In Every Heartbeat (32 page)

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SIX

H
umming joyously, Libby ran the brush through her hair, smoothing the strands away from her face. Then with deft twists, she formed a braid and tied the end with a piece of ribbon. She smiled at her reflection, pleased with the results.

Trailing her fingers down the length of her thick black braid, she remembered the times Maelle had allowed her to brush her flowing auburn tresses. She’d always wanted to be like Maelle— strong, independent, full of confidence. And now, looking into her own peaceful face, she believed she’d accomplished the goal. But it had nothing to do with long hair or steeling herself against tears or even being self-confident.

Maelle was a woman of faith. She viewed God as her Father— her ever-present companion and helper. Libby pressed her hand to her heart, gratitude filling her at the assurance that she, too, knew God. He was with her and would never let her go.

She turned from the mirror and glanced at the clock. Five forty-five. Her heart skipped a beat. She reached eagerly for her coat, but her fingers trembled as she struggled to fasten the buttons. Laughing at herself, she said aloud, “One would think I was going to see the Prince of England rather than meeting Petey Leidig in the dining hall!” But even the prince couldn’t be as important as Petey—not to her.

Bowing her head, she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. “God, You know how much I love Petey. But even more than I love him, I want to please You. If I must say . . .” The word she never said quivered on her lips. In her memory, her childish voice rang, calling out that word cheerfully to her parents as they headed down the lane. For so many years,
good-bye
had meant never seeing the person again. Could she trust God enough to give Him control of that word?

“Good-bye . . .” It rushed out, and her chest ached, but her lungs still drew breath. She flung her gaze to the ceiling, imagining God’s smile of approval. “If I must say good-bye to Petey, I shall bear it, because I know I rest in Your every heartbeat.” Blissful contentment swept over her. Surely something broken deep inside of herself had discovered healing with that long-denied utterance.

She retrieved her leather portfolio, which she’d filled with pages to share with Petey, and reached for the doorknob. She was ready.

She tried to walk, but her feet refused to cooperate. After a few sedate steps, they skipped. And then ran. Drawing herself up, she enforced slow, measured progress. But after only a few yards, she began skipping again. Propelled forward on a bubble of eagerness, she finally gave her feet freedom, and she ran the final distance to the dining hall. And there stood Petey, already waiting on the porch in his finest suit, his hair neatly combed and a smile of welcome lighting his face.

Libby stopped so suddenly she slid on the concrete floor. Their gazes met, and she couldn’t prevent a grin from climbing her cheeks. “You’re early.”

“So are you.”

Then they stood awkwardly, saying nothing. Several students pushed between them and filed through the door. Libby had to joggle her head to keep Petey in her sights; his smile never dimmed. Was he even aware of the interruption? She scampered forward, close enough that no one else could creep between them, so close she had to tip her face back to look into his dear blue eyes.

His eyes crinkled, and her heart fired straight into her throat. He stuck out his elbow. “Shall we go in?”

With a giggle, she took hold. They walked in together, his elbow pressing her hand tight against his ribs. The line was long, but she felt no sense of urgency. She didn’t mind waiting. Not while she was with Petey. They didn’t talk, even though people around them engaged in conversation. She discovered no need to talk. Looking up and seeing his familiar smile and the contentedness in his eyes was enough. When they finally had trays in hand, he gestured her to a table in the far corner. She reached it first, but for some reason she didn’t quite fathom, she didn’t immediately sit.

Petey limped up beside her. Something sparked in his eyes— understanding? approval?—and he set down his tray. With a slight bow, he took her tray and placed it next to his, then pulled out her chair. She slid into it as if they’d followed this routine dozens of times before. Their actions were seemingly by rote, but the quivering awareness of him in the center of her being was far beyond the ordinary.

God, I told you I could tell him good-bye. If You deem it best for me, I’ll do it, but please give me strength.

“Shall I pray?” Petey held out his hand, and she slipped hers into it. His fingers closed, warm and firm, as he offered God thanks and asked a blessing for the food. His eyes opened, but he didn’t let loose. Just sat there, his penetrating gaze pinned to her face, while he continued to hold her hand gently.

For a moment, Libby felt she was one of her storybook heroines come to life. Fluttering heartbeats and the blissful sensation of floating somewhere in clouds left her shaky and uncertain how to proceed. Someone would have to restore normalcy, and clearly it wouldn’t be him.

With a little giggle, she pulled loose and reached for her fork. “So catch me up on everything that happened.” Her voice squeaked out unnaturally high, but her casual actions seemed to bring Petey back to reality.

He jolted, looked at his plate as if surprised to have food in front of him, and picked up his own fork. After the first jerky stab with his fork, he relaxed, and while they ate he regaled her with the details of his time in Clayton.

Libby listened in amazement. In her mind, she envisioned puzzle pieces sliding effortlessly into place, completing a picture of God’s own choosing. When he’d finished, she touched his wrist. “Petey, if Aaron and Isabelle hadn’t invited your mother and siblings to reside in the orphans’ school, would you really have quit school to take care of them?”

His forehead puckered. “I believe I would have. I don’t think God could have blessed the decision—I left Him out of the planning— but I would have done it. And, as much as I wanted to help them . . .” He heaved a sigh, as if recognizing something for the first time. “I probably would have been miserable. I’m supposed to preach, Libby. That’s my God-designed purpose. Anything else— even something well-intentioned that resulted in good—would have been less than satisfying. I’m more determined than ever to stay within God’s will, no matter what it costs me.”

As a pained expression took over his features, he set down his fork beside his half-empty plate. “Even if it costs me you.”

Tears sprang into Libby’s eyes. She clutched his wrist. “Oh, Petey . . . me too.”

He sent her a puzzled look.

“Petey, may I share what happened while you were away?”

He turned his chair slightly to peer directly into her face. Transfixed, he listened as she explained her pell-mell race to find God. As she shared the revelations of her moments at the old stone foundations, tears winked in his eyes, and a sweet smile grew on his face.

“I was foolish for so long, trying to make God be what I wanted Him to be—some kind of wish-bestower.” She chuckled ruefully, shaking her head. “As if He could ever be that small . . . Now that I’ve discovered my value in His eyes, being known and admired by thousands is so insignificant. His love has filled all the empty places in my hungering, needy soul.”

Petey flipped his hand around to capture hers, squeezing hard, letting her know he approved. Then he gave a little start. “Libby, does this mean you’ve given up becoming a writer?”

She sucked in a breath. Biting down on her lower lip, she reached for the portfolio. Her fingers fumbled with the catch, but she finally managed to open it and pull out the newspaper bearing Petey’s article.

“Petey, when I read this . . .” Head low, shame teasing her heart, she forced herself to continue. “I wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. I’ve written stories just like the ones you’re describing—stories glorifying the physical aspect of love but ignoring everything else. They were so easy to compose. My endless imagination . . . it served me well.” She risked a glance at him. No recrimination showed in his face. Swallowing, she continued. “A magazine even purchased some of those stories from me and recently asked me to write for them exclusively. They offered me a contract.”

She pulled out the letter from Mr. Price. Petey took it with a solemn nod and examined it as she went on. “I could think of a dozen ways to use that money, but what I wanted most was to give it to you.” His head shot up, his eyebrows high. “For your family,” she clarified. “I knew you could use it.”

“Oh, but—”

“But after reading your article in the paper, and listening to my own heart, I couldn’t agree to their request. I couldn’t continue writing those kinds of stories—not even to help you.”

His shoulders collapsed as relief flooded his face.

“I’ve already written to Mr. Price, asking him to withdraw my stories from their publishing schedule, and . . .” Her hands shook anew as she reached once more for the portfolio. “I’d like to offer him this instead.” She placed six written pages in Petey’s waiting hands. “It’s a story. An allegory. Do you know what that is?”

His eyes on the pages, he shook his head.

“An allegory is a metaphorical story. It tells the tale of one thing while representing another.”

His expression didn’t clear.

She laughed softly. “Jesus told parables.”

He tipped his head, his expression attentive.

“They were stories about people or events, but they held a deeper meaning. An allegory is similar in that the tale carries a moral or religious meaning outside of the story itself.” She tapped the pages. “I used a reference from First Corinthians 13 when crafting this one. It’s a love story, Petey, between a man and woman, but the deeper message reflects the love God holds for all of us.”

She smiled. “It occurs to me that God is the maker of romance. Is there any greater love story than the one in Luke that tells of Jesus’ sacrifice for mankind?”

Petey blew out a soft breath. “I’d never thought of it that way.”

Her hands shook as she made her next request. “I want you to read my story. And then, afterward, if you believe it’s appropriate, I’ll send it to Mr. Price.”

“Why do you need me to read it first? It’s your story. You should do what you want to with it.”

“But your opinion is important to me. That day you caught me on the lawn and told me you were going to wage a battle against love stories, I—” She cringed, remembering her fierce reaction. “I felt guilty. It made it hard for me to look you in the face.” Sighing, she admitted, “I never want anything like that coming between us again. So read it, Petey, please? And be honest with me.” She shrugged. “Of course, even if you approve it, Mr. Price may tell me it’s not what he’s looking for. But that’s all right. At least I’ll know I followed my conscience and didn’t proceed with something that I believed would displease God. That’s much more important.”

Petey lowered the pages to the table. For long moments he seemed to examine them, his mouth set in a serious line. Then he looked at Libby. Something in his expression made her hold her breath.

“Libby, what you said about following your conscience and not doing things that would displease God . . .”

“
There
you two are!” The voice came from behind Libby’s head. She whirled around and found Alice-Marie, hands on her hips and fury blazing in her eyes. “Come with me
right now
. You must see what Bennett has done this time!”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-SEVEN

S
tudents clustered on the lawn beneath a bare oak tree, jabbering excitedly. The glow from a nearby streetlamp highlighted Bennett’s unruly mane of red hair in the center of the group. Pete took hold of Libby’s arm. “C’mon.” With Alice-Marie stomping along behind them, they pushed through the crowd to reach Bennett. When Pete got a good look at his buddy, he jerked so hard in surprise he almost knocked himself down.

Libby clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Bennett! What have you done?”

Bennett smoothed his hand down the front of a grayish-green army uniform. “Signed up.” He smirked at Libby. “Didn’t I tell you I would?”

“But—” She shook her head, her focus bouncing from his head to his toes and up again. “Now? When you’re in school?”

Bennett laughed. He smacked the arm of the closest student and bobbed his head toward the dining hall. “You all go on in and get a seat. I’ll join you in a minute.”

The others wandered off, still chattering. Pete stood in stunned silence between Libby and Alice-Marie. Both girls stared at Bennett, and they seemed to have lost their ability to speak. Bennett grinned widely, fingering the metal buttons on the trim-fitting blouse. “Pretty sharp, huh? No gun yet—that’ll come after I’ve been through training—but they let me wear the uniform anyway.” He tugged a little hat free of his back pocket and plopped it on his head, setting it at a jaunty angle. Then he threw his arms wide. “So whadd’ya think?”

Alice-Marie sprang to life. “I think you’ve completely lost your mind!” She turned to Libby. “Look at him, all ready for war! All ready to . . . to . . .” She burst into tears and took off running toward the women’s dormitory.

Libby advanced on Bennett. “What in the world compelled you to do this now? The United States isn’t in the war. There’s no reason for you to take up a gun.” She sounded more hurt than angry. She looked to Pete, and he stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Did you really join the army, Bennett, or did you just borrow this uniform?” Knowing Bennett’s penchant for attention-getting, he wouldn’t put such a stunt past his friend.

Bennett’s jaw tightened. “It’s real.” He shrugged, tugging at the hem of the blouse. “Only the reserves, though. ’Course, if we go to war, that won’t matter—they’ll still send me. But with the reserves, I can stay in school. School’s paid for, so I might as well stick with it.”

Pete felt Libby wilt beside him, and he understood her relief. At least Bennett wasn’t planning to take off immediately. “So why not wait until you’ve finished school?”

Bennett set his chin at a belligerent angle. “Wanna know the truth? When I first started thinking about it, I wanted to do it because of you, Pete.”

Pete jolted. “Me?”

“Yeah. I’m just so tired of never measuring up.” A derisive note crept into Bennett’s voice. “At the orphans’ school, the Rowleys were always holding you up as an example of how I should behave. Any games we ever played, Lib chose you before she’d choose me. Here at the college, people seemed to take to you better than me—giving you a nickname and talking about how you could do so much even with that blasted peg . . .”

He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. A cloud formed around his head and then drifted away. “But you could never be a soldier. You could never show up here”—he held out his hands, indicating the surroundings—“in a uniform.”

“So you did it to spite me?” Pete really didn’t want to know the answer. If Bennett had joined the army simply to one-up him and was one day killed on a battlefield because of it, it would destroy him.

“Maybe at first, but . . .” Bennett dug his boot toe in the grass, his head low. “Got to thinking about it. I don’t have a family—not like you have. Nobody waitin’ for me. No place to really go when I get out of school. Figured if I’m in the army, then I’ll always have a place . . . to belong.”

Bennett’s words pierced Pete’s heart. He’d done a poor job of helping his friend see that he could secure a place of belonging if he would only accept God’s love. He hung his head, forcing down the knot of sadness in his throat.

“Guess that’s why I wanted to be in Beta Theta Pi so bad. Best fraternity on campus. It’d make me feel special—like I fit somewhere.” He snorted. “Pretty dumb. Now that they said I can join, I told ’em no. Just doesn’t seem all that important anymore. Not sure why . . .” Bennett glanced over his shoulder toward Rhodes Hall. “Guess I really upset Alice-Marie, huh?”

Libby nodded. “You certainly did.”

Bennett pulled his lips to the side. “Think I should go . . . talk to her?”

“I think you should.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, making Pete smile. He’d always been amused by Libby’s feisty side, but this even-tempered angle was nice, too.

“Well, guess I’ll . . .” He flapped his hand in the direction of the dormitory.

“Go talk to Alice-Marie,” Pete said, “and when you’re done, come see me. There’s something I need to tell you. Something I want you to
hear
.”

Bennett stood for a moment, looking directly in Pete’s face. A crooked grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I think I know what.” He gave a brusque nod. “I’ll try to hear you out.” He ambled off, his feet scuffing at the grass.

Pete turned back to Libby. “Now, we were in the middle of—”

Her mouth dropped open. “My portfolio!” She spun and raced back into the dining hall. Moments later she emerged carrying the black leather folder. She held it up, her smile bright. “I didn’t want to lose this.”

“And I was about to say . . .” Pete swallowed. She’d been so supportive in Clayton, offering encouragement and fighting hard to keep Oscar from the hangman’s noose. When given the opportunity to earn money with her writing, her first thoughts had been to use it to help him.

He knew she cared for him—she wanted his support in submitting a different kind of story to the magazine. And now God was important to her. She’d openly admitted she wanted to follow God’s will for her life. That change made his heart sing. But did all of that mean she loved him?

She swung her portfolio, the leather creating a soft swish as it brushed her skirt, while she waited for him to speak. But he couldn’t seem to make his tongue form the sentences. He’d heard that actions spoke more loudly than words. So Pete decided to let actions speak. Taking one step forward, he caught Libby in his embrace and pressed his lips to her surprised mouth.

Libby dropped her portfolio in the grass.

At that moment, a group of students exited the dining hall, their presence an untimely intrusion. Petey backed away from her, looking toward the sidewalk. Libby quickly bent over and picked up her portfolio. The moment she straightened, Petey took hold of her elbow and propelled her across the dark yard. At first she thought he was returning her to the women’s dormitory, but he hop-skipped past the building and headed for the far edge of the campus.

Her breath came in little bursts as he led her farther and farther from Rhodes Hall, and they finally reached the tree-lined path that led to the stone foundation. But instead of taking her to the meadow, he tugged her beneath a tree and leaned against the trunk, his chest rising and falling with the heaviness of his breathing.

Libby’s chest also heaved, but she couldn’t be certain which bore responsibility—the brisk walk or the wonderment of what he’d done. “P-Petey?” Her voice rasped out. “You kissed me!”

Petey caught her braid and let it slide through his fingers until he reached the end. He held the tip, playfully swishing the long plait to and fro. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since your sixteenth birthday. I’ve loved you that long. Maybe longer.” His features, tinged by moonlight creeping between the bare branches overhead, were pinched with remorse. “But I shouldn’t have chosen that moment. I—”

“You should do it again.”

He jerked upright and gawked at her for one startled second. Then a soft laugh—a joyous sound—escaped his throat. He released her braid and brought up his hands to cup her cheeks. He leaned in slowly, torturing her with the delay, and at last brushed her lips with his.

Her eyes slid closed.
So the storybook tales are right. One’s heart does take wing.
She let the portfolio slip through her fingers. It landed with a light crunch in the leaves beneath their feet. She curled her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest.

“Libby?” He held her tight, proving that his heart was as affected as hers. She felt it beating even through his jacket. “You said you wanted to please God with your life . . . with your talents. Is that right?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t be certain how God would have her use her writing abilities—whether in allegorical stories meant to paint a picture of His love and grace, or in articles that would inform and inspire. But she trusted He would reveal His will to her if she continually sought Him in prayer.

“I want to follow Him, too, with every decision I make, including . . .” His fingers splayed on her back momentarily and then very gently he set her aside. He collapsed against the tree’s trunk. “I can’t think when I’m holding you.”

She swallowed a knowing chuckle. So the storybook tales were right on that, too. She wouldn’t tempt him. She inched backward, allowing him plenty of space. Then linking her hands in front of her, she admired the sight of Petey bathed in starlight. Alice-Marie was right—his hair was the color of moonlight. And hers matched the dark sky behind the stars. A perfect fit.

“Petey, you don’t have to think right now. There’s time for thinking. We’re still very young. God has much more to teach us, I’m sure. Right now, it’s enough to know He brought us together and He gave us the opportunity to become friends.”

“Good friends,” he added.

“Best friends,” she corrected. She reached out, and he responded in kind. Their fingers met and wove together—a simple touch, yet heartfelt. “I love you, and it makes me so happy to know you love me. But what’s even better is we both love God. With both of us seeking His will, we’ll discover what He wants for us . . . in time . . . and it will be perfect.”

For long moments they stood, her fingers linked with his, her senses thrumming. It seemed to Libby they were the only two people in the world.

Her gaze drifted to the edge of the trees, to the meadow where the stone foundation lay, unobtrusive but available to any who would seek. Petey’s thumb caressed hers, and she looked up as he looked down. They smiled in unison.

His voice husky, he said, “I should walk you back to Rhodes Hall. I don’t want you to miss curfew.”

She nodded. If she came in late, Miss Banks would surely reprimand her. Again.

“I also need to talk to Bennett tonight.”

Libby knew what Petey would address—Bennett’s overwhelming need for belonging and where he could find it if only he would release his stubborn will and submit to God. It was difficult to relinquish one’s pride, but she’d experienced the joy that followed when one finally surrendered. She prayed that Bennett would listen to Petey’s words, and believe.

Hand-in-hand, they ambled up the tree-lined path. When they reached the dormitory porch, she started to head inside, but he held her back with a gentle tug on her hand.

“I won’t be going to Shay’s Ford for Thanksgiving. I need to catch up on my schoolwork. But I promised my ma—”

Libby marveled at how easily the title
ma
slipped from Petey’s lips. No resentment colored his tone or hardened his features.

“—I’d be there for Christmas. Please greet everyone for me when you go, and make sure my brothers and sister are settling in all right, will you?”

Libby squeezed his hand, touched by his concern for these people—these strangers—who bore his name. “Of course I will. And I’ll pray, every day, for their peace and happiness.”

His lips curved into his familiar endearing smile. Then he looked quickly right and left before leaning forward and brushing a sweet chaste kiss on her cheek. “Night, Libby. Sweet dreams.”

She had no doubt his parting words would find fulfillment.