In Every Heartbeat (15 page)

Tears glimmered in her eyes. She never cried. To do so now spoke of how deeply his words affected her. But they had to face the truth. Cupping her shoulders with both hands, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I do love you, Libby. I have for a long time. I probably always will.” He swallowed again, fighting the desire to crush her to his chest. He tightened his hands into a gentle squeeze. “But I can’t ask you to love me back. Not if it means asking you to abandon the task God’s given you.”

“But . . .” She fell silent and hung her head.

Pete dropped his hands and took an awkward step backward. He gestured weakly toward the open barn doors. Sounds of the after-wedding celebration drifted in, the happiness in the guests’ voices a direct contrast to the sadness hanging like a storm cloud in the barn. “We better go. You need to get something to eat, and the dance’ll be starting soon. People will wonder where we are.”

She nodded, the movement so slight he almost thought he’d imagined it. “Y-you go ahead. I need to sit and . . .” Her throat convulsed, but then she lifted her chin, taking on a regal stance.

“I need a few minutes alone.”

“All right.” Pete turned and took a few slow steps toward the doors. Then he paused and looked back. “Libby?”

She stared straight ahead. “Yes?”

“Can I have the first dance?”

For long seconds she sat so still it appeared she’d turned to stone.

Then she shifted her face slightly to meet his gaze. She gave him the saddest smile he’d ever seen. “Of course. The very first.”

“Then I’ll watch for you.”

She looked away without replying. Pete shuffled out of the barn, his steps labored. He’d done the right thing. It wouldn’t be fair to hold Libby back. A wild spirit like hers deserved free rein. Letting her go was the best thing. For both of them.

So why did he feel as though he carried the weight of the world on his back?

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

W
hen Pete stepped from the barn, he nearly collided with Jackson Harders. The man caught Pete’s arm and laughed. “Whoa. You’re in a hurry. Eager to get to the dance, huh?”

The only person Pete wanted as a dance partner was Libby, and even though she’d promised him the first dance, he suspected she’d try to avoid him. “Not really. But I’m glad I ran into you. I have something important to ask you.”

Jackson slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels, his expression attentive. “Certainly, Pete.”

“Do you think you could help me locate my parents?”

Jackson seemed to study Pete’s face. Pete fidgeted, glad for the heavy shadow cast by the barn. Perhaps the lawyer wouldn’t be able to see beneath his surface to the lurking resentment.

Jackson’s eyebrows rose. “I assume you mean your birth parents, since Aaron and Isabelle are right there.”

“Yes.” Pete nodded. “Gunter and Berta Leidig. I . . . I need to see them.”
I need to purge myself of this fury, which has no place in my life.

“I can certainly try.” Jackson’s calm voice contrasted with the wild emotions churning through Pete’s middle. “But are you sure? It’s a big step, trying to reunite with your parents. Could go one of two ways.” He lifted his hand and flicked his fingers upward to count. “They could welcome you back into the fold, or they could refuse to see you.” His hand curled into a fist, and he lowered it to his side. “Either way, you’ll be changed permanently. So . . . are you sure you want me to open that door for you?”

Pete set his jaw. He knew he’d carry this bitter anger until he laid it at his parents’ feet. He had to see them, regardless of the costs involved. “I’m sure.”

“All right, then.” Jackson gave Pete’s shoulder a clap. “I’ll send out inquiries on Monday. Now let’s go join the party.”

Libby sat, staring at the flower-laden trellis where Matt and Lorna had stood and committed themselves to love, honor, and cherish each other for the remainder of their lives. She’d stared so long, unblinking, that her eyes hurt. Finally she let them fall closed, but behind her lids she saw an image of Petey standing straight and tall and proud beside Matt. At last, her stiff spine collapsed. She slumped over her lap, burying her face in her hands.

How foolish she’d been to throw herself at Petey that way. Hadn’t she already realized she didn’t possess the necessary traits to be a preacher’s wife? Petey was right—they had to be what they were each called to be.

She sat upright again, her breath catching. Petey had said God had called him to become a preacher, and he’d intimated she’d received a similar call to be a writer. But she couldn’t honestly say God had prompted her to take up paper and pen. It was something she’d chosen herself. In fact, she couldn’t recall ever feeling as though God had communicated anything to her. She’d prayed to God—the Rowleys made sure the children in the orphans’ school attended Sunday services, prayed before meals and at bedtime, and they’d encouraged each of the children to develop a relationship with God by accepting His Son Jesus as their Savior. Yes, Libby had frequently talked to God over the years, but not once had she heard Him so much as whisper in reply.

Once, soon after she’d come to the orphans’ school, Libby had asked Maelle about receiving answers to prayers. But Maelle’s reply had been less than satisfying.
“God doesn’t always speak to us in an audible voice, Libby. Sometimes He speaks directly to our hearts. We just have to know how to listen.”
Even now, years later, Libby could make little sense of God speaking into her heart.

Crunching her brow, she puzzled over the difference between desire and a distinct calling. Might it be God had planted this overwhelming desire to write within her as a way of calling her? Calls were intended for the better good—that much she understood. And writing articles that informed people of happenings in the world that affected them personally would certainly do a service. But . . .

She bit down on her lower lip, facing the truth. Her desire to write world-impacting stories was rooted in the recognition it could bring her rather than the good it might do for others.

Frustrated, she bounced from the bench and paced the short aisle. A faded shaft of sunlight, allowed in through one of the windows facing west, angled across Libby’s path. She stopped and let her eyes follow the soft beam from its beginning to its end. Dust motes danced in the yellow light, reminding her of stars glittering in the sky. A longing rose from her middle—to speak to God and ask Him what she should do. Her heart pounding, she licked her lips and whispered, “God?”

“Libby?”

She let out a little shriek.

A familiar chuckle rolled—Maelle’s. Libby turned toward the barn doors, where Maelle and Jackson stood. They stepped fully into the barn as Jackson said, “Did I frighten you?”

“Yes. For a moment I thought— Oh, never mind what I thought.” Disappointment created an ache in the center of her heart. As if the almighty God would take time to speak to someone as unimportant as she . . .

Maelle brushed a strand of hair from Libby’s cheek. “What are you doing in here all by yourself?”

She shrugged, uncertain how to answer.

Maelle smiled. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m glad we found you, though. There’s something important we need to discuss with you.” She and Jackson exchanged a secretive look.

Libby’s spine tingled with awareness. “S-something important?”

“Life-changing,” Jackson added with a serious nod.

Libby found it difficult to breathe. Could God finally have decided to answer her dearest prayer? Her legs began to tremble. “W-well then, let’s sit down and y-you can tell me.”

She sank onto a bench, and Maelle and Jackson sat on either side of her. Maelle took her hand. “Libby, before we share our important news, I want you to know how much I’ve always loved you.”

“I know you do,” Libby said quickly. “I’ve always loved you, too.”

Maelle squeezed her hand. “And you also know why I didn’t adopt you when you were a little girl.”

Libby nodded, her hair swinging in her face. She tossed the strands over her shoulder with an impatient flick of her wrist. “Yes. You didn’t think it would be fair since you were unmarried. You wanted me to have a mother
and
a father.” She sent a quick shy smile to Jackson before turning back to Maelle.

“That’s right.” Maelle leaned forward slightly, looking at Jackson.

He cleared his throat, and Libby turned her head to face him. “Maelle and I were forced to wait until I finished my legislative work before we could get married.” He released a rueful sigh, rubbing his finger under his nose. “It turned into a longer wait than either of us anticipated. While we’ve enjoyed these years together, we’ve also longed to begin building a family.”

“Of course, we hoped to have children of our own . . .” Sadness flashed through Maelle’s eyes. “But for whatever reason, God hasn’t chosen to allow it.”

Jackson leaned across Libby to give Maelle’s hand a brief squeeze. “So God has opened our hearts to forming a family by less traditional means.”

Libby’s heart pounded so hard she feared it might bounce into her throat and choke her. She gasped out a single word. “Y-yes?” At last she’d be able to call Maelle Ma! It might take her a while to feel comfortable enough to call Jackson Pa, but—

“And that’s why,” Maelle said, her smile serene, “Jackson and I have asked permission of Isabelle to adopt Hannah and Hester.”

For a moment, Libby thought she’d been kicked, because the air seemed forced from her lungs. She could scarcely draw a breath. “Hannah and . . . and H-Hester?”

“That’s right. They’re the sweetest girls, but so sad.” Maelle shook her head. “The first time we met them, our hearts just went out to them. We know they need us as much as we need them.” Maelle reached past Libby to clasp Jackson’s hand. “We’re so happy to become parents. And we wanted you to share our happiness, Libby. You’re the first person we’ve told. Well—” she laughed lightly—“besides Isabelle and Aaron, of course. So are you happy for us?”

Resentment and anger coiled through Libby’s frame, so intense she couldn’t remain seated. She jumped up, forcing Maelle’s arm aside. Stomping forward several feet, she clenched her fists and pinched her eyes closed.
How dare You, God? How dare You give the mother I wanted to someone else?
Then a sardonic thought flitted through her mind. Earlier that day, when Hannah and Hester had finished helping her make the crepe paper flowers, Libby had asked God to provide the girls with loving parents. God had certainly answered. . . .

She covered her face with her hands and groaned, “But I didn’t mean Maelle.”

“Libby?” Warm hands curled over her shoulders and tried to turn her around. But Libby couldn’t face Maelle. Not now. She jerked loose and ran from the barn. Just as she careened into the yard, a fiddle’s merry tune filled the air. The dance was beginning.

How she’d looked forward to this weekend at home. To celebrating with Matt and Lorna, to dancing with Petey and Bennett, to spending time with Maelle. All of that happy anticipation now stung like salt in a wound. She’d promised Petey the first dance, but she couldn’t face him.

Maelle and Jackson stepped out of the barn. Maelle called, “Libby?”

Libby held up both hands like a shield. She spoke through gritted teeth. “Leave me alone.” Then she turned and ran.

Bennett slinked behind the crowd, working his way closer to Mr. and Mrs. Rowley. Moments ago, Maelle Harders had taken the couple aside. Judging by the worried looks on their faces, something bad had happened. And Bennett wanted to know what it was. He edged sideways, keeping his back to the three while pretending to tap his foot to the music. But his ears were tuned to their conversation.

“. . . just took off. I haven’t seen her that upset since she was a little girl.” Maelle sounded confused.

“Well, you know Libby . . .” Mrs. Rowley clicked her tongue on her teeth. “I love the girl, but she can be given to theatrical displays.”

Bennett stifled a chuckle. Mrs. Rowley knew Libby pretty well.

“I think this is more than a childish tantrum” came Maelle’s insistent voice. “You didn’t see her. Aaron, I’m going to take a lantern from the barn and go—”

“Let her be, Maelle.” Mr. Rowley sounded kind but firm.

“I can’t just—”

Mr. Rowley spoke over Maelle’s protest. “This is your brother’s wedding party. You need to be here, celebrating with Matt and Lorna, not chasing after Libby. When she calms down, she’ll return. In the meantime, why don’t you . . .”

Bennett had heard enough. Apparently Pete’s conversation with Libby had rattled her good. He worked his way to the opposite side of the dance circle, seeking Pete’s head of thick blond hair. If Pete was in the crowd, he probably didn’t know Libby was miffed enough to take off. After a few minutes of searching, Bennett located Pete leaning against the hitching rail in front of the dormitory. Which meant Libby was out there, somewhere, alone.

Bennett scratched his head, weighing his options. He could do what Mr. Rowley had advised Maelle—just let her be. Or he could tell Pete. Pete would have a good idea of where Libby would hole up, and Bennett knew Pete’d go after her no matter what the Rowleys thought.
And the Rowleys would think it was fine, just ’cause he’s Pete.

No, he wouldn’t tell Pete. And he wouldn’t leave Libby out there upset and alone, either. He’d go find her himself. He had a good idea of where to look. When they were kids and Libby got her nose out of joint, she always went down to the creek and climbed a tree. Although he couldn’t imagine her climbing a tree in her best dress, she could be at the creek. He’d start there.

Hands in his pockets, he assumed a nonchalant air and sauntered past the crowd surrounding the dancers and headed behind the barn. Once out of sight, he took off at a trot. Bonfires and lanterns lit the area where the wedding party continued, hiding the fact that dusk had fallen. Evening shadows masked the landscape, and Bennett tripped over a small mound of dirt and almost fell. Why hadn’t he thought to grab a lantern? If Libby wasn’t at the creek, he’d be out of luck. Before long, it’d be too dark to look anywhere else.