Bennett squirmed, guilt niggling. He didn’t want to go along to help as much as he wanted to be part of the excitement.
Pete continued, “But I have to this do on my own.” He paused, an odd look on his face. “There is something you can help me with, though . . .”
Bennett hopped up, eager to be part of this. “Sure.”
“Roy Daley . . . Alice-Marie’s cousin?”
Hearing the name of his nemesis, Bennett bristled. “What about him?”
“He wants to keep company with Libby, and he asked me to help him out.”
Bennett’s jaw dropped. “He what?”
Pete nodded, his face flaming red. “He promised he’d hold a place on the Beta Theta Pi pledge list for both of us if I helped him, but that neither of us would be accepted if I didn’t.”
“He threatened you?”
“He was very friendly about it, but it does come down to a threat of sorts. More toward you than me.” Pete shook his head. “I don’t care about fraternities. Especially now, when I might not even be going back to school.” A pained expression creased his brow, but he swept his hand over his face and erased it. “I know how much it means to you, though, and I don’t want to stand in the way of you getting what you want. But I can’t imagine throwing Libby at him just to secure a spot in a fraternity . . . can you?”
The fraternity was important to Bennett—he wouldn’t deny it. Being a Beta Theta Pi would allow him to belong to the most elite group at the college—a big come-up for a homeless, nameless orphan. But could he sacrifice Libby to get in?
Pete must have read his silence as unwillingness. “If you’d rather not talk to him, it’s all right. I’ll take care of it when—”
Bennett slapped Pete’s shoulder. “You’ve got plenty to think about, so don’t worry about Roy and his ol’ fraternity. I’ll handle it.”
Pete seemed to wilt with relief. “Thanks, Bennett. You and the girls have a safe trip to Chambers tomorrow. I’ll see you . . . soon, I hope.” He headed out the door.
Bennett turned the lock on the door, then crossed to the window. Pushing the curtain aside, he peered out at the night. He’d told Pete he’d take care of the situation with Roy, and he would. A grin climbed his cheeks. Oh yes, he most definitely would take care of Roy. But he’d do it his way.
Pete accepted the glass of milk Maelle offered and took a long drink as Jackson settled into the leather chair behind his desk. After their initial surprise at unexpectedly finding him—disheveled and bleary-eyed from his overnight travels—on their doorstep on a Saturday morning, Jackson and Maelle had welcomed him into their home and behaved as though a weekend visit from him was nothing out of the ordinary.
Maelle leaned in and gave Jackson a peck on the cheek. “You two have a good chat. The girls and I are going to bake bread today.” She laughed softly as she headed for the door. “Hopefully these loaves will rise!” The door clicked shut behind her.
Jackson rocked in his chair, chuckling. “Maelle has taken to motherhood like a duckling takes to water. She’s determined to do everything with Hannah and Hester that she would have done with her own mother, had things been different.” His face clouded for a moment. “Makes me almost regret those years she had to wait while I served in the legislature. But . . .” Linking his hands behind his head, he grinned. “We can’t go back and change what’s been, can we? All we can do is make the most of today.”
“I agree.” Pete set the empty glass on the edge of Jackson’s desk and cupped his knees with his hands. “And that’s why I’m here. I need to make the most of today.”
Jackson sat in attentive silence while Pete shared the details of his time with his parents and younger siblings. He repeated Keith’s observations, then outlined the sad fate awaiting Oscar—the same fate that could very well befall his other brothers someday, if things didn’t change. His stomach clenched and his voice quivered, but he laid every ugly detail at Jackson’s feet. Then, spent, he said, “I want my name changed—I want to erase every bit of Gunter Leidig’s imprint from my life. But more than that, I want to get my brothers and sister away from him before he destroys them. How can I become their guardian?”
Jackson, who had remained sober-faced throughout Pete’s entire recitation, now grimaced. He leaned forward, rubbing one hand over his face. “Pete, that’s not a battle easily won.”
Anger stirred in Pete’s middle. “Why not? You heard everything I said—children forced to steal, wearing bruises, skipping school . . . and look where Oscar is right now! Shouldn’t that prove Gunter Leidig is an abusive father?”
“I’d say he’s far from ideal.” Jackson spoke calmly. “But unfortunately the laws are pretty fuzzy on what constitutes abuse. Most courts are very hesitant to remove children from a parent’s care.
And while I understand your concern and completely support you, I have to be honest with you, Pete. I don’t know of any judge who would give an eighteen-year-old university student—”
“I’m dropping out to get a job.” During his long night of wakefulness at the depot, sitting on a hard bench waiting for the early-morning train to Shay’s Ford, Pete had come to several conclusions. Bennett was right that he couldn’t stay in school and support his siblings, so he’d have to quit school and find a full-time job. He intended to start looking as soon as he left Jackson’s house.
“Aaron and Isabelle will skin you alive.”
Pete didn’t even blink in response to Jackson’s dry comment.
“This has nothing to do with Aaron and Isabelle. This is my decision.”
Shaking his head, Jackson sighed. “Pete, even if you had a good-paying job, I can’t imagine someone your age being given guardianship of five younger siblings.”
Pete grabbed the edge of Jackson’s desk with both hands. “Six. Don’t forget about Oscar. We’ve got to get him out of that cell.”
Jackson made a face. “I know this is hard for you, Pete, but you may just have to accept—”
“No!” Pete sprang to his feet. His stump tingled wildly, but he ignored it. “I can’t just let Oscar be—” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word hanged.
Jackson shook his head. “A jury found him guilty. A judge passed sentence. The date’s been set. Do you know how hard it is to overturn something like that?”
“But it can be overturned, can’t it? If the jury was wrong about finding him guilty?”
“Is the jury wrong?”
The question, although gently asked, was a knife in Pete’s heart. He sank back into the chair. “Libby said Oscar swears he didn’t kill anyone—that he was there, intending to rob the store, but someone else shot the clerk. Oscar stayed to try to help the injured man. When the police came, they saw Oscar and arrested him. Even though he told them over and over he didn’t shoot anyone, they wouldn’t believe him.” Pete’s chin quivered. “But I do.”
Jackson came around the desk and clamped his hand on Pete’s left shoulder. Sympathy shone in his eyes. “Pete, as hard as this is for me to say, I have to be honest with you. Nearly every criminal swears he’s been wrongly convicted, whether it’s true or not. Oscar’s bound to be scared, facing . . . what he’s facing. Of course he’s going to proclaim his innocence.”
Pete knocked away Jackson’s hand and rose. He paced the length of the thick rug cushioning the wood floor, unable to stand still. “But don’t you see? If my father sent the other children out to steal, he probably sent Oscar to that drugstore.”
“But Oscar is sixteen—old enough to know right from wrong. So he’ll be expected to suffer the consequences of his actions.”
Pete came to a halt and glared at Jackson. “I can accept him being punished for trying to steal. But murder? What if he really is innocent of murder, Jackson? Can you live with yourself, knowing he could be facing a hangman’s noose for someone else’s crime?”
Jackson sat on the edge of the desk, his arms folded and his lips pulled into a deep scowl. The room fell so silent Pete could
hear girlish giggles drifting in from the opposite side of the house. He stood, refusing to back down, and waited for Jackson to answer his question.
Finally Jackson sighed. “Did Oscar give the authorities any information about the person who supposedly fired the gun?”
Pete pressed his memory for everything Libby had said. He wished he’d asked for her notes—then he could give the information to Jackson. “I think he said he didn’t know the shooter. Why?”
“If he gave a name or a description, they’d be required to investigate his claims. Before I try to overturn a conviction passed down by a judge, I need to know exactly what I’m up against.”
Pete’s heart leapt with hope. “Then you’ll do it? You’ll get him freed?”
Jackson held up one hand. “I make no promises. Coming in from a different county, I might not even be allowed to see your brother, let alone investigate. But I’ll try. That’s all I can do.”
“And then you’ll have me named guardian of Oscar and the others?”
“Pete, please . . .” Jackson shook his head, a sad smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Let’s climb one mountain at a time, huh? And while I’m climbing, you better be praying. What you’re asking for is nothing short of a miracle.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Libby flopped open her bag on the bed and removed the dress she’d worn the day before. Shaking it to remove wrinkles, she headed for the wardrobe on the far side of her dormitory room. To Alice-Marie, she said, “I wish Petey would have let me go with him. It’s going to be impossible to think of anything else until he returns. I hope he can do something for Oscar.”
Alice-Marie wrinkled her nose. “I think he’s foolish for trying. As my father said, a jury found him guilty. That should be the end of it.”
Alice-Marie’s parents had been very upset when Libby and Petey had rung their bell late last night, but after Petey’s calm, respectful explanation, they’d reluctantly offered forgiveness. However, they’d informed Libby she was no longer welcome to visit their home. Then they’d taken Alice-Marie into Mr. Daley’s den for a long closed-door session. Both girls were put on the train early that morning.
Libby fully expected Alice-Marie to shun her completely after all that had transpired, but to her surprise, Alice-Marie had chatted with her all the way back to school. She turned to her roommate and asked, “If Oscar were your brother, would you be able to let it go?”
Alice-Marie huffed. “My brother wouldn’t try to rob a drugstore clerk!”
“Because your brother, like you, had a decent upbringing,” Libby said softly. “How do children learn right from wrong? From their parents. If their parents teach them to do wrong things, then what can we expect from them? Yes, Oscar was wrong to try to steal from the drugstore, but I think there are other people at fault, too. It isn’t right to hold only Oscar responsible.”
Alice-Marie let out another little breath, but she didn’t argue. The girls worked in silence, emptying their bags and putting away their personal items. When the room was back in order, Libby stretched out on her bed for a nap. Alice-Marie curled up on her bed, too, and closed her eyes. Libby reached over and tapped Alice-Marie’s arm. Her eyes flew open. “What?”
“Thank you for still talking to me even after I upset your parents again. Those days when you were so angry weren’t very pleasant.” Libby smiled, letting Alice-Marie know she wasn’t upset.
Alice-Marie grimaced, wriggling against her pillow. “For me, either. It’s very hard for me to be quiet.”
Libby wisely refrained from laughing.
“My parents did their best to convince me to move into a room by myself. They don’t feel you’re a very good influence on me, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “I finally told them I would consider making the change after Christmas break.”
Libby tried to imagine being alone. She’d have more time to write. And often Alice-Marie grated on her nerves with her endless, often senseless, chatter. But Libby didn’t relish the thought of sitting in this room by herself every day.
“But,” Alice-Marie went on, rolling to her side and scrunching her eyes closed, “I doubt I’ll actually do it. Moving is such an inconvenience, and I have no desire to be all alone. Your company, unconventional as it may be, is certainly preferable to loneliness. And where else would I go? All the girls are already paired up for this year. So, we’re stuck with each other. At least for now.”
Libby let her eyelids droop, but then she remembered something else. She sat up and tapped Alice-Marie again. Alice-Marie snuffled but didn’t open her eyes. Libby tapped her harder.
“What?” The cranky tone didn’t encourage Libby to continue, but she’d already disturbed Alice-Marie; she might as well share her thoughts.
“Thank you for agreeing to not tell anyone about the situation with Petey’s brother. Petey had nothing to do with it, so it wouldn’t be fair to have people casting aspersions on his character.”
Alice-Marie sat straight up, her eyebrows high. “Elisabet, I would never hold Pete accountable for something his brother did. I, of all people, understand the embarrassment of having a relative whose behavior is questionable. Why do you think I didn’t tell you that Roy Daley is my cousin?” She shuddered. “He is quite popular on campus, being the star athlete, and I admit I’ve tried to use our relationship to secure a place in the popular crowd for myself. But I must agree with you—he’s completely obnoxious. So of course I wouldn’t try to malign Pete’s character by discussing his brother’s actions.”
Reaching across the gap, Alice-Marie gave Libby’s wrist a quick pat. “Don’t worry. Pete’s secret is safe with me.”
Libby tried to sleep, but images from the short visit to Clayton replayed behind her closed eyelids, making rest impossible. The picture of Petey as he leaned against the dirty wall of his parents’ apartment building, proclaiming he would not leave his brothers and sister in that place, rose above all others and refused to dim.
Had Petey made it safely to Shay’s Ford? Had Jackson agreed to help? What would Petey do if Jackson managed to convince a judge to give Petey guardianship of his siblings? And—more importantly—what would he do if Jackson failed?
Don’t let Petey’s heart be broken. Let Petey be able to save them. Their hopeless, hapless faces floated in her memory until she couldn’t lie still.
On tiptoe, she crossed to her desk and picked up the notebook she’d used when questioning Oscar. Although she’d been pretending to be a reporter, she now looked at the pages of scribbled notes and realized she had more than enough information to create an article. Her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, she grabbed a pencil and began to write, organizing the notes into emotive paragraphs. After an hour of writing, erasing, rewriting, and polishing, she collapsed on the desk with her head on her arms.
Miss Whitford had advised Libby to search for her passion. Was passion the reason she was too exhausted to lift her head? She felt as though she’d bled on the pages while writing Oscar’s story. Writing the overly romanticized make-believe stories were work, but also pleasure; writing this article had nearly turned her heart inside-out. She couldn’t honestly say she’d enjoyed recording Oscar’s life on the page, but she did believe she had created a well-written editorial on the plight of one young man raised in squalor.
But what to do with it?
With effort, she sat up and looked at the article. Surely a lesson was hidden within these pages—a lesson on the importance of family, of teaching morals, of reaching out to those in need. Petey would do everything possible to save Oscar, but as much as Libby hated to admit it, the boy might be lost to them. However, if reading his story might encourage someone, somewhere, to reach out to a troubled youth and, in so doing, change the course of his life, then Oscar didn’t have to die in vain.
Libby scrambled to retrieve her shoes from under her bed. She buttoned them as quickly as her clumsy fingers could manage. Then she slipped the article into her leather portfolio. If she had to p
ay a newspaper editor to print her story, she’d do it. This was one story that must be told.
On Sunday morning, Libby fought through a heavy fog out of which Oscar’s voice repeatedly called for help. She sat up in her bed, sweaty and shaking, and forced herself to take several long, deep breaths to bring her erratic pulse under control. A dream, only a dream. Yet the frantic cry had sounded so real.
In the predawn hour, menacing gray shadows shrouded the room. Only a square of paler gray, the curtains backlit by the moon, indicated the location of the window. Alice-Marie slept soundly, her even breathing loud in the still room as Libby sat on the edge of her bed, eyes wide, trying to read the clock on Alice-Marie’s bureau. Several seconds passed before her vision adjusted enough to make out the time. Five after five. Releasing a long sigh, she lay back on her pillow and stared into the shadowy room.
In the past few weeks, she had adopted Bennett’s habit of sleeping in on Sunday mornings, but today sleep eluded her. Fear that she would revisit the disturbing dream kept her wide-eyed and wakeful. Why was Oscar haunting her? Hadn’t she done all she could for him? The article she’d written now sat on the Boone County Daily Tribune editor’s desk, awaiting his approval. The man hadn’t guaranteed he’d print it, but he had promised to read it.
Yes, she’d given her best effort for Oscar.
What about praying for him?
She gasped quietly as the thought captured her mind. First she’d encouraged Petey to pray, and now her heart was telling her to offer a prayer of her own? She sat up so abruptly the bedsprings twanged in protest. She sat very still, holding her breath, until she was sure she hadn’t disturbed Alice-Marie. Then she left the room and crept to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Perhaps a long soak in the bathtub, a rare treat, would help her relax. Then she could go back to sleep.
But the bath, while pleasant, only served to awaken her completely. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep again, but how would she fill her morning?
Kim Sawyer Page 22
