In Every Heartbeat Page 3

  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.

  Pete slapped the window frame and hopped back to the bed. The mattress complained when he plopped down, but he ignored the squeak and undressed, laying his pants and shirt neatly across the seat of the chair to wear again tomorrow. Then he stretched out and put his linked hands beneath his head. He stared at the ceiling, eager to sleep but disturbed by that simple statement: “Your battles are your own.”

  The truth was, from the time he’d been a very small boy, his battles had been his own. And he had one big battle he was now ready to face. One he’d been gathering courage for years to face. He intended to find Gunter and Berta Leidig and tell them, very honestly, exactly what he thought of them. Then maybe this ever-present cloud of resentment would fade away.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  You aren’t going to pledge to a sorority?”

  Libby turned from the washstand, a towel pressed to her chin, and looked at her roommate. The girl’s aghast expression made her want to laugh. She placed the soggy towel over her lips and cleared her throat, chasing away the bubble of laughter. “Actually, no. I don’t see the point.”

  “But . . . but . . .” Her roommate, Alice-Marie Daley from Clayton—in St. Louis County, didn’t Libby know—rose from her perch on the edge of her bed and held out her hands in supplication. Her ruffly nightgown billowed around her ankles in an explosion of shimmering pink. “Everyone, but just everyone, pledges to a sorority or fraternity!”

  Libby turned back to the round mirror hanging above the washstand and continued drying her face. Alice-Marie walked up behind Libby and talked to her reflection in the mirror.

  “I intend to pledge Kappa Kappa Gamma. They’re one of the oldest sororities, which Mother says is very important—it’s all about the history of a thing, you know.” She giggled, nudging Libby’s shoulder. “But what I like about them is their flower. The fleur-de-lis. I just love the way it sounds. Fleur-de-lis.” She emphasized each syllable, rounding the vowels.

  Libby resisted rolling her eyes. “Uh-huh.” Damp tendrils of hair stuck to her temples, and she rubbed at the fine strands with the towel.

  Alice-Marie fluffed the long tresses falling down Libby’s back. “Your hair is very, very long. Do you always wear it down? Mother says the Grecian style is now all the rage. That’s why I brush mine back into a tight roll. For the hairstyle to hold, I have to keep my hair at a manageable length. But with my natural curl, it’s still very difficult to control. Maybe I should let mine grow longer and hang loose, too.”

  Libby shifted sideways a bit, removing herself from Alice-Marie’s fingers. “I like mine long.” Maelle wore her hair long. Most of the girls at the orphans’ school wore their hair shoulder-length for easy care, but Libby had pitched a fit each time Mrs. Rowley approached with a scissors. Mrs. Rowley had finally given up. If long hair was good enough for Maelle, it was good enough for Libby.

  “Well, you have pretty hair anyway,” Alice-Marie said. “So very, very soft, but dark, almost like an Indian’s.” She released a nervous-sounding giggle. “You aren’t an Indian, are you? Even your skin is browned . . . but that is from the sun?” She smoothed her own creamy cheek with her fingertips, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the mirror. “Mother says white skin is the sign of a true lady. I always wear a hat or carry a parasol if I must be out in the sun too long.”

  Libby draped the sodden cloth over a little wooden rod and turned to step past Alice-Marie.

  But Alice-Marie moved directly into Libby’s path and clasped her hands beneath her chin, flattening the abundance of ruffles on her nightgown’s neckline. “Elisabet, you simply must pledge a sorority. Pledge to Kappa Kappa Gamma with me, please? You’ll be completely friendless if you don’t pledge!”

  Swishing her palms together, Libby gave Alice-Marie a grim look. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to be friendless.”

  Alice-Marie’s mouth fell open in a perfect O. She stared at Libby as if she’d seen an apparition.

  Libby flounced past her roommate to the wardrobe and tugged her simple white cotton gown over her head. “Alice-Marie, please don’t think me unsociable, but I’m not here to join clubs and make friends. I came to learn journalism. I intend to find a job in town, which will probably take up a great deal of my time. Between a job and studying, I don’t see how I’ll have time to spare for clubs and such.”

  Alice-Marie crawled into her bed and nestled against the pillows. She puckered her lips into a pout. “Oh . . . poor dear. You have to work to pay for your own schooling? Won’t your father pay the bill?”

  Libby couldn’t decide if Alice-Marie was sympathetic or appalled. But she answered honestly. “I’m here on scholarship. My schooling is paid for by a benefact
or to the orphans’ school where I’ve lived since I was a little girl. I do need to earn spending money, but I want a job not so much for the money as the experience.”

  “Ooooooh!” The single word ran up the scale and down. Alice-Marie fussed with her blankets, her eyes zinging everywhere around the room except directly at Libby. “You—you’re an orphan?”

  Libby’d heard that tone before, and she’d never liked it. Why did people react so negatively when they discovered her parentless state? She’d done nothing to create it, so why should people act as though it meant there was something wrong with her? But then again, maybe there was something wrong with her. No one had seemed to want her after her parents died. “Yes. I am.”

  “I see.” Alice-Marie pulled the covers to her chin and wriggled lower on the mattress. “Well, that’s sad. Hmm. Well, as I said, I plan to pledge Kappa Kappa Gamma, and I’d like to run for a position on the Women’s Council. I also hope to be accepted to the Women’s Pan Hellenic Council. As long as it doesn’t interfere with playing tennis. I’m so glad they have a court right here on campus. I adore a good game of tennis.”

  Libby imagined Alice-Marie playing with a racquet in one hand and a parasol in the other. She released a little snort. “Are you here for entertainment or education?”

  Alice-Marie lifted her head. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing. Just that I hope you enjoy all the . . . activities.”

  “Oh, I intend to. Mother says the most interesting women are those who are well-rounded, so I need lots of experiences to . . . well . . . round me out!”

  A high-pitched giggle carried across the room and pierced Libby’s ears. She pulled the covers over her head. “Good night, Alice-Marie.”

  “Oh? Are you ready to sleep?” She sounded more puzzled than miffed. “All right, then. Do you want me to turn out the light?”