Forbidden Love (19 page)

Shock had intensified her headache, along with such a crushing sense of betrayal. Shivering uncontrollably, she brushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her forehead,
then
rested her head on the back of the chair. So this was how men behaved, away from their wives. But no, Owen would never do this, not her Owen. She knew, too, of many happily-married couples, husbands and wives who loved and respected each other . . . Elizabeth and Lawrence, for instance.

In the brilliant early afternoon light, she stared around her room but found no comfort in its familiar objects. Her life would never be the same, not after what she'd seen this day, not after William had dragged his marital vows through the dirt. Yes, she admitted to herself, she'd almost committed adultery, but she'd stopped, unwilling to debase
her
marriage vows, even with the man she loved.

Pressing hard on the arm of the chair, she struggled to her feet and paced the room, at first with shuffling steps. She moved restlessly about as she forced her sluggish brain to function. Something nudged at the back of her mind, a means to thwart William, but the thought sped away, as elusive as mercury.

She considered all her options. Her marriage had become a nightmare. She could not continue with it.
Could not.
Very well, then--divorce. She'd see
Lawrence
about her problem tomorrow. But wait, he was in
New York
on legal business and would be away for over a month, according to
Elizabeth
. Patience had never come easily to her, but she'd have to wait until
Lawrence
returned. Another problem sent her spirits plummeting. What if William wouldn't grant her a divorce?

But if he did?
Never mind the disgrace. She'd be free of this shameful excuse of a marriage.

She remained in her bedroom as the hours crept by. Heavy darkness shrouded the room, and she made her way to the window, guided by the street lamp. Ideas churned in her mind, each centered on one goal: how to thwart William. She had to do something. He must never again even think of using her mother's house for disgraceful purposes. She wouldn't let him!

Think, think!
A plan grew in her mind, but did she dare use it? She nodded and raised herself to her full height, drawing strength for the challenge ahead.

* * *

"William, I don't want you to sell my mother's house to your friends." Lisa lifted her gaze to him across the table, dreading the task ahead. She clenched damp hands in her lap, her resolve stiffening as she spoke in controlled tones. "I'd appreciate it if they'd make some other arrangements . . . look elsewhere for a home." She shifted in the chair, uncomfortable with its intricate carvings that protruded into her back.

"Sorry, my dear," he replied in a voice laced with sarcasm. "The arrangements have already been made. I've discussed the matter with them several times. They like the house. They want to buy it. Didn't I make myself clear yesterday? I've instructed our housekeeper to have the servants prepare the house, air it out, you know." He gave a sad shake of his head, his eyes accusing. "It's been shut up for so long. What a waste!"

"You made those arrangements before you broached the subject to me yesterday!"

He shot her a defiant look. "I intend to sell your mother's house to my friend and his wife. That's all there is to it."

Her heart beat erratically. Angry tension pounded in her head. She ran her tongue along dry lips, determined to settle the matter. "Then let me put it another way. I will not have your friends living in my mother's house. I simply will not permit it."

William barked a short, derisive laugh. "'I simply will not permit it,'" he mimicked in a falsetto voice, grinning with malice. "And just what do you intend to do about it?" He drew a cigar from his vest pocket and leaned forward, eyes wide with feigned interest.

Instead of answering his question, she challenged him with two of her own. "What will our neighbors think of these so-called friends of yours? Will they be considered suitable people for the neighborhood?”

His face held a puzzled look. "Why wouldn't they be considered suitable?" Without asking permission, he lit the cigar and soon noxious fumes drifted across the table. He lounged back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, as he blew smoke toward the ceiling. "You don't even know my friends. You don't know anything about them."

Oh, don't I? Lisa wanted to say. She scoffed. "They'll never be accepted in Shadyside."

Suspicion glinted in his eyes. "Perhaps you'd better explain yourself." He rested his arm on the table, smoke curling upward from the cigar, his chest heaving.

"I think you know what I mean." This was it; now she must play her trump card. Her pulse quickened, her skin felt prickly-hot.

He drummed his pudgy fingers on the table. "Well, Lisa, I'm waiting."

She stared at him for a long, contemptuous moment. "This man and his . . . wife are your friends, is that what you said? More than just friends, I believe." She folded her hands on the lace tablecloth and gave him a long, cool look, willing her heart to stop its frantic pace.

"What in hell are you trying to say?" William crushed his cigar on his plate, a venomous look in his eyes.

She glanced down at her lap for a moment,
then
met his furious look. "I came home early from the orphanage yesterday, about noontime. You didn't hear me, obviously--"

"You bitch!" William banged his fist on the table, spilling his coffee, staining the white linen tablecloth. He sprang to his feet, his chair falling backwards, the sound heightened by the stillness of the room. He raised a hand, looking as if he would strike her. Rage contorted his face. "Why, you little cu--"

She looked up at him without flinching. His words shocked her more than she'd ever admit, but she refused to show it. “That’s right, William, call me names. Call me anything you like. It won't change a thing." She pointed a finger at him. "Just make sure these . . . these friends of yours never set foot in my mother's house, or I'll--No! Don't you dare walk away while I'm talking to you! If I ever again see the sort of thing I saw yesterday, if you ever again use this house or my mother's house for such wicked purposes, I'll make things so bad for you, you'll have to leave this city in the middle of the night."

"Oh, yeah?" he challenged. "How can you stop me?"

"Good question, William. I'll spread the word about the kind of husband I have,
tell
Elizabeth and Lawrence. They have no love for you, or didn't you realize that?
And what about Mrs.
Stanwyck
?
Everyone knows she's a pillar of the community. I'll tell her a thing or two, along with other friends."

"They'll never believe you."

"You think not? Our neighbors know me. They see me at
church,
know I'm active in the community.
But you!"
She laughed without mirth. "What do they know of you? You don't associate with any of these fine people, only those who matter, of course--those who can advance your career." She nodded with assurance. "Take my word for it, they'll believe me."

He spoke between clenched teeth. "You little bitch." After one last hateful look, William grabbed his portfolio and sped away. Despair grappled with relief as she heard his heavy strides down the long hallway and the slam of the front door.

Resting her elbow on the table, Lisa took long, deep breaths, relieved the ordeal was over.

But was it over?

Chapter Thirteen

A hazy cloud of mill dust covered the city as Lisa stood in front of the
Fidelity
Trust
Company
Building
, its once gray granite now grimy with mill dirt. Questioning her sanity, she thought about this foolish mission to Henry Frick's office, but she wouldn't even consider returning home, not after she'd come this far. Convinced now that the union had right on its side, she had only the slimmest hope that she could persuade Frick to give in to the workers.

Besides, she reminded herself, as if she needed the reminder--this much she'd do for Owen, even if she never saw him again. Their love enclosed her like a warm cloak, an enduring love to last for all time.

Her marriage to William had collapsed, neither of them maintaining the barest of civilities. She escaped his company as much as possible, not even having dinner with him, that is, on the rare occasions when he stayed home for the evening meal. Often they went for days without seeing each other. And that was fine with her.

Divorce.
The word crept into her thoughts, like a slow sip of poison. To be free of William, free of this parody of a marriage! A divorce, and then what? Her friends would disown her, except Elizabeth and Lawrence. Everyone else would consider her a fallen woman, and society would ostracize her.

In her gray muslin dress, Lisa dotted a linen handkerchief across her damp forehead and entered the building, rehearsing what she'd say to Henry Clay Frick. The worst thing he could do was refuse to see her, but she considered him too much of a gentleman to do that.

She reached the vice chairman's office, where he rose from his desk to greet her with his cold, mechanical smile, overshadowed by a look of surprise. Her spirits fell, but she quickly recovered her courage with an appearance of outward calm. My goodness, she'd known this man for years. Surely she could handle him. With his obviously forced smile, his look of stoic patience, she realized her presence annoyed him.
Too bad, because she intended to accomplish her goal.
She took the proffered chair, resolved to conceal her inner qualms.

"And what can I do for you, Mrs.
Enright
?" he asked as he claimed his chair across the desk. No pleasantries, he got straight to the point. He combed his fingers through his thick beard, a look of puzzlement on his face as he sat back, his swivel chair creaking. He gave her a level look across the short space that separated them.

"Mr. Frick, I'm concerned about a possible strike at
Homestead--
"

"No one said there would be a strike, Mrs.
Enright
. We're doing everything possible to prevent such an eventuality."

"Indeed, sir. I said a possible strike."

"May I ask what prompts your concern?" he asked, leaning forward and playing with a fountain pen on his desk. "Of course, I realize your husband is one of our major stockholders. That fact alone would be cause for worry." He smiled briefly. "But I believe I can set your mind at rest. Our shareholders will continue to collect dividends. We intend to keep the mill open, strike or no."

"Yes, Mr. Frick, my husband has spoken a good deal about the situation in
Homestead
. But one of my maids has a brother who works at the mill, and she's very worried about him should a strike occur." She spoke with resolve. "I must confess I feel some sympathy for the workers, too."

A stunned look came over his face, but he set his features into an expression of calm acceptance. "Your concern does you credit, madam. Indeed, compassion is a trait a greatly admire in a lady." He toyed with the blotter on his desk and rearranged some papers, forming them into neat piles. "But I fear your sympathy is misplaced. The steelworkers remain obstinate and refuse to understand the company position in regard to many of the issues."

"Such as the tonnage rate?"

His expression of surprise deepened to shock as he tapped his fingers on the desk. When he spoke again, his voice was a trifle cooler. "Mrs.
Enright
, I'm truly pleased that you've followed the aspects of this controversy. Such erudition is rare in a woman. But at the same time, I must say you don't understand all the issues involved. The union has been quite

stubborn
--"

"But the company hasn't?"

Frick crushed the blotter,
then
tossed it aside. "Madam, I shall repeat that you don't comprehend the matters in this dispute. Possibly you don't realize it, but the company has bent over backwards to meet the workers halfway. We've done everything we can to avert a strike, however remote that possibility might be."

"Perhaps not so remote, Mr. Frick."