It Happened at the Fair (42 page)

A clanging gong sounded, causing her to jump out of the way. Fire engines belching out smoke and sparks galloped by, one on each side of the Basin, as if they were in a race. Rattling hook-and-ladder trucks followed closely on their heels.

Tremors ran through her body as memories of the Cold Storage Building assailed her, but she could see no fire.

The drivers, encouraged by shouts of the crowd, urged their panting teams into speedier action. When the first engine reached the shore, it pulled to a stop, the driver of the truck lifting his arms in the air like a pugilist winner. Cheers from an assembly of fairgoers met their arrival.

Still, she could see no fire. Half of her wanted to turn around and go in the opposite direction. The other half wanted to make sure all was well.

“Company Seven of Boston beat them by a hair!” a young man shouted. Those around him passed the information to those behind them until all were informed, and another roar of approval rose forth.

Of Boston? she thought. What in the world?

Foreigners, unaccustomed to such displays, had hurriedly retreated into the Agricultural Building. Little by little, they crept out of hiding and back onto the boulevard, as drawn to the spectacle as everyone else.

“Fireman’s Week!” a lad in blue shouted, holding up a pamphlet. “Puffing, blowing, and throwing of water by the engines! Hook-and-ladder maneuvers! Get your schedule here!”

She let out a slow breath. Of course. It was only a demonstration. A contest between firemen from most every state, eager to show off their skills and earn a Fireman’s Week medal. The fair had designated so many “special” days—Irish Day, Miller’s Day, Confectioner’s Day, Poor Children’s Day—that she had long since quit trying to keep up with them all. Still, she wondered if perhaps Cullen might be at this one cheering for his friends.

Weaving through the crowd, she wandered along the shoreline looking for him in the crowd, then paused to examine an antiquated hand engine as an old-timer in dark clothing, an oversized hat, and an engraved white belt explained the difference between fire equipment of long ago and that of today.

Firemen in scuffed-up red shirts swapped friendly insults beside a pile of smoldering ruins, its stench bringing flashes of horror from the Cold Storage fire. Up ahead, a large crowd gathered around three wooden structures. But the crowd was too dense for her liking and she had no wish to see the competition. She already knew of the bravery and skill these firemen displayed. She’d just have to wait and see if she could catch Cullen tonight when he arrived at Harvell House.

Turning, she’d taken only a few steps when a crier announced a demonstration of an automatic sprinkler system.

“You’ve heard of a horseless carriage. Now you’ll see a fireman-less extinguisher! Three burning sheds will be snuffed out in three short minutes without any help from man or beast!”

Whirling back, she hurried to the edge of the crowd, trying to skirt around it. The sheds ignited like tinderboxes. The crowd fell back and spilled around her. Heat from the blaze scorched her face.

Pushing down the panic from being in a crush of people, she focused instead on reaching Cullen, for it had to be him. When the crowd took a step back, she leaned in and took a step forward. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on pleasant things.

She pictured Cullen laughing in the cocoa shop. One step forward. She pictured him cheering during the illumination show. Two steps forward. She pictured him handing her a rose in the Wooded Island. Three steps forward.

She sang “Jesus Loves Me.” She opened her eyes and found that the flames on the first shed had begun to falter and fade. Then on the one in the middle. And finally on the one on the right. When she broke through to the front of the crowd, not a vestige of flame remained.

A man beside her popped open his timepiece. “Less than three minutes.”

The crowd thundered their approval with applause and exclamation. A smile broke across Cullen’s face, taking her breath away in a rush. The fire chief stepped forward and shook his hand, clapping him on the shoulder. The firemen who’d stood in readiness punched their fists in the air and roared in celebration.

Spectators quickly shared what they’d seen, their stories being told and retold until all who had gathered heard of the sprinklers that put out fires without any human help.

The firefighters swarmed Cullen, then lifted him up onto their shoulders. Laughing, he balanced himself with his hands on their heads. And then he saw her.

Pride and love swelled within her.

I’m sorry, she signed. I love you.

If possible, his smile grew even wider. And right there, regardless of who could see his hand gestures, and even though he knew she could read his lips, he pointed to himself, then crossed his fisted hands over his chest, and ended by pointing at her. I love you, D-E-L-L-A.

The moment the firefighters put him down, businessmen swarmed him. She stayed back, emotion clogging her throat. A moment later, an extended arm was raised above the huddle.

W-A-I-T. F-O-R. M-E.

Warmth flooded her. And though she doubted he could see it, she raised on tiptoes and held her arm high.

I’ll wait, she signed alphabetically.

When the crowd thinned, he scanned the periphery until he spotted her, then gave her a searing look that sent tiny bumps straight up her arms before he focused once again on the men. His jacket hugged his shoulders, his hat sat a bit off-kilter.

Finally, he shook hands with the last person. The man had taken no more than one step away when Cullen moved the full force of his attention to her. No smile, no laugh lines, but a world of promise. With each step he took, her knees weakened a bit more.

Cullen couldn’t believe she was there. Couldn’t believe she’d forgiven him and loved him. Couldn’t believe he could look his fill with a completely clear conscience. And look he did. From the tip of her dainty brown hat to the toes of her black boots and all the way back up again.

Her cheeks pinked. “Congratulations.”

He flexed his hands in an effort to keep from reaching for her. “Thank you.”

“Were those men interested in placing orders?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about them right now.” Taking a step closer, he lowered his voice. “You’re beautiful. I’ve thought it for the longest time. But I’ve never been free to say it.”

The pink cheeks turned to red. “Thank you.”

“Your eyes are the purest blue I’ve ever seen in my life. Especially in the sunshine. Your pupils get really small, and that blue—it’s, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. And your nose is so elegant. And your lips . . .” His breathing became labored. “Your lips are . . .”

Dragging his gaze away, he scanned the area. There were people everywhere. Not a single private spot in sight.

He grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

“What are you—” She slapped a hand over her hat, scurrying to keep up with him.

He dragged her down the shoreline, into the east entrance of the Manufactures Building, then down the first aisle. People chattered, exhibitors called out, babies cried. Finally, they reached the corner of the building, where two sets of stairs led to the second floor.

Without wasting another moment, he opened a door under the eaves, ducked inside, propelled her into his arms, and kissed her. Not as thoroughly as he’d like, but enough to learn her texture, her special scent, and any little sounds she made while he showed her the depth of his feelings.

She was so tall. And tiny. And wonderful.

Angling his head to the other side, he kissed her again, not wanting to waste a single moment.

She mewed.

Desire surged through him. Peeling his lips from hers, he bracketed her face, kissing every inch. So soft. So smooth. So delectable.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since our very first lesson,” he murmured.

She tilted her head, giving him access to her jaw and throat. “Even back then?”

“Your lips drove me crazy. I thought I’d go mad trying to read them when what I really wanted was to taste them.” He cradled her head and crushed his mouth to hers once again.

It took a moment before he realized she was trying to shift to the side.

He pulled back, bumping his head on the slanted ceiling. “What is it?”

“There’s a broom or mop—”

For the first time, he noted the smell of lemon with a tiny touch of vinegar. Reaching behind her, he tried to move the mops out of the way, lost his footing, and almost fell out the door.

She squeaked, grabbed him, then giggled.

When he finally regained his balance, he braced his feet wide, pulled her in for another kiss, then reluctantly loosened his hold. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“I was at the exhibition and heard one of the criers mention a fireman-less extinguisher.”

Moving his palms up and down her sides, he gloried in the feel of her. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.”

“Do you believe I’m not a philanderer?”

“I do, but you must promise to be completely open and up-front about everything from now on.”

He let out a sigh. “I will, Della. I will. I’m sorry I wasn’t before.” He sealed his vow with another fierce kiss before finally pulling back. “Much as I’d like to stay in here, my neck can’t take this closet much longer. Would you like to go back to the exhibition?”

Smoothing her hands beneath his lapels, she tugged his jacket into place. “I’d love to.”

STATE STREET, CHICAGO

“Cullen stood in the waiting area of Vaughn Mutual Insurance of Chicago, hat in hand.”

CHAPTER

49

Cullen stood in the waiting area of Vaughn Mutual Insurance of Chicago, hat in hand. Walnut-stained wood covered every surface of the room—floor, walls, and ceiling. The wooden seats of two bentwood chairs had faded from constant use. Across from them, a modest desk held a matronly woman with a soft white bun at her nape and a pleasant disposition.

But what intrigued him the most was the speaking tube on her desk. It appeared as if a tube ran from it to the wall and into what he assumed was Vaughn’s office.

As he stared, it whistled. The secretary pushed a lever to one side, then spoke into the tube. “Yes, sir?”

“Send Mr. McNamara in, Miss Forsythe.”

Fascinating
, he thought.

Standing, Miss Forsythe circled her desk. Her back bowed out, giving her a permanent slouch. “Right this way, Mr. McNamara.”

Opening the door, she waved him in. Piles of papers formed a castle-like wall on Vaughn’s desk, while other papers had been plopped atop books in a bookshelf and overflowed onto the floor. Fire hazards if he’d ever seen any.

Vaughn rose and indicated an upholstered seat across from him. Above the ring of his cropped white hair, the man’s head was slick and shiny.

“Sit down,
McNmra
,” he said. “That was quite a demonstration you had at Fireman’s
Wk
.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask how much
bsnss
it generated.”

Cullen lifted a corner of his mouth. “Even more than I’d hoped. Once a few companies signed up, they told their acquaintances, who then told theirs, and, well, so far, I have commitments from cotton, woolen, corn, and saw mills. From biscuit works, sugar refineries, rubber works, drapers’ shops, calico printers, linoleum works, ware—”