Students clustered on the lawn beneath a bare oak tree, jabbering excitedly. The glow from a nearby streetlamp highlighted Bennett’s unruly mane of red hair in the center of the group. Pete took hold of Libby’s arm. “C’mon.” With Alice-Marie stomping along behind them, they pushed through the crowd to reach Bennett. When Pete got a good look at his buddy, he jerked so hard in surprise he almost knocked himself down.
Libby clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Bennett! What have you done?”
Bennett smoothed his hand down the front of a grayish-green army uniform. “Signed up.” He smirked at Libby. “Didn’t I tell you I would?”
“But—” She shook her head, her focus bouncing from his head to his toes and up again. “Now? When you’re in school?”
Bennett laughed. He smacked the arm of the closest student and bobbed his head toward the dining hall. “You all go on in and get a seat. I’ll join you in a minute.”
The others wandered off, still chattering. Pete stood in stunned silence between Libby and Alice-Marie. Both girls stared at Bennett, and they seemed to have lost their ability to speak. Bennett grinned widely, fingering the metal buttons on the trim-fitting blouse. “Pretty sharp, huh? No gun yet—that’ll come after I’ve been through training—but they let me wear the uniform anyway.” He tugged a little hat free of his back pocket and plopped it on his head, setting it at a jaunty angle. Then he threw his arms wide. “So whadd’ya think?”
Alice-Marie sprang to life. “I think you’ve completely lost your mind!” She turned to Libby. “Look at him, all ready for war! All ready to . . . to . . .” She burst into tears and took off running toward the women’s dormitory.
Libby advanced on Bennett. “What in the world compelled you to do this now? The United States isn’t in the war. There’s no reason for you to take up a gun.” She sounded more hurt than angry. She looked to Pete, and he stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Did you really join the army, Bennett, or did you just borrow this uniform?” Knowing Bennett’s penchant for attention-getting, he wouldn’t put such a stunt past his friend.
Bennett’s jaw tightened. “It’s real.” He shrugged, tugging at the hem of the blouse. “Only the reserves, though. ’Course, if we go to war, that won’t matter—they’ll still send me. But with the reserves, I can stay in school. School’s paid for, so I might as well stick with it.”
Pete felt Libby wilt beside him, and he understood her relief. At least Bennett wasn’t planning to take off immediately. “So why not wait until you’ve finished school?”
Bennett set his chin at a belligerent angle. “Wanna know the truth? When I first started thinking about it, I wanted to do it because of you, Pete.”
Pete jolted. “Me?”
“Yeah. I’m just so tired of never measuring up.” A derisive note crept into Bennett’s voice. “At the orphans’ school, the Rowleys were always holding you up as an example of how I should behave. Any games we ever played, Lib chose you before she’d choose me. Here at the college, people seemed to take to you better than me—giving you a nickname and talking about how you could do so much even with that blasted peg . . .”
He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. A cloud formed around his head and then drifted away. “But you could never be a soldier. You could never show up here”—he held out his hands, indicating the surroundings—“in a uniform.”
“So you did it to spite me?” Pete really didn’t want to know the answer. If Bennett had joined the army simply to one-up him and was one day killed on a battlefield because of it, it would destroy him.
“Maybe at first, but . . .” Bennett dug his boot toe in the grass, his head low. “Got to thinking about it. I don’t have a family—not like you have. Nobody waitin’ for me. No place to really go when I get out of school. Figured if I’m in the army, then I’ll always have a place . . . to belong.”
Bennett’s words pierced Pete’s heart. He’d done a poor job of helping his friend see that he could secure a place of belonging if he would only accept God’s love. He hung his head, forcing down the knot of sadness in his throat.
“Guess that’s why I wanted to be in Beta Theta Pi so bad. Best fraternity on campus. It’d make me feel special—like I fit somewhere.” He snorted. “Pretty dumb. Now that they said I can join, I told ’em no. Just doesn’t seem all that important anymore. Not sure why . . .” Bennett glanced over his shoulder toward Rhodes Hall. “Guess I really upset Alice-Marie, huh?”
Libby nodded. “You certainly did.”
Bennett pulled his lips to the side. “Think I should go . . . talk to her?”
“I think you should.”
She spoke matter-of-factly, making Pete smile. He’d always been amused by Libby’s feisty side, but this even-tempered angle was nice, too.
“Well, guess I’ll . . .” He flapped his hand in the direction of the dormitory.
“Go talk to Alice-Marie,” Pete said, “and when you’re done, come see me. There’s something I need to tell you. Something I want you to hear.”
Bennett stood for a moment, looking directly in Pete’s face. A crooked grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I think I know what.” He gave a brusque nod. “I’ll try to hear you out.” He ambled off, his feet scuffing at the grass.
Pete turned back to Libby. “Now, we were in the middle of—”
Her mouth dropped open. “My portfolio!” She spun and raced back into the dining hall. Moments later she emerged carrying the black leather folder. She held it up, her smile bright. “I didn’t want to lose this.”
“And I was about to say . . .” Pete swallowed. She’d been so supportive in Clayton, offering encouragement and fighting hard to keep Oscar from the hangman’s noose. When given the opportunity to earn money with her writing, her first thoughts had been to use it to help him.
He knew she cared for him—she wanted his support in submitting a different kind of story to the magazine. And now God was important to her. She’d openly admitted she wanted to follow God’s will for her life. That change made his heart sing. But did all of that mean she loved him?
She swung her portfolio, the leather creating a soft swish as it brushed her skirt, while she waited for him to speak. But he couldn’t seem to make his tongue form the sentences. He’d heard that actions spoke more loudly than words. So Pete decided to let actions speak. Taking one step forward, he caught Libby in his embrace and pressed his lips to her surprised mouth.
Libby dropped her portfolio in the grass.
At that moment, a group of students exited the dining hall, their presence an untimely intrusion. Petey backed away from her, looking toward the sidewalk. Libby quickly bent over and picked up her portfolio. The moment she straightened, Petey took hold of her elbow and propelled her across the dark yard. At first she thought he was returning her to the women’s dormitory, but he hop-skipped past the building and headed for the far edge of the campus.
Her breath came in little bursts as he led her farther and farther from Rhodes Hall, and they finally reached the tree-lined path that led to the stone foundation. But instead of taking her to the meadow, he tugged her beneath a tree and leaned against the trunk, his chest rising and falling with the heaviness of his breathing.
Libby’s chest also heaved, but she couldn’t be certain which bore responsibility—the brisk walk or the wonderment of what he’d done. “P-Petey?” Her voice rasped out. “You kissed me!”
Petey caught her braid and let it slide through his fingers until he reached the end. He held the tip, playfully swishing the long plait to and fro. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since your sixteenth birthday. I’ve loved you that long. Maybe longer.” His features, tinged by moonlight creeping between the bare branches overhead, were pinched with remorse. “But I shouldn’t have chosen that moment. I—”
“You should do it again.”
He jerked upright and gawked at her for one startled second. Then a soft laugh—a joyous sound—escaped his throat. He released her braid and brought up his hands to cup her cheeks. He leaned in slowly, torturing her with the delay, and at last brushed her lips with his.
Her eyes slid closed. So the storybook tales are right. One’s heart does take wing. She let the portfolio slip through her fingers. It landed with a light crunch in the leaves beneath their feet. She curled her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest.
“Libby?” He held her tight, proving that his heart was as affected as hers. She felt it beating even through his jacket. “You said you wanted to please God with your life . . . with your talents. Is that right?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t be certain how God would have her use her writing abilities—whether in allegorical stories meant to paint a picture of His love and grace, or in articles that would inform and inspire. But she trusted He would reveal His will to her if she continually sought Him in prayer.
“I want to follow Him, too, with every decision I make, including . . .” His fingers splayed on her back momentarily and then very gently he set her aside. He collapsed against the tree’s trunk. “I can’t think when I’m holding you.”
She swallowed a knowing chuckle. So the storybook tales were right on that, too. She wouldn’t tempt him. She inched backward, allowing him plenty of space. Then linking her hands in front of her, she admired the sight of Petey bathed in starlight. Alice-Marie was right—his hair was the color of moonlight. And hers matched the dark sky behind the stars. A perfect fit.
“Petey, you don’t have to think right now. There’s time for thinking. We’re still very young. God has much more to teach us, I’m sure. Right now, it’s enough to know He brought us together and He gave us the opportunity to become friends.”
“Good friends,” he added.
“Best friends,” she corrected. She reached out, and he responded in kind. Their fingers met and wove together—a simple touch, yet heartfelt. “I love you, and it makes me so happy to know you love me. But what’s even better is we both love God. With both of us seeking His will, we’ll discover what He wants for us . . . in time . . . and it will be perfect.”
For long moments they stood, her fingers linked with his, her senses thrumming. It seemed to Libby they were the only two people in the world.
Her gaze drifted to the edge of the trees, to the meadow where the stone foundation lay, unobtrusive but available to any who would seek. Petey’s thumb caressed hers, and she looked up as he looked down. They smiled in unison.
His voice husky, he said, “I should walk you back to Rhodes Hall. I don’t want you to miss curfew.”
She nodded. If she came in late, Miss Banks would surely reprimand her. Again.
“I also need to talk to Bennett tonight.”
Libby knew what Petey would address—Bennett’s overwhelming need for belonging and where he could find it if only he would release his stubborn will and submit to God. It was difficult to relinquish one’s pride, but she’d experienced the joy that followed when one finally surrendered. She prayed that Bennett would listen to Petey’s words, and believe.
Hand-in-hand, they ambled up the tree-lined path. When they reached the dormitory porch, she started to head inside, but he held her back with a gentle tug on her hand.
“I won’t be going to Shay’s Ford for Thanksgiving. I need to catch up on my schoolwork. But I promised my ma—”
Libby marveled at how easily the title ma slipped from Petey’s lips. No resentment colored his tone or hardened his features.
“—I’d be there for Christmas. Please greet everyone for me when you go, and make sure my brothers and sister are settling in all right, will you?”
Libby squeezed his hand, touched by his concern for these people—these strangers—who bore his name. “Of course I will. And I’ll pray, every day, for their peace and happiness.”
His lips curved into his familiar endearing smile. Then he looked quickly right and left before leaning forward and brushing a sweet chaste kiss on her cheek. “Night, Libby. Sweet dreams.”
She had no doubt his parting words would find fulfillment.