, unwilling to waste it. The others went on talking while she ate, seemingly oblivious to her presence. But as soon as she started to rise with her empty tray in hand, the girl sitting directly across from her-Kate Dunn-grabbed Libby's wrist.

"Stay for just a bit longer, Elisabet."

Libby hovered half standing, half sitting. "Actually, I have some errands to run."

"But we haven't even had a chance to chat. Surely your errands can wait for another few minutes."

Alice-Marie turned an imploring look at Libby. Becoming a part of these girls' sorority was important to Alice-Marie. Even though Libby thought her roommate was somewhat empty-headed, she didn't want to sabotage her chances for getting into Kappa Kappa Gamma. With a strained smile, she sat down.

Kate sent a quick look around the circle of girls before returning her attention to Libby. "All right, Elisabet, we're all dying to know . . . aren't you the girl who was involved in the fisticuffs last night on the lawn?"

The others leaned in like cats around a cornered mouse. Apprehension made Libby's scalp tingle. It appeared they'd been planning this moment of attack, which was another reason she didn't like girls. They could be so conniving. She was tempted to tell them they were all mistaken, but her conscience wouldn't allow her to lie. So she squared her shoulders, looked directly into Kate Dunn's sparkling eyes, and said simply, "Yes."

Two of them gasped and covered their mouths with their hands. Libby almost rolled her eyes. They'd already known the answer- there was no need for melodramatics.

"So who was that man you were protecting?" Margaret asked. Three freckles stood in a row across her upturned nose, bold as pennies on a sheet of white paper. "Is he your boyfriend?"

"He's my friend friend," Libby snapped. "And he'd done nothing to provoke an attack. That Roy"-she spat the name-"came at us for no reason at all. I'm glad Bennett put him in his place."

"But, Elisabet, didn't you know Roy is the captain of the basketball team?" Kate's face and voice reflected astonishment. "He's a senior member of Beta Theta Pi. Roy is a very important man on campus."

"Roy is a bully," Libby said.

Alice-Marie's face flushed bright red. Margaret gasped, "Elisabet!" The others shook their heads and stared at each other in dismay.

Libby rose and tucked her satchel under her arm. "I'm just speaking the truth. I hope Roy will stay out of our way from now on, because I know Bennett won't be afraid to punch him again if he needs it." And neither will I! And neither will I!

Another round of gasps came from the gathered girls. Libby ignored their reaction and headed for the kitchen to dispose of her tray. She heard one of them say, "Alice-Marie, how can you possibly room with such an undignified girl?"

Alice-Marie's answer carried to Libby's ears. "Oh, you have to excuse Elisabet. She's an orphan, you see-she doesn't know any better. She might even be an Indian."

Libby whirled around. "I'm not an Indian!" She wanted to yell, also, that she wasn't an orphan, but she couldn't. So she slammed her tray onto the nearest table and escaped.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Libby dashed out of the dining hall and ran smack into a solid chest. The impact shocked the air out of her lungs and knocked the satchel from her hand. Little lights danced in front of her eyes. Strong hands grabbed her upper arms, holding her upright when she might have collapsed. And then a familiar, husky laugh rang.

"Good ol' Lib, always in a rush and never looking where she's going."

Libby recognized Bennett's voice, but she had to blink several times before her vision cleared enough to bring his square-jawed face into focus. Restored, she tugged loose from his grasp and scooped up her satchel. She clutched it with two hands like a s.h.i.+eld. "Sometimes a person needs to hurry."

Bennett laughed, a few of his freckles disappearing into eye crinkles. "Hoo boy, you're all fired up. What's got you in such a lather?"

A huff exploded from Libby's lips. "Last night we discovered some of the men on this campus are complete barbarians. Today I'm finding some of the women to be unbearable!" She sent a withering look over her shoulder. "Calling me an Indian . . ." She whirled to face Bennett and snapped, "If someone offered me a train ticket right now, I'd go home!"

Bennett stuck his finger in his ear and rotated his hand, as if reaming out his ear. "Did I hear you right? Someone called you an Indian?" Libby huffed again. "It doesn't matter. It's just-" She slapped her leg with the satchel. "Girls! Why must they be so . . . girlish?"

Bennett threw back his head and guffawed. Irritation puckered Libby's lips. She wished she could clop him over the head with her leather case. But his hard head would probably damage the satchel. "Stop that! It isn't funny."

He sobered, although his gray-blue eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter. "Sorry, Lib. But sometimes I think you forget you are are a girl." a girl."

"How can I forget?" Being a girl had been a problem for years. Her uncle had turned her over to an orphanage after her parents' deaths, unwilling to raise a girl on his own; prospective adoptive parents pa.s.sed her by because they wanted st.u.r.dy boys to help with ch.o.r.es. Even Maelle, the one Libby loved most of all, had initially been uncertain about spending too much time with her because she feared her unconventional behavior would hinder Libby from becoming the kind of lady of which Mrs. Rowley approved.

She squeezed the satchel, the soft leather warm and pliable beneath her fingers. Being a girl might have robbed her of some opportunities in the past, but she wouldn't allow a misfortune of birth to stand in the way of her working for a reputable newspaper.

She gave a little jolt. She needed to get to town! "I have to go, Bennett. Are you meeting Petey for lunch?" She inched backward as she spoke.

Bennett shrugged, the suit jacket's b.u.t.tons straining with the movement. "Not sure of Pete's schedule today-he had a meeting or something this morning. Seems to be a lot of those before cla.s.ses start tomorrow. But I'll be in the dining hall at eleven-thirty. Wanna join me?"