In Every Heartbeat (25 page)

“Pete, please . . .” Jackson shook his head, a sad smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Let’s climb one mountain at a time, huh? And while I’m climbing, you better be praying. What you’re asking for is nothing short of a miracle.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-EIGHT

L
ibby flopped open her bag on the bed and removed the dress she’d worn the day before. Shaking it to remove wrinkles, she headed for the wardrobe on the far side of her dormitory room. To Alice-Marie, she said, “I wish Petey would have let me go with him. It’s going to be impossible to think of anything else until he returns. I hope he can do something for Oscar.”

Alice-Marie wrinkled her nose. “I think he’s foolish for trying. As my father said, a jury found him guilty. That should be the end of it.”

Alice-Marie’s parents had been very upset when Libby and Petey had rung their bell late last night, but after Petey’s calm, respectful explanation, they’d reluctantly offered forgiveness. However, they’d informed Libby she was no longer welcome to visit their home. Then they’d taken Alice-Marie into Mr. Daley’s den for a long closed-door session. Both girls were put on the train early that morning.

Libby fully expected Alice-Marie to shun her completely after all that had transpired, but to her surprise, Alice-Marie had chatted with her all the way back to school. She turned to her roommate and asked, “If Oscar were your brother, would you be able to let it go?”

Alice-Marie huffed. “
My
brother wouldn’t try to rob a drugstore clerk!”

“Because your brother, like you, had a decent upbringing,” Libby said softly. “How do children learn right from wrong? From their parents. If their parents teach them to do wrong things, then what can we expect from them? Yes, Oscar was wrong to try to steal from the drugstore, but I think there are other people at fault, too. It isn’t right to hold only Oscar responsible.”

Alice-Marie let out another little breath, but she didn’t argue. The girls worked in silence, emptying their bags and putting away their personal items. When the room was back in order, Libby stretched out on her bed for a nap. Alice-Marie curled up on her bed, too, and closed her eyes. Libby reached over and tapped Alice-Marie’s arm. Her eyes flew open. “What?”

“Thank you for still talking to me even after I upset your parents again. Those days when you were so angry weren’t very pleasant.” Libby smiled, letting Alice-Marie know she wasn’t upset.

Alice-Marie grimaced, wriggling against her pillow. “For me, either. It’s very hard for me to be quiet.”

Libby wisely refrained from laughing.

“My parents did their best to convince me to move into a room by myself. They don’t feel you’re a very good influence on me, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “I finally told them I would consider making the change after Christmas break.”

Libby tried to imagine being alone. She’d have more time to write. And often Alice-Marie grated on her nerves with her endless, often senseless, chatter. But Libby didn’t relish the thought of sitting in this room by herself every day.

“But,” Alice-Marie went on, rolling to her side and scrunching her eyes closed, “I doubt I’ll actually do it. Moving is such an inconvenience, and I have no desire to be all alone. Your company, unconventional as it may be, is certainly preferable to loneliness. And where else would I go? All the girls are already paired up for this year. So, we’re stuck with each other. At least for now.”

Libby let her eyelids droop, but then she remembered something else. She sat up and tapped Alice-Marie again. Alice-Marie snuffled but didn’t open her eyes. Libby tapped her harder.

“What?” The cranky tone didn’t encourage Libby to continue, but she’d already disturbed Alice-Marie; she might as well share her thoughts.

“Thank you for agreeing to not tell anyone about the situation with Petey’s brother. Petey had nothing to do with it, so it wouldn’t be fair to have people casting aspersions on his character.”

Alice-Marie sat straight up, her eyebrows high. “Elisabet, I would
never
hold Pete accountable for something his brother did. I, of all people, understand the embarrassment of having a relative whose behavior is questionable. Why do you think I didn’t tell you that Roy Daley is my cousin?” She shuddered. “He is quite popular on campus, being the star athlete, and I admit I’ve tried to use our relationship to secure a place in the popular crowd for myself. But I must agree with you—he’s completely obnoxious. So of course I wouldn’t try to malign Pete’s character by discussing his brother’s actions.”

Reaching across the gap, Alice-Marie gave Libby’s wrist a quick pat. “Don’t worry. Pete’s secret is safe with me.”

Libby tried to sleep, but images from the short visit to Clayton replayed behind her closed eyelids, making rest impossible. The picture of Petey as he leaned against the dirty wall of his parents’ apartment building, proclaiming he would not leave his brothers and sister in that place, rose above all others and refused to dim.

Had Petey made it safely to Shay’s Ford? Had Jackson agreed to help? What would Petey do if Jackson managed to convince a judge to give Petey guardianship of his siblings? And—more importantly—what would he do if Jackson failed?

Don’t let Petey’s heart be broken. Let Petey be able to save them.
Their hopeless, hapless faces floated in her memory until she couldn’t lie still.

On tiptoe, she crossed to her desk and picked up the notebook she’d used when questioning Oscar. Although she’d been pretending to be a reporter, she now looked at the pages of scribbled notes and realized she had more than enough information to create an article. Her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, she grabbed a pencil and began to write, organizing the notes into emotive paragraphs. After an hour of writing, erasing, rewriting, and polishing, she collapsed on the desk with her head on her arms.

Miss Whitford had advised Libby to search for her passion. Was passion the reason she was too exhausted to lift her head? She felt as though she’d bled on the pages while writing Oscar’s story. Writing the overly romanticized make-believe stories were work, but also pleasure; writing this article had nearly turned her heart inside-out. She couldn’t honestly say she’d enjoyed recording Oscar’s life on the page, but she did believe she had created a well-written editorial on the plight of one young man raised in squalor.

But what to do with it?

With effort, she sat up and looked at the article. Surely a lesson was hidden within these pages—a lesson on the importance of family, of teaching morals, of reaching out to those in need. Petey would do everything possible to save Oscar, but as much as Libby hated to admit it, the boy might be lost to them. However, if reading his story might encourage someone, somewhere, to reach out to a troubled youth and, in so doing, change the course of his life, then Oscar didn’t have to die in vain.

Libby scrambled to retrieve her shoes from under her bed. She buttoned them as quickly as her clumsy fingers could manage. Then she slipped the article into her leather portfolio. If she had to pay a newspaper editor to print her story, she’d do it. This was one story that must be told.

On Sunday morning, Libby fought through a heavy fog out of which Oscar’s voice repeatedly called for help. She sat up in her bed, sweaty and shaking, and forced herself to take several long, deep breaths to bring her erratic pulse under control. A dream, only a dream. Yet the frantic cry had sounded so real.

In the predawn hour, menacing gray shadows shrouded the room. Only a square of paler gray, the curtains backlit by the moon, indicated the location of the window. Alice-Marie slept soundly, her even breathing loud in the still room as Libby sat on the edge of her bed, eyes wide, trying to read the clock on Alice-Marie’s bureau. Several seconds passed before her vision adjusted enough to make out the time. Five after five. Releasing a long sigh, she lay back on her pillow and stared into the shadowy room.

In the past few weeks, she had adopted Bennett’s habit of sleeping in on Sunday mornings, but today sleep eluded her. Fear that she would revisit the disturbing dream kept her wide-eyed and wakeful. Why was Oscar haunting her? Hadn’t she done all she could for him? The article she’d written now sat on the
Boone County Daily Tribune
editor’s desk, awaiting his approval. The man hadn’t guaranteed he’d print it, but he had promised to read it.

Yes, she’d given her best effort for Oscar.

What about praying for him?

She gasped quietly as the thought captured her mind. First she’d encouraged Petey to pray, and now her heart was telling her to offer a prayer of her own? She sat up so abruptly the bedsprings twanged in protest. She sat very still, holding her breath, until she was sure she hadn’t disturbed Alice-Marie. Then she left the room and crept to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Perhaps a long soak in the bathtub, a rare treat, would help her relax. Then she could go back to sleep.

But the bath, while pleasant, only served to awaken her completely. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep again, but how would she fill her morning?

Go to church and pray for Petey
.

She rolled her eyes and muttered, “I don’t pray.
Petey
prays.” Her words hung heavily in the steamy little room, and sadness struck Libby with such force her nose stung. She wanted to pray. She wanted to trust. But after being discarded so many times by so many people—her parents, her uncle, all sorts of potential adoptive parents, Maelle, Jackson, and even Petey—how would she bear it if God discarded her and her needs, too?

Try. Just try
. . .

The persistent voice in her head refused to be silenced. She’d have to distract herself from it. She hurried to her room and dressed as quietly as possible. But Alice-Marie must have heard the slight squeak of the wardrobe hinges, because she yawned and sat up.

“L-Libby?” Her voice sounded croaky.

Libby whispered in reply. “Yes, it’s just me. Go back to sleep. I’m going to take a walk.” She knew where she wanted to go—no one else would be there.

“In the dark?” Alice-Marie stretched her arms over her head. Her bedsprings groaned softly as she flopped back onto the mattress.

The heavy shadows of earlier had lifted, and the room was cast in a murky pink. Before long, the sun would flood its yellow glow across the campus. “The sun’s almost up. I’ll be fine.” She tiptoed toward the door.

“Where’re you going?” came Alice-Marie’s sleepy voice.

Libby doubted her roommate would remember this conversation later, but she answered anyway. “Out to the old foundation.”

“You mean the burned-down building? So that’s real? You’ve seen it?”

“Yes.” Libby turned the doorknob, wincing when it creaked one high note.

“Bennett and I walked to the field one time, but we didn’t see the foundation.”

Libby opened the door and slipped into the hall. Before closing the door, she whispered, “Maybe you didn’t look hard enough. Bye, Alice-Marie.” She locked the door behind her and then hurried down the stairs. Miss Banks’s desk sat empty, so Libby ran past it and out the double doors. The morning air chilled her, but she ignored the gooseflesh that broke out over her arms and ran all the way to the line of trees that led to the meadow.

She slowed her pace as she walked the tree-lined lane. The trees, once thick and full, now hosted only a few brave russet or brown leaves that waved in the gentle breeze. The ground underneath wore a thick carpet, and she scuffed through the fallen leaves, kicking them in the air and watching them flit back down. A bluejay, apparently disturbed by her crunching progress, scolded from the bare treetops. Its bright blue feathers stood out boldly against the backdrop of plain brown branches and pale sky.

While Libby watched, it flapped its wings and chattered, its bright eyes seeming to look directly at Libby. Such an audacious little creature—did it really think it could frighten her away? Despite herself, she laughed. The bird took wing, zipping between branches. She watched until it disappeared, then put her feet in motion once more.

The meadow waited just ahead, the grass higher than the last time she’d visited. She stepped free of the trees and into the clearing, into the glow of a magnificent sunrise. Bands of pink, yellow, orange, and purple gave the horizon a festive appearance. The sun—a bold white arc—pressed through the center of the ribbons of color, sending beams upward to pierce the sparse clouds and form a giant fan of light.

Libby’s eyes involuntarily squinted, the brightness too much to bear wide-eyed, but she faced that glorious sunrise and imagined Petey—always an early riser—in Shay’s Ford witnessing the same sight. It bound her to him in a way she couldn’t quite grasp.

Then, her senses sated, she sought the stones that had once held a tall, proud building. She pushed the grass aside with her hands, her gaze roving, and finally she located the hidden foundation. With a little cry of triumph, she sat on an oblong stone, pressing her palm to its rough, cool top.

She giggled, remembering how Alice-Marie had sleepily asked if the foundation was real. Just because she’d never seen it herself, she questioned it. But here Libby sat, like a queen on her throne, her weight fully supported by a broad, carved stone the color of pewter.
Oh yes, Alice-Marie, it’s real.

As the sun rose higher, it revealed the entire stretch of the foundation nestled between thick strands of dried brown grass. Libby examined every inch of it, marveling that even though nearly every part of the building had been destroyed by heat and flame, the foundation still remained. Strong, immovable, but only visible to those who took the time to truly seek it.

Sitting there all alone under a rosy sky, a feeling of smallness and vulnerability captured Libby. She wished someone were there to sit beside her and hold her hand. The feeling wasn’t new—she’d experienced it many times after coming to the orphans’ school, and she’d combated it by running off with Petey and Bennett or begging to spend a weekend with Maelle.

Maelle . . . How long had it been since Libby had indulged in her favorite daydream? Here, all alone, she could close her eyes and imagine being adopted by Maelle. But that fantasy no longer held any appeal. The dream would never come true now.