by Deeanne Gist
He dragged her down the shoreline, into the east entrance of the Manufactures Building, then down the first aisle. People chattered, exhibitors called out, babies cried. Finally, they reached the corner of the building, where two sets of stairs led to the second floor.
Without wasting another moment, he opened a door under the eaves, ducked inside, propelled her into his arms, and kissed her. Not as thoroughly as he’d like, but enough to learn her texture, her special scent, and any little sounds she made while he showed her the depth of his feelings.
She was so tall. And tiny. And wonderful.
Angling his head to the other side, he kissed her again, not wanting to waste a single moment.
She mewed.
Desire surged through him. Peeling his lips from hers, he bracketed her face, kissing every inch. So soft. So smooth. So delectable.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since our very first lesson,” he murmured.
She tilted her head, giving him access to her jaw and throat. “Even back then?”
“Your lips drove me crazy. I thought I’d go mad trying to read them when what I really wanted was to taste them.” He cradled her head and crushed his mouth to hers once again.
It took a moment before he realized she was trying to shift to the side.
He pulled back, bumping his head on the slanted ceiling. “What is it?”
“There’s a broom or mop—”
For the first time, he noted the smell of lemon with a tiny touch of vinegar. Reaching behind her, he tried to move the mops out of the way, lost his footing, and almost fell out the door.
She squeaked, grabbed him, then giggled.
When he finally regained his balance, he braced his feet wide, pulled her in for another kiss, then reluctantly loosened his hold. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“How did you find me?” he asked.
“I was at the exhibition and heard one of the criers mention a fireman-less extinguisher.”
Moving his palms up and down her sides, he gloried in the feel of her. “I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.”
“Do you believe I’m not a philanderer?”
“I do, but you must promise to be completely open and up-front about everything from now on.”
He let out a sigh. “I will, Della. I will. I’m sorry I wasn’t before.” He sealed his vow with another fierce kiss before finally pulling back. “Much as I’d like to stay in here, my neck can’t take this closet much longer. Would you like to go back to the exhibition?”
Smoothing her hands beneath his lapels, she tugged his jacket into place. “I’d love to.”
STATE STREET, CHICAGO
“Cullen stood in the waiting area of Vaughn Mutual Insurance of Chicago, hat in hand.”
CHAPTER
49
Cullen stood in the waiting area of Vaughn Mutual Insurance of Chicago, hat in hand. Walnut-stained wood covered every surface of the room—floor, walls, and ceiling. The wooden seats of two bentwood chairs had faded from constant use. Across from them, a modest desk held a matronly woman with a soft white bun at her nape and a pleasant disposition.
But what intrigued him the most was the speaking tube on her desk. It appeared as if a tube ran from it to the wall and into what he assumed was Vaughn’s office.
As he stared, it whistled. The secretary pushed a lever to one side, then spoke into the tube. “Yes, sir?”
“Send Mr. McNamara in, Miss Forsythe.”
Fascinating, he thought.
Standing, Miss Forsythe circled her desk. Her back bowed out, giving her a permanent slouch. “Right this way, Mr. McNamara.”
Opening the door, she waved him in. Piles of papers formed a castle-like wall on Vaughn’s desk, while other papers had been plopped atop books in a bookshelf and overflowed onto the floor. Fire hazards if he’d ever seen any.
Vaughn rose and indicated an upholstered seat across from him. Above the ring of his cropped white hair, the man’s head was slick and shiny.
“Sit down, McNmra,” he said. “That was quite a demonstration you had at Fireman’s Wk.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask how much bsnss it generated.”
Cullen lifted a corner of his mouth. “Even more than I’d hoped. Once a few companies signed up, they told their acquaintances, who then told theirs, and, well, so far, I have commitments from cotton, woolen, corn, and saw mills. From biscuit works, sugar refineries, rubber works, drapers’ shops, calico printers, linoleum works, ware—”
Chuckling, Vaughn held up a hand. “I get the picture.”
Cullen handed him a paper listing all his clients.
Setting his spectacles on his nose, Vaughn took several moments to peruse it. “This is very good, McNmra. Very good. Did any of them cmmt with a down payment?”
“Yes, sir. I required a fifty percent deposit.” He delineated which ones had already paid.
With part of the advances, he’d sent money home to pay for the Dewey boys’ help. Between the harvest money and the upcoming installs, he’d be able to buy down enough debts to keep the farm for at least another year—more if his dad was careful and if Cullen’s business continued to grow.
Vaughn settled back in his chair, his vest buttons straining against his portly belly. “I’m assming you’re here to find out how much I’ll reduce their premiums?”
“Yes, sir.”
He tapped his thumb against the armrest. “I wasn’t expcting you to do so well, prtclrly in light of our current economic cndtn.”
Cullen gave him a wry grin. “Forgive me if I don’t apologize. And I told them of Vaughn Mutual. I know many of them hope to recoup much of their investment by signing policies with you.”
Vaughn returned his grin. “Excellent.”
A clock on the wall ticked in the ensuing silence.
Drawing in a large breath, Vaughn sat up and leaned on his desk. “Let me take this to the board. Our intntn is to offer a premium discount to any of our current policyholders who adopt your sprnklrs and to, of course, garner new clnts from this list of yours. In the long run, their rdcd prmms will be well wrth the cst of your systms.”
Even in the quiet of the room, Cullen had trouble grasping what had been said. He knew that if Vaughn pulled out, he’d lose some clients—maybe not all, but certainly enough to put the farm back in jeopardy. Still, Vaughn was not a one-time install job. He’d be working with him and his company for at least a year, maybe more if things went well.
Trying to hide his hearing loss would be not only almost impossible, but also dishonest. And that was a road he didn’t care to take again.
With a quick prayer, he mustered up some courage. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but I’m hard of hearing and didn’t catch those last two sentences.”
Vaughn’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Hard of hrng? Is this smthng new? I’ve never noticed it before.”
“I’ve been gradually losing my hearing over the past year. It’s become much worse since arriving at the fair. As you know, though, I’ve been taking private lip-reading lessons from one of the teachers of the deaf.”
Vaughn pushed himself straight in his chair. “I thought that was because of the noise in Machinery Hll. I had no idea your actual hearing was a problem. Who else knows abt this?”
“My family, my, uh, teacher, and a former customer.”
“What do you mean, ‘a former customer’?”
“I had a printing-works man who withdrew his orders once he found out I had difficulty hearing.”
“Well, I’m not the least bit surprsed. Do not under any circumstances tell anyone else. It could very well jeopardize all of ths. People have very definite opinions about that sort of thing.”
“Don’t you think that would be dishonest?”
Vaughn ran a hand over his head. “Absolutely not. Having a hring problem does not mean you have to run arnd with a scarlet letter pinned to your chest.”
Cullen frowned. He hadn’t thought of it quite like that. “I wasn’t planning to tell every person I met on the street, but clients are a bit different, don’t you think?”
“Will this hearing prblm affect your work? Your sprnklr systems?”
“Not at all.”
“Then the clients don’t need to know abt it.”
Cullen shifted positions in the chair. “What if I knew a particular client would clearly object to working with someone subject to a deficiency of this kind?”
Vaughn shook his head. “Your ability to hear—or not hear—has no impact on the reliability or effectiveness of your product any more than your looks, personality, weight, or height would. Therefore, you are undr no obligation to share it.”
“Don’t you think that would be lying by omission?”
“Lying by omission would be installing a product that was faulty. That is relevant to the relationship. That is lying by omission.”
Cullen tapped a fist against his lips. Partial deafness might not affect his equipment, but it would have an impact on his relationship with a buyer who held strong prejudices. Still, what Vaughn said made sense. He supposed he’d have to take it one client at a time and simply do as his conscience dictated.
“There’s nothing wrong with my product,” he said.
“Of course not.” Rising to his feet, Vaughn tapped Cullen’s list of clients. “Would you mind if I kept this for now?”
Cullen held out a hand. “I made that copy for you.”
Vaughn gave him a firm shake. “I’ll let the board know. We should have a proposal for your clients by the end of the fair.”
GONDOLA ON THE LAGOON
“A golden-skinned gondolier wearing an embroidered purple jacket took his position on the dancing bow, his long oar secured across a twisted lock. His partner, in crimson and white, balanced on tiptoe in the narrow stern.”
CHAPTER
50
Della had become so accustomed to groups of tourists entering her classroom that she hardly gave them a second glance. But at the back of this particular group stood Cullen, as antsy and full of excitement as a young boy on Christmas morning. His eyes danced, a barely checked smile hovered at his lips, his weight shifted from one foot to the other.
What on earth?
With difficulty, she forced her attention back to the children. Lifting a small plate with cake, she held it in the air. “What is this?”
Idanell raised her hand. “Caag.”
“Very good, Idanell. Now, everyone together . . . ‘Cake.’ ”
“Caag.”
One by one, the children identified a bottle of wine, some wild-flowers, a red cap, and a drawing of a wolf.
“Excellent. Now we are ready for story time.”
She told them of Little Red Cap’s instructions from her mother, her meeting with the wolf, and the sly plot the wolf had. Whenever one of their vocabulary words was used, she held the object in the air and the children chorused that part.
Although they’d heard the story a thousand times, they still sat breathless during the telling. The scene with the disguised wolf was Della’s favorite.
She put the red cap on her head. “Oh, Grandmother, what big . . .” She pointed to her ear.
“Eeyyoos.”
“. . . you have. And the wolf said . . .” She held up a drawing of the wolf.
“All dddd bbbedddr to heee you wid.”
“Oh, Grandmother, what big . . .”
“Iiiiz.”
“. . . you have. And the wolf said . . .”
“All dddd bbbedddr to zeee you wid.”
“Oh, Grandmother, what big . . .”
“Haaandz.”
“. . . you have. And the wolf said . . .”
“All dddd bbbedddr to gwabbb you wid.”
“Oh, Grandmother, what a horribly big . . .”
“Mow-f.”
“. . . you have. And the wolf said . . .”
“All dddd bbbedddr to eeed you wid!”
“And he jumped from the bed and ate up poor Little Red Cap.”
Kitty’s eyes widened. She covered her mouth and shook her head, her blond ringlets bouncing every which way. Della quickly brought in the huntsman who cut the wolf open with his ax and saved Little Red Cap and her grandmother.
The applause from the tourists gave her a start. She’d forgotten all about them. Her gaze connected with Cullen’s.
His grin was wide and his shoulders shook.
Heat rushing into her cheeks, she snatched the red cap from her head, then turned back to the children. “What did you learn?”
Vivienne bounced off her chair, jumped up and down, and waved her hand in the air.
Della gave her a gentle frown. “Ladylike manners, please, Vivienne.”
The girl scrambled back to the chair, bottom up, arm still waving.
Della bit her cheek. “Go ahead.”
“Doo whaad your mudder sezzz.”
“Do what your mother says. You are exactly right.”
Edgar raised his hand, his feet swinging back and forth in the chair.
“Edgar.”
“Do nod lizzn tooo woooves.”
The tourists chuckled.
She nodded. “Do not listen to wolves or . . . ?”
Julia Jo raised her hand.
“Julia Jo.”
“Or peeeble ooo dell you do braag de ruuuz.”
“Or people who tell you to break the rules. Excellent. Shall we close with a prayer?” Putting her hands together, she led them in prayer, then released them for playtime on the roof.
The tourists followed them out, talking quietly among themselves. At last they were gone.
Closing the door behind them, Cullen leaned against it, ankles crossed. “They understood you very well.”
“It took me months and months to teach the story to them the first time. Now the repetition reinforces the words on my lips and makes them more recognizable when I use them out of context.”
He nodded. “That was the final lesson of the day, wasn’t it?”
“It was. What are you doing taking a tour of the building?”
“It was the only way I could get in here before school was over.”
“Has something happened?”
His smile grew huge.
She felt her own begin. “Oh, Mr. McNamara. What a big smile you have.”
Pushing away from the door, he grabbed a chair and wedged it beneath the doorknob.
“Cullen,” she scolded. “What are you doing?”
He took a step forward.
She took a step back. “Oh, Mr. McNamara. What mischievous eyes you have.”
He winked. “The better to see you with.”
He made a swipe.
She jumped out of the way, giggling. “Oh, Mr. McNamara. What big hands you have.”
“The better to grab you with.” This time he was ready for her and snagged her arm, then pulled her close.
She squeaked. “What if someone tries to come in?”
“No one is coming in.” His wicked smile engaged laugh lines and dimples.
She bit her lip. “Oh, Mr. McNamara. What a horribly big mouth you have.”
He splayed his hands across her back. “The better to kiss you with.”
She stiffened. “Not here!”
But it was too late. His head descended, and she was lost. By the time he’d finished, she was on her tiptoes, her arms around his neck and her breath coming in short spurts.
He rested his forehead and nose against hers. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“My sprinkler system won a medal.”
She pulled back. “What!”
Releasing her, he slipped a hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a shiny silver filigree case.
Excitement and awe bubbled up inside her. She clasped her hands behind her back. “You open it.”
His big, virile hands pressed the spring-loaded button. Inside, a bronze coi
n nestled against a black velvet lining.
“Oh, Cullen. This isn’t a medal from the Fireman’s Week competitions. It’s a medal from the fair.” She looked up. “Can I touch it?”
Grinning, he nodded.
She ran her fingers along a figure of Columbus stepping ashore onto the New World. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Look at the other side.”
Placing one hand beneath his, she picked up the coin with her other and turned it over. A cartouche with a commemorative inscription was flanked by torches on either side, two winged females and a globe on the top, and a large sailing ship along the bottom.
“Read it,” he urged.
“ ‘World’s Columbian Exposition. In commemoration of the four-hundredth anniversary of the landing of Columbus. 1892–1893. To . . . ‘” Gasping, she glanced at him again. “They engraved your name on it.”
His smile grew wider. “Can you believe it?”
She ran her finger across the C. B. McNamara. “What’s the B for?”
“Berneen. After my father.”
Returning it to its case, she rotated it just so. “It’s beautiful. I’m so proud of you. This should help garner even more orders, don’t you think?”
“It already has.”
She bracketed his cheeks and gave him another kiss. “Congratulations.”
“Want to celebrate?”
She lifted a brow. “Will it involve heights and closed-in spaces?”
“Nary a one.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“A gondola ride.”
Her lips parted. “Really? Do you mean it?”
“I’ve been dying to see the fair from that vantage point. Haven’t you?”
She nodded, remembering the many times she’d admired the elegant vessels.
He glanced at her table. “Think Red Cap’s granny would mind if I swiped her bottle of wine?”
Giggling, she shook her finger back and forth. “You wouldn’t believe the difficulty I had in convincing the director I needed it. But it’s right there in the story, so what could I do? Anyway, ‘Granny’ would most definitely miss it if it disappeared. And I’m already persona non grata around here.”
“Why?”