empty pant leg dangling a few inches above the floor, and anger rose up, hot and all-consuming. He’d have two good legs had it not been for his parents, Gunter and Berta Leidig.
Aaron Rowley had told Pete he needed to forgive his parents, and Pete agreed, but he didn’t know how to let loose of the resentment. He wouldn’t have been on that trolley, carrying an armload of newspapers to sell on a corner, if they hadn’t sent him out into the cold. He’d never forget the shock and pain of the trolley wheel rolling across his leg. Three brief seconds of time had changed his life forever. And he’d never forget the parents who’d allowed it to happen through their lack of responsibility toward their child.
Pete slapped the window frame and hopped back to the bed. The mattress complained when he plopped down, but he ignored the squeak and undressed, laying his pants and shirt neatly across the seat of the chair to wear again tomorrow. Then he stretched out and put his linked hands beneath his head. He stared at the ceiling, eager to sleep but disturbed by that simple statement: “Your battles are your own.”
The truth was, from the time he’d been a very small boy, his battles had been his own. And he had one big battle he was now ready to face. One he’d been gathering courage for years to face. He intended to find Gunter and Berta Leidig and tell them, very honestly, exactly what he thought of them. Then maybe this ever-present cloud of resentment would fade away.
CHAPTER FOUR
You aren’t going to pledge to a sorority?”
Libby turned from the washstand, a towel pressed to her chin, and looked at her roommate. The girl’s aghast expression made her want to laugh. She placed the soggy towel over her lips and cleared her throat, chasing away the bubble of laughter. “Actually, no. I don’t see the point.”
“But . . . but . . .” Her roommate, Alice-Marie Daley from Clayton—in St. Louis County, didn’t Libby know—rose from her perch on the edge of her bed and held out her hands in supplication. Her ruffly nightgown billowed around her ankles in an explosion of shimmering pink. “Everyone, but just everyone, pledges to a sorority or fraternity!”
Libby turned back to the round mirror hanging above the washstand and continued drying her face. Alice-Marie walked up behind Libby and talked to her reflection in the mirror.
“I intend to pledge Kappa Kappa Gamma. They’re one of the oldest sororities, which Mother says is very important—it’s all about the history of a thing, you know.” She giggled, nudging Libby’s shoulder. “But what I like about them is their flower. The fleur-de-lis. I just love the way it sounds. Fleur-de-lis.” She emphasized each syllable, rounding the vowels.
Libby resisted rolling her eyes. “Uh-huh.” Damp tendrils of hair stuck to her temples, and she rubbed at the fine strands with the towel.
Alice-Marie fluffed the long tresses falling down Libby’s back. “Your hair is very, very long. Do you always wear it down? Mother says the Grecian style is now all the rage. That’s why I brush mine back into a tight roll. For the hairstyle to hold, I have to keep my hair at a manageable length. But with my natural curl, it’s still very difficult to control. Maybe I should let mine grow longer and hang loose, too.”
Libby shifted sideways a bit, removing herself from Alice-Marie’s fingers. “I like mine long.” Maelle wore her hair long. Most of the girls at the orphans’ school wore their hair shoulder-length for easy care, but Libby had pitched a fit each time Mrs. Rowley approached with a scissors. Mrs. Rowley had finally given up. If long hair was good enough for Maelle, it was good enough for Libby.
“Well, you have pretty hair anyway,” Alice-Marie said. “So very, very soft, but dark, almost like an Indian’s.” She released a nervous-sounding giggle. “You aren’t an Indian, are you? Even your skin is browned . . . but that is from the sun?” She smoothed her own creamy cheek with her fingertips, her gaze fixed on her reflection in the mirror. “Mother says white skin is the sign of a true lady. I always wear a hat or carry a parasol if I must be out in the sun too long.”
Libby draped the sodden cloth over a little wooden rod and turned to step past Alice-Marie.
But Alice-Marie moved directly into Libby’s path and clasped her hands beneath her