"Good-bye."
Careful to conceal his emotions, he stepped outside. Once there, he turned back to stare at the door, the image of her still vivid in his memory. He recalled everything about her that made her so lovely, the sweep of her lustrous brown hair crowning her head, the bloom of her cheeks, the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. He remembered the fullness of her bottom lip, the way she ran her tongue along her lip in an unconscious gesture of sensuality. Even now, he could still smell her lavender scent, a fragrance he'd forever associate with her and this moment.
He wanted to stay with her for the rest of their lives, tell her his plans for the future, hold this dear one close and let her know he could never love another woman. What if he told her how much he'd missed her and how she constantly invaded his thoughts? Did she have any idea of his lonely nights, when he tossed and turned in bed, aching to hold her in his arms? How he wanted to embrace her now, press his lips to hers and tell her he never wanted her out of his sight.
Above all, he yearned to sweep this forbidden woman into his arms and carry her upstairs to her bedroom, make passionate love to her. With no choice, he must follow his mind, not his heart. How could it ever be otherwise?
Chapter Seven
Lisa set her teacup on the table, giving Elizabeth a frank look across the parlor table.
". . .So you see, I've tried everything, and nothing has worked. Elizabeth, let me tell you! I all but threw myself at William in his bedroom, and he acted as if I were a . . . a low-class woman." Lisa paused for a thoughtful moment. "I'm sure he has a mistress. He's away from home so much." She stared out her friend's parlor window as confusion and despair churned inside her. "He's changed so much since our marriage. Sometimes it seems as if he isn't the same man."
"Changed?" Elizabeth asked. "In what way?"
"Oh, I know this will sound silly, and no doubt you'll tell me it's just my imagination. But often I see him looking at me as if he resents me, as if he's sorry he married me. Almost as if . . . as if he hates me."
"Surely that is your imagination, but I don't blame you if you're upset. Only natural that you would be."
"Of course, I'm upset! He can make life very difficult at times." Lisa sighed, staring out the window. "I had hoped to make a success of my marriage, even if we didn't love each other. But often it seems as though we don't even get along."
"So you've resigned yourself to this loveless marriage?"
"No! I haven't resigned myself to the situation, not as it is. I never said that."
"But how do you intend to lure your husband away from his mistress--assuming he has one--and make him love you?"
Lisa lowered her gaze to her hands, observing the way her emerald ring caught the light from a brass table lamp. "It doesn't matter anymore about William," she murmured. "I don't care if he never loves me, for I don't love him, and I know I never shall."
"Lisa!" Elizabeth reached across the space between them to squeeze her hand. "Dear, you're too upset now to think clearly. You're so young! You have your whole life ahead of you. Years and years of happiness! It's there, just waiting for you to take it."
"It doesn't matter anymore." Lisa drew a deep breath. "I'll never love my husband, because you see . . ." She forced herself to speak in a steady voice. "There is someone else I've come to care for."
"Someone else! Did I hear you correctly?"
"You heard me," Lisa said, lifting her chin. "I love someone else, very much."
"Who?" Elizabeth blurted. "One of your husband's associates? Someone you met socially?"
"No, none of William's associates. I suppose you could say I met him socially. At the literary club." She drew a deep breath. "He's a steelworker."
"A steelworker!" Elizabeth's cup rattled in the saucer. "Suppose that in some way you could be free of William, unlikely, I know, but let's consider all possibilities. And suppose you could marry this man . . . What's his name, by the way?"
"Owen," Lisa said, loving the sound of his name.
"Very well . . . Owen." Elizabeth remained silent for a moment. "But I've a question I must ask you in all frankness. Do you know if Owen returns your sentiments?"
"He's never said so, but I can see affection in his eyes, the way he looks at me. You know what I mean, how you can tell a man is fond of you by the way his eyes light up when he sees you, when he talks to you?"
"Yes, I know, dear." Elizabeth hesitated. "All right, then. What if you were free to marry Owen. Oh! He's not already married, is he?"
"Oh, no. He's a bachelor, because he's mentioned that he lives alone. His parents are dead, and his married sister lives in Glassport."
"Um." Elizabeth sipped her tea and set the cup down. "Let's assume you were both free to marry each other. Could he support you in the manner you're accustomed to? You really must face that consideration."
"I don't care!" Lisa lied. "Anyway, the situation will never arise--will it?--since I'm married to another man." She refused to discuss any imaginary problems, all her thoughts and dreams on Owen. "He's wonderful," she whispered, yet in the most secret space of her heart, she feared Elizabeth spoke the truth. Could she find happiness if she married out of her class? Her friends and relatives would forsake her.
"Lisa," Elizabeth asked gently, "have you considered divorce?"
"I couldn't bring such shame on my mother or the family name." Lisa exhaled a long, shuddering breath. "My mother would die of disgrace."
"You know, since Lawrence is a lawyer, he hears of many strange cases. I remember one he related to me long before you married. A woman in Illinois obtained a divorce because she was denied her 'marital privileges'. That's exactly how the case was stated. So you see, there is a precedent."
"I still couldn't do it. You know people's attitudes. I'd be regarded as a fallen woman." She looked out the window for a moment, then turned back to Elizabeth. "Recollect I once asked you not to let Lawrence know of my troubles. I've reconsidered that pronouncement, but I don't want you to tell Lawrence about the, uh, personal aspect of my marriage. Just tell him about Owen."
"But surely he'll wonder about your marriage."
"Tell him William has a mistress--which I'm sure he does--but don't tell him we've never . . . uh, you know. It seems so unnatural, shameful, actually."
"Not your fault that your marriage hasn't been consummated. No shame should apply to you."
Lisa stared down at her hands. "Shameful, just the same, and certainly unnatural." She forced a smile. "I honestly can't see what Lawrence could say or what advice he could give. At least he'll know what a sorry husband I have. Maybe he'll understand why I've fallen in love with another man."
"Of course. Lawrence is an understanding person, good at listening to others' problems. But let's do something about your relationship with Owen. First thing, we must look at this business in a practical manner." She sipped her tea, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Elizabeth, I can read you like a book. You have some plan in mind, don't you? Frankly, you surprise me. You're the one who said you don't believe in marital infidelity."
"Now wait a minute. I'm not saying you have to go to bed with this man, although I think that's exactly what you need. Besides, how can you call it infidelity when you and your husband have never consummated your marriage?" she asked with undeniable logic. "No matter what, I want you to be happy." She paused, a trace of a smile on her face. "What would be wrong with your encouraging Owen just a little bit? Maybe somehow things can work out for the two of you. I don't know how, but I'm eternally optimistic."
A strong wind rattled the windowpane, late afternoon shadows creeping into the corners of the room. Outside, a fresh onslaught of snow fell hard and fast, beating against the windows.
"Very well." With a glance outside at winter's descending darkness, Lisa slipped on her kid gloves and smoothed her black alpaca skirt. "If you have any ideas, I'm eager to hear them, but I fear I must leave soon."
Elizabeth's eyes lit up. "How about i
f you try to meet Owen in other settings, other ways. I wonder if he likes Shakespeare," she said with a faraway look.
"Shakespeare! What has that to do with anything?"
"Just listen, and let me tell you what I have in mind. . . .”
* * *
Lisa walked briskly along the snow-dusted sidewalks of Shadyside, a slim volume of Edgar Allen Poe in her hand, her head bent against the full force of the wind. As she neared the Rowe mansion, she quickened her pace, anxious to reach her destination, but at the same time, grateful to have time alone to think. Having taken the carriage, William had left earlier for the Duquesne Club--or so he said--and she had no idea when he'd be home, not that she cared.
After William left, she'd made her own departure early, hoping she might see Owen before the other members arrived. Since his late arrival at his first meeting, he always tried to come early, she recalled as she mounted the outside stairs.
After the butler had opened the door and ushered her into the library, she looked around the spacious room . . . and saw no one but Owen. Where Mrs. Rowe was, she didn't know and didn't care. Every sense became suddenly alive, as if she hadn't lived until this moment. All her thoughts, all her dreams, became embodied in this one man, his presence inspiring memories to last forever.
Leaning against a table to study a painting by Monet, he turned at her entrance. A myriad of emotions played across his face, and Lisa was hard-pressed to determine the meaning of his look. Happiness, surely, but something else she couldn't identify, gone from his face as quickly as it had appeared.
In his black suit and vest, his snowy-white shirt, he looked like any successful businessman. The flickering light from the fireplace cast shadows across his face and highlighted the wavy sheen of his hair. How wonderful he looks, Lisa thought as she approached him on trembling legs. Like no other man in the world.
His facial features settled into a smile. "Lisa," he said in his deep voice. Their eyes met and held. And time stood still.
"Owen." Crossing the space that separated them, she set her gloves and book on a table, then moved to the fireplace, only a few feet away. "How have you been?" she asked with a shy smile.
"Busy." He looked long and fully into her eyes, as though he could see into her soul. "And you?"
"Me, too." Lisa wondered why she couldn't say something witty or clever, ask him a profound question about politics or world affairs or even literature. Tongue-tied, she reached for her book and held it up. "And reading Edgar Allen Poe," she said, "although I think The Tale-tell Heart is rather gruesome."
His gaze lit on her face. "Your face is pink from the cold. Don't tell me you walked tonight."
"William took the carriage. Walking doesn't bother me. I said that at your first meeting. Do you remember?"
"Ah, yes," he said with an enigmatic smile, as if to say, How could I forget our first meeting?
"Good evening!" Mrs. Rowe bustled into the room, her ample figure encased in a corset. "You're both early, but I'm happy to see you." She glanced at a grandfather clock against the wall. "And the others should arrive shortly."
As she turned away, Lisa exchanged a smile with Owen, a smile, she hoped, that held many meanings. . . .
After the group broke up, Lisa stepped outside the mansion, disappointingly surprised that Owen had already left. For the past several times, she'd come and left in the carriage, offering him a ride as far as her house, giving them but little time to share. Tonight she wished, more than ever, that Owen had waited for her.
She walked the lonely street, listening to the wind through the trees, mindful of her step on the slippery sidewalk. Someone in the distance called her name, a figure barely discernible. Lisa slowed her steps. "Owen?" she said, hoping against hope.
He closed the space between them, then tucked her arm through his. "Did you think I'd let you walk home by yourself?"
"I'm glad you waited for me," she said on a breathless note.
"So am I. For your sake, I fear the shocked looks of the others if they see me walking you home. Hence, the secrecy."
"I don't care what others think," she lied, always mindful of the family name.
A blast of arctic air and swirling snowflakes accompanied them along the way, the weather reminding her of the first night he'd walked her home. Has anything changed between us, she fretted, in that short amount of time? Did he realize how much she wanted him to take her in his arms, hold her close to his heart?
They walked in silence for awhile, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm, her other holding her book. Risking a glance, she noticed his frown.
Owen caught her glance. "Here," he said, indicating the volume, "I can put that right in my coat pocket. No need for you to carry it."
"Oh, I--"
"It's no trouble."
"Thank you," she said as she handed him the book. She breathed deeply, and the cold wind caught at her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. An icy patch on the sidewalk almost made her slip, but he grasped her arm and drew her closer. A rush of warmth rippled through her at his touch and the nearness of his body, surprising her with a passion she'd never known she possessed.
Another stretch of time passed in silence until it occurred to her that most men enjoyed discussing their profession, but what intelligent question could she ask about his work in a steel mill? She knew nothing about the mills.
"Do you work the night turn next week?" was the best she could do. When will I see you again? she wished she could ask him. Do you care for me as I care for you?
"Night turn next two weeks," he replied. "Two weeks night turn, two weeks day turn." He remained quiet for a few moments, his mouth compressed in a thin line. His windblown hair fell across his forehead, and he gave the thick locks an impatient flick of his gloved hand. "I don't intend to work at the mill for the rest of my life," he said with a cautious glance in her direction. "I have other plans."
"Oh?" She slanted a look his way, unconsciously holding her breath, then letting it out in a long sigh.
His face assumed an expression of deep intensity, as if he were declaring his love. "I want to be a civil engineer. I want it so badly, it's like an ache inside me.” He turned her way. “Can you understand that, how you can want something so much, your dream consumes you, day after day?"
"Yes," she said, knowing only too well how he felt. "I understand." She kept her gaze on him, studying the grim set of his mouth, the flicker of his eyes on her, so fascinated she couldn't look away. His pronouncement had given their relationship a whole new dimension, this sharing of his life's aspiration, as though he were truly telling her of his love.
"But my goal will take much money and planning," he continued, "and if the union goes on strike . . ." The sentence remained unfinished, his meaning clear.
"Strike? Does the union really intend to?" She looked at him closely.
Owen nodded. "It may come to that."
"Do you think a strike is a good idea?"
He threw her a resentful look "Listen, Lisa, we fight for what is ours."
"But think of all the workers who will be out of a job. Think of the stockholders--"
"The stockholders! That's your main consideration, isn't it--the stockholders?"
"No, but--"
"Try looking at the steel industry from the viewpoint of the workers. I told you once what it's like inside a steel mill, or don't you remember?"
"Yes, I remember, but do you realize how Pittsburgh depends on steel? It's what's made this city. Just imagine all the people who'll be out of work, or who will lose money, if the union strikes."
"Lisa, please don't lecture me on the steel industry. We steelworkers toil long and hard for our wages. The least Frick can do is pay us a decent amount."
"Mr. Frick has no love for the Amalgamated."
Owen snorted. "You think I don't know that? But come June, when our contract expires, Frick is in for a surprise."
"Maybe it will be the union men who get a surprise," she said with a leve
l look his way. "Perhaps Mr. Frick will win in the end."
"Dream on, madam."
Sorry they got involved in this subject, she sought a conciliatory note. "Perhaps everything will work out and the vice-chairman will see the issue your way."
"And maybe I'll inherit a million dollars."
"Stranger things have happened." A long pause ensued, leaving Lisa desperately searching for harmony between them, not wanting to waste their time together. "Nothing was ever gained by argument," she said, "so let's not quarrel."
"Fine with me. I won't attempt to speak for you, but don't expect me to change my mind." "Very well, then. Let us leave our disagreement in abeyance. Who knows what will happen?"
He gave her a quick, heartwarming smile. "Don't know why we're discussing the steel industry and possible strikes, when there are so many more pleasant things to talk about."
"You took the words right out of my mouth." She raised her head to study the sky and
glimpsed a quarter moon and thousands of stars twinkling in the clear night air.
Owen followed her gaze, pointing toward the west. "Look, there's Venus." His eyes swept the sky. "And there's Jupiter. Do you think Jupiter is pursuing Venus?" he asked with a teasing smile.
"Could be." She returned his smile, desperately needing--wanting--agreement between them.
Nearing Ellsworth Avenue, she scarcely noticed the familiar mansions with their spacious lawns, now blanketed with snow, or the occasional carriage rumbling past. The snow flurries had stopped, but the wind continued to pound mercilessly, whipping through her coat as if it were made of paper.
Owen drew her close to his side. "I don't want you to catch a chill," he said with a troubled look.
"It is a trifle cold tonight, and so windy!" Lisa wondered how much longer she could keep her composure, wanting him to take her in his arms, aching with an intensity that made her weak. She imagined herself in his embrace, his lips on hers. And trembled with the thought.
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