by Barbara Becc
Al, Reuben, and Chip all halted at the sight of Ira standing silently in their doorway, his arms folded crisply against his broad chest. They stood, almost sheepishly before the younger man, Al managing to get one more good pinch in on Reuben before they quieted.
“Al, you’re late,” he said simply, silently daring Chip and Reuben to speak. “You’d better get out there before the light’s gone.”
This warranted a round of groaning from both Reuben and Chip, despite the severe glare they received from Ira. “Go,” he asserted quietly. “We’ll all be here when you come back.”
Al nodded, raised his violin and bow, and pulled the hairs across the strings a few times to test the tuning. He shrugged a somber goodbye to his friends and slipped out his back door and into the gathering dark. The night welcomed him, wrapping around him in mantles of shadows and pockets of moonlight. He could hear the bickering voices behind him, already growing louder with laughter and good companionship instead of ire, and he smiled. Beginning his trek, his violin whispered and coaxed him forward with the same question it had been asking for years. Where are you? The question was quieter tonight, asking less desperately than it had been in a while; the song sounding like more of a plead. Please come out.
Al could walk this path blindfolded. He knew each indent, each missing brick and cracked stone. He knew where the carriage wheels and tire marks had made valleys, and which storm grates would clatter if you stepped on them. He let the music thrum through his fingers and coil around the strings, sawing at the hairs, stretching across the bow, and flicking out into the world the way an artist looped their fingers at a brush and splattered paint onto a canvas. This was art in its purest, most primal form. It radiated forth, unstable yet planned; the perfect contradiction. The sound was never quite polished; never quite finished. He knew that it worried his friends; the wildness and incomplete nature of this instrument. It had ruined his father. Neither Grady O’ Buchalla, Al’s grandfather, nor Donal Buckley, Al’s father, ever truly found the ‘song that played the violin to sleep.’ Donal became a slave to the instrument, playing song after song, night after night, and trying on mates like one tried on clothing. The way Al understood it, the violin only exacerbated Donal’s natural wanderlust, and never let go. Grady raised Al, and from the moment he and his wife, Aisling, were presented with their son’s progeny, they taught him to believe in the good and terrible properties of magic. Grady wove tale after tale of the violin; the joy and hurt it could create, given the hands of the player and the people the music attracted. And it was only after Aisling’s death that he told Al of the song that would sing the violin to sleep. He could only describe what the song would feel like. He had never truly experienced it himself, but he spoke of a sigh of relief. A sound that would answer the question the instrument posed with a challenge, not a definitive answer. “When you meet the answerer, you’ll know that a great adventure is starting. I thought I met my answerer once, but I let ‘im go because o’ mine blasted pride and the fear I had. Your grandmother never knew,” Grady confessed. “And your father, see, he never quite found his answerer in only one person. And that’s alright, you know. There can be more than one. But if you find your answerer, you work through it. You meet that challenge with every little part of you, every mite o’ magic and care and each rutting drop of blood you have in you. Because, my boy, your answerer is worth the effort, no matter how hard the struggle.”
Al looked up at the quiet brick house where he found himself and started, his grandfather’s words fading into the stars that were pitching and wheeling above him. Where are you?
~~~
The song chided her gently outside her window. It pulled at her fingers like a child, wrapping around them and pulling her forward as if by some invisible string. She lifted the edge of her curtain, her breath shallow and her heart leaping about in her chest like a rabbit. What should she do? What did it all mean? Some strange man showing up on her doorstep, playing songs and waking u-
A strong hand clasped Vega’s shoulder and reached by her to unlatch the window and throw it open. Two more hands found her face and cradled it gently between them, and through the darkness, she heard the sweet, low voice of Mercy whisper a breathless encouragement, and saw Violet’s hand pull back the curtain to let the moonlight stream in. Cass guided her forward. “Well? Answer him, Vega.”
~~~
One Year Later
Vega had seen the buildings unfold and unfurl like ferns. They were white; like the soft glimmer of pearls, like the harsh glint of sunlight off of Lake Michigan. There were stalls everywhere, and people had been coming for months and from all over the globe to see the marvels of this White City. This would put Chicago on the map, the officials said. It was all Vega could do to keep her girls focused on the inordinate amount of orders coming through the store, what with the excitement of the Fair practically barraging its way through the ornate doors of Marshall Fields’.
Mary and Cynthia had gone on opening day, slipping in through the throngs of people after hopping the fences in their voluminous skirts. They had come back, breathless and laughing, Mary carrying a small box of chewing gum that tasted like some unknown combination of fruits, and both of them looking rumpled and absolutely starstruck and in love.
Finally, in the early evening of a dark night in early July, Al leaned against the cooling hot stones of Marshall Fields’ and stuffed creased Fair tickets into his pocket. He played with his sleeves, rolling and unrolling them again to make sure they were perfect. He silently took solace from the solidity and heat at his back, trying to calm his nerves. She will love this, he thought, smiling. Chip, Mack, Reuben and Ira were all with him; Chip rooting around in his pockets for a light to set off the pair of sparklers in his hand, and Ira managing to look both uncomfortable and unruffled in his stance leaning against the lamppost.
Vega exited, quietly herding Violet and Cynthia ahead of her out of the building. It had been another long day, and Vega was looking forward to collapsing into her small iron bed. Mercy and Laura had offered to cook a light dinner tonight, and Vega would not complain. She strode away, gathering such speed that the large, strong hand stopping her almost pulled her off balance.
And suddenly, he was kissing her. Out under the hot darkness pressing down on them, under the streetlamps that melted into the gathering dusk, in front of God and everyone, he kissed her.
Her eyes were wide, her hands splayed out against his chest to push away, but she knew this mouth. She knew the smell of the musky, pine-y pomade and the silky, Braille feel of the scar that lived on the upper right corner of his lip. She could hear Laura titter behind her, and Cassandra’s deep alto murmur “Lord have mercy,” but she didn’t care. She laughed around and into that mouth, and he pulled her closer. Al tightened his hold on her to smile at her friends; his voice a deep chuckle, “Hey, Cass. Jealous?”
Mercy stuck out her tongue at him, and Cass made a very obscene gesture, both of them hiding smiles.
Al took Vega’s small hand in his and tugged her forward. “Let’s go. We're going to be late!”
“What do you mean ‘going to be late?’ Where are we going?!” Vega cried, stumbling along behind him. “I have duties, and there's work tomorrow, and-”
Al flashed the two tickets at her, grinning as if they were made of gold. “The Fair, Vega. I got you tickets to the Fair.”
She heard Cynthia squeak behind her in delight. “The Fair?! Oh, Vega, the Fair! Oh, Margarette, don't let her go in that...”
Vega felt her sleeve being tugged on by Violet, and looked up at Mercy and Mary, who descended upon her to corral her back toward the department store doors. “Wait for us by the loading docks. We'll be back in two shakes!” Laura chirped excitedly.
Laughing, Al turned and kissed Vega again quickly, ushering her back towards the store. “Go, have fun. I'll be waiting.”
The women burst back into the dressmaking department, unbuttoning Vega’s dress as they went. “The gold! Get th
e gold!” Mercy crowed, wrenching the black dress from Vega’s shoulders.
But it was Violet who held up a confection of white beads and dark midnight blue. It was a gown made for a princess, or a queen, or-
“Fit for a goddess,” Cass murmured, fingering the glittering beadwork. Vega knew in her heart that it was wrong, that the dress was for some rich woman not covered in bits of thread and the sweat of the day, but she held up her arms, unresisting, as Cynthia and Mary slipped the fabric on over her head. The smooth silk whispered over her skirts, settling into a small, graceful train behind her. The bodice grafted to her, showing a daring slip of skin at her back and showcasing her slim waist. Vega looked at her seven charges, her best friends, and grasped the skirts of the gown. “Are you all sure?” she whispered, her face red.
“Positive,” Laura replied in a no-nonsense tone, tying a simple necklace of glass beads around Vega’s throat. Violet led her over to a small settee and pulled a hairbrush from her pocket. She silently took out pin after hairpin from Vega’s tresses, letting the hair cascade down her back, brushing as she went. The other six women were suddenly in their own borrowed gowns, each working quickly to tie laces and affix bows and pearls and earrings. Violet made short work of Vega’s jet black hair, weaving in crystal stars throughout the loose waves and piling it atop the crown of her head in great roiling swells. Mary swooped in with a pair of hot tongs and carefully curled the flyaway pieces that escaped the impressive coiffure.
Vega took Violet’s hand and stood, surveying the mess of a department and the beautiful specimens before her. “Well?” she said, her voice laughing. “We can always clean up and return all this tomorrow. Ladies? Let’s go to the Fair!”
They stole quietly out of the loading dock doors, bustling out, one after the other. Cynthia and Mary clasped hands and took off towards the fairgrounds, Cynthia digging around in her pocketbook for a crumpled dollar. Laura took one look at Chip, his singed fingers, and the fizzling sparklers and laughed. She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him along. “Come on, you’re taking me.”
Cass looped her fingers through Mercy’s and her arm through Reuben’s. “Let’s go make some trouble!” she whooped, making Margarette laugh and scamper along behind them, followed by an adventurous-looking Mack.
Vega sighed, satisfied, and met Al’s eyes at last. She winked at him and stepped forward, slipping her small hand into his and grinning up at him. “Shall we?” he rumbled thickly, squeezing her fingers in adoration. “Yes, please,” she confirmed, and they stepped out into the night, the silver moon above them.
Violet and Ira watched the two blend into the dark heat from their seat on the loading dock. Ira leaned over to kiss Violet’s proffered cheek before he snaked an arm around her middle and helped her jump from the docks to the uneven bricks below. She took his arm and smiled widely when he suggested they head home.
Al was convinced that tonight, especially, was the perfect night. There was something about the July air and the promises that hung in the air like the hanging incandescent bulbs strung between the street stalls lining the walkways between the larger buildings. They had spent hours together, looking at the new inventions and the various exhibitions. It was breathtaking, the showcase of American production and ingenuity. He knew that this was the atmosphere magic and passion thrived on, and, looking down at the lovely creature beside him, darting from stall to stall and new sight to new smell, he knew that chasing after her was where he belonged. She was the answer. She was the teasing, challenging, severe, all-in, no-holds-barred answer to the question he had been asking. He had known it for a while, and they had discussed futures before, but he finally felt as though this, this was the night for magic, and answers, and asking important questions. He dug around in his pocket, the simple gold band playing through his fingers. Fishing the ring out and clearing his throat, Al drew Vega’s attention as he knelt before her. “Vega, I was wondering, that is to say-”
“What in the nine hells do you think you’re doing, girl?!” a gruff, loud voice interrupted.
~~~
Vega straightened from her place at the kitchen table at the sound of the back door opening. Al trudged quietly to her, and without preamble, hauled her shaking figure up from her seat and into his arms. He tucked her head into the crook of his neck and carried her the two flights of creaking stairs to her bedroom. Tucking her gently into bed, Al removed her sodden boots and placed them next to her side table. He then knelt on the floor beside her. The gown she wore shone in the starlight that winked through her curtains. It mocked them quietly, the gems and beads glittering coldly and reflecting dull light onto Al’s somber face. “What do I say to them, Al?” Vega sobbed, her hands clenching into fists and pressing hard into her eyes. “They can’t lose their jobs over this, they have nowhere to go! It’s all my fault! If we had been more careful, worked harder, maybe we wouldn’t have-”
“Vega, nothing would’ve prevented something like this. Mr. Fields is being unreasonable.”
“Is he, Al? We stole from him. We took those dresses and jewelry right out of his store and for what-”
“For the Fair,” Al sighed, realizing his part in the scheme. “I’m sorry, Vega, I should’ve stopped all that when you were heading back in. I knew that’s where you all were going, and I didn’t stop-”
“We all got caught up in the excitement. We’re all adults. We all should’ve stopped ourselves from playing Cinderella and just enjoyed the night as we were. I just- I had responsibility! I should have- I didn’t- and now they’re going to be thrown out, all alone!” Vega burst into tears again. Below them, they could hear the sound of the back door opening and the merry voices of the girls as they clambered up the stairs and talked in the kitchen. Vega turned wide eyes on Al, her face wan and tearful. He reached over and tucked a limp curl behind her ear.
“Listen,” he said quietly, his voice decided, “tomorrow, I’m going to run out and get a cart. We’re going to gather up the gowns and every last bit of the jewelry, and take it back to the store. You can wash and press them before we go in. I’ll help you. We’re going to fix this, Vega, and we’re going to present ourselves before Mr. Marshall Fields tomorrow and beg that he lets those girls keep their jobs. You might have to take the fall here, and I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Al wiped a tear from her eye gently. “We’ll make it work out, somehow. I promise.”
There was a crash downstairs, and Al heard Chip laugh and Margarette shout in protest.
Al looked at Vega and tried to be strong. “Are you scared?” he asked, folding her hands into his and searching her face. She nodded, but her eyes held a serene acceptance as she sat up and began taking the crystals from her hair. Her shaking fingers betrayed her fear and sorrow as she placed the brilliant, shining things into Al’s outstretched and waiting hands. Outside the room, their friends laughed around the table and laid next to each other happily in their beds, blissfully unaware that, on the seventh day of the seventh month of the year, on a night full of magic and beauty and life, the stars were falling like tears.
~~~
Vega Kleid and Altair O’ Buchalla stood before the man that held all their fates in his hand. They had both spent the better part of the morning working to sway Mr. Fields’ harsh judgment away from Vega’s housemates, ultimately convincing him to leave them out of his final decision entirely. Vega could live with this, she decided. Anything as long as they’re safe. Maybe, she could find a small job doing something else, or she and Al could get married and they could live off of Al’s earnings at the Yards. This could work! She thought, her mind racing desperately. None of it was ideal, but it could work.
“Ms. Kleid,” Mr. Fields addressed Vega, “I will not dismiss you or your staff. You will, however, be kept under very close supervision by the rest of the administrative staff until a trial period of six months has concluded, and we reevaluate your position as the Head of Dressmaking. If any of your staff needs disciplinary action in that time, both you and the offende
r will be fired on the spot. I think this is fair, don’t you?”
Vega had no choice but to nod. “Thank you, sir.”
Behind them, the door opened, and turning, what Al saw in the doorway made his heart stop and the blood rush from his face. His superior, Owen Lehr, bustled in, holding a briefcase in one hand, and hooking his spectacles over his ears with the other. “Apologies, Marshall,” he tutted, coming to sit in the plush chair beside Mr. Fields, “we had another situation that needed attending to.” The chair scraped against the marble floor of the conference room as Mr. Lehr situated himself and opened his briefcase to pull out a set of official-looking documents. “Now, then. Marshall, have you finished with the girl?” At Mr. Fields’ nod, the small, rounded man brightened. “Oh, good. Good.” He turned beady eyes on Al and began.
“Altair, the panel and I, we have been talking, and your performance has been slipping over the past year. Before, we couldn’t put a finger on why, but now, the way I figure it, you have two options.” Al raised his head, simultaneously terrified and curious. “Option one, you lose your job, we make you pay for the stolen goods this woman took, we deport you back to Ireland, but you keep the woman.” Vega stiffened and attempted to keep a scowl off her face. “Or, option two: you lose the woman, and keep your job, but at a cost.” Mr. Lehr held up a hand at Al’s start of protest. “Like I said, the Englewoods and I have been talking. We need someone we trust to go out West and invest in some good, Texas beef. You would spend a termed contract of ten years with Union Stock Yards purchasing cattle out West. Even if you still decided to stay together, you’d only be able to probably fit in a meeting maybe once a year. But, you would get to stay here in America and provide money for your family back home. It’s your choice, though.” He held out a pen and the official-looking paper. “So, what do you say?”
