A Proper Pursuit (4 page)

I’m not sure if I truly convinced him or if I simply wore him out. Either way, I was pleased when he’d finally consented and purchased my train ticket. I was slightly less pleased when he agreed to Herman Beckett’s request to meet me in Chicago later in the month so he could take me to see the Columbian Exposition, accompanied by his married sister. I doubted if I ever could convince a man as unimaginative as Herman to help me find my mother. Besides, Herman’s mother was Maude’s friend, and they were certain to gossip about my activities in Chicago.

At last the train lurched forward and began to move. I risked a final glance out of the window and saw Maude cheerily waving her handkerchief as if I were a soldier leaving for the battlefield. Father looked very worried and sorry he had ever agreed to let me go. Little Horrid stuck out his tongue at me. I resisted the temptation to return the gesture.

As soon as the beige limestone train station was out of sight, I heaved a sigh of relief. Madame Beauchamps would have been appalled.

I was leaving Lockport, Illinois, behind and speeding toward Chicago. I felt like pinching myself to see if I was dreaming. I was riding the train into the city—alone! For the first time in my life I felt like an adult. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was running away. I had already decided that if I couldn’t prevent Father’s wedding, I wouldn’t return home. After all, Father had lied to me—all these years!

It didn’t take long for the view of flat, monotonous prairie land to bore me. I wondered if God had run out of ideas after creating the mountain ranges and the mighty Mississippi River and had nodded off when He was supposed to be designing the middle portion of America. Was Illinois the result of an unfortunate catnap? Or perhaps, in a gesture of beneficence, the Almighty had delegated the task to a less imaginative underling. If so, I hoped the underling had been fired for his lack of creativity.

As I continued to gaze at the uninspiring terrain, I tried to think of it as a symbol of the larger journey on which I had embarked. Our literature teacher had labored to interest us in things like symbolism and similes, but I confess such imagery bored me when compared to the graphic, lurid details I read about in Ruth’s
Illustrated Police News
. But maybe it would help to think of my journey as symbolic: I was leaving my boring life behind along with the terrain and embarking on an exciting new life in Chicago.

To be honest, my stomach churned quite unpleasantly whenever I thought about what might lie ahead. Many of those shocking
True
Crime Stories
I used to read had taken place in cities like Chicago, and I was keenly aware of the dangers that might await a young woman such as myself.

Eventually I grew tired of trying to dredge up symbolism from a boring view and I pulled a book from my satchel, settling back to read. I had barely begun the first chapter when I felt the train’s momentum begin to slow, and a few minutes later we made a brief stop at the train station in Lemont. The village held little interest for me, but I spotted an intriguing traveling salesman—more commonly referred to as a drummer—waiting to board the train with his suitcase full of wares. I guessed his age to be about the same as Herman Beckett’s, but the similarities began and ended right there. Herman dressed like an undertaker’s assistant, while this man’s unbecoming suit was as garish as a circus clown’s, sewn from cheesy plaid material that sagged at the knees and had been worn to a shine on the elbows and rump.

I would have described him as good-looking if his smile wasn’t so phony or his hair so slicked-back with Macassar oil that it reflected light. I watched him climb aboard and search for his seat, and he seemed to have absorbed the greasy oil through his scalp until it lubricated him from within. His movements were so smooth that he glided when he walked, as if his bones were as pliable as cheese. A dime novel would have described him as “a slippery character.”

I thought him wonderfully dangerous! Everyone warned innocent girls such as myself to stay far away from unsavory men like him. In fact, he was exactly the type of man that my father had worried about when I’d embarked on this trip. In short, the drummer fascinated me.

His restless eyes roved all around the passenger car as if searching for a hidden compartment or a clue to a mystery, and I saw his gaze slide over me a few times, lingering a trifle too long to be proper. I immediately looked away, pretending to read, but I confess that my heart raced with excitement.

He spoke in a very loud voice to the conductor and the other passengers—who seemed reluctant to converse with him. He laughed much too loudly. Once the train resumed its journey, he couldn’t seem to settle down, stirring restlessly as if unable to sit still, crossing and uncrossing his legs. He opened his newspaper and began to read, making such a racket that the rustling pages sounded like a forest fire. He finally put the crumpled pages down again. He shifted the position of his sample case three times, opening it briefly to glance inside before stowing it beneath his seat again. At length, he removed a cigar from inside his jacket and left the coach.

I wondered if his unease was caused by a guilty conscience.What crime might he have committed to make him so unsettled? Murder? I must try to look for bloodstains beneath his fingernails when he returned. Theft? It seemed unlikely since he’d boarded the train with no luggage except his sample case. But diamonds were small—might he be a jewel thief?

Ten minutes later the drummer returned from the smoking car, bringing the aroma of cigars with him. I made the mistake of watching him glide down the aisle, and when he saw me he nodded in an overly familiar way. His manners were exceedingly improper and much too forward. His smile was what Madame Beauchamps had called a “candelabra grin.”

“Never overdo your enthusiasm, girls, especially with members of the
opposite sex. A slender taper of light is all that one needs to send forth. Be
mysterious and enigmatic.”
Ruth and I had practiced our
enigmatic
smiles in front of a mirror every night until we could no longer suppress our giggles.

I quickly looked away from the salesman’s frank gaze, but once again, a thrill of excitement shivered through me. His crime must be adultery. He had what the romance novels referred to as “charisma.” He probably knocked on weak-willed women’s doors with his suitcase full of samples and sidled his way into their parlors … and their affections.

I didn’t dare look up again. Instead, I rummaged through my satchel, pretending to search for something, and spotted my mother’s address. I had tiptoed into Father’s office while he was at work and found the divorce papers, then carefully copied down the address printed beneath Mother’s signature. Tears filled my eyes at the memory of her flamboyant signature. It wasn’t the handwriting of an invalid, but of a woman who was very much alive. And healthy enough to be a mother to me.

“She abandoned us,”
my father had said. The more I pondered the truth of her desertion, the smaller and more worthless I felt. No one discarded a treasure, did they? Only worthless things were left behind. Before I could stop them, my tears began to fall.

“Are you in distress, miss?”

I looked up to find the drummer hovering in the aisle beside my seat. My heart began to race, outpacing the train.

“I-I seem to have something in my eye,” I lied, quickly applying my handkerchief. Lies must be a family trait.

“Want me to have a look and see if I can fish it out?”

“Um … no, thank you.” The last thing I needed was a mysterious man gazing deeply into my eyes. I stole a quick glance at his face and saw that his eyes were as flashy as the rest of him, their color such a bright, clear shade of blue that they made me thirsty.

“My name’s Silas—Silas McClure.” He held out his hand for me to shake, evidently unaware that a gentleman always waited for a lady to offer her hand first—if at all. I couldn’t be rude and leave it hanging in midair, so I briefly grasped his fingertips for a dainty shake.

“Violet Hayes.” I hated my name the moment I spoke it.
Violet
. It sounded old-fashioned and as limp as velvet. I longed for a more dramatic name and decided that I would change it when I arrived in Chicago. I would introduce myself as Athena or Artemesia or maybe Anastasia. “How do you do, Mr. McClure?”

“I do just fine… . Say, don’t tell me, let me guess—I’ll wager you’re going to Chicago to see the fair. Am I right?”

“Um … yes. Are you going as well?”

“I’ve already seen it—three times, in fact. But I’m going again, first chance I get.” He propped one foot on the seat that faced mine and folded his arms on his raised knee. “The fair is really swell. I could give you some pointers—what to see and what’s a waste of time—if you want me to.”

Before I could reply, he dropped his leg and slid into the seat facing me, perching on the very edge so that our knees were practically touching. His manners were outrageous! I imagined Madame Beauchamps flapping her hands as if shooing away pigeons and saying,
“No, no, no, Miss Hayes! You must never, never accept advances from
such a creature.”
Anyone unsavory was a
creature
to Madame B.

But in the next moment, I found myself wondering whether to believe Madame or not. If my father had lied to me my entire life, why should I obey anything else I’d been taught? Anger swelled inside me, making it difficult to speak. I had felt it growing in strength since the night I’d first learned about Maude and about my mother, slowly rising and expanding like bread dough in a warming oven. The more I thought about the wedding, the deplorable stepchildren, and my father’s lies, the more I wanted to punch something the way Mrs. Hutchins punched the rising bread dough so she could shape it into loaves.

The safe cocoon in which I’d been wrapped all my life suddenly felt suffocating. Madame had taught me to be a proper young lady, demure and sedate, but beneath the surface I longed to fly as freely as a butterfly, to do something bold and daring. I scooped up my satchel and placed it on my lap to make room for Mr. McClure on the seat beside me. I even patted the cushion lightly, beckoning him to sit there.

“I would love to hear all about the fair. But please, tell me all about yourself first, Mr. McClure.”

“Well, I’m a drummer, as you can probably guess,” he said, dropping into the seat. “I sell Dr. Dean’s Blood Builder—a nutritive tonic.”

“Is it really made from
blood
?”

“No,” he said, laughing. “Our specially patented formula is made from the highest-quality beef extract, fortified with iron and celery root. If you’re suffering from extreme exhaustion, brain fatigue, debility of any kind, blood disorders, or anemia, our Blood Builder will enrich your blood and help your body throw off accumulated humors of all kinds. It’s guaranteed to stimulate digestion and improve blood flow, or we’ll give you your money back. Why, we have testimonials from thousands of satisfied customers, people who’ve suffered all sorts of maladies from nervous exhaustion and weakness to general debilitation. You can find inferior goods anywhere, these days—at twice the price of our tonic, I might add. But only Dr. Dean’s Blood Builder offers a thirty-day money-back guarantee. You should try it, Miss Hayes. I’ll wager you’ll feel renewed, or I’ll refund your money.”

“Your presentation is quite convincing, Mr. McClure. Do you use the tonic yourself?”

“Of course.”

He did appear unusually healthy and robust, and so filled with energy that he could scarcely stay in his seat. Hoards of army ants might have been crawling up his pant legs. I wasn’t sure I wanted to have that much vigor. I imagined it would feel quite uncomfortable to be so energetic—and completely unladylike.

“Do you enjoy the life of a traveling salesman, Mr. McClure?”

“Oh, I love riding the rails. There’s a new adventure around every corner. I could never stand being a clerk, cooped up in an office all day.”

I thought of Herman Beckett.

“And you mentioned the fair—did you find it as exciting as you had hoped?”

“Oh, boy! And then some! Make sure you ride Mr. Ferris’ wheel when you go. What a thrill! I happened to be there on the day they gave it the very first test run. They had only attached the first six cars, you see, and nobody had ever ridden it before. It wasn’t even open to the public yet, and nobody knew if passengers would even live through the experience. But Mr. Ferris’ wife volunteered to be the first one to try it, and she climbed into the first car like she was going for a Sunday afternoon carriage ride. Well, when we saw her going up in the air, the whole crowd of us pushed forward to get onboard the second car— even though the wheel’s operators were hollering at us to get back.”

“How did you know it was safe if it had never carried passengers before? Weren’t you frightened?”

“I was having too much fun to be scared. Although I did have second thoughts for a moment when a bunch of loose nuts and bolts started showering down on us like hailstones. And the gears made a terrible racket at first, crunching and grinding like they were about to give out. But then the car started climbing, up and up, until I had the best view I wager I’ll ever see.” He gazed into the distance as if seeing it all over again.

“You can see the whole fair from up there, Miss Hayes, all laid out like a little toy village. Lake Michigan is in the distance, and the skyline of the city … Well, it takes your breath clean away. As soon as I reached the bottom and stepped off, I wanted to get right back on and ride it all over again. Everyone else had the same idea, and there was a huge rush to get on board—even though the wheel wasn’t officially open. Like I said, they had only attached the first six cars at the time. But I managed to squeeze my way forward and go for a second ride—and I would have jumped on and gone around a third time, but the men operating it finally said that if any more people forced their way on board, they’d run us up to the top and leave us there for the night. That wheel is one of the Seven Wonders of the World—or are there eight wonders? I forget … Anyhow, nothing like it has ever been attempted before.”