In Every Heartbeat (11 page)

“I’ll be in thought and prayer concerning the best way to end the printing of these stories.” Pete stuck out his hand, and Pastor Hines took it. “Thank you, sir. You can trust I’ll do my very best on this assignment.”

His teacher smiled, giving Pete’s hand a strong shake. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Mr. Leidig.”

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

O
oh, isn’t it exciting?”

Alice-Marie was going to cut off the circulation to Libby’s hand if she didn’t let loose. She moved even closer to Libby on the blanket, making room for another girl to join them on the square of green-and-red-plaid wool thrown over the grass. “I just love watching a sporting event! I hope the Beta Theta Pi boys win!”

One could hardly call this an official sporting event, considering it took place on the grassy side yard of the Bible school rather than at a real baseball diamond. There were no bleachers on which to sit, so a few students, including Alice-Marie, had dragged out blankets and spread them on the lawn. Most spectators, however, formed a jagged line along the east side of the playing field. Already some of them were shifting restlessly, apparently tired of standing. Libby decided the players had been wise to settle on a short game of three innings only—a rematch, Bennett had called it, for his team to regain its dignity.

Libby peeled Alice-Marie’s fingers from her arm. “Beta Theta Pi? Is that the team Pete and Bennett are on?”

For a moment, Alice-Marie’s lips puckered into a pout. “No. They’re playing with a group of Delta Tau Delta boys.” With a little expulsion of breath, she snatched up her parasol and snapped it open. “And I just don’t understand. If Bennett intends to pledge Beta Theta Pi, why would he choose to play against them? Surely that will not soften them toward him. . . .”

Libby shrugged. She’d long ago given up trying to figure out Bennett’s motivations. He did whatever pleased him, regardless of another’s opinion. At times, his self-serving actions annoyed her, but other times she envied him. Bennett was the most carefree person she knew.

Alice-Marie rested the parasol handle against her left shoulder, shielding both her and Libby’s faces from the sun. “Regardless of his reasoning, I’m eager to see him play. I just
know
he’ll be the best on either team.”

Libby rolled her eyes. Alice-Marie’s fascination with Bennett was growing more tiresome by the hour, but she knew nothing she could say would dissuade her roommate from seeing Bennett as a knight in shining armor. However, Alice-Marie’s infatuation provided Libby with fodder for the stories she worked on between classes and late at night. She discovered writing at night, her page illuminated only by a thin band of moonlight, was the most productive time. The stories flowed so easily, they almost wrote themselves.

One group of players—attired in trousers, suspenders, and shirts with their sleeves rolled above their elbows rather than baseball uniforms—darted out onto the grass. A cheer rose as they positioned themselves at bases or out in the field. Libby scanned their faces. Few were familiar, except the pitcher, who wore a strip of white tape across the bridge of his nose. She pursed her lips in disgust. That detestable Roy.

Even without the telltale bandage marking his healing nose, she’d have known him by his curly brown hair that fell across his forehead in a roguish way. She supposed he had the looks of a storybook hero, but she’d never use him in her stories—unless she had need of a true lout.

Roy held the ball toward the audience, his grin wide. Alice-Marie patted her palms together, bouncing on her seat. Her parasol slipped sideways and bopped Libby on the temple. With a little grunt, Libby shifted to the edge of the blanket. The sun hit her full in the face, but she shielded her eyes with her hand and watched Roy throw three perfect pitches across home plate. The first batter went down without once swinging his bat.

The cheers set Libby’s teeth on edge. What did these people see in that arrogant oaf? If Bennett and Petey weren’t playing, she’d return to the dormitory where she could write in peace—it seemed the entire student body had come out to watch the game—but Petey had indicated he would be pitching. She hoped he would make Roy look like an inept bumbler.

The second batter got a hit, but it bounced right to the first baseman, who scooped it up and touched the base long before the runner reached it. More cheers chased the defeated fellow back to his team. Then Bennett stepped up to bat. Alice-Marie let out a squeal that nearly pierced Libby’s eardrum.

Libby frowned at her. “I thought you were rooting for Beta Theta Pi?”

Alice-Marie hunched her shoulders. “I couldn’t resist. Look at him, so handsome and muscular, with his hair shining like rich red satin.” She released a deep sigh.

With a soft snort, Libby turned her attention to Bennett. Alice-Marie was right about Bennett being muscular. His biceps bulged as he angled the bat over his shoulder. Bending his knees, he faced the pitcher with a look of concentration on his face.

Roy’s lips twisted into a sneer. He smacked the ball into his mitt and planted his weight on one hip. “Well, well, well, look who’s up. It’s gonna give me great pleasure to strike you out, Martin.”

“Give it a try.” Bennett held his position, his lips barely moving as he spoke.

Roy spat on the grass and went into an elaborate windup. The onlookers broke into hoots and cheers as the ball zinged straight and true toward the plate. Bennett swung—and caught air. He stumbled and almost fell. Laughter broke across the crowd. Roy bowed to his audience, his grin cocky.

Libby wanted to run out on the field and give him a good kick in the shin. She turned to Alice-Marie. “Why do people egg him on? He’s the most obnoxious person I’ve ever seen!”

Alice-Marie twirled her parasol and hummed to herself as if Libby hadn’t spoken.

The girl on the other side of Alice-Marie leaned forward and answered. “Roy has led the basketball team to a winning season three years in a row. Even as a freshman, he scored more points than any other player in the conference.”

“So that makes him immune from acting like a decent human being?”

The girl shrugged. “I suppose he believes he’s earned the right to behave however he pleases.” She glanced around, indicating the supportive throng. “Everyone else seems to feel that way, too. Or they just don’t want to be considered his enemy. He has the power to make your life miserable if he doesn’t like you.”

Libby shook her head. No one person should have that much power. She intended to pen a strongly worded editorial on that very topic at the earliest opportunity.

Bennett returned to the batting position. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “Knock off the theatrics and play ball!”

With an insolent swagger, Roy returned to the pitcher’s spot and went into another windup. This time when Bennett swung, he connected. The
crack!
echoed across the field, and the ball sailed over Roy’s head. Libby let out a cry of elation, but no one else cheered. Her voice hung in the silence as everyone’s faces followed the ball like a field of sunflowers trailing the course of the sun.

The orb of white flew high, high, high against the backdrop of blue sky. Bennett dropped the bat and bounded toward first base with his focus upward, watching the ball’s progress. The center fielder scuttled in reverse, his face aimed at the sky, his mitt raised. And just as Bennett rounded second base, the ball fell directly into the center fielder’s glove. He held it over his head and jumped up and down.

The crowd went wild. Roy waved to the audience and then sauntered off the field with a grin on his face. His teammates pounded his back, leaping around as if they’d won a championship match. When Roy’s team cleared the field, the team made up of Delta Tau Delta men scurried into position. Libby’s heart skipped a beat when she spotted Petey moving toward the center of the makeshift diamond, a baseball in hand.

The loud babble of voices changed to startled gasps, whispers, and soft titters. Libby knew the spectators were looking at Petey—at his wooden leg. And making judgments about him. Alice-Marie tapped Libby’s arm. “Is this some of kind of ploy to destroy the Beta Theta Pi team’s concentration? Surely he can’t . . . can’t
throw
with that peg leg!”

Libby shot her roommate a stern look. “He
throws
with his hand.”

Someone muttered, “Is this a joke?” And another voice answered, “It’s gotta be. They’re wantin’ to get the Betas to feel sorry for him so they won’t even try to get a hit.” Someone far to Libby’s left let out a low, “Boooo!” Several others took up the cry. “Boo! Booooo!” The jeers continued, underscored by bursts of laughter.

Protectiveness welled up in Libby’s chest, and it took every bit of self-control she possessed to stay seated rather than jump up and give the whole lot of them a tongue-lashing. But Petey seemed unaware of the crowd’s derisive reaction. He put his peg leg behind him, pressing its tip into the dirt. Then, bending forward slightly, he rested his weight on his good leg. He positioned his hands in front of him. His face wore an expression of concentration. He was ready.

Watching him, Libby felt a smile twitch her cheeks. She knew what Petey could do. Very soon, those hecklers would be silenced.

Pete shifted his eyes as one of the Beta Theta Pi men separated from the tight cluster of players and ambled toward home plate. He swung his bat, nonchalant, a slight grin on his lips. His teammates laughed, calling out, “You go, Chester! Home run, buddy, home run! Easy hit!”

Pete remembered the player from his first night on campus— one of Roy’s friends who’d come running when Roy quirked his fingers for reinforcements. He swallowed. Bennett had already played these guys; he knew the team was made up of Roy and his cohorts. So why had Bennett dragged Pete into a rematch with them? He didn’t want to suspect his friend of using him to cause trouble, but his mind swerved in that direction anyway.

Bennett, at third base, cupped his hands and yelled, “Get ’im, Pete! Easy out!” A few of his teammates echoed the cry, but their voices lacked real confidence. Pete supposed he couldn’t blame them. After being—as Bennett had put it—stomped by Roy’s team the other evening, they’d been hoping for a champion pitcher to save the day. And what they got was a peg-legged cripple instead.

Suddenly, from the spectators, a familiar voice rang out. “Strike him out, Petey! One, two, three . . . out!”

A few outright snickers followed the comment, but Pete didn’t mind. Having Libby offer her support gave him the boost in confidence he needed. He straightened his shoulders and locked eyes with Chester, who settled into position at home plate. Pete looked the batter up and down, silently measuring his height, and chose the best place to aim the ball based on the distance between the man’s waist and knees. Drawing his arm back, he prepared to throw.

“Hey!” a voice blasted.

Startled, Pete jerked, throwing himself off balance. He regained his footing and then turned toward the voice.

Roy stood in front of his team with his hands on his hips. “Aren’t you gonna take a practice pitch?”

Bennett stepped off the base, his face twisted into an angry scowl. “That’s interfering with a play, Ump—automatic strike!” He glared at the umpire, daring him to call it.

But the umpire raised his skinny shoulders in a shrug. “Fair question.” He called to Pete, “You want to practice? We’ll give you two throws.” Chester bounced in place on the balls of his feet, looking from the umpire to Pete.

It had been a while since he’d pitched, but Pete didn’t want to risk wearing out his arm before the game ended. He set his jaw. The fewer throws, the better. And he’d better make each one count. Pete shook his head. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Chester hunched into position. The crowd began a low-pitched mutter: “Home run, home run, home run . . .” Pete closed his ears to the taunting hum and drew his arm back. With a snap, he released the ball. It smacked into the catcher’s mitt. Chester jerked upright, his jaw dropping. He hadn’t even swung.

“Chester!” Roy screeched from the sidelines. “You dimwit, watch the ball!”

Chester threw his arms wide. “Watch it? It came so fast, I didn’t even see it!”

Roy ran both hands through his hair. “Watch closer this time!”

Bennett called, “That’s the way, Pete! One down! Two to go!”

Pete’s teammates echoed the cry, surprise underscoring their voices. Pete tried not to smile. He waited until Chester settled into position, then snapped off a second pitch. Chester swung, but too late.

“Strike two!” the umpire bellowed, then sent a hesitant look toward Roy. Pete chose not to look at Roy. He sensed the man’s irritation from a distance of forty feet.

“One more!” Bennett nearly crowed, bouncing on his heels beside the base. “Just one more, Pete—c’mon, buddy, you can do it!”

An unearthly hush fell as Pete pulled his arm back for the third pitch. He cocked his elbow and snapped the ball toward home plate. The ball zipped directly over the unpainted slab of wood and into the catcher’s glove.

The umpire jammed his thumb toward Chester. “You’re out!”

Chester stood for a few stunned seconds, staring at Pete as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Then he dropped the bat and rejoined his team, skirting around Roy. Roy clenched his fists for a moment, glaring at Pete, then he grabbed another teammate. He threw the man forward, hissing, “You better get a hit.”