It Happened at the Fair (27 page)

Cullen turned away. Della hadn’t noticed. Was still looking straight at him.

“A representative from the National Association of the Deaf came to my classroom today,” she said.

“He did? And what did he think?”

“He was deaf and said I was denying the children their free mental growth.”

He frowned. “Did he say why?”

“No, he signed why.”

“In your classroom? In front of the children?”

She smoothed a tendril of hair from her face. “No. Fortunately, they’d left to play on the roof, so it was just the two of us.”

“Did you sign back?”

“I did. I felt it would be impolite not to.”

He shifted to a more comfortable position. “So why did he think you were denying the children?”

“He’d been forced to go to a hearing school as a child and lip-read. He said all the hearing children came into class chattering about the spelling bee or what their mothers packed for lunch.” Looking down, she traced the outline of her gloved fingers. “All but him. He was neither speaking nor listening. He was deaf and completely isolated because of it.”

Distant laughter filtered up from the crowd below.

“That must have been difficult.”

She crossed her arms, her chin still down. “My children don’t banter when they come into the classroom. Nor when we eat lunch. Nor, I imagine, when they go to the playground.”

He said nothing.

“Part of that, of course, is because they can’t articulate well enough to read each others’ lips.” She looked at him then, her voice impassioned. “If they knew sign language, I wonder if then they’d use it to chatter until they became proficient at lip-reading.”

For the umpteenth time, he wished her face weren’t in the shadows. “I loved our sign-language lesson,” he said. “I wish it were taught to everyone, not just the deaf.”

She tilted her head. “What a lovely thought. Shall we start a crusade?”

He chuckled. “And I suppose you’d expect me to be Joan of Arc to your Charles VII?”

“Either way, it’d be a tragic tale, I’m afraid.” She lifted her face to the heavens. He pictured her with her eyes closed. Then he pictured her lifting her face to him.

He cleared his throat. “Tired?”

“A little.” Straightening, she looked over her shoulder. “It’s probably all right to head back if you’d like.”

He stood.

They’d taken no more than two steps toward the bridge when she hesitated. There was no mistaking the passionate embrace at the other end of the promenade. The couple was oblivious to all else and must have assumed they were alone.

Placing a firm hand against the small of Della’s back, he compelled her to continue. Crossing the bridge into the brightness of the Manufactures Building, she cleared her throat, fiddled with her bodice buttons, then withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and patted her neck.

Other than the elevator man, they were the only two in the cage. Cullen expected her to retreat to its center, but as soon as the gates closed, she grasped a bar and took in the magnificence she’d missed the first time. He took in the magnificence of her.

Neither spoke for the rest of the walk home. He concentrated on protecting her from the crowd. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

He kept his eyes forward at all times. She stole surreptitious glances at his profile.

He tried to recall everything about Wanda he liked. She started to speak, then stopped.

Finally, they reached the boardinghouse. All names had been marked through except his and Della’s.

Picking up a pencil, he crossed out their names, lit a taper, then turned off the lamp. The stairs creaked as they ascended to the second floor. He held up the light while she fished a key from her chatelaine bag, inserted it into her lock, and twisted. A loud click ricocheted off the walls.

She turned. “Thank you for tonight. I’m so glad we weren’t late for the show.”

Her dark pupils picked up the flickering flame, reflecting it back to him.

“Thank you for the lessons,” he managed.

“You’re doing quite well, considering what little time we’ve had. And . . . I’ve enjoyed them.”

He tried to swallow. “Yes. Me too.”

She moved her gaze to his lips. His mouth went dry.

Finally, she placed a gloved hand on her doorknob. “Good night, Cullen.”

“Good night, Della.”

She slipped inside her room, shutting the door softly behind her. It was a long time before he turned and found his way to his own room.

MIEHLE PRINTING PRESS

FIRST PRINTING PRESS IN NEW HAMPSHIRE

TYPESETTING MACHINE

SELF-CLAMPING PAPER CUTTING MACHINE

“Printing Press Row had shut down for the day, and many others were beginning to follow suit.”

CHAPTER

28

The commission denied Cullen’s request. Too dangerous, the letter said. But he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He couldn’t. He’d draft an appeal tonight and request an audience with the director-general himself.

Printing Press Row had shut down for the day, and many others were beginning to follow suit. He’d just picked up his hat when a gentleman in Bulenberg’s booth noticed he was leaving. The man stopped Bulenberg midsentence, excused himself, and made a hasty retreat, going straight from Bulenberg to Cullen. Bulenberg’s face suffused with red.

PRINTING PRESS

“Orville Grasty,” the man said, offering a hand to Cullen.

The first things Cullen noticed were his expensive black suit and his teeth. The man had a lot of teeth, and he was not afraid of showing them off with an overly bright smile.

Cullen took his outstretched hand. “How do you do, Mr. Grasty.”

“I have a
nwsppr
printing works here in Chicago and several more along the east coast. Mr. Tisdale thought I might be
intrstd
in your product.”

“Tisdale?” The name sounded familiar, but Cullen had met so many people.

Grasty lifted his cane and pointed. “He runs my letterpress
rght
over there.”

The automatic platen press. Of course. “Yes, sir. That’s a beauty of a machine.”

Another big smile. “Thank you. She’s a special one, that’s for
crtn
. Now what do we have here?”

Cullen began his now-rote explanation. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bulenberg snatch up his hat and storm past them toward the exit. But Cullen had no time to ruminate on it, for Grasty peppered him with question after question. It was clear the man had a good grasp of mechanics and Cullen found himself talking about much more than just the sprinkler.

When Cullen finally looked at his watch, he realized he was running out of time if he wanted to swing by the fire station before his lessons.

Snapping his watch closed, he held out his hand. “Thank you for stopping by, sir. It was a pleasure.”

“I’m intrigued, McNamara. Let me contact my insurance
cmpny
and see what they
thnk
. But the fact that the system is unproven will be a stumbling
blck
. I’d heard something about a demonstration?”

Cullen didn’t even hesitate. “I’m working on that and will let you know when I have a specific date. Also, if your insurance company doesn’t provide you with the answer you’re seeking, don’t forget about Vaughn Mutual. I’d be glad to put you in contact with its owner. In the meanwhile, would you like me to take a look at your Chicago location while I’m in town?”

“I certainly would. What about two weeks from today? Monday, the twenty-first?”

“Perfect, sir. I’ll be there.”

As Grasty walked away, Cullen wondered exactly how many printer works he had in all. However many it was, he needed that demonstration.