She glanced again at the story she'd created that afternoon. "This story reflects Your love, G.o.d. I want so much to be able to help Petey take care of his brothers and sister. If it's Your will for me, let this story find acceptance so I can continue to use the writing abilities You gave me."

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On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Pete sat in the back of the courtroom with his mother. Beside Jackson, Oscar stood straight and proud in a new shirt and trousers, his hair freshly cut. He looked nothing like the bedraggled boy who'd curled on the cot in the bas.e.m.e.nt cell.

The judge, sober and stern in his black robe, peered down from his seat behind the bench. "Young man, since you have pled guilty to attempted robbery, I sentence you to six months of hard labor, which will be served at the Missouri Penitentiary in Jefferson City."

Oscar flicked a glance over his shoulder. Pete sent him a rea.s.suring nod, and he faced the judge again.

"I must also express my grat.i.tude that the truth concerning the murder charge made against you has been brought to light. You are a fortunate young man to have so many people fighting for you. It is my hope that you will emerge from this experience with the determination to be a law-abiding citizen, and will therefore prove that the trust offered by those who have given a.s.sistance is not ill placed."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

The judge rose, and Pete and Berta scrambled to their feet, as well. As the judge left, two officers approached from their post beside the bench, reaching for Oscar. Oscar drew back and threw a frantic look over his shoulder. Pete stumped forward as quickly as his peg leg would allow.

"Could we have a moment of time . . . to say good-bye?"

The officers glanced at each other and then one nodded. "Five minutes."

Berta rushed up and stretched her arms across the wooden bar to embrace Oscar. Copious tears rained down her thin face. "Oh, Oscar . . ."

Oscar clung, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. "I'll be all right, Ma. Only six months. Won't be so long."

"Me an' the young'uns'll write to you every day." Berta shot a hesitant look at the closest officer. "He'll be allowed letters from his family?"

The officer nodded. "Yes, ma'am. His lawyer here can give you the address."

Pulling loose, Berta cupped Oscar's face in her hands. "See there? That'll give ya somethin' to look forward to each day-a letter from us. An' you write, too-keep up your writin' an' readin'. Who knows, maybe you'll get to go to a university one day, too, like your brother Petey."

Pete stepped close and reached past his mother to clamp his hand over Oscar's shoulder. "Mind your manners and do what you're told."

Oscar nodded. "I will."

"I'll write, too, and I'll be counting down the days until you're free. Then we'll do something special together-just you and me.

Sound good?"

"Sounds real good, Pete." Oscar ducked his head for a moment, then his gaze bounced back up to meet Pete's. "Thank you for comin' to the jail. Thanks . . . for comin' back."

Pete curled his hand around Oscar's neck and pulled him against his chest as tight as he could with the bar separating them. Oscar's temple connected with Pete's chin, his thick hair tickling his neck. Pete didn't want to let go, but the nearest officer cleared his throat and said, "It's time."

Pete handed Oscar to Berta for one more hug, and then they watched the officers escort Oscar through a door at the front of the room. Berta pressed her clenched hand to her mouth, and her body convulsed in silent sobs. Hesitantly, Pete lifted his arm and wrapped it around her thin shoulders. She didn't lean into him, but her face tipped upward, grat.i.tude in her tired eyes.

"We'd better go." Jackson picked up his briefcase and turned stiffly toward the door. With one hand bracing his ribs, he gestured for Pete and Berta to precede him. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor as they headed down the hallway together.

Outside, Jackson turned to Pete. "Since your train to Chambers leaves three hours earlier than ours to Shay's Ford, I'll say my good-byes here." He stuck out his hand, and Pete gave it a firm shake. "Have a safe trip back."

"I will. Thanks for . . ." How could Pete possible encapsulate all Jackson had done for his family in the past week? He shook his head. "For everything everything, Jackson."

Jackson grinned. "My pleasure. I'm just glad it all turned out as well as it did."

"Me too."

"Will you come to Shay's Ford at the end of the week for Thanksgiving?"

Berta sent a hopeful look in Pete's direction when Jackson posed the question. As much as Pete wanted to go home for Thanksgiving- to make sure his siblings had settled in and spend time with Matt and Lorna and all the others-he'd been away from school too long. He'd need many days to catch up.

Reluctantly, he shook his head. "I'm afraid not. One of my professors, Pastor Hines, said I could stay at his home if I ever needed a place, so I'll probably take him up on his offer and use the break to catch up on the cla.s.ses I missed while I've been here." The disappointment sagging his mother's face p.r.i.c.ked his heart, so he added in a cheerful tone, "But I'll be there for Christmas-you can count on it."

"I think that's wise," Jackson replied. "Well . . ." He bounced his leather satchel against his leg and looked at Berta. "Maelle is probably still at your apartment, helping the children pack for your move. Let's go there and finish up. That train will leave before we know it."

But Berta remained rooted in place, her pleading eyes aimed at Pete's face. Pete knew what she wanted. What she needed. And he wished he could give it. But it was too soon. Maybe one day he'd find the ability to put his arms around his mother, to hold her close, but G.o.d needed to do a little more work on him before he was ready.

Giving her a smile, he said, "You'll be in good hands with Aaron and Isabelle-they're some of the best people G.o.d ever planted on this earth." He raised his hand in a wave. "Bye now."

Berta's lips trembled. "Bye, Petey." She turned and followed Jackson to the curb, where he flagged a cab. Pete waited until they climbed in and the cab clattered away before he turned toward the hotel. He'd retrieve his bag and then catch a cab to the train station. By this evening, he'd be back in Chambers. He'd only been gone a week, but it seemed like a year, so much had transpired in such a short amount of time.

Pausing on the busy sidewalk, Pete bowed his head and offered a silent, heartfelt prayer of thanks to G.o.d for His redeeming intervention. So many broken threads had been woven into place. Pete had emerged stronger, more determined to seek and follow G.o.d's will in every aspect of his life.

He opened his eyes and hitched forward, eager to return to Chambers and share with his two best friends all the miracles of the past week. Then his steps slowed, his enthusiasm waning. In order to share truthfully, he'd have to give G.o.d the glory. Would Bennett mockingly call the events happenstance? Would Libby's defensive ire flare-was she still annoyed that he'd sent her away? For a moment, he considered keeping all that had happened to himself rather than face their scorn.

But then he straightened his shoulders and hop-skipped to put himself in motion again. Whether they wanted to hear it or not, he'd tell them all that had happened. And he would give praise where praise was due.

The following morning Pete arose early, dressed, and met with Pastor Hines before breakfast. The man cheerfully agreed to host Pete for the Thanksgiving weekend and even offered to a.s.sist him with his missed a.s.signments.

"I'm glad to see you back, Mr. Leidig. I was half afraid you'd decided the work was too hard."

Pete shook his head. "No, sir. I'm determined to complete my divinity degree. G.o.d's called me to this task, and He's given me everything I need to see it through. So I aim to please Him with my efforts."

"Good man." The professor smacked Pete on the back. "And I look forward to working with you. Head on to breakfast now-I'll see you in cla.s.s later."

On his way to the dining hall, he stopped by Franklin Hall to retrieve Bennett, but to his surprise Bennett was already gone. His roommate was in the room, however. Winston blinked at Pete behind round, thick spectacles.

"I'm afraid you won't locate Bennett on the campus today. He left last night after packing a bag. When I questioned him, he said he had an imperative obligation to complete and he would return shortly."

Pete doubted Bennett had used the words imperative obligation imperative obligation, but he thanked the skinny kid and went on to the dining hall. Maybe Bennett had talked to Libby. He hoped she'd be able to tell him where Bennett had gone.

He'd almost finished eating by the time Libby, accompanied by Alice-Marie, came in. His heart leapt when he spotted her, dressed in the soft brown two-piece suit Isabelle had chosen as her college outfit. He couldn't understand how a plain brown dress made her cheeks look so rosy and bright, but somehow it did. With her long dark hair tumbling across her shoulders and her sweet lips tipped into a soft smile, she was the prettiest woman on campus. Maybe on earth.

Pressing his hands on the tabletop, he rose. "Libby!" Her head turned, seeking his voice, and when she spotted him her face broke into a smile of jubilation. She glided toward him, both hands reaching, and he took hold. The simple contact set his heart to banging around in his chest like a moth trying to escape a jar. He laughed just for the sheer joy of it.

"You're back!" She beamed at him. "I didn't think I'd see you again before Thanksgiving. Is Jackson on his way to Shay's Ford? Did the police capture your father? Did Jackson manage to convince the judge of Oscar's innocence? How was Maelle-did you spend time with her?" Then she laughed, shaking her head. "And if I don't stop yammering, you'll never get a chance to talk."

Pulling loose, she waved her hands at him. "Sit back down. Finish eating. I'll go get my own breakfast, and then-"

Pete glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned. "I have a cla.s.s, Libby. Our talk will have to wait until lunchtime."

Her face fell in disappointment. "Oh, but I agreed to meet with Alice-Marie and several girls who serve on the Women's Pan-h.e.l.lenic Council. They need two freshman representatives, and Alice-Marie is determined we'll both be selected. I'm so sorry."

He forced a grin when he would've rather groaned. "That's fine. Maybe dinner?"

"Oh yes. Definitely dinner." Her smile returned, and to his amazement she rose up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek before backing up two steps. "Dinner at six, Petey. I'll see you then!"

He watched her skip back to Alice-Marie, her steps light. He had so much to share with her, but he also had much to ask. Something had transpired in the past few days, igniting an even more attractive side to her. What could it be?

He limped to the dish bins to discard his tray, his gaze lingering on Libby. How would he last until six o'clock, when he could see her again?

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX.

Humming joyously, Libby ran the brush through her hair, smoothing the strands away from her face. Then with deft twists, she formed a braid and tied the end with a piece of ribbon. She smiled at her reflection, pleased with the results.

Trailing her fingers down the length of her thick black braid, she remembered the times Maelle had allowed her to brush her flowing auburn tresses. She'd always wanted to be like Maelle- strong, independent, full of confidence. And now, looking into her own peaceful face, she believed she'd accomplished the goal. But it had nothing to do with long hair or steeling herself against tears or even being self-confident.

Maelle was a woman of faith. She viewed G.o.d as her Father- her ever-present companion and helper. Libby pressed her hand to her heart, grat.i.tude filling her at the a.s.surance that she, too, knew G.o.d. He was with her and would never let her go.

She turned from the mirror and glanced at the clock. Five forty-five. Her heart skipped a beat. She reached eagerly for her coat, but her fingers trembled as she struggled to fasten the b.u.t.tons. Laughing at herself, she said aloud, "One would think I was going to see the Prince of England rather than meeting Petey Leidig in the dining hall!" But even the prince couldn't be as important as Petey-not to her.

Bowing her head, she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. "G.o.d, You know how much I love Petey. But even more than I love him, I want to please You. If I must say . . ." The word she never said quivered on her lips. In her memory, her childish voice rang, calling out that word cheerfully to her parents as they headed down the lane. For so many years, good-bye good-bye had meant never seeing the person again. Could she trust G.o.d enough to give Him control of that word? had meant never seeing the person again. Could she trust G.o.d enough to give Him control of that word?

"Good-bye . . ." It rushed out, and her chest ached, but her lungs still drew breath. She flung her gaze to the ceiling, imagining G.o.d's smile of approval. "If I must say good-bye to Petey, I shall bear it, because I know I rest in Your every heartbeat." Blissful contentment swept over her. Surely something broken deep inside of herself had discovered healing with that long-denied utterance.

She retrieved her leather portfolio, which she'd filled with pages to share with Petey, and reached for the doork.n.o.b. She was ready.

She tried to walk, but her feet refused to cooperate. After a few sedate steps, they skipped. And then ran. Drawing herself up, she enforced slow, measured progress. But after only a few yards, she began skipping again. Propelled forward on a bubble of eagerness, she finally gave her feet freedom, and she ran the final distance to the dining hall. And there stood Petey, already waiting on the porch in his finest suit, his hair neatly combed and a smile of welcome lighting his face.

Libby stopped so suddenly she slid on the concrete floor. Their gazes met, and she couldn't prevent a grin from climbing her cheeks. "You're early."

"So are you."

Then they stood awkwardly, saying nothing. Several students pushed between them and filed through the door. Libby had to joggle her head to keep Petey in her sights; his smile never dimmed. Was he even aware of the interruption? She scampered forward, close enough that no one else could creep between them, so close she had to tip her face back to look into his dear blue eyes.

His eyes crinkled, and her heart fired straight into her throat. He stuck out his elbow. "Shall we go in?"

With a giggle, she took hold. They walked in together, his elbow pressing her hand tight against his ribs. The line was long, but she felt no sense of urgency. She didn't mind waiting. Not while she was with Petey. They didn't talk, even though people around them engaged in conversation. She discovered no need to talk. Looking up and seeing his familiar smile and the contentedness in his eyes was enough. When they finally had trays in hand, he gestured her to a table in the far corner. She reached it first, but for some reason she didn't quite fathom, she didn't immediately sit.

Petey limped up beside her. Something sparked in his eyes- understanding? approval?-and he set down his tray. With a slight bow, he took her tray and placed it next to his, then pulled out her chair. She slid into it as if they'd followed this routine dozens of times before. Their actions were seemingly by rote, but the quivering awareness of him in the center of her being was far beyond the ordinary.

G.o.d, I told you I could tell him good-bye. If You deem it best for me, I'll do it, but please give me strength.

"Shall I pray?" Petey held out his hand, and she slipped hers into it. His fingers closed, warm and firm, as he offered G.o.d thanks and asked a blessing for the food. His eyes opened, but he didn't let loose. Just sat there, his penetrating gaze pinned to her face, while he continued to hold her hand gently.

For a moment, Libby felt she was one of her storybook heroines come to life. Fluttering heartbeats and the blissful sensation of floating somewhere in clouds left her shaky and uncertain how to proceed. Someone would have to restore normalcy, and clearly it wouldn't be him.

With a little giggle, she pulled loose and reached for her fork. "So catch me up on everything that happened." Her voice squeaked out unnaturally high, but her casual actions seemed to bring Petey back to reality.

He jolted, looked at his plate as if surprised to have food in front of him, and picked up his own fork. After the first jerky stab with his fork, he relaxed, and while they ate he regaled her with the details of his time in Clayton.

Libby listened in amazement. In her mind, she envisioned puzzle pieces sliding effortlessly into place, completing a picture of G.o.d's own choosing. When he'd finished, she touched his wrist. "Petey, if Aaron and Isabelle hadn't invited your mother and siblings to reside in the orphans' school, would you really have quit school to take care of them?"

His forehead puckered. "I believe I would have. I don't think G.o.d could have blessed the decision-I left Him out of the planning- but I would have done it. And, as much as I wanted to help them . . ." He heaved a sigh, as if recognizing something for the first time. "I probably would have been miserable. I'm supposed to preach, Libby. That's my G.o.d-designed purpose. Anything else- even something well-intentioned that resulted in good-would have been less than satisfying. I'm more determined than ever to stay within G.o.d's will, no matter what it costs me."

As a pained expression took over his features, he set down his fork beside his half-empty plate. "Even if it costs me you."

Tears sprang into Libby's eyes. She clutched his wrist. "Oh, Petey . . . me too."

He sent her a puzzled look.

"Petey, may I share what happened while you were away?"

He turned his chair slightly to peer directly into her face. Transfixed, he listened as she explained her pell-mell race to find G.o.d. As she shared the revelations of her moments at the old stone foundations, tears winked in his eyes, and a sweet smile grew on his face.

"I was foolish for so long, trying to make G.o.d be what I wanted Him to be-some kind of wish-bestower." She chuckled ruefully, shaking her head. "As if He could ever be that small . . . Now that I've discovered my value in His eyes, being known and admired by thousands is so insignificant. His love has filled all the empty places in my hungering, needy soul."

Petey flipped his hand around to capture hers, squeezing hard, letting her know he approved. Then he gave a little start. "Libby, does this mean you've given up becoming a writer?"

She sucked in a breath. Biting down on her lower lip, she reached for the portfolio. Her fingers fumbled with the catch, but she finally managed to open it and pull out the newspaper bearing Petey's article.

"Petey, when I read this . . ." Head low, shame teasing her heart, she forced herself to continue. "I wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. I've written stories just like the ones you're describing-stories glorifying the physical aspect of love but ignoring everything else. They were so easy to compose. My endless imagination . . . it served me well." She risked a glance at him. No recrimination showed in his face. Swallowing, she continued. "A magazine even purchased some of those stories from me and recently asked me to write for them exclusively. They offered me a contract."

She pulled out the letter from Mr. Price. Petey took it with a solemn nod and examined it as she went on. "I could think of a dozen ways to use that money, but what I wanted most was to give it to you." His head shot up, his eyebrows high. "For your family," she clarified. "I knew you could use it."

"Oh, but-"

"But after reading your article in the paper, and listening to my own heart, I couldn't agree to their request. I couldn't continue writing those kinds of stories-not even to help you."

His shoulders collapsed as relief flooded his face.

"I've already written to Mr. Price, asking him to withdraw my stories from their publishing schedule, and . . ." Her hands shook anew as she reached once more for the portfolio. "I'd like to offer him this instead." She placed six written pages in Petey's waiting hands. "It's a story. An allegory. Do you know what that is?"

His eyes on the pages, he shook his head.

"An allegory is a metaphorical story. It tells the tale of one thing while representing another."

His expression didn't clear.

She laughed softly. "Jesus told parables."

He tipped his head, his expression attentive.

"They were stories about people or events, but they held a deeper meaning. An allegory is similar in that the tale carries a moral or religious meaning outside of the story itself." She tapped the pages. "I used a reference from First Corinthians 13 when crafting this one. It's a love story, Petey, between a man and woman, but the deeper message reflects the love G.o.d holds for all of us."

She smiled. "It occurs to me that G.o.d is the maker of romance. Is there any greater love story than the one in Luke that tells of Jesus' sacrifice for mankind?"