It Happened at the Fair: A Novel Page 4

  Warmth rushed up Della’s neck and into her face.

  Biting his cheek, he held back a smile. “Perhaps a poor choice of words under the circumstances. I meant nothing by them.”

  “No offense taken.” She scanned the crowd, trying to gauge how much longer she’d be stuck.

  “Do you see the members of your party?” he asked. “If you describe them to me, perhaps I can spot them over the crush and call out to them.”

  She cast about for an answer. He might be her rescuer, but he was also a complete stranger. So she didn’t care to tell him she’d become separated from her fellow coworkers during the madness. That would inevitably lead to more questions. And if he found she was an exhibitor, he’d most likely discover where she worked.

  She could explain they’d all planned to meet other lodgers from their boardinghouse, but then he’d want to know which one and he’d discover where she stayed. No, the less he knew, the better.

  “I’m afraid I was separated from my friends long before the crush began.”

  He cocked his head to the left. “I’m sorry? You were what?”

  “Separated from my friends,” she repeated.

  “Did you have a rendezvous point, by any chance? Or a particular destination that was first on your party’s list?”

  To lie or not to lie? Her father had filled her with all manner of frightful tales about unescorted women whom men preyed on.

  “The Holland Mill,” she blurted.

  “What’s that?”

  “A replica of an Amsterdam mill from the turn of the century, where Blooker’s Dutch Cocoa Company serves hot chocolate.”

  “Excellent. Where is it?”

  “Oh, over that way.” She whirled her hand in a southeasterly direction.

  He glanced toward the Agricultural Building. “Do you know exactly where? The fair is huge, over six hundred acres according to the guidebooks. ‘Over that way’ could mean yards or it could mean miles.”

  “Farther than yards, shorter than miles.”

  He cocked a brow. “You have no idea where it is, do you?”

  She stiffened. “I most certainly do. You walk between the Agricultural Building and Machinery Hall, then on past the Stock Pavilion to the South Pond. And they have excellent cocoa, I’ll have you know. I’ve sampled it myself.”

  Humor filled his eyes. “The fair just opened, Miss Wentworth. When exactly have you had time to sample the cocoa?”

  She realized her mistake at once. Only exhibitors had been allowed entrance up to now. “I had some this morning, before I came to listen to the opening ceremony.”

  He made no attempt to hide his smile. Deep laugh lines. Straight teeth. Sparkling brown eyes. The man was handsome in every sense of the word.

  “I’m impressed,” he said. “A trip to the cocoa shop and a place at the front of the crowd. I had to stand in my spot for over three hours to secure it.”

  “Oh, look.” She pointed toward the Manufactures Building. “The crowd is starting to move.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “So it is.”

  “Well, I thank you again for your help, Mr. McNamara. I’ll leave you to find your group.”

  He hesitated. “What about you?”

  Alarm bells began to sound in her head. “Oh, I’ll be fine. Besides, won’t your friends be looking for you? Your wife, perhaps?”

  “I don’t have a wife just yet.”

  “I see. Have you no friends, then?”

  His smile returned. “Nary a one. And I don’t know about Philadelphia, but in North Carolina we don’t abandon our womenfolk. We make sure they get safely to where they’re going.” He held out his elbow. “Shall we test that foot of yours or would you prefer I carry you to Blooker’s?”

  The fact of the matter was, her foot hurt like the devil, and her other leg was becoming fatigued from supporting her entire weight. “I think what I’d really like to do is go to the Rolling Chair Company. I’m afraid I’m not going to get very far on this ankle.”

  He immediately took her arm. “Perhaps a visit to the ambulance corps would be better.”

  Allowing him to support some of her weight, she shook her head. “The women they’re attending are no doubt in much worse shape than me. I don’t want to bother them.”

  “I insist.”

  She hesitated. At the Rolling Chair Company she’d have a chair boy as guide and escort, so she’d have no need of Mr. McNamara. But with the ambulance corps, she’d be alone and he might very well decide to stay with her.

  “No, really,” she said. “The Rolling Chair Company would be best. My friends will be wondering about me otherwise.”

  “I’ll go tell them what happened and where to find you.”

  “No!” She took a deep breath. “No, you’ve been inconvenienced way too much already.”

  “It’s no trouble. Now, shall we go see what the doctor says?”

  He took a step forward, then halted immediately when she took a hop.

  “You can’t put any weight on it at all?” He looked at the hem of her skirt but of course couldn’t see her ankle.

  She shook her head. “I’ve tried several times.”

  Without a by-your-leave, he bent over and swooped her up again.

  “Mr. McNamara, I—”

  “No arguments, Miss Wentworth. It’s very possible you’ve broken that ankle. Now hold tight while we make our way to the ambulance corps.”

  She frantically looked around, praying her coworkers had left. She had no desire to explain to them or anyone else what she was doing in this man’s arms—again. She needed to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

  He maneuvered past a chair boy repairing a wheel on his now empty chariot and a couple studying a map of the grounds. When they reached the sectioned-off area for the wounded, he leaned over to place her in an empty invalid’s chair.

  “No, no.” She stiff-armed the side of the chair. “No need to put me in one of these. I’m not an invalid, I just have a bruised ankle.”

  He straightened, still holding her in his arms, his face very close. A whiff of his mint shaving soap touched her nose.

  “That’s what the chairs are for,” he said. “People who, for whatever reason, can’t stand on their own two feet.”

  “Just put me on the ground, Mr. McNamara. I’ll be the judge of what I can and cannot do.”

  After a slight hesitation, he put her down. She grabbed the handle of the invalid’s chair for support.

  “I’m going in search of a nurse,” he said. “If you get tired, sit down.”

  She watched him weave through women on stretchers and children on pallets before he flagged down a nurse. No sign of anyone she knew, thank goodness.

  Moments later, he returned to her. “You may have to wait here a while. They’re awfully busy. But that’s probably just as well. It will give me time to get to Blooker’s, tell your friends where to find you, then bring them back. Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?”

  “Quite.”

  He sighed. “Very well, then. What do your friends look like?”

  Warmth filled her cheeks again. “Really, you needn’t—”

  “No arguing. They must be beside themselves with worry.”

  She swallowed, trying to decide if she should continue pretending or tell him the truth. Would a nefarious man offer to go collect her friends for her? But if she told him the truth, she sensed she’d never be free of him.

  Men are wily creatures, her father had said. Just because they look respectable doesn’t mean they are. You must be on your guard every moment.

  “How many are in your party?” he asked.

  Though there had been three of them, she decided to round up. “Four.”

  “You and three more women?”

  As long as she was padding her story, perhaps she should add some men to the mix as well. “Um, men.”

  His brows shot up. “You’re here with three men?”

  She flushed. Maybe she’d ov
ershot it a bit. “No . . . yes. I mean, two men, one woman.”

  His expression began to cloud. “Those men left you alone? In a crowd this size?”

  Oh, crumbs. She hadn’t thought of that. Sighing, she rubbed her head. What a tangled mess. “Our separation was my fault, I’m afraid. I was, um, late finishing my cocoa and I was supposed to catch up with them. But the truth is, I didn’t count on all these people—none of us did. Anyway, I never did find them. That’s why I made my way to the front. I was looking for them.” She blinked, impressed with her ability to fabricate a somewhat coherent tale on such short notice.

  Unfortunately, he grew more fierce. “That is no excuse whatsoever. They never should have left you. Period.”

  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 ne
ed.”

  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.”