Watermarks

by Jarvis, J. L.

  "They'll listen to this," said Finn as he pulled out a gun and set it on the table.

  "I ain't no Molly Maguire," said an older worker. "I just want food for my family and a roof over their heads."

  "We're puttin' food on somebody's table--but it ain't our own," murmured a quiet man from the corner.

  "And what about over in Braddock?" said the older worker. "My cousin works there. Carnegie pays them on a sliding scale, according to the price they get for the finished steel. If the mill makes more money, the workers make more money."

  Jake listened, and then spoke up. "So we want two things: a safe work place, and a share of the profits."

  As the union talk digressed, Jake's gaze settled on the familiar young woman until he grasped the elusive memory. "Sophie?"

  She turned to him and smiled.

  If Jake worked hard at his job, he worked harder for the union. If they were going to build a formidable union, they would need to recruit the majority of the work force. When Jake was not working, he was mustering support for the union. His days were full and his heart was deadened.

  If he had not been so busy running from his grief and disenchantment with life, Jake might have found time for Maggie. But Maggie had been one more disappointment. He was determined to put her behind him and focus on a goal he could attain--making work conditions safe so men would stop dying for steel. Maggie was part of the past. She had offered him friendship, nothing more. Now friendship was all he would take--from a distance. Even that seemed more than he had left to give.

  Beth and Maggie worked together to finish the last of the Thanksgiving dinner dishes. It had been a good day. Hank was on his good behavior, and had been for some time. Life had settled into a comfortable routine. Maggie still thought of Andrew, but her tears had dried up. Her heart no longer leapt at the thought of him.

  As for Jake, he was seldom around. He was gone all day at work. He was gone most nights. Maggie did not know where, and she wondered. Sometimes she would sit by her window to read, and then catch herself watching for him to come home. She had just put a pot of coffee on the stove when someone knocked on the back door.

  "I'll get it," said Beth, as she pulled off her apron.

  "That's alright. I've got it."

  Maggie opened the door. There he stood. Jake's eyes locked onto hers. Each greeted the other by name. Beth broke the awkward silence that followed, but could not break the tension. She invited him in.

  He took one step inside, and then seemed to notice his hands and the pie he was holding. "Ma sent it over. It's mincemeat."

  No one in Beth's house liked it but Beth, so she never made it. Knowing this, Maeve always made an extra. Beth and Jake spoke with ease while Maggie observed like an awkward outsider. A couple of times Jake's eyes flickered toward Maggie's. Their spark was quickly snuffed out, but sometimes they settled there, hard and dark. Then Maggie would search Jake's austere face for her old friend and his eyes would dart away.

  "I've got to get back now," he said with a smile to Beth. He nodded to Maggie and walked through the door.

  How their lives had changed, Maggie thought as she watched him leave. Faded remnants of friendship were all they had left. People change, Maggie reminded herself. Her parents had died. People moved in and out of town, people of different homelands, faiths and color. Some lived and moved among her people until they were part of their lives. Others moved on. Jake was just one more person, a part of her life that had changed. It bothered her.

  Lately she had been wondering whether friendships could survive anywhere but in memories. Will had been her friend. So was Jake. No, Jake was something more. Well, he used to be. With Will's passing, she felt as though she had lost most of Jake, too. She grieved for them both. Maggie pulled herself up and exhaled. Only the young or the foolish expect things to stay constant.

  Maggie glanced through the window at Beth tending her garden, and then pulled from her pocket a letter posted from Pittsburgh. It had just arrived, and she had not yet read it. She rubbed her fingers against the familiar cotton watermarked stationary. Feelings she had not yet buried were pounding against her chest. As she opened it, she imagined tearing it into pieces, dropping it into the stove, and watching it burn like the other one.

  My Dear Maggie,

  How are you?

  Maggie scoffed under her breath. "How am I?--he asks!"

  I know you must hate me,

  "You have no idea."

  ...and no more than I deserve.

  Her eyes softened. As much as she wanted to hate him, her heart had not broken from hate.

  But Maggie, I must see you.

  "No." But her heart leapt in spite of herself.

  Please give me a chance.

  "You had it," she thought. But then she recalled his face and his touch.

  Maggie, meet me. Just once.

  "Why? Why now?"

  On Thanksgiving weekend the firm is coming up to the lake for some hunting. I'll get away Sunday. We'll go for a drive. I miss you. Is your hair still soft as silk through my fingers? Maggie, you know that I am still

  Yours,

  Andrew

  Maggie combed her fingers through her soft as silk hair. The letter hung limply at her side as she looked through the window. He did not deserve to be seen. All the pain and anger came back, and the way she once felt. And she knew she would see him.

  "Are you alright?" Beth stood staring in the doorway.

  "Hmm? Fine. I'm fine."

  "You look a bit flushed. Are you sure you're feeling well?"

  Maggie put her cool fingertips to her burning cheek. "I just need some air." She stepped outside and, leaned her back against the closed door.

  Maggie sat in the park in her favorite spot, looking up toward the mountain where the snow was fresh fallen, with a layer of thin icy glaze. Here the paths were well traveled, with deep worked in ruts. She looked about. She grew restless. She got up and wandered about trying to enjoy the crisp air, but it held a damp cold that was beginning to chill her. She looked toward the mountain. No Andrew. Uneasy anticipation gave way to anger, and then finally a feeling of sick disappointment. Maggie walked briskly toward home. She was rounding the corner when she heard an approaching horse and the scrape of a sleigh along the snowy road. She paid it little heed, and kept up her quick pace. A shadow overtook her as a cutter pulled over and stopped up ahead. Out stepped Andrew, looking gallingly handsome. His clothes were flawlessly cut to fit his tall and lean body. The cold had brought color to his face, which accentuated his brilliant blue eyes. Maggie steeled herself. Her pace slowed as she quickly considered her options. She could turn around and make a scene in front of all the neighbors, or she could face him head on. He stepped in her path. She could make a wide circle around him. That would entertain the neighbors. Or she could stop.

  "Maggie."

  "Mr. Adair." Maggie lifted her chin and tried her best to look anywhere but at his piercing eyes. Already, she imagined the neighbors peering through gaps in the curtains.

  "I'm so sorry I'm late. It was out of my control."

  "A good deal of your life is out of your control." She looked right straight at his water blue eyes. He had the nerve to look wounded.

  Andrew scooped Maggie's hands into his, and then lowered his lips to the back of her hands, first pressing then gently brushing his lips against her soft skin.

  With a sharp intake of breath, she pulled her hand free. In soft, urgent tones, Maggie whispered, "Please don't!"

  He lifted his eyes with a look that disarmed her. He moved closer, or was it she who was leaning?

  Andrew maintained a stance that was gentlemanly enough, but a hair's breadth closer than what most would consider respectable. She just hated herself for the thrill that went through her to hear his voice, muted and intimate. "Maggie, don't turn away. Just listen to me. Look at me."

  She tried not to.

  He beckoned her toward the cutter. "Please, Maggie."

  He was so
tall and so dashing. Who could not find him so? He was perfect in every way--to look at. But he'd treated her poorly, she reminded herself. He'd broken her heart. She had every right not to forgive him; to leave him and never look back, so counseled every bit of logic and intelligence she possessed. Turn and walk away, Maggie.

  She stepped into the sleigh. Andrew covered her lap with a blanket to shield her from the cold. Away the cutter went, through the outskirts of town and into the countryside. Maggie stared at familiar scenes. Stark winter coated the trees and the farm field furrows in white. The world was suspended in time. A tree branch creaked as it labored to support the icy glaze that weighed it down. Crisp air cleared Maggie's head and quickened her thoughts. It was a romantic gesture to take her up here, and the day was so lovely. He was not habitually late. If he had a good reason, why couldn't she forgive him? Although, he hadn't offered any. Even so, he had sought to be with her. He could have sent one of the law office letters. The letters. That was a painful thought. But sitting here beside him, she found it hard to refuse him the benefit of the doubt. What harm would it do to hear him out?

  They pulled to a stop along the road crossing the dam. The view of the valley entranced her. From up here, life looked pristine. Bare trees stood starkly simple, stripped to their essence, their trunks dipped in chalk. The air was clearer up here, unsullied by factory soot. A thick layer of ice frozen rough from the wind covered the lake as the snow dust above it swirled gently about.

  His hands were on shoulders, holding her as he leaned his chest against her back. The warmth of his breath brushed her neck as he whispered her name. It made her lightheaded.

  "I had to see you."

  She took in a shallow breath. Then the memory of his aching rejection weighed her soaring heart down. And yet, even as her mind cried out in defense, his nearness--his warmth and his singular scent--made her weak. She looked down at the valley and tried to appear unmoved, but she was falling. She just hoped he could not sense it. He pressed closer. His hands slid firmly from her shoulders, down her arms to her clasped hands, which he opened and caressed as if he owned them. Her body responded.

  "Look at me, Maggie." He pressed his cheek against her face, and then turned to touch her neck and ear with his lips. "Look at me."

  A muted warning rang out from her heart. Now, Maggie. Stop him.

  He said, "Did you think I could stop wanting you?"

  Maggie looked at him then. She did not want him to see her anger or her tender heart. In truth, she was not sure which he would see.

  "If I've hurt you--"

  "If you have hurt me?"

  "Maggie..."

  "Either you chose your words poorly, or you've given too little thought to the effect your actions have had," she said. The desire to punish him rose to the surface, but she checked herself, fearing she might only punish herself and look foolish by losing control.

  "I have hurt you. I know it. I'm sorry." He nuzzled closer, his lips caressing away her objections.

  She was caught between desire and despair.

  His lips touched her ear as he whispered a moan. "Maggie. I ache for you."

  She shivered. Andrew pulled a blanket up over Maggie's shoulders and tucked it about her to shield her from the cold. This was the time to ask to go home. Please take me home now. But the words never were voiced. Even as she hesitated, Andrew slipped the blanket over himself, as well.

  They pulled together, face to face. His gaze would have melted the snow. He whispered "Maggie," and drew her into a kiss. His hands warmed her face and neck as he covered her mouth with his lips. They were full and urgent. Under cover of the blanket, Andrew's hands moved greedily over her body. It made her euphoric. She feared for her heart.

  "Andrew--"

  "Maggie," he said with pitiable desperation.

  Maggie caught her breath and reclaimed her reason. Gently at first, then more firmly, she pushed Andrew and the concealing blanket away. The sudden cold shocked her.

  Andrew collapsed back against the seat. "I can't help myself." He leaned toward her. "I'm overwhelmed."

  She shook her head. She had been unwise before. She could not let herself fall again.

  He leaned back against the seat, shutting his eyes to the torment, and said, "I love you."

  She went ashen with disbelief.

  He opened his eyes and turned to her. "I've tried not to, but I can't help myself." He took Maggie's face in his hands.

  She gently pushed them away. "Why?"

  He looked at her earnestly. "I don't know. I just love you."

  She could not even be angry. "No. Why did you try not to?"

  "Maggie, please." He touched her cheek, but she turned away.

  "What sort of love is that?" She looked at him, accusing.

  "It's the love of a man for a woman." His eyes melted her anger, and soothed the pain underneath it. His finger traced the edge of her neckline.

  "You once offered the love of a husband for a wife." Gently, Maggie pushed his hands free.

  Andrew sank slowly back into the seat and said nothing for a long awkward while.

  Maggie waited and stared at her hands until words stopped repeating themselves in her head and she could finally bring herself to speak. "I see," was all that came out. She nodded a bit, unable to feel what would strike her much later with a staggering blow.

  He stared straight ahead and said simply, "I can't."

  She could not seem to move.

  He reached over and took her hand to his lips. She did not resist. He said, "I love you. Deeply. But I can't marry you."

  Maggie's heart clamped shut, with the pain all inside. "I'd like to go home."

  "If I married you, I'd lose my income, my inheritance. I'd be penniless. I'd have nothing."

  "You'd have me."

  "And no way to live. What would I do? Work in the steel mill? What sort of life would that be?"

  Maggie looked at him with open eyes. "The life that I want."

  Jake's young brother and sister laughed with glee as he pulled them down the road on a sled. He stopped and looked up to see a cutter pull up to Maggie's house. He caught himself gaping as he watched Andrew walk round the small sleigh. Jake slowed his pace, but could not help but cast a furtive glance, or several.

  Andrew extended his hand to Maggie. After she stepped down, he held onto her hand. They stood face to face on the sidewalk. Jake heard them talking, but could not hear their words.

  Andrew took Maggie's two hands in his own. "I do love you."

  Maggie regarded him as she would a stranger.

  "Jake," cried his little brother and sister, "Pull faster!"

  A somber expression settled on Jake's face. He shook free of it and glanced down at the children, saying, "Faster?" With a forced smile, he turned and pulled them in the opposite direction, faster and without looking back."

  Maggie felt as though she was observing herself from a distance. Without another word, she left Andrew standing by the sleigh, and she walked toward her house. When she reached the front door, she looked back to find him still standing beside the sleigh, watching her. She closed the door. Through the shirred window covering, she watched him ride away.

  The wintry peace of the passing landscape mocked Andrew as he rode back to the lake. He had lost her. Love had been in his grasp, but in the other direction was money. He could only hold onto one. He was left with no choice but to let go of Maggie.

  He turned his attention to things he would do in the days, weeks and months to come. Obligations and expectations directed his actions and enforced structure on his life. It was easier this way to hide from his own hollow heart.

  In the end, he rationalized, he was not to blame. The responsibility lay elsewhere. One simply had to accept the way things were. Individuals must yield to the strictures of society. It was the way of the world. By the end of the return trip, he had resolved matters in his mind. He discounted the nagging sadness in his heart as an understandable emotion that would
wane in good time. With a bitter laugh, he said to himself, "God, I sound more like my father than he does."

  Andrew joined Powell by the fireplace, confident some lively conversation was all he needed to lift his spirits. A servant girl set down a tray of hors d'oeuvres and drinks. After a few drinks, the ache was dulled and the emptiness barely noticeable.

  How odd, coming from Powell, for talk to take a sober turn, just as Andrew was beginning to feel lighthearted again.

  "I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's serious," Powell said.

  "You and Allison? Serious?" Andrew asked, his speech, by now slurred.

  Powell leaned forward in his chair, "Yes."

  "You and Allison?"

  "Yes." Powell's eyes tightened.

  "Does Allison know?" Andrew erupted into laughter, which he immediately squelched.

  "I should have known better than to confide in you."

  "I'm sorry. It's the liquor laughing."

  Unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of sarcasm, Powell glared.

  Andrew strove to subdue his amusement. "Forgive me. Please. Now, tell me all about it." He frowned to accentuate his genuine interest.

  "There's nothing to tell, really. I can't seem to get through to her. I was hoping you might have a word."

  "A word? Which word did you have in mind?"

  "Edmund."

  Now truly serious, Andrew said, "Edmund is dead."

  "You're right. Dead is an even better word," Powell said. "And that's the point, isn't it? She's got to accept that he's dead, and move on."

  "To what?"