Forbidden Love

by Shirley Martin

  Treason, according to Webster, was an attempt to overthrow the government. No surprises there. He snapped the volume shut and returned it to the bookcase, as perplexed as before. Someone surely has an active imagination, he fumed, and most likely that someone was Frick. He returned to his pacing and kicked a wastebasket, sending the contents spilling onto the floor. And what was the penalty for treason? He'd ask the Amalgamated attorney, first chance he got. Murder, now the treason charge! I’ll be lucky if I get out of this trouble with my life, he agonized. He bent over to return the wastebasket contents, crumbling each paper and hurling it back in the basket. God Almighty! He’d like to get his hands on Frick! He’d kill the bastard.

  How would he explain this to Lisa, and when would he see her again? Better to tell her of this new charge before she read it in the newspaper. More than anything, he wanted to inform her in person, but when would he see her again? He missed her with a physical ache, longing to hold her in his arms again, make love to her.

  The wind picked up, flapping his lace curtains but cooling his heated face. Forcing a calmness he didn’t feel, he sat at his desk to write a letter to Lisa, one of the most difficult tasks he'd faced.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  For a long time, Lisa had changed her bedtime hours, going to bed much later and oversleeping in the morning, her means of avoiding William. Once up, however, she always managed to keep busy with the children at the orphanage or visiting friends and shut-ins, all the activities she enjoyed. In truth, she'd kept busy lately, not even taking time to read the newspaper.

  Today she'd talk to the manager of Bailey Banks and Biddle, she decided, shimmying up against her pillow. She pushed long strands of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ears, reminded of her last time with Owen. Closing her eyes in dreamy remembrance, she recalled the touch of his fingers as they wove through the locks.

  He'd held her close and whispered in her ear. "You have such beautiful hair."

  "I wish my hair were a different color," she'd said, "auburn, or even better, blonde."

  Owen ran his fingers through the locks, letting the silky hairs slip through his fingers like sand. "I love your hair the way it is," he’d said, then kissed all her doubts away.

  Stop daydreaming, Lisa reprimanded herself as she swung her legs out of bed. Fired with resolve, she straightened her nightgown and crossed the Aubusson carpet to her chest of drawers. Opening one jewelry box after another, she searched for her pearl choker. If the manager of the jewelry store gave her a good price for the choker, she'd take some other pieces to him at a later date. Shoving the boxes this way and that, pushing other boxes aside, she looked for the choker. She couldn't find it! First the opal pendant, now this! She raised her head from the drawer and thought hard.

  When had she last worn the piece? Ages ago! She slammed her hand down on top of the chest. Where was it? Only one answer--someone had taken it. One of the servants? No, all the servants were honest and loyal. William, then, she thought with a sick feeling in her stomach. Who else would do such a thing? Determined to stay calm, Lisa clutched the drawer and took long, deep breaths.

  Fast losing her serenity, she banged the drawer shut, red spots flitting before her eyes. Damn William!

  Head throbbing, a wave of dizziness washed over her. Alarmed, she touched her head and arms, the back of her neck and found them warm to the touch. Could anger alone give someone a fever? She doubted that but remembered she’d gone to bed last night with a sore throat, an indisposition that had persisted throughout the night but one she’d tried to ignore. Heading toward her bathroom, she found the thermometer and placed it under her tongue. After several minutes, she looked at the mercury. One-hundred and one degrees! Well, she wouldn’t be going anywhere today. She crawled into bed to rest the remainder of the day, much as she hated the leisurely life. As sick as she was, she must confront William about the missing pieces of jewelry. The prospect made her even sicker, but she couldn’t avoid it. She swallowed, determined to suppress the problem for now and move on to solutions.

  As soon as she recovered–and that had better be soon--she'd sell several pieces of her fine jewelry. That settled, she wondered what else she could do to help Owen. An inspiration came to her--this was her chance to write . . . stories, articles, essays . . . anything she could sell to a newspaper.

  Lisa recalled her travels to Europe and Egypt on the Grand Tour, mindful that people loved to read about those countries, or anything foreign. She knew Christopher Magee, editor of the Pittsburgh Times, so as soon as she was up and about, she'd see him. Of course, the remuneration would be a mere pittance compared to the amount her jewelry would fetch, but it would help, just the same.

  As afternoon shadows darkened the room, Elizabeth came to visit, greeting Lisa with an encouraging smile. "My dear friend, your housekeeper tells me you're a little under the weather." She pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. "Nothing serious, I hope?"

  “A feverish cold, so best you don’t get too close to me.” Lisa turned restlessly on her pillow. “And Elizabeth . . ."

  "Yes, dear?"

  Lisa twisted her hands together. "I haven't heard from Owen for so long, for days and days." She caught herself frowning again and strove for serenity. "I can't imagine what in the world has happened to him, why he doesn't write."

  "But didn't you read . . .?"

  "Read what?" Lisa observed her closely, noting the subtle expressions that crossed her friend's face. "Elizabeth, tell me what you know!" A thrill of alarm shot through her.

  Elizabeth leaned forward. "There's news of the steelworkers in the Times. Several of the Amalgamated workers have been arrested for treason and--"

  "Treason!" Lisa felt the blood drain from her face. "Owen!"

  "The paper didn't mention any names, but I fear it's safe to assume that he's among those charged."

  "Treason?" Raising herself up on her elbow, she shot her friend a questioning look. "I don't understand."

  "That makes two of us. How could those workers be charged with treason, let alone convicted? Of course, Frick and Carnegie have made it obvious they want to destroy the union, but I think this time they've gone too far. I don't see how any fair-minded people can support them in this."

  "Oh, dear God." Lisa's voice trembled. "I wonder what the penalty is, if he's convicted. Surely not the death penalty!"

  Elizabeth shook her head. "He won't be convicted. None of them will. And even if they are convicted--and they won't be, I'm telling you--the penalty is a fine and up to twelve years in prison, or so Lawrence tells me. At least, it's not the death penalty," she said with a wisp of a smile.

  "Twelve years," Lisa murmured. "Might as well be twelve-hundred. Whose insane idea was this charge of treason?"

  "I understand a judge in the Court of Oyer and Terminer drew up the warrants. But we both know it was Mr. Frick's idea."

  "I see," Lisa said slowly. Not really, for she couldn't understand how anyone could bring such an insane charge against innocent men.

  “There's no way on God's earth that anyone can find those men guilty of such a ridiculous charge." A bright smile flashed across Elizabeth’s face. "Let's talk about something else. A new family moved into that empty house on Bayard Road, with eight children. Imagine! I can't wait to meet them."

  Scarcely able to concentrate on the gossip, Lisa tried to put on a brave face. Where was Owen now? When would she hear from him?

  "I must leave," Elizabeth said a few minutes later, "but I'll be back tomorrow." She gave Lisa's hand another warm squeeze. "And that may be the last you'll see of me for a while, since Lawrence and I are going to Cincinnati to visit relatives. Be assured I'll see you as soon as we return. For now, you must rest as much as possible and think only agreeable thoughts."

  Lisa quirked a hesitant smile. "I'll try my very best."

  Hours later, after darkness had crept over the bedroom and Mary had lit the gas chandelier, William strode into the room. "I understand you're i
ll," he said with no preliminaries. He spoke with his nasal, whining voice and threw her an accusing look, as if she'd purposely planned her indisposition.

  She pressed her hand to her forehead.. "I have a fever." Why in the world has he come to see me now? she wondered, when surely he knows I can't stand the sight of him. "I've had a fever since this morning." And what have you done with my jewelry?

  "That's not what Mrs. Gilmore told me. She said you had a cold."

  Lisa shrugged. "A cold . . . a fever, some illness. Let's put it this way--I feel sick." She wanted to ask him about her jewelry but was too sick to risk the inevitable argument. His ubiquitous smell of cigar smoke, coupled with the overpowering aroma of musk, nauseated her. She'd never known she could hate anyone as much as she hated her husband. She wanted to confront him now about the jewelry, but she was too sick to deal with the problem.

  "You don't look ill to me," William said with another accusing look.

  "Looks can be deceiving, as they say." Her gaze ran over the paunch he'd developed since their marriage, more pronounced than ever. The silver buttons of his black wool vest threatened to pop. What a glutton the man was.

  Hands in his coat pockets, he rocked on his heels. "You know we received a dinner invitation from Henry and Sallie Heinz for this Friday."

  She regarded him with surprise. "I thought you didn't care about socializing anymore. Didn't you tell me you had more business than you could manage?" The air had become cooler, and she reached down to draw the afghan up to her chin. "So why have you decided, all of a sudden, to attend this event?"

  "Well . . ." His pudgy fingers fidgeted with his watch chain, evasive eyes shifting around the room. "This dinner means a good deal to me. There'll be many important people there."

  Important people. Were those the only words he knew? "I fear I must decline. I shall write Mrs. Heinz a note of regret, tell her I'm unwell." She nodded dismissively. "You go alone, if you want to."

  "Go alone? Surely you'll be recovered by then."

  She sighed with impatience. "William, don’t you understand? I am sick.” Besides, if she had to go anywhere with him, she feared she’d become even sicker. Folding her arms across her chest, she gave him a steady look.

  "Just when I need help." He stormed out of the room, the scent of musk fouling the air.

  After William slammed the door behind him, Lisa exhaled a deep sigh and smoothed her fingers over the afghan. She waited a few minutes for her heartbeat to return to normal and raised herself in bed, then reached for her pencil and tablet on the table. With her pencil poised in her hand, she leaned back against the pillow, thinking of so many things she wanted to write. However, the words wouldn't come; too many worries crowded her mind, not to mention William's effect on her.

  She slid down in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Ever since Elizabeth had told her of the treason charge against the union men, all other thoughts had fled. Surely nothing would come of the charge; it would be dismissed for the empty accusation it was. Of course.

  But what if the charge were sustained? What if Owen were tried for treason and murder? It could happen. Oh, God, it could happen. She had no idea where Owen was now. At home? In jail? If he were in jail, she might never see him again.

  * * *

  Over a week after her enforced rest, Lisa shivered in the late night chill as she reached for a poker to stir the dying embers in her bedroom fireplace. Resting her arm on the mantel, she watched the bright flames erupt and leap as they cast eerie shadows on the wall. She thought of all she’d accomplished during her idleness; she’d written several articles for the Gazette and intended to see the editor soon. Besides, the manager of Bailey Banks and Biddle had given her a good price for her opal brooch with the offer to buy more pieces.

  She’d hidden the remainder of her jewelry where no one else would find it–in the cedar chest in the spare bedroom. William wasn’t even aware of the cedar chest, for he’d been at the office when it was delivered. Besides, he never entered that room. One less concern, she mused, as she turned away from the mantel.

  William had left for the Duquesne Club hours ago, and she hoped he’d arrive home late, as he always did. It often seemed as if he lived there, eating his dinner at the Club and returning home late at night, an arrangement that suited her fine.

  As for Owen, Lawrence told her he was held in the Allegheny County Jail, awaiting bail of ten-thousand dollars. Ten-thousand dollars, she repeated; even if she sold all her jewelry, she couldn’t come close to that amount.

  “The union will raise the money,” Lawrence had assured her. The union had to raise the money, had to!

  She thought about this past evening, when she’d spent an enjoyable time with a childhood friend. Too bad I don’t see her more often, she reflected as she disrobed.

  Naked, she slipped the pins from her hair and tossed them into a porcelain dish on her dresser table. She pressed her hands to her breasts, imagining Owen caressing her there, his hands roving over her body. She closed her eyes in dreamy speculation, wishing she and Owen were married now, that he had the right to touch her . . .

  William barged into the room, banging the door back so hard a painting crashed to the floor.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  Lisa’s heart thudded. She clutched her nightgown in front of her, a jolt of alarm stabbing her that he should see her unclothed, this man who had refused to take her to his bed.

  He strode her way, cruel hatred in his look. “You’ve been with your lover tonight, haven’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

  “No, William,” Lisa murmured. “I spent the evening with Lily Winters, a friend I grew up with.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” He stared down at her, breathing so hard she saw the rise and fall of his chest. His stale whiskey fumes sickened her, but she refused to look away.

  On the edge of her consciousness, the irony of the situation struck her. Of all the times she’d spent with Owen, William had never guessed. After this one evening with a friend, he’d discovered her secret, that she loved another man.

  “You’ve been with your damned lover tonight. Don’t try to deny it.” He drew a letter from his pocket and waved it in front of her face. Owen’s letter! How had he obtained it? “I suspected it all along. You damned liar!” he snarled, his arm drawn back.

  “No, William!” Side-stepping, Lisa fell on the bed, her long hair flying across her face. His hand missed her by inches, striking a porcelain vase, knocking it to the floor. Broken shards flew in all directions. Her heart pounded against her chest; surely William must see its beating. Raising herself to a sitting position, she pushed the hair from her face, and spoke with a new resolve. Yes, tell him that she was in love with another man. But how had he obtained the letter? she agonized with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. He must have found it before her maid could bring the letter to her.

  She stood and slipped her nightgown over her head and down over her body. “Very well, my husband. You already know the truth.” She nodded toward the letter he still clutched. “Yes, I have met another man, one I love very much. And–“

  ”Harlot!” he spat. “Slut!”

  She shook her head, weary beyond belief, feeling as if she had aged ten years this evening. “No, William, I have not dragged my wedding vows in the dirt. I’m as chaste as the day we married.”

  “And you expect me to believe that?”

  “I really don’t give a damn what you believe. It’s the truth!”

  He wagged a finger in her face. “Then let me tell you something, my dear wife. Forget your lover, because you will remain married to me for the rest of your life. Don’t think for one minute I will grant you a divorce. I will not bring shame on my family name, even if–“

  ”Shame? Who are you to speak of shame? You with your mistresses!”

  “That’s my business and my prerogative. But you are my wife–“

  ”In name only, William. In name only.” Ah, dear God, she had
to get through this nightmare.

  He glared at her, then stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. She heard his heavy footsteps thudding down the long hallway.

  A deep silence engulfed the room. Lisa sank onto the bed, struggling to calm her wildly-beating heart. After an eternity, she slipped under the covers, well aware she’d sleep little this night, if at all.

  Throughout the long night, wild, crazy ideas taunted her. With her jewelry as a bribe, she’d persuade the warden to release Owen from jail. They’d run away to Canada or Mexico, where no one would know them. Her eyes ached from sleeplessness as she tossed and turned, recognizing the last idea as a foolish daydream. No, the only option was for her to find a house for herself, one where Owen could visit her with no fear of recriminations. If she couldn’t be free of her marriage, she would at least be free of her husband.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Owen tossed a textbook onto his bunk and paced the floor of his cell, his mind raging with problems. He had to see Lisa again, and soon. Surely by now she'd received his letter, so she'd know he was stuck in jail. But every day, every day! he thought he'd be released. He should've known it would take a long time to raise the $10,000 bail. He banged his fist against the wall. When the hell would they free him?

  He heard footsteps, and peering through the open bars, he saw a guard approach. His cell? Maybe, maybe . . . A key scraped in the lock, the door creaking open. Owen's head jerked up. It wasn't mealtime or exercise time, so . . . His heart leaped, then fell. Mustn't get his hopes up.

  "You're free to go," the guard said. "Your attorney has posted bail." With a sympathetic nod, he stood aside to let Owen pass.

  "Thank God!" A short while later, Owen walked down the steps of the jail and emerged onto Ross Street, shading his eyes against the bright midday sun. Buttoning his vest, he stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes as his eyes adjusted to the glare. Brilliant sunlight in a clear, blue sky, such a rare sunny day for Pittsburgh, he thought, wishing Lisa were with him. While he'd languished in that Godforsaken cell, recollections of her drove him crazy: her pretty face and soft voice, her gestures, all her endearing charms.