Part 10 (1/2)

Pete whacked Bennett's shoulder. A few green beans tumbled over the edge of his well-filled plate. ”Stop it.”

Bennett took a firmer hold on his plate and stepped away from Pete. ”Me stop it?” Humor bubbled under his words. ”How about you and Lib, going all cow-eyed over each other. If anybody ought to stop something . . .” His voice trailed off, but the implication hit its mark. stop it?” Humor bubbled under his words. ”How about you and Lib, going all cow-eyed over each other. If anybody ought to stop something . . .” His voice trailed off, but the implication hit its mark.

Pete blew out a mighty breath. ”I know. As Libby so eloquently pointed out, it's ludicrous.” He swallowed, forcing down the bitter taste that filled his mouth. He tried to sound glib. ”I think it's just the wedding. Seeing Matt and Lorna together . . . It's put ideas in her head.”

”Yeah.” Bennett munched a roll. ”She is, after all, a girl. And girls have peculiar romantic notions. Always wanting some fella to fawn over them.” He raised one eyebrow. ”So you gonna give her what she wants?”

”I can't. You know why.”

”Uh-huh. 'Cause you're planning to be a preacher.” Chewing thoughtfully, Bennett looked at Libby again. ”And Libby doesn't want to be a preacher's wife. So you might wanna go over there and remind her of it. Before she lets her wild ideas get out of control.”

Pete nodded. Rarely did he follow Bennett's advice. As much as he liked Bennett, his friend generally acted without much forethought. This time, however, Bennett made sense. It was only the romance of the moment that had brought out this attentive side of Libby. It was best if they both recognized that fact.

His stomach churned as he wove between other guests, creating a meandering path to the spot against the barn where Libby seemed to have taken root. Lord, give me strength. Lord, give me strength. As much as it had hurt to hear her claim anything beyond friends.h.i.+p would be ludicrous, he knew it would be infinitely more painful to say the words himself. As much as it had hurt to hear her claim anything beyond friends.h.i.+p would be ludicrous, he knew it would be infinitely more painful to say the words himself.

He stopped a few feet in front of her. Her eyes had grown wider the closer he'd drawn, and she stared at him, unblinking, her lips parted slightly. The bodice of her rose-colored church dress visibly rose and fell with her rapid breaths. She reminded him of a scared rabbit. But was she frightened of him or of her own feelings?

He drew a fortifying breath. ”Libby, I-” Before he could say anything more, she grabbed his hand and pulled him through the barn's open doorway. Stumbling behind her, his focus turned to staying upright. She dragged him up the aisle to the spot where she had taken his elbow before leaving the ceremony. Finally she released his hand and whirled to face him.

The change from full sun to shadow forced him to squint to make out her features, but he glimpsed the same adoring warmth he'd seen earlier. He shook his head. ”Libby, stop.”

She tipped her head, the innocent bewilderment in her eyes nearly breaking his heart.

”Don't look at me that way.”

Stepping forward, she rested her palms on his chest. A soft smile lit her face, and he suspected she felt his pounding heartbeat beneath her hands. ”But why?”

”Because.” He caught her wrists and pushed her hands down.

Hurt flashed in her eyes. ”Petey?”

”Don't you remember what you said in the dining hall? Ludicrous- that's what you said. And you were right.” He forced the words past his closed, aching throat. His tone turned harsh. ”You and I are friends, and you'll ruin everything if you start-”

”If I start loving you?” She matched his tone in severity, but her chin quivered. ”I'm afraid it might be too late for that.” She took several gulping breaths. Clasping her hands at her waist, she fixed him with a pensive look. ”Petey, today when I looked at you . . . it's as if I saw you for the first time. I saw not the boy who's always been my friend and playmate, but someone new. Someone . . . completely desirable.” Her hands rose and she placed them flat against her heart. ”Inside of me, something changed. A good good change, Petey. And I-” change, Petey. And I-”

”You're willing to give up your plans of travel? Of writing about world events?” He searched her face, praying she might say yes. But to his distress, she flinched. He sighed. ”You see, Libby? It is is ludicrous. I can't travel the world with you-not with this . . .” He glared down at his ever-aching leg. ”This piece of wood holding me back.” Raising his chin, he added, ”And I wouldn't even if I had two good legs. Because that isn't what G.o.d's called me to do. I have to become a preacher, Libby, don't you see? And you have to be what you've been called to be.” ludicrous. I can't travel the world with you-not with this . . .” He glared down at his ever-aching leg. ”This piece of wood holding me back.” Raising his chin, he added, ”And I wouldn't even if I had two good legs. Because that isn't what G.o.d's called me to do. I have to become a preacher, Libby, don't you see? And you have to be what you've been called to be.”

Tears glimmered in her eyes. She never cried. To do so now spoke of how deeply his words affected her. But they had to face the truth. Cupping her shoulders with both hands, he lowered his voice to a whisper. ”I do love you, Libby. I have for a long time. I probably always will.” He swallowed again, fighting the desire to crush her to his chest. He tightened his hands into a gentle squeeze. ”But I can't ask you to love me back. Not if it means asking you to abandon the task G.o.d's given you.”

”But . . .” She fell silent and hung her head.

Pete dropped his hands and took an awkward step backward. He gestured weakly toward the open barn doors. Sounds of the after-wedding celebration drifted in, the happiness in the guests' voices a direct contrast to the sadness hanging like a storm cloud in the barn. ”We better go. You need to get something to eat, and the dance'll be starting soon. People will wonder where we are.”

She nodded, the movement so slight he almost thought he'd imagined it. ”Y-you go ahead. I need to sit and . . .” Her throat convulsed, but then she lifted her chin, taking on a regal stance.

”I need a few minutes alone.”

”All right.” Pete turned and took a few slow steps toward the doors. Then he paused and looked back. ”Libby?”

She stared straight ahead. ”Yes?”

”Can I have the first dance?”

For long seconds she sat so still it appeared she'd turned to stone.

Then she s.h.i.+fted her face slightly to meet his gaze. She gave him the saddest smile he'd ever seen. ”Of course. The very first.”

”Then I'll watch for you.”

She looked away without replying. Pete shuffled out of the barn, his steps labored. He'd done the right thing. It wouldn't be fair to hold Libby back. A wild spirit like hers deserved free rein. Letting her go was the best thing. For both of them.

So why did he feel as though he carried the weight of the world on his back?

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

When Pete stepped from the barn, he nearly collided with Jackson Harders. The man caught Pete's arm and laughed. ”Whoa. You're in a hurry. Eager to get to the dance, huh?”

The only person Pete wanted as a dance partner was Libby, and even though she'd promised him the first dance, he suspected she'd try to avoid him. ”Not really. But I'm glad I ran into you. I have something important to ask you.”

Jackson slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels, his expression attentive. ”Certainly, Pete.”

”Do you think you could help me locate my parents?”

Jackson seemed to study Pete's face. Pete fidgeted, glad for the heavy shadow cast by the barn. Perhaps the lawyer wouldn't be able to see beneath his surface to the lurking resentment.

Jackson's eyebrows rose. ”I a.s.sume you mean your birth parents, since Aaron and Isabelle are right there.”

”Yes.” Pete nodded. ”Gunter and Berta Leidig. I . . . I need to see them.” I need to purge myself of this fury, which has no place in my life. I need to purge myself of this fury, which has no place in my life.

”I can certainly try.” Jackson's calm voice contrasted with the wild emotions churning through Pete's middle. ”But are you sure? It's a big step, trying to reunite with your parents. Could go one of two ways.” He lifted his hand and flicked his fingers upward to count. ”They could welcome you back into the fold, or they could refuse to see you.” His hand curled into a fist, and he lowered it to his side. ”Either way, you'll be changed permanently. So . . . are you sure you want me to open that door for you?”

Pete set his jaw. He knew he'd carry this bitter anger until he laid it at his parents' feet. He had to see them, regardless of the costs involved. ”I'm sure.”

”All right, then.” Jackson gave Pete's shoulder a clap. ”I'll send out inquiries on Monday. Now let's go join the party.”

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Libby sat, staring at the flower-laden trellis where Matt and Lorna had stood and committed themselves to love, honor, and cherish each other for the remainder of their lives. She'd stared so long, unblinking, that her eyes hurt. Finally she let them fall closed, but behind her lids she saw an image of Petey standing straight and tall and proud beside Matt. At last, her stiff spine collapsed. She slumped over her lap, burying her face in her hands.

How foolish she'd been to throw herself at Petey that way. Hadn't she already realized she didn't possess the necessary traits to be a preacher's wife? Petey was right-they had to be what they were each called to be.

She sat upright again, her breath catching. Petey had said G.o.d had called him to become a preacher, and he'd intimated she'd received a similar call to be a writer. But she couldn't honestly say G.o.d had prompted her to take up paper and pen. It was something she'd chosen herself. In fact, she couldn't recall ever feeling as though G.o.d had communicated anything to her. She'd prayed to G.o.d-the Rowleys made sure the children in the orphans' school attended Sunday services, prayed before meals and at bedtime, and they'd encouraged each of the children to develop a relations.h.i.+p with G.o.d by accepting His Son Jesus as their Savior. Yes, Libby had frequently talked to G.o.d over the years, but not once had she heard Him so much as whisper in reply.

Once, soon after she'd come to the orphans' school, Libby had asked Maelle about receiving answers to prayers. But Maelle's reply had been less than satisfying. ”G.o.d doesn't always speak to us in an audible voice, Libby. Sometimes He speaks directly to our hearts. We just have to know how to listen.” ”G.o.d doesn't always speak to us in an audible voice, Libby. Sometimes He speaks directly to our hearts. We just have to know how to listen.” Even now, years later, Libby could make little sense of G.o.d speaking into her heart. Even now, years later, Libby could make little sense of G.o.d speaking into her heart.

Crunching her brow, she puzzled over the difference between desire and a distinct calling. Might it be G.o.d had planted this overwhelming desire to write within her as a way of calling her? Calls were intended for the better good-that much she understood. And writing articles that informed people of happenings in the world that affected them personally would certainly do a service. But . . .