Authors: Shirley Martin
"I swear I bought everything I saw at Worth's," the lady declared. "I had to buy more trunks, just so I could bring everything home."
Sallie Heinz left a circle of ladies to greet Lisa. "Mrs.
Enright
, isn't it?" She stood back to admire Lisa's gown. "You look so lovely, dear. Your husband must be proud of you. And that color," she raved, her gaze sweeping over the elegant creation. "It brings out your peaches and cream complexion."
Ignoring the talk and laughter around them, Lisa and Sallie Heinz covered a wide range of subjects, finally settling on the Heinz pickle and relish factory north of
Pittsburgh
.
"Do you know," Sallie remarked with a glance in Frick's direction, "my husband believes in taking good care of his workers. He gives them an hour for lunch. And I'll tell you something else," she said, tapping Lisa's gloved arm for emphasis, "they even have their own swimming pool."
"A swimming pool for the workers!
Mrs. Heinz, that's truly revolutionary."
"Perhaps, but my husband believes--and I agree--that one's workers perform well if one treats them well."
Lisa nodded toward the back of the room, where Henry Clay Frick had joined the other men. "I fear Mr. Frick doesn't see things your way--about taking care of the workers, not if tales I've heard about him are true."
"Yes, and I fear there'll be trouble with the steelworkers if this union problem isn't resolved. That would be most unfortunate." Sallie frowned,
then
turned as the butler stood at the room's entrance to announce dinner. "Sorry we can't talk more now. We must get better acquainted later."
Silver-plated lighting fixtures complemented the gleaming mahogany furniture in the dining room, said to be the most sumptuously-furnished room in all of Clayton. Yet, everything was in good taste, Lisa mused as she took her seat. The room's decorations weren't nearly as opulent as those she'd seen in other mansions.
The talk buzzed around her while she tried to concentrate on her dinner partner's conversation, a young man who rhapsodized on the joys of Vienna in the wintertime, laughing at his own anecdotes, tapping his fingers on the table for emphasis. Tilting her head in his direction, she attempted to look interested, but her thoughts sped miles away. What was Owen doing now? Did he think of her often? She took a bite of salmon mayonnaise, pretending an enjoyment she didn't feel as she recalled the last meeting of the literary club. How she looked forward to those meetings, the only times she ever saw him.
Will it always be like this, she wondered, raising her wine glass to her lips, to live only for these few precious times she saw him, week after week, month after month? Above all, did he feel the same way about her? As she sipped her Chablis, she recalled the warm look in his eyes, the special smile he had only for her.
Only wishful thinking, she quickly reminded herself. And just suppose, by the wildest stretch of the imagination, she were free of William, and Owen loved her. If she
were
married to Owen and he lost his job, could their love withstand the strain? She didn't know, but she did know she couldn't risk poverty again. If William hadn't married her, no doubt she would've had to support her mother and herself.
"Don't you agree, Mrs.
Enright
?"
"Oh, yes, of course." She jerked her mind back to the present, hoping she'd made the appropriate comment. Apparently she had, for the man appeared satisfied.
Her partner finally fell silent, giving her the opportunity to glance around the table and catch bits of conversation. Glancing in Frick's direction, she heard a pronouncement about the steelworkers.
"I don't intend," Frick was saying, "to let the union have its way in this matter of tonnage rates." He made a slashing motion; his jutting beard seemed to emphasize his sheer stubbornness. "They'll take a reduction in their wages, and that's all there is to it."
"But what if they don't agree to this reduction?" a prominent city doctor asked. The entire table became quiet, all eyes on Frick.
He snorted. "They'll have to go along with it, or else they'll be out of a job." He took a sip of wine,
then
carefully set his glass on the table, as if its placement was very important. "Make no mistake about it. Neither Mr. Carnegie nor I will tolerate any union nonsense." A grim smile flitted across his face. "I intend to break the back of the Amalgamated Association. By the time I'm finished with the steelworkers, there'll be no union left."
Finished speaking, Frick caught Lisa's worried expression. "But I fear we're upsetting the ladies. Shall we discuss something more congenial, gentlemen?"
The talk turned to culture, prompting one of the ladies to remark that
Pittsburgh
should some day have a first-class museum, as
New York
and
Philadelphia
had.
"Perhaps we eventually shall," he replied, the considerate host once more.
Hours later, the horses' hooves clattered along the asphalt streets while the carriage followed the twists and turns of the winding thoroughfares. The front wheels hit a rut in the street, prompting Lisa to grasp the strap beside her. Observing William's face across from her, she wondered if he agreed with Frick's harsh warnings about the steelworkers' union.
"William, why is Mr. Frick so determined to cut the wages of the steelworkers?" With a shiver, she drew her woolen cape closer around her shoulders, her breath frosting in the frigid air.
"If that question isn't like a woman," he said in his condescending manner. "Obviously, if Mr. Frick granted the workers what they wanted, it would reduce the profits of the Carnegie Steel Company."
"But Mr. Frick is already a millionaire," she pointed out with truth. "Why, his paintings must be worth a fortune."
"Yes, and he's earned every cent he's made, don't you agree? He's done quite well by virtue of hard work!" William's face held a look of amused exasperation. "Such a heavy subject for a young lady . . ."
"And Mr. Carnegie, living like a king in
Scotland
, not even bothering his head about the company he owns."
For heaven's sake! One would think Carnegie might at least stay in this country to oversee possible trouble at the mill.
"Carnegie?" William repeated. "He keeps in touch with Frick by telegraph. It's not as if he has no idea of what's happening here.
Scotland
isn't darkest
Africa
, you know." He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "In any event, I'm banking on Frick's promise to keep wages low so that profits remain high."
"Why should their wages matter to you?"
"I thought you knew, my dear. Didn't I ever tell you? I'm one of the biggest stockholders in the Carnegie Steel Company." He reached inside his vest pocket for a cigar and matches as they neared
Ellsworth Avenue
.
"But what about the steelworkers?"
"Don't tell me you support those laborers! Expendable, that's what they are . . . easy to replace. And if memory serves me, your father lost a great deal of money when the coke workers went on strike in '86."
"I'll admit you have a point there. That's one of the reasons why we were in such precarious financial condition when my father died." As she looked out the carriage window, she noted the familiar mansions on her street, visible in brilliant clarity by the silver light of a full moon. "On the other hand," she felt the need to say, "
the
steelworkers have a right to a decent wage."
He sneered. "They have the duty to do their job and not complain."
Snowflakes tapped against the window, and Lisa shivered again, whether from the cold or worry, she didn't know. Happy to be home, she hugged her cape around her, preparing to leave the carriage.
So many conflicting thoughts raged through her mind. Despite her attraction for Owen, she agreed with William's and Mr. Frick's attitude toward the Amalgamated. If the steelworkers went on strike, the results would be unfortunate for everyone, workers and stockholders alike. And what if William lost much money? Would she face the threat of poverty again?
* * *
The darkness of the long winter night enveloped
Homestead
as Anton
Hrajak
wended his way through the twisting alleys of the Second Ward, his stocky body braced against the cold. On his way to a double shift at the Rankin mill, he'd be working twenty-four hours straight. How he dreaded the double shift, yet he considered it a mixed blessing. After he came home Monday morning, he'd be free for one whole day. Thank God!
Turning his coat collar up, he waited outside a nameless, faceless tenement house on
Third Avenue
, standing near an outdoor privy that served several families. Covering his nose, he wished his friend Emil
Zeleznik
would hurry outside, so they could be on their way. He tried to ignore the cats' screeching over piles of garbage as he stamped his feet on the cinder-strewn courtyard and cursed under his breath. What the hell was taking Emil so long this time?
Anton paced the courtyard, nearly bumping into pots and pans that hung, along with pants and shirts, from pegs outside the building. From a ground floor window, he heard a baby cry, heard its mother yell for it to shut up.
"
Hovno
!" he snapped, his bushy mustache wiggling. "Shit!" He slammed his lunch bucket down and hugged himself for warmth, wondering, as he had so many times, if he'd done the right thing by leaving Slovakia to come to the new world with Emma, his young bride.
He aimed a vicious kick at a stray beer bottle near a pile of garbage. Holy Mother, what did a man have to do to be accepted in this country? He shook with cold and anger, recalling the countless snubs of the American workers, aware they called him "hunky" behind his back, and to his face.
Owen Cardiff was the only American who'd shown him any kindness, and they didn't even work at the same mill. He'd met Mr. Cardiff for the first time when he'd stopped by the man's house to give Emma an important message. Mr. Cardiff's good will meant much to him, but besides that, the money Emma earned as his housekeeper went a long way toward their food and rent.
Hearing a door creak open, he turned, nearly slipping on the snow.
"
Ahoj
.
"
The light of a dim kerosene lamp beamed into the murky darkness, giving the filth-layered yard an ugly illumination.
"Hello yourself, Emil.
Why so late this time?"
Anton spoke in his native Slovak to make conversation easier for his friend but would have preferred polishing his English. He grabbed his lunch bucket, both men trudging toward the bridge that led to Rankin, heads bent to protect their eyes from flying cinders.
"
Ach
!"
Emil replied, "
my
youngest one burned himself on the kerosene stove, and that made Anna late packing my lunch.
Jesiz
!
One thing after another."
The two men plodded along in the early morning darkness, cinders crunching beneath their heavy-soled shoes. Others walked in front and behind, a straggling procession of weary men, exhausted before the day's work had even begun. After several minutes, they crossed the bridge and trudged toward the black, lifeless
millyard
, heading for the blast furnaces. The
sulphur
smell intensified as they neared the mill, and Anton wondered if he'd ever get used to the stink.
Eighty, ninety, one-hundred feet tall, gaunt and insatiable, the furnaces loomed like monsters in the dreary darkness. Anton looked up to see the rushing flames, oddly soundless, leap from tops of furnaces at regular intervals as charges were dumped inside. Then the furnace tops closed, extinguishing their fiery charges, a never-ending process that went on three-hundred and sixty-five days of the year.
He opened his mouth to say something,
then
stopped to cover his ears as a dinky engine rattled past to carry smoking ladles of slag toward the
Monongahela River
. Purple arc lights played an erratic pattern through the gloomy haze that was so heavy with coal dust it caught in his lungs, making him cough.
After the engine rumbled past, he turned to Emil. "How long do you think this job will last?"
A puzzled expression crossed Emil's round face. "What the hell do you mean?"