In Every Heartbeat (10 page)

He pulled his lips to the side in an expression of regret. “I’m sorry, but I really need to work. I’ll see you . . . at dinner tomorrow?”

She wanted to tell him about the story she’d sold—to have him be happy for her—but she wouldn’t interfere with his studies. Becoming a minister was so important to him. Just as important as becoming a journalist was to her. If only their goals weren’t so very, very different . . .

“Yes, that would be splendid.” She reached out and brushed his sleeve with her fingertips. “I’ve missed you, Petey.”

That odd smile returned—an upturning of lips with no answering light in his blue eyes. “I’ve missed you, too. But we’ll talk more tomorrow at dinner. Good night now, Libby.”

She watched him go, his hitching gait as familiar as her own reflection in a mirror. But something in the way he carried himself seemed different. He’d always appeared older than his years, a result of having to care for himself at such a young age, but tonight there was an oldness about him that went beyond maturity to . . . Libby sought an appropriate word to describe his appearance and finally settled on
tiredness
.

Yes, Petey looked tired. His studies must be wearing him down, she decided with a rush of sympathy. Perhaps it was good that they’d be returning to Shay’s Ford soon. There, Mrs. Rowley would make sure he rested, and Cookie Ramona would spoil him with his favorite foods—Petey was everyone’s favorite at the orphanage. Time with Mr. and Mrs. Rowley and Matt, a fun time at the wedding, and being home would surely brighten Petey’s outlook.

And at some point during their time away from school, away from all the busyness and all the—she flicked a glance at the dormitory and spotted several girls peering out from a common room window—nosy people, she’d show him the letter from Mr. Price. How proud he’d be!

A wide smile on her face, Libby twirled in a circle right there in the open. And she didn’t even care when the girls behind the window giggled.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

B
ennett tossed the ball in the air with one hand and caught it with the other while he waited outside Landry Hall. Toss, catch. Toss, catch. Back and forth. Monotonous, but at least it was something to do.

Where was Pete? Bennett wouldn’t be able to stick around there much longer—crazy curfew rules. He tossed the ball with a little more force, sending it in a high arc above his head. Weren’t they all adults on this campus? A fellow ought to be able to decide for himself when he wanted to turn in.

He peered across the grounds, seeking a glimpse of his old pal. When Pete had walked past earlier, Bennett had wanted to ask him to join the game. But he wasn’t sure he carried enough clout yet with the fellows to bring in Pete. Oh, he’d been talking him up—his best buddy from way back, smart as a whip, a real good egg. Of course, he hadn’t mentioned Pete by name. That would come when he had the others all convinced his pal was
the person
to know on campus. Bennett figured he only needed another couple of days, and then he could draw Pete into the action.

He smacked the ball from one palm to the other. Finally he spotted Pete coming up the walk. Jamming the worn baseball into his pocket, he trotted to meet him. “Hey, Pete, out for your evening constitutional?” He affected a British accent and grinned at his own joke.

Pete offered a weak laugh in reply. “I walked over and saw Libby. I needed to let her know the Rowleys sent me the train tickets for our trip back home.”

Bennett stifled a growl of irritation. Of course the Rowleys would send the tickets to Pete—good ol’ trustworthy Pete. “I saw you heading off earlier, but I couldn’t holler in the middle of the game.” He experienced a twinge of conscience with his little white lie and hurried on. “And phew . . . my team didn’t do so great tonight—lost by seven runs!” He made a sour face. “But Sunday afternoon we’re planning a rematch, and we need a decent pitcher. Wanna play?”

Pete’s eyebrows lowered a fraction of an inch. “Me? Pitch?”

Bennett laughed. “Didn’t you pitch for us back at the school? You’ve got a good arm.” Pete couldn’t play catcher—it required squatting, something not easily done on his artificial leg. And he wasn’t the greatest baseman or fielder with that peg making him clumsy. But he’d proved he could plant the tip of his peg leg in the dirt and throw a ball hard and fast right over the smashed tin can that served as home plate.

Bennett smacked Pete’s shoulder. “ ’Course, Libby could pitch better than the numskull who pitched for us tonight.” Bennett never would understand why Libby had such trouble throwing a ball; she could hit a tree dead center with a penknife.

Pete rubbed his lips together. “Sure, Bennett. I’d be willing to pitch for you, if the others won’t mind.”

“They won’t mind.” Between now and Sunday he’d talk Pete up so much they wouldn’t even flinch when he limped out to the mound. And as soon as the other fellows saw Pete in action, they’d realize he wasn’t so different. Then they’d be willing to let him pledge the fraternity. Bennett grinned, thinking how flabbergasted ol’ Roy would be to see Pete and him showing up for meetings.

Pete shifted his weight to his good leg, grimacing a bit. Bennett frowned—Pete better not do that during the game. “We’re planning to play right after lunch.” He pulled the baseball from his pocket and bounced it in his palm. “One o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

Bennett plopped the ball into Pete’s hand and then scuttled backward several feet. He hunkered into the catcher’s position and cupped his hands. “Put ’er in here, pal.”

Pete examined the seams, laid his finger precisely between them, and fired the ball back to Bennett. Bennett rose, grinning, and shook his right hand. “Good one!” He hissed through his teeth. “That stung! You’ll be ready Sunday.”

With a short laugh, Pete closed the distance between them. “I’ve been walking to the chapel around the corner from the campus for services on Sunday mornings. Do you want to meet for breakfast and go over together before the game?”

Bennett shoved the ball back into his pocket. Trust Pete to bring up church. “Nah. You go on without me. I like to sleep in on Sunday mornings.”

“You sure?” Pete’s face twisted into the same look Aaron Rowley had always worn when Bennett tried to play sick on Sunday mornings. Bennett disliked the expression even more coming from his friend. “Now that we’re settled in here on campus, it would do us good to go—to feel like we’re part of a church family.”

“Libby going?”

Pete shrugged. “I haven’t asked her yet, but I’m sure she will. I don’t know why she wouldn’t.”

“Well . . .” Bennett stuck out his jaw and folded his arms over his chest. “I’d rather sleep. Gotta get up early for my classes all week long, and gotta get up early Saturday to get to my job.” He’d been hired by the school’s groundskeeper to help with yard maintenance. After the man found out Bennett had done similar chores at the orphans’ school, he’d hired him on the spot. Apparently a lot of the students at the college had never lifted a shovel or weeded a garden—spoiled namby-pambies. “I don’t wanna get up early my only day off.”

Pete didn’t look happy, but he didn’t argue. “All right, but when we go home for Matt’s wedding, Aaron and Isabelle will expect you to go to church with them before we head back Sunday afternoon.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“It’ll be good to see them.” Pete seemed to drift off somewhere; he didn’t react to Bennett’s derisive tone. “I’m looking forward to a weekend at home.”

Both Pete and Libby called the orphans’ school
home
, but Bennett never used the term. He said,
the school
or
where I live
, but not
home
. Someday—when he settled down, got married, maybe had a kid or two—he’d call the place he shared with his family “home.” But he wouldn’t squander a word like that on anything less than a place of his choosing.

“Well, the wedding’s still two weeks away, and we’ve got plenty to do before then . . . including whomping those Beta Theta Pi guys in Sunday’s baseball game!” Bennett squinted one eye at Pete. “Sun’s not quite down. Wanna try a few more throws? Just to make sure you’re good and limbered up for a full game?”

“I’d like to, but I’ve got an assignment I—”

“Never mind.” Bennett drew the words out into a groan, but he grinned while he said it. “I figure you’ll do just fine in the game. In case I don’t see you beforehand, meet us right here in the side yard at one on Sunday. We’ll skunk ’em this time. Night, Pete!”

Bennett took off at a trot toward the men’s dormitory. He hoped a couple of the guys were still lounging in the common room. He wanted to let them know he’d found their team a dandy pitcher.

Pete hop-skipped, adding a little jump on his good leg between steps, down the hallway that led to the classrooms. He needed a few minutes alone with his professor. Pastor Hines always came in early in case one of his students had questions or concerns, so Pete wasn’t worried he’d miss the teacher. But he did want to beat all of the other Bible students to the room.

In the back of his mind, he replayed the scene he’d witnessed when he’d entered the common room of Libby’s dormitory yesterday evening. A group of young ladies sat in a row in front of the window, holding a magazine to catch the light. By their pink cheeks and occasional bursts of laughter, which they quickly muffled with their hands over their mouths, it was obvious something in the magazine had piqued their interest. Their intrigue appeared to go beyond curiosity or entertainment to an embarrassed excitement, which led him to believe whatever they were viewing was not wholesome. He’d seen Bennett and a couple other fellows at the orphans’ school act in the same snickering, flush-faced way when viewing the pages advertising women’s undergarments in the Sears catalog.

When he’d returned to Landry Hall, he’d dug through the basket of magazines their resident director left in the common room for the students’ use. In the very bottom, beneath
Harper’s Magazine
,
Top-Notch Magazine
, and three copies of various issues of
The Windsor
, he’d located a publication that looked similar to the one the girls had been reading. He’d taken it to his room and laid it flat on the bed to read. Between the covers, he’d found what he surmised the girls had seemed so enamored with—a rather risqué story about a young movie starlet and her older, caddish director.

The description of pounding hearts, feverish desires, and furtive meetings in dark corners where the man and woman allowed their lips to explore one another’s mouths left Pete feeling uncomfortable. Twice, while reading, he’d been compelled to glance around the room to be certain no one knew what he was doing. Would he have felt so uneasy if the reading material were wholesome? Surely stories like that could turn young women toward impure thought.

By the time he’d returned the magazine to the basket—once again, clear at the bottom, but upside-down—he believed he’d found the subject for his assignment in Pastor Hines’s class.

Of course, Pastor Hines had to approve it. So before he went any further, he wanted the man’s opinion.

The classroom door stood open, and Pete glimpsed the silver-haired professor seated at his desk. The man’s wire spectacles rested on the end of his nose, and he frowned at a stack of papers. Pete tapped lightly on the doorframe. The man looked up, and a smile immediately cleared the scowl from his face. He removed his glasses with one hand and gestured Pete forward with the other.

“Mr. Leidig.” Pastor Hines pointed to a front-row desk. “Come in and sit.”

Pete limped forward and slid into the seat. He gave his teacher an apologetic look. “Am I disturbing you?”

The man shook his head. “No, no, I don’t mind setting these aside.” With a grimace, he slapped the stack of pages to the corner of his desk. “Obviously I didn’t do a sufficient job in my lecture on following the Ten Commandments. These essays—” He shook his head and blew out a noisy breath. “Appalling.” Then he leaned back in his chair. “But that isn’t your concern. With what can I assist you, Mr. Leidig?”

Pete rested his elbows on the desk and briefly described the scene he’d witnessed in the women’s common room. “I located a similar magazine and looked inside, and there was a rather unsavory story. . . .” Pastor Hines’s eyebrows drew down until they formed a distinct V between his eyes. Pete’s face felt hot. He stammered on. “I thought perhaps the story would make a suitable subject for our assignment on moral decline since it included—”

The teacher waved his hand. “Don’t bother.”

Pete sagged in the chair. “This isn’t something worth pursuing?”

“On the contrary, there’s no need for you to explain. I already know the type of story you reference, and it’s certainly unsuitable.” Pastor Hines pursed his lips in distaste. “Disgraceful, is what it is. Stories written for the sole purpose of inducing titillation.”

So Petey’s initial instincts when he’d seen the girls’ actions had been right. The realization increased his confidence in his abilities to be a good spiritual leader.

Pastor Hines continued in a disparaging tone. “The stories are, unfortunately, quite popular with women of all ages, but most particularly with the younger set.” He sighed. “I can’t help but believe it leads impressionable young women into impure thought, not to mention gives them an unrealistic expectation of the relationship between a man and a woman.”

Shaking his head, the professor clicked his tongue on his teeth. “This is precisely the kind of battle that must be warred—and won! Young women caught up in these romanticized tales could very well begin seeking a relationship based on only . . . er . . . physical attraction—” the man’s jowls mottled red—“rather than seeking a God-centered, well-grounded man who will be a moral leader for his household.”

Pete sat up eagerly. “So this would meet the requirements for the assignment?”

“Yes, Mr. Leidig. Most certainly.” Pastor Hines rose and rounded the desk. “And I wish you much success in your attempts to dissuade magazine editors from printing such filth.” His brow crinkled for a moment, his piercing eyes pinned on Pete’s face. “Mr. Leidig, in addition to reasoning with magazine editors, do you have other plans to help bring an end to these types of writings?”

Pete pushed to his feet and stood beside the desk with one hand braced on the smooth top. “Not yet, sir. I wanted to get your approval before I began planning.”

“That’s fine,” the man replied. “Knowing what you’ll tackle is enough for today. But keep in mind that when it comes to winning a war, success is more certain with multiple directions of attack.”

Pete nodded slowly. Although he’d read many newspaper accounts about the battles going on overseas, he hadn’t paid attention to military strategy. But his teacher’s words made sense. If the attack came solely from one direction, then the enemy would have many directions in which to flee. He’d need to plan attacks from several different directions to make the greatest impact.