It Happened at the Fair (6 page)

She opened her mouth, but had no answer that would suffice. And after all, why should she defend the fabricated men? Shame on them for behaving so poorly. “You’re quite right, now that I think about it. What a very ungentlemanly thing to do. I shall talk to them about it forthwith.”

“Not until after I give them a word or two of my own.” He jammed his hat on his head. “Now don’t move. I’ll be right back with your gentlemen and lady friends.”

He strode off, then turned around and came back. “What do they look like?”

Her heart began to soften. He couldn’t possibly be a man of poor ilk.

And acts of kindness, girl. You’ve always been susceptible where that’s concerned. I don’t care if the fellow’s offering to swim the Atlantic for you. Do not trust him.

Her father was an alarmist. She knew he was an alarmist. Still, he was fifty-one. She was twenty. He was a man and therefore very acquainted with the gender. She, however, was a woman. An inexperienced woman. So if in doubt . . .

“I’m sorry. What was the question?” she asked.

“What do they look like?” he repeated, his impatience with her “friends” lacing his words.

“Look like?” She glanced to the side, frantically trying to come up with something specific but vague. She certainly didn’t want to describe her coworkers. “The men are in overcoats. The woman . . .” She thought of a delicious outfit she’d seen in the milliner’s shop window at home. “She’s wearing a big red hat with a giant, fabulous bow at the back. Lots of red feathers at the front. It matches some red velvet trim on her jacket and skirt. The skirt is made of a—”

“Their names?”

“Names?”

“Yes. I think I’ll be able to spot the lady easily enough. But it would help if I knew their names.”

“Um, Misters Biggs and Glenn, along with Miss Cate.” All were cousins on her mother’s side.

Spinning around, he stormed off. She almost felt sorry for her cousins. Except there were no cousins. No one at all to fit the descriptions she gave.

If he was a bad man, he was getting what he deserved. If he wasn’t, if he truly was a Good Samaritan, he’d be giving up his precious time at the fair to run futile errands on her behalf. She tried to console herself with a reminder of all the exhibits he could see between here and Blooker’s. Except he wouldn’t be stopping at any of them. And when he failed to find her “friends,” she had no doubt he’d come right back here. When he did, she had no desire to confess all.

How exactly would she tell someone who’d saved her from being crushed, carried her to medical personnel, and gone to collect her friends that she thought he might have ill designs toward her person? She couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Signaling the chair boy who’d finished his repairs and was heading back to his station, Della quickly engaged him to take her to the building where she worked, which was a good mile in the opposite direction of the cocoa shop.

MACHINERY HALL

“Taking a fortifying breath, Cullen plunged into the cavernous building with walls higher than the Temple of Zeus.”

CHAPTER

5

Cullen jogged across the Court of Honor, splattering mud with each step. The sounds of engines coming from Machinery Hall reached him clear over here. He only hoped that during the goose chase he’d just given up on, he hadn’t missed the crush of people who’d undoubtedly slipped into the Hall while waiting for the court to thin out.

He’d never found Miss Wentworth’s friends, and by the time he returned to the ambulance corps, they’d moved everyone to an infirmary. After he’d located it between the Horticultural and Children’s Buildings, he discovered his patient was long gone, and the nurse was too harried to recollect her.

He hoped Miss Wentworth’s party had caught up with her or she’d retired to her hotel. Either way, it was going on three o’clock and he’d yet to make an appearance at his booth.

He might not have a chance of selling any fire sprinkler systems, but he at least had to try. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t return home with empty pockets. He needed to make back every penny his father had spent on this venture, no matter how daunting that task appeared.

Rushing up the wide marble-like steps, he ignored the six large statues frowning at him from atop Machinery Hall’s entrance, the names of prominent inventors carved into their shields. He wasn’t worthy of being in this structure, which was built in their honor, and even the sculptures knew it.

MACHINERY HALL

Dragging the soles of his boots against the boot scraper, he dislodged as much of the mud as he could, then opened the massive wooden door.

A deafening sound knocked him back a step. He couldn’t believe the engines for lighting the fair, powering its exhibits, and running hydraulics were really so loud. Or maybe the noise came from the countless booths inside presenting machines for everything known to man. Whatever it was, the cacophony was almost beyond human tolerance. Still, it was where he’d spend ninety percent of his time over the next six months, so he’d best get used to it.

Taking a fortifying breath, he plunged into the cavernous building with walls higher than the Temple of Zeus. His booth was tucked in a far corner, clear at the other end of the seventeen-acre building.

He’d read that two of White Star’s cruise ships could fit lengthwise into the building. But to him, it looked as if three train houses had been plopped down side by side. There were no interior walls, only pillars, giving an open, airy feeling to the place.

The Hall wasn’t as crowded as he’d hoped it would be. He trusted the noise wouldn’t keep people away indefinitely. He passed a huge block of booths with agricultural implements, locomotives, saws of all sizes, and woodworking machines, then slowed as he approached the match factory. Its machines cut hundreds of matches at a time, then dipped them into an igniting substance before dropping them into boxes, which were cut, folded, and labeled right before his eyes.

Tucked along the back wall, printing presses were hard at work, their clanks, whirs, and bangs making vibrations beneath his boots. It was all he could do not to cover his ears while he walked by. It looked as if he’d have to get used to it, though, for they were only a few booths down from his.

During setup, only the automatic platen press had been running. Of all the automatic devices man had invented, it was one of his favorites. The eighth wonder of the world, as far as he was concerned.

Spotting it, he slowed. A fella about his dad’s age shut it off and said a few choice words to it.

“Trouble?” Cullen shouted.

The man wiped his hands on his ink-stained apron. “This blasted thing is jammed again. It’s
nthng
but a—”

“What’s it doing?” Cullen stepped up next to him, taking a closer look.

“The blower isn’t
wrking
, so the suction arm can’t pick up the paper.”

Cullen had seen the letterpress running several times over the past week. A blower fluffed up a stack of paper, causing the top sheet to rise. Then an arm with suction-cup clippers applied a vacuum to the sheet and carried it to the press.

Studying the device more closely, he made a slow walk around it. “Looks to me like you might have two problems.”

“Two
prblms
? That’s all I need.”

Cullen gave him a sympathetic smile. “You have any extra tubes?”

The man shrugged. “Sure.
Smwhr
around here.”

“Well, this one has a crack in the rubber.” He pointed to the tube. “That’s part of the problem. The other, if I’m not mistaken, is you have a relief valve open.” He tapped the valve. “I think that’s supposed to be closed.”

The man scratched his jaw. “I believe you might be right.”

“Well, try those two things. If it doesn’t fix the problem, call me over and I’ll see if I can find anything else.”

The man stuck out his hand. “Abel Tisdale.”

“Cullen McNamara. I have an automatic fire sprinkler right over there.” He indicated it with his thumb.

“Automatic?” Tisdale made a face. “The bane of my
exstnc
.”

Cullen laughed. “I’m afraid that’s where everything’s headed these days.”

“
Unfrtntly
, I think you’re right. I appreciate it, son. I’ll do what you
sggstd
and if I run into any more snags, I just might take you up on your offer.”

“It’d be my pleasure.” His mood lifted briefly, until he entered his tiny booth and reality intruded once more. He was wedged between a shiny red fire wagon on his right and an elaborate fire escape cage on his left. The cage moved up and down a ladder while its operator wound a crank. There wasn’t a single visitor at this end of the building.

“Has it been this empty all day?” he shouted to the operator.

The fellow took a cotton ball out of one ear, but left its mate in the other. He looked to be a few years younger than Cullen, but he couldn’t tell for certain. Bright red curls covered his head and freckles most of his face.

“What’s that you said?” he asked.

Cullen held out his hand. “I’m Cullen McNamara of Charlotte, North Carolina.”

The man’s eyes lit. “Me, too!”

“You’re Cullen McNamara?” Cullen asked.

He laughed. “John Ransom. Our farm’s a few
mls
north of Garibaldi Station, just across the county line from you.”

“Is that right?” Their handshake held. It was good to meet someone from home. “Our farm’s due west of Charlotte. Close enough to get to town when we need to, far enough to get some peace and quiet when we want it.”

“I could sure use some
peez
and quiet right about
nw
.” John was on the short side, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in brawn.

“Have they talked about rotating the running of machines to help cut down on the noise?” Cullen asked.

John shook his head. “That wouldn’t be practical. Ya can’t ask an interested customer to come back
tmrrow
because today’s not your day for demonstratin’.”

“Well, we’ve got to do something.”

“The girls at the Crowne Pen Company said we should all go to the Woman’s
Bldng
and take lip-readin’ lessons in that school for the deaf they have.”

They glanced a few booths up at Crowne Pen Company’s exhibit, where the entire process of gold-pen manufacturing could be seen. Attractive salesladies stood behind plate-glass cases filled with souvenir fountain pens. Three of them smiled and waggled their fingers.

Saluting them, John leaned toward Cullen. “I told ’em I just might pretend deafness if it meant I could spend all day in the Woman’s
Bldng
.”

Chuckling, Cullen clapped him on the shoulder. “So what brings you to the fair, John Ransom?”

“I work at a firehouse here in
Chcgo
and was chosen to serve on the fair’s fire brigade. Durin’ my off-hours I display hoses, nozzles, and couplings and give
flks
a ride in the escape cage over there.”

“I thought you farmed in Gaston County.”

“Gave it up.” The red curls on his head shook with each word. “I hate farmin’. It was supposed to be in my blood, but I loathe everything about it. The plowin’, the
anmls
, the uncertainty of the crops. All of it.”