In Every Heartbeat (3 page)

Shame washed over Pete. She thought of him as crippled? “Libby, enough.”

But she cupped her hands beside her mouth and yelled to the approaching students. “Everyone look at the big men! Harassing a woman and a man with a peg leg. Will any of you stand up to them?”

Suddenly one man broke free of the crowd and charged across the grounds. Pete groaned when he recognized Bennett’s fiery red hair. Hadn’t he been humiliated enough by Libby’s shouts? Now his childhood buddy had to come rescue him?

“Bennett, stay out of this,” Pete growled as soon as Bennett reached them.

But Bennett grinned. “Don’t you worry, Pete. I’ll take ’em down a notch or two. I got no bum leg holdin’
me
back.” Bennett raised his fists and went into a fighter’s crouch. “All right, fellas, all I ask is you come at me one at a time. That’s only fair, right?”

“Sure, that’s fair,” Roy agreed, waving his arm. A half dozen young men, all attired in dark blue jackets with a gold emblem on the left shoulder, trotted across the lawn and joined Roy and Claude. “We’ll even let you decide which one of us you want to take first.”

Bennett rubbed his thumb on the side of his nose and swept his gaze across the circle of men. Before he could point at any of them as his first contender, Pete jolted forward.

“This is ridiculous!” On his second step, Pete’s peg leg slid in the grass. He flailed.

Bennett caught Pete’s arm, preventing him from falling. “Get back, buddy. I’ll handle this.”

“But it isn’t necessary.” Pete grabbed for Bennett’s elbow, but his friend danced sideways, evading his grasp.

Bennett rotated his fists, drawing small circles in the air. “Come on. I’m ready. Who wants to start?”

The crowd grew, made up of men and women both. By their curious gawks and eager grins, it appeared all were keen to witness a melee. Pete looked around in frustration. Wasn’t it enough that the newspaper headlines were filled with stories about the war waging in Europe? There was no need for a scrape right here on the University of Southern Missouri campus.

“Bennett, stop showing off. Let me handle this on my own.” Pete managed to grab Bennett’s arm, but his friend shook loose.

“I can take ’em.” Bennett’s narrowed eyes bounced from one adversary to another. “Just get out of my way.”

Two of Roy’s friends tugged off their jackets and stomped up to within a few feet of Bennett. One pointed at Pete. “Let’s go.”

Bennett bolted upright. “Wait a minute. Pete’s not fighting.”

“He started it,” Roy called from the sidelines, “so he’s gonna help finish it.”

The man who’d pointed at Pete advanced.

Libby flew across the grass and flung herself in front of Pete. “Don’t you dare touch him!”

The man came to a startled halt. Laughter broke out across the crowd.

Pete groaned. Less than an hour ago, Jackson had chided him to keep Libby from mischief. And look at what he’d done—inspired a riot with her at the very center. He curled his hand over her shoulder. “Libby, please . . .”

“No!” She batted his hand away, her hair swinging wildly around her face. She held her arms out and blocked Pete with her body. “If you think you have to fight someone, you’re going to have to fight me.”

The man looked past Libby to Pete. Disdain curled his lips. “You’re gonna let this girl fight your battle for you?”

“No.” Pete grabbed Libby around the waist and lifted her. She squawked, slapping at his hands. Pain shot from his stump to his hip, and it took every ounce of effort he possessed to keep his footing, but to his relief he remained upright and set her aside.

But the moment he released her, she darted back in front of him. She shot him a furious look before whirling on the other man. “If you want to fight, you’ll fight me. You won’t lay a finger on Petey.”

Pete wished the ground would rise up and swallow him whole.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

B
ennett eyed the tall, curly-haired man at the front of the crowd. Arms folded over his chest, laughing. He was enjoying Libby’s exhibition. Good ol’ Lib, always in the middle of a fracas. Her antics were buying him the time he needed to size up the situation.

Running wild on the streets of Shay’s Ford, Missouri, he’d learned a thing or two about survival, and one of the most important lessons was recognizing the leader of packs. All Bennett had to do was take down the leader, and the pack would scatter. Worked every time.

“Hey! You there!” Bennett took one step toward the curly-haired man laughing at Libby.

The man swung his face in Bennett’s direction, his smile changing to a sneer.

Bennett bounced, his knees loose. “You said I could choose who I wanted to fight first, right?” Bennett aimed his trigger finger directly at the man’s nose. “I choose you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pete whisk Libby away from the action. Good. Now he’d be able to focus on his target instead of worrying about one of his pals getting hurt.

Bennett crouched again, his fists ready. “So c’mon.”

For a moment, the man looked uncertain. Bennett didn’t bother to hide his smirk. He wouldn’t be at all surprised to see the bully turn and run now that he’d been confronted. But then the man yanked off his coat. He handed it to one of his friends and began rolling up his sleeves with slow, deliberate movements. His buddies shouted encouragement.

Elation zinged through Bennett’s frame, powerful as a lightning bolt. So the man would fight! Besting him would be even better than seeing him run. Bennett danced in place, waiting for the taller man to finish readying himself. “C’mon, man, hurry up. You’re as slow as my grandmaw.” Bennett didn’t even know his grandmother, but the taunt hit its mark.

The man’s face blazed red. His friends called, “Let ’im have it, Roy. Show him who’s boss.”

“That’s right, Roy. Show me.”
Or better yet, be prepared to let me show you no one bests Bennett Martin.

Bennett tensed as the man approached. Although a good six inches shorter, Bennett figured he outweighed the other man by at least twenty pounds. Ever since the Rowleys had pulled him off the streets, he’d taken advantage of the free meals. The abundance of food, combined with Bennett’s ceaseless activities, had resulted in a thick, muscular build. All he had to do was get this fellow pinned, and the fight would be over in no time.

For several seconds Roy stood motionless, one leg braced in front of the other, his fists in position, eying Bennett. Bennett watched the man’s face, anticipating the first lunge. A slight tensing of jaw muscles gave a warning, and Bennett easily sidestepped the first punch. While Roy was off-balance, Bennett brought his right fist upward and caught Roy under the chin. Roy staggered, his arms flailing, and Bennett swung with his left. He connected firmly with Roy’s nose.

“Ohhh! Ohhh!” Roy grabbed his face and bent over. “My nose! You broke my nose!”

“That can happen in a fight, my friend.” Bennett rubbed his stinging knuckles.

Blood dripped between Roy’s fingers. He slinked to the side, still holding his nose.

Bennett looked across the group of Roy’s friends. “Who’s next?”

The gang of men murmured and backed away. Roy, hunkered over like an old man, headed for the men’s dormitory. The crowd dispersed, muttering and shaking their heads.

Bennett waited until everyone had gone before turning to Pete and Libby. He grinned. “Leave you two alone for one hour and look what happens. You all right?” His gaze flicked past Pete to Libby and lingered. How could anyone so pretty be so tough? “Honestly, Lib, one of these days you’re going to have to start acting like a girl.”

Libby tossed her head. Her long hair waved like a horse’s mane. “Those men made me so mad! They had no reason to attack us. Just because we’re new around here, they—”

“Get used to it,” Bennett said without sympathy. “We’re first-year students, and first-year students are nothin’. Hazing is just part of a freshman’s college life. But—” He gave her a warning look. “With Pete over in Landry Hall in the Bible College, you in the journalism classes, and me in the School of Engineering, I won’t always be around. So be careful when you’re pickin’ fights.”

Libby glared at him. “
I
didn’t pick that fight! That . . . that Roy brought it to us!”

“All right, all right, don’t start fighting with
me
now.”

Libby slipped her hand through Pete’s arm and smiled up at him. “But all’s well that ends well, right, Petey?”

Pete didn’t smile in return.

Bennett socked him on the shoulder then flexed his fist. That Roy had a hard head. “C’mon, buddy, don’t look so glum. Nobody got hurt. Except Roy.” He waited for Pete to laugh. But he didn’t.

Pete turned Libby toward the women’s hall and began limping in that direction. “Come on, Libby. We need to get you to Rhodes Hall and then return to our own dormitories before curfew.”

Bennett sauntered along on the other side of Libby, his usual spot. When it was the three of them, he and Pete always flanked Libby. And no matter what he did to gain her attention, she always looked to Pete first.

He bumped her lightly with his elbow. “Hey, I didn’t see either of you in the dining hall. Food’s pretty good—not as good as ol’ Cookie Ramona’s grub at the school, but there’s plenty of it.” Bennett patted his belly. “I got filled up with no trouble at all. I put some rolls in my pocket. Want one?” He reached into his jacket pocket and encountered a jumble of crumbs. “Aw, Roy must’ve crushed ’em when he plowed into me. Sorry.”

Libby flashed him a quick grin. “Don’t worry. We weren’t hungry anyway, were we, Petey?”

Pete pointed to the arched double doors of the women’s hall. “Go on in, Libby. We’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

“All right. Good night, Petey. Good night, Bennett.”

Bennett bristled. He’d just fought to protect her. Couldn’t she at least tell him good night first? But of course Pete would always be first where Lib was concerned; he had the sympathy factor going for him with his bum leg. “Night, Lib.”

He and Pete stood on the sidewalk and waited until Libby closed herself behind the doors. Then they turned toward Franklin Hall, where Bennett’s room was located. Bennett slowed his steps to match Pete’s stride. Pete could run when he wanted to on that peg leg. It was a clumsy way of running—kind of a double hop on his good leg followed by a skip on his peg—but he could move pretty fast. Even so, most of the time he kept to a sedate pace. Bennett tried not to get impatient with him over it.

“So how’s your room in Landry?” Bennett asked. His own room was small and smelled a little bit like the cave he and Pete had stumbled upon when they were children, but he’d slept in a lot worse places.

“Small,” Pete said, “and it smells kind of like bat dung.”

Bennett grinned. Funny how the two of them thought alike. Bennett supposed that was bound to happen, as much time as they’d spent together. He and Pete had latched on to each other from the first day Bennett had arrived at the Reginald Standler Home, rescued by Aaron Rowley. Being the oldest boys in the school, they’d ruled the roost, although Pete seemed to look out for the younger kids while Bennett preferred to boss them around.

Bennett snorted. “I told Libby to get used to it, but it’s not gonna be easy, being low man around here.” He bumped Pete with his elbow. “But we survived the streets and we’ll survive being lowly college freshmen, huh? We got through tonight just fine.”

Pete came to a stop and frowned at Bennett. “Listen, about tonight . . .”

Bennett pushed his jacket flaps aside to slip his hands into his pants pockets. “Don’t bother to thank me, Pete. You know I can never pass up a good fight. Didn’t bother me at all to come to your rescue.”

The furrows in Pete’s forehead deepened. “That’s just it. I didn’t want you coming to my rescue. I could have handled the situation fine. There might not have even been a fight if you hadn’t come charging over there with your fists in the air. The Bible says—”

Bennett held up both palms. “Hold it right there. I know you’re planning to be a preacher. You want to spend your days praying and sermonizing? Go ahead if that’s what makes you happy. But you aren’t
my
preacher. So don’t sermonize at
me
.”

Pete dropped his head back and sighed. “All right.” He met Bennett’s gaze again. “I tell you what: I won’t fling sermons at you if you won’t fling your fists around for me. Pact?” He held out his hand.

Bennett frowned at Pete’s hand for a moment. He wasn’t sure he liked the tone Pete used. His pal sounded sore about something, but what? Thanks to Bennett, Pete’d kept his nose clean . . . and unpunched. He ought to be grateful that Bennett had stepped in when he did. But if Pete wanted to fight for himself next time, so be it. Bennett wouldn’t deny him the pleasure.

He grasped Pete’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Pact, buddy. From now on, your battles are your own.”

“Your battles are your own
.” Pete replayed Bennett’s parting comment as he limped toward Landry Hall. The big rock building loomed ahead, its many-windowed roof peaks reminding Pete of eyes peering across the campus. The first time he’d seen the Bible college building, he’d liked it. Built of stone—sturdy, immovable. Unlike some of the other buildings, no towering trees shaded Landry, and the stones glowed like gold in the waning sunlight. The building seemed a sanctuary. Pete liked the idea of having a place of refuge.

“Your battles are your own.”
The words continued to niggle at Pete’s mind as he made his way through the corridor to the staircase. He was able to hop up the stairs using only his good leg to support himself, but tonight he took them with two feet on every step. Trudging progress. Left, right; left, right. One riser at a time.
Click
with the peg leg and
clunk
with his boot sole. Slow going, but quiet.

He reached his room and closed himself inside. The soft snap of the door latch echoed, and despite the warmth of the room, Pete shivered. He’d never had a room all to himself. Before his folks kicked him out, he’d shared a three-room apartment with his parents and five younger siblings. At the orphans’ home, he and Bennett roomed with six other orphaned boys. Before that, he’d slept at the Rowleys’ market in a storeroom with an ever-changing population of street boys. Even when he’d spent nights on the street, there’d been other homeless kids around.

He wished he could room with Bennett, but they were in different programs. Besides, everyone enrolled in the Bible college had a private room. The professors said it would give them the privacy they needed to study, pray, and meditate. Pete supposed he’d get used to the silence eventually.

He removed his new store-bought jacket and hung it on the back of the desk chair, then sat on the edge of the squeaky little bed in the corner. He looked out the window at the grounds, now shadowed as the sun slipped behind the trees. Heaving a sigh, he spoke aloud in the empty room. “Your battles are your own, Pete.” A rueful laugh left his lips. “That is, if you can keep Libby from fighting them for you.”

Humiliation washed over him, making him break out in a sweat. What must those who watched the evening’s squabble on the lawn think of him? A grown man, being defended by a slip of a girl. He’d seen the smirks, heard the disparaging comments. Libby, unwittingly, had branded him a coward. And a cripple. He hated that word. He hated that Libby had used it to define him.

He unstrapped his wooden leg and tossed it aside, then pushed to a standing position. He found his balance quickly after years of standing on one foot and hopped to the window. Bracing his palms on the smooth, cool stone ledge that formed the sill, he peered across the campus, but the memory of Libby’s fierce expression as she defended him filled his vision.

Libby was feisty—she’d always been. Just as he was. And Bennett, too. They’d had to be feisty to survive. Libby had lost her parents in a carriage accident; Bennett didn’t even remember his folks; and Pete’s pa and ma had kicked him out to fend for himself when he was only seven years old. If he, Libby, and Bennett hadn’t been aggressive, they might have rolled over and died.

Even though they’d each eventually found their way to the orphans’ home and the loving attention of Aaron and Isabelle Rowley, they still carried that childhood feistiness into adulthood. The only difference between him and his friends was his missing leg. He looked down at the empty pant leg dangling a few inches above the floor, and anger rose up, hot and all-consuming. He’d have two good legs had it not been for his parents, Gunter and Berta Leidig.

Aaron Rowley had told Pete he needed to forgive his parents, and Pete agreed, but he didn’t know how to let loose of the resentment. He wouldn’t have been on that trolley, carrying an armload of newspapers to sell on a corner, if they hadn’t sent him out into the cold. He’d never forget the shock and pain of the trolley wheel rolling across his leg. Three brief seconds of time had changed his life forever. And he’d never forget the parents who’d allowed it to happen through their lack of responsibility toward their child.