It Happened at the Fair: A Novel

by Deeanne Gist

  The anger simmering inside began to bubble again. He could not believe this. Swiping up the ticket, the money, and the letter, he stood. “Fine. I’ll go. And I’ll fail, like I always do. Then I’ll come back and we can put this thing to bed once and for all.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  How much longer before ya finish?” Wanda asked, batting at a bug flying about her head.

  “I’m almost done.” Cullen threaded a bolt on an animal-powered treadmill he’d rigged up. “I just want to make sure this is still working for your mother before I leave.”

  One of Wanda’s sisters burst out the back door, tagged her brother on the run, and bounded down the porch steps. “Yer it!”

  “Am not!”

  “Are too!”

  The twins sat cross-legged in the yard, reciting nursery rhymes and keeping time with their hands as they slapped their thighs, clapped once, then each tapped the other’s palm. Inside, the baby’s cries sliced through it all, the open windows offering no buffer.

  Wanda tightened her lips. “I stll cain’t believe yer not gettin’ back ’til November.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “I don’t know what all the fuss is over. Who cares about some dumb world’s fair?” Pulling loose the strings of her sunbonnet, she yanked it off her head, mussing her blond hair. “And who cares about some old explorer who discovered America four hndrd years ago?”

  Pausing, he glanced at her. Even in the fading light, he could see the irritation snapping in her eyes.

  “Lift that lantern for me, would you?” he asked.

  Tossing down her bonnet, she grabbed the lantern.

  He tightened the bolt he’d threaded. “The celebration of Columbus’s discovery is just an excuse for us to show the world how far we’ve progressed in the past four hundred years and for them to show us how far they’ve progressed. Ever since the Paris fair in ’89, we’ve been itching to do something bigger and grander than the Eiffel Tower.”

  “Sounds ta me like it ain’t nothin’ more than a big ol’ peein’ contest.”

  Grinning, he set down his wrench and straightened. “I guess that’s not too far from the truth.” He curled his tongue against his teeth and whistled for the dog. “Cowboy! Come here, fella. Get on up here and let’s see if she’s working again.”

  The black-and-white border collie bounded across the yard and onto the treadmill, activating the flywheel, which moved the walking beam up and down, which then pumped the churn dasher attached to it.

  The back door opened again. “Charlie!” Mrs. Sappington called, stepping onto the porch. “Oh, Cullen. Ya fixed it.”

  Pushing the brake lever, he stopped the treadmill and let Cowboy jump off. “It was no problem, ma’am. Your new churn’s just a little shallower than the last. All I had to do was drill a hole closer to the fulcrum.”

  She smiled, her round cheeks rosy from the warmth of the kitchen. “The prblm wasn’t drillin’ the hole. The problem was knowing the exact spot ta drll it in. I sure do ’preciate it.”

  A boy with scuffed knees and short pants clomped up the steps. “Ya call me, Ma?”

  “It’s yer turn in the bath wtr. Come on, now.”

  Cullen put the tools back in the box, then stuffed it under the porch. He’d put off seeing Wanda as long as he could. Not only to give his face time to settle into some semblance of its former self, but also because he’d had a thousand details to see to before leaving. His train pulled out in the morning, though, and it was time to pay the piper.

  “Finally.” Wanda stomped off toward the smokehouse, the lantern in her hand swinging like a church bell, her hips doing the same. He followed, taking a moment to appreciate her cinched-in calico frock, which hinted at curves beneath. It would be her company, however, that he’d miss the most.

  “I don’t like it anymore than you do,” he said. “But Dad left me no choice.”

  “Ya could’ve told him no,” she snapped.

  “I did.”

  She whirled around. “Ya could’ve meant it.”

  He took the lantern from her. “I did mean it. But he’d already laid out a great deal of cash, none of which I could get back. I tried.”

  “But it don’t make a lick o’ sense. Yer a farmer. What’s yer dad thinkin’? That he can dress ya up in purty duds, send ya up to Chicagy, and turn ya into John Edison?”

  “Thomas Edison. And no, yes, maybe. But you’re right. The whole thing’s ludicrous.”

  Her lips began to quiver. “I don’t want ya to go, Cullen.”

  He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “That makes two of us. I’m sorry, Wanda. I really am.”

  “Will ya . . .” She took a shaky breath. “Will ya marry me afore ya go?”

  Releasing her, he leaned back. “I can’t. There’s no—”

  “I knew it!” Spinning, she stumbled down the path, her shoulders starting to shake.

  Die and be doomed. What a convoluted mess.

  She pushed into the smokehouse and slammed the door. It was the only place quiet enough for him to hear above the ruckus her siblings made.

  The crickets silenced momentarily, then started right up again. He forced himself to move forward. But marry her? Tonight? The thought had never even occurred to him. And if it had, he’d have dismissed it out of hand.

  Taking a fortifying breath, he stepped inside and closed the door with a soft click. The overwhelming aroma of smoked ham, pork shoulders, and bacon stifled all his other senses, bringing with it a rush of well-being. He and Wanda had spent many an evening in here talking about everything from the stunts they’d pulled as youngsters to the kind of house they’d one day live in.

  But in all that time, he’d never once mentioned the World’s Fair advertisement he kept. And why should he have? It was nothing. Just a promotion piece from a grandiose event that was in every newspaper from here to kingdom come. It had nothing to do with him. Nothing to do with her. And nothing to do with the life they’d mapped out for themselves.

  Until now.

  Meat hanging from the rafters like overgrown bats cast gruesome shadows on the bricked walls. In the shed’s center, Wanda stood with her back to him, head down, shoulders limp. As least she wasn’t crying. Not out loud, anyway.

  Easing up behind her, he set the lamp down and turned her around. “Come on, now. I’m the only one around here who’s supposed to have swollen eyes and puffy cheeks.”

  With a humph, she swiped a cuff beneath her nose. “Ya don’t have puffy cheeks.”

  “Only swollen eyes.”

  “Not them, neither. Ya got the prettiest eyes I ever seen.”

  He hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Only when I look at you.”

  Tears began to pool. “I know ya can’t marry me tonight. It’s just . . . when are ya gonna marry me? Lavelle and Billy John done fell in love, married, and had a little one in less time then it’s taken us to set a date. My friends, they’re . . . they’re startin’ to poke fun at us. At me.”

  Protectiveness welled up inside him. “Who’s poking fun at you?”

  “Everybody.”

  “Who, everybody?”

  She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It don’t matter. What matters is that it’s time fer a date. We got to have a date afore you leave.”

  He looked around the smokehouse, seeing everything, noticing nothing. The two of them had been best friends since the day his mother died. Wanda had stood outside the mill same as everybody else. But instead of watching it burn to the ground, she’d watched him watch it burn as he screamed for his mother and had to be held back by Wanda’s father.

  He’d been twelve. She’d been seven. But he’d never have made it through the following years without her. He loved her. Always had. Always would. When her braids had been released and twisted up in a bun, everybody assumed the two of them would wed. And they’d assumed it too.

  He didn’t recall actually asking her. It just seemed the natural way of things, thoug
h he’d never been in any great rush.

  “Yer awfully quiet.” Her voice bounced around the conical roof.

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. What am I supposed to do? Just pick a random date?”

  “Random’s all right with me if it’s all right with you.”

  “Well, it’s not all right with me. A lot of thought should be put into it. We don’t even have a place to live yet.”

  “We can stay here while ya build a place. Pa said so.”

  She’d talked to her father about it? Before she’d talked to him? “We’re not living here. I’d never be able to hear over all the noise. It would drive me crazy.”

  “What if we have a passel o’ little ones? They gonna be too noisy fer ya too?”

  He frowned. “Are you trying to start a fight?”

  “No, Cullen. I’m trying to get a date. There’s four Saturdees in November. Pick one.”

  His jaw began to tick. “I’ve had just about enough of people painting me into corners. I can handle only one corner at a time. Right now, I have to do this World’s Fair trip. When I get back, we’ll pick a date.”

  She tightened her lips. “Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t know pickin’ a date would make ya feel like you’d been painted into a corner.”

  Sighing, he dragged a hand through his hair. “That didn’t come out like I meant it.”

  “What exactly did ya mean, then?” She propped a hand on her waist. “Do ya even want to marry me?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “Then what are ya waitin’ fer?”

  “I told you. We’ll set a date when I get back.”

  She worried her lower lip. “What if ya meet some fancy city gal up there?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not meeting anybody.”

  “Ya don’t know that.”

  “I do know that.”

  “Well, I think havin’ a date will make it a little harder fer yer eyes to roam.”

  “My eyes won’t roam.”

  “Prove it.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Prove it.”

  “How?”

  “Let’s have our weddin’ night. Right here. Right now.” Reaching up, she began yanking pins from her loose blond bun.

  He tensed. “Stop that. For the love of Caesar, we’re in a smokehouse.”

  “I don’t care.” Pins clattered to the floor and sailed across its bumpy surface.

  He grabbed her wrist. “I care. I’m not taking you on this filthy brick floor in a smelly smokehouse where any one of your family can bust in.”

  Breaking free of his grip, she continued what she was doing, her arms hiked up, her chest heaving.

  He spun around. “I’m leaving.”

  “No!” Scrambling up behind him, she launched herself onto his back.

  He took an involuntary step forward.

  She wrapped her arms and legs clear around him, hooking her ankles across his stomach, her wrists across his neck. “Please, Cullen.” She moved against him in an effort to secure her hold.

  He sucked in his breath. “No, Wanda.”

  She refused to let go.

  He pried her feet loose, only to have them hook again when he reached for her arms. Back and forth they went until he lost his balance and they both tumbled onto the unforgiving brick floor.

  He immediately rolled to the side. “Take the deuce, are you all right?”

  Instead of answering, she pressed herself against him, kissing him as passionately as she knew how. But it was a maiden’s kiss. She had no idea there was any other kind. And that was his undoing.

  A rush of love and protectiveness surged through him. Wrapping her close, he took control and for the first time taught her how a man kisses a woman.

  She blossomed against him, pressing forward when he pulled back, her hands traveling everywhere. “Please, Cullen.”

  He captured her wrists and brought them to his lips, then released her and stood.

  She propped herself up on an elbow, her chest lifting with each breath. “Everybody does it, ya know. No one can believe we’ve been together this long and not done it.”

  “The same ‘everybody’ who’s been making fun of you?”

  No answer.

  “Maybe it’s time for a new set of friends.”

  She tossed her head, the last of her pins tumbling free. “Are ya worried ya might get me with child?”

  “Among other things.”

  “If that were to happen, I could just go up to Chicagy and we could be married up there.”

  “That’s not going to happen because I’m walking you back to the house. Right now.”

  Still, he didn’t go help her up. The more distance he kept between them, the better.

  “Then when can we have us a weddin’ night?”

  “When everything’s official.”

  “And when will everythin’ be official?”

  “The last Saturday in November.” There. He’d set a date.

  Pushing herself to her feet, she plowed her hands into her hair and lifted it before allowing it to spill down her back and over her shoulders.

  Sweet heaven above, it went clear beyond her hips.

  Swallowing, he forced his eyes to meet hers. He wouldn’t be walking her anywhere. Not when she looked like that. “I’ll see you in November, Wanda.”

  Her face collapsed. “Can I come up to see ya, at least? We could tour the fair together.”

  “You’d have to have a chaperone.”

  “Not if it were our weddin’ trip.”

  Much as he wanted to comfort her, he stayed where he was. “Even married, it’d be too costly. The room Dad rented is on an all-male floor and is big enough for only one person. No refunds. No transfers.”

  Biting her lip, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts, hugging herself.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “The time will pass before you know it.”

  He strode to the door and reached for the latch, her words stopping him.

  “That sprinkler system won’t bring yer ma back.”

  He bent his head. “I’m not doing it for her. I’m doing it for Dad.”

  He stepped out the door, then closed it behind him as gently as he could.

  GRANDSTAND AND PLATFORM IN FRONT OF THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING

  “As soon as President Cleveland touched the key, every engine and piece of machinery in the entire fair would be set in motion.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  Cullen flipped up the collar of his overcoat. Its gray wool blended in with moisture-laden clouds and offered a mite of protection against the raw winds. But in truth, he hardly felt the cold. He was still angry with his father. Still feeling guilty about the money. And still wishing he and Wanda hadn’t parted with an argument.

  The only good news was Chicago didn’t have a cotton seed in sight and for the first time since the planting started, he enjoyed deep, cleansing breaths. Between that, healthy skin, and the energy of the people, he couldn’t help but be caught up in the excitement of the World’s Fair’s unveiling. Chicago might have many-storied buildings, roaring streets, and whirring cable cars, but all memory of it faded when Cullen beheld this temporary fairyland, this “White City” that his country had raised up seemingly overnight.

  Crowds poured into the park like a stream of lava, overflowing all boundaries. People of every nationality and every age swarmed over the pier, across the viaduct, and onto the lakefront, all pressing toward the platform he stood before.

  He’d been reading articles about the fair for three years now, but its magnificence was still a shock. The crowds coming to commemorate Columbus’s discovery would indeed find a New World. Only this one would be of iron, electricity, and American ingenuity.

  AERIAL VIEW OF 1893 WORLD'S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION

  His fire sprinkler display, assembled and ready for onlookers, was like an ant among a city of giants—insignificant and easily overlooked. He had no pray
er of competing against the monumental exhibits in Machinery Hall. But even that mighty building, with all its wonders waiting to be explored, would stand empty a while longer. The people here—more than half a million, if the projections proved accurate—had come to catch a glimpse of their president, Grover Cleveland, as he pressed his finger on the magical button that would bring their fabricated world to life.

  As an exhibitor, Cullen had entered the park early and claimed his spot long before the public gained admittance. His landlady had told him she and her boarders were going to gather in front of the platform Cleveland would be speaking from. So he’d posted himself at the very hub of the plaza, or “Court of Honor” as it was called, surrounded by architectural wonders on every side.

  Before him stood the Administration Building, its mighty gilded dome towering above its neighbors. It served as the sun around which all other buildings orbited. Its immense proportions and attention to structural detail left no doubt that this fair would glorify not only science and industry but also beauty and art. Even in the gray light, its dome seemed to glisten.

  Today, however, its entrance was blocked by a temporary grandstand and stage, along with a line of uniformed Columbian Guards, so named for the Columbian Exposition. The intimidating force had been handpicked for their height, physique, character, and ability to serve and protect. At the moment, they formed a human barrier between the crowd and the presidential platform just ten feet away.

  COLUMBIAN GUARD

  Cullen sized up the guard facing him. He was the same height as Cullen, though the black pompon on his cap gave him a few more inches. Five horizontal stripes of black braid dissected his blue coat like cross ties on a railroad track, shiny brass buttons spiking their centers. The guard’s attention swept over the crowd and touched the structures that formed the first ring of the galaxy encircling the Administration Building.