by J. L. Jarvis
Through the streets of Pittsburgh they rode, under a sky suffused with deep gray, gentle and cool. The city grew quiet but for the relentless rhythm of hooves accompanied by the creaks and moans of carriages. Samuel pulled onto a quiet, unlit street, where he parked the phaeton at the side of the road.
“Why are we stopping?” Surprised by her own whispered breath.
Samuel’s gaze swept over her. He said, “I have something to give you that can’t wait.” He lifted Allison’s chin and touched his lips to her cheek. Then his mouth found hers with a sudden and thorough kiss. Holding her face in his hands, he released her and leaned his forehead against hers. “We’re going home. Now.”
Samuel guided the horse into the private confines of the Adair carriage house. The phaeton shifted from the release of Samuel’s weight as he stepped down to the floor of the carriage house. Allison’s heart thrilled to be alone with him. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw the moonlit outlines of horse, the phaeton, and the foliage beyond the door. Samuel’s steps crushed the fine grit on the ground as he rounded the phaeton. A faint moonlit glow lit their faces as they took in this one perfect moment. Then, reaching an outstretched hand to hers, he tugged at the tips of her glove and removed it. Lowering his head, Samuel brushed her hand against his cheek. Allison wilted to her knees on the floorboard and abandoned herself to his arms. He held her in his sturdy arms and kissed her brow and cheekbone. Each touch seared itself to her memory. Her lips parted and thirsted for more as he pulled her against him. She sank against him, in the strength of his arms, and pressed her palm to his chest. It was warm and pounding.
One of the horses moved restlessly. Her lips brushed against his as she whispered, “We can’t stay here.”
“I know,” Samuel said in a husky whisper.
He lifted her down from the phaeton. There they stood, face to face, in the dark. Upon her lips, he placed a soft kiss, which melted away as Allison whispered, “Come to my room. The servants have the night off.”
Samuel’s whispered agreement was lost in a kiss.
The sound of an approaching carriage jarred their senses. Allison pulled away with a dismayed gasp. “I may never forgive Andrew for this.”
Samuel gripped Allison’s hand in firm reassurance, then turned and busied himself tending to the horses. Allison listened as a buggy continued to make its way down the drive.
Leaving Samuel behind, she emerged from the carriage house as a buggy pulled to a stop.
“I thought you were going out.”
“Allison?” He stepped down from the buggy.
She cringed to hear Powell’s voice. Yet as she spoke, she was surprised to hear her own voice sounding deceptively smooth and poised. “Mr. Sutton? I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Yes, well, I promised your father I would look in on you while they were gone.”
“Did you? Well, I hardly need looking in on. I’m a grown woman.”
“Yes. I see.” The darkness masked his face, which would have leant meaning to Powell’s ambiguous words.
“Please excuse me. It’s been such a day.” Allison couldn't think of one single excuse. To come from Samuel’s arms to this was unnerving.
“I’ve brought you something,” Powell interrupted.
Allison was caught off guard, speechless. She wanted him to go but was either too kind or too timid to send him a way.
Powell snapped his head toward the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Samuel.” With narrow eyes, Powell eyed him.
“Powell,” said Samuel, meeting Powell’s grimace with controlled calm.
Powell swallowed his irritation, and then turned to Allison. “May I speak with you?”
“I—yes—I suppose so.”
Powell offered his arm, but she made no move to take it. “Allison?” With a pointed look, Powell waited for Allison to take his arm. She reacted mechanically, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her to her house. She glanced helplessly at Samuel, who responded with the slightest of nods as he followed closely behind.
When they reached the door, Powell turned to Samuel. “Thank you, but I can see her the rest of the way.”
Samuel’s words were slow and measured, his voice biting. “I live here.”
“So you do know your place. I wasn’t quite sure.”
Samuel controlled his rage, just barely. Allison took his arm and held it tightly. “I’m certain Mr. Sutton didn't mean that as it sounded.”
A long silence followed as Powell glared at Samuel. With reluctance, he said, “No, of course not.” He took a step toward Allison.
“Mr. Sutton, we must visit another time. It’s late, and—”
“Too late,” said Samuel.
“I’m afraid I’m not feeling quite up to it,” Allison said softly. With a weak smile, she brought her fingertips up to her head.
Powell looked at Allison’s hand. It was bare, while the other was gloved. His eyes narrowed.
She awkwardly lowered her hand and concealed it between the shadowy folds of her skirt. Powell glared, then deferred to her wishes and said his farewells for the evening. She watched and waited until his buggy was well away.
Samuel followed Allison into the house and closed the door behind him, still gripping the doorknob in outrage. He had taken insults before. He had endured them but never grown used to them. But this time the affront cut too deep.
“No more,” he said to himself as much as to Allison. “No more. I kept telling myself to put up with it until I could have the last laugh. So I worked harder, and grew smarter, and did better, but it still wasn’t enough: because it can’t be enough.”
“I know.” Allison put her hand on his face.
“But you don’t know,” he snapped at her.
“I know that there’s hate in the world, and I’ve seen how you suffer.”
“But I don’t have any right to suffer. Don’t you see? Look at the life I live. How dare I complain?”
“Because it’s just a different degree of injustice.”
“There are people of color who hate me, and your people do worse. They dismiss me.”
His voice had grown steadily louder until now he was shouting. “I hate living like this—never belonging.”
She had never seen him so angry. “What are you saying?”
His voice was now lowered but hollowed out by anger. “I would have left long ago,” he said as he stared through the darkness.
“But for me. I didn’t realize how unhappy you were.”
Samuel pulled her into his arms. “Because I didn’t want you to.”
Allison sank into his arms. Her eyes were stinging with tears. “I’ve caused you so much pain.”
He took her face in his hands. “How could I leave you?”
Through the window of her unlit room, Allison drew peace from the night sky and the moonlight. Powell was gone. She would soon be with Samuel. He meant everything to her. Unlike Powell, he treated her as an equal. He did not condescend or discount her. He weighed her thoughts and ideas as he would those of a man. With Samuel she could share and discuss, and not always agree, without the patronizing dismissal that so marked her conversations with other men. In so many ways, Samuel had freed her.
A gentle tapping on the door jolted her from her view at the window. She called for him to come in. In a single motion he was through the door and holding her. An autumn wind scraped a thin branch against the window. Samuel went to the window to be sure no one was there, and then he closed the gap in the curtains. He stopped, with his hands gripping the fabric. “I hate making you hide.”
She stepped close behind him and slipped her arms about his waist.
Samuel turned around and clutched her against him. “You deserve to be married and happy.”
“I don’t deserve to be this happy. And I am. But I’m greedy. I want it to last.”
Samuel held her head to his chest. “We’ll find a place.”
The world couldn't reach them now a
s they fitted their bodies together with fervid bliss and drowsy caresses.
Chapter 17
Light from a waning moon filtered through the leaded glass window in silvery wisps on the lovers entwined on the bed. Allison awoke. She watched Samuel sleeping. Nearly all of her life she had known him, and yet she couldn't really say when it was that she fell in love with him. How had she missed what had been so clearly before her? She was ashamed of the answer. She had been a good student of social convention. So completely and complacently had she become occupied in perpetuating the life for which she had been bred, that she had failed to see Samuel apart from the world’s construct for a man of color. Despite their close friendship, their similar upbringing, and his comparable education, Samuel was on the other side of a great divide which had been devoutly erected and painstakingly maintained by society’s fears and habits.
Until now, he had not shared with Allison how, despite being grateful for what her family had done for him, he felt he had been cut off from who he was at his core. He seldom talked of his childhood before the Adairs took him in. But it was a part of the man he was, and the man that no longer was. He lived in one world but felt ties to another. Samuel’s privileged background and education had opened doors often closed to others of his race. While he suspected that he was admitted more as a curiosity than as a peer, he accepted the challenge to justify his presence by merit. She admired him for this. Nevertheless, Allison knew that no one gained entry to society by merit alone. Such positions were attained with money, influence, or simply by birth. Character was a superfluous quality, admirable perhaps but not really necessary. Allison’s circle accepted Samuel to a point. Yet the more he distinguished himself with accomplishments, the more they saw him as an exception. Thus, the more he disproved society’s false notions of race, the less he altered them. Samuel was aware of the paradox but unable fully to combat it. He chose, therefore, to hope that he might have forced open, if only a crack, a door that before had been locked.
He met life head on, and faced adversaries with the strength that comes from knowing one is right. This was no small feat, Allison knew. Following her husband’s death, remarks were made. They were sharp cuts that wouldn't heal. Rather than confront her tormentors bravely, she sank into her own well of grief. From this self-imposed exile, Samuel pulled her and held her until she could stand on her own. One day she awoke from her grief to find she was in love.
The front door closed and tore Allison from her thoughts. Andrew staggered in and tripped up the stairs, and then laughed at himself. His door closed, and Allison drifted to sleep.
Samuel and Allison nestled together in the buggy. They would take no chance of another encounter with Powell. Allison left a note for Andrew with instructions to tell Powell she’d gone to visit a friend out of town, with Samuel as escort.
They crossed the dam and headed toward the Adair cottage on the mountain above Johnstown. “Are you sure no one is here?” Allison asked.
“At this time of year? There might be a few hunters on the weekends, but no one comes here in the middle of the week.”
Allison watched cautiously, nonetheless. By the time they pulled into the drive, she felt reassured that they had arrived undetected.
In the privacy of the carriage house, Samuel lifted Allison from the buggy and twirled her in his arms. The crisp, clear air brought color to Allison’s cheeks as she laughed with Samuel. Holding hands, they ran to the house. Samuel closed the door behind Allison as she leaned back against it and looked at him with radiant joy.
“We did it!”
Samuel laughed and pulled Allison into his arms. They kissed exuberantly. Without warning, Samuel swept Allison into his arms and carried her up the stairs. Allison shrieked with surprise, and then laughed and demanded to be put down. Halfway up he stopped and set her down on the landing. Still laughing, they sat on the steps, leaning back on their elbows as their laughter abated.
“I’ve injured you, haven’t I,” she said, as she leaned mischievously toward him.
“No, I can assure you, everything is in working order.” With that, he rolled over and thoroughly kissed her until she was more than persuaded.
She was about to melt into oblivion, when Samuel gently pulled away. He searched her azure eyes with a smoky, penetrating gaze, then stood and offered his hand. Taking it, Allison followed him into her room. All the while, Samuel watched her. She had never before felt so adored—or so womanly. Allison wasn't sure how to accept it. She wasn't an extraneous part of the household as she had been in marriage. She was truly a part of his life, just as he was of hers. Tears moistened her eyes.
Samuel stroked her hair and smiled tenderly. One by one, he pulled each pin from her hair as thick auburn locks fell loosely about her neck and shoulders. From the nape of her neck, his fingers combed upward through her silky hair until his palm rested at the back of her head and he leaned down to kiss her.
As their lips met, their bodies sought to touch through the thick folds of fabric. With wonder and want, hands and fingers unfastened hooks and buttons and pulled clothing off. Allison needed no words to know that Samuel loved her, but he spoke them. He loved her with his touch and the way that he held her against him. With sudden impatience, she pulled at his shoulders and clutched his back drawing him closer until they were one.
The morning was overcast with a gray sky and mist that clung to the mountaintops. On the second floor balcony, Allison and Samuel nested themselves beneath a patchwork quilt and looked out over the lake. Two books lay face down, neglected, beside them. With a shiver, Allison pulled the quilt about her. Samuel circled protective arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. She laid her head back against his chest and sighed.
From under cover of the porch awning, they watched as water droplets perforated the tin-colored surface of the lake, whispering hints of the rain that softly would follow.
“Sometimes it scares me,” said Allison.
“It’s just a light shower,” said Samuel with a grin.
“Not the rain.” She smiled, knowing he teased her. “Us.”
“You’re thinking too much.” Samuel buried his face in her neck. “Allow me to distract you.” His lips met her earlobe, and Allison shivered.
“That’s better,” he said, as he distracted her further.
After a while they lay still and content, looking out at the lake. With a sigh, Allison said, “I could spend every day like this.”
Samuel stroked her hair and held her close. Quiet hung in the air. “What if we could? What if a time came when I asked you to leave here for me, could you?”
Without hesitating, she said, “Yes.”
He searched her eyes. She repeated, “Yes.”
Slowly becoming convinced, a smile spread to his eyes. He said, “You’d have to marry me. I’m not just some cheap floozy.”
Allison laughed. “If I must, then I must.”
His smiled faded. “You’d marry me?”
She met his gaze squarely as tears misted her vision. “I would.”
Samuel shifted his weight and squeezed her in his arms. Leaning his cheek against hers, they looked out past the lake. “Where would we go, my love?”
After a time, Allison said, “I don’t care.” She laughed. “I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”
“Let’s see, where could we go?” They wondered like children immersed in some game.
“I don’t know…Oklahoma? We could go stake a claim.”
“I can’t quite envision you as a frontier wife.”
Allison laughed with a shrug. “Maybe not, but I can see myself as your wife.”
Samuel’s joy turned to vapor. “And what about others? How will they see you—with me as your husband?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “They will see me as a woman in love.”
“I wish that were all.”
“We wouldn’t be the first couple like us. Frederick Douglass married a white woman, and the world did
n’t come to an end.”
“That depends upon whom you talk to,” said Samuel. “Besides, Frederick Douglass is famous. Famous people can get away with things that the rest of us can’t.”
He leaned his forehead on hers and asked in a whisper, “We’ll find a way, and we’ll build a good life.”
“I have no doubt,” she said, as she kissed him.
“I used to watch you. You looked so sad. I wanted to take it away.”
“And you did.”
Samuel held her and worried about what was ahead. But it couldn't be changed or avoided right now. He wouldn't let Allison see that he worried. He said, “How about Canada?”
“Canada?” She mulled it over.
He held her shoulders and pulled away. “And when we’re there, we’ll have a proper marriage.”
She suggested, half joking, “At Niagara Falls?”
But Samuel insisted, “Yes. Why not? At Niagara Falls.”
Together, they quietly dreamed while, in the valley below them, the Iron Works factory whistle sounded.
A brisk wind brushed against Jake’s face and through his hair, and a chill passed through him. He often came out on the porch to sit in cold autumn evenings and enjoy a moment alone with his thoughts before the onslaught of noise that would dominate his senses for the next several hours. He braced himself for the night’s work to come. This was one of the last days in which he would stand in this place at this time. In a week he would be in Homestead, with a new job and a new future. He glanced over at Maggie’s house and knew he must go. He would never be free of her, not while she was near.
The shrill shock of the factory whistle rang out through the valley. An accident. It never rang between shifts unless there was an accident. A sinking gut feeling came over him.
“Will!”
Chapter 18
Jake sprang forward. His mother rushed through the front door to the porch, but he was already running. Wind cut through his clothes. His feet pounded the cobbled road, gaining speed like relentless machine gears. His lungs inflated and deflated with desperate force. The shock of air stung his eyes.