It Happened at the Fair: A Novel

by Deeanne Gist

  Suppressing the urge to argue, he decided instead to confess his main concern. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to pay her what she’s worth.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something—an innovative man like you.” Vaughn waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “No one said the road to sccss was easy.”

  A tiny bead of sweat sprang out along Cullen’s hairline. He wasn’t innovative. He was a farmer. A farmer from North Carolina who had no business being here. But he couldn’t say that to Vaughn, not when his offer would sweeten the pot for potential customers.

  Vaughn lifted a brow. “I’d say my proposition is wrth it, wouldn’t you?”

  Cullen found himself nodding. Earning his dad’s money back was worth it. Worth whatever was required of him.

  “Excllnt.” Vaughn popped open his pocket watch. “You’d best head over there now. The school day’s almost complete, and you’ll want to catch one of the teachers before they all leave.”

  Ignoring the tightness in his chest, he shook the man’s hand. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”

  KITCHEN GARDEN IN THE CHILDREN’S BUILDING

  “ ‘This is our Kitchen Garden,’ the woman said. ‘It is devoted to teaching little girls how to become good housewives.’ ”

  CHAPTER

  7

  It had been another day for goose chasing. The deaf school wasn’t in the Woman’s Building but in the Children’s Building. And of all the attractions at the fair, Cullen couldn’t think of any other he’d rather skip more than the Children’s Building. What possible interest would he have in looking in on a bunch of kiddies whose parents had checked them at the door?

  Joining a small group of visitors, he followed a middle-aged tour guide in severe black who droned on about pink medallions decorating the wall and a life-size mural of Silver Hair and the Three Bears. The guide was exactly the kind of woman who’d placed him in the corner of a schoolroom for hours at a time before his mother had taken over his schooling.

  He sighed, wondering if stiff expressions and a steady monotone were prerequisites for all teachers. He certainly didn’t fancy having to spend hours of his free time with one. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with any mocking, whipping, or corner sitting.

  The guide led them to a room in the southwest corner of the building. “This is our Kitchen Garden. It is devoted to teaching little girls how to bcm good housewives.”

  With a name like “Kitchen Garden,” he’d expected plants, pots, and topsoil. Instead, forty or so girls in spotless pinafores occupied themselves with house chores. Some swept the room with miniature brooms. Others crawled on hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. Several bent over tiny washtubs in an effort to make dirty little dolls look white as snow.

  KITCHEN GARDEN IN CHILDREN'S BUILDING

  “Now make sure the hems are turned the crrct way.” A woman wearing a frilly apron and cap walked down a line of pint-sized mussed-up beds.

  Little girls turned the mattresses and punched them into a degree of softness, then spread pristine sheets and bright blankets on top. The tucking-in process showed they’d been well taught. Not a one made a hasty boardinghouse tuck but instead produced corners exactly like Alice’s.

  His guided group continued on, passing through a noisy kindergarten class for young children, a playroom for school-age children, and a wood-carving class for the older ones. In the library, the guide boasted that nearly every volume had been autographed. Stockton, Kipling, Longfellow, Alcott. He noted, however, that Billy Butts the Boy Detective had been left out of the collection.

  WOOD CARVING CLASS IN CHILDREN’S BUILDING

  Finally, they arrived at the deaf school. The guide stopped outside the door, pinched her lips, and waited for stragglers to catch up.

  When all had gathered, she folded her hands. “Behind these doors is a dmnstrtn of the Pennsylvania Home for the Training in Speech of Deaf Children Before They Are of School Age.”

  Cullen blinked. Was that the name of their school? What idiocy. Some woman obviously thought that up.

  “The entire school of twenty pupils picked up and moved from Philadelphia to Chcago for the duration of the fair so that people could see firsthand the important work being done. The emphasis of their program is to teach the deaf to speak and lip-read through observing and imitating the process of vocalization. It is the school’s ffmm belief that if these children are treated the same as hearing chldrn and they are surrounded with hearing and speaking only—no sign language—then when they are grown, they will function in society as equals and no one will ever know they are deaf.”

  Cullen stilled. Was that true? Could a person learn to lip-read so proficiently that he could lose his hearing and no one would be the wiser?

  Looking at the doors leading to the classroom, he reminded himself that even if the woman inside was the worst kind of tyrant, he needed to stick it out anyway. For the sake of earning that money back, if nothing else.

  “You are lucky,” the guide said, “for the teacher you are about to see is the very best. She ggdduuaadd first in her class from Alexander Graham Bell’s School of Oratory and received a personal recommendation from him.”

  He nodded. That was who he wanted then. The best.

  The guide pushed open the doors and indicated they should enter with a swoop of her arm. Inside, a group of very young tots sat in chairs arranged in a semicircle, their feet dangling high above the floor. The teacher, her back to the visitors, squatted in front of a youngster with blond ringlets springing from her head like clockworks gone amok.

  The teacher took the little girl’s hand and placed it against her cheek, nose, and throat. “Nnnnnn.”

  The tot furrowed her brows in concentration. “Wwwwwww.”

  The teacher shook her head. “Nnnnnnn.”

  “Ddddaaaa.”

  Leaving the tot’s hand where it was, the woman placed a finger behind the child’s front teeth, gently tapping them. “Nnnnnnn.”

  “AwNnnnnnn.”

  “Yes!” She placed a soft kiss on the girl’s head and received a beaming response.

  From the back, the teacher didn’t look like a high-strung old maid. Her light brown hair was silky and in a soft twist. Her neck, long and slender. Her waist, small and delicate.

  She stood. Up, up, up she went.

  His mouth slackened. It couldn’t be.

  She turned. And the impact hit him full force. He’d only seen her in a coat. But now there was nothing obstructing his view.

  Her green skirt and white shirtwaist showed off a slender figure with curves in all the places they should be. For the first time, he noticed her delicate facial features. Blue eyes. And bright smile.

  Until she saw him. The smile froze.

  He said nothing. Did nothing to betray his surprise.

  She was not so guarded. Shock, bewilderment, then horror played across her face.

  The guide cocked her head. “Miss Wentworth? Did we startle you?”

  Shaking herself, she turned her attention to the guide. “Yes. I mean, I guess so. I was very focused.” She plastered on another smile, but it wasn’t the natural one of before. “Welcome. We were, um, just about to finish up.”

  “Well, carry on,” the guide said. “Pretend we’re not here.”

  Miss Wentworth’s gaze collided with his, then she turned quickly about. “Can you welcome our guests, children?”

  She spoke the words as if she were teaching a normal group of children. He’d expected her to speak more slowly and methodically.

  “Good day,” they chorused, though the enunciation was slurred and nasal.

  “Lovely,” she said. “Now let us finish our lifters.”

  Walking to her chair, she smoothed her gown beneath her as she sat. “Remember, lift the tongue to the top of your mouth.” She demonstrated.

  The children mimicked her and he felt his tongue touch the back of his teeth.

  She picked up a napkin off a table next to her. “All
together now . . . Napkin.”

  “Nobin.”

  She held up a nickel. “Nickel.”

  “Ninkl.”

  She went through a dozen more items and praised them effusively even though their words were warped versions of the real ones. Finally, she led them in a prayer. The children didn’t close their eyes, though. They clasped their hands and watched her lips. He bowed his head.

  “Blessed be thy holy name, O God, and blessed be thy mercy forever. Amen.”

  The woman beside him touched a handkerchief to her eye.

  “You may line up now, children.” She held an open palm toward the door. “Mrs. Rosenburg will take you to the playground.”

  The students jumped from their chairs and scrambled to do their teacher’s bidding. At the door, a young woman wearing a white apron and cap escorted them out.

  “The playground on the roof is our next stop as well,” the guide said. “This way, please.”

  His group left, but Cullen stayed behind in the sudden quiet.

  Miss Wentworth clasped and unclasped her hands. “You’re going to miss your tour.”

  “I went on it only so I could come to this room.”

  She blanched. “How did you find me?”

  “Find you?” He frowned. “I didn’t, though I spent a good bit of that afternoon looking.”

  “But you did find me . . . because you’re here.”

  He shook his head. “I was looking for the teacher of the deaf children. I had no idea you were she.”

  “Oh.” She looked about the room, before finally returning her gaze to his. “Did you have a question for me?”

  “Yes. Where did you disappear to that morning?”

  She swallowed. “No, I meant did you have a question for the teacher of deaf children?”

  “I did.” Flipping back his jacket, he slid his hands into his pockets. “But first I have some questions for you. Did your friends ever find you?”

  She picked a nonexistent speck from her skirt. “It’s Mr. McNamara, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Mr. McNamara, I’m afraid I have a confession. It’s been on my mind ever since opening day, and I’ll be glad to get it off my chest.” She paused. “I, um, have no friends.”

  He blinked. “None at all? I find that hard to believe.”

  “No, no.” Her eyes were the clear, clear blue of an ocean. An ocean with mysteries beneath its surface. “I have friends, of course. It’s just, none of them are here. At the fair. Only the other teachers I work with.”

  He allowed that to sink in. “Then it was the other teachers who were at the cocoa shop, not two men and a lady in a large red hat?”

  She swallowed. “No. No one was at the cocoa shop. I made that up.”

  His lips parted. “Why?”

  She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t know. I guess because we’d just met and I didn’t really know you and I’d been separated from my coworkers and my father is just sure I’m going to get myself into trouble because I think everyone is like me.”

  He struggled to keep up. “And what are you like?”

  She shrugged. “Simple.”

  He doubted that. No female was simple. “So anyone who isn’t simple needs to be avoided?”

  Sighing, she touched her fingers to her head. “No, I meant, you know, simple. At face value. They are who they appear to be.”

  He was still confused. “Did I do something to offend you?”

  “No, no. Not at all. You were very gallant. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come to my assistance. That’s why I’ve been feeling so bad, the way I lied to you and all.”

  Good. And well she should. He couldn’t believe the time he’d wasted on her behalf. “Where did you go?”

  “Here. I came here straightaway.”

  He looked at her hem. “How’s your ankle?”

  “Oh, fine. Perfectly fine. It was sore for a few days, but I wrapped it. It’s all better now.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Very sorry.”

  He scrutinized her. If teachers in his day had looked like her, he wondered if he’d have been so quick to let Mama take over his schooling. “Do you whip the children at the front of the classroom when they’re bad?”

  She gasped. “What? My children? Certainly not. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Yep. He’d have definitely been more hesitant to leave. “How do you keep them in line, then?”

  “I don’t know. They don’t act up all that often.”

  “And when they do?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose I might have them sit by themselves for a few minutes. Take away a privilege of some sort. Was that the question you came here to ask? How we discipline the children?”

  “No. I wanted to ask if you’d teach me to lip-read.”

  “You?” She took a step back. “I couldn’t possibly. You’d disrupt the entire class. Not to mention you’d look ridiculous. What would our visitors think if they came in and you were sitting among the children?”

  “I didn’t mean here. I meant privately. I’m looking for private lessons.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . I have no time. My school day is completely full.”

  “What about the evenings?” he asked. “You could teach me then. You just said you didn’t have any friends.”

  “No. I’m sorry, but the answer is no.” Spinning around, she began to move a chair from the semicircle to the wall.

  He moved the ones at the opposite end until they met in the middle.

  “Is it because you have to stay with the children until bedtime?” he asked.

  “No, there are night nurses who take the children once the school day is over.”

  “Then your nights are free.”

  She picked at her nails. “I really—”

  “Please,” he said. “I’m a quick study.”

  “Why do you need to lip-read?”

  “I have an exhibit in Machinery Hall. The noise is excruciating. I can’t hear a word anyone is saying. If I don’t do something, then all the time and expense I went to in order to get here will be wasted.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re an exhibitor?”

  “I am.”

  “Of what?”

  He hesitated. “An automatic fire sprinkler.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing of importance.”

  “Obviously it is or you wouldn’t be exhibiting it at the fair.”

  He glanced about the room. The walls were adorned with paintings depicting various ways to entertain deaf children. Little girls with cherubic faces played house and dolls. Rambunctious boys explored the outdoors and sailed toy boats.

  “Mr. McNamara?” she asked.

  He pulled his attention back to her.

  “What exactly is an automatic fire sprinkler?”

  “It’s a series of pipes installed in ceilings. They have spigots that automatically open up and spray water when a fire starts.”

  “How do they know to do that automatically?” Her tone held genuine curiosity. Curiosity he didn’t intend to satisfy.

  “It’s rather complicated,” he said.

  She lifted a brow.

  “Feel free to come by Machinery Hall and see for yourself, if you’d like. I’m in the very back, left-hand corner.”

  “Perhaps I will. It sounds marvelously inventive, and think of all the lives and property it would save if every building had one. You must be doing very well here. Congratulations.”

  He decided not to bore her with the details and instead pointed to a circle of five chairs in the back. “Where would you like those?”

  “By the window, please.”

  He placed them against the wall. “Will you help me?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “Why? Are you still distrustful of me?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Then, what?”

 
; “It takes a long time to learn to lip-read.” Smoothing a tendril up the back of her neck with quick efficiency, she tucked it into her hair pouf. “Years, in fact. It’s not something I can teach you in a few lessons. And I really don’t have the time.”

  Years? Surely she exaggerated.

  “Your evenings are full, then?” he asked.

  “I plan to see the fair in the evenings. But it doesn’t really matter anyway, because I wouldn’t want to spend all my free time teaching someone who can hear perfectly well.”

  He rubbed his eyes. Only his family and Wanda knew about his hearing. The topic was entirely too inflammatory for knowledge of it to be bandied about. Entrusting his secret to a virtual stranger was not to be borne.

  “I could be your guide,” he said. “To the fair, I mean.”

  She gave him a small smile. “I truly am sorry.”

  Letting out a long breath, he looked at the tips of his boots. “The truth is, Miss Wentworth, I do have difficulty hearing.”

  Total silence. He peeked up at her.

  She’d narrowed her lips into thin lines. “How dare you pretend about something like that.”

  He straightened. “I’m not. It’s true.”

  “Really, Mr. McNamara. We have stood here and conversed for the last twenty minutes. At what point, exactly, were you unable to hear me?”

  “That happens sometimes. For one thing, it’s perfectly quiet in here. No background noises whatsoever. I also hear certain people better than others. Your voice is at a perfect pitch. I can hear every word. But the tour guide who showed me in here? There were several words I couldn’t catch, and I had to guess what she was saying by context.”

  She started to the door. “The answer is no. Good day, sir.”

  Catching up to her, he encircled her arm. “Wait.”

  She wrenched it away.

  He quickly stepped in front of her, blocking the door. He needed these lessons. He hadn’t sold a single system. Vaughn’s offer might be just the carrot he needed to close a deal. Furthermore, if what the tour guide said was true, this wouldn’t just help him at the fair, it would help him the rest of his life. “I’m not the one who’s been concocting falsehoods, Miss Wentworth. I believe you hold that honor.”