Forbidden Love (36 page)

 
Despite the chilly room, perspiration beaded her forehead. With shaking fingers, Lisa drew her linen handkerchief from her handbag and raised it to her face.

Owen entered the room, his attorney at his side. All her senses became keenly alive, as if her entire life had been merely a prelude to this one cataclysmic event.
How wonderful he looked, how confident, as he walked to his chair in his easy stride.
He and his lawyer quietly took their seats.

Immediately upon the opening of the court, Owen was ordered to stand. Having heard the charge read, he pleaded "Not Guilty" in a clear, firm voice. Lisa's heart leaped; the blood pounded in her head. How she loved him!

Robert Caldwell, the prosecuting attorney, rose to address the jury in his booming voice, advising the men that Owen Cardiff was simply on trial for murder. "It has nothing to do with the charge of treason against him. You must also remember, gentlemen, that the
Commonwealth
of
Pennsylvania
is the prosecutor and Owen Cardiff the defendant. There is no private prosecutor here. The case will be presented by public officials and no one will be allowed to interfere . . . ."

 
The defense attorney, William Browning, gave his opening statement, promising to prove
Owen's
innocence. Then
Caldwell
called the first witness, a bookkeeper at a glass factory. Stoop-shouldered and wearing thick glasses, the witness took the stand.

After the preliminaries,
Caldwell
began his questioning. "Do you recall the events of July 6, 1892 on the site of the
Homestead
mill, in which the steelworkers fired on the Pinkerton guards who'd been sent to keep the mill open?"

The defense attorney jumped to his feet. "
Your
Honor, I object! Who fired first on that day has never been ascertained."

The judge viewed Browning impassively. "Objection overruled. Mr. Caldwell never said the steelworkers fired first."

Somber-faced, Browning returned to his chair.

Caldwell
repeated his question.

"Of course, I remember," the witness answered.

"And where were you on that day?"

"Close to the mill ground, where I could see everything that happened."

"Did you see the defendant on the morning of July 6?"

"Yes."

"Do you recognize him in this courtroom?"

"Yes," the witness replied, pointing to Owen. "That's him sitting there. I saw him on the mill ground on July 6, just as plain as I see him now."

The spectators moved restlessly in their seats and nudged each other, consternation plain on their faces. Lisa passed a hand across her eyes, trying to reassure herself that this was only the beginning of the trial. Things had to get better. The buzzing of conversation continued.

The judge banged his gavel.
"Order in the court!
A man is on trial for murder. Let us have quiet."

"I have no further questions,"
Caldwell
said as he turned to the defense attorney.
"Your witness."

 
Browning rose from the defense table. Tall and thin, with a neatly-trimmed goatee, he had the look of an ascetic, like a man who spent all his time poring over ancient manuscripts, rather than one who defended innocent men in a court of law. And this is the man who's going to defend
Owen,
Lisa agonized with a sinking heart.

The defense attorney leaned against the railing as he addressed the witness. "You were close to the mill grounds on July 6?"

"I said I was."

"And I believe you said you saw
everything
that happened on that day. Am I correct?"

The witness frowned. "Well," he hedged, "everything there was to see."

"Then, sir, you must be truly omniscient if you saw
everything
.
But tell me something," he continued quickly before the courtroom had a chance to react to his last statement. "About how far from the
defendant were
you?"

The man looked puzzled. "I . . . I'm not sure."

"Come now," Browning persisted. "Surely you can give us an estimate.
Fifty yards, one-hundred, one-hundred and fifty?"

"About one-hundred and fifty, I suppose."

"One-hundred and fifty yards," Browning repeated, looking skeptical. "And what was the defendant wearing?"

The witness squirmed in his seat. "Dark blue pants and a gray shirt," he replied after some hesitation.

Browning turned to the judge. "I have no further questions, Your Honor."

Other witnesses were called throughout the morning, men who seemed surer of themselves, the evidence more damaging. Yes, they recognized Owen Cardiff as one of the armed strikers. Yes, they'd seen him take aim and shoot at one of the Pinkerton guards, John
Maginnis
. Tension wrapped around Lisa like a python ready for the kill. Queasiness roiled in her stomach. This was it, then. The jury would surely find Owen guilty, she realized with a certainty that sent her heart plummeting.

"It
don't
look too good for him, does it?" she heard one man ask of another.

"He's
gonna
hang," the second man answered. He gave a sorrowful shake of his head, as if the jury had already announced the dreaded verdict. Lisa clutched her stomach, saying a silent prayer.

 
The trial resumed after a short noontime break, and Owen returned to his seat. Lisa observed the tense set of his shoulders, the grim line of his mouth, and wanted, more than anything, to rush to him and hold him close to her heart. Would he ever look her way?
she
worried with increasing despondency. She'd had no chance to talk to him during the break, since he'd left the room with his lawyer, not even looking in her direction.

But of course he wasn't expecting her in the courtroom; he'd told her not to attend his trial. Well, she was here now, and if only he'd look her way, surely her presence would cheer him. And don't ever let him see your discouragement, she reminded herself. Lisa clenched her gloved hands in her lap, her heart beating furiously. Closing her eyes for a moment, she forced herself to breathe more slowly.

More witnesses took the stand, everyone saying they'd seen Owen Cardiff fire his gun and kill the Pinkerton guard. Browning, resourceful and quick-witted, ripped through much of the testimony, leaving many of the witnesses unsure of themselves and fumbling for words. Still, Lisa realized that enough other witnesses had presented terribly damaging evidence. Only a miracle would save Owen.

Hours passed, and still Lisa didn't get a chance to talk to Owen. Now, late afternoon shadows darkened the room, adding a somber dimension to the courtroom proceedings. Despite
Browning's
heroic efforts to save Owen, enough witnesses had given testimony to hang him. Lisa leaned forward in the gathering darkness, fearful she might miss a word, a gesture. Browning, at his seat again, was writing furiously on a tablet. Scarcely daring to hope, Lisa wondered what significance that had.

The bailiff strode throughout the courtroom, pulling electrical cords to turn the lights on. Now, everything looked brighter, clearer.

 
Easing his chair back, Owen turned to view the courtroom. His eyes met Lisa's, a look of shocked surprise on his face. She returned his look with one of her own, one of such deep devotion and faith that told him her love would always be his, no matter the outcome of the trial.

Owen smiled, a slow, encouraging smile, that seemed to say,
Don't
worry about me.
I’ll
be all right
.
Did he really believe that, or was he merely trying to make her feel better? In any event, hope blossomed inside her for a brief moment,
then
disappeared as the gravity of his situation reclaimed her. Never would she let him see her doubt, however. She returned his smile, her unspoken words seeming to say, I believe you, and I believe
in
you.

* * *

The trial continued, day after day, with Lisa given only a brief moment with Owen at the end of each day, not nearly enough time to tell him all that was in her heart. She hoped and prayed the trial would end soon, for she didn’t think she could bear the uncertainty much longer. She remembered that Sylvester
Critchlow's
trial had lasted for several days. Yes, and he'd been acquitted! Please, God, have the jury find Owen innocent, too, she prayed.

On this day, the prosecuting attorney called his final witness, a stocky, thickset man of indeterminate occupation. "Mr. Peabody," he queried, "did you see the defendant on the morning of July 6, 1892?"

"Of course, I saw him."

"Is he here in the courtroom today?"

"He sure is,"
Peabody
replied, pointing to Owen.

Angry murmuring erupted in the courtroom.

The judge banged his gavel.
"Order in the court!"

The courtroom became quiet. Outside, complete darkness had fallen on
Pittsburgh
, the buildings of the city but pale outlines in the foggy late afternoon air.

Caldwell
's next question jerked her back to the present. “And did you see the defendant aim his gun and fire at the Pinkerton guards?"

"Yes! I already told you that before the trial."

Caldwell
's mouth formed a tight smile. "We want to hear you say it again, Mr. Peabody."

"Yes," he repeated, nodding toward Owen. "He raised his gun and aimed it at one of the Pinkerton guards,
then
he fired."

With a smile of confident satisfaction, the prosecuting attorney turned to the defense attorney.
"Your witness."

Browning strode toward the witness stand. "Mr. Peabody, you said you saw the defendant on the mill grounds on the morning of July 6. Can you tell me what he was wearing?"

Peabody
hesitated, a bewildered expression on his face. "Brown pants," he said after a pause, "and a plaid shirt."

"I see." Browning paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Peabody, where are you from?"

Peabody
jerked in his seat. "
Pittsburgh
," he replied in an unsteady voice.

A look of mock bewilderment came over Browning. "That's strange. Somehow, I got the impression you were from
Illinois
."

"No, sir!"

"Oh, but I believe you are. And isn't it also true you served time in Joliet Prison for counterfeiting?"

Peabody
jumped from his seat. "Where'd you hear that?"

Browning smiled. "I have evidence.”

"It's a lie!"
Peabody
persisted, returning to his seat. "I've never been in
Illinois
, and I sure never did no counterfeiting."

Without hesitation, Browning strode over to the table and grabbed a sheaf of papers. Brandishing them, he challenged the witness.
"Oh, no?
This
is the evidence.” He turned to the jury and rolled his eyes, as if to say,
Well
, what did you expect? Then he addressed the judge. "Your Honor, I have no further questions for
this
witness."

Browning called several defense witnesses, friends and acquaintances of
Owen's
who spoke from the heart, testifying to his good character. Yet their testimony was based on sentiment rather than logic, and most of them were also union steelworkers who'd been involved in the battle with the
Pinkertons
. Lisa listened to their testimony, her heart sinking further.

After that, Browning called Owen to the stand. A buzz of conversation issued from the onlookers as they craned their necks to get a better glimpse of the defendant. Lisa shifted in her seat, trying to see around the man in front of her. She forced herself to sit quietly, convinced she had as clear a view as possible.