In Every Heartbeat (19 page)

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-ONE

H
ow do you know he’s Pete’s brother?”

Libby toyed with the straw in her tall soda glass, giving Bennett only a brief, impatient look. She hunched farther into the high-backed booth in the corner of the drugstore and hissed, “Didn’t you hear anything I just said? The man at the newspaper office said the boy’s name was Oscar Leidig.”

“And?” Bennett slurped a bite of ice cream.

Libby wished she could yank the dish and spoon away from him. She’d consumed very little of her vanilla phosphate, too tense to enjoy the treat Bennett had purchased. His appetite, however, appeared to be intact. He’d already finished one ice cream sundae and started on a second. “And what? His last name is Leidig!”

Bennett laughed. “Lib, you always let your imagination get away from you. You hear a name and right away you think—”

“What else am I supposed to think? The man who covered the trial said the boy is tall, with blond hair—he showed me sketches made during the trial. He looks exactly like Petey.” Libby had spent the past three days mulling over the few facts she’d gleaned from the newspaper reporter when she’d sneaked away from Alice-Marie’s house. The knowledge had eaten at her until she could no longer hold it inside. So she’d asked Bennett to accompany her to the drugstore for a private chat. Libby hugged herself, remembering the artist’s renditions of the trial lawyers, judge, and defendant. The emptiness in the defendant’s eyes—eyes so much like Petey’s— continued to haunt her.

“There are lots of tall, blond-haired men in the world, you know. They aren’t all Pete’s family members.” Bennett swirled his spoon through the etched glass bowl, turning the remaining chocolate sauce and melting ice cream into a mushy brown mess. “There’s probably more than one Leidig family in a town the size of Clayton. It’s possible the kid is related to Pete—maybe a cousin or something—but he doesn’t have to be Pete’s brother. Has Pete ever mentioned a brother named Oscar?”

Libby shook her head. “But that doesn’t mean anything. He could have a brother named Oscar and we wouldn’t know it, because Petey never talks about his family. He thinks of Mr. and Mrs. Rowley as his parents now.”

Bennett took one last bite and then pushed the dish away and clanked the spoon onto the table. “Yeah. They always treated
him
like a son, but—”

Libby waited for him to finish, but he clamped his lips shut and stared to the side. She asked, “So what do I do, Bennett? How do I tell him?” Ordinarily, Libby wouldn’t ask Bennett for advice. His cavalier attitude usually made him respond flippantly rather than seriously. Yet she hoped the seriousness of the situation would elicit sympathy and cooperation from Bennett.

Bennett rested his elbows on the edge of the table. “All right, Lib, let’s pretend for a minute that this kid—this Oscar Leidig—
is
Pete’s brother. He’s committed a crime—”

Libby grimaced, remembering what the newspaper reporter had told her. “A
terrible
crime.”

“A terrible crime,” he repeated. “And he’s going to pay for it with his life.”

The imagination Bennett had mentioned earlier painted ugly pictures in Libby’s mind. She shuddered. “That’s right.”

“So that means he’s going to be dead.”

Libby wished Bennett wouldn’t speak so matter-of-factly about something so distressing. “You’re far too indifferent about this, Bennett!”

He flipped his palms toward her. “I’m just stating the facts. Isn’t that what you wanted to do—uncover the truth? Well, there it is. If this kid’s already condemned to die, what difference does it make if he’s Pete’s brother? The judge has already given the sentence. How will telling Pete change anything?”

Libby stared at Bennett in silence, digesting what he’d said. Although she didn’t care for his apathetic tone, his statement made sense. Might it be better to keep the information to herself? Telling Petey would only bring him pain—especially since there was no hope of saving his brother.

“But if you really think he needs to know,” Bennett continued, “you better find out for sure whether this boy is Pete’s brother. Get all the information before you go running to Pete and telling him his kid brother has been convicted of murder. Did that newspaper man tell you who the kid’s parents were?”

“He only told me what he’d gleaned from sitting in on the trial—the boy’s name, what crime he’d committed, and the sentence.” Libby slumped in the seat. “I got the impression no one really cares much about this boy. He’s just one of any number of young troublemakers running wild, wreaking havoc. The newspaper man even seemed relieved to have one less ruffian on the streets.” She sighed. “Maybe I should tell Petey just so someone else cares about this boy. Everyone else seems completely indifferent.”

Bennett reached into his pants pocket and withdrew some coins. He flipped a nickel onto the table next to his ice cream dish and slid out of the booth. A humorless laugh left his throat. “His brother or not, Preacher Pete would hurry right to the jail to talk to the kid.”

Libby nodded solemnly. Yes, Petey would care. Even if the boy sitting in that basement cell was no relation at all, he’d care— because Petey had a heart of gold. Even with all the difficulties he’d been forced to bear—being abandoned by his parents, mistreated by people, and losing his leg—he chose to pour himself into others rather than feel sorry for himself. He’d make a wonderful minister. Her heart panged as she realized, once again, how his becoming a minister would separate them one day.

Libby rose, and Bennett draped his arm across her shoulders as he led her toward the door. They walked in silence to the campus, their breath sending little clouds of condensation into the cool evening air. When they reached Rhodes Hall, Bennett turned Libby to face him. “Can’t tell you what to do, Lib. But I wouldn’t say anything to Pete unless I had all the facts. If you really think he should know, find out for sure whether this Oscar Leidig is really his brother or not.”

“But how can I do that?”

Bennett chuckled and brushed his knuckles along her jaw. “Seems simple enough to me. Ask Pete.”

“If I ask Petey, he’ll want to know why I’m asking, and there will be no way to avoid telling him what his brother has done.”

Bennett shrugged and turned to head down the sidewalk toward his dorm. He called over his shoulder, “Then go ask the kid.”

On Thursday morning, Pete plopped his suitcase open on his bed. He stood staring into the empty case, gnawing his lower lip in indecision. What did a person wear when seeing his parents for the first time in almost a dozen years?

He decided to wear work trousers and a soft chambray shirt for travel; he would don the suit Aaron and Isabelle had given him as a graduation gift when he went to his parents’ apartment. Pa and Ma wouldn’t expect him to look like a gentleman. He smiled, anticipating the surprise he’d certainly witness in their eyes. He hoped to glimpse pride, too—a displaced pride, since they’d had nothing to do with the man he’d grown to be. Would that pride change to shame by the time he’d finished speaking his piece?

He hopped to the wardrobe on his good leg and withdrew his suit. Turning awkwardly, he made his way back to the bed. Every jarring step drove deeper his angry resentment toward Gunter and Berta.
Once I’ve said what needs saying, the anger’ll be gone
. He prayed that would prove true.

His hands shook as he meticulously folded his pants, jacket, and shirt. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and broke out across his back, making him feel sticky. Nausea attacked, and he sank onto the edge of the bed. Holding his stomach, he willed the feeling to pass. Nerves . . . just nerves. But he had to gain control before he boarded the train or the motion would surely make him sick. Gritting his teeth, he finished packing and strapped on his peg leg. He glanced at his pocket watch.

The train was scheduled to leave at ten o’clock. He’d eat breakfast, let his stomach settle, and then head to the station.
And by tomorrow I’ll be rid of Gunter and Berta—and their hold on me—for good.

With that thought hovering in his mind, he walked across the grounds toward the dining hall. Halfway there, pounding footsteps sounded behind him, and he braced himself in case the runner accidentally bumped him when passing. But to his surprise, the steps halted and someone threw an arm around his shoulders. His surprise grew when he looked into the grinning face of Roy Daley.

“Morning, Peg leg.”

Roy’s firm grip on Pete’s shoulder combined with his swaggering gait made Pete feel off-balance. His muscles tensed as he fought to keep his footing. “Good morning.”

“Mind if I join you for breakfast? Somethin’ I’d like to discuss with you.”

Puzzled, Pete shrugged. What could Roy want? The other man had ceased harassing Pete and Bennett, to Pete’s relief, after the Sunday baseball game. In fact, Roy had kept his distance, ignoring them so thoroughly Pete believed he’d forgotten they existed. His sudden friendliness put Pete on his guard.

They entered the dining hall side-by-side, with Roy keeping a grip on Pete’s shoulder as if afraid he might bolt. Roy waved at a table of friends, smirking and raising one eyebrow in a way that seemed to communicate a secret message. Pete’s apprehension grew more intense by the minute. Roy pointed to an empty table and gave Pete a little push toward it.

“Have a seat, Peg leg, ol’ buddy. I’ll get us both some breakfast and be back in a minute.”

Uncertain but unwilling to cause conflict, Pete pulled out a chair and sat. He watched Roy amble to the front of the line. Two students voiced mild protests when he butted in front of them, but Roy laughed and plopped two plates on his tray. Pete looked over to the table where Roy’s friends sat. They each wore a smirking grin, their eyes darting from Roy to Pete. A cold chill raised the fine hairs on the back of Pete’s neck. What was Roy up to?

Roy came to the table and slid a plate of food in front of Pete. “There you go. Waffles today—they look good. Eat up.” Roy began sawing off a large chunk of waffle.

Pete kept his hands in his lap. “Do you mind if I say grace?”

Roy’s fork paused midway between his plate and his mouth. Then he let the fork clatter onto his plate and held his hands wide. “Be my guest.”

Pete bowed his head and offered a brief prayer of blessing. When he finished, Roy cleared his throat and plucked up his fork once more. He took the first bite without saying a word. As soon as Pete lifted a bite to his mouth, Roy drawled, “So, tell me about Miss Conley.”

Pete nearly choked on the bite. He chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of milk. “Tell you . . . what?”

Roy snickered. “Everything.” He popped another bite in his mouth and talked around it. “I already know from her roommate she’s an orphan—doesn’t bother me. I know she wants to be a journalist—that’ll probably pass. Women and careers . . .” He snorted softly, then grinned. “But what I don’t know is how she’s connected to you and Martin. You all were thick as thieves at the beginning of the year, but now you’ve kind of . . . I don’t know . . . split up, I guess.” He forked up another bite of waffle. “So . . . is she your girlfriend?”

Pain stabbed Pete’s chest. How he wished he could say yes. But he shook his head.

“Martin’s, then?”

“No.” Pete pushed the remaining waffle back and forth on his plate with the fork’s tines. “We all went to school together. So we’re . . . friends.” Or
were
friends. With all that had happened since they’d come to college, Pete wasn’t sure he could define his relationship with Libby or Bennett anymore. The thought saddened him.

“Then she’s available?”

The eagerness in the man’s voice raised Pete’s hackles. He dropped his fork, his appetite gone. “Why are you asking me?”

Roy shoved his tray to the side. He rested both arms on the table and leaned close to Pete. “Because I think she’s the prettiest girl on campus, and I’d like to get to know her better. I’ve tried. She resists me. And I’m not one to back off from a challenge.”

Pete shook his head, baffled. “I still don’t know why you’re asking me.”

“Because I think you can get me what I want.”

Pete laughed. He hadn’t intended to, but the sound rose up without effort. “How?”

“You just said you went to school together. That you’re friends.”

“Yes, but—”

“And I’ve got something you want. You help me, and I’ll help you.”

“What do you have that I want?”

Roy’s grin turned conniving. “A place in Beta Theta Pi.”

Pete chuckled. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Roy. I’m not pledging Beta Theta Pi.”

“Sure you are. Your name’s on the list. Right below that buddy of yours, Bennett Martin.”

Pete frowned. “I didn’t ask to pledge a fraternity.”

“But your buddy did. And it looks to me like he wants both of you to get in. Well, here’s the thing.” Roy cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. “Right now I’m seein’ the two of you as a matched set. What one gets, you both get; what one loses, you both lose. If I don’t take you, I don’t take Martin.” He waggled his hands in the air. “Is any of this makin’ sense to you, pal?”