Secret Hearts

by J. L. Jarvis

  Maggie faced the next day with dulled senses. The library had spurts of activity, and when it was quiet, she busied herself. Shelves were dusted and polished and rearranged until the day had somehow passed. Once home, she kept herself busy taking care of Robin, who was beginning to regain some color in her face. Late in the afternoon, Maggie brought Robin out onto the porch to soak in the fresh air and remnants of late afternoon sun, but the too cool air hinted at autumn to come. Maggie sat beside Robin and tucked in her blanket and read.

  Up into the cherry tree

  Who should climb but little me?

  I held the trunk with both my hands

  And looked abroad in foreign lands.

  I saw the next door garden lie,

  Adorned with flowers, before my eye,

  And many pleasant places more

  That I had never seen before.

  I saw the dimpling river pass

  And be the sky’s blue looking-glass;

  The dusty roads go up and down

  With people tramping into town.

  If I could find a higher tree…

  “I’d look right up your dress and see—”

  “Jake!” Maggie dropped the book into her lap and looked up to find Jake leaning against the porch pillar, arms folded, and grinning.

  Robin burst into laughter but covered her mouth when she caught Maggie’s eye.

  Maggie handed the book to Robin with instructions to ignore Jake, and to look through the pages and count all the vowels. She leaned closer and showed her the first few.

  Jake’s smile faded as he found himself staring at Maggie. Her eyes, while she was reading, had been soft with a guileless vision that made him long to go where her mind was and to see what she saw, in the way that she saw it. He yearned for that soft gaze to fall on him. She so seldom revealed it that when he caught glimpses, he was undone. And, as always, he masked his true feelings with humor.

  Maggie stood and pulled Jake by the arm to the opposite side of the porch. “Really, Jake. In front of Robin.”

  “Why not? She’s the only one here with a sense of humor.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “So I’m humorless? That’s how people see me?”

  “No, not people. Just me.” He looked at her with a teasing expression but was surprised when she didn't react as expected. They’d always teased each other. “Maggie, calm down. I was just having some fun.”

  “At my expense.”

  Jake put his hands on her shoulders and lowered his chin to look up into her eyes. “Maggie.” He measured his words. “I’m sorry.” He might have said more, but with Robin there, this clearly was no time for a heart-to-heart about whatever it was that was bothering Maggie. And there was something. He had a pretty good idea of what—or who—it was.

  Maggie stared off down the street. “I’ve given up hope of being treated like a lady—”

  A lady? Now Jake was confused. While they had done their fair share of teasing over the years, she had never seemed to mind it. She’d been one of the boys, so this talk of being treated like a lady was new.

  Maggie continued, “But Robin’s just a young girl. You ought to watch what you say.”

  “Maggie, I never meant—”

  “Never mind.” Maggie turned for just a second and brushed away an unwanted tear. Without making eye contact, she turned back and looked at his hands. He was holding a package wrapped in Sears catalog pages and string. “What’s that?”

  Jake looked and remembered why he had come over in the first place. He glanced at it and held it out for her to take.

  “I’ve been hunting. My mother thought you could use this. It’s venison.”

  Maggie thanked him as she took it and turned. “I’d better put this in the ice box. I’ll be right back.” She nodded toward the porch swing where Robin was reading.

  He knew very well that his mother’s main goal in getting him over here had little to do with the venison. But he didn’t mind the excuse to see Maggie. Now he wished he had simply stayed away. But he sat down beside Robin. By the time Maggie returned to the porch, Robin had fallen asleep. She was regaining her strength from the fever but still needed a good deal of rest.

  As Maggie smoothed the covers about Robin, Jake walked to the side of the porch and sat on the rail, looking out as the light faded into the dusky sky. The creaking floorboard tore him from his reverie. Maggie stood beside him.

  “I’m sorry, Jake.”

  “For what?”

  “It’s possible that I might have been a little too sensitive.” She gave him a peeved look. “For what. You knew very well what I meant.”

  “Yeah, I did. But I wanted make you say it.”

  Their eyes met and he grinned. She couldn't help but join him. But Jake’s smile dimmed. “Maggie?” He looked suddenly serious.

  She grinned and mimicked his tone. “Jake?” Now her humor was back but he seemed to have lost his. She laughed a small laugh, like an echo of better times that lingered between them.

  “I’m leaving,” Jake said bluntly.

  “Okay, but I think you’ll find the steps over there make for an easier exit,” she said glibly.

  He half smiled, but it faded. “I’m leaving town.”

  He had her attention. “For how long?”

  “Forever. I’m moving. I’ve taken a job at the Homestead Works.”

  “Homestead? Near Pittsburgh?”

  Jake nodded and watched the realization sink in.

  “When?”

  “Monday.”

  Maggie’s eyebrows rose as she nodded mechanically. “Oh.”

  Jake studied her reaction.

  She looked into his eyes, but they revealed too much understanding of what she was feeling. She meant to look away, but her eyes made it only as far as the stray clumps of thick brown hair that hung on his forehead. Dismay and other unwelcome feelings arose. For an entire day, she had confined her emotions, but now the tears burned her eyes. How could he leave her now, when she needed him? Jake was her closest friend—so close they seemed to know each other’s thoughts. If he knew how she felt, how could he leave her alone, when her heart had just broken?

  Uncomfortable, Jake looked away. “It’s one of the finest mills in the country. The truth is I want to go there to be part of it. The workers have organized—” He glanced at Maggie, who did not react.

  She forced herself to nod, but Jake didn't see. He had already turned toward the stacks and the smoke spewing from them, his eyes bright with dreams. “They’ve formed a union, the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers. Sooner or later, Carnegie and Frick—and all the bosses across the country—are going to have to realize that workers are human beings. If we unite, we have a voice. We can make the plants safer and get a fair wage. It’s going to be grand, and I want to be a part of it.” Jake pivoted to face her with a body springing with the readiness of a prizefighter. His face was flushed with purpose.

  He took her breath. Maggie nodded stiffly. “Of course you do.”

  She wished he would hold her. How could she be so close she could touch him and yet feel she couldn't ever reach him? It was the worst kind of loneliness, to see what she wanted out of reach, and to know it was she who had made it so. But what did she want? Andrew? His letter had damaged something so deep that she wondered if she’d ever loved him, really. Could she have truly loved someone who could hurt her as he had? Jake would never have hurt her like that. No, but here he was, leaving. Leaving her. For a union.

  Jake looked into Maggie’s eyes, deep down to the sadness. He wished he could tell her the truth: that he was leaving to escape her—that he couldn't stand by and see her in someone else’s arms—that he knew he couldn't compete with Andrew Adair, with his wealth and his education. He wished he could, but he would always be a working man who’d quit school to help support his family. An ordinary man who did ordinary things. With ordinary love for Maggie. He looked into her eyes and said nothing.

  There he was, in h
er eyes, a bitter reflection. He could see it all, the warmth and regret and the things she was too kind to say, but he saw it—sweat and grime and an unwavering future. His strong arms held out empty hands. And her hands—what would become of that silky skin if he took her in marriage? How could he turn that gentle hand into some sort of dried flower faintly reminiscent of its former beauty, yet ready to crumble? And yet that was how their sort lived their lives. They worked hard, endured hardship and heartache and joy. They had families and grew old together. And they loved. And his love was fierce.

  Maggie made no effort to hide her distress. “You used to say you would never leave Johnstown.”

  “Did I?” His eyes flashed.

  Maggie looked away.

  Jake lowered his voice. “We both used to say a lot of things.”

  It hurt. His words, the edge in his voice, his face, the contempt, it all hurt. Maggie felt betrayed, although she knew she had no right. Still, the disappointment was harsh. “I can’t imagine your not being here.” She looked at Jake, straight in his eyes. “You’re leaving your family, your home. Friends. Why would you give that all up? There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

  “Don’t ask me that, Maggie.” He wanted to tell her.

  “Why? We’ve known each other forever. It’s me, Maggie.”

  “Yes, it’s you,” Jake said without turning to face her.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  The silence grew brittle between them until Maggie dared speak.

  “Jake—”

  He refused to look at her. She put her hand on his arm.

  “Jake. Tell me.”

  With a shudder, he pulled his arm from her gentle touch and stepped away. His body was no more decisive than his heart, at the same time exploding yet recoiling.

  She stepped toward him once more and touched his shoulder, stroking it absently. “Johnstown’s your home. How can you leave it?”

  He spun around to face her, grabbing her wrist with a tightening grip. “I’m not leaving Johnstown. I’m leaving you!”

  With a thrust, he released her hand, but the force of it threw Maggie off balance. She staggered backward and then lost her footing and landed against the clapboard siding.

  For an instant, Jake’s face was blank, then anxious. “I’m sorry!” He lunged toward her and took her shoulders and nearly pulled her into his arms but led her, instead, to a seat.

  “It’s alright,” she said numbly.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he said as he sat down beside her. While stroking her shoulders and arms he tried to soothe her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re leaving me?” she said softly.

  He became at once aware of his hands on her arms, and removed them. Her arms were so soft. For this, he would hate her, if only he could. But as he looked at her, all he could feel was the depth of his love, and a deeper regret.

  In a voice so soft she could have been speaking to herself, she said, “You never told me you would leave here for me.”

  “Because you never told me you would stay here for me.”

  His words hit their mark. He brushed a tear from her cheek and left a kiss on the spot. Then he stood and walked away without looking back.

  Maybe it was pride that kept Maggie from following after him, but as she watched Jake walk away, his words made her feel guilty, but why? Had she wronged him? How could she have helped it? She’d fallen in love with someone else. If love were a choice, she’d have avoided that one altogether. Andrew had hurt her. Now Jake would leave her and hurt her even more. More? Yes. Maggie was struck by the truth of her feelings. Losing Jake hurt her more. Had she been so dazzled by Andrew’s wealth that she hadn’t seen who he was? She imagined Andrew in a steel mill, or Jake up on the mountain. Compared side-by-side, she could see them for the men that they were.

  You’re a fool, Maggie MacLaren. You know it. And Jake knows it, too.

  Somewhere in her soul, she’d known her true feelings. She’d betrayed her own heart. And Jake’s. It was a harsh truth. Had she let Jake closer, she might have discovered the sort of love she had always sought. But right now she wasn't ready to ponder it. It was too late for what might have been. She heard his footsteps on the porch, and the door close behind him. Then she walked inside and slumped down onto the stairs. Leaning her head against the banister, she closed her eyes and wept.

  Safe in his house, Jake landed in the nearest chair and leaned his head back, eyes shut. He had said too much. He never intended to expose his feelings and force Maggie’s guilt. He knew that she loved him in her way but not enough to share a life. He knew that he was everything she wanted to leave behind. He was the factory soot that peppered the sills and could never be fully washed from the curtains. His were the eyes of every man walking from a steel mill or coal mine with lunch pail in hand, too weary to think of hopes lost and abandoned, or of burdens ahead. Theirs would have been the children raised to quit school too early, to carry on the work when their parents’ bodies were used up and broken. It was a hard life, and Maggie didn't want it. He couldn't blame her for that. He didn't want it for her—or himself, for that matter—but he wanted her for himself.

  The Adair family stood on the platform of Pittsburgh’s Union Station, surrounding Charles as he delivered last minute instructions to Andrew and Samuel. While his instructions were for Andrew, he punctuated each statement with an inquisitive nod toward Samuel. The responsibility for properly carrying out each task would fall to Samuel, and everyone knew it. Samuel’s clenched jaw was the only outward sign of his impatience, while Andrew made little effort to appear at all interested. He looked at his father with vacant forbearance. Charles occasionally paused for a perfunctory response from his son and, receiving none, would redirect his words to Samuel. He proceeded to elaborate on strategies with which to carry out each item on the list. Samuel listened to each word intently, even as his mind raced forward to anticipate issues and form questions. Samuel watched and waited for his cue, offering courteous clarifications, suggestions, or elaboration until the two were embroiled in an animated business discussion. As always, Charles held the reigns of the conversation, while Samuel gently guided its direction.

  At last, business matters were set aside for affectionate farewells: a kiss on the cheek for Allison, a handshake for Andrew, and a nod for Samuel. Mrs. Adair embraced each child warmly, then took Samuel’s hand in hers and gave it an affectionate pat.

  The train pulled out of the station, carrying Charles and Lillian Adair to a week in New York City. As it disappeared from sight, Allison’s arm hovered for a moment as if suspended in air, and then sank to her side. From far away, one might have found something wistful in her pose, but as she turned to Samuel, her eyes twinkled with contained anticipation. For one week the Adairs would be gone. One glorious week she and Samuel would be free.

  Andrew watched the train for no longer than it took to leave his sight. His eyes strayed thoughtfully to the tracks, while his mind continued to wander elsewhere. There was no outward trace of the disappointment that consumed him. His face bore only the blank mask of a privileged and bored young gentleman.

  They arrived at the phaeton for the ride home. First, they stared, and then they exchanged glances. It would only hold two.

  Andrew said, “I forgot I rode over with Mother and Father in the brougham.”

  Samuel said with reluctance, “You two go on ahead and I’ll catch a hansom.”

  Andrew said, “No. I was planning on going out anyway. I’ll get a ride home later, or take a cab.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Allison.

  Andrew assured them he was, and went on his way to parts unknown. Allison watched her brother walk away into the night, a handsome figure draped in a fine suit, and a mood so forlorn.

  They pulled away. She was still watching her brother, when, from beneath a concealing fold of skirt on the seat beside her, a hand took hold of hers. The touch of h
is fingers against her gloved hand made her tremble. Allison returned the pressure of his hand by entwining her fingers in his. She was afraid to look at him. Her face would reveal too much.

  The irregular rhythm of horse hooves and street vendors grew dim as Samuel spoke. His voice was deep, a mere inch from her ear. “An evening alone. What will we do?”

  With a secret smile on her lips, Allison lifted her eyes to his.

  Chapter 16

  A twilight haze was beginning to settle as Samuel and Allison pulled into traffic. Shops were closing and streetlamps were being lit. Pittsburgh couldn't appear ordinary as long as it was part of the world they shared. Allison watched people scurrying along and wondered how many of them ever would really know love as she did. How many of them were relegated, as she once had been, to the mere appearance of love?

  Samuel maneuvered the phaeton amid the rolling carriages and pedestrians. A wagon lay askew with a broken wheel, blocking a portion of the road. Samuel steered around the obstruction, leaning this way and that, in a fluid dance of flexing muscles. His masculinity took her quite by surprise in this context as even the slightest movement, a turn of the head or a shifting of the shoulders, pronounced his well-formed physique. The full effect wielded an undeniable power over Allison.

  She studied him. She couldn't help herself. Yet she shied away from her visceral response. Her face burned as her eyes traveled the length of his back, from the wide span of his shoulders to his long sinewy legs. She forced herself to look away as she raised a cooling hand to her reddened cheek. Because Allison had always been reticent around her husband, she’d assumed it would be so with all men. Samuel aroused feelings that were new and unsettling. She wanted him. Longing drove her thoughts and her body to complete the connection begun by their hearts.