It Happened at the Fair: A Novel

by Deeanne Gist

  Releasing him, Cullen gave a wry grin. “If this demonstration doesn’t work, you may find me on your doorstep.”

  “Not to worry, son. I’ve every faith that your sprnklrs will work.”

  Smiling, Cullen placed his hat on his head, then swiped his fingers down its rim. “Yes, sir. I believe they will.”

  CROWNE PEN COMPANY EXHIBIT

  “Della stepped up to Crowne’s counter. Glass cases displayed fountain pens, along with pearl, ebony, and silver holders nestling inside plush cases.”

  CHAPTER

  47

  For the last month, Della had not been herself. She’d been in no mood to spend her evenings with Hilda and Maxine, so had not even told them she wasn’t tutoring Cullen anymore. Instead, she simply walked through the fair’s buildings alone, with only her feelings for company. And those feelings had continued to fluctuate from shock to disbelief to lethargy to anger.

  Today she was angry. Angry with her father for being an alarmist. Angry with Cullen for lying to her. Angry with herself for falling in love with him. But when she snapped at sweet little Vivienne, whose sole purpose in life was to please her teacher, Della knew it was time either to do something about her situation with Cullen or let him go.

  She loved him and always would. And though she was extremely upset about his subterfuge, was standing on the high ground the route she really wanted to take? For he’d not been the starry-eyed one. She had. And the first time he’d ever shown any overt feelings of attraction for her was after the toboggan ride.

  Assuming he hadn’t been attempting to lead a dual life, as it were, she couldn’t imagine the inner turmoil he must have experienced being engaged to one woman, then suddenly finding himself falling in love with another.

  If that was the case and he promised to be completely honest and up-front now and forevermore, was she willing to risk it? Willing to give their love a chance?

  It didn’t take her long to decide. She was. She absolutely was. But first, she needed to find out if he was telling the truth. If he really had broken it off with Wanda.

  She had no idea how to contact Wanda. The only thing she knew was Wanda had stayed with someone from the Crowne Pen Company. So after work, she headed to Machinery Hall.

  Every place she passed contained a memory of Cullen. The lagoon on her left. The Manufactures Building beyond that. The Ferris wheel reigning over it all.

  She wondered if she’d see him in Machinery Hall or if he’d see her. His booth was just a few exhibits down from Crowne’s. What would she do if he approached? What would she do if he didn’t?

  Fairgoers buzzed about her, chatting, laughing, pointing, and exclaiming, having no idea she wasn’t part of the fun. Having no idea she’d shored up her nerves to find out the truth. And that the answers to her questions would determine whether she’d be with or without the person she loved above all others.

  FAIRGOERS

  The whirling wheels of a rolling chair warned her to move aside or be run over. A popper over hot coals set corn kernels dancing. Their crackle and snap along with their poignant aroma filled the area. It immediately brought to mind the bag of Cracker Jacks she had shared with Cullen, both marveling at the new concoction and agreeing that regular popcorn would never taste the same again.

  Crossing the Court of Honor, she approached Cullen’s building, her nerves jangling. But he wasn’t inside. His booth was empty of everything but his tiny display. Relief and disappointment warred for dominance.

  She stepped up to Crowne’s counter. Glass cases displayed fountain pens, along with pearl, ebony, and silver holders nestling inside plush cases.

  A woman in a smart taupe suit greeted her with a smile. “Good afternoon. Might I show you to a seat in our amphitheater?” She gestured toward a horseshoe of seats behind her that faced several machines. “You can watch crude materials such as gold and alloy transform into finished pens right before your eyes and then, perhaps, take a souvenir home with you. Our next show is just about to start.”

  Della clasped and unclasped her hands. “Actually I was hoping one of you could help me with a more personal matter.”

  The woman’s face changed from that of a salesperson to a person of concern who shared a common bond with those of her sex. “I’ll do my best. What is it you wished?”

  “I was hoping to speak to the lady who opened her quarters to a Miss Wanda a couple of weeks ago.”

  The woman’s eyes became wary, her tone cautious. “I know Miss Sappington.”

  Sappington. Wanda Sappington. Somehow, knowing her full name made it worse. Della took a deep breath. “Is she still here, by any chance?”

  “Who’s asking, if you don’t mind?”

  “Oh, of course. I’m sorry. I should have done that first. I’m Adelaide Wentworth of Philadelphia, but everyone calls me Della.”

  “And you have business with Miss Sappington?” The woman’s tone flattened.

  Della swallowed. “I believe we’re both in love with the same man.”

  A stocky gentleman stepped onto the stage area of the amphitheater and began to address a smattering of spectators, his voice loud in order to be heard over the noise in the Hall.

  The saleswoman threaded her hands together and rested them on the counter. “I see. Yet I’m still unsure of your purpose.”

  Della tugged at her gloves. “This is very awkward.”

  “You’re welcome to leave at any time.”

  Oh, dear. The woman must have liked Wanda Sappington.

  Della cleared her throat. “I had just wanted to ask her a very quick question.”

  “And what might that be?”

  She darted her gaze from the amphitheater to the other salesladies, then back to the one before her, who had yet to introduce herself. “I was, um, simply wondering how long she had known Mr. McNamara.”

  The woman studied her, her spine as straight as one of the fountain pens inside the display case. “Since they were children.”

  Della’s lips parted. “Are you certain?”

  “That was my understanding.”

  “Do you know if Mr. McNamara traveled extensively?”

  The woman drew her brows together. “What is your purpose, Miss Wentworth?”

  She rubbed her forehead, then took a fortifying breath. “I’m terribly sorry to be so forward. It’s just, my father has put the fear of God in me ever since he discovered I was coming to the fair. One of the things he cautioned me about was men who lead dual lives, if you will, with one wife and family in the East and another in the West. I know it sounds preposterous, but I am just trying to confirm exactly what manner of man Mr. McNamara is.”

  The more she spoke, the more the saleslady’s posture relaxed. “You’re here alone?”

  “I’m here with my school. We teach deaf students at the Children’s Building.”

  Her eyes lit in recognition. “I’ve heard much about your exhibit. You’re teaching them to lip-read?”

  “Yes.”

  Biting the inside of her cheek, she thrummed her fingers on the counter, then blew out a soft breath. “Mr. McNamara is a very conscientious man. I have no way of knowing his travel schedule, but from what Wanda told me, he lives on a farm in North Carolina with his father and has lived there always. He and Wanda were childhood sweethearts—or so she thought until quite recently.”

  “Then they are no longer engaged to marry?”

  “They are not.”

  Della nodded, a spark of hope coming to life. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She glanced at Cullen’s booth. “Do you know where he is?”

  “He hasn’t manned his booth since his demonstration.”

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  Again, the woman took a long time in answering. “I’m sorry.”

  Her throat began to close. “Please, I must see him.”

  “Does he know where to find you?”

  “He does.”

  “Then I’ll tell him if I see him again.”r />
  “If?” Her pulse began to hammer. “You’re not certain if you’ll see him again?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Biting her lip, Della stepped back from the counter. “Well, thank you for your help, and good day.”

  She questioned the men whose booths bracketed Cullen’s. But no one knew where he was or where he’d been.

  With drooping shoulders, she left Machinery Hall and headed to the place she’d found succor these past several weeks—the revolving sidewalk.

  AGRICULTURAL BUILDING AND THE GRAND BASIN

  “The boulevard between the Grand Basin and the Agricultural Building held a typical crowd—those who strolled leisurely down its walk, those who studied maps, and those who tried to impress upon their children the importance of what they were seeing.”

  CHAPTER

  48

  Following her now familiar route, Della crossed the Court of Honor, then headed toward the pier, allowing the harmonious strength of the White City to soothe her raw emotions. Cullen was who he said he was. He’d known Wanda Sappington virtually his whole life, and she’d known him. It stood to reason, therefore, that he wasn’t living a life of duplicity.

  Relief, happiness, and guilt washed over her in succession. Relief that he’d told the truth about ending his engagement. Happiness that she could declare her love to him if he promised not to hold any secrets from her. And guilt that she’d caused him pain by refusing to believe him in the first place.

  Still, he wasn’t completely blameless. He should have told her about Miss Sappington. He certainly had ample opportunity.

  That didn’t explain his absence from his booth, though. Was he ill? Surely she’d have heard him puttering about his room if that were the case.

  She squared her shoulders. Whatever the reason, she’d wait for him tonight on the steps of Harvell House just as he’d waited for her. No matter how long it took.

  Decision made, she began to take in her surroundings. The bricked boulevard between the Grand Basin and the Agricultural Building held a typical crowd—those who strolled leisurely down its walk, those who studied maps, and those who tried to impress upon their children the importance of what they were seeing.

  AGRICULTURE BUILDING

  But the ones who fascinated her most were those who made a duty out of touring the fair. Loaded down with guidebooks, pads, pencils, and bags, they were easy to spot. Today it was a family of five. Like a duck with a line of ducklings, their leader walked at a brisk pace, a specific destination in his mind.

  The piercing voices of juveniles in red toggery carried over the hum of the crowd. “This way for your World’s Fair catalogue!” they cried, striving for dominance over the boys in blue who sold official guides and cried out attractions not listed in the book.

  A line of guards hurried down both sides of the Basin, urging folks to the edges of the boulevard. “Clear the track! Clear the track!”

  A clanging gong sounded, causing her to jump out of the way. Fire engines belching out smoke and sparks galloped by, one on each side of the Basin, as if they were in a race. Rattling hook-and-ladder trucks followed closely on their heels.

  Tremors ran through her body as memories of the Cold Storage Building assailed her, but she could see no fire.

  The drivers, encouraged by shouts of the crowd, urged their panting teams into speedier action. When the first engine reached the shore, it pulled to a stop, the driver of the truck lifting his arms in the air like a pugilist winner. Cheers from an assembly of fairgoers met their arrival.

  Still, she could see no fire. Half of her wanted to turn around and go in the opposite direction. The other half wanted to make sure all was well.

  “Company Seven of Boston beat them by a hair!” a young man shouted. Those around him passed the information to those behind them until all were informed, and another roar of approval rose forth.

  Of Boston? she thought. What in the world?

  Foreigners, unaccustomed to such displays, had hurriedly retreated into the Agricultural Building. Little by little, they crept out of hiding and back onto the boulevard, as drawn to the spectacle as everyone else.

  “Fireman’s Week!” a lad in blue shouted, holding up a pamphlet. “Puffing, blowing, and throwing of water by the engines! Hook-and-ladder maneuvers! Get your schedule here!”

  She let out a slow breath. Of course. It was only a demonstration. A contest between firemen from most every state, eager to show off their skills and earn a Fireman’s Week medal. The fair had designated so many “special” days—Irish Day, Miller’s Day, Confectioner’s Day, Poor Children’s Day—that she had long since quit trying to keep up with them all. Still, she wondered if perhaps Cullen might be at this one cheering for his friends.

  Weaving through the crowd, she wandered along the shoreline looking for him in the crowd, then paused to examine an antiquated hand engine as an old-timer in dark clothing, an oversized hat, and an engraved white belt explained the difference between fire equipment of long ago and that of today.

  Firemen in scuffed-up red shirts swapped friendly insults beside a pile of smoldering ruins, its stench bringing flashes of horror from the Cold Storage fire. Up ahead, a large crowd gathered around three wooden structures. But the crowd was too dense for her liking and she had no wish to see the competition. She already knew of the bravery and skill these firemen displayed. She’d just have to wait and see if she could catch Cullen tonight when he arrived at Harvell House.

  Turning, she’d taken only a few steps when a crier announced a demonstration of an automatic sprinkler system.

  “You’ve heard of a horseless carriage. Now you’ll see a fireman-less extinguisher! Three burning sheds will be snuffed out in three short minutes without any help from man or beast!”

  Whirling back, she hurried to the edge of the crowd, trying to skirt around it. The sheds ignited like tinderboxes. The crowd fell back and spilled around her. Heat from the blaze scorched her face.

  Pushing down the panic from being in a crush of people, she focused instead on reaching Cullen, for it had to be him. When the crowd took a step back, she leaned in and took a step forward. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on pleasant things.

  She pictured Cullen laughing in the cocoa shop. One step forward. She pictured him cheering during the illumination show. Two steps forward. She pictured him handing her a rose in the Wooded Island. Three steps forward.

  She sang “Jesus Loves Me.” She opened her eyes and found that the flames on the first shed had begun to falter and fade. Then on the one in the middle. And finally on the one on the right. When she broke through to the front of the crowd, not a vestige of flame remained.

  A man beside her popped open his timepiece. “Less than three minutes.”

  The crowd thundered their approval with applause and exclamation. A smile broke across Cullen’s face, taking her breath away in a rush. The fire chief stepped forward and shook his hand, clapping him on the shoulder. The firemen who’d stood in readiness punched their fists in the air and roared in celebration.

  Spectators quickly shared what they’d seen, their stories being told and retold until all who had gathered heard of the sprinklers that put out fires without any human help.

  The firefighters swarmed Cullen, then lifted him up onto their shoulders. Laughing, he balanced himself with his hands on their heads. And then he saw her.

  Pride and love swelled within her.

  I’m sorry, she signed. I love you.

  If possible, his smile grew even wider. And right there, regardless of who could see his hand gestures, and even though he knew she could read his lips, he pointed to himself, then crossed his fisted hands over his chest, and ended by pointing at her. I love you, D-E-L-L-A.

  The moment the firefighters put him down, businessmen swarmed him. She stayed back, emotion clogging her throat. A moment later, an extended arm was raised above the huddle.

  W-A-I-T. F-O-R. M-E.

  Warmth flooded h
er. And though she doubted he could see it, she raised on tiptoes and held her arm high.

  I’ll wait, she signed alphabetically.

  When the crowd thinned, he scanned the periphery until he spotted her, then gave her a searing look that sent tiny bumps straight up her arms before he focused once again on the men. His jacket hugged his shoulders, his hat sat a bit off-kilter.

  Finally, he shook hands with the last person. The man had taken no more than one step away when Cullen moved the full force of his attention to her. No smile, no laugh lines, but a world of promise. With each step he took, her knees weakened a bit more.

  Cullen couldn’t believe she was there. Couldn’t believe she’d forgiven him and loved him. Couldn’t believe he could look his fill with a completely clear conscience. And look he did. From the tip of her dainty brown hat to the toes of her black boots and all the way back up again.

  Her cheeks pinked. “Congratulations.”

  He flexed his hands in an effort to keep from reaching for her. “Thank you.”

  “Were those men interested in placing orders?”

  “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about them right now.” Taking a step closer, he lowered his voice. “You’re beautiful. I’ve thought it for the longest time. But I’ve never been free to say it.”

  The pink cheeks turned to red. “Thank you.”

  “Your eyes are the purest blue I’ve ever seen in my life. Especially in the sunshine. Your pupils get really small, and that blue—it’s, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. And your nose is so elegant. And your lips . . .” His breathing became labored. “Your lips are . . .”

  Dragging his gaze away, he scanned the area. There were people everywhere. Not a single private spot in sight.

  He grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

  “What are you—” She slapped a hand over her hat, scurrying to keep up with him.