It Happened at the Fair: A Novel

by Deeanne Gist

  MANUFACTURE'S BUILDING, INTERIOR

  Della pulled him to stop. To her right, a little shaver in short trousers and velvet jacket leaned on his closed umbrella with one hip cocked. In his ears were two hard-rubber tubes hooked up to a graphophone. A smile began to form on his face, spreading wider and wider until his mouth opened and he giggled aloud. Then giggled again. Finally, he closed his eyes and guffawed with unadulterated joy.

  Della dug inside her chatelaine purse and extracted a nickel. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I have to see what’s so amusing.”

  He followed her to the machines, wishing he could offer to pay. But more than ever before, he had to save every penny. He’d spent the last week collecting throwaway lumber from the fair’s carpenter’s shop and lumberyard behind Terminal Station. He’d rounded up piping from the machine shop behind his building, and cajoled the blacksmith next to it into letting him use his workshop in the wee hours before the fair opened. All he needed now was approval from the commission. Once he had that, he’d be ready to assemble his shed and do a demonstration.

  Della dropped a nickel into the box and placed the rubber tubes in her ears. She had the same reaction as the boy, her delighted eyes finding Cullen’s.

  Taking out one of the tubes, she handed it to him.

  A comic singer’s voice gave a lively rendition of “The Cat Came Back,” and Cullen felt himself grinning. Listening to the childish song while sharing the tubes with Della gave him a sense of well-being. Of coming home. She was a lovely woman, laughed easily, and took joy in the little things.

  He tried to recall experiencing those feelings with Wanda, and the most he could drum up were memories from their childhood. Nothing from recent years. The thought did not sit well.

  She hung the tubes back up. “That was wonderful. Definitely worth the stop, don’t you think?”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it. But no more, or we’ll be late for the illumination show.”

  The elevator was a jail-like affair, with wooden bars on all four sides. They followed a dozen other passengers into the cage. Being the last ones in ended up giving them the best view. The operator secured two collapsible doors, then pressed a button. The upward journey treated them to an ever-expanding view of the vast interior of the building.

  As they ascended past the upper gallery, Cullen pointed through the cage’s bars to some small compartments on the second floor. “Look there. It has periodical rooms. That would be an excellent place for our lessons if the weather were ever to take a turn.”

  When he got no response, he glanced at her. Her face was stark white and frozen. He followed her gaze straight down to the immense depth below. Tiny figures now moved noiselessly about. He knew the elevator was not going to fall, but for the briefest of moments he felt himself shrinking before the enormity of the space.

  Slipping an arm about her, he pressed her head against his chest. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  Had he taken a dive into a vat of roses, the scent couldn’t have been more powerful. He closed his own eyes, savoring the stolen moment. And stolen it was.

  He told himself he’d have comforted anyone in such a circumstance. But Della wasn’t just anyone. Far from it.

  The gate opened, and he could feel her hesitation to step onto the bridge leading to the roof.

  “Come on, now. I’ve got you.” He kept her tucked against him as they slowly made their way across the gangway, passing others who stopped at their leisure to look down on the building’s interior. Finally, they reached a widow’s walk running along the perimeter of the roof.

  ROOF OF MANUFACTURE’S BUILDING

  He guided her to a bench and eased them both down.

  Full dark had set in, with a sky of clouds blotting out all evidence of stars. The blackness allowed them anonymity and a sense of privacy.

  He removed his arm from around her. “Are you all right?”

  “It was the height.” Her voice sounded strained.

  “You’re afraid of heights?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been two hundred feet in the air before.”

  “Me neither. It certainly made me realize what a monster building this is. Reading about it in the guidebooks is quite a bit different from experiencing it firsthand. Are you all right?”

  “Better. And a little embarrassed. I think I’ll be fine going back down. I just wasn’t prepared.”

  He wished he could see her eyes. Wished he were free to take her hand, hold her close . . . kiss her lips. A heaviness settled around him. He needed to take a very close look at his feelings for Wanda. Would they be as strong if she were the one sitting here?

  He’d want to comfort Wanda, certainly. But make love to her? Probably not. The consequence of that admission was too chilling to contemplate.

  “Oooooh.” The crowd about them murmured.

  He glanced at the rail. “It’s starting. Would you like to see, or would you rather stay here?”

  “I want to see.” There was no hesitation in her voice.

  Stalling her with his hand, he kept her from rising. “I’m happy to sit here or even go back.” And he found he meant it. The show held no attraction if he couldn’t share it with her.

  “I’m fine. Really. It was just a shock. That’s all.”

  “Well, if you become uncomfortable at the railing, simply say the word. Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Helping her to her feet, he guided her to a chain-link barrier, careful to place her on his left so he could better hear. A crisp breeze whistled between them. Tempted as he was to keep her warm, he forced himself to grasp the handrail.

  The entire Court of Honor spread out before them. To their right, the Electricity and Mines Buildings. Catty-corner, the Administration Building and Machinery Hall. Directly across the way, the Agricultural Building, the waters of the Grand Basin separating their two structures and leading to the peristyle, then out to the great lake.

  White globes of light glittered around the perimeter of the Grand Basin, crossing and recrossing one another over its rippling waters. The avenues of the court still held its normal street lamps, throwing pools of light on a crowd gathered for the spectacle. Beyond them, stretching away for miles, a hundred thousand sparks of gold revealed that the great city of Chicago was still awake.

  “It’s beautiful,” Della whispered.

  “Yes.”

  Snippets from the gondoliers’ songs echoed off the walls of the palaces and bounced up to them.

  Without warning, a yellow light flickered and grew bright on the peak of the Administration Building’s dome. Like shooting stars, lines of light swept from it, dividing the dome into sections, then encircling its base in a wheel of light. Light then began to creep around the building’s ground floor until it looked as if it were surrounded with a band of liquid fire. Electricity shot along the upper floor, a second band of light encircling its facade.

  Thinking the show was over, Cullen whistled, while those about and below applauded. But between the upper facade and the base of the dome, a man rose from a gallery. A great flame shot upward from the top of a pipe beside him. Man after man rose. Flame after flame ignited until the whole looked like ancient warriors standing on the parapet of a besieged castle, about to hurl firebrands at its enemy below. He hoped they were careful with those flames. The last thing he wanted was to witness another disaster.

  From within the building, light burst from every window, wrapping its tentacles around grand statues and giant pillars. A yellow ribbon of light skittered across the top of the peristyle, drawing Cullen’s attention. Before he had time to absorb its beauty, a huge searchlight struck the statue of Diana frozen on one foot atop the Agricultural Building, her bow bent, her arrow ready to fly. Vanishing as quickly as it appeared, it was replaced by yet another. This one was crimson and centered on a statuary of Columbus’s mystic caravel, the figures of handmaidens straining at its oars.

  From all parts, a chorus of
oohs and ahhs came forth. Below, gondoliers bent to their oars, each stroke breaking the Basin’s reflections into a thousand glistening fragments.

  Green, purple, and scarlet searchlights flashed from spire to dome, from statue to statue. Two primary-colored streams crossed their rays, producing a mass of secondary color midair. Smoke from a passing locomotive curled into its path, transforming it into a swirling, colored cloud.

  When that light vanished, another replaced it. It landed full force on a gondola, catching a young man snuggling with a woman. Both straightened hastily, but the crowd saw it and whistled. Cullen couldn’t help but feel for the fellow.

  Just as the lights refocused on the huge gilded statue of the Republic, an orchestra burst into strains of “America.” Cullen, Della, and all those present stood straight, cheering and applauding, then sang every verse and every chorus. Patriotism filled the court and Cullen’s entire being. He was proud of his country, his countrymen, and this miraculous White City.

  The last note lingered. One by one the lights turned out, the fairyland faded. The grounds returned to normal and the roof of the Manufactures Building became shrouded in darkness. The thick black sky offered not so much as a twinkle of star. People shuffled behind them, expressing to one another their delight in the show and their eagerness to beat the crowd.

  Neither he nor Della moved. He kept his eyes on the court, watching the ebb and flow of humanity moving with the regularity of ocean waves. But every nerve in his body was attuned to the woman beside him. He couldn’t see her, but he could smell her, picture her. His pulse beat too fast. His chest tightened in his effort to restrain himself.

  “If it’s okay,” she said, “I’d like to wait up here until the crowd in the Court of Honor thins a bit.”

  “Of course.”

  It was an innocent enough request, considering what she’d experienced on opening day. Still, those who’d been on the roof with them were being whisked away by the elevator. He wasn’t sure how long he’d last alone with her in the dark.

  “Would you like to go back down the elevator and look at some of the exhibits inside the Manufactures Building while we wait?” he asked.

  “Not really. I don’t want to mar the mood and beauty of tonight’s spectacle.” She shifted, turning toward him. “What about you?”

  “I’m fine to stay up here.” He placed his elbows on the rail, squeezing his hands together. “You’re not cold? It’s a bit windy.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Not frightened of the height?”

  “Not at all. I just wasn’t prepared for that ride. I don’t know why.”

  “It would be a shock to anyone, I think.”

  “Was it to you?”

  “It was.” He looked at her then. He could make out only her silhouette, but his mind colored in every feature, every nuance. His breathing grew thick. His muscles tensed.

  Straightening, he moved to the bench opposite the chain-link fence and sat. Thankfully, she stayed where she was, placing her back to him and watching the crowd below.

  “How’s your xhbi going?”

  He cocked his ear. “I’m sorry?”

  She turned around, leaning against the barrier and hooking a heel on one of its links. “Your exhibit. How’s it going?”

  “I’ve gathered some materials, and I’ll soon be giving a demonstration. Lord willing, that will generate interest.”

  “How will it work?”

  “I’m going to set a wooden shed on fire, then step back and wait for my sprinklers to put it out.”

  “The fair officials are going to allow you to do that?”

  “I’m still waiting to hear back.”

  Silence descended once more. Light from below filtered up, outlining a sparking couple a ways down the promenade. The woman stood much like Della did, with her back against the barrier. The man moved in front of her, boxing her in with his arms. He leaned in.

  Cullen turned away. Della hadn’t noticed. Was still looking straight at him.

  “A representative from the National Association of the Deaf came to my classroom today,” she said.

  “He did? And what did he think?”

  “He was deaf and said I was denying the children their free mental growth.”

  He frowned. “Did he say why?”

  “No, he signed why.”

  “In your classroom? In front of the children?”

  She smoothed a tendril of hair from her face. “No. Fortunately, they’d left to play on the roof, so it was just the two of us.”

  “Did you sign back?”

  “I did. I felt it would be impolite not to.”

  He shifted to a more comfortable position. “So why did he think you were denying the children?”

  “He’d been forced to go to a hearing school as a child and lip-read. He said all the hearing children came into class chattering about the spelling bee or what their mothers packed for lunch.” Looking down, she traced the outline of her gloved fingers. “All but him. He was neither speaking nor listening. He was deaf and completely isolated because of it.”

  Distant laughter filtered up from the crowd below.

  “That must have been difficult.”

  She crossed her arms, her chin still down. “My children don’t banter when they come into the classroom. Nor when we eat lunch. Nor, I imagine, when they go to the playground.”

  He said nothing.

  “Part of that, of course, is because they can’t articulate well enough to read each others’ lips.” She looked at him then, her voice impassioned. “If they knew sign language, I wonder if then they’d use it to chatter until they became proficient at lip-reading.”

  For the umpteenth time, he wished her face weren’t in the shadows. “I loved our sign-language lesson,” he said. “I wish it were taught to everyone, not just the deaf.”

  She tilted her head. “What a lovely thought. Shall we start a crusade?”

  He chuckled. “And I suppose you’d expect me to be Joan of Arc to your Charles VII?”

  “Either way, it’d be a tragic tale, I’m afraid.” She lifted her face to the heavens. He pictured her with her eyes closed. Then he pictured her lifting her face to him.

  He cleared his throat. “Tired?”

  “A little.” Straightening, she looked over her shoulder. “It’s probably all right to head back if you’d like.”

  He stood.

  They’d taken no more than two steps toward the bridge when she hesitated. There was no mistaking the passionate embrace at the other end of the promenade. The couple was oblivious to all else and must have assumed they were alone.

  Placing a firm hand against the small of Della’s back, he compelled her to continue. Crossing the bridge into the brightness of the Manufactures Building, she cleared her throat, fiddled with her bodice buttons, then withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and patted her neck.

  Other than the elevator man, they were the only two in the cage. Cullen expected her to retreat to its center, but as soon as the gates closed, she grasped a bar and took in the magnificence she’d missed the first time. He took in the magnificence of her.

  Neither spoke for the rest of the walk home. He concentrated on protecting her from the crowd. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

  He kept his eyes forward at all times. She stole surreptitious glances at his profile.

  He tried to recall everything about Wanda he liked. She started to speak, then stopped.

  Finally, they reached the boardinghouse. All names had been marked through except his and Della’s.

  Picking up a pencil, he crossed out their names, lit a taper, then turned off the lamp. The stairs creaked as they ascended to the second floor. He held up the light while she fished a key from her chatelaine bag, inserted it into her lock, and twisted. A loud click ricocheted off the walls.

  She turned. “Thank you for tonight. I’m so glad we weren’t late for the show.”

  Her dark pupils p
icked up the flickering flame, reflecting it back to him.

  “Thank you for the lessons,” he managed.

  “You’re doing quite well, considering what little time we’ve had. And . . . I’ve enjoyed them.”

  He tried to swallow. “Yes. Me too.”

  She moved her gaze to his lips. His mouth went dry.

  Finally, she placed a gloved hand on her doorknob. “Good night, Cullen.”

  “Good night, Della.”

  She slipped inside her room, shutting the door softly behind her. It was a long time before he turned and found his way to his own room.

  MIEHLE PRINTING PRESS

  FIRST PRINTING PRESS IN NEW HAMPSHIRE

  TYPESETTING MACHINE

  SELF-CLAMPING PAPER CUTTING MACHINE

  “Printing Press Row had shut down for the day, and many others were beginning to follow suit.”

  CHAPTER

  28

  The commission denied Cullen’s request. Too dangerous, the letter said. But he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He couldn’t. He’d draft an appeal tonight and request an audience with the director-general himself.

  Printing Press Row had shut down for the day, and many others were beginning to follow suit. He’d just picked up his hat when a gentleman in Bulenberg’s booth noticed he was leaving. The man stopped Bulenberg midsentence, excused himself, and made a hasty retreat, going straight from Bulenberg to Cullen. Bulenberg’s face suffused with red.

  PRINTING PRESS

  “Orville Grasty,” the man said, offering a hand to Cullen.

  The first things Cullen noticed were his expensive black suit and his teeth. The man had a lot of teeth, and he was not afraid of showing them off with an overly bright smile.

  Cullen took his outstretched hand. “How do you do, Mr. Grasty.”

  “I have a nwsppr printing works here in Chicago and several more along the east coast. Mr. Tisdale thought I might be intrstd in your product.”