It Happened at the Fair (2 page)

Alice took a quick breath.

“Then why are we even discussing this?”

“Because I already paid it.”

Alice whipped her head toward Dad.

“Paid it?” Cullen’s body flashed hot, then cold. “Are you out of your mind? No. That’s, that’s . . . crazy.”

“Well, it’s all arranged. Marty down at the train station took care of it fer me.”

“Where did you even get that kind of money?” It wasn’t his business, and under normal circumstances, he’d never have had the gall to ask. But these weren’t normal circumstances.

“I had a little tucked away from when the cash was rollin’ in back in ’90 and ’91.”

“A little?” Cullen’s lungs quit working. Try as he might, only a quiver of air would go through his pipes. “That’s a whole year’s harvest,” he rasped. “It’s way too much. And you know it. Especially with cotton prices as shaky as they are right now.”

“Pshaw. We’re fine.”

Alice pushed back from the table, her expression tight, her movements jerky.

Cullen grabbed the napkin from his neck. “Well, I’m not going. You’ll have to tell them you changed your mind.”

Dad took a deep breath. “Life’s an unsure thing, son. You know that firsthand. Sometimes, ya just got to rch out and grab it, right by the tail.”

“What about the crop?”

“Dewey’s boys said they’d hire on.”

Cullen’s jaw slackened. “You’ve already asked them?”

“Ayup.”

“What about Wanda? We’re supposed to get married.”

Dad studied him. “Ya set a date?”

“Well, no, but we’re going to. And it’ll be sooner rather than later.”

Dad folded his napkin in half, then in half again. “Forever’s a long time. A few months on the front end or the back end won’t make much difference.”

“We’re not talking about a few months. We’re talking half a year. We’re talking the planting, the weeding, and half the harvesting. We’re talking clear to November.”

Dad hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “I know how long the fair runs.”

His nostrils flared. “What if I went all the way up there and nobody wanted it?”

“Then ya can come on home and be a frmr. You’ll be no worse off than ya are now.”

“You’ll be three hundred dollars poorer! The economy is in a mess and farming is as unreliable as a woman’s watch. I had no idea you even had a cushion like that. The last thing you want to do is spend it on something so frivolous.” He paused. “I can’t take it, Dad. It’s too much. I’d never forgive myself if it was all for nothing.”

“I’m gifting it to ya.”

Alice slammed a coffeepot onto the stove.

“I’m gifting it right back,” Cullen said.

Dad dragged a hand down his face. It had been a long time since the two of them butted heads.

“I know you mean well, Dad, but children are always saying stupid things. Things like, ‘I want to be a sheriff when I grow up’ or ‘I want be the president’ or,” he lowered his voice, “ ‘I want to be an inventor.’ It means nothing. It’s silly talk.”

“Not if that’s what they’re destined to be.”

Feeling all the bluster leave him, he allowed his shoulders to slump and played his final card. “I’m going deaf, Dad. Even if I manage to find investors, once they learn I can’t hear like a normal person and that I belong in an asylum, they’ll withdraw their offers.”

Alice twisted around, her face stricken, her hands crinkling her apron.

Dad’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed. “Yer not goin’ deaf and ya don’t belong in a madhouse. So maybe you have a lttl trouble hearing every single word a fella utters. Ya get by just fine.”

“When things are nice and quiet I do, but it’s getting worse. Especially if there are other—”

Dad held up his palm, effectively stopping him. “Madhouses are fer crazy people. There’s nothing wrong with yer think box. You’re more book smart than over half the county.”

“Nobody cares about book smarts once they find out there’s something wrong with you. Just look at Ophelia Ashford. She went blind after staring at the sun and her parents shipped her off to Blackwell’s lickety-split.”

“Miss Ashford’s parents are the ones who should be locked up, not her. But quit changing the subject. I’ve already wired them folks up in Chicago and accepted their invite. I’ve found ya a boardin’ house and paid fer yer room—nonrefundable, nontransferable. I’m not asking ya anymore. I’m telling ya. It’s why yer mother learned ya. You may be able to let all her hard work—her life’s work—go fer nothing, but I’m not.” Lifting up one hip, he pulled a ticket and a bulging envelope from his pocket, then slid them across the table. “Yer gettin’ on the Richmond & Danville in one week’s time. Yer goin’ to Chicago. Yer stayin’ at a boardin’ house called Harvell. And yer gonna give this thing a chance. The best chance it’s ever had. I’ll see ya in November.”

The anger simmering inside began to bubble again. He could not believe this. Swiping up the ticket, the money, and the letter, he stood. “Fine. I’ll go. And I’ll fail, like I always do. Then I’ll come back and we can put this thing to bed once and for all.”

CHAPTER

2

How much longer before ya finish?” Wanda asked, batting at a bug flying about her head.

“I’m almost done.” Cullen threaded a bolt on an animal-powered treadmill he’d rigged up. “I just want to make sure this is still working for your mother before I leave.”

One of Wanda’s sisters burst out the back door, tagged her brother on the run, and bounded down the porch steps. “Yer it!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

The twins sat cross-legged in the yard, reciting nursery rhymes and keeping time with their hands as they slapped their thighs, clapped once, then each tapped the other’s palm. Inside, the baby’s cries sliced through it all, the open windows offering no buffer.

Wanda tightened her lips. “I stll cain’t believe yer not gettin’ back ’til November.”

“Me, neither.”

“I don’t know what all the fuss is over. Who cares about some dumb world’s fair?” Pulling loose the strings of her sunbonnet, she yanked it off her head, mussing her blond hair. “And who cares about some old explorer who discovered America four hndrd years ago?”

Pausing, he glanced at her. Even in the fading light, he could see the irritation snapping in her eyes.

“Lift that lantern for me, would you?” he asked.

Tossing down her bonnet, she grabbed the lantern.

He tightened the bolt he’d threaded. “The celebration of Columbus’s discovery is just an excuse for us to show the world how far we’ve progressed in the past four hundred years and for them to show us how far they’ve progressed. Ever since the Paris fair in ’89, we’ve been itching to do something bigger and grander than the Eiffel Tower.”

“Sounds ta me like it ain’t nothin’ more than a big ol’ peein’ contest.”

Grinning, he set down his wrench and straightened. “I guess that’s not too far from the truth.” He curled his tongue against his teeth and whistled for the dog. “Cowboy! Come here, fella. Get on up here and let’s see if she’s working again.”

The black-and-white border collie bounded across the yard and onto the treadmill, activating the flywheel, which moved the walking beam up and down, which then pumped the churn dasher attached to it.

The back door opened again. “Charlie!” Mrs. Sappington called, stepping onto the porch. “Oh, Cullen. Ya fixed it.”

Pushing the brake lever, he stopped the treadmill and let Cowboy jump off. “It was no problem, ma’am. Your new churn’s just a little shallower than the last. All I had to do was drill a hole closer to the fulcrum.”

She smiled, her round cheeks rosy from the warmth of the kitchen. “The prblm wasn’t drillin’ the hole. The problem was knowing the exact spot ta drll it in. I sure do ’preciate it.”

A boy with scuffed knees and short pants clomped up the steps. “Ya call me, Ma?”

“It’s yer turn in the bath wtr. Come on, now.”

Cullen put the tools back in the box, then stuffed it under the porch. He’d put off seeing Wanda as long as he could. Not only to give his face time to settle into some semblance of its former self, but also because he’d had a thousand details to see to before leaving. His train pulled out in the morning, though, and it was time to pay the piper.

“Finally.” Wanda stomped off toward the smokehouse, the lantern in her hand swinging like a church bell, her hips doing the same. He followed, taking a moment to appreciate her cinched-in calico frock, which hinted at curves beneath. It would be her company, however, that he’d miss the most.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do,” he said. “But Dad left me no choice.”

“Ya could’ve told him no,” she snapped.

“I did.”

She whirled around. “Ya could’ve meant it.”

He took the lantern from her. “I did mean it. But he’d already laid out a great deal of cash, none of which I could get back. I tried.”

“But it don’t make a lick o’ sense. Yer a farmer. What’s yer dad thinkin’? That he can dress ya up in purty duds, send ya up to Chicagy, and turn ya into John Edison?”

“Thomas Edison. And no, yes, maybe. But you’re right. The whole thing’s ludicrous.”

Her lips began to quiver. “I don’t want ya to go, Cullen.”

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “That makes two of us. I’m sorry, Wanda. I really am.”

“Will ya . . .” She took a shaky breath. “Will ya marry me afore ya go?”

Releasing her, he leaned back. “I can’t. There’s no—”

“I knew it!” Spinning, she stumbled down the path, her shoulders starting to shake.

Die and be doomed. What a convoluted mess.

She pushed into the smokehouse and slammed the door. It was the only place quiet enough for him to hear above the ruckus her siblings made.

The crickets silenced momentarily, then started right up again. He forced himself to move forward. But marry her? Tonight? The thought had never even occurred to him. And if it had, he’d have dismissed it out of hand.

Taking a fortifying breath, he stepped inside and closed the door with a soft click. The overwhelming aroma of smoked ham, pork shoulders, and bacon stifled all his other senses, bringing with it a rush of well-being. He and Wanda had spent many an evening in here talking about everything from the stunts they’d pulled as youngsters to the kind of house they’d one day live in.

But in all that time, he’d never once mentioned the World’s Fair advertisement he kept. And why should he have? It was nothing. Just a promotion piece from a grandiose event that was in every newspaper from here to kingdom come. It had nothing to do with him. Nothing to do with her. And nothing to do with the life they’d mapped out for themselves.

Until now.

Meat hanging from the rafters like overgrown bats cast gruesome shadows on the bricked walls. In the shed’s center, Wanda stood with her back to him, head down, shoulders limp. As least she wasn’t crying. Not out loud, anyway.

Easing up behind her, he set the lamp down and turned her around. “Come on, now. I’m the only one around here who’s supposed to have swollen eyes and puffy cheeks.”

With a humph, she swiped a cuff beneath her nose. “Ya don’t have puffy cheeks.”

“Only swollen eyes.”

“Not them, neither. Ya got the prettiest eyes I ever seen.”

He hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Only when I look at you.”

Tears began to pool. “I know ya can’t marry me tonight. It’s just . . . when are ya gonna marry me? Lavelle and Billy John done fell in love, married, and had a little one in less time then it’s taken us to set a date. My friends, they’re . . . they’re startin’ to poke fun at us. At me.”

Protectiveness welled up inside him. “Who’s poking fun at you?”

“Everybody.”

“Who, everybody?”

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It don’t matter. What matters is that it’s time fer a date. We got to have a date afore you leave.”

He looked around the smokehouse, seeing everything, noticing nothing. The two of them had been best friends since the day his mother died. Wanda had stood outside the mill same as everybody else. But instead of watching it burn to the ground, she’d watched him watch it burn as he screamed for his mother and had to be held back by Wanda’s father.

He’d been twelve. She’d been seven. But he’d never have made it through the following years without her. He loved her. Always had. Always would. When her braids had been released and twisted up in a bun, everybody assumed the two of them would wed. And they’d assumed it too.

He didn’t recall actually asking her. It just seemed the natural way of things, though he’d never been in any great rush.

“Yer awfully quiet.” Her voice bounced around the conical roof.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. What am I supposed to do? Just pick a random date?”

“Random’s all right with me if it’s all right with you.”

“Well, it’s not all right with me. A lot of thought should be put into it. We don’t even have a place to live yet.”

“We can stay here while ya build a place. Pa said so.”

She’d talked to her father about it? Before she’d talked to him? “We’re not living here. I’d never be able to hear over all the noise. It would drive me crazy.”