by P. C. Cast
“Are you truly ill?” he’d asked, looking more angry than concerned.
“No,” I’d assured him. “It’s just a tickle in my throat and my nerves, Father. Tonight is an important evening.”
“Well, then, finish dressing and join me downstairs. The carriage is here and the opening of the World’s Columbian Exposition waits for no man, or woman!” Chuckling at his poor joke, he left my room, banging the door against the wall after him.
“Mary, help me into my shoes,” I’d said and coughed again.
“Emily, you really are not well. Perhaps you should stay home,” she said as she bent to fasten the buckle on my beautiful silk and leather pumps.
“As with most of my life, I find that I have very little choice left to me. I must go, Mary. It will be all the worse for me if I stay.”
She hadn’t said anything more, but her pitying expression had been words enough.
I’d been grateful that the carriage ride to the Midway was blissfully short, though the roads were clogged with people. Even Father gaped around us. “My God! The entire world is in Chicago!” he’d exclaimed.
I was glad that he was too busy to stare at me, and too busy to notice that when I dabbed my lace handkerchief to my mouth it was because I was attempting to cover a cough.
Even ill and nervous as I was, I will never forget my first glimpse of the Midway and the miracle that was the World’s Columbian Exposition. It was, indeed, a great, white city, luminous as my mother’s pearls. Awestruck, I held to Father’s arm and allowed him to lead me to the group of dignitaries that waited in an elegant group before the street entrance of the Midway Plaisance.
“Burnham! Well done—well done!” Father had bellowed as we joined them. “Ryerson, Ayer, Field! Look at the crowds. I knew if they could get it built it would do well, and by God, I was right,” he’d blustered, then he’d freed my arm and hurried to join the other men.
As Father clapped Burnham on the back, Arthur Simpton stepped past him, met my eyes, and tipped his hat to me. His smile beamed happiness, and some of the tightness in my chest began to loosen as I returned his smile and even dared to mouth a quick “I have missed you so!” to him.
“Yes!” he’d shouted and nodded, and then had hastily rejoined the other men while my father was still engaged in an animated conversation with Mr. Burnham.
I’d joined the women’s group, finding Mrs. Simpton easily, as she was so tall and handsome, though we hardly murmured the barest of polite hellos to one another. We were far too busy staring around us in wonder.
Mr. Burnham, who looked as if he had aged years since my dinner party, though it had only been little over a week ago, cleared his throat dramatically and then lifted an ivory and gold scepter with a miniature domed building atop it, and announced, “Friends, family, businessmen, and beloved ladies of Chicago, I bid you to enter the White City!”
Our group moved forward into pure fantasy. To either side of us was a living museum. As we walked down the Midway we passed groups of exotic village settings so that it appeared as if we had been transported instantly and magically from China to Germany, Morocco to Holland, and even to the darkest regions of Africa!
We didn’t speak to each other more than to gasp and point from one marvel to another.
When we reached the Egyptian exhibit I was mesmerized. The temple stretched above me, a golden pyramid, covered with exotic and mysterious symbols. I’d stood there, my breath coming rapidly, my handkerchief pressed against my lips stifling another cough, and the golden curtain that served as the door to the temple was pulled aside. A stunningly beautiful woman had emerged. She sat on a gilded throne that had been built atop two side-by-side poles that rested on the shoulders of six men, black as pitch and muscular as bulls.
She’d stood and commanded everyone’s attention so completely that, even in the midst of the human cacophony surrounding us, fell a pocket of silence.
“I am Neferet! Queen of Little Egypt. I command that you attend me.” Her voice was rich and distinctive, with an accent as seductive as it was foreign. She’d opened her golden cape, and shrugged it off to reveal a scant costume of silk and strands of golden beads and bells. From within the temple came a drum beat, sonorous and rhythmic. Neferet lifted her arms gracefully and began to undulate her hips in time with the music.
I had never seen a woman so beautiful or so bold. She did not smile. Truthfully, she seemed to mock the watching crowd with her icy gaze and her brazen looks. Her large dark eyes were painted heavily with black and gold. In the small indentation of her navel rested a sparkling red gemstone.
“Emily! There you are! Mother said she’d lost you. Our group has moved on. Your father would be very angry if he knew you had remained here, watching this lewd woman’s show.” I’d looked up to see Arthur frowning at me.
Staring around us, I realized he’d been right—his mother, the rest of the women, our entire group were all nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, I didn’t realize I’d been left! Thank you for finding me, Arthur,” I’d taken his arm, but as he led me away I’d glanced back at Neferet. Her dark gaze met mine, and very distinctly and haughtily, she’d laughed. I remember that at that moment all I could think was: Neferet would never allow a man to lead her around—to order her about and tell her what to do!
But I was not Neferet. I was queen of nothing, and I would rather be led around by Arthur Simpton than abused by my father. So I’d clung to Arthur, telling him how good it was to see him and how desperately I’d missed him, and listened to him talk on and on about how excited he and his parents were about our impending betrothal, and how he was not at all in the least bit nervous—though his torrent of words seemed to belie his protestations.
It was almost dusk by the time we found our group, finally rejoining them at the base of the enormous and fantastic creation Arthur explained they were calling a Ferris wheel.
“Emily, there you are!” Mrs. Simpton called to us and waved. I’d been mortified to see that she was standing beside Father. “Oh, Mr. Wheiler, did I not tell you my Arthur would find her safe and sound, and return her to us? And so he has.”
“Emily, you must not wander off. Anything could happen to you out of my sight!” Father had gruffly taken me from Arthur’s arm without so much as one word to Arthur or his mother. “Wait over there with the other women while I get our tickets for the Ferris wheel. It has been decided that we are all riding it before we depart for the University Club and dinner.” He’d tossed me toward the group, and I’d stumbled into Camille and her mother.
“Excuse me,” I’d said, righting myself. It had been then that I’d noticed what I hadn’t earlier when the Midway had completely captivated my attention—Camille was with the women’s group, as were several of my old friends: Elizabeth Ryerson, Nancy Field, Janet Palmer, and Eugenia Taylor. They seemed to form a solid and disapproving wall behind Camille and her mother.
Mrs. Elcott had looked down her long nose at me. “I see you’re wearing your mother’s pearls as well as one of her dresses, although the reworking of it has very much changed its appearance.”
I’d already been more than aware of how the alteration of Mother’s dress accentuated my body, and I could see by the censorious looks on their faces that while I had been distracted by the wonders of the fair, they had been judging and condemning me.
“And I see you are on the arm of Arthur Simpton,” Camille added in a voice that echoed her mother’s pinched tone.
“Yes, convenient of you to get yourself lost so that he had to find you,” Elizabeth Ryerson had spoken up as well.
I’d squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. There was no point in attempting to explain my jewels or my clothes, and I certainly was not going to hide from these women, but I’d felt I must come to Arthur’s defense. “Mr. Simpton was being a gentleman.”
Mrs. Elcott had snorted. “As if you were being a lady! And it’s Mr. Simpton now, is it? You appear to be much more familiar with him than
that.”
“Emily, are you quite well?” Mrs. Simpton had moved to stand beside me, facing the group of sour-faced girls. I noticed she was sending a hard look to Mrs. Elcott.
That had made me smile.
“Quite well, thanks to your son. Mrs. Elcott and Camille and a few of the girls were commenting on what a gentleman he is, and I was agreeing with them,” I’d said.
“How nice of them to notice,” Mrs. Simpton had said. “Ah, Emily, there are our men with the tickets.” She’d pointed to Father, Mr. Elcott, and Arthur. The three of them were walking toward our group. “Emily, you will sit beside me, won’t you? I have a dreadful fear of heights.”
“Of course,” I’d said. As Mrs. Simpton walked forward to meet her son, who was smiling distractingly at me, I’d felt Camille brush up close to me. Behind her I could feel the weight of the other girls’ stares. Her whispered voice had been filled with spite. “I find that you are very changed, and not for the better.”
Still smiling at Arthur I lowered my own voice, hoping that it would carry to Camille and the others behind her, and said with perfectly unemotional coldness, “I’ve become a woman and not a silly girl. As you and your friends are still silly girls, I can understand that you could not possibly find my changes are for the better.”
“You have become a woman—one who doesn’t care who she has to use or what she has to do to get what she wants,” she’d whispered back. I heard murmurs of agreement from the other girls.
The coldness within me had expanded. What did this simpering child, or any of those other empty-headed, spoiled girls know of the changes I’d had to make to survive?
Without turning my smiling face from Arthur I said slowly, distinctly, and loudly enough for the entire spiteful group to hear me, “You are absolutely right, Camille. So it is best if you all stay out of my way. I would say that I would hate to see any of you hurt, but I would be lying, and I’d rather not do that.”
Then I’d hurried to meet Father, who had been so overtaken by the anticipated trill of the Ferris wheel that he’d agreed to us sitting in the same cart box as the Simptons. As we soared two hundred and seventy-five feet in the air Arthur’s mother held tightly to me with one hand, and her son with her other. She’d squeezed her eyes shut and trembled so violently her teeth had chattered.
I’d thought her a fool, though a kindhearted one. Her fear had made her miss the most spectacular view in the world. The blue waters of Lake Michigan stretched as far as one horizon, while before us was revealed an entire city that seemed to be built of white marble. As the sun sank behind the elegant structures, the powerful electric lights that surrounded the lagoon and the brilliant spotlight before the Electricity Building were turned on, making the Court of Honor and the sixty-five-foot-tall Statue of the Republic in the center of the lagoon blaze with magnificent white light that rivaled that of the fullest, brightest of moons. The light had been so bright, it had been quite uncomfortable for me to look at directly, though look I did.
Mrs. Simpton missed all of it, and her son missed quite a bit of the scenery, too, as he’d been so focused on soothing his mother’s fear.
I’d vowed to myself that I would never, ever allow fear to make me miss magnificence.
* * *
Father insisted Mr. and Mrs. Burnham share our carriage to the University Club, which gave me a much needed and unexpected reprieve. Mrs. Burnham had been so excited by the Ferris wheel and the triumph of the electrical lighting, which only served to showcase her husband’s talent, that I hadn’t needed to engage in conversation with her at all. I’d simply appeared to mimic her expression as she’d listened attentively to her husband and Father blathering on and on about every miniscule detail of the fair’s architecture.
Now that we weren’t walking about, and my nerves had settled, I was finding it easier to control the terrible cough that had come so suddenly upon me. I was reluctant to admit it, even to myself, but I was feeling dreadfully weak and lightheaded—and there was a heat within my body that was becoming more and more uncomfortable. I believed I may truly be ill, and had been considering whether it would be wise for me to ask if Arthur could escort me home early. I must wait until after he declared his honorable intentions to Father, and Father accepted, but by the time the carriage reached the University Club, I was having a difficult time keeping my vision from blurring. Even the flickering gaslights in the club caused a tremendous pain to spike through my temples.
As I write this, I do so wish that I had understood the warning signs I was being given—my cough, my fever, my lightheaded sickness … and most of all, my aversion to light.
But how could I have known? As the night began I had been such an innocent about so many things.
My innocence would soon be irrevocably shattered.
We’d exited the carriages, and I’d been pleased to note that none of the other unmarried girls had been allowed to accompany their parents to the dinner. Their envious, condemning looks were, at least, an annoyance I didn’t have to tolerate.
Our entire group arrived in a long line of carriages together and we had entered the ornate foyer of the University Club as one. I’d been relieved to notice that his father had joined Arthur and his mother. I’d only seen Arthur’s father just a couple of times, and that was easily six or seven months ago when the family had first moved into their mansion not far from Wheiler House, but I was shocked to see how bloated and pale the old man looked. He leaned heavily on a cane and walked with a noticeable limp. I saw when Arthur and his mother caught sight of Father and me, and they steered Mr. Simpton our way.
Bloated and ill though he may be, Arthur’s father had his same brilliant blue eyes as well as his charming smile. After he greeted Father and turned both on me, he said, “Miss Wheiler, it is a pleasure to see you again.” I’d felt a great warmth for the old man and realized that though Arthur, too, may run to fat and poor health as he grew old, there would always be a spark left of the young man I’d married.
I’d curtseyed and returned his smile. “Mr. Simpton, I’m so glad you’re feeling well enough to attend the dinner tonight.”
“Young lady, the Grim Reaper himself could not have made me miss this evening,” he’d said, eyes sparkling with our shared secret.
“Too bad you missed the Ferris wheel, Simpton. It was magnificent—simply magnificent!” Father had said.
“Magnificently terrifying!” Mrs. Simpton had exclaimed, fanning herself with her gloved hand.
I’d wanted to smile and perhaps say something clever to Mrs. Simpton about overcoming her fears, but a cough had caught me unaware, and I’d had to press the handkerchief against my lips and try to control my breathing. When the cough had finally spent itself and allowed me to breathe again, Father and the Simptons were all studying me with varying degrees of embarrassment and concern.
Thankfully, Mrs. Simpton’s concern had voiced itself before Father’s embarrassment. “Emily, perhaps you would accompany me to the ladies’ lounge. I must splash some water on my face and collect my nerves before dinner, and while I’m doing that you could rest yourself on one of the settees.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Simpton,” I’d said gratefully. “I think I overexerted myself at the fair today.”
“You must be careful of your health, Miss Wheiler,” Mr. Simpton said kindly.
“Yes, I know. Father has been telling me the same thing recently.”
“Indeed! Indeed! A woman’s constitution is a fragile thing,” Father added, nodding sagely.
“Oh, I couldn’t agree more with you, Mr. Wheiler. Be certain I will take care of Emily.” She’d turned to her husband then. “Franklin, do be a dear and be certain we are seated at the same table as Mr. Wheiler and Emily so that the two of us will have an easy time finding the both of you when we join you for dinner.”
“Of course, my dear,” Mr. Simpton had said.
Arthur hadn’t said one word, but his eyes had lingered on mine and he’d winked when Father had
n’t been looking.
“Father, I’ll be back soon,” I’d said, and Arthur’s mother and I had made a hasty escape.
Once in the lounge Mrs. Simpton drew me to a quiet corner. She pressed the back of her hand against my forehead. “I knew you would be warm! Your face is ever so flushed. How long have you had that cough?”
“Just since this morning,” I’d assured her.
“Perhaps you should take your carriage home and rest. Arthur can choose another evening to speak to your father.”
Panic had turned my stomach and I’d gripped her hands. “No, please no! It must be tonight. Father is getting worse and worse. Mrs. Simpton, look at me. Look at this gown.”
Her eyes had flicked downward and then back to mine. “Yes, dear. I noticed it when first I saw you.”
“Father forced the dressmaker to remake one of Mother’s favorite gowns into this. I tried to reason with him, and tell him the style, the cut, were wholly inappropriate, but he would not listen. Mrs. Simpton, I pity Father and I know he is grieving for Mother even more than I am, but his grief is changing him. He must control everything about me.”
“Yes, Arthur has told me he will not even allow you your volunteer work.”
“Mrs. Simpton, Father won’t allow me to leave the house at all unless he is with me. And his temper has become so frightening, so violent. I-I don’t know how much longer I can bear it!” My shoulders had heaved and my body trembled as another coughing spell engulfed me.
“There, there. I can see that this is all very hard on your health. You are right. Arthur’s intentions must be made public tonight, and soon tonight at that. Then I will escort you home myself so that you may rest and recover.”
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Simpton! You cannot know what this means to me,” I’d sobbed.
“Wipe your eyes, Emily. You can show me how much this means to you by promising me that you will be a good and faithful wife to my son.”
