Forbidden Love

by Shirley Martin

  Dear God, had she made this trip for nothing? All around her, she heard cheers for Homestead and jeers for Frick and Carnegie. The voices echoed from wall to wall, so many it seemed as if thousands of people had collected in the lobby.

  "Just let Frick try to reduce our wages," one steelworker bellowed, "just let him try it. Why, we'll shut down the mill so fast, it'll make your head spin."

  "You tell 'em!" another worker answered. "We're not gonna let Frick push us around. To hell with Frick!"

  Lisa eased her way among the potted ferns and marble columns, turning her head this way and that, her eyes burning from the cigar smoke that clouded the air. Dryness parched her mouth. Her heart plummeted as she realized the futility of her trip. Catching the sidelong glances of the men, she managed a smile and adjusted the angle of her hat. A lump formed in her throat. She must admit defeat, go on home and--

  And there he was at a far corner of the lobby, in the center of a group of steelworkers. Her heart raced faster, faster, faster, until she had to grasp a plant stand, fearful she'd faint with joy. Even from where she stood, she observed the dark lock of hair that always fell across his forehead. His face, now tanned from the summer sun, revealed the gravity with which he viewed union concerns and typified the solemnity he brought to every matter that touched him. No casual indifference from this man!

  What would he think when he saw her? With a mental shrug, she refused to worry about it. She was with him now, or would be soon, and nothing else mattered. As she gathered her courage, her throat went dry and her hands shook as she headed in his direction. . . .

  For Owen, the day's proceedings had been predictable, no surprises here. As anyone would've guessed, every discussion concerned a possible strike at Homestead. Could a strike be averted? the men around him wanted to know. Was there a chance that Frick and Carnegie might give in to the workers? And if the local union did strike, how long could the men hold out against the company?

  "Gentlemen," Owen said as he glanced from one man to the next, "we intend to hold out until hell freezes over, if necessary. Don't ever think we'll give in to the comp--"

  Lisa! He blinked his eyes, unable to believe this lovely vision. His heart lurched. What in God's name was she doing in the hotel? Lisa, who meant more to him than anything or anyone else in the world, and she was here!

  "Will you excuse me, gentlemen?" he said with a slight bow as he exited the group, ignoring stunned looks. His heart pounded as he made his way toward her, and he didn't care if the other men saw him as a lovesick fool.

  As Lisa watched him approach, their eyes met, the rest of the world locked out. She couldn't move, not one step. She could only stare as he wove his way among the clusters of men in this vast room, a look of single-minded purpose on his face. In no time, he covered the space between them and arrived at a marble column to take her gloved hand in his. She saw the warmth in his gray eyes, all her doubts vanishing.

  "Lisa . . ."

  "Owen . . ."

  They both began talking at once, then laughed at their foolishness.

  "You, first." He smiled as he released her gloved hand.

  "I . . . I was downtown, and . . ." She shrugged and made a helpless little gesture. What a brazen hussy he must think her.

  "And?"

  "And I . . ." She shook her head and started again, speaking with determination. "I won't pretend that it's a coincidence that I happened to be here at this time. You wouldn't believe me, would you?" She saw him slowly shake his head, and she continued, her voice assuming a desperate note. "I read about your convention in the newspaper, and I . . . wanted to see you," she said, her breath catching in her throat.

  She should never have doubted him. Bending his head close to hers, he touched her elbow, sending a rush of heat throughout her body. "Let's go someplace where we can be alone." He placed his hand under her elbow to lead her past the crowd in the lobby. "I want you all to myself."

  "I'd like that too, but don't you have more meetings this afternoon?"

  Owen flicked his fingers. "We've finished with most of the important meetings. There's only one remaining, and Hugh O'Donnell and the other union men can fill me in on that later. Besides," he said with a look that erased every apprehension from her mind, "you mean more to me than any convention."

  Resting her hand in the crook of his elbow, Lisa absorbed his body warmth, the absolute joy in his nearness. He led her away from the press of people as he greeted other workers, observing the startled glances of the men.

  After easing through the crowd, he stopped outside the hotel restaurant and turned her way. "Have you eaten?"

  "Not since an early lunch."

  “Very well, then.” The restaurant was truly fine, she noted upon entering. The maitre'd led them to a window seat, where they could watch people and carriages parading by. A white tablecloth graced the round table; a crystal vase held a single pink carnation, a candle giving faint illumination. The voices of the few other people in the dining room formed a muted backdrop, making it seem to Lisa as if they had the place to themselves.

  She studied him across the table, his hair coal black by the dim light, those gray eyes whose look made her wish she were alone with him, his half-smile that made her want to be held in his arms, now, this very minute.

  She observed every feature and line of his face, wanting to store them in her memory. He wore a black suit and vest, a white shirt and black tie, the same as any other man, and yet on him they assumed a special meaning, as though he were the only man in the world who dressed in this manner. If she lived to be one-hundred, she could never get enough of him.

  After the waiter brought their orders, she took a bite of her chicken a la king, unable to remove her gaze from him. "Owen," she began on a breathless note, "there's so much I want to say . . . about us."

  "Me, too." He glanced around the room and smiled, a warm smile that slowly reached his eyes. "I want to hear all about you, what you've been doing. . . ."

  Carefully, she buttered her roll, her mind in a quandary. "Owen, I've given much thought to the union and its disagreement with Frick and Carnegie--"

  "Glad to hear that."

  "And it occurs to me that possibly the vice chairman is being unfair to the workers--"

  "Not only unfair--unreasonable. Not to mention the fact that he went back on his word in regard to the tonnage rate."

  "Yes, I've followed all that in the newspapers. Now, surely you know my husband and I socialize with Henry Frick and some of the other men connected with the steel business. I'd prefer not to, but . . ."

  "It's all right, Lisa. I understand. Go ahead with what you want to say."

  "Very well. William and I go to these dinners where we hear much talk about Homestead and the union. Mr. Frick wants to destroy the union." She studied his expression, finding it unreadable. "He has vowed to break the union," she said on a desperate note.

  "I'm aware of that," he said quietly. He set his fork on his plate and rested his arms on the table, silent for a long moment. Then: "I've got a pretty good idea of what's going on. There's not much that gets past the Amalgamated."

  She leaned forward to grasp his hand. "My husband has resolved to break the union, too, since he's a major stockholder. But are you aware that Mr. Frick intends to hire Pinkerton agents as guards to keep the mill open, in case a strike occurs?"

  "Lisa," he commented with a wry smile, "don't you think we know that? The vice chairman and Carnegie have their spies at the mill. Well, we have our spies, too." He drained his coffee cup, then gave her a steady look. "There's not much that gets past us. But just you wait. We'll give them a run for their money."

  She twisted the linen napkin in her lap. "Let's hope so."

  He nodded with assurance. "Oh, we shall, believe me."

  Lisa left the restaurant with him a short while later, where they emerged onto the sun-washed cobblestone street, the sky a clearer blue than it had been in days. She blinked in the bright sunshine as they passed
a few other couples on this gorgeous summer day. A light breeze ruffled her dress around her ankles but brought no relief from the heat.

  He stopped on the street and frowned. "I could spend forever with you, but won't your husband expect you soon? When did you intend to go home?"

  "William is away again." She heard the bitterness in her voice but knew Owen would understand. "Cleveland." A business trip? She didn't know and didn't care.

  "Well, then," he said, his pleasure evident in his look and voice, "we have the remainder of the day, don't we? So it doesn't matter when you're home?"

  "It doesn't matter," she said with unabashed happiness. "I told the cook not to bother with the evening meal." Her face warmed at her boldness.

  "Ah, Lisa!" He reached for her but let his hands drop to his sides, a smile of unconcealed joy on his face. "Darling, if we were alone now . . ." He smiled. “It’s a nice day for a walk, or would you rather take a carriage?”

  “Let’s walk, please.” She gave his arm a loving squeeze, grateful for every minute they could spend together. The late afternoon sunlight was inescapable, a relentless glare in her eyes, but she wouldn’t let a little thing like that detract from her happiness. She’d concentrate on her every word, every gesture, loving the sound of his deep voice, his confident stride, each wonderful thing about him. She would treasure all these things in the long, lonely months to come.

  His low voice interrupted her musings as he threw her a worried look. “What if you meet someone you know from Shadyside?”

  “Not a chance. No one from Shadyside would come downtown on a Sunday . . . except me, of course,” she said with a little laugh.

  “That relieves my mind. I wouldn’t want any scandal to touch you.”

  Taking his arm, she slanted a look at him, wishing she could read his mind. No matter, she had a fairly good idea of his thoughts. Surely he wanted the same thing as she . . . to be alone where they could hold each other close and kiss. Her eyes scarcely took in the dark, sooty buildings that lined both sides of the cobblestone street, an ugly contrast to this beautiful late spring afternoon and the joy of his nearness.

  They reached Trinity Cathedral, its front lawn dotted with gravestones. "Let's stop here and sit on the steps for a while," Owen said.

  "Sweetheart," he said in his husky voice, deep with meaning. He squeezed her hand, driving her out of her mind with the warmth of his touch, his special smile. "I'm so glad you're with me today." He smiled. "Just in case I haven't already told you."

  "Tell me as often as you like. I'll never tire of hearing you say it." She had so many things she wanted to tell him, like how she wanted him to take her in his arms and hold her close, kiss her until she couldn't think about anything but him. Maybe later they could cuddle and kiss, talk about their love. And then what? she asked herself. What would become of their love? Absolutely nothing!

  She ran her fingers up his arm, delighting in his hard muscles beneath his coat, the sheer sensuous pleasure of this intimacy. This man was hers and hers alone. Nothing or no one would ever change that. His look told her all she needed to know, that he'd love her for the rest of their lives.

  "Please, I can't take much more of this, to have you close, yet not have you as I want. And you know I want you, don't you?" His eyes blazed with a fervency that left no doubt of his meaning.

  "Yes," she murmured. "I know."

  "To have you all to myself . . ." Looking thoughtful, he paused, a smile lighting his face. "I have an idea," he announced with boyish enthusiasm. "Maybe we can be by ourselves. How would you like to ride the Monongahela Incline to the top of Mount Washington? You can look down from there and view the whole city, and possibly," he said in a voice deep with meaning, "we can be alone."

  "Yes, let's do that!" She raised her hand to his, and he helped her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her for a moment all too brief.

  Lisa smoothed the skirt of her dress and brushed off its back, then tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. "I'd like to ride the cable car." Strange, she'd never ridden the cable car before, but being with Owen and loving every wonderful minute was reason enough.

  Arm in arm, they began to cross the broad span of the Smithfield Street Bridge. A trolley car clanged along the steel tracks, swaying as it swung past them, leaving a draft of warm air behind. Elegant open carriages swept by, rattling the bridge, the occupants dressed in their handsomest Sunday finery. The women sported ostrich plume hats and held parasols. The men, looking smug and prosperous, were clad in somber black suits and top hats. A strong sulphur smell from the Jones and Laughlin steel mill drifted their way, but she refused to let that interfere with her enjoyment of this time with her beloved.

  "We'll soon be across," he said with an encouraging smile. In no time, they reached the cable car and climbed aboard, others joining them.. As the car ascended, she twisted and turned in her seat, holding hands with him as the car eased up the tree-shrouded hill, the city disappearing below them.

  At the top of the hill, he helped her alight from the car. "Maybe the others will leave soon," he whispered in her ear. "We can hope, can't we?"

  They stood side by side, viewing the panorama below. Shading her eyes, Lisa marveled at the sight of the western tip of the city, where the Allegheny and Mononogahela converged to form the Ohio River.

  "How green the city is," she declared, "away from the mills. It's all trees and hills."

  "And bridges," he added with a wide sweep of his arm. "With the city located on three rivers, we'll need more bridges and better ones than we have now. And the city is growing so fast, we'll need better streets and roads," he went on, his voice deep with emotion. "That's what civil engineering is all about."

  "You'll become a civil engineer, Owen. I just know you will." Far below them, the blast furnaces belched their ugly fumes that blackened the sky, but most of the smoke drifted north toward the city. Here, all remained peace and quiet with a light draft that rustled the leaves of the maples and elms. The breeze picked up, bringing the scent of dry grass, ruffling her dress around her ankles.

  Lisa looked around to see the others had left. Now, they had this grassy spot to themselves, with no one else in sight. She unpinned her hat and dropped it on the ground, reveling in the breeze that bathed her face. She clasped his hand and threaded her fingers through his, while the touch of his fingers, the warmth of his skin, sent forbidden thoughts to torment her.

  "You'll be a civil engineer some day," she said, her voice rising with pride in this man. "You can do anything you want, be anything you want."

  He gave her a long, intense look, as if to day, But I can't be your husband. "Lisa," he said, his voice a caress, "I don't want to talk about my future now, only our present. You're all I can think about night and day. You're driving me crazy, do you know that?"

  Groaning, he drew her into his arms, where his lips found hers, kissing her with a passion that left her breathless. His kiss deepened as his arms tightened around her, leaving her helpless in his arms, with no substance or weight, nothing but desire and such love for him she thought her heart would break. She wanted him, ached to lie with him on the warm grass, take off all her clothes and let him show her what love was all about.

  "Sweetheart!" she cried, driven wild with an unbearable ache.

  "I can't take it any longer!" Owen tore himself from her, taking long, deep breaths. He stared at her, raw misery in his eyes. "What are we going to do? Darling, what are we going to do?"

  At a loss for words, she could only shake her head. Relentlessly, a cold, bleak future stretched ahead for both of them. "I don't know," she whispered. "Dearest, I don't know."

  With infinite tenderness, he cradled her face in his hands and looked longingly into her eyes. "Of all the women in the world, you're the only one I want, now or ever." He gave her a light kiss on the forehead, a look of desire on his face that told her he wanted so much more.

  She tried to smile but could only blink her eyes, resolved to hold back the
tears. "But what do you see in me? I'm not even pretty," she said, a flush spreading from her neck to her cheeks.

  A surprised look captured his face, and he assumed a theatrical pose, his hand over his heart. "Behold, thou art fair, my love. Thou hast--"

  "Owen!" Laughing, she gave him a playful tap on his arm, so happy that he could consider her lovely, she, who had always considered herself plain. Now she knew that in his eyes, she was beautiful, and she loved him all the more for that realization.

  "It's . . . it's nice of you to say that," she murmured.

  "I mean it, every word." After a long moment of silent communication, his hands grazed her upper arms. "Why are we standing?" He slipped off his coat and spread it on the dry grass. "Here, sit down."

  After easing herself down onto his coat, Lisa arranged her linen skirt to cover her ankles, questioning her modesty. With only the slightest encouragement, she'd tear off all her clothes or even better, let him strip everything from her. With a self-conscious glance at him from under her lashes, she wondered if he could read her mind. Conscious of where her brazen thoughts might lead, she looked upward to study the cottony clouds that floated above them.

  Owen lay back with his hands locked behind his head, his legs drawn up, trousers pulled taut across his thighs. He turned toward her, his look warm and tender, yet so much more, as if he could thrust every obstacle from their path, move mountains, scatter gold and diamonds at her feet!

  Wild, unbridled thoughts rampaged through her mind as she played with the sun-warmed blades of grass, thankful for the towering elm and bushes that gave them ample privacy.

  Hesitantly, she leaned forward to run her hand across his broad chest, then slowly began to unbutton his vest. She gloried in his warm skin, his hard chest. She could scarcely think for happiness--to touch his body, to know this intimacy that was more wonderful than anything she had ever imagined. Her most secret woman's part ached with a longing that couldn't be denied.