It Happened at the Fair (32 page)

“Has she seen any of the fair?” Mr. Kruger asked.

“Well, no, sir. We have school all day, then supper and bedtime.”

His lips narrowed. “I cannot imagine being in this amazing White City and not taking the children on regular outings. The only reason I can think of for such an oversight is so you can put on this little show.” He swept his arm to encompass the other children.

“No, sir. It’s not like that at all.”

“Isn’t it?”

Mrs. Kruger lifted her chin. “We’re taking her with us.”

Della’s eyes widened. “You cannot.”

“Just for a few hours.” The woman’s eyes filled. “Please. She’s gotten so big. And she feels so good. It would be such an educational experience for her and a healing one for us.”

Della’s throat began to fill. “You know I’m not allowed. The temptation to use hand gestures to communicate with her would be too strong.”

“Would it really set her back that much?” she asked.

“It would,” Della said, but deep inside, she wasn’t so sure.

Mr. Kruger lowered his voice. “Don’t you think the benefits of spending a few hours with her parents at the World’s Fair would outweigh any perceived drawbacks were we to accidentally use a hand gesture?”

She bit her lip. “It’s not my decision. I don’t have the authority to grant you permission.”

“Then go get someone who does,” he barked.

“I cannot leave the children.”

“Please,” Mrs. Kruger begged, her blue eyes so much like Kitty’s. “Please. She hasn’t been home since she was two. Not for Christmas, not for her birthday, not for Thanksgiving. We just want an hour outside a school setting. Please.”

Della’s heart squeezed. This wasn’t right. She’d never questioned the rule until now, but clearly keeping children from their parents was unnatural.

The door burst open. Her director stood in its threshold, eyes narrowed, lips pinched. “What is the meaning of this?”

In her midthirties, she dressed in dark, sedate colors, her saddle-brown hair pulled back into a bun. A continuous row of short hair curling over like a sausage framed an extremely high forehead.

Mr. Kruger straightened to his full height. “We’re taking Kitty to tour the fair with us for a couple of hours. We’ll be back before supper.”

“You will do no such thing. Put her down immediately, and we’ll discuss this in my office.”

“No.” Mrs. Kruger held her daughter more tightly. Kitty’s lips trembled. Della’s other students whimpered.

“You are upsetting the entire class,” the director said. “Have a care. We have an extremely long waiting list for students. You knew what the rules were when you enrolled her. You gave us your word you would abide by them.” She seared Mr. Kruger with her gaze. “Is your word worth nothing?”

Her students might not be able to hear, but they could feel the tension and heartbreak. Della didn’t know whether to go to them or stay close to Kitty.

Finally, Mr. Kruger thrust his chin forward. “Give her to me, Pam.”

“No, Howard. Please, no.” The woman shook her head, curly blond wisps escaping her coif. Still, she released her daughter into her husband’s hands.

Cradling Kitty in his arms, he touched her chin and looked into her eyes. “I love you.”

He did everything he wasn’t supposed to. He spoke slowly, and he exaggerated his lips. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“I wuv ooo.” Her cherubic voice trembling, Kitty brushed the tear from her father’s face.

Leaning over, he kissed her on the forehead. “Say bye-bye to Mama.”

Kitty’s mouth fell open. “No, Papa. No.”

Mrs. Kruger clasped Kitty’s hand and brought it to her lips. “We’ll be back, sweet girl. Mama loves you.”

He leaned over to set her down, but she wouldn’t let go. She screamed, she cried, she crushed his silk jacket in her fists.

Della didn’t even know she was crying until she tasted the salt on her lips. Squatting down, she forced Kitty’s fingers from her father’s lapels.

“No!” She kicked, she swung her fists, her blond curls springing in every direction.

Finally, Della had her and tucked her against her chest. But Kitty fought, flinging herself toward her parents.

“Quickly,” the director said.

Pulling his sobbing wife against him, Mr. Kruger did as he was instructed.

CHAPTER

34

Cullen stared at the official-looking piece of paper with disbelief. All the legwork, all the knocking on doors had actually paid off. His appeal had been granted. The commission had said yes—if he had a fire wagon and if he held the demonstration behind Terminal Station where there weren’t any buildings. The commission hadn’t asked him how much time he needed but simply scheduled the demonstration for this coming Monday. He couldn’t wait to tell Della, but first he had things to attend to.

He asked Tisdale if he would print up some invitations on the platen press from scrap paper. Then he took a morning train out to Grasty’s printing works. Cullen had already promised he’d come by and give an estimate. He couldn’t afford to cancel that.

Though Grasty Printing Works was a preexisting building, it was a simple one. Four sides, one ceiling. What fascinated him most were the printing presses that chugged beneath that ceiling. He stood before them, marveling at the constant motion of man and machine.

Grasty joined him, his toothy grin intact as he indicated Cullen follow him to a partitioned-off corner. Tucked behind a paneled screen were a bookshelf and a desk with rolled papers crammed inside its pigeonholes and others strewn across its surface.

“Have a seat,” Grasty shouted over the noise.

Wondering if he’d ever have a client with a quiet office, Cullen lowered himself into a spindly chair, then caught his balance when its uneven legs shifted.

“So, what’s yr estimate?” Grasty asked, hooking eyeglasses over his ears.

“I should be able to do the entire job for eighty.”

“Eighty dollars?”

“Yes, sir.”

Grasty’s smile grew even larger. “Excellent. That’s great news. When can you start?”

Cullen’s jaw slackened. He hadn’t expected to close the deal, particularly on an unproven system. “Well, I . . .” He shrugged. “Let’s see, the fair ends the thirty-first of October, which is a Tuesday, I believe. Then I’ll need time to tie up everything, gather the materials, and make the sprinkler heads. So how does the first week in December sound?”

Turning to a wall calendar beside him, Grasty lifted some sheets, then penciled in SPRINKLER on December fourth.

Euphoria shot through Cullen. “I’ll need fifty percent down, then fifty percent on completion.”

“I’ll bring the money to you this week. Will that suffice?”

Smiling, Cullen started to rise. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Grasty held up a hand. “Not quite so fast, son. We’re not done.”

Cullen lowered himself back into the flimsy chair.

“We haven’t talked about my other printing works. They’re spread all along the eastern seaboard. Will you need to see those, or can you give me an estimate from architectural drawings?”

“It depends on the drawings.”

For the next thirty minutes, they perused several drawings and discussed options. And with each building, the quote mounted. It was currently at fifteen hundred dollars and Grasty hadn’t so much as batted an eye.

Cullen had been figuring in a fifty percent markup, plus another ten percent for wiggle room, since looking at drawings was a lot different from looking at the actual structures. Still, at this rate, he’d be able to pay off the farm’s debts and have enough left over to live off of. For the first time in a long, long while, a spark of hope flared inside him.

The longer they talked, though, the more Cullen struggled to hear. Between the background noise and Grasty’s tendency toward smiling, lip-reading was next to impossible. And worse, he was on Cullen’s right. Cullen had asked the man to repeat himself several times, and with each subsequent request Grasty became more agitated.

Finally, he whipped off his glasses. “Is there a problem, McNamara?”

Taking a deep breath, Cullen quelled his sudden nervousness. The man had asked him outright if there was a problem. And there was only one way to answer that truthfully.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “But I’m hard of hearing. If you could just speak a little more slowly and loudly, I should be able to hear just fine.”

Steepling his fingers against the table, Grasty pierced Cullen with his gaze. “Hard of hrng? What do you mean hard of hrng?”

Again. A direct question requiring a direct and honest answer. He swallowed. “I can barely hear with my right ear, but my left one works fairly well.”

Grasty slowly straightened, his face blotching. “You’re deaf? You nvr mentioned you were df.”

“I’m not deaf. I’m hard of hearing. But it doesn’t affect my work.”

“This is very trblsm news, McNamara. You should have tld me this long ago. Why haven’t you mentioned it bfr?”

“It, um, never came up.”

“Never came up?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. McNamara. But I’m sure you understand Grasty Printing Works is not in the business of cntrctng with the deaf and dumb.”

Cullen tensed. “Do I appear dumb to you, sir?”

He spoke calmly, his voice almost too even. “Do not be imprtnt with me. For our own protection, we can’t hire smone like you. It would put the whole plnt at risk.”

“I’m sorry?” It was out before he could call it back. It didn’t really matter what Grasty had said. Cullen should have just nodded and kept his mouth shut.

Grasty narrowed his eyes. “How about this. Our. Deal. Is. Off. Did you hear tht?”

Panic assailed him. “Please, sir. I do excellent work. I’m fast. And my prices are very reasonable.”

Grabbing one end of the architectural plans, Grasty began rolling them up. “I’m no longer interested. There was another exhibitor right beside you who didn’t have one foot in the madhouse.”

Cullen whipped himself up to his full height. “There’s nothing wrong with my faculties, sir.”

Grasty eyed him with displeasure. “Hearing is a faculty, McNamara. I’m not aboot to spend this kind of money on a man I can’t rely on.”

“But you can rely on me. Besides, Bulenberg’s sprinkler system doesn’t even compare. It’s manual. It’s antiquated. And someone would have to be there to pull a lever for it to work. Mine is one-of-a-kind and will work night or day no matter who is or isn’t there.”

“I’ve said what I had to say.” Grasty’s breathing grew deep. “I believe you’ve wasted enough of my time. You know the way out.”

Ten minutes later, Cullen sat on the train back to Jackson Park, watching Chicago whiz by his window. Typical. Everything he touched turned to stone. Well, lesson learned. No one, but no one, could learn he was going deaf. He only hoped Grasty didn’t spread the word before Cullen’s demonstration on Monday.

Della saw Cullen before he saw her. He sat at their table in Blooker’s cradling his chin in his hand, staring into space.

Her own heart heavy, she approached. “Hello.”

Rousing himself, he rose to hold out her chair. “Hello.”

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I was just going to ask you the same thing.” He pushed in her chair.

“I had a horrible day.”

His brows drew together. “What happened?”

“Some parents came to class and tried to whisk one of my students away for a few hours.”

He motioned for Miss Zonderkop to bring a cup of cocoa.

“And that’s bad?” he asked.

She rubbed her temples. “Yes. The students are supposed to stay with us for an uninterrupted six-year period.”

“What does ‘uninterrupted’ mean?”

“It means they never go home.”

He studied her. “Not even for Christmas?”

“Not even for Christmas.”

“Doesn’t that seem a bit excessive to you?”

She sighed. “The parents are allowed scheduled visits as often as they’d like, they just aren’t allowed to take the children off the property.”

“Why?”

“The directors are fearful the parents will use hand gestures during vacation and will undo all our hard work. But you should have seen these parents, Cullen.” Her nostrils flared as she tried to swallow the hurt. “They just wanted to take Kitty out and show her the fair for a few hours. A few hours. I just don’t see the harm in that.”