While Roy bobbled in place, waving his hands and yelling to be released, two more pillowcase-covered men approached. Rather than buckets, they held plump pillows. Libby gasped as she realized what they planned. She clapped her hands over her mouth to muffle her cry when the men slashed the pillows with pocketknives and began shaking out the contents over Roy’s head. The yard took on the appearance of a snowstorm with downy feathers filling the air. They stuck in the goo on Roy’s body. In school she’d read about people being tarred and feathered and had thought it a terrible way to punish someone. Seeing it played out, with Roy as the victim, proved its capacity for humiliation. Roy howled in protest.
Students—men and women alike—raced forward to grab handfuls of feathers from the ground and slap them onto the gooey mess still dripping from Roy’s body. Alice-Marie was in the midst of it, her giggles rising over the cheers and laughter of the crowd. When they’d finished, Roy resembled a half-plucked headless chicken.
A man emerged from behind the library, pushing a wheelbarrow. He forced his way to the center of the crowd and circled Roy three times while taunting him, earning a fresh round of cheers. Then, veering the wheelbarrow in a tight curve, he jammed it against the backs of Roy’s knees. Roy let out a startled yelp and tumbled backward, landing on his rump in the wheelbarrow’s bed. The wheelbarrow’s driver jumped up and down, socking the air with both fists in a sign of victory. He bowed to the cheering crowd, then snatched up the handles to take Roy on a bumpy ride around the yard while students continued to laugh and shout their approval.
Alice-Marie ran up to Libby, tears trailing down her flushed cheeks. “Oh my, have you ever seen anything so funny in all your life?”
“He’s your cousin! How can you laugh?”
Alice-Marie’s jaw dropped. “You don’t think he deserves it?”
Libby couldn’t form an honest answer. Yes, Roy deserved to have the tables turned, but this public humiliation seemed beyond justice. It bordered on vengeful. What would Petey do if he were there?
She watched the wheelbarrow driver zigzag across the grass, forcing Roy to roll from side to side. Feathers flew, and Roy’s hands continued to flop uselessly above his head. “Whoever planned this has a very sick sense of humor.”
Alice-Marie leaned close. “It was Bennett! And he isn’t finished yet!” Her eyes sparkled.
Libby caught Alice-Marie’s arm. “Bennett is responsible for this? What else does he have planned?”
Instead of answering, Alice-Marie pointed. Libby followed the line of her finger to see the wheelbarrow heading straight for the library porch. “Stay here!” Alice-Marie squealed before scampering back to the grass. Students cleared a path, creating a tunnel with their bodies, and the driver careened the wheelbarrow right up to the edge of the porch. The tire banged against the edge of a foot-high concrete slab and the bed flew upward, spilling Roy at Libby’s feet. Then the driver bounded onto the porch and gave Roy’s sweater a yank, revealing his red, angry face.
Propping his hands on his knees, the driver bent down to Roy’s level. “There you are, Daley.” From behind his pillowcase mask, his voice rang gleefully, revealing his identity. “Here’s Elisabet Conley, just like you wanted.”
Libby smoldered as the driver—Bennett in disguise—flung both arms toward her, as if presenting her to the court.
“Now ask if she’ll go out with you!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Pete, I’m not going to ask you again.” Jackson’s tone turned stern. He placed his hand against Pete’s chest. “Stay here with your mother and the kids. Let me talk to your father alone.”
Pete glanced over his shoulder. His mother stood beneath the canopy of Branson’s Market. She held Lorenzo close to her side, and the other children crowded around her. Did they huddle near to be close to their ma, or were they merely trying to avoid the chilly rain?
He turned back to Jackson. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to talk with him alone. If what you suspect is true, he’s bound to be defensive and dangerous.” Pete swallowed. “A gun was used on that clerk, Jackson. How would I live with myself if—”
“Don’t even think that way,” Jackson said. “I encountered plenty of unsavory characters in my battle to end child labor. I faced the barrel of a gun on more than one occasion, and I always emerged unscathed. I don’t intend to change that now.”
“But—”
“Trust me, Pete—I’ll stay safe. I’ve got a wife and two daughters at home who need me. I won’t do anything foolish. Now, stay here.” Jackson gave Pete a gentle push toward the canopy. Then he hunched his shoulders and trotted across the street, dodging raindrops. Moments later, he disappeared inside the apartment building.
Pete moved closer to his family. His brothers and sister stared up at him with wide, apprehensive eyes. His mother looked as worried as he’d ever seen her. For so many years, Pete had harbored resentful anger toward his parents—both of his parents. But looking into his ma’s tired, sad face, he wondered if she was just as much a victim of Pa’s apathetic selfishness as he had been. She certainly didn’t resemble the monster of his imaginings with her fingers combing gently through Lorenzo’s tousled hair.
Pete let his gaze drift from Lorenzo to Dennis to the older boys. What would become of his siblings if their home situation didn’t change? Jackson’s inquiries to remove the Leidig children from their parents and give Pete guardianship had gone no farther than a snail could race. He supposed he couldn’t blame the judge—he was a one-legged eighteen-year-old without a full-time job or a home to call his own. In the judge’s eyes, he couldn’t offer anything better than they were already receiving.
Yet Pete still wanted them. Desperately.
The market door squeaked open and the owner, Keith Branson, stepped out. “What’re you folks doin’, all standin’ out here?”
Although the question might have been perceived as a challenge, Pete heard no animosity in the man’s voice. “We needed a place out of the rain for a few minutes. If we’re in the way, we can—”
“Then come inside!” Keith waved his hand, smiling at the children. “Warmer in here. The missus has hot water boilin’ on the stove. Wouldja like a cup o’ tea? Or maybe some cocoa? My Norma makes the best cocoa in town—everybody says so.”
Lorenzo’s face lit. He looked up at his mother, his eyes begging. “Can we, Ma? Huh?”
To Pete’s surprise, Berta Liedig looked to him, as if seeking approval. A lump filled his throat. He offered a nod, and she ushered the children into the store with gentle nudges and murmured admonitions. Pete followed, and a pleasant shiver wiggled across his frame as warmth from the roaring woodstove in the center of the market reached him.
Mrs. Branson hustled forward, her gently lined face wreathed in a smile of welcome. “Oh my, you all look chilled to the bone! That rain’s sure turned our pretty November into a drearsome time, hasn’t it? Mrs. Leidig, there’s a real nice rockin’ chair over in the corner. Why don’t you sit a spell—you look plumb tuckered. You children come on over by the stove an’ I’ll get to pourin’ that cocoa. Nothin’ll warm you faster than a cup of cocoa with lots of milk. An’ cookies? Do you like cookies?”
Lorenzo nodded so hard his hair flopped. “Yes’m!”
Laughing, Mrs. Branson tweaked Lorenzo’s nose. “I thought so. Well, I got cookies, too. Oatmeal just overflowin’ with plump raisins. Come on over close, now.”
Berta sank into the rocking chair and rested her head on the curved back. But she kept her eyes trained on the children, who clustered around the stove while Mrs. Branson busied herself preparing the cocoa. With his family occupied, Pete returned to the front door and peered across the street, focusing on the apartment’s entrance. He sure wished Jackson would hustle on out of there.
Keith sidled up beside Pete and nudged him with his elbow. “Ever’thing all right?”
“I hope so . . .”
The man flicked a glance over his shoulder at the others, then inch
ed closer to Pete. “That fancy man I seen out on the sidewalk with you all . . . he here to help?”
Pete nodded. “Yes. He’s a lawyer. We’re trying to get the children into a better home.” Please let it be with me!
“That’d be a right good thing.” Mr. Branson heaved a sigh. “The missus an’ me were talkin’ the other night. Feelin’ purty guilty, too, I don’t mind admittin’.”
Pete sent the man a puzzled look. “Guilty? Why?”
“All that time we spent fussin’ about how nobody ever raised a hand to help them kids . . . an’ we realized we’d done nothin’ more’n fuss. We could’ve helped, too.”
Pete gave the man’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “I’d say you did plenty. You let them sneak off with fruits and vegetables without ever paying a penny. You made sure they were fed. That’s a heap more than others have done.” A hard edge crept into his voice.
Keith hung his head, his expression sorrowful. “But it weren’t enough. Not hardly enough. We seen that oldest one skulkin’ on the street corners, hangin’ with riffraff. I’m wishin’ now I’d’ve offered him a job. Idle hands’re the devil’s workshop, they say. If I’d’ve kept him busy, maybe—”
“Don’t blame yourself.” Pete shivered and slipped his hands into his coat pockets. Keith Branson was taking too much responsibility on himself. It was Gunter Leidig’s job to keep Oscar out of trouble—a job he’d failed at miserably. The tingling ache in his stump increased as it always did when he stood in one place too long. Yet he wouldn’t change this post until Jackson emerged. He tapped the tip of his peg on the floor. “No, sir, it’s not your fault. I should’ve come back long ago. I didn’t because I was scared of facing my pa.”
Keith’s head shot up, and his jaw dropped. “So you are a Leidig!”
Shame-faced, Pete nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry I misled you. But my lawyer friend is helping me change my name. Won’t be long and I’ll be Peter Rowley.”
“How come?”
The childish voice startled Pete. He turned awkwardly to find Lorenzo standing behind him with a steaming mug of cocoa held between his palms. Confusion marred the little boy’s face. “Does that mean you won’t be my brother no more?”
Pete wished he could go down on one knee before the boy and speak to him at his level. But the best he could do was prop his hand on his good knee and bend forward. “Of course not, Lorenzo. I’ll always be your brother.”
“But why’re you changin’ your name, then?”
How could he explain to this boy that the name brought ugly memories? His name made him feel shameful, knowing it was bestowed by a man who cared so little for his family. He detested his tie to Gunter Leidig. He sought words of assurance, but before anything came to mind, a loud pop! echoed from somewhere outside.
Lorenzo jumped. Cocoa sloshed over the rim of the mug and dribbled past his hands. “What was that?”
Pete stood up, looking around in puzzlement. Keith stepped closer to the door, his head cocked.
Pop! Pop!
The older man spun to face Pete, his eyes wide. “Those sounded like gunshots!”
“Oh, dear Lord. Jackson . . .” Pete stumbled past Mr. Branson and out the door, clear to the curb. Rain blinded his view, but he cupped his hands above his eyes and squinted through the steady downpour. Across the street, the apartment door burst open and a man leapt off the porch. Without pause, he ran pell-mell down the street and disappeared in the gray curtain of rain. But Pete got enough of a glimpse to recognize him. He quickly looked back at the apartment door. No one came in pursuit. That could only mean one thing.
He whirled toward the market to see Keith standing in the doorway, holding out his arms to keep the children and women inside. Pete hollered, “Mr. Branson, do you have a telephone?”
The man nodded.
“Call the police! And tell them we’ll need an ambulance— send them to the Leidigs’ apartment. You all stay here. I’ve got to tend to Jackson!”
Ignoring the stabbing pain in his stump, Pete ran across the rain-slick cobblestones as fast as his peg leg would allow. His soul implored with every clumsy step, Please, Lord, let Jackson be all right.
Libby cupped her hands around the steaming mug of coffee and scowled at Bennett. The earlier frivolity that had exploded on the lawn continued in the dining hall. Although the room always buzzed with conversation at mealtimes, this evening students remained long after the dinner hour to chat and sip coffee. Bursts of laughter rang from various corners, giving the room an air of festivity. It seemed everyone had enjoyed seeing Roy get a taste of his own medicine.
“I understand why you’d want to see Roy roundly defeated, but I do not appreciate being the cheese in a mousetrap.” Libby used her sternest tone to address Bennett. “If you were going to use me, you should have warned me.”
“Yeah, I probably should have.” Bennett’s voice carried no remorse, and to Libby’s increased irritation Alice-Marie released a little giggle at his nonchalant reply. He slipped his arm across the back of Alice-Marie’s chair and grinned. “But it would have spoiled the surprise.”
Another loud round of laughter burst from the group sitting behind their table. Libby leaned forward and raised her voice. “I nearly forgot to breathe when that masked man picked me up and started running with me!”
Bennett snickered. “Yeah. Half a dozen of ’em volunteered for that part of the plan. I chose Riley because I knew he’d behave himself and actually put you where I wanted you.”
She supposed she should thank him for his consideration, but another question filled her mind. “How did you get Roy to come, anyway? I can’t imagine him responding to anyone’s beck and call.”
“That was the beauty of the whole plan.” Bennett raised his face and let out a hoot of amusement. “He thought he was beckoning you, but in reality we were beckoning him. All it took was a few well-aimed messages sent in someone else’s name.”
“In other words, lots of falsehoods.”
“But look at the end result!” Bennett threw his arms wide and bounced a beaming smile from Alice-Marie to the surrounding tables of jovial students and back to Libby. “Wasn’t it worth it?”
Bennett’s comment teased at the fringes of Libby’s mind. Was an end result more important than the means used to achieve it? “I don’t know.”
Suddenly Bennett pulled his face into a grimace. “Besides, all you got was the brief scare of being swept off your feet. I’m paying a much higher price.”
“What’s that?”
Bennett toyed with his napkin, his head low. “To get Caroline to play along, I had to promise to take her to the drugstore for a sundae Saturday afternoon.”
Envisioning loud-mouthed Bennett with the meek, mousy Caroline, Libby hid a smile. “I think that’s a fair retribution for being involved in such deception—for Caroline.”
Bennett’s head bounced up. “Hey! That isn’t nice!”
Libby and Alice-Marie shared a laugh at Bennett’s expense. While their laughter rolled, someone tapped Libby on the shoulder. She shifted, still giggling, to look into Miss Banks’s serious face.
Libby gulped, swallowing her amusement. “Yes, ma’am?”
The dormitory matron handed Libby a folded slip of paper. “This telegram came for you. Sent by Maelle Harders.”
A chill inched across Libby’s flesh. She took the paper with a shaky hand. “Th-thank you.”
Miss Banks gave Libby a quick pat on the back, and Libby was certain she read sympathy in the woman’s usually unfriendly face. Spinning to face Bennett, she held the telegram aloft. “I’m afraid to open it.”
“Oh, stop with the dramatics, Lib.” Bennett rolled his eyes. “Maelle’s probably just confirming your travel plans for Thanksgiving— the break’s coming up, you know.”
Libby shook her head. “No. It’s bad. I know it’s bad.” She shoved the telegram across the table. “You read it.”
Releasing a long-suffering sigh, Bennett took the paper. He
raised one eyebrow and shot Libby a you’re-being-ridiculous look, then he unfolded the telegram. His jaw dropped, and his face drained of color. Somehow Libby knew he wasn’t teasing.
She snatched the telegram away from him and read the brief message: Jackson shot by Pete’s father STOP At hospital in Clayton STOP Please pray STOP Libby pushed away from the table. Lifting her skirts, she raced for the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Halfway across the moon-bathed yard, Libby stumbled to a halt. Where was she going? She couldn’t outrun her worry and fear. She hugged herself, realizing she’d left her coat in the dining hall. Should she go back? Her chest heaving, she looked frantically right and left. The wind, growing ever chillier as evening turned to night, tugged at her skirt and hair. Shadows lurked in every direction.
In her mind’s eye, a parade of faces replaced the eerie landscape. Jackson, Maelle, Petey, even Hannah and Hester. She envisioned them with stricken eyes and trembling lips. Her heart ached for each of them, but mostly for Petey. His father had injured Jackson. Petey would bear a burden of displaced guilt for the rest of his life.
Please pray, Maelle had entreated. Such a short, simple request, but so much agony and pleading behind the words. Libby’s eyes flooded with tears, and she pressed her fist to her lips. She thought her chest might collapse, so great was the longing to do as Maelle had bid.
“Libby! Libby, wait!”
Alice-Marie’s voice reached Libby’s ears. She turned and spotted her roommate and Bennett trotting toward her, but she couldn’t talk to them now. She had a mission to complete—she must find God and beg Him to save Jackson. To save Petey. Alice-Marie and Bennett would only distract her. Catching her skirts again, she took off. Unmindful of direction, only aware that she must find the place of solitude where God resided, she ran.
Kim Sawyer Page 25
