Authors: Shirley Martin
"Well, if the union goes on strike . . ."
"Yeah, that's what I heard, but the Amalgamated had better not." He kicked a rusty pipe that blocked his path.
"God!
They'd better not!" The two men stumbled over the remaining tracks, nearing the mill entrance. "How the hell can we live if we're out of a job? And we can't even belong to the union, damn it!" Emil shot his friend a hopeful look. "Maybe Mr. Frick and Mr. Carnegie will give in to the workers."
Anton spat. "
Yeah,
and maybe pigs can fly!
Hovno
!
You think they give a damn about the workers?
Devil take
me! They live like emperors while we work like dogs and live like animals for our miserable fourteen cents an hour. If the skilled workers go on strike, then we do, too. We have no choice. But God, how can we get along without our wages?" He made a futile attempt at humor. "It's like they always say--no work, no pork; no money, no baloney." With a grim smile, he bade his friend goodbye, bracing himself for the long double shift.
* * *
Tight-lipped, Owen strode into the library of the
Enright
mansion.
Enright
looked up from his wide mahogany desk, a sheet of paper in his hand, a frown on his face. Despite
Owen's
irritation, he studied the man in front of him, noting his oiled hair, sleekly-parted at the
side,
his fingernails--manicured!--his hands, soft as a baby's.
"Ah,
Cardiff
.
So you received my letter,"
Enright
said, not offering him a chair. His blue eyes held no warmth but reflected a soul as cold as the snow on the frozen ground. This man was Lisa's husband, the one who had the right to hold her in his embrace, make love to her . . .
Owen stood with his arms held loosely at his side. "Yes, and frankly, I'm at a loss to understand the purpose of your message. You mentioned you wanted to discuss the land I bought in Munhall, but I've been making regular payments."
Enright
scoffed.
"At three percent interest.
Highway robbery! Let's make that seven percent."
"Now just a minute!
Mr. Bradley and I had an agreement--"
"A written agreement?"
His heart sank, but he quickly recovered.
"No, a
gentlemen’s
agreement."
Enright
flicked his forefinger at the paper he held. "That's what I think of gentlemen's agreements."
"Very well!
You'll get your payments at seven percent." He shot
Enright
a hard look. "Why didn't you call me on the telephone?"
Enright
smirked. "Call you? You keep different hours than I do." He gave him a twisted smile. "Besides, I wanted to make sure you understood."
"Understood!
It's fairly plain, isn't it? And talk about highway robbery--" Owen spun away and left the room, resisting the temptation to slam the door. Striding down the long hall, he didn't at first see Lisa by the front door. When he caught sight of her, all anger was forgotten, leaving only happiness, as if he'd been granted everything wonderful in life.
"Owen, what are you doing here?" She raised her arms to remove her hat, her cheeks rosy from the cold, a look of pleased surprise on her face. She placed her hat on the coat rack, where a black coat already resided. He observed the ripple of the sensuous white silk blouse across her full breasts, the hug of the black skirt around her slim waist and slender hips, its supple swing about her ankles as she stepped forward. He saw all these things and wanted her like he’d never wanted anything or anyone. He ached for her, every beat of his heart pounding for her.
"Not now," he murmured, swallowing hard. "I'll tell you later."
"Are you coming to the literary group tomorrow night?" She slowly removed her hatpin and set the hat on a table, her vibrant brown eyes fixed on him the entire time. He thought it oddly pleasant how she could imbue every motion with a certain grace, an innate charm all her own.
"Yes, I'll be there," he said, afraid to tarry, fearful of what he might say, what he might do . . . take her in his arms, kiss her sweet lips. "I must be going. Good-bye, Lisa," he said after a pause.
"Good-bye."
Careful to conceal his emotions, he stepped outside. Once there, he turned back to stare at the door, the image of her still vivid in his memory. He recalled everything about her that made her so lovely, the sweep of her lustrous brown hair crowning her head, the bloom of her cheeks,
the
swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. He remembered the fullness of her bottom lip, the way she ran her tongue along her lip in an unconscious gesture of sensuality. Even now, he could still smell her lavender scent, a fragrance he'd forever associate with her and this moment.
He wanted to stay with her for the rest of their lives, tell her his plans for the future, hold this dear one close and let her know he could never love another woman. What if he told her how much he'd missed her and how she constantly invaded his thoughts? Did she have any idea of his lonely nights, when he tossed and turned in bed, aching to hold her in his arms? How he wanted to embrace her now, press his lips to hers and tell her he never wanted her out of his sight.
Above all, he yearned to sweep this forbidden woman into his arms and carry her upstairs to her bedroom, make passionate love to her. With no choice, he must follow his mind, not his heart. How could it ever be otherwise?
Chapter Seven
Lisa set her teacup on the table, giving
Elizabeth
a frank look across the parlor table.
". .
.So
you see, I've tried everything, and nothing has worked.
Elizabeth
, let me tell you! I all but threw myself at William in his bedroom, and he acted as if I were a . . . a low-class woman." Lisa paused for a thoughtful moment. "I'm sure he has a mistress. He's away from home so much." She stared out her friend's parlor window as confusion and despair churned inside her. "He's changed so much since our marriage. Sometimes it seems as if he isn't the same man."
"Changed?"
Elizabeth
asked.
"In what way?"
"Oh, I know this will sound silly, and no doubt you'll tell me it's just my imagination. But often I see him looking at me as if he resents
me,
as if he's sorry he married me.
Almost as if . . . as if he hates me."
"Surely that is your imagination, but I don't blame you if you're upset.
Only natural that you would be."
"Of course, I'm upset! He can make life very difficult at times." Lisa sighed, staring out the window. "I had hoped to make a success of my marriage, even if we didn't love each other. But often it seems as though we don't even get along."
"So you've resigned yourself to this loveless marriage?"
"No! I haven't resigned myself to the situation, not as it is. I never said that."
"But how do you intend to lure your husband away from his mistress--assuming he has one--and make him love you?"
Lisa lowered her gaze to her hands, observing the way her emerald ring caught the light from a brass table lamp. "It doesn't matter anymore about William," she murmured. "I don't care if he never loves me, for I don't love him, and I know I never shall."
"Lisa!"
Elizabeth
reached across the space between them to squeeze her hand. "Dear, you're too upset now to think clearly. You're so young! You have your whole life ahead of you. Years and years of happiness! It's there, just waiting for you to take it."
"It doesn't matter anymore." Lisa drew a deep breath. "I'll never love my husband, because you see . . ." She forced herself to speak in a steady voice. "There is someone else I've come to care for."
"Someone else!
Did I hear you correctly?"
"You heard me," Lisa said, lifting her chin. "I love someone else, very much."
"Who?"
Elizabeth
blurted.
"One of your husband's associates?
Someone you met socially?"
"No, none of William's associates.
I suppose you could say I met him socially.
At the literary club."
She drew a deep breath. "He's a steelworker."
"A steelworker!"
Elizabeth
's cup rattled in the saucer. "Suppose that in some way you could be free of William, unlikely, I know, but let's consider all possibilities. And suppose you could marry this man . . . What's his name, by the way?"
"Owen," Lisa said, loving the sound of his name.
"Very well . . . Owen."
Elizabeth
remained silent for a moment. "But I've a question I must ask you in all frankness. Do you know if Owen returns your sentiments?"
"He's never said so, but I can see affection in his eyes, the way he looks at me. You know what I mean, how you can tell a man is fond of you by the way his eyes light up when he sees you, when he talks to you?"
"Yes, I know, dear."
Elizabeth
hesitated. "All right, then. What if you were free to marry
Owen.
Oh! He's not already married, is he?"
"Oh, no.
He's a bachelor, because he's mentioned that he lives alone. His parents are dead, and his married sister lives in Glassport."
"Um."
Elizabeth
sipped her tea and set the cup down. "Let's assume you were both free to marry each other. Could he support you in the manner you're accustomed to? You really must face that consideration."
"I don't care!" Lisa lied. "Anyway, the situation will never arise--will it?--since I'm married to another man." She refused to discuss any imaginary problems, all her thoughts and dreams on Owen. "He's wonderful," she whispered, yet in the most secret space of her heart, she feared
Elizabeth
spoke the truth.
Could she find happiness if she married out of her class?
Her friends and relatives would forsake her.
"Lisa,"
Elizabeth
asked gently, "have you considered divorce?"
"I couldn't bring such shame on my mother or the family name." Lisa exhaled a long, shuddering breath. "My mother would die of disgrace."
"You know, since
Lawrence
is a lawyer, he hears of many strange cases. I remember one he related to me long before you married. A woman in
Illinois
obtained a divorce because she was denied her 'marital privileges'. That's exactly how the case was stated.
So you see, there is a precedent."
"I still couldn't do it. You know people's attitudes. I'd be regarded as a fallen woman." She looked out the window for a moment,
then
turned back to
Elizabeth
. "Recollect I once asked you not to let
Lawrence
know of my troubles. I've reconsidered that pronouncement, but I don't want you to tell
Lawrence
about the, uh, personal aspect of my marriage. Just tell him about Owen."
"But surely he'll wonder about your marriage."
"Tell him William has a mistress--which I'm sure he does--but don't tell him we've never . . . uh, you know. It seems so unnatural, shameful, actually."
"Not your fault that your marriage hasn't been consummated. No shame should apply to you."
Lisa stared down at her hands.
"Shameful, just the same, and certainly unnatural."
She forced a smile. "I honestly can't see what
Lawrence
could say or what advice he could give. At least he'll know what a sorry husband I have. Maybe he'll understand why I've fallen in love with another man."
"Of course.
Lawrence
is an understanding person, good at listening to others' problems. But let's do something about your relationship with Owen. First thing, we must look at this business in a practical manner." She sipped her tea, a thoughtful expression on her face.