Forbidden Love (11 page)

"
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 if 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 level 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.

They made small talk as they mounted the front steps of her house. Porch lights spilled across the lawn, the snow a dazzling white. A lone carriage rumbled down the snow-packed street, drawn by two matching grays.

Lost in her thoughts and entranced by
Owen's
presence, Lisa had almost forgotten to ask him the question that meant so much to her.

Her heart thudded and she felt foolishly shy, like a child about to give a recitation. "Do you like Shakespeare?" she blurted. Now he'd think she was insane.