by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
Grant and Lee held the two miscreants hostage while Mrs. Burgi summoned the state fair security guards.
“We ain’t done nothin’ wrong, ’cept admire a pretty gal!” The foulmouthed men continued to deny their words as Lee whistled the “Angelina Baker” song.
Several younger quilters came forward but stopped about six feet away. When one of the men leered at the prettiest one, Lee elbowed him hard.
Two burly men from the fair police entered the building and joined them. When they stopped and saw who was clutched tight at the registrar’s booth, the men exchanged a knowing glance.
The quilter wearing the most prominent bustle spoke out, pointing at the disrupters. “They stopped at our booths and made … lewd comments to us.”
“We’ll take care of this. These two are leaving and never coming back.” The guards accompanied them away.
Thank You for Your help, Lord, and please keep them far away from Sarah.
Now for his next chore. Followed by Lee, Grant quickly wove through the gathering crowd of mostly ladies in the building. He located the chairman of the committee. But when he looked into the deep brown eyes of “Uncle” Hershel Thomas, he almost swallowed his tongue. “Sir?” was all he managed to rasp. Father’s friend, now confined to a wheelchair. Did Father likewise suffer with his war injuries?
Dark eyebrows knit together. “I’d stand and shake your hand, Grant, my boy, but no miracle yet.”
Grant bent and grasped the man’s warm hand. “How are you?”
“Missing New York some, but Lansing has been good to me. Research is coming along well.” Father’s closest friend from the military had spent a great deal of time with the family during Grant’s youth.
“That’s wonderful. Last I’d heard you were promoted to associate professor of biology at Yale.”
He waved his hand. “Michigan offered me full professorship and my own lab.”
Grant scratched his head. “Which made you qualified to judge quilts?”
Hershel laughed. “Filling in for a professor in the art department.”
“Ah, well, I’ve a question for the officials about the rules.”
The women who flanked him raised their eyebrows.
Grant leaned in. “Miss DuBeau entered a quilt created by a church quilting bee in Detroit, near my shop.”
The trio exchanged glances. The woman in pink removed her spectacles. “That’s a grievous charge. Have you proof?”
“Ma’am?” Lee stepped forward.
Grant sighed, sensing Lee would attempt his Southern charm on a group that included a veteran with legs damaged by the Rebels. “Not now, Lee.”
For once, his friend hushed.
Hershel cocked his head. “If the real quilters come forward, we could disqualify Miss DuBeau and see if the churchwomen wish to enter under the group category.”
“Let me get Miss Mary right quick.”
When Lee trotted off, Grant jerked a thumb toward the door. “Earlier, we heard them practicing their choral performance.”
Several judges from the end rose and joined the huddle. Soon Hershel explained the situation.
“I hate to embarrass Mr. DuBeau; he’s been good to the fair,” said a tall, angular man.
Sarah pushed her cart away.
Hershel waved for Grant to follow her. “A lovely young woman, Grant. Reminds me of your dear mother, rest her soul.”
Sarah—like his mother? Mother had been quite femininely endowed like Sarah and offered better, softer hugs than his stick-thin nanny had. In Sarah’s eyes, as well as Mother’s, often glowed the soft light of loss. Mother had lost both a husband and her life in the South. His mother possessed a bedrock faith, which he suspected Sarah did, as well.
“What are you waiting for, son?” The voice, undeniably his father’s, caused Grant to freeze.
Facing his father, he took in the silver-streaked hair and slight stoop.
When Father opened his arms, Grant didn’t hesitate. The faint scent of lime brought back a rush of memories. Of riding through the fields as a family. Of dinners spent gathered around the long mahogany table, the chandeliers alight with candles. Of the day of Jonetta’s death, inconsolable, when Grant had left New York State.
“Frank’s kept me apprised, but I wanted to see you,” Father whispered as he patted Grant’s back.
“I’ve missed you, sir.” This might be the closest he would get to apologizing.
Grant drew in a deep breath as the two men separated. Swallowing, Grant glanced past to where Sarah poured for Mamie’s table. What would that vixen do if she became disqualified because of Grant’s report to the judges? “You’ll forgive me, but I need to—”
“Chase down a beautiful woman?” Waving him away, Father moved toward the judge’s table. “Lieutenant Thomas! More civilian duties for you?”
Chapter 7
Five days had passed since Sarah first enjoyed a fairground tour with Grant. The previous day they’d strolled among the oaks and maples, arm in arm, and he’d shared that his father had arrived all the way from New York. Her stomach growled. She’d hastened out of the house that morning without so much as a muffin, and at lunchtime she’d gotten busy with a quilting demonstration, where she’d daydreamed about Grant instead of paying attention. Only two days remained for the fair. Sarah drew in a deep breath.
She needed to focus on finishing her afternoon hostess duties. Sarah pushed her cart toward the alcove where workers would wash the dishes. Her heartbeat’s acceleration announced an impending reprieve—and time with the man she was falling in love with.
Struggling to untie the apron’s neck, she sensed heat from someone behind her.
“May I?” Grant’s husky voice sent a shiver through her.
“I have it.” With her back to him, Sarah fumbled with her apron’s bow. With him so near she couldn’t concentrate.
“Allow me.” He moved closer, right behind her. She’d never been so aware of a man’s presence as at that moment.
He tugged at the bow, his knuckles brushing against her lower back. She jumped. “Sorry, Sarah, but someone got a knot in here.”
“Denise tried to help me earlier—the ties kept coming undone.”
She froze as he worked the knot, her heartbeat loud in her ears. When he paused, she turned to face him. “Can you help me turn it to the front and I’ll work at it?”
He said nothing. Behind him, a stream of visitors flowed into the building, ladies adjusting their hats, the men accompanying them looking bored.
Looking up into his blue-as-Lake-Michigan eyes, her mouth went dry. All thoughts fled. The pupils of his eyes grew wide and dark. He leaned in. Was he going to kiss her? Right there in the home arts building?
Grant jerked away and rubbed his forehead. Averting her gaze, Sarah tugged at the apron to turn it. With a couple of strong pulls, she’d almost had it around her hip, when Grant grasped it.
“Here, you need to lift it higher to your waist.” Deftly, he pulled and brought the knotted tie front and center.
“I can’t believe I couldn’t manage this maneuver myself.” She looked up at Grant’s gleaming smile. It was worth the struggle to be so close to him that she could … What? Step into his arms?
Forcing her eyes to the knot, she loosened the tightest part and then pulled the ties free. “Voilà!”
Grant took the apron from her and hung it on a peg.
“May I accompany you on the Grand Promenade?” Grant offered his arm.
“We’re comin’, too.” Lee trotted up, followed by a sheepish-looking Denise.
Soon, the other couple came alongside. Sarah breathed more normally than she had moments before.
After they exited the building, Denise pointed to the multiple rows of low buildings populating the grounds, all gleaming white in the sun. “Seems strange that everything is brand-new.”
“Almost everything.” Lee gestured to a gypsy’s faded wood caravan parked by the music stands. “That wagon has seen
better days.”
Frowning, Sarah remembered how the previous day a gypsy woman had asked to tell her fortune and she’d refused. Sarah knew what lay behind her—two men she cared deeply for, dead. And only God knew what was ahead. She’d have to start trusting Him to heal her heart.
Grant pulled Sarah’s arm through his as they fell into an even cadence, unlike the irregular patter of her heart.
“Our buildin’ is an old barn.” Lee gestured toward the fairground’s north edge.
“Really?” Denise brushed a stray lock from her forehead.
They strode on. Grant pointed to a juggler on the green. He picked up his pace. “Always wished I could try that.”
Wooden benches, six deep, surrounded a chalk circle on the lawn. Just beyond, a man practiced a trick with a little mutt—the pup up on his back legs balancing a ball on his nose.
Grant needed to tell Sarah about the ballooning. Every time he was about to explain, he felt like his lips clamped shut.
The juggler, the Italian youth who’d offered them refreshment earlier in the week, changed out his india rubber balls for narrow wooden bowling pins, which would surely hurt if they landed on his head. Grant clapped in appreciation as the young man performed. Young and working both a cart and performing a juggling act to make ends meet. At least Grant had a small inheritance from his mother he and Lee used to pay their expenses. If only they could get one of their motors to work reliably to steer a balloon and power it farther. Maybe Lee was right. Maybe they needed to get out of the balloon business and focus on their engines.
Father and Mr. Thomas had requested a meeting with him. Were they going to suggest he move back to New York? Give up his dreams? He pushed the concerns aside and focused on the performance.
With Sarah snug beside him, Grant’s thoughts wandered where they shouldn’t stray. What would it be like to have Sarah in his arms? To kiss her, like he’d almost done earlier? To make her his own? He pressed his eyelids closed as sweat broke out on his brow.
As the acts transitioned out, a young boy came through, hawking raffle tickets. “A penny for a chance to ride the balloon!”
The boy glanced between Lee and Grant, but when he opened his mouth, Grant silenced him by placing his index finger to his lips. Didn’t need the little fellow blurting out they were the balloonists.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Can you imagine anyone wanting to do something so dangerous?”
Denise laughed. “I would.”
“People get killed in those contraptions.” Sarah scowled.
“You could just as soon be struck by lightnin’.”
“But in a balloon, you deliberately put yourself in peril.” Sarah’s plaintive tone pulled at his heartstrings.
“We should go take a look tonight.” Denise cocked her head.
“Shall we keep walking?” Grant abruptly stood. “I just wished to see the juggler.”
What in the world was the matter with Grant? Why the reaction to the balloon discussion?
Denise looked like she might cry. “I want to see the trick dog, please.”
“Sit!” Lee commanded Grant.
He lowered himself back to the bench, glaring at his friend. His fierce countenance could curdle milk.
The boy with the raffle tickets had circled around again. He stopped by Grant. “Buy a chance for a balloon ride, sir?”
Grant made a shooing motion with his hand. Although he was being rude, relief coursed through Sarah that he didn’t wish to buy a ticket.
“Pooh.” Denise fished around in her coin purse. “Wait!”
The red-haired boy turned around. “Yes, miss?”
“One raffle ticket.” She handed the penny to Grant.
He sighed and passed it to the child, who handed him a small cardboard raffle ticket. Grant gave it to Denise, but his eyes were fixed on Lee.
The Southerner winked. “I hear the men who operate the balloon exhibition are old pros at this.”
“Old?” Grant’s offended tone made no sense.
Lee chuckled. “I doubt those young and handsome balloonists would let you be killed.”
A muscle in Grant’s jaw twitched. Then the performance began, and all were silent.
After the show, they passed by the arena for the horse races. Grant steered them away from the track while Lee shot him a sympathetic glance. Seemed Grant, too, wasn’t fond of horse shows. Poor Arnold. He’d been so excited. He’d reminded Sarah of when he was a ten-year-old boy, and she eight, and he’d jumped his pony over a hay bale to make her smile. They’d been friends all their lives. She chewed her lower lip, aware of the powerfully built man beside her. Although she’d loved Arnold, he’d never inspired the feelings she had for Grant, and in such a short time.
“Can we see your barn?” Denise pulled on Lee’s arm.
“Why in the world would you want to see that?”
“Come on!” Denise motioned for Sarah to follow.
Sarah pulled free and ran after her friend, her skirts hiked up above her boots.
Heading north past the balloonist exhibition, she spotted Mamie and her beau exiting a large old barn. What were those two doing there?
Grant and Lee caught up with the ladies just in time to catch Stollen leaving their workspace. “What are you doing here?”
Fisting and unfisting his hands, Grant fought the urge to strike the intruder.
Stollen tugged at the lapel of his snugly tailored striped suit. “That’s no way to treat your supporters.”
“Supporters?” What game were they up to?
Mamie twirled her lacy parasol. “Just wanted to make sure you’ll be taking us up for our ride tomorrow night.”
“We ain’t fixin’ to take you nowhere.” Lee’s eyes narrowed into slits.
Mamie ignored him. “Father purchased all the tickets for the first ride after dinner.”
“What?”
“Can’t wait to see you use one of your motors.” The socialite lowered her umbrella and tapped it into the dirt.
Lord, thank You that I listened to You and kept our most valuable prototypes at Uncle Frank’s barn.
“That won’t be happening.” They’d been tethered. And if he admitted it to himself, it had been a far too dangerous idea.
“Maybe you can take us all the way to Detroit? Don’t you even want to try?” Stollen’s lightly accented voice and insinuating tone irritated Grant. “Isn’t that your goal—to show how superior your product is?”
“Heinrich, would you like to replicate your German friend’s outcome?” Grant forced steel into his voice. Lee had asked Grant the same question that very morning.
“Ach! Nein.”
Mamie tapped Stollen’s arm. “What’s he talking about, Heinrich?”
“Franz died.” Stollen’s eyebrows furrowed together.
“Died?” Her eyes widened.
“Ja. Crashed badly. In France.”
Sarah slumped, and Grant caught her in his arms.
Dizziness overwhelmed Sarah. Someone held a cup of juice to her lips. Sarah took a few sips. She was seated on a bench, with a warm arm wrapped around her.
Her fuzzy vision cleared. Straight ahead was a large, multicolored balloon. A fair attraction that belonged to Grant and Lee. She pressed her eyes closed.
“Drink some more, Sarah.”
“She didn’t eat anything all day.” Denise paced between Sarah and the offensive sight of the brilliant balloon. “Sarah was too occupied with something….”
Or rather someone. All those daydreams ceased now. Here was a man who risked his life and others for the thrills. How silly I’ve been. No more. She forced herself to breathe slowly and evenly then finished the juice.
Grant leaned in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to learn about our business like this.”
Sarah waved him off dismissively. “It’s of no consequence to me. What you do is your own affair.”
“But … I …” Disappointment washed his handsome features. “Let’s talk about
this later.”
“We’re busy tonight. Canning.” That was true enough, but Aunt Bonnie had said Sarah could invite Grant.
“What about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” There was absolutely no tomorrow for her and this man. “I don’t think so.”
“I told my father we’d take dinner with him on Friday.”
The fair would be over then. Sarah would be going home. Alone. What harm could one meal do? “Fine.”
She felt anything but fine as she rose and they resumed their walk, this time with her arms crossed and walking stiffly beside Grant.
Their good-byes at the pavilion portended their relationship’s permanent severing. When Grant left, Sarah sat at her table and cried.
Chapter 8
Thursday. It was almost halfway through the day, and tomorrow brought the end of the fair. Grant was running out of time. He rubbed the side of his head, where an ache had begun earlier, right after Sarah had said she was “too busy” to walk with him.
“If only my attempts at placating Sarah would go as smoothly as our balloon trips,” Grant groused to Lee, walking back to their stand. They’d stayed aloft, tethered by dual winches, long enough to satisfy all the customers, the skies blue and the wind even. Their hired assistants had experienced no problems with the extra ropes.
“Seems you’ve stepped in it real good, partner!” Lee’s laughter aggravated Grant.
Gritting his teeth, Grant ground out, “At least you get the joy of taking the DuBeaus up tonight. It’s your turn.”
“Ain’t that fine?” Lee whistled.
Grant sighed. “When we get back to the balloon, let’s make sure everything is perfect.”
“Any problems earlier?”
“No, but who knows what Stollen might try?”
“Ya think Heinrich really expected us to display our new engine and how it works on balloons?”
Men had died trying to accomplish exactly what he and Lee were aiming for. Today, for the first time, it had hit him what that meant for those who cared for him. He’d kept everyone at arm’s length since losing Jonetta.
“You know the ideas you had for better motors for our horseless carriage?” A breeze ruffled the autumn leaves, swirling them around the two men. “Perhaps we should focus more on those notions.”
