Watermarks

by Jarvis, J. L.

  He met life head on, and faced adversaries with the strength that comes from knowing one is right. This was no small feat, Allison knew. Following her husband's death, remarks were made. They were sharp cuts that would not heal. Rather than confront her tormentors bravely, she sank into her own well of grief. From this self-imposed exile, Samuel pulled her and held her until she could stand on her own. One day she awoke from her grief to find she was in love.

  The front door closed and tore Allison from her thoughts. Andrew staggered in and tripped up the stairs, and then laughed at himself. His door closed, and Allison drifted to sleep.

  Samuel and Allison nestled together in the buggy. They would take no chance of another encounter with Powell. Allison left a note for Andrew with instructions to tell Powell she'd gone to visit a friend out of town, with Samuel as escort.

  They crossed the dam and headed toward the Adair cottage on the mountain above Johnstown. "Are you sure no one is here?" Allison asked.

  "At this time of year? There might be a few hunters on the weekends, but no one comes here in the middle of the week."

  Allison watched cautiously, nonetheless. By the time they pulled into the drive, she felt reassured that they had arrived undetected.

  In the privacy of the carriage house, Samuel lifted Allison from the buggy and twirled her in his arms. The crisp, clear air brought color to Allison's cheeks as she laughed with Samuel. Holding hands, they ran to the house. Samuel closed the door behind Allison as she leaned back against it and looked at him with radiant joy.

  "We did it!"

  Samuel laughed and pulled Allison into his arms. They kissed exuberantly. Without warning, Samuel swept Allison into his arms and carried her up the stairs. Allison shrieked with surprise, and then laughed, and demanded to be put down.

  "Half way up he stopped and set her down on the landing. Still laughing, they sat on the steps, leaning back on their elbows as their laughter abated.

  "I've injured you, haven't I," she said, as she leaned mischievously toward him.

  "No, I can assure you, everything is in working order." With that, he rolled over and thoroughly kissed her until she was more than persuaded. She was about to melt into oblivion, when Samuel gently pulled away. He searched her azure eyes with a smoky, penetrating gaze, then stood and offered his hand. Taking it, Allison followed him into her room. All the while, Samuel watched her. She had never before felt so adored--or so womanly. Allison was not sure how to accept it. She was not an extraneous part of the household as she had been in marriage. She was truly a part of his life, just as he was of hers. Tears moistened her eyes.

  Samuel stroked her hair and smiled tenderly. One by one, he pulled each pin from her hair as thick auburn locks fell loosely about her neck and shoulders. From the nape of her neck, his fingers combed upward through her silky hair until his palm rested at the back of her head and he leaned down to kiss her.

  As their lips met, their bodies sought to touch through the thick folds of fabric. With wonder and want, hands and fingers unfastened hooks and buttons and pulled clothing off. Allison needed no words to know that Samuel loved her, but he spoke them. He loved her with his touch and the way that he held her with strength and with heat. With sudden impatience, she pulled at his shoulders and clutched his back. He pressed against her and into her, until they were one.

  The morning was overcast with a gray sky and mist that clung to the mountaintops. On the second floor balcony, Allison and Samuel nested themselves beneath a patchwork quilt, and looked out over the lake. Two books lay face down, neglected, beside them. With a shiver, Allison pulled the quilt about her. Samuel circled protective arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. She laid her head back against his chest and sighed.

  From under cover of the porch awning, they watched as water droplets perforated the tin-colored surface of the lake, whispering hints of the rain that softly would follow.

  "Sometimes it scares me," said Allison.

  "It's just a light shower," said Samuel, with a grin.

  "Not the rain." She smiled, knowing he teased her. "Us."

  "You're thinking too much." Samuel buried his face in her neck. "Allow me to distract you." His lips met her earlobe, and Allison shivered.

  "That's better," he said, as he distracted her further.

  After a while they lay still and content, looking out at the lake. With a sigh, Allison said, "I could spend every day like this."

  Samuel stroked her hair and held her close. Quiet hung in the air. "What if we could? What if a time came when I asked you to leave here for me, could you?"

  Without hesitating, she said, "Yes."

  He searched her eyes. She repeated, "Yes."

  Slowly becoming convinced, a smile spread to his eyes. He said, "You'd have to marry me. I'm not just some cheap floozy."

  Allison laughed. "If I must, then I must."

  His smiled faded. "You'd marry me?"

  She met his gaze squarely as tears misted her vision. "I would."

  Samuel shifted his weight and squeezed her in his arms. Leaning his cheek against hers, they looked out past the lake. "Where would we go, my love?"

  After a time, Allison said, "I don't care." She laughed. "I don't care. I just want to be with you."

  "Let's see, where could we go?" They wondered like children immersed in some game.

  "I don't know...Oklahoma? We could go stake a claim."

  "I can't quite envision you as a frontier wife."

  Allison laughed with a shrug. "Maybe not, but I can see myself as your wife."

  Samuel's joy turned to vapor. "And what about others? How will they see you--with me as your husband?"

  She looked him straight in the eye. "They will see me as a woman in love."

  "I wish that were all."

  "We wouldn't be the first couple like us. Frederick Douglass married a white woman and the world didn't come to an end."

  "That depends upon whom you talk to," said Samuel. "Besides, Frederick Douglass is famous. Famous people can get away with things that the rest of us can't."

  He leaned his forehead on hers and asked in a whisper, "We'll find a way, and we'll build a good life."

  "I have no doubt," she said, as she kissed him.

  "I used to watch you. You looked so sad. I wanted to take it away."

  "And you did."

  Samuel held her and worried about what was ahead. But it could not be changed or avoided right now. He would not let Allison see that he worried. He said, "How about Canada?"

  "Canada?" She mulled it over.

  He held her shoulders and pulled away. "And when we're there, we'll have a proper marriage."

  She suggested, half joking, "At Niagara Falls?"

  But Samuel insisted, "Yes. Why not? At Niagara Falls."

  Together, they quietly dreamed while, in the valley below them, the Iron Works factory whistle sounded.

  A brisk wind brushed against Jake's face and through his hair, and a chill passed through him. He often came out on the porch to sit in cold autumn evenings and enjoy a moment alone with his thoughts before the onslaught of noise that would dominate his senses for the next several hours. He braced himself for the night's work to come. This was one of the last days in which he would stand in this place at this time. In a week he would be in Homestead, with a new job and a new future. He glanced over at Maggie's house and knew he must go. He would never be free of her, not while she was near.

  The shrill shock of the factory whistle rang out through the valley. An accident. It never rang between shifts unless there was an accident. A sinking gut feeling came over him.

  "Will!”

  Chapter 18

  Jake sprang forward. His mother rushed through the front door to the porch, but he was already running. Wind cut through his clothes. His feet pounded the cobbled road, gaining speed like relentless machine gears. His lungs inflated and deflated with desperate force. The shock of air stung his eyes.

  He slowed as he a
pproached the skirts of the murmuring crowd that had gathered outside the plant. Like a stone tossed into still water, Jake's arrival set off a rippling wave of turning heads and silent stares as bodies shifted to make a clear path for him.

  Will?

  In the midst of unnatural stillness, he fought the violent energy that surged through his body. The faces around him blurred as he stepped forward with deliberate effort. Once inside the plant, someone guided him to the site of the accident. Faces flashed and faded before him. Large parts of machines seemed to have paused in midmotion, grotesque and in their stillness. The throbbing blare of machinery was absent. Inside his head, a new throbbing began.

  "No." It was his voice, strange and guttural.

  Will lay there before him. The newly constructed train rail that had crushed him had been lifted and moved. Jake's knees bent beneath him.

  Crouched at his brother's side, he said, "Will?"

  Will's eyelids flickered. Jake grabbed his brother's hand with both of his own, and he gripped it as though he would pull Will back from where he was going.

  Will's mouth twitched into a suggestion of a smile that never was formed. He looked up at Jake with such effort. His chest heaved in abrupt and jolting breaths, but he opened his mouth in an effort to speak. Jake moved closer to hear him. "Your turn," he whispered. Will looked up at his little brother. Jake held his gaze, willing him back. But he left.

  Hornpipes and jigs chased away sorrow in uneven, syncopated strains. People spilled out into the back yard of the O'Neill house, drinking, dancing and laughing. Several men sat on the back porch playing guitar, button accordion, Irish harp, tin whistle, bass and drums. Jake walked out into the evening chill with his fiddle hanging from his left hand. He remained on the sidelines while the others played. Lifting the neck to his ear, he repeatedly plucked strings and twisted the tuning pegs until he was ready to play. As he stepped forward, a hush fell over the crowd and a plaintive melody spun forth. He was joined by a young soprano with sad eyes and a voice clear and pure that could pierce the soul.

  Hearing the fiddle from the kitchen, Maggie set down her dish and towel, and stepped outside. She walked through the crowded yard until she came to a spot at the skirts of the crowd, where she leaned on a fence. A young couple walked by, arm-in-arm, and said something to her. She gave them an inattentive nod and continued to watch the musicians.

  Jake's coal-stained fingertips gently fingered the neck of the fiddle as he pressed the bow down and drew from the strings emotions which, were there words to convey them, would be too mournful to utter. Someone offered Maggie a beer, which she accepted mechanically. Each phrase that Jake played came from his soul, and touched Maggie's until there were tears in her eyes. When the final note vibrated against a straight tin whistle at unearthly intervals, a hollow ache took hold of her heart.

  The elongated hush was broken by the driving beat of the next song, which set some people to dancing. Jake lowered his fiddle and looked up as though someone had called to him. He looked straight at Maggie, and she was transfixed. Long since spent of emotion, his expressionless gaze gripped her heart. A half-drunk neighbor grabbed Maggie's arm and tried to drag her into a dance. She politely declined and backed away. When she looked back at Jake, he was gone.

  A constant flow of people and dishes kept Maggie busy in the kitchen for most of the evening. Jake would walk through every now and then, but he never spoke more than a word. And he never lingered.

  It was early morning by the time everyone had gone. Maggie had long ago sent Maeve upstairs to rest, and Beth had gone home to Robin and Hank. Maggie remained to finish putting things in order. As she removed her apron and hung it on a hook, she heaved a long sorrowful sigh. She looked at the empty kitchen and thought of Maeve. How does a mother set one less place at the table?

  Too fatigued for sleep, Maggie stepped out onto the front porch for some air. It was the part of night some found the darkest, but Maggie found solace in its quiet. It soothed her despite the grief that hovered, watchful and ready when people awakened. It was a tireless companion.

  A creaking chair and a couple of footsteps startled her. She had thought she was alone.

  "It's cold out here." Jake pulled off his jacket and held it out to her. "Here."

  "Jake. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here." She turned to leave.

  "Don't go."

  Maggie found herself unable to move in either direction. Jake put his jacket about her shoulders. It was still warm from his body. He smoothed out the collar and his eye crinkled into that incomplete wink that she liked, and then he sat down. Maggie drooped onto the top step and looked out into the night. Clouds and smoke obliterated any stars that might have been, leaving only an expansive, dusty slate.

  With his elbows on his knees, Jake leaned forward and looked into the night. Maggie studied his solemn face with its faraway look. She wished she could join him wherever he was. She nearly touched his shoulder to soothe his grief, but she thought better of it and withdrew her hand.

  Jake began to laugh.

  Maggie studied him, concerned.

  Jake saw her confusion and said, "Will." He shook his head, still laughing. "Remember that time you, Will and me were skinny dipping up by the reservoir?"

  Maggie covered her grin with her hand. "Oh, my gosh, yes."

  Jake began to snicker. "We saw you coming. And I told Will to act like he was drowning, while I went and hid by the bank."

  "That's enough, Jake. I remember."

  Jake could barely speak through his laughter. "So Will's waving his arms like this, crying ‘Help! Help!' And you come running--and dive in--with all your clothes on. And by the time you get to him--you practically drown the both of you."

  Maggie couldn't help but laugh with him. "Well, it's not that I couldn't swim. Those wet skirts were heavy--"

  "So Will takes a few strokes, then stands up in waist-deep water and drags you to the shore. And--when you finally stop coughing, you look up--" Jake was laughing so hard he could barely breathe. "You look up and see him--bare naked--and scream!"

  Maggie's eyes closed in amused shock as she said, "All I could hear was you laughing, but you were nowhere to be seen."

  "There you were--screaming--and looking like a drowned rat in a dress. Meanwhile, Will's trying to cover himself with his hands, while he runs all over the place looking for his clothes--"

  "Which you had hung from the highest tree limb!" Maggie added.

  Jake was beside himself with laughter. "What a sight--Will climbing that tree--flapping in the breeze--trying to reach his clothes!"

  "I wouldn't know. I covered my eyes."

  Jake nudged her, and then leaned mischievously toward her. "Oh, c'mon, Maggie. You peeked, didn't you? Just a little?"

  "Jacob O'Neill? I did not!" Maggie pushed him away, which only compounded his laughter.

  "I don't know which was funnier, the sound of your hollering--or the look on his face!"

  The laughter rang out through the early morning haze, and then faded. Jake swallowed. His eyes glimmered through his somber expression.

  His voice lowered. "He was just lying there, looking up at me, like he knew, but it didn't make any sense to him." Jake squinted as though that might make him remember the sight more vividly. "And I just looked at him. I didn't do anything. Just watched him looking at me. And then, he wasn't looking back."

  Maggie gently put her arms around Jake. He turned and wrapped his arms about her and buried his face in her neck as he let out a mournful sob. She cradled him in her arms and stroked his hair until the sun rose unheeded.

  Night still clung to gray sky as Jake gave his mother a peck on the cheek and walked out the door to work. His brother's death had left a vacancy at the mill, which Jake reluctantly filled. Maeve never asked her son to give up his new job in Pittsburgh, but she did not tell him to go, either. He was the oldest son, now, and he knew she would need him here. How could he ask her to give up another son just yet, even if it was
only to another town?

  Jake arrived early at the mill, and stood waiting with the other men. A rough looking man with a creased face and reddish hair approached him.

  "We're meetin' tonight, after work, at Quinn's Shebeen." He shoved his hands in his pocket and leaned against the wall.

  Jake watched from the corner of his eye as the foreman walk past, then looked at the man they called Finn. "If they find out, they'll fire the lot of us."

  Finn eyed Jake. "Not if we all stand together."

  Jake glanced about at the men around him, then asked Finn, "Are you sure you can trust the others?"

  Finn nodded.

  The whistle blew to signal the start of the next shift. Jake, took a step and said over his shoulder. "I'll be there." Then he walked into work.

  The mill got its money's worth from Jake that fall. He had always worked hard, but after Will died, he worked harder. The more grueling and dangerous the task, the better. Brutish labor drove away pain, thoughts, and finally memories, until fatigue took the place of feeling.

  There had been talk of unions and striking as long as Jake could remember. The miners had tried it, but the companies were too strong and the unions too weak to prevail.

  "They will listen to one voice, if it's one voice backed by a thousand men," Jake told the men at the gathering. A young woman filled their quart pails with beer. Jake watched her. There was something familiar about her.