Tiffany Girl (29 page)

CHAPTER

37

F
lossie stepped into the art gallery, light streaming through its front window. The newly applied
BOURGEOIS’ ART GALLERY
made an arch across the window, the letters backward from this angle. The scent of beeswax, linseed oil, and vinegar testified that the paneled walls had recently been polished. There was no furniture, only a barren floor and gleaming walls. Framed artwork wrapped in brown paper lay propped against its perimeter. Scrawled across the papers were names such as Audubon, Granger, Jayne, and Cloudman.

Her heart skipped a beat. Jayne. Right there between two great American artists. She still couldn’t believe Monsieur Bourgeois had agreed to accept her painting when she’d been short the deposit by twenty-two dollars and change.

“Mademoiselle.”

Turning, she smiled. The petite Frenchman pulled a jacket over his shirtsleeves, though he had no tie or waistcoat beneath it. Even still, his black hair was in perfect order, a fine complement to his dark skin and eyes.

“I caught you in the middle of working.” She clutched her reticule with both hands. “Did I misunderstand what time I was to call?”

“
Not at all. The fault is mine. I’m afraid the time got away from me.” He looked around. “I’d offer you a seat, but I regret to say I have none. The furniture was due to arrive this morning, but it has yet to make an appearance.”

She loved his accent, could listen to it all day long and never grow weary of it.

“It’s all right.” Opening her reticule, she removed a pouch heavy with coin. “I just came by to give you your fee. It’s all there if you’d like to count it. All seventy-seven dollars and thirty cents.”

Frowning, he slipped it into his coat pocket. “I know you are a—how do you say it? A New Woman? But I’d expected a man to deliver this on your behalf.”

She lifted her chin. “And as I told you before, I take care of my own affairs.”

He studied her, his brown eyes unreadable. “I see. Well, New Woman or not, I’d never be so crass as to count coins in front of you.”

“Would you count them in front of a man?”

He took her elbow. “That is not for you to worry over.”

Stiffening, she carefully withdrew. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

“I trust you.”

“And if you find I’ve counted incorrectly?”

He rubbed his jaw. “Have you counted incorrectly?”

“I have not.”

“Then that is good enough for me.” He took her elbow again. “Now, let me walk you around and tell you how I have envisioned everything.”

For the next twenty minutes they circled the room. He told her which types of paintings would hang in what sections. Where he planned to place the seating. Who he thought would attend. And then he showed her a sketch of the invitations he was having embossed. He even unwrapped Audubon’s painting to let her have a peek. “It’s a barred owl.”

A brown owl in a threatening pose with wings arched back screeched at a squirrel who’d invaded his tree limb.

“Exquisite,” she said. “Look at the bark, and the fuzziness of the squirrel’s tail. His attention to detail is simply incredible.”

“Quite so.” He wrapped it back up.

“Are there any other woman artists being displayed?” she asked.

“There are not. You are my only female, but that shall be our little secret. I think it best not to put any barriers in front of the buyers. Let them fall in love with the painting the way I did. When they are all vying to purchase it, only then will I reveal your true identity.”

She wrapped the ribbons of her reticule’s handle about her finger. “I’m very eager to see it up and on the wall with the others. When can I come back?”

He waved his index finger in a negative motion. “
Non, non
. I don’t allow the artists to come by in advance. It is a rule. Otherwise, they tell me they want me to move their painting to here and someone else’s to there.” He took her hand in his. “You must trust me,
ma chère
. I will make sure your work is displayed to perfection. We will see you on opening night, but not a moment before. Promise me you will do as I request?”

She nodded. “I understand. And I promise.”

“That’s a good girl.” At the door, he kissed her hand. “I shall see you two weeks from Saturday for the opening. Be sure to wear something beautiful.”

“I will. And thank you, Monsieur Bourgeois. For everything.” With a tiny wave, she stepped back onto the sidewalk, excited and scared to death all at the same time.

DINING CAR 
²¹

“ ‘I’ll be eating in its fancy dining car and sleeping in an actual
berth
.’ ”

CHAPTER

38

T
he front door slammed and the sound of rapid footfalls hurried toward him. Reeve looked up from his work in time to see Miss Jayne fly by in a blur of navy and white. What was she doing home in the middle of the day? He was on his feet and in the hallway before he even realized he’d moved.

“Has something happened?” he asked, still gripping his pen.

With a hand on her doorknob, she turned to him, eyes bright, color high, smile radiant. The wallop it packed nearly sent him to his knees.

“Guess what?” She hugged herself and gave a little bounce.

“Your painting sold?” He couldn’t fathom it, for not only was the gallery not open yet, the picture wasn’t of the caliber one would expect to see in an art gallery. Still, he was no art expert, so perhaps he was wrong.

“I’m going to the fair!” A laugh like the jingling of chimes filled the hallway.

“The fair? How? When?”

“Tomorrow!” Throwing her hands wide, she spun in a circle, advancing toward him, her skirt belling out. At the last moment, she stopped a mere foot away and listed to the right.

He reached out and steadied her.

“
Elizabeth is very ill and can’t go.” She covered her mouth, looking like she’d just been caught in the midst of a deadly sin, yet wasn’t completely sorry for it. “That sounds horrible. I shouldn’t be so thrilled she’s sick. And I’m not, truly I’m not, but I can’t help being just a little excited because they asked me to go in her stead.”

“What’s all that ruckus out there?” Mrs. Dinwiddie’s voice held the scratchiness of one who’d dozed off in her chair.

“Oh, Mrs. Dinwiddie, guess what?” Miss Jayne raced into the woman’s room, took the knitting from her hands, pulled her to her feet, and gave her a giant bear hug. “I’m going to the fair! I’m going to the fair!”

Mrs. Dinwiddie patted Miss Jayne, seemingly more out of reflex than anything else. “What? What’s this?”

He returned his pen to his room, then propped a shoulder against Mrs. Dinwiddie’s doorframe. Miss Jayne raised the old woman’s arm and twirled beneath it as if they were in the middle of a ballroom. Finally, she let go and proceeded to jump. She clapped her hands, she bounced like a bunny, she laughed with unrestraint.

Mrs. Dinwiddie chuckled and, in spite of himself, he found a grin tugging at his mouth.

“I can’t believe it.” Clasping her hands, Miss Jayne pressed them beneath her chin. “Mr. Tiffany is already there, but he’s having a carriage sent for me in the morning which will take me to Grand Central Station where I’ll meet up with Nan. From there, I’m to take a Pullman car to Chicago. Can you imagine? A
Pullman
. I’ll be eating in its fancy dining car and sleeping in an actual
berth
. I can’t even fathom it.”

She danced to him, grabbed his hands, pulled him into the room, and spun them in a circle as if they were children. “I have to go pack. What in the world will I wear? I can’t wait to tell my parents.” She stopped, their hands still clasped, her eyes filling. “Oh, Reeve, they’re going to be so pleased and proud. I’m going
to do a demonstration of glass cutting at the Woman’s Building. I’ll get to see our chapel. I’ll get to see my friend’s mural in the Manufacturer’s Building. Oh, my goodness. How am I going to have time to do all the things I need to do before I leave? I must get busy.” She rushed out of the room, then a moment later was grabbing the doorframe and swinging herself back in. “Could you do me the biggest favor, Mr. Wilder? I know you’re busy, but it would mean so much. Could you get word to my mother? I’m going to need her help or I’ll never be ready in time. Would you mind?”

He found himself shaking his head. “Of course not. I’ll be glad to.”

“Oh, thank you!” Arms wide, she launched herself at him.

Eyes widening, he stumbled back, but there was no stopping her momentum. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him on the cheek, then raced off to her room before he had a chance to respond.

Every nerve in his body went on alert. The blood in his veins moved so forcefully he could almost feel it. The place on his cheek where her lips had touched tingled.

With a pleased look, Mrs. Dinwiddie shooed him with her hands. “Don’t you dare send a message, you go fetch her mother and bring her back post haste or that girl might explode into a thousand different pieces.”

His cognitive functions began to operate again. “I don’t have time to—”

“Yes, you do. If it means you have to work a little late tonight, so be it. Now, go. And for heaven’s sake, don’t dawdle.”

He was out the door and on the sidewalk before he realized he had no idea where the Jaynes even lived. Turning back around, he reentered the house.

Mrs. Dinwiddie met him halfway down the hall with a piece
of paper in her hand. “Here you are. Their address is on here. Now, hurry.”

It wasn’t until he’d flagged a cab and had a chance to catch his breath that he realized Miss Jayne had used his Christian name. Even more than the kiss, that shook him to his very core.

WORLD’S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION 
²²