Forbidden Love (37 page)

"I don't own a rifle," Owen stated in his defense.
"Never fired one in my life.
And I certainly didn't have one with me on July 6."

"That will be all," Browning stated. "The defense rests."

The people in the courtroom turned and smiled at each other, as if to say,
There
, you see!
The man is innocent
.

Closing arguments followed, in which the defense attorney pointed out the discrepancies in evidence to the jury. Then the judge read instructions to the assembled men, emphasizing that guilt must be proven beyond a reasonable doubt.

Lisa, too, felt a thrill of hope until she looked at the somber-faced gentlemen of the jury. Filing out of the room, not one of these men appeared to have a bit of sympathy for Owen. They all looked as if they would willingly consign him to death by hanging, without a moment's hesitation.

Lisa twisted her fingers in her lap. She hoped and prayed that the jury understood the defense attorney's earlier instructions--They couldn't convict Owen unless the prosecution had proved his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.

Within an hour, the jury returned. Grim-faced as ever, not one of them looked in
Owen's
direction. Averting their eyes, they silently filed back to their seats.

"Will the defendant please rise."

Owen scraped his chair back and stood. Motionless, he stared directly ahead.

Lisa sat ramrod-straight, afraid to breathe. Sour bile rose in her throat, her temples throbbing. Cold fear engulfed her, leaving her defenseless. And she had never been so proud of him in her life. Not once had he shown discouragement; not once had he given in to despair.

The judge addressed the jury. "Gentlemen, have you reached a decision?"

"We have, Your Honor." The foreman handed the bailiff a slip of paper.

The bailiff paused for a moment, a slight smile on his face. Then he read the verdict in a clear voice. "Not guilty!"

Pandemonium erupted in the courtroom. Men and women laughed and cried and hugged each other, whooping with delight. The judge banged his gavel one last time, but no one paid any attention.

Waves of relief rolled over Lisa as tears streamed down her face.
Thank you, God. Thank
you.
In some dim part of her subconscious, she heard heavy footsteps and excited chattering as men and women traipsed out of the courtroom. Newspaper reporters swarmed around Owen, scribbling furiously in their tablets. Gathering her cape about her, she rose from her seat and approached his table to wait by the railing.

 
An eternity later, the room cleared, until only Owen and his lawyer remained. Owen looked her way and smiled that slow, heartwarming smile that could make her forget everything in the world but him. After a few quiet words with his attorney, Owen headed her way. Now he could go home with her, where they could hold each other close, kiss and caress. Would she be able to deny him?
she
wondered, knowing how much they both yearned for fulfillment.

Lisa withdrew a handkerchief from her handbag and unashamedly wiped her tears, then rushed forward. "Owen!"

 
Enclosing her in his arms, he kissed her over and over, as if afraid to let her go, while Browning discreetly turned his back to them and returned papers to his portfolio. After a few final words to Owen and a smile for Lisa, he left the courtroom. Lisa scarcely noticed him, her every sense focused on Owen.

She raised her tear-streaked face to his.
"Darling!
You can come with me now, and I'm never going to let you out of my sight."

Owen held her slightly away from him, his eyes full of love and sympathy. "I can't go with you, Lisa," he murmured with a sad shake of his head. "They've rescinded my bail."

"Rescinded bail!
I never heard of such a thing."

 
"Nor I, but so many of the accused strikers have skipped town." Owen sighed deeply. "We must accept things as they are."

"Mr. Cardiff."

Owen turned around to see a guard waiting for him. "Yes, I'm coming." Returning his attention to her, he frowned. "How will you get home?"

"I'll take a hansom cab," she lied, not wanting him to worry.

"Very well, but take care of yourself, dear Lisa." After one final embrace and a long, slow kiss, he left the room.

 
Mind-numbing fear slowed Lisa's steps as she descended the stairs to walk out of the courthouse. A thick fog covered the city, the streetlights pale blurs trying to pierce the darkness. The heavy night air, caustic and full of industrial smoke, caught in her throat, making her cough. Vague, shadowy figures moved in the dark alleys. Hugging her handbag close to her body, she quickened her steps, anxious to return to their home in Allegheny.

Twelve years, she repeated over and over as she approached the bridge that led to Allegheny; twelve years, the maximum sentence for treason. She fought choking tears as she made her way homeward.
Dear God, help me to bear it.

Chapter Twenty-six

A fierce, icy wind howled through the dreary alleys of
Homestead
, whipping loose papers about and sending stray dogs to scurry for cover. Gray, noxious plumes of smoke belched from the low mill buildings and dropped an ugly layer of soot over the borough. Lisa pressed her woolen cape close to her body as she braced herself against the wind, hoping she'd accomplish her mission.

"Go see Emma
Hrajak
," Owen had written from jail. "Her husband died recently. Hurry before she returns to
Slovakia
, for I have a feeling she'd prefer to stay in this country, if given a reason. You need a housekeeper, and Emma needs a home. And darling," he concluded his letter, "I do intend to be released from jail. No court in
Pennsylvania
will find me guilty of treason.

Lisa kept those optimistic words in mind and wondered if it were false bravado or pure conviction that had prompted them. She had to believe it was the latter . . . had to.

Armed with those promising words and Emma's address, Lisa hurried through the drab alleys of the Second Ward. Pots and pans hanging outside the dirty tenement buildings banged together in the wind, creating a fearful racket. Newly-washed clothes, frozen like icicles, hung from clotheslines that stretched across the courtyard. The ubiquitous outdoor privy, with its choking stench, stood in the courtyard like a sentry, as if to frighten all visitors away.

She proceeded from one gray building to another, reflecting that these past few weeks had kept her busier than she could remember. On a recent visit to the Allegheny Library, she'd overheard the librarians discussing the purchase of a new typewriting machine.

"I'll purchase the old one," Lisa had promptly suggested, "that is, if you have no further use for it."

"You can have it for nothing," the librarian replied with a smile. So Lisa had become the aspiring owner of a Remington, realizing what a help the machine would be, if she'd only take the time to learn its use. Recently, she'd signed an agreement with the
Ladies Home Journal
to write short stories, so that would surely keep her busy and garner her additional funds.

 
With a sigh of relief, Lisa located Emma's building and mounted the outside stairs. Her sturdy shoes scraped over the grit as she stepped across the broken, discarded toys scattered on the stairway, nearly tripping over a beer bottle. Mentally rehearsing what she'd say to Emma, she desperately hoped they'd like each other.

* * *

Emma paced the floor of her one-room apartment, maneuvering around the clutter of rickety furniture that crowded the room. She frowned in agonizing indecision, unsure about returning to
Slovakia
. Despite her loss of Anton--and his memory would always stay with her--she knew this country held promise. She missed her family, yes, but she remembered the grinding, back-breaking poverty in her former country, where peasants were treated like animals in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Here in
America
, a person could rise above her poverty. Perhaps she, too, could make something of herself.

Despite her grief, Emma smiled, recalling the fanciful assurances of her family and relatives before she and Anton had embarked on their trip to the
New World
.

"Go to
America
," her cousin had urged her, "where the streets are paved with gold. And Emma, dear, don't you know that money grows on trees in
America
? Why, just go up to any tree and pluck as many dollar bills as you want."

 
No, things hadn't worked out that way, but if she really tried, she knew she could better herself.

Stop
your
daydreaming, Emma chided herself, and make up your mind. She stopped by a table and fingered a statuette of the Virgin Mary as she prayed for inspiration. Still, no answer came.

Whatever she decided, she'd better do it soon, because she couldn't afford the three dollars a month rent on the apartment much longer, and the money her friends and the church had given her after Anton's death wouldn't last forever. If she decided to stay in
America
, she'd have to find another position. Maybe she'd take in washing--

A knock on the door reminded her that life must continue, no matter what problems she had. With a deepening frown, she wondered who it could possibly be . . . Anna
Tarasovic
, most likely, returning the lard she'd borrowed earlier this month.

Opening the front door, Emma received a double shock. The blast of frigid air struck her like a bucket of ice water in the face. And this lady . . . why, she'd never seen her before. She certainly didn't look like anyone from
Homestead
.

 
"I'm Lisa
Enright
," the lady explained, "a good friend of Owen Cardiff's. Possibly this isn't a good time for you to see me.” She swallowed. “I have no words to tell you how sorry I am about your loss. If you'd like me to come some other time, I shall be happy to do so."

Quickly, Emma collected her wits and motioned her inside, offering her a hesitant smile.

Two oil heaters, strategically placed, chased away the outside chill, giving the room
an agreeable
warmth. Lisa removed her cape and hung it on a door hook, then took the chair Emma indicated.

 
Unsure of the fluency of Emma's English, Lisa spoke slowly and distinctly. "As I said, I'm a friend of Mr. Cardiff's. I have a house in Allegheny, and I need a housekeeper. I want to help you, as well as myself. You would be well-paid, of course--one dollar and fifty cents a week--besides room and board. Would you like to be my housekeeper?" Lisa asked eagerly as she tried to ignore the smell of onions and spices, an aroma she wasn't accustomed to.

 
Emma changed her position. Her gaze flew to a lithograph of the Holy Family on the wall, but still no inspiration came.

"Lady, I don't know. Maybe I go back to
Slovakia
." She ran her hand across her forehead, her gaze shifting about the room.

"Please call me Mrs.
Enright
. Possibly you'd like to think about my offer. I can come back at a later date, if you wish." Lisa threw her an encouraging smile, hoping to hide her disappointment. She dreaded another walk across the bridge from Allegheny to
Pittsburgh
, then the dirty train ride to Homestead.

 
"No come back!" Emma said with a brilliant smile. "I do it. Tank you for your offer, Mrs.
Enright
."

 
"I should thank you, Emma. You are an answer to my prayers." Lisa stood and drew a slip of paper from her handbag. "This is my address," she said, handing the paper to Emma. "I live in Allegheny, across the
Sixth
Street
Bridge
. Do you need any help with your things? I'd be happy to send someone to
Homestead
to assist you."

Emma rose to her feet. "No need help. I do it myself." In a burst of candor, she pressed her hand to her abdomen, her eyes filling with tears. "I am with another."