Forbidden Love (33 page)

"I'll be right back with your breakfast," Mrs. Gilmore said, bustling away.

Lisa rested her chin in her hand.
San Francisco
. . . So he'd be gone for quite some time--weeks, she thought on a rush of happiness. She stared out the window,
tinglingly
alive to autumn's brilliant colors and the dry chill in the air, as if experiencing these things for the first time. With her husband away, nothing was impossible; everything would work out fine for Owen and her.

First thing she must do today--check her mother's house on
Amberson
Avenue
, although she hadn't been that way in ages. No doubt it needed many improvements, she thought, looking up as the housekeeper returned. . . .

Finished with breakfast, Lisa donned her black woolen cape and black felt hat,
then
left for
Amberson
Avenue
, a distance of several blocks. With purposeful strides, she hustled along the wide street, greeting neighbors along the way. Red, gold, and brown leaves fluttered from the trees, piling up on the sidewalk, crunching beneath her Oxfords. She gloried in the crisp, cool air of this October day, still thinking about the necessary improvements on the house--new wallpaper in all the rooms and definitely new plumbing in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Lisa arrived at her former house on
Amberson
Avenue
. . . and stopped. The house sported a fresh coat of paint. How recently had that been done?
she
lamented, a panicky premonition making her heart pound. New draperies graced the front windows, and with a vague peripheral awareness she observed several young children playing
Ring
Around The
Rosie
in the front yard. A cocker spaniel yapped at their heels, barking and trying to join in the fun.

The sound of a piano drifted from the parlor, and even through her haze of anger, she recognized a Chopin polonaise. Paralyzed with outrage, Lisa stared at the unexpected tableau, unsure whether to cry or scream.

The children's laughter and high-pitched squeals died down. They stopped their game to regard her, their faces set in puzzlement.

One little boy approached her, a look of sweet appeal on his upraised face. "Madam, can we help you?"

Lisa tried her best to smile. "Do . . . do you live here?" She bit her lower lip and gave the house another glance, as if all these changes would suddenly disappear. Surely, there had been a frightful mistake. Dark, heavy clouds passed in front of the sun; the air became cooler. The wind increased, whipping her cape and tugging at her hat. She pressed down on her hat and hugged her cape about her.

"Yes, we live here," all the children chimed in. "We just moved here from another house."

"How long ago?"
The dog came to sniff at her skirt, but she gave it only a cursory glance.

The children exchanged questioning looks. "I don't know," the first little boy offered, "but my mother can tell you." He placed his small hand in hers. "Would you like to meet my mother?"

Lisa hesitated. "Yes."

The boy took her hand. "Come on, then." The other children followed, talking excitedly as they pounded up the steps to go inside,
then
slammed the door behind them.

"Now, children, haven't I told you not to slam--" A young woman turned around on the piano stool, a look of surprised welcome on her attractive face. She rose from the stool and held out her hand. "Hello, I'm Isabel Jamison. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you."

Thinking quickly, Lisa gave the woman her maiden name. Her gaze absorbed the new furnishings, a frantic question taunting her. Where was her mother's furniture?
Sold, no doubt.
William! She wanted to scream.

After a few minutes of casual conversation--a painful effort--Lisa gathered her courage. "Did you just move in?"

"We've had our eye on this house since it came on the market, but I didn't think we could afford it," Isobel said, the words vaguely penetrating Lisa's misery. "Then my husband bought it as a surprise after the price had been reduced. We moved in a few days ago."

A few minutes later, Lisa rose on unsteady legs and held out her hand. "I mustn't stay any longer." She forced a smile. "I have much to do today, and I'm sure you do, also. . . ."

 
Lisa groped her way down the porch steps, blinded by absolute fury. Why should William's sale of the house surprise her? The man had no sensibilities, no scruples.

She hadn't known about the sale; that upset her as much as the sale itself. Why hadn't Elizabeth or one of her other friends told her? Understanding hit her like a dash of ice water--she'd been confined to bed with a cold, then Elizabeth and Lawrence had left for
Cincinnati
. Lisa trudged home under a darkening sky, her heart thudding, her head throbbing. A northerly wind carried a hint of winter, matching her icy mood, prompting her to hug her cape closer about her.

No reason to wonder what William had done with the money; no doubt he'd used it for investments.
Or to pay debts?
She frowned and quickened her pace, determined she wouldn't let her hurt anger, her sense of betrayal, prevent her from pursuing her goals. Only look at all the wonderful things that awaited her--her life with Owen, and soon she'd be free of William, in fact if not in name.

Under an overcast sky, Lisa reached her mansion with its cold, elegant splendor, and stepped inside. Removing her cape and hat, she thought again about all her jewelry, aware the gems alone should be enough to pay for a house. Soon, she would have a home
of their own
. So what if it wasn't a mansion? A cottage would suit her fine, as long as she and Owen could share their precious time together.

As she turned to leave the entrance hall, she saw Mary approach with a letter in her hand. Assuming a casual expression, Lisa tried to calm her fast-beating heart.

"This letter came for you a short while ago, Mrs.
Enright
."

"Thank you." Immediately recognizing the bold handwriting, she caught her breath, too overcome with emotion to speak.

The letter was from Owen.

Chapter Twenty-three

“My darling Lisa,” Owen wrote. “By now, I hope you received the letter I wrote you before I went to jail.”

No! William had intercepted the letter, damn him!

 
“I never thought it would take so long for our attorney to raise bail. I’m home again and yearning to see you more than I can say. Will there ever come a time when we can be together, when we can love each other as we want to, when you are my
wife.”

Climbing the stairs, Lisa read the remainder of the letter, her face warming at
Owen’s
expressions of love, his words of passion. In the solitude of her bedroom, she kissed the letter and pressed it to her bosom, wanting him as never before, her whole body aching for him. If he were here with her now . . . After rereading the letter, she tucked it in her handbag and slipped the bag under her bed. Stretching her body out in luxurious wantonness, she pictured Owen in bed with
her .
She imagined his body on top of hers, kissing her, caressing her breasts, the two of them indulging in the ultimate intimacy. She closed her eyes as memories flooded her, as she wished that Owen were here with her now. Time passed while she lay enfolded in passion, every breath, every heartbeat crying for her lover.

After a long time, she sighed and rose from the bed. As much as she wanted to daydream about Owen, she knew such dreams would gain her nothing. Better to do something
constructive, that
would enable her to find her own house. Now would be a good time to write an article for the newspaper, a means of earning money, however slight the amount might be. And she didn’t fool herself about any remuneration, but at least this writing was a start. If she sold this piece, she could surely sell more, because she knew she had a talent for the written word. Her teachers had always remarked on her writing ability, and once she’d garnered a blue ribbon for an essay she’d written on, of all things!
Italianate architecture.

Later, she finished the last sentence of her article for the newspaper,
then
flipped back several pages of her tablet to proofread the text. She'd tried to make the town of
Heidelberg
as picturesque as possible, but would her description appeal to the editor of the
Times
? Another detail about the castle occurred to her, and after adding it, she set her pencil and tablet down. She moved her head from side to side and flexed her aching hand, her writing done for the day.

Blinking in the afternoon sunlight, Lisa pushed her chair away from the rosewood desk and stood. After placing a
Murano
glass paperweight to anchor the papers, she left the room. With optimistic purpose, she headed down the long hallway to an unused bedroom, where she'd hidden her jewelry. The manager of the jewelry store had been quite generous when buying her garnet necklace and opal brooch. Today would be a good day to sell her remaining pieces, except for the precious few she'd keep for sentiment's sake.

She opened the door to enter the unused room, wrinkling her nose at the musty smell, dust-laden white sheets covering the furniture. Good heavens, she should tell the maids to clean the room and air it out more often.

Her hope chest occupied a far corner of the room, and since her wedding, it was filled with gifts she hadn't used yet . . . but more important, her jewelry. Lisa sank to her knees and raised the lid of the chest, then carefully removed the items, noting with a spurt of alarm that the gifts didn't look quite as neatly-arranged as she'd left them. What had happened here!

With trembling hands, she set the fragile china and crystal pieces on the floor, her heart pounding faster as she removed each item. She reached the bottom of the chest, and-- Her jewelry! Where was it? All of her jewelry--gone!

Wait a minute! Possibly she'd left her jewelry among the linen pieces. Frantically, she rummaged through all the linens . . . and found nothing.
This just couldn’t be.
But it was.

Slowly, she lowered the lid and took long, shaky breaths. Numb with disbelief, she knelt by the chest while waves of dizziness washed over her. Fearful of fainting, she lowered her head, hands pressed to the floor. Her body shook, her breath coming in gasps. Tears filled her eyes, and she cried then, tears of bottomless rage and hurt, sobs that came from deep inside her. Crushed with despair, she remained immobile, losing track of time.

The late afternoon cold seeped into her bones as she rose to her feet, nearly losing her balance. She caught herself in time and leaned against the wall, shivering uncontrollably. No need to question who'd done this, but how had William guessed she'd hidden her jewelry here? He hated this room, never entered it. She hadn’t known that he knew her hope chest was here, for he’d been at work when it was delivered. And no doubt he’d checked every other place in the house while she’d been away and had apparently come here before leaving for
San Francisco
.
Please, God, free me from this marriage
.

Countless minutes or hours later, Lisa brushed back strands of hair from her face and wiped her eyes with the hem of her dress. She stumbled toward the door, aware it was senseless to stay here and dwell on her misfortune. For once, her natural resiliency refused to comfort. Maybe some day she'd recover from William's iniquity, but on this dreary afternoon, nothing but unyielding hopelessness stretched ahead of her.

 
Chapter Twenty-four

Lisa tucked a check into her handbag as she left the
Times
Building
and stepped onto
Fourth Avenue
in
Pittsburgh
, relieved that the editor of the
Times
had paid her $10 for five travel articles with the promise of more money for future essays. Encouraged by her success and convinced of her ability, she considered writing short stories. Possibly
The
Ladies Home Journal
would be interested, and the extra money would definitely come in handy for her new house.
Something to think about, at any rate.