It Happened at the Fair (28 page)

Inside Fire and Guard Station One, a hook and ladder waited in readiness, its horse flicking a fly with its tail. Firefighters lounged about benches in red shirts, while others played cards at a long table.

“Well, if it isn’t Gulliver traveling our way,” one of them shouted.

Cullen smiled at the nickname they’d given him because of his height. “Hello, Spud, Fish, fellows. How’ve you been?”

They regaled him with the tale of two little shavers who’d rigged up a raft from an old packing crate behind the Government Building, then tested it out on the lagoon, fell in, and had to be rescued. They teased Fish for being afraid of the water. Then they asked Cullen for his news and became indignant when they discovered the commission had denied his request.

“Want us to go egg the director-general’s house?” Spud asked.

Cullen laughed. “Not just yet. I can appeal it. Let me try that first.”

After disappointed groans, they agreed to wait.

“I was hoping to talk to the chief, though. Is he here?”

“Right behind you, son.”

Cullen whirled around, then pumped the man’s hand. “Good to see you, sir.”

Murphy ran a thumb and finger down his mustache. “I keep meaning to come by and see your system. I’m sorry I haven’t.”

“I’d really like to show it to you. I’m there every day until the supper hour.”

“What happens at the supper hour?”

“He turns into a pumpkin,” one of the boys yelled.

Cullen lifted his hands in a what-can-I-say gesture, then slowly sobered. “I heard the donations from Fireman’s Sunday were tallied, divided, and ready to be sent.”

Murphy nodded.

Pulling a letter from inside his jacket, Cullen handed it to him. “When you send a donation to John’s family, would you mind including this?”

In his letter, Cullen offered his sympathy and shared as many memories as he could so the Ransoms would know John’s last days were full ones.

“I’d be happy to. Thank you.” Murphy squeezed Cullen’s shoulder. “It’ll mean a lot to them.”

MIDWAY PLAISANCE

“Ferris’s enormous wheel took up the middle of the Plaisance. Each screened-in box car creaked and swung from the wheel’s spokes.”

CHAPTER

29

Cullen and Della passed beneath a viaduct and entered the mile-long Midway Plaisance. Nothing since the tower of Babel held such a confusion of tongues in one place. His concern about this section of the fair, though, was that most exhibits required an admission fee. A fee he couldn’t afford to pay. But Della wanted to see it, so see it they would.

“Look at the balloon.” She pointed to a hydrogen balloon taking off from behind a walled-off park. Placing a hand on the crown of her hat, she watched its ascent. “Oh my soul, it’s so huge. I had no idea.” She’d hooked the purple netting from a peach-colored hat underneath her chin, then tied it in a saucy bow just below her right ear.

MIDWAY PLAISANCE

“I know there’s a lot to see,” he said, “but I’d really like to get started with our lessons.”

She gathered herself. “Sorry. There’s just so much. Good heavens, are those ostriches?”

Lifting his hat, he replaced it on his head. It had become increasingly difficult to stay on task during their excursions, but that was his fault as much as hers.

“What are we working on today?” he asked.

Opening the chatelaine bag hanging from her belt, she extracted a folded piece of paper and handed it to him. “I’m going to ask you questions throughout the evening. Those are hints to help you lip-read my queries.”

The paper held numbered phrases.
Hot chocolate. Gondola. Grover Cleveland. Investor. Helen Keller. Brilliantine. Tree trunks. Harvell House.

After scanning all twenty-five, he nodded. “All right. I’m ready.”

But she was no longer beside him. Instead, she conversed with an Italian man attired in the uniform of a Vatican Guard and armed accordingly. Behind him stood a miniature replica of St. Peter’s Cathedral. “Miniature” was a bit of a stretch, however, for though it was about one-sixteenth the size of the original in Rome, it was still a good thirty feet long and fifteen feet wide.

VATICAN GUARD

MODEL OF ST. PETER'S

Smiling, she looked at Cullen over her shoulder and pointed to the exhibit. The wide brim of her hat reflected the peach color of her cheeks.
Let’s go in here.

He’d read it. He’d read the entire sentence.

“The guard said it’s an exact replica, down to the minutest details,” she said as he approached.

“You go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

She captured his gaze.
Who’s the president of the United States?

Blinking, he hesitated, then smiled. “Grover Cleveland.”

“Very good.” She handed a coin to the ticket taker and entered the exhibit.

Cullen watched her peek inside the intricately carved wooden structure coated with a stucco-like substance. Long pleats formed a V in both the back and front of her peach and purple bodice, drawing his eye to her slender waist and curvy hips. Turning, she swept to the other corners of the exhibit, where miniatures of the Cathedral of Milan, the Piombino Palace, and the Pantheon were displayed.

Returning to him, she thanked the guard and proceeded back onto the Plaisance. “Oh, Cullen. They had minuscule portraits of the popes and papal coats of arms inside the cathedral.”

He glanced again at the display, wishing he could have seen it as well.

They passed the Irish Village. Behind its turreted stone keep, bagpipes squeezed out rousing tunes, their notes obliterating all chances of conversation.

What kind of boats are on the lllnnn?

He glanced at his paper. “Must be gondola. That’s the only boat on my list. But I missed the last word you said.”

You’re doing very ball.

No. She must have said
well
. You’re doing very
well
.

“Only with you,” he said. “Your lips aren’t difficult to decipher. But some people mumble or barely move their lips, and I have a terrible time interpreting their words.”

You’ll
get
rrrr.

“I’ll get what?”

Bet-ter.

He nodded. Up ahead, Ferris’s enormous wheel took up the middle of the Plaisance. Each screened-in box car creaked and swung from the wheel’s spokes. A long line of fairgoers awaiting their turns twisted past the Vienna Café and the Indian Bazaar.

FERRIS WHEEL

Della stopped, once again holding her hat as she surveyed Ferris’s monstrosity. She looked at a painted sign above the ticket booth, then winced. Fifty cents per person.

Vendors walked up and down the line bawling, shouting, and hawking their wares. “Cigarettes! Ver’ sheap! Two for five!”

“Step forward! Ferris wheel souvenirs! Two nickels! One dime!”

Della ground to a halt, an exhibit on her left capturing her full attention.

What’s that?
she mouthed.

Towering above a fence, an old-fashioned double-ripper whipped passenger-filled toboggans through a winding course, its occupants screaming with a mixture of fear and delight. A rumbling machine kept the chute’s surface slick and coated with ice.

Della dug into her chatelaine bag. “Imagine, sliding on ice in the summertime and without a coat. I can’t wait to write my brothers back in Philadelphia. They’ll never believe it.” Extracting a dime, she squeezed it in her palm. “Go with me?”

He glanced at the ride. Most of the riders were boys and men, but he simply couldn’t spend the dime. “You go ahead.”

“But it’s no fun by myself.” Biting her cheek, she gave him a speculative look. “I won’t get any hot cocoa for two days, and right after the ride, we’ll sit down and work on our lessons for the rest of the evening.”

That alone was worth the dime. Still, he paid for her cup of cocoa every day before their lessons. It was five cents a cup and the least he could do to compensate her. If she went without for two days, though, and he went on this ride, then he’d come out even.

He pulled on his ear. “Well, I suppose. Just this once.”

The smile she gave him produced both dimples and hit him right in the gut. Before he could recover, she was already flying toward the sleds, calling for him to follow.