Part 19 (1/2)

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 pa.s.sed 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 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. 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 tw.a.n.ged 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?

Go to church and pray for Petey.

She rolled her eyes and muttered, ”I don't pray. Petey Petey prays.” Her words hung heavily in the steamy little room, and sadness struck Libby with such force her nose stung. She wanted to pray. She wanted to trust. But after being discarded so many times by so many people-her parents, her uncle, all sorts of potential adoptive parents, Maelle, Jackson, and even Petey-how would she bear it if G.o.d discarded her and her needs, too? prays.” Her words hung heavily in the steamy little room, and sadness struck Libby with such force her nose stung. She wanted to pray. She wanted to trust. But after being discarded so many times by so many people-her parents, her uncle, all sorts of potential adoptive parents, Maelle, Jackson, and even Petey-how would she bear it if G.o.d discarded her and her needs, too?

Try. Just try . . . . . .

The persistent voice in her head refused to be silenced. She'd have to distract herself from it. She hurried to her room and dressed as quietly as possible. But Alice-Marie must have heard the slight squeak of the wardrobe hinges, because she yawned and sat up.

”L-Libby?” Her voice sounded croaky.

Libby whispered in reply. ”Yes, it's just me. Go back to sleep. I'm going to take a walk.” She knew where she wanted to go-no one else would be there.

”In the dark?” Alice-Marie stretched her arms over her head. Her bedsprings groaned softly as she flopped back onto the mattress.

The heavy shadows of earlier had lifted, and the room was cast in a murky pink. Before long, the sun would flood its yellow glow across the campus. ”The sun's almost up. I'll be fine.” She tiptoed toward the door.

”Where're you going?” came Alice-Marie's sleepy voice.

Libby doubted her roommate would remember this conversation later, but she answered anyway. ”Out to the old foundation.”

”You mean the burned-down building? So that's real? You've seen it?”

”Yes.” Libby turned the doork.n.o.b, wincing when it creaked one high note.

”Bennett and I walked to the field one time, but we didn't see the foundation.”

Libby opened the door and slipped into the hall. Before closing the door, she whispered, ”Maybe you didn't look hard enough. Bye, Alice-Marie.” She locked the door behind her and then hurried down the stairs. Miss Banks's desk sat empty, so Libby ran past it and out the double doors. The morning air chilled her, but she ignored the gooseflesh that broke out over her arms and ran all the way to the line of trees that led to the meadow.

She slowed her pace as she walked the tree-lined lane. The trees, once thick and full, now hosted only a few brave russet or brown leaves that waved in the gentle breeze. The ground underneath wore a thick carpet, and she scuffed through the fallen leaves, kicking them in the air and watching them flit back down. A bluejay, apparently disturbed by her crunching progress, scolded from the bare treetops. Its bright blue feathers stood out boldly against the backdrop of plain brown branches and pale sky.

While Libby watched, it flapped its wings and chattered, its bright eyes seeming to look directly at Libby. Such an audacious little creature-did it really think it could frighten her away? Despite herself, she laughed. The bird took wing, zipping between branches. She watched until it disappeared, then put her feet in motion once more.

The meadow waited just ahead, the gra.s.s higher than the last time she'd visited. She stepped free of the trees and into the clearing, into the glow of a magnificent sunrise. Bands of pink, yellow, orange, and purple gave the horizon a festive appearance. The sun-a bold white arc-pressed through the center of the ribbons of color, sending beams upward to pierce the spa.r.s.e clouds and form a giant fan of light.

Libby's eyes involuntarily squinted, the brightness too much to bear wide-eyed, but she faced that glorious sunrise and imagined Petey-always an early riser-in Shay's Ford witnessing the same sight. It bound her to him in a way she couldn't quite grasp.

Then, her senses sated, she sought the stones that had once held a tall, proud building. She pushed the gra.s.s aside with her hands, her gaze roving, and finally she located the hidden foundation. With a little cry of triumph, she sat on an oblong stone, pressing her palm to its rough, cool top.

She giggled, remembering how Alice-Marie had sleepily asked if the foundation was real. Just because she'd never seen it herself, she questioned it. But here Libby sat, like a queen on her throne, her weight fully supported by a broad, carved stone the color of pewter. Oh yes, Alice-Marie, it's real. Oh yes, Alice-Marie, it's real.

As the sun rose higher, it revealed the entire stretch of the foundation nestled between thick strands of dried brown gra.s.s. Libby examined every inch of it, marveling that even though nearly every part of the building had been destroyed by heat and flame, the foundation still remained. Strong, immovable, but only visible to those who took the time to truly seek it.

Sitting there all alone under a rosy sky, a feeling of smallness and vulnerability captured Libby. She wished someone were there to sit beside her and hold her hand. The feeling wasn't new-she'd experienced it many times after coming to the orphans' school, and she'd combated it by running off with Petey and Bennett or begging to spend a weekend with Maelle.

Maelle . . . How long had it been since Libby had indulged in her favorite daydream? Here, all alone, she could close her eyes and imagine being adopted by Maelle. But that fantasy no longer held any appeal. The dream would never come true now.

Her heart ached as she thought about Hannah and Hester calling Maelle Ma and Jackson Pa. Her jealousy toward the two girls went even deeper than her jealousy toward Jackson. At least she'd always known Maelle loved Jackson-Maelle spoke of him every time she and Libby were together.

Once, when Libby had been twelve, she'd asked Maelle how she could still love someone who was so far away. ”Why don't you quit waiting for him and just find someone else?” Libby had asked, unaware of the insensitivity of the question.

She could still remember the soft look that had come over Maelle's face before she cupped Libby's cheek and answered, ”There's no one else who could replace Jackson. Even though we're far apart, he's close to me-I feel him in every heartbeat.”

At the time, Libby had inwardly scoffed at such a romantic notion. But now her heart ached with the desire to be loved that way by someone. To know, even when separated, that she was being held in his every heartbeat. How she longed to be important. To someone. To anyone.

The sun moved ever higher, was.h.i.+ng away the bright colors of morning and replacing them with a clear blue that perfectly matched the color of Petey's eyes. The inner prompting to pray for him returned. Tears p.r.i.c.ked behind her eyes, surprising her with their presence. She wanted to pray-to support her dear friend, whose world was crumbling.

But she couldn't.

”I'm so sorry, Petey.” Lifting her gaze to the blue sky that reminded her so much of Petey's eyes, she said on a ragged whisper, ”I can't pray for you. I'm not important enough to warrant G.o.d's attention.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

Pete's admiration for Jackson grew by leaps and bounds as the day progressed. Even though the man had gotten little sleep Sunday night, having dozed on the train in lieu of a good rest in his bed, he appeared alert and intelligent Monday as he asked questions, filed papers, and somehow managed to secure a meeting in private chambers with the judge who'd handed down Oscar's sentence. As much as Pete had wanted to speak on his brother's behalf, he clamped his lips tight and allowed Jackson to do all the talking.

Jackson scooted his chair closer to the judge's desk and placed a stack of papers in front of the man. ”After reading the report covering the investigation and the trial transcript, there are two questions that were not-in my opinion-adequately addressed by Mr. Leidig's representing attorney.” He pointed to something on the top page. ”The clerk died of a gunshot wound, yet no weapon was recovered at the scene. No one seemed to inquire about the absence of a gun.”

The judge shuffled through the stack of papers as if seeking something. ”That does seem unusual. . . .”

”Secondly, although Mr. Leidig repeatedly indicated another man was responsible for the clerk's death, his claims were never pursued. It appears, from reading these reports, they found a boy sitting beside the clerk's body. When he admitted to being in the store for the purpose of stealing money, they simply held him accountable for the murder, as well.”

Pete fidgeted as the judge and Jackson discussed the trial transcript at length, line by line, and by the end of the forty-minute session, Jackson had secured permission to talk to Oscar on the guarantee that he would hand any new evidence to the police for investigation.

The judge leaned back in his chair. ”Even though I'm granting your request, I find it highly unlikely the boy will offer any information of value. What this transcript doesn't indicate is the boy's att.i.tude during the trial. He was very close-mouthed and uncooperative. But never let it be said retribution took precedence over justice in my courtroom.”

Jackson nodded. ”Thank you, your honor. I appreciate your willingness to allow a second look at the evidence.”

The judge gestured toward a sober-faced man in navy trousers and a matching belted jacket, indicating he should step forward. ”The officer will escort you to the jail, where you can visit with Mr. Leidig.”

Jackson thanked the judge again and then quirked his fingers at Pete. Pete hop-skipped to catch up to Jackson, and side-by-side they followed the officer down a long hallway to a heavy door. The man opened the door and stepped through without glancing back, and Jackson had to catch it to keep it from slamming shut.

A steep, narrow staircase waited, the steps formed of cement. Moisture clung to the cinder-block walls and concrete floor, leaving the surfaces slick, and Pete held tight to the iron handrail to keep his peg from slipping. Not until they reached the barred door to a cell did the officer turn around. His eyebrows rose when he spotted Pete.

”Judge said the lawyer could go in. He didn't say nothin' about n.o.body else.”