Fair Play Page 3

  Now the game was up. Somehow the beautiful, smart, and influential Mrs. Palmer had discovered Billy was woefully unqualified to lead a charge of this kind. She wasn’t a dress reformer. She wasn’t a prohibitionist. She wasn’t a crusader.

  She was simply a thirty-year-old woman bachelor who’d finally felt as if she had enough experience to step out on her own. To make her own way. To become her own boss. A woman who’d finally accepted what her mother had told her all along. No man would ever marry a hen medic.

  “One of the doctors we commissioned for the Woman’s Building has typhoid fever,” Mrs. Palmer said.

  Relief swept through Billy. Now, this she could do. “I’d be happy to take a look at her.”

  The corners of Mrs. Palmer’s mouth lifted slightly. “Actually, what I’d really like you to do is step in and take her place.”

  Billy’s lips parted. “In the Woman’s Building? At the fair?”

  “That’s right. Within our building there is not one single thing made by the hand of man. Everything is by women. The architecture, the exhibits, the frescoes, the sculptures, the paintings, the tomes in the library, all of it. Why should our infirmary be any different?”

  “The staff is female only?”

  “It is.”

  Excitement began to bubble up within her. “How often would you need me?”

  “Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. From eleven o’clock to seven.”

  It would mean being away from her “office” three days a week, but she wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to practice. Especially not at the fair, where she was bound to make influential connections.

  She held out her hand. “I’d be honored.”

  Mrs. Palmer blinked, staring at Billy’s hand. Billy flushed. Women of Mrs. Palmer’s caliber did not shake hands the way men did.

  Trying to recover, she moved the offending appendage to Mrs. Palmer’s arm and gave it a quick squeeze. “Thank you.”

  “There is one more thing.”

  “Yes?” Billy waited.

  “I’ll need to know your fee.”

  She suppressed a groan. She hated that question, never knowing what to charge or how to answer. If she charged too little, she ran the risk of devaluing herself and losing the respect of her clientele. If she charged too much, she might dissuade them altogether.

  Seeking some neutral ground, she projected as nonchalant an air as she could. “Oh, the usual fee.”

  Mrs. Palmer smiled. “Excellent. Then five dollars a day will be sufficient?”

  Billy’s breath caught. Five dollars a day? A fortune! “Yes. That’s perfect.”

  Hooking her hand in the crook of Billy’s arm, Mrs. Palmer turned them back toward Columbus Hall. “Wonderful. How quickly can you begin?”

  “How soon do you need me?”

  “Wednesday is two days away.”

  Billy nodded. “Then two days it is.”

  MARSHALL FIELD’S3

  “Billy placed a hand on her hat, lifted her chin, and squinted in order to see to the very top of Marshall Field’s new nine-story terra-cotta building.”

  CHAPTER

  4

  Colonel Rice, commandant of the Columbian Guard, leaned his chair back on two legs, his shiny head offset by an impressive handlebar mustache. “You conducted yourself well at the Woman’s Congress, Scott.”

  “Thank you, sir.” With feet apart, Hunter placed one hand behind his back, the other tucked his cap beneath his arm. Taking care to avoid eye contact, he stared at a hall tree behind the colonel. On its flattened cactus-like shape hung a gray wool coat and a black umbrella.

  “Therefore,” Rice continued, “I’m going to pull you from the Administration Building and assign you to the Woman’s Building.”

  Hunter hesitated. “The Woman’s Building, sir?”

  “Your shift will start at nine o’clock in the morning. You’ll work four hours on. Four hours off. Then four hours on again.”

  This shift was better than the evening one he’d been working, but the Woman’s Building? “Isn’t that just filled with a mess of gewgaws made by women, sir?”

  “It doesn’t have anything like the model Treasury Building you’ve been guarding, if that’s what you mean.”

  That’s exactly what he meant. He was a Texas Ranger. A member of the most elite force in not only his state, but in the entire country. When the colonel had recruited him for this six-month stint, Hunter had assumed he’d be protecting foreign kings, queens, princes, and other dignitaries attending the fair. At the very least, he’d expected to guard the most valuable exhibits, such as the African diamonds.

  Hunter lowered his gaze to the colonel’s. “With respect, sir, are you sure that’s where my talents are best served?”

  “The place is filled with art, jewels, and frippery on loan from the private collections of queens and princesses. I need a good man on it. Furthermore, the building is overrun with women. Bossy women. Women whom men might decide to put in their place.” He dropped his chair legs to the ground with a thunk. “I’ll not have that. Those women have worked long and hard and they’ve been sanctioned by Congress. I want it seen to that they are treated with the utmost respect and deference. Exactly the way you treated the ones at the Woman’s Convention.”

  He hadn’t treated those women at the convention any differently than normal. Well, except for Miss Pantalets-Trousers. He’d not treated her with deference and respect. He’d thought about it. Thought about turning his back to her when it became apparent what was going to transpire, but he hadn’t. The lawman in him knew better. You never turned your back on a perpetrator. And somebody sneaking into the cellar was definitely a perpetrator. Female or no. Trousers or no.

  Maybe he should tell the colonel about that. But he couldn’t, of course. Tales of that sort could ruin a woman, particularly when they were true. And as much as he didn’t want this assignment, he wasn’t willing to sacrifice a woman’s reputation over it.

  So he held his tongue. The boys in Company A back home sure would have a laugh, though, if they discovered he’d taken leave from chasing desperadoes in Texas in order to guard and protect a bunch of lace and embroidery in Illinois.

  At the corner of Washington and Wabash, Billy placed a hand on her hat, lifted her chin, and squinted in order to see to the very top of Marshall Field’s new nine-story terra-cotta building. She tarried, letting her anticipation build as the rhythm of the city pulsed about her.

  A high-stepping horse and carriage veered around a plodding workhorse and dray. A newsboy in patched-up britches trapped a stack of papers beneath his arm, the smell of fresh ink wafting on the breeze. “Ded’cation of Illinois Buildin’ at the Exposition! Time and schedule printed here!”

  Steam whistles from the harbor one block over competed with those of the trains pouring in and out of Michigan Avenue’s depot. Cable cars and horsecars crisscrossed the roads, making requisite stops as men and women poured from them and headed straight for Marshall Field’s red-striped awnings.

  Billy cherished every sound, every sight, every smell. Chicago was all the colors of the rainbow and it had been love at first sight. She’d only intended to stop in the city on her way back from a trip to Milwaukee. Instead, she’d taken one look and fallen head over heels. Before the first day was through, she’d rented an apartment and talked the landlady into letting her use the sitting room downstairs for her patients to wait in.

  She sighed. One thing was certain, if she ever felt for a man what she felt for this city, she’d do the proposing herself.

  Lifting her skirt, she looked in every direction, then darted across the boulevard, avoiding puddles, horse droppings, and moving vehicles. Field’s large show windows displayed summer gowns, though it was only May. Tempted as she was to flatten her nose against the plate glass, she contented herself with standing at a proper distance.

  With the exorbitant salary she’d be making, she’d decided to celebrate her new position by indulging in the latest
craze—shopping. And this time, instead of window gazing only, she could actually afford to go inside and purchase a ready-made gown. Her first ever.

  She stepped beneath the ornate stone front of the store and into the five-story atrium. Had she walked into the Sistine Chapel, she couldn’t have been more in awe. Up, up, up the walls went, each floor sporting a gallery of shoppers who, if they’d simply taken the time, could have leaned over the balconies and observed all the activity on the ground floor.

  The hum of chatter ebbed and flowed. A cash boy hurried across the marble floor, taking change from one counter to the next. An usher in a sharp, double-breasted suit stepped forward. “May I direct you to a particular department, miss?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure.”

  He smiled, though his prolific mustache hid his lips. “Your first time?”

  “My first time inside.”

  “Well, there’s a ribbon sale seven counters down, to the left. The carpet sweepers are also at a special price today, though they’re at the end of the middle aisle on the third floor.”

  “I see.” Dazed, she glanced at the highly polished tables filled with silks and shoes, hats and handkerchiefs, parasols and gloves. All meticulously arranged, some folded with precision, others fanned out in artful displays.

  “And the ready-made clothing?” she asked.

  He indicated a section at the south end of the floor. “Right over there. Allow me to show you.”

  “No, no. I’m fine. Thank you.” She spent the next two hours simply wandering through each department on the ground floor, weaving between the host of clerks and patrons swarming its aisles. The plethora of trinkets, stationery, jewelry, stockings, laces, hair combs, and trimmings overwhelmed her. And she’d yet to make it to the ready-made section, much less to any of the upper floors.

  By the time she did, it wasn’t the gowns that drew her attention, but the undergarments. They were beautiful. Corset covers and chemisettes of fine cotton and silk teased the senses. Petticoats, combinations, and summer corsets were trimmed with the tiniest of stitches and delicate lace.

  But it was a particular pair of pantalets that she studied the most. They were translucent. Were she to slip them on, the outline of her legs would be just discernible through the fabric. They were certainly nothing like the ones in the Montgomery Ward catalog, nor the coarse, cotton ones she’d sewn for herself.

  Soft lacy ruffles trimmed the legs. Pastel-pink ribbon woven through crocheted bands separated the ruffles from the leggings.

  Rubbing the cloth between her thumb and fingers, she wondered what that Columbian Guard would have thought of these. If he considered drawers scandalous, he’d have had the shock of his life to discover see-through ones.

  She stifled a nervous giggle. Still, the pantalets held her entranced. She’d never gone to the time or expense of adding ribbons and frills to her lingerie. And she’d certainly never considered wearing transparent ones. Didn’t even know there was such a thing. What would be the point?

  Yet now, her very plain, very ordinary drawers seemed bulky and awkward, chafing the skin beneath her skirts. How delicious it must feel to wear, just once, pantalets so fine and decidedly naughty.

  “May I help you?”

  Jumping, Billy snatched her hand back.

  “They’re lovely, aren’t they?” The clerk couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. Loose red tendrils curled about her temples and nape, while the length of her hair had been gathered and tied through a tortoiseshell ring. A subtle, flowery scent wafted about her. “As you might have guessed from our selection, all the old-time fabrics from the 1830s, when women wore lawns, dimity, and muslin, are again in vogue.”

  “For undergarments, you mean?”

  “For outer and undergarments.” Slipping her hands beneath the folded pantalets, the girl lifted them so Billy could again feel of their softness. “Some, like these, are of gossamer thinness, while others are heavier and more durable.”

  For the next hour the girl took Billy from department to department, floor to floor, outfitting her from the inside out.

  By the time Billy left, she’d spent much more money than she should have. Money she’d set aside as savings. Still, she couldn’t suppress her excitement. She would start her new job with a new gown, a new hat, new gloves, new stockings, and the most wicked undergarments she’d ever owned.

  WOMAN’S BUILDING4

  “Billy couldn’t help but marvel at the size of the Woman’s Building.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  Standing on tiptoe, Billy tried to see more of her new gown in the oval mirror above her washstand, but she could only glimpse the upper portion of the summery blue-striped bodice. She straightened the perky bow at its collar, then lowered her heels to the floor.

  She loved bows. Always had. But she never wore them. Not when she was trying to compete in a man’s world.

  Yet she’d be working in the Woman’s Building. Surely it would be all right to wear something feminine there. At least, that’s what she’d told herself yesterday when she’d purchased the gown. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  She picked up her watch pin from atop a traveling trunk. She was supposed to leave in ten minutes. After one last glance in the mirror, she yanked free the bow at her neck, pushed buttons through the holes along her back, and shucked off both bodice and skirt.

  She wasn’t even sure she should wear one of her shirtwaists and skirts. They were so schoolmarmish. Perhaps she should wear a nursing uniform. A friend had outgrown one and offered it to Billy for when she’d one day have an office and a nurse to give it to.

  Lifting the trunk lid, she dug down to the bottom and pulled the uniform out. It was white and feminine without being overly so. Its familiarity would most likely infuse confidence in patients who weren’t used to lady doctors.

  By the time she’d changed, attached her chatelaine, and dropped her framed diploma into her satchel, she only had time to grab her hat. She’d have to put it on once she arrived.

  Threading her arm through the handle of her satchel, Billy couldn’t help but marvel at the size of the Woman’s Building. Imagine the entire thing being designed and stocked by women.

  As she took in its caryatids and a group of sculptured figures standing on the roofline, she absently removed the long pins from her hat’s base and stuck them in her mouth. Round arches rested on Doric pilasters. An open balcony with grand Corinthian columns held a collection of visitors.

  Finally, she remembered the time and picked up her pace. Balancing her hat atop her head, she hurried up the steps.

  “You might want to slow down, miss.” The command in the man’s voice was unmistakable. So was his accent.

  She stubbed her toe but continued toward him as if she hadn’t, refusing to accept what her mind was telling her. It couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t. Surely that voice belonged to some other person from the South. She kept her chin tucked as she worked on her hat, just in case.

  “I’d hate for you to fall with those skewers in your mouth,” he continued.

  There it was again. The accent. This time she caught a familiar gravelly sound in his voice. Her stomach jumped in revolt.

  “I’m late,” she mumbled over the remaining pin in her mouth.

  “Better late than becoming a patient in the infirmary you’re headed to.”

  A surge of alarm rushed through her until she realized he hadn’t recognized her, but had recognized her uniform as one belonging to a nurse. She hoped.

  In a bid for time and an excuse to keep her head tucked, she pulled the pin she’d just placed back out and repositioned it. “I’ll be careful.”

  She reached the landing. And the door. And a pair of cowpuncher boots covered in an unidentifiable animal skin blocking her way. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

  She couldn’t look up. She simply couldn’t.

  “All the same,” he said, “I insist you finish what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, for h
eaven’s sake.” Yanking the last pin from her mouth, she poked the back of her hat as she tried to find a good spot to insert the pin. All she could think of was the new, wicked, gossamer pantalets brushing against her thighs, their delicate lace tickling her calves.

  Her cheeks began to tingle. She should have worn her old ones. She’d feel much more fortified with the coarse, stiff, cotton drawers she’d sewn with her own two hands. She’d wear them tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

  Again, those awful moments with him in the cellar sprang fresh in her mind. Though she’d tried not to think about it, tried not to picture what he’d seen as she’d shimmied through that window, she’d relived those moments over and over. The images simply would not be suppressed.

  And as a doctor, she’d learned all there was to know about the workings of the human body. The workings of a man’s body. And she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that by dint of how he was knit together, those selfsame images were alive and well in his mind, too. And if he’d had a glimpse of her face, then the moment she looked up, those images would revive once again.

  The pin was in. There was nothing left to do. It was time to pay the piper.

  ENTRANCE TO WOMAN’S BUILDING5

  “Stepping aside, Mr. Scott reached for the door, but she wasn’t about to let him open it for her. Lurching forward, she grabbed the heavy handle, hauled the door open, and sailed through, leaving the door for him to either catch or get knocked in the head with.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  Deciding her best defense was offense, Billy tightened her lips and looked up, a challenge in her bearing. “Does that meet with your approval?”

  His gaze touched her hair, her newly attached bonnet, and her eyes. His dark brown lingered on her light brown. “Yes, ma’am. It most surely does.”