Forbidden Love (22 page)

* * *

Lisa tossed and turned in bed, the wail of the siren disturbing her restless sleep. Fully

awake
, she sat upright, brushing the long flow of hair from her shoulders. In no time, the screams and shouts swelled outside her open window, until the sound became one gigantic roar. No need to ask what was going on, she realized as she turned on the electric lamp beside her bed.
Labor trouble at the steel mill.

What part did Owen play in all of this? Lisa slipped out of bed,
then
rushed to the window with only the barest hope that she might see him among the hundreds of people that crowded every street in the borough. Darkness made vision impossible, coupled with thick clouds of fog that rolled over the town. She leaned against the pane, tapping her fingers on the windowsill. Never in a million years would she find Owen, not today, not anytime.

Well, she wasn't going to stay here and mope. Far better to see what was happening in the streets below. She drew her nightgown over her head and dressed as quickly as possible, for once eschewing her corset.

Still, it took precious time to dress, time she needed to discover the meaning of the commotion below and time to find Owen, if possible. She fumbled with the buttons of her dress,
then
sat down to put on her shoes, fumbling with the buttons there, too. With shaky fingers, she pinned her hair up, leaving her hat and purse behind.

A curious excitement gripped her as she rushed down the carpeted stairs, where she found the lobby deserted. Outside, the street lights shone pale against the early morning darkness, while people and places took on an eerie quality in the cloudy haze that swirled over the borough. Shouts, screams and an occasional firecracker greeted Lisa as she stepped onto the packed street.

Everywhere, the crowd shouted, "The
Pinkertons
!
The
Pinkertons
!"

"What's going to happen now?" she asked an older man.

"Can't you tell? We're
gonna
get them
Pinkertons
. They
ain't
gonna
take over the mill."

 
She caught her breath.
Oh, dear God!

The crowd pushed and shoved until Lisa found herself pressed against the dingy window of O'Brien's Saloon. Her rapid heartbeat dizzied her, her head pounding. She wondered where she should go or what she should do, but before she could take make up her mind, the decision was taken from her.

The yelling, screaming rabble headed for the river toward the mill, pushing her along in its path. Lisa struggled and gasped while men, women, and children grabbed stones, boards, and baseball bats as they raced toward the mill. A few women brandished umbrellas, a malicious gleam in their eyes.

Blood pounded in her ears as Lisa considered forcing her way back to the hotel, but she quickly changed her mind. She had to see Owen, no matter how faint the possibility. She
would
see him, and she knew he'd need her--want her--as he never had before.

Chapter Fifteen

July 6, 1892

"Get '
em
!" the townspeople cried. "Get the
Pinkertons
!"

Daylight penetrated the early morning darkness, dispelling dense clouds of fog. Arms folded across his chest, Owen stood with dozens of other union leaders by the fence that encircled the mill. Grim-faced, he watched the stampeding mob as it streamed toward him, their feet stirring up clouds of dust. Men, women, and children rushed forward, brandishing clubs, rocks, and baseball bats. Their eyes glinted with bloodthirsty excitement as they shouted jeers and obscenities in a dozen different languages.

"Don't let the black sheep in!" they chanted.

Owen nudged Hugh O'Donnell with his elbow as he shouted above the din. "We didn't expect this, did we?" he said, indicating the rabble. "I mean, women and children who look as if they could murder the
Pinkertons
. . . not that I blame them," he quickly added.

"Yeah," Hugh shouted back, "I feel the same as you, but we have to protect mill property."

* * *

Lisa hung back at the edge of the mob. Their ravings sickened her, but she refused to return to the hotel . . . not until she found Owen. Masses of people surrounded her, yet she felt desperately alone. She shuddered, her eyes searching the crowd. Surely Owen wouldn't be among the mob, but where was he? Ignoring the roar of the people and worried out of her mind about Owen, she stumbled along with the rest.

Even this early in the morning, the fierce sunlight beat down on her, its heat piercing her clothes. She’d dressed in a cotton lawn frock with a colorful print of pink roses and turquoise vines, hoping that if she did see Owen--vain hope, no doubt--her frock might cheer him. Gritty dirt settled in her hair and layered her clothes. Coughing, she brushed the soot from her dress, sending up clouds of dust.

"Don't let the black sheep in," the mob cried, screaming and waving nailed clubs.

The leader of the women, a white-haired old shrew, strode to the front, waving a
billy
club. "The dirty black sheep, the dirty black sheep," she shrieked. "Let me get at '
em
."

Hundreds of voices screamed in answer. "Good for you, Mother Finch."

"We'll send them home on stretchers."

"Hell will be full of new pictures in the morning!"

The people fell silent as they reached the fence, save for a few mutterings here and there. Lisa strained her ears and leaned forward, but she stood too far from the mill fence to see or hear what was happening there. Scanning the area behind her, she observed a pile of scrap iron. Teetering to the top, she found she had a clear view. From her precarious perch, she regarded a steelworker addressing the mob.

Owen! Her Owen! He wore a tan cotton shirt and black trousers, his dark hair shiny in the bright sunshine. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing his arm muscles. Despite the obvious exhaustion etched in every line and plane of his face, he'd never looked so wonderful.

"Leave the fence alone," he said, his deep voice reaching the fringe of the crowd. "This is still mill property."

"Like hell it is!" shouted one of the villagers, spitting at the fence. "
Nothin
' is
gonna
keep us from those damned black sheep." Men, women, and children pounded and tore at the wooden fence, their faces set in hatred, a hundred different curses spilling from their mouths.

A woman with a thick Slavic accent shook her hand and bellowed, "You
ain't
gonna
keep us from them Pinkerton bastards. They
ain't
gonna
get inside the damned mill."

Within minutes, the fence fell down, the boards tumbling over like matchsticks. The mob shoved through the openings and rushed on to the mill.

 
"Stay away from the landing!" Scads of workers swore and raged, unable to stop the hundreds of men, women, and children as they raced past them and on toward the mill. "Don't go near the landing!"

Swinging their clubs with loud defiance, the rabble shoved past the union leaders and on into the mill. Inside the steelworks, they banged their weapons against armor plate and ingots, wild with warlike frenzy over their easy victory at the fence.

Anxious to head them off before they reached the Monongahela landing where the
Pinkertons
' barges sat dead in the water, Owen turned to join the other workers. Someone at the edge of the crowd caught his eye, a lady apart from the others, about twenty yards distant. She stood still, not following the horde,
then
slowly stepped down from a pile of scrap iron. What was there about her? Owen wondered . . . her slim figure, the way she held her head. Lisa! How could
she
be here?

Owen found himself alone, except for this lady who approached him. The sway of her hips, those velvety brown eyes, her chestnut hair shining with golden flecks, left him with no doubt of the lady's identity. Lisa.

 
"Owen . . ."

He held his breath, taking in the sight of her. He could only stare, unable to say a word. Caught in a floodtide of fierce emotion, he finally rushed forward. That sweet voice, that lovely face--he'd thought he'd never see her again, but here she was, with him now! He wanted to hold her close and never let her go, but he couldn't permit her to remain here where danger threatened. One question nagged him relentlessly as he strode toward her. What in the world was she doing here?

All he could see, all he could think about was Lisa, she with those soulful brown eyes he could never tire of, that dear yet defiant expression on her face, as if daring him to question her presence here, of all places. Within a heartbeat, he closed the distance between them, his joy and excitement grappling with worry.

"Lisa!" He drew her into his arms and kissed her, all his pent-up love and longing in this glorious meeting of hearts and minds and souls, of consuming passion and bodies hungry for each other. His arms tightened around her, his passion increasing as he pressed her soft,
uncorseted
body closer to his masculine hardness. He caught her lilac scent and knew he’d always associate this fragrance with Lisa and with this moment.

 
The satiny softness of her cheek next to his, the few stray hairs that brushed across his face, the unimaginably alluring pressure of her breasts against his chest--all this and more made him realize what he'd missed for oh, so long.
Much, much too long.
With a reluctance that bordered on despair, he stepped back to let his hands graze her arms as he looked long and searchingly into her hazel eyes.

"Lisa, I . . . I never dreamed . . ."

 
Neither of them needed words to say what was in their hearts. For these few precious moments, she took in her fill of him, never wanting their time together to end. This one man meant more to her than
all the
world. This dear one she thought she'd never see again now held her in his arms.

Happiness consumed her, overwhelmed her. She could only stare at that rough-hewn face, tanned by the summer sun; that unruly lock of hair that refused to stay put; those gray eyes, heavy with passion, all these things that told her more than words could ever say that he loved her, too.

"I had to be here this day, darling," she declared. "Did you expect me to stay away?" She gave a slow shake of her head. "How could I stay away with all--" She spread her arms wide-- "that is happening here, with all that might affect you?"

"But how did you--?"

"My husband has gone to
Denver
for two weeks. I couldn't miss the chance to come here, to see you, so I checked into the Carnegie Hotel yesterday."

He gave her a harsh look. "This is no place for a lady."

She raised her chin. "There were many ladies here a few minutes ago."

Owen scoffed.
"Women, yes, but no ladies."
Easing his arm around her waist, he led her away from the broken fence that lay like discarded firewood. "Lisa, it breaks my heart to say this, but I don't want you here. It's dangerous for you. Please go back to Shadyside, for my sake."

She met his look with a single-minded purpose. "I'm not going back home. And don't be concerned about me. I can take care of myself."

"Can you?" he asked with a doubtful expression. "I don't want to put your statement to a test. Now, listen--"

"Owen! I want--I need!--to be here with you. That's why I came to the mill today."

"Well, I don't want you here, and there's nothing more to say. If you refuse to go home, then at least join the other, uh, ladies--" He pointed to a hill that overlooked the mill site--"who are headed for that hill."

She followed his gesture. Puzzled, she turned back to him. "They're not there now."

"No, but they soon will be. We won't permit unauthorized people by the mill landing. That's certainly no place for women and children."

Lisa sighed.
"Very well.
I'll do as you say, because I certainly don't want to cause you any more distress. I'll leave shortly." She hesitated, afraid to speak,
then
finally found the words. "Darling, what's going to happen today?"