It Happened at the Fair: A Novel Page 7

  Gasping, she took a step back.

  He gave no quarter. “You are the first person outside of family whom I have ever shared my plight with. The noise in Machinery Hall is simply my excuse. I am losing my hearing, especially in my right ear. It started a little over a year ago and has worsened over time. I would never lie about something like that. Never.”

  Her gaze zigzagged as she looked into both his eyes. Surely she could see the truth there.

  “Mr. McNamara, I really—”

  “Don’t say no.” He took a step closer. “What if my hearing continues to deteriorate? What if I lose it altogether? Do you have any idea how frightening that prospect is? And if lip-reading really does work, if I can learn to do it so proficiently that I can get along no matter how . . . how deaf I become, then I still have a chance at living a normal life. Please, Miss Wentworth. Please.”

  With each sentence, her expression softened.

  He scrambled for any other enticements he could offer. “You can still see the fair. There’s no reason we can’t do our lessons out and about, is there? It’s not as if there are any written assignments. Am I right?”

  “That’s correct,” she said, her voice dropping and making him strain for the first time. “There are no written assignments.”

  “Well, there you are, then. And when you think about it, it only makes sense that we do our lessons in the park. With me able to hear you so well, I will need others to practice on. What better place for that than the fair?”

  Still, she hesitated. “It takes years to master.”

  “Then there isn’t a moment to spare.”

  “I wouldn’t even know what to charge you.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Besides, I highly value my time off.”

  He couldn’t spend any more of his father’s money. There was little enough left as it was. “I’m sorry to say, I don’t have sufficient funds to pay you. Acting as your guide is the only compensation I can offer. Everything I have in the world has been sunk into the fair. If I don’t succeed, I’ll . . . well, I have to succeed. And in order to do that, I need those lessons.”

  Looking at everything but him, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “You said you didn’t have any friends here,” he continued. “A woman on her own amid such a crush of people can be in a great deal of danger. You’ve already seen that for yourself.”

  Bowing her head, she pinched the tucks along the waistline of her skirt. “I’m not completely alone. I have my fellow teachers.”

  “Whom you could easily be separated from, just like on opening day. Your father was right. If you were my sister or loved one, I’d want you to have a proper escort. I could be that person for you. In fact, I could be that person for all of you. Invite the other teachers along. Then you could all take turns tutoring me. And perhaps, when the fair is over, if my exhibit is a success, I could compensate you then.”

  Her fingers flattened, smoothing down all the pleats at once. “I suppose I could ask them.”

  “Of course you could.”

  “Would we get to pick where we go?” she asked. “What buildings and exhibits we see?”

  “Absolutely.” He held his breath.

  Her shoulders wilted, her eyes closed. “Very well. I will speak to them about it.”

  For the first time, a wave of hope washed through him. “Thank you. Can I call on you tomorrow, then?”

  “Not here.” The first sign of humor touched her face. “Since we both know where Blooker’s Dutch Cocoa Company is, why don’t we meet there? Say, about four o’clock? I’ll give you an answer then.”

  He smiled. “Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  FORESTRY BUILDING

  “Having lived in Philadelphia all her life, Della craved an opportunity to learn about forests and meadows in other parts of the country.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  When Della’s school had been asked to hold classes at the fair, she assumed the entire faculty would stay together in the same boardinghouse. But Chicago was so booked, they’d had to split up. The three teachers had been assigned to Harvell House. Della had been given a tiny room on the women’s floor, while Maxine and Hilda shared a larger one at the opposite end.

  At least the brownstone row house was within walking distance of the fair. Miss Garrett, the director, had to travel seven miles to and from on the train.

  CHICAGO 1893

  Sitting in the front parlor, the three of them studied guidebooks and maps of the fairgrounds trying to select the building they wanted to tackle next. Della pushed aside a leaf dangling from the potted tree beside her, exasperated with all the paintings, busts, plants, whatnots, peacock feathers, vases, and prints crowding the room. The mauve and navy diamond-print carpet butted up against the silver and red floral wallpaper, making her eyes cross every time she looked at them.

  “What about the Forestry Building?” she suggested. So far they’d made it through only the Palace of Art and the Fisheries Building. Having lived in Philadelphia all her life, she’d only seen the countryside as a child during short visits with her grandparents. She craved an opportunity to learn about forests and meadows in other parts of the country. The Forestry Building would be the perfect opportunity.

  “They don’t have a restaurant,” Hilda said, her triple chin smashed against her neck as she studied a guidebook. Her thinning white hair provided glimpses of a pink scalp. “I say we go to the Mines Building.”

  Maxine wrinkled her nose, her black hair pulled loosely into a snood, her spectacles tipping sideways. “Not that one. Who wants to see a bunch of minerals, ores, and metals when there’s so much else to see?”

  “But it says the restaurant there is similar to the one Dr. Henderson Hayward operated at the Centennial Exposition in ’76.” Following the words with her index finger, Hilda read the endorsement aloud.

  Maxine listened, her head tilted in contemplation. “That does sound tempting. Perhaps we could eat there but go elsewhere for touring. The Transportation Building is right across from it. What do you think, Della?”

  She shrugged. “The Transportation Building sounds good. It’s just I hate to keep spending money on food when we’re provided with dinner here.”

  Hilda glanced up, her expression appalled. “But the food is my favorite part. We’ll never again have an opportunity to sample meals from world-renowned chefs or from faraway places we’ve never heard of.”

  “I guess I’d just rather spend my time and money elsewhere.”

  Maxine looked at her over the rim of her glasses. “Like where, Della? We’re not allowed to wear anything fancy or extravagant to work, so you don’t need clothes. Our room and board is provided for us in Philadelphia, so you don’t need money for that. And if you end up getting married, your husband will take care of all your worldly needs. So why not spend a few coins on the World’s Fair? Heaven knows we’ll never attend another one.”

  But those meals didn’t cost a few coins. They cost a lot of coins. Still, she remained silent as Maxine and Hilda planned out their week according to the restaurants they wanted to eat at first, then the exhibits that most interested them. Finally, they folded up the maps and stacked the guidebooks.

  “You’re awfully quiet this evening.” Hilda grabbed the arm of the blue settee, shifting her girth into a more comfortable position. “Is something the matter?”

  Della took a deep breath. “Actually, I had an unusual visitor today.”

  “Oh, dear.” Maxine laid a reassuring hand on Della’s knee. “Did one of the tourists challenge you about what we’re doing with the children?”

  “No, nothing like that. This man is an exhibitor and stopped by the classroom at the end of the day. He would like us to teach him to lip-read—after hours, of course.”

  “Is he deaf?” Hilda asked.

  “Not yet, though he says he’s been systematically losing his hearing over the past year.”

  Maxine rolled her ey
es. “What does he think? That he can learn the vowel and consonant families and instantly lip-read?”

  “Something like that.” She brushed a hand across her skirt. “I told him it takes years to master, but he still asked for the lessons.”

  “Poor man.” Hilda’s brows crinkled, her puffy cheeks sagging. “That must be very frightening. How old is he?”

  Della lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know—late twenties?”

  “A young man, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “I assume you told him no.” Maxine’s eyes were magnified behind the lenses of her spectacles.

  “I tried, but . . .”

  “Oh, Della.” Maxine’s voice rose. “Don’t tell me you said yes.”

  “No, I just didn’t say no.”

  Hilda tapped her thumb on the armrest. “How much did he offer to pay us?”

  Della swallowed. “All of his funds are tied up in his exhibit. He offered to be our guide in the evenings—a protector, of sorts—then pay us at the culmination of the fair once he’s had a chance to make some sales.”

  “Of all the ridiculous things.” Maxine scooped up her guidebook and stood. “I’m turning in, ladies. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night,” Della said.

  “I’m right behind you.” But Hilda didn’t so much as budge.

  Maxine’s serviceable boots clicked softly on the entry-hall floor, then became quieter as she went up the wooden steps.

  “You’re thinking of doing this, aren’t you?” Hilda had become a bit of a mother hen, offering an ear when Della needed advice and a shoulder when she needed solace.

  She looked down at her hands. “I was considering it, yes. I’d hoped you would too.”

  Hilda gave a long sigh. “I’m sorry for the man’s troubles, but he’s not asking us just to give up our evenings. He’s asking us to give up a chance of a lifetime. A chance to see the Chicago World’s Fair.”

  “He said we could do our lessons while viewing the fair. I thought we could perhaps alternate working with him throughout each evening. That way, we could still see the fair and help him too.”

  “He’d change the entire dynamics of our group. We wouldn’t be able to talk freely. And he’d try to take over our itinerary.”

  “No,” Della shook her head. “I made it very clear that we’d pick the exhibits. He readily agreed.”

  “Of course he agreed. He wants us to say yes. But no man is going to be led around by three women. Not for five months, anyway. And that’s what it would take. If he is to receive any benefit at all, he’d need lessons every single day, even Sundays.” She gave Della a sympathetic look. “This isn’t like taking in a bird with a broken wing, my dear. This is a man we’re talking about.”

  Her throat began to thicken. She hadn’t realized how much she’d counted on Hilda’s support. “You’re saying no?”

  Her voice gentled. “I’m saying no.”

  Della bit her lip. “Do you think it would be inappropriate for me to say yes?”

  “You mean, by yourself?”

  She nodded, the idea beginning to take hold. She’d be able to pick the exhibits. She wouldn’t have to eat at any restaurants. And she wouldn’t have to turn in at eight o’clock simply because the other two women were the early-to-bed sort.

  Hilda frowned. “What do you know of him?”

  “His name is Mr. McNamara. He’s from the Carolinas, if I remember right. He’s invented an automatic fire sprinkler and is exhibiting it in Machinery Hall.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He invited me to go and look at it. He said he’s in the back left-hand corner. And . . .” Her voice dwindled.

  Hilda lifted a brow. “And what?”

  “And he’s the same man who rescued me from the crowd on opening day.”

  Her lips parted. “The one who carried you over his head?”

  “One of them, yes.”

  “I thought you didn’t tell him who you were.”

  “I didn’t.” She lifted her palms in an I-give-up gesture. “He was just as surprised as I was. The last thing he expected to find was me. He had no idea I was one of the teachers.”

  Though Hilda had never married, she was a hopeless romantic. When Della had first told them of her savior, Hilda had clasped her hands together and pressed them against her heart.

  “Well.” She straightened, a sparkle entering her eye. “I daresay you owe him one. And I feel sure he’d be quite the gentleman. After all he did for you, you can hardly refuse him, can you?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  PONY EXPRESS

  POSTAL CAR

  “Full-size dummies took him back in time to the cowboy and mustang of the Pony Express.”

  CHAPTER

  9

  Standing at the fair’s postal counter in the Government Building, Cullen waited as a clerk checked to see if he’d received any mail. The fair was due to open in thirty minutes, so no one else was about. He basked in the quiet. So different from Machinery Hall.

  Every method of mail carrying, from an old stagecoach to the latest postal car, played out before him. Full-size dummies took him back in time to the cowboy and mustang of the Pony Express. A mountain carrier in snowshoes stood across from a bullet-riddled coach that had twice been captured by Indians. His favorite display, though, was the dog-sledge and team, so lifelike he expected to hear the dogs bark at any moment.

  DOG SLEDGE IN WAX

  The clerk returned, and a surge of pleasure shot through him when the man handed him a letter, not from Wanda, but from home. Finally. He tore it open, then flipped to the second page to see that Reverend Roebuck had penned it for his father. The more he read, though, the slower he walked, giving no notice to a giant globe of the United States, land grants from colonial times, or a procession of wax figures clad in army uniforms. He pushed out the south door and made his way to Machinery Hall by rote as he reread the letter.

  Dad owed the Charlotte merchant two hundred dollars, which he couldn’t pay, so they’d refused to give him any more credit. Cullen let his hand fall for a minute. What was Dad thinking to spend three hundred on sending him to the fair when he owed two hundred to the merchant? What happened to that cushion he’d talked about?

  Shaking out the letter, he picked up where he’d left off. Dad didn’t want him worrying. He’d gone to the bank and borrowed a thousand dollars. The only reason he was even saying anything was because Cullen had asked. Dad promised it was nothing to fret over.

  Nothing to fret over? He borrowed a thousand dollars and didn’t want Cullen to fret over it? He rubbed his mouth. A thousand seemed awfully excessive. Still, it would pay off the merchant debt and leave them with eight hundred to go toward taxes, seed, mortgage, supplies, and expenses. Or it should have. But it hadn’t.

  He turned to the next page. Dad had been required to pay some interest off first. Interest of four hundred dollars, in addition to the two hundred in principal.

  Cullen frowned. The interest shouldn’t have been that high. Something wasn’t right. He’d write Reverend Roebuck and ask him to check on the interest rate. In the meanwhile, Dad still had four hundred dollars left. It wouldn’t be enough come the end of the year, though.

  He sighed. Dad had always handled the money. He couldn’t read and write so well, but he was good at numbers. Besides, it was his farm. Since Dad had never brought up the subject of money, Cullen hadn’t felt all that comfortable asking. But just because he hadn’t asked didn’t mean he was unaware of the price of cotton or how many bales they’d produced. The number he hadn’t had was how much Dad spent. Evidently, quite a bit. Enough for him to need to borrow a thousand dollars.

  He rubbed his eyes. If the cotton prices held and they had a good year, they should make four hundred—three hundred at the worst. And with the way the economy was going, he probably should count on the worst.

  Tucking the letter back into the envelope, he climbed the steps of Machinery
Hall. Dad’s four hundred and the harvest’s three hundred would leave them about three hundred short. Earning back the money Dad had spent on sending him to the fair was no longer just a goal, it was a necessity. He’d ask Mrs. Harvell one more time if she’d let him leave early and refund his money for the days he had left. But he didn’t have much hope of that happening. No one was parting with his money right now—not after the National Cordage Company had gone bankrupt the first week of the fair.

  It might have been the company’s own fault for trying to corner the market, but the fact was, it had overspent, incurred huge debt, and used up all its cash to pay investors. Everyone was still waiting to see what the fallout would be, but whatever it was, it would be big and it would affect the whole country. No, Mrs. Harvell was a shrewd woman. She’d not be refunding anything.

  BLOOKER’S DUTCH COCOA COMPANY

  “A Dutch maiden wearing wooden shoes and a gaudy dress curtseyed to Della.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  Della had never taught an adult before, and certainly not a man. Knowing she’d need to establish a professional teacher-student relationship, she’d dressed in the most matronly suit she had. Beneath her coat she wore a somber black skirt and bolero. She felt sure it added at least four years to her twenty.

  Weaving between the Machinery and Agricultural Buildings, a short, red-faced man pushed a rolling chair into her path. She quickly jumped aside, then followed its progress. In its seat was the man’s rather large and portly wife, with a young tot in her lap. Two little girls in their Sunday dresses sat on each armrest, holding tightly to their mother. A young boy, not quite old enough for school, sat on the mother’s feet, dangling his legs over the footrest.

  Good heavens. They certainly were making the most of their forty-cents-an-hour chair rental.