Forbidden Love

by Shirley Martin

  "Let me tell you about my husband. He doesn't--"

  "Ah, yes, your husband. Let us never forget you're a married lady," he said, heavy sarcasm back in his voice. His gray eyes raked her, his expression softening. "I could spend forever with you, you know that? But there can never be anything more between us, my sweetheart. Nothing more than friendship. The sooner we both face that truth, the easier it will be."

  "Please . . ." She reached out a hand to him.

  He pulled back. "No! Don't tempt me with your touch that can make me want to . . ." He stopped, shaking his head, a look of desolation twisting his face. “Make me want to take you to bed,” he said under his breath.

  After a moment, he gave her a long look, a harsh set to his mouth. "And if you weren't married to that stockbroker husband of yours, would you be willing to share your life with a steelworker from Homestead?"

  She swallowed, trying to deny--if only to herself--what she'd considered time and again. Could she marry Owen and live in Homestead, away from her friends and her own people? She twisted her fingers in her lap. Agony tore her apart.

  "Never mind. You don't need to answer." Abruptly, he stood, running his fingers through his tousled hair. He stared down at her, his face etched with sorrow. "Best I leave now," he murmured.

  Lisa watched in silence as he turned away and strode to the front door. Without looking back, he opened the door and walked out into the dark night.

  She knew she would never see him again.

  Chapter Ten

  Setting the Wall Street Journal on the dining room table, William reached for his coffee cup. As if seeing him for the first time, Lisa studied him across the table, his handsome face shadowed by the pale early morning light. She wished she could dredge up some warm feeling for him but saw only the outward shell of a man. Dressed in his finest black wool suit and pristine white shirt, a gold chain hanging from his watch pocket, he gave the appearance of a prosperous and successful businessman. And what else was there to him? Nothing!

  "Something must be bothering you," he remarked in his nasal voice as he raised his cup to his mouth. "You haven't been your usual cheerful self lately. How is your mother, by the way? You mentioned she's been unwell." He spread a large dab of butter on his toast, a look of indifference on his face.

  Lisa took a slow sip of tea, giving her time to collect her thoughts. "My mother is no better. If anything, she's worse. I fear the shark's tooth is upon her," she said in a trembling voice. "She seems to be wasting away." She brushed a shaky hand across her eyes as tears threatened to spill. Too well aware that William lacked a shred of feeling for anyone but himself, she fought to remain calm.

  "Well, illnesses are unpredictable." He gave her a forced smile and ran his finger along his mustache, checking for crumbs. "She may rally any day now."

  "I pray so." But she knew better. "In any event, I intend to visit her today, maybe cheer her up if I can. Also, I should make arrangements for the servants at the house, in the event of . . . of my mother's demise," she said in a choking voice. She pressed her lips together as she struggled for control.

  William patted her hand. "I'm sure your mother will recover. You mustn't worry so." He drained his cup and slid his chair back. "I can't tarry any longer." He dropped his crumpled napkin on the table. "Oh, and I meant to tell you, I'll be late tonight, so don't wait for me. Dinner with some friends at the Duquesne Club," he said with a quick smile.

  Did he expect her to believe that?

  After William had closed the front door behind him, Lisa sat at the table for the longest time, unable to touch her scrambled eggs while her tea chilled. She watched as the first pale streaks of sunshine filtered through the dining room window and gradually suffused the room with a golden glow, highlighting the wallpaper, the mahogany furniture. With a spurt of resolve, she pushed her chair back and stood, knowing she'd accomplish nothing by her continual moping.

  Clutching the folds of her wrapper, she mounted the carpeted stairs, each step an effort. Maybe William is right, she prayed as she reached the landing where the morning sunshine pierced the stained glass window, casting a rosy iridescence on the carpet. Perhaps her mother would recover. Yes, surely she would.

  What if she told her mother about Owen? She walked down the carpeted hallway and opened the door to her bedroom. What would her mother say? Lisa shook her head, knowing she could never tell her mother about her beloved. Like a knife, raw pain sliced through her as she realized it would be best to forget him, pretend they'd never met. If only she could.

  * * *

  "'I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.'"

  Lisa sat next to William in the Shadyside Presbyterian Church, listening to the minister deliver a eulogy to her mother. Glancing to both sides of the hard wooden pew, she marveled at all the people who'd come to pay their last respects, the church filled to overflowing. Because of her mother's charitable activities, just about every Pittsburgh newspaper had given prominent attention to her demise.

  She stole a glance at William through her gossamer thin black veil and wondered what was going through his mind. She wondered, too, if he had any idea of her thoughts and worries, of the sorrow she'd kept hidden for so long, a sadness for her empty marriage. Of course he had no concept of her heartache; how could he? A wall existed between them, as solid as concrete and as impenetrable. She shifted her position on the pew and stared straight ahead, clenching her gloved hands in her lap while she tried to concentrate on the minister's words.

  The eulogy ended, and with her arm entwined in William's, she left the pew on shaky legs, drawing comfort from the presence of so many friends and neighbors.

  Now, all she wanted was to go home and--

  Owen! Lisa stifled a gasp. Sitting in one of the last pews, he gave her a steady look, his eyes full of sympathy. Her heart pounded as she met his gaze, never wanting to take her eyes from him. Nodding imperceptibly, she forced herself to walk on, wanting only to rush into his embrace, feel his strong arms about her. She'd tried so hard to drive him from her mind these past several weeks, but he remained a part of her and always would, until the end of time.

  * * *

  "I should be able to get a good price for your mother's house and furnishings." William sat forward in his armchair to give Lisa a hard, level look. "You've told me she had some very fine jewelry. Strange she didn't sell it if she needed the money so badly."

  "William, I'd rather not talk about money now. It's been only a few hours since my mother's . . . my mother's funeral. Why don't we discuss these matters some other time?" Tears flooded her eyes, and she swallowed, determined to conceal her grief. "Not now," she repeated firmly, hoping he'd have the delicacy to understand.

  "Now is as good a time as any, I should think, while I've got the time." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, his temper evident in the grim line of his mouth, the tense set of his shoulders. "I'm leaving for Boston tomorrow morning, and my time is very limited, as you well know."

  "Another trip! My mother has just been buried, and already you're leaving me!" Owen would never desert her. She knew that as well as she knew his every feature. For once, couldn't William understand her feelings?

  "We don't need to sell anything," she said after a pause. "I'd like to keep the house and its furnishings within the family. Even if we never have children," she said with a catch in her voice, "I still have relatives who might be interested in the house or the furnishings. So let's wait and see."

  "You mean give them anything they want?"

  "Not necessarily. As for the jewelry and some of my mother's porcelain and personal things, why yes, we could let my relatives choose among them. The house can remain unoccupied for now. I'll see what to do about it later."

  William gave her a hard stare. "Don't forget that as my wife, your possessions belong to me. Everything is in my name. You own no
thing."

  She met his look without flinching. "I'd hoped you wouldn't remind me of that." After a defiant glare in his direction, she turned to look out the window, sickened by her husband's inconsideration. Outside, gray, leaden skies darkened the neighborhood, and drizzling rain tapped against the window and ran down the windowpane. A chill pervaded the room that even the logs blazing in the fireplace couldn't dispel. Rubbing her arms, Lisa stifled her shivers, unsure if the coldness was due to the room's temperature or the iciness in her heart.

  "What's the point of keeping an empty house?" he asked, setting the paper aside.

  She waved her hand. "Have done with it for now. I told you in the first place, I didn't want to talk about it."

  William scrambled to his feet. "Very well. We'll continue this discussion at a later date. But we are not done with it." With one last hard stare, he lumbered from the room, floorboards creaking beneath his heavy step.

  Lisa released a deep sigh as she shifted her position on the sofa. Running her fingers along the skirt of her black silk dress, she absently smoothed out its wrinkles, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. Her mother was gone, and Owen would never be hers.

  Despite every attempt to expel Owen from her mind, she saw him now as she'd seen him at church, with his wide shoulders, his mass of dark hair, those gray eyes that revealed his every mood. She remembered his hands, strong and workmanlike, yet gentle in their touch. Above all, she recognized that his soul--his inner self--matched his strength, and she loved him all the more for that. She smiled to herself, knowing he'd understand her anguish. He’d never make a business trip, leaving her alone with her sorrow. And she could never forget their last time together, his lips on hers, his hand on her breast. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, reliving every moment of that evening.

  Lisa rose from the sofa to pace the room, pondering her dilemma. She was locked in a loveless marriage, her heart given to a man she could never have. There was no way out.

  A gust of wind slammed against the house, a reminder that spring hadn't made a full appearance, and she continued to pace, her arms folded across her bosom. Too upset to go to bed, she retrieved the newspaper William had thrown aside, then returned to the sofa. She settled the paper in her lap and scanned the news in an attempt to forget her troubles, if only for a while.

  A headline caught her attention: The Amalgamated Association, it began, with a brief description of the skilled steelworkers' union.

  She read the article quickly, her mood brightening. Just as quickly, guilty shame flooded her for even thinking of Owen on the day of her mother's funeral. Yet she must seize these chances while she could. She recognized an opportunity, to good to miss. Very well, she'd go with her inclination, not let anything stop her.

  She scanned the article again. So the Amalgamated Association would have its annual convention in Pittsburgh several weeks from now. That might be a good time to visit the city . . . and if only she could, to see Owen.

  * * *

  Days later, while Lisa was writing a letter to her cousin in Philadelphia, Mary entered the room with a pile of freshly-laundered clothes. She stumbled as she went about her task, her eyes red from weeping.

  Lisa looked up in surprise. "Why, Mary, what's wrong? Are you ill?"

  Setting the pile of clothes on top of the dresser, Mary brushed her hand across her eyes. "Oh, ma'am, my brother works at the mill in Homestead--"

  Homestead!

  "--and there's talk of a strike there. Ma'am, I'm that worried about my brother. He belongs to the Amalgamated, and if that Frick don't give the steelworkers what they want . . ." Her voice trembled, and she stopped to take a breath. "If that Frick don't give in to the workers, then the union will strike, and Frank will be out of a job."

  Lisa thought quickly, aiming for a sense of fairness, yet not wanting to increase the maid's agitation. "Mary, are you sure the union's demands are justified?"

  "Ma'am?"

  "Do you think they are right in their demands?"

  "Yes, indade, ma'am! Those men work such long hours for such little pay, and it's hard work, too . . . all that heat and steel dust . . . And oh, ma'am, I don't know what's gonna happen." With quick, jerky movements, she started opening drawers and putting clothes away, as if afraid she'd said too much.

  "I know it's easier said than done, but try not to worry. I 'm sure the union and the company can come to some agreement," Lisa said, hoping to inject encouragement in her voice, although she doubted her words.

  "Mebbe."

  After the maid had left, Lisa sat at her desk for countless minutes, giving careful consideration to Mary's worries. Anything that affected the union touched Owen, and she wondered if she'd been unfair in her previous arguments against the Amalgamated.

  Countless minutes later, she resumed her letter, scarcely able to concentrate when she could think only of Owen. She realized how much he wanted to go to the university and become a civil engineer, but if the union struck, he wouldn't be earning any money. If he lost his job, what would happen to him? And his dream?

  Chapter Eleven

  Lisa's heart raced as she fingered her amber necklace, giving herself one final look in the cheval mirror. Ever since she'd read in the Pittsburgh Times about the Amalgamated convention, she thought only of seeing Owen again. Today was the day! A frown replaced the smile as she smoothed her hand down the front of her sepia linen dress with its black soutache on the bodice and shoulders. For the first time in her life, she wished she were beautiful, everything Owen could possibly want in a woman.

  But will I see him today? she asked herself for the hundredth time. She pushed that nagging thought aside, refusing to admit the possibility of failure. Reluctant to deprive him of any benefit he'd gain from the convention, she timed her departure from home to see him in the late afternoon. She hoped with all her heart he'd still be at the hotel.

  This one day, she'd forget she was a married lady from Shadyside, that Owen was a steelworker. She'd pretend he was a prosperous businessman and lived in the grandest mansion for miles around, that they were to wed soon.

  Lisa touched the necklace again--for courage, perhaps--and admired the way the lustrous brown beads caught the brilliant sunlight that poured through the bedroom window. Surely she looked her best! She stuck a diamond pin through her straw hat and gathered her things together, then left for the city.

  * * *

  Nodding to other steelworkers he recognized, Owen found an empty chair in the hotel's crowded meeting room, amidst a multitude of voices swelling in the room as the men conferred among themselves and waited for this afternoon session to begin. These Amalgamated men had come, not only from the boroughs near Pittsburgh, but as far away as Chicago and Gary, Indiana, to show their support for the local Homestead lodges. And that's just as well, Owen reflected, because the skilled workers would need all the support they could get. More and more, it looked as if a strike was inevitable.

  As much as union problems troubled him, he couldn't drive Lisa from his mind, she of the radiant brown hair and gentle voice, those honeyed lips he longed to kiss again and again. To have her beside him, here, now . . . Giving himself a mental shake, Owen forced himself to listen to the speaker.

  One of the local union leaders, James Fitzgerald, stood in front of the assembly. "Why have we all gathered here today?" he asked rhetorically. "Is there anyone here who does not understand the wage question? We must strive for what is rightfully ours. We must let Henry Clay Frick know that we will not give in, that we will not surrender--"

  Loud applause interrupted his speech, and he waited for the noise to subside.

  Owen contemplated the possibility of a strike, yet such persistent images of Lisa taunted him that everything else vanished from his mind, until only Lisa remained. How he wanted her near him, longed to hold her in his arms, ached to press her body close. He recalled their last time together, the kisses they’d shared, the warmth of her soft breast beneath his hand. He sighed d
eeply. He must forget this lady, this unattainable woman so far out of reach.

  With the words of the speech echoing faintly in his brain, he opened his eyes and strained to bring his mind back to the present.

  "Today is Sunday," Fitzgerald was saying, "and we'd all like to be home with our families, but we are here today . . ."

  Owen shifted his position on the hard-backed chair, imagining Lisa as his wife and several children to give them joy. If only he'd met her ages ago . . . before her marriage to Enright. He pictured her and their children in a fine brick home with a fireplace in every room

  and many servants, so that Lisa would never have to work. His thoughts soared as he envisioned taking Lisa to bed, making fierce love with her.

  He moved restlessly in his chair, resolved to evict these painful fantasies from his mind. Only in his daydreams would she share his bed, and more than anything in this life, he yearned to make those dreams come true.

  Enthusiastic clapping and shouts of encouragement for the union resounded in the room, punctuated with catcalls against Frick and Carnegie. Owen joined in the applause, telling himself he must keep his thoughts on the union as he filed from the room with the others.

  * * *

  Lisa looked everywhere in the hotel lobby, wondering how she could ever find Owen among all these dark-suited men. What if he isn't here? she agonized, biting her bottom lip. Please let me see him today. She observed other women in the spacious room, and even an occasional child scampering about, but she didn't see the one person she'd come to meet.