It Happened at the Fair (45 page)

Her heart filled. “I love you too.”

He toyed with a tendril of hair at the back of her neck, twining it round and round his finger. Every part of her wanted to launch herself into his arms.

His eyes darkened as if he’d read her thoughts.

They drifted beneath another bridge. Within its dark shadows, the gondoliers flattened their oars, bringing the boat to a stop. Waves gently rocked them from side to side.

Cullen gathered her into his arms. She had no time for protest, for his kiss commanded all her attention. It was the kiss not of a courting man but of a lover.

Every nerve, every impulse, every fiber in her being magnified a hundred times. She pressed herself against him. He tried to draw her closer, but the bench was awkward. The pillows slipped and the boat swayed.

He broke their kiss, his chest heaving. “Marry me tomorrow.”

Yes, her insides screamed, but her mind held on to some semblance of sanity. “Not tomorrow.”

“The day after?” He nipped her ear, nuzzled her neck.

She gently pushed against his chest. “The gondoliers,” she whispered.

He stilled, then slowly straightened. When they’d righted themselves, the boatmen guided the gondola toward the wings of the Art Gallery. The channel curved and wandered, now narrow, now wide. Now straight, now crooked.

Darkness crept upon them, welcoming the man in the moon, who smiled at them. Cullen returned his arm to the back of the bench, his fingers making circles along her arm. They passed the Wooded Island again, strings of green Japanese lanterns bobbing in the breeze, a medley of sweet odors wafting across the waters. As they reentered the Grand Basin, the vessel glided to its center, then floated about as they gloried in the illumination show. The resplendent glow of lights made her feel as if they’d drifted into an enchanted land.

Snuggling into the crook of Cullen’s arm, she laid her head against his shoulder and turned her betrothal ring about her finger. She couldn’t wait to look at it more closely. She wondered which grandmother it had belonged to—his father’s mother or his mother’s mother. His mother’s wedding ring had most likely been lost in the fire.

She fisted her hand, pledging to take great care of this one. She still couldn’t believe he’d proposed. But he’d obviously planned to do so for some time, because he’d had to send for the ring.

She worried her lip. What had his father’s reaction been? Especially since it wasn’t Wanda Cullen planned to marry. Had his father been close to Wanda?

The colored spotlights captured her attention as they began to highlight different parts of the Court of Honor. The brilliance of the electric lights along with the featured statues and fountains captivated, enthralled, and mesmerized. Perhaps it was enchanted, this White City.

Even still, she looked forward to the show’s finale. For then Cullen would walk her home. She felt sure he’d find a spot to try to convince her once more to set as early a wedding date as possible.

She had no intention of marrying him tomorrow. All the same, she looked forward to the convincing.

WOODED ISLAND

“In the morning the Wooded Island was blessed by heaven and held no rivals. Not even a rainbow could compete.”

CHAPTER

52

DO NOT MARRY UNTIL I HAVE MET HIM. STOP. I MEAN IT. STOP. ON MY WAY NOW. STOP.

Della smiled as she thought again of her father’s curt response to her news. He and Mama had taken the next train to Chicago and arrived within a day.

Cullen had tried to explain that eloping meant saying the vows and then telling her parents. But Della had refused. It would hurt their feelings, and she had no intention of starting married life off on the wrong foot.

Still, Papa hadn’t been easy to pacify. He had harangued and blustered and then beseeched Mama for help. But Mama was so thrilled Della had a groom, she didn’t care who he was or how quickly they married.

Now that the moment had come, though, Della experienced her first rush of nervousness. They received special permission to allow her parents into the park while the sun had just begun its journey into the sky, for in the morning, the Wooded Island was blessed by heaven and held no rivals. Not even a rainbow could compete.

They crossed the bridge where the sculpture of the half-naked Indian reminded her of her first visit to the island with Cullen. This time, he’d be waiting for her inside the rose garden with the intent of making her his wife.

Despite Papa’s stern countenance, he agreed to purchase an exquisite new dress for her. The gown of rose silk faille and hounds-tooth had a matching hat, complete with netting that covered her eyes like a bridal veil. Never had she owned something so nice.

As they crossed to the inner part of the island, a green flowery fence beckoned. As she stepped through its gates, the sweet aroma of thousands of blooms enveloped her. In front of a wall of roses, Cullen stood in his gray suit with his hands in his pockets, talking with Chief Murphy. An entire battalion of firemen in full regalia visited with Hilda and Maxine.

Sensing her presence, Cullen turned and slowly pulled his hands free, then straightened his white collar and silver necktie. The men formed a group on one side of him, her friends on the other.

She took both her mother’s and father’s arms and walked toward them. Never had a church been more beautifully appointed. The cool, scented garden was their nave, the blue cloudless sky their high roof. Even the gentle breeze stirred vines and flowers, making them a soft-voiced choir.

Cullen nipped a pink rose from a bush behind him, then snapped its thorns from the stem.

When they reached him, he extended it to her. “You look lovely.” His voice held awe and reverence.

Warmth surged through her. Releasing her mother’s arm, she accepted the rose, then touched it to her nose. “Thank you.”

Murphy cleared his throat and opened his Bible. “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

Her father searched her gaze, a silent message that it wasn’t too late to change her mind.

Smiling, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

With a heavy sigh, he offered her hand to the chief, then stepped back.

With his right hand, Cullen took hers from Murphy.

“Repeat after me,” Murphy said. “I, Cullen Berneen McNamara, take thee, Adelaide Rosalind Wentworth . . .”

Cullen gave his troth, his voice strong and full of conviction. She then took his right hand and repeated her vows, emotion rising and causing her words to wobble.

Cullen gave her a reassuring squeeze, then once again slid the same ring she’d worn since their engagement onto her left finger and pledged to her all his worldly goods.

Murphy said the Lord’s Prayer, joined their hands, and clasped them with his. “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” He offered a blessing and pronounced them man and wife.

Though the firemen whistled and whooped, the wedding kiss was chaste and simple. But Cullen’s ardent look made promise of a more rousing one in private.

CHAPTER

53

Cullen thought night would never come. Della’s parents had stuck by their side the entire day as the four of them toured the fair. Della was clearly close to them and enjoyed their company. Mr. Wentworth, however, had enjoyed thwarting Cullen. The man knew good and well Cullen had wanted a moment alone with his bride, but made sure no opportunity arose.

Now, however, the illumination show was over and the park was closing. Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth had no choice but to leave. In the Court of Honor, they hugged Della good-bye and Mr. Wentworth shook Cullen’s hand—squeezing so hard Cullen struggled to keep his fingers from overlapping.

Still, a surge of satisfaction swept through him, for Della was his and carried his last name to prove it.

The exiting crowd swallowed up her parents.

He captured Della’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Did you have fun?”

A lamppost picked up the sparkles in her eyes. “I did. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until now.”

“Are you sorry they’re leaving tomorrow?”

She tilted her head. “Yes and no. Yes, because there was so much more I wanted to show them. And no, because . . .” She bit her lip. “. . . Because I sort of wished we’d been alone.”

He tucked her hand into his elbow. “Well, we’re alone now, Mrs. McNamara.”

He started toward the South Canal.

Her brows lifted. “Are you taking me to a hidden staircase?”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “We are man and wife. No need to search out eaves and alcoves anymore.”

“Then why are we heading in the wrong direction?”

“You didn’t think we’d spend our wedding night in Harvell House, did you?”

A bit of panic crossed her face. “Well, yes. That’s where all my things are.”

“Your mother packed a bag for you and had it delivered to our destination.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “And what is our destination?”

Bed. “Oh, over that way.” He whirled his hand in a southeasterly direction.

“We’re staying on the fairgrounds?”

“We are.”

She glanced toward the Agricultural Building. “Where? ‘Over that way’ could mean yards or it could mean miles.”

“Farther than yards, shorter than miles.”

She cocked a brow but said nothing. Her smile began to stretch when he brought her to the threshold of Blooker’s Dutch Cocoa Company.

“We’re having some hot chocolate?” she asked.

“We are.” Pushing open the large wooden door, a rich chocolate aroma enveloped them. Della removed her gloves.

A rosy-cheeked Dutch maiden wearing wooden shoes and a gaudy dress greeted them.

Cullen smiled. “We’ll have two cups, Miss Zonderkop.”

She curtseyed, then hurried into the kitchen.

Placing a hand on Della’s back, he guided her around a few dozen tables with chairs turned upside down on their tops, then into an old-fashioned parlor, sitting room, and kitchen.

Two dining chairs and a side table faced a cheery fire popping inside a brick fireplace. Drop leaf tables, holding the vases of roses he’d requested, graced the north and east walls. A geometric carpet offered cushion for their weary feet.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Are we going to tour it again?”

“We’re going to honeymoon here.”