Free Forbidden Love by Shirley Martin Page A

several families. Covering his nose, he wished his friend Emil Zeleznik would hurry outside, so they could be on their way. He tried to ignore the cats' screeching over piles of garbage as he stamped his feet on the cinder-strewn courtyard and cursed under his breath. What the hell was taking Emil so long this time?
    Anton paced the courtyard, nearly bumping into pots and pans that hung, along with pants and shirts, from pegs outside the building. From a ground floor window, he heard a baby cry, heard its mother yell for it to shut up.
    " Hovno !" he snapped, his bushy mustache wiggling. "Shit!" He slammed his lunch bucket down and hugged himself for warmth, wondering, as he had so many times, if he'd done the right thing by leaving Slovakia to come to the new world with Emma, his young bride.
    He aimed a vicious kick at a stray beer bottle near a pile of garbage. Holy Mother, what did a man have to do to be accepted in this country? He shook with cold and anger, recalling the countless snubs of the American workers, aware they called him "hunky" behind his back, and to his face.
    Owen Cardiff was the only American who'd shown him any kindness, and they didn't even work at the same mill. He'd met Mr. Cardiff for the first time when he'd stopped by the man's house to give Emma an important message. Mr. Cardiff's good will meant much to him, but besides that, the money Emma earned as his housekeeper went a long way toward their food and rent.
    Hearing a door creak open, he turned, nearly slipping on the snow.
    " Ahoj . " The light of a dim kerosene lamp beamed into the murky darkness, giving the filth-layered yard an ugly illumination.
    "Hello yourself, Emil. Why so late this time?" Anton spoke in his native Slovak to make conversation easier for his friend but would have preferred polishing his English. He grabbed his lunch bucket, both men trudging toward the bridge that led to Rankin, heads bent to protect their eyes from flying cinders.
    " Ach !" Emil replied, " my youngest one burned himself on the kerosene stove, and that made Anna late packing my lunch. Jesiz ! One thing after another."
    The two men plodded along in the early morning darkness, cinders crunching beneath their heavy-soled shoes. Others walked in front and behind, a straggling procession of weary men, exhausted before the day's work had even begun. After several minutes, they crossed the bridge and trudged toward the black, lifeless millyard , heading for the blast furnaces. The sulphur smell intensified as they neared the mill, and Anton wondered if he'd ever get used to the stink.
    Eighty, ninety, one-hundred feet tall, gaunt and insatiable, the furnaces loomed like monsters in the dreary darkness. Anton looked up to see the rushing flames, oddly soundless, leap from tops of furnaces at regular intervals as charges were dumped inside. Then the furnace tops closed, extinguishing their fiery charges, a never-ending process that went on three-hundred and sixty-five days of the year.
    He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped to cover his ears as a dinky engine rattled past to carry smoking ladles of slag toward the Monongahela River . Purple arc lights played an erratic pattern through the gloomy haze that was so heavy with coal dust it caught in his lungs, making him cough.
    After the engine rumbled past, he turned to Emil. "How long do you think this job will last?"
    A puzzled expression crossed Emil's round face. "What the hell do you mean?"
    "Well, if the union goes on strike . . ."
    "Yeah, that's what I heard, but the Amalgamated had better not." He kicked a rusty pipe that blocked his path. "God! They'd better not!" The two men stumbled over the remaining tracks, nearing the mill entrance. "How the hell can we live if we're out of a job? And we can't even belong to the union, damn it!" Emil shot his friend a hopeful look. "Maybe Mr. Frick and Mr. Carnegie will give in to the workers."
    Anton spat. " Yeah, and maybe pigs can fly! Hovno ! You