Part 17 (1/2)
Keith's lips pursed as if he'd tasted something sour. ”Speak o' the devil, there he comes.” He balled one fist on his hip. ”Gunter Leidig himself. But praise be, he ain't staggerin', which means he's sober. Maybe them kids'll have some peace tonight.” Propping the broom on his shoulder, Keith bid Pete good-bye and stepped inside the market.
Pete's heartbeat thudded in his ears. His father strode up the sidewalk, his head low and shoulders slumped. The streetlamp exposed the lank, thinning hair and sallow complexion of a tired old man. The years hadn't been kind to Gunter Leidig.
While Pete watched, his pa grabbed the rickety railing and heaved himself onto the cement stoop. After eleven long years, Pete finally could confront his father. Face-to-face. Man-to-man.
But he didn't move.
Go! Catch up to him! The inner prodding stirred him to action. Pete stumbled onto the cobblestone street, opening his mouth to call out. But before any sound left his lips, a horse-drawn cab clattered around the corner and halted in front of the apartment, blocking his way. Grunting in annoyance, he stepped around the cab in time to see a young woman alight. She dropped a coin in the cab driver's hand and then turned. The streetlamp illuminated her features. Pete's jaw dropped. The inner prodding stirred him to action. Pete stumbled onto the cobblestone street, opening his mouth to call out. But before any sound left his lips, a horse-drawn cab clattered around the corner and halted in front of the apartment, blocking his way. Grunting in annoyance, he stepped around the cab in time to see a young woman alight. She dropped a coin in the cab driver's hand and then turned. The streetlamp illuminated her features. Pete's jaw dropped.
”Libby! What are you doing here?”
”Petey!” Libby dashed forward and grasped his lapels. ”I found you. Thank goodness. Bennett said you'd be here, and he gave me the address, but he wasn't sure he remembered it correctly.”
Pete glanced up. His father had disappeared inside the apartment building. He released a groan of frustration. Taking Libby by the shoulders, he led her to the corner of the building, out of the sight of anyone who might peek from an upstairs window. ”Why aren't you at Alice-Marie's?”
Even in the shadows, he saw color flood her cheeks. ”I . . . I sneaked out.”
”Libby!”
”I needed to talk to you. So when Alice-Marie and I went up to our rooms after dinner, I told Alice-Marie I was going to take a long bath, and then I sneaked down the maid's stairs and out the back door.”
Pete slapped his forehead. ”Libby, you are bound and determined to cause trouble.” Catching her hand, he dragged her to the curb. ”Well, you're going right back.”
”No!” She wriggled loose of his grasp. ”Petey, you've got to listen to me. There's something you need to know before you see your parents.”
He tapped his peg against the ground, trying to stay patient. ”All right, but hurry. You've got to get back before they miss you. What is it?”
”It's about your brother Oscar.”
Immediately, a fuzzy picture of a round-cheeked youngster with curling b.u.t.ter-yellow hair appeared in Pete's memory.
”He's in jail, Petey, accused of murder.”
The sweet picture of innocence shattered. He grabbed Libby's shoulders again, but this time as a means of supporting himself. Surely he'd misunderstood. ”M-murder?”
The empathetic pain in Libby's eyes confirmed he'd heard correctly. ”I saw it in the paper and went to investigate. Under the pretext of writing an article for the newspaper, I spent an hour with him today. Petey, he's so young and so scared. And he says he didn't do it-says it was someone else, but the court found him guilty, so . . . he's been sentenced to hang.” She pulled in a shuddering breath and clung to his wrists. ”Petey, I'm so sorry.” The last words choked out, as if carried on tears.
Pete found himself gripping Libby's shoulders so fiercely she winced, but he couldn't seem to let go and she made no move to pull away. The market owner-Keith Branson-had indicated his family needed help, but their needs went far beyond Pete's ability to a.s.sist them.
”We have to help your brother, Petey. If he's innocent, we can't let him hang.” Libby squeezed his wrists. ”I asked for Mr. Daley's help, but being a business owner himself, his sympathies reside with the dead clerk. He isn't willing to listen. Judging by Mr. Daley's reaction, I'm not sure anyone else here will reach out to Oscar. So it's up to us.”
The same helplessness he'd felt when talking to Keith struck again, harder than ever. His knees trembled. With staggering steps, he made his way to the stoop and sat. The cold concrete penetrated to his flesh, and he s.h.i.+vered. Libby perched beside him, taking his hands.
His thoughts bounced hither and thither until they were a muddled mess: Oscar jailed for a heinous crime, his younger brothers practicing thievery to combat their hunger, all of them bearing the marks of Gunter Leidig's drunken rages . . . So many things wrong. How could he possibly change any of it?
Eyes closed, he clung to Libby's hands, seeking strength.
Eventually he looked into her pale, expectant face. Tears blurred her sweet image. ”As a preacher, I'll be expected to minister to people-to meet their needs. But I'm helpless against problems like these. I can't fix them. . . . Libby, I don't know what to do.”
Her fingers slipped between his, the palm-to-palm contact firm and warm and encouraging. Her breath kissed his cheek when she whispered, ”Yes you do, Petey. Pray.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.
When Petey's eyes slid closed, Libby closed hers, too, and she listened to his prayer, repeating each phrase in her heart. He asked for strength for Oscar, wisdom for himself, and justice from the court system. She stumbled over his final request. Justice- did that mean meting out punishment? Sometimes the punishment was more severe than what was warranted. Eyes scrunched closed, her hands holding tight to Petey's, she willed, Even more than justice, let compa.s.sion reign, G.o.d. Even more than justice, let compa.s.sion reign, G.o.d.
Petey ended the prayer on a ragged note of thanksgiving, and Libby opened her eyes. He offered her a weak smile. ”You need to go back to Alice-Marie's now. Let's hail a cab.”
She rose when he did, but she resisted moving to the curb.
”Can't I stay with you?” He would surely go up to his parents' apartment now, and she wanted to be with him.
”No, Libby. I need to do this myself.”
”Please? I promise I won't say a word. I won't interfere in any way, no matter what.” If she had to bite on her tongue and sit on her hands the whole time, she'd keep her promise. ”After talking to Oscar . . . and hearing everything he said about your father . . .” She swallowed, fear making perspiration form across her back. Could she face this man she envisioned as an unfeeling monster? ”I would feel better if I went up with you. I don't think you should see him alone.”
”And what are you going to tell Alice-Marie? She won't believe you took a two-hour bath.”
Libby hung her head. ”It will probably end any hope of them forgiving me or trusting me again, but I'll tell them the truth. That I sneaked over here to tell you about your brother.”
Petey cringed. ”My brother . . . the convicted murderer.” Letting his head drop back, he released a heavy sigh. ”Alice-Marie will probably tell everyone on campus about this-you know how she likes to talk. Everyone will find out about Oscar. What if that prevents me from becoming a minister?”
”That won't happen!”
”How can you be so sure?”
”Because . . . because . . .” Libby spluttered for a reason. Her conversation with Petey in the barn on Matt and Lorna's wedding day flitted through her mind. Although he'd crushed her with his words then, she now said them back to him. ”Because you've been called to it, and G.o.d will make sure it happens.”
His smile rewarded her. ”Thank you, Libby.”
”You're welcome. Now . . .” She clasped her hands and pressed her knuckles to her chin. ”Are you going to let me go with you when you see your folks?”
To her surprise, he laughed. ”I think it would be easier to give in to you than to keep arguing.” He took her hand and turned toward the building. ”When we're finished here, I'll go with you to Alice-Marie's and see if I can help smooth any ruffled feathers.”
Hand-in-hand, they made their way up a narrow, dark stairway littered with trash. Libby steeled herself against the mingled odors of sweat, overcooked cabbage, and sewer. How could people live this way? Although she'd often thought Mrs. Rowley too meticulous about housekeeping, she now appreciated the clean, fresh-smelling home the woman had provided. She vowed her own home-when she had one-would be a pleasant place for everyone who entered.
”This is it.” Petey gestured to a door to the right of the second-floor landing. Murmuring voices came from behind the door. One deep and gruff-sounding, and one high-pitched, almost whiny. Petey sucked in a big breath, lifted his hand, and banged his fist against the scarred wood three times.
”Who is it?” the deeper voice boomed.
Petey cleared his throat and leaned close to the door. The grip on her hand tightened. ”It's Pete, Pa. Your son.”
A long silence fell. Then someone barked, ”I got no son named Pete. Go away.”
A woman's voice wailed, a man's voice ordered her to silence, and soft sobbing carried into the hallway.