If only she would let him be with her. She should not have to go through this alone.
Every time the cable car lurched to a stop at a corner for passengers to board and disgorge, frustration roiled in Archie’s belly. Just because a cable car made the most sense as a mode of transportation did not mean it was fast enough when he was in a hurry. Archie gave up his seat to a weary-looking shop girl and stood in the aisle, considering the benefits of moving toward the door even though the cable car was a long way from where he planned to get off.
The last place Charlotte had seen her husband—or thought she saw him—was at the Ferris wheel. Expecting to find him there made little sense, but it was the only starting point Charlotte had.
The cable car pitched to a stop once more.
Charlotte put one foot in front of the other and stepped from Cottage Grove Avenue through the entrance to the Midway Plaisance. She did not have to look for the Ferris wheel. It rose two hundred and fifty feet into the air, towering over everything around it and dominating the view of anyone who dared lift eyes from the crowded displays of foreign cultures, sideshows, and games.
Walking slowly, Charlotte concentrated on trying to remember precisely what she had seen that day. His trousers were black, and the white shirt with the red stripe had a round neckline. Charlotte remembered seeing a lot of other men dressed that way on both occasions when she visited the fair. While millions of people came to Chicago to visit the fair, thousands found employment on the fairgrounds, at least for the duration of the Exposition. Charlotte had no trouble believing that someone like Lathan Landers would have come in search of some easy money. The fact that he seemed to be wearing some sort of uniform—and a menial one—did not dissuade her. Lathan ran an elaborate network of bootleg stills and was not afraid to gamble even against long odds. He would have come to Chicago looking to relieve some of the millions of visitors of the cash that weighed them down, and working on the Midway was the perfect opportunity.
Charlotte stopped in front of the Brazilian Music Hall, barely hearing the throbbing pulse emanating from within.
I am out of my mind. If I find him, then what?
She was tempted to turn around and jump back on the Cottage Grove Avenue cable car and ride it as far away as she could get.
The brakes screeched as the cable car made an unscheduled stop. Archie nearly lost his balance. Standing at the back of the crowded car, Archie could not see the cause of the sudden halt. A few passengers took advantage of the opportunity to shove past the people in the aisle and get off the back of the car to saunter on their ways.
Archie pushed in the opposite direction, toward the front of the car. Around him, others craned their necks as well, hoping for a glimpse of what had caused the car to stop.
“It’s a horse!” someone exclaimed. “It fell and tipped over a carriage in the intersection.”
Archie groaned audibly.
“It probably stepped in a hole and snapped its leg,” someone else speculated.
“Who was in the carriage?”
“They can’t leave it in the middle of the street.”
“What if someone is hurt?”
“The coachman might be trapped under the carriage.”
On any other day, Archie might have been interested in this conversation. He was not heartless. He sincerely hoped no one was injured, not even the horse. But on this day, he had only one thing on his mind.
When the cable car driver descended the steps to investigate, Archie jostled through and did the same. Traffic from every direction had come to a halt. A quick assessment revealed no one was injured, but the horse’s leg might indeed be broken. No one could estimate how long it would take to clear the intersection.
Archie was not going to wait. Every moment of delay put him farther behind Charlotte and whatever she was getting herself into. He glanced back at the hapless cable car, then moved out of the intersection and began to trot along the sidewalk. He could catch another cable car already farther south on Cottage Grove and still head for the Midway.
Charlotte’s nerves would not allow her to hurry. Her mind played out every scenario she could think of. She would find Lathan but be too frightened to reveal herself to him. She would not see him, but he would accost her and put her at an immediate disadvantage. She might look all day and never find him. Maybe he was gone and she would never know the truth of why he came to Chicago. She might find him, approach him, and—then what?
Her feet dragged, but she continued forward motion, past the Chinese Village, past the white shining arches of Old Vienna, past the French cider press. At the Vienna Café, however, she stopped. The small structure was the closest attraction to the Ferris wheel. Charlotte persuaded herself she suddenly wanted a cup of coffee, though in reality she simply needed to relieve her shaking knees, and the small Vienna Café was staring her in the face.
Charlotte settled at a table next to the open wall that looked out on the enormous display of the Ferris wheel. People lined up at the six loading platforms. It took one full revolution to load all twenty-one cars from the six platforms, then the riders would enjoy one nine-minute revolution without any stops. Charlotte had heard enough accounts in the last few months to know that the view from the top of the wheel was breathtaking. Passengers more courageous than she was enjoyed vistas of Lake Michigan along with surrounding states of Wisconsin, Indiana, and Michigan. Even on a cloudy day, much of the excitement was simply in the ride itself.
Yet it terrified her. The thought of stepping into one of the cars, with plate glass windows all around, made Charlotte queasy—even without imagining the sensation of lifting off the ground and swaying in the air.
She drank her coffee slowly, peering out at the ever-shifting flow of visitors enjoying the Midway exhibits. Beyond the Ferris wheel, she saw the Egyptian camels—something else she had no wish to ride—used in the reenacted wedding procession that repeated itself multiple times a day.
She saw dozens—no, hundreds—of people in the minutes that she sat and sipped her coffee.
But she did not see him.
Archie was finally at the entrance, merging into the crowd that went through the gates to the Midway. His eyes darted around the crowded scene before him. How many more visitors had decided this was the day to see the fair before it closed in less than two weeks?
Taking a deep breath, Archie forced himself to be less random in his search. He knew her gray suit would allow her to melt into the background hues. He had to focus, examine every form, look behind every pillar, under every sign, at every movement that caught his eye. He stood in front of the Brazilian Music Hall, the Ferris wheel breaking up the sky when he lifted his eyes, and purposely slowed his breath while he moved his eyes from one form to another. Jugglers and musicians wandered up and down the street, complicating the process of sorting which movements mattered and which did not.
Then, out of the corner of his left eye, he saw a sliver of gray duck into the Chinese Village. Archie increased his stride and was there less than two minutes later.
Charlotte decided to walk a wide loop around the Ferris wheel as she continued thinking. Her musings had persuaded her she wanted to get close enough that if he were there, she would see him. But she did not want him to see her first. When she found him, she would decide how to approach him—she still did not know what she would say. Would she tell him the truth—that she had given Henry away? Would she shriek at him to leave her alone? Would she calmly and sternly demand he disappear from her life? Would she demand a legal divorce?
She sauntered over to the French cider press and pretended to look interested as mounds of whole apples were transformed under pressure into liquid. Then she ambled along Sixtieth Street toward the Turkish exhibit, its Middle Eastern music wafting and colliding with the sounds of the German Village on the other side of the Midway. Every few minutes, Charlotte would find a post to lean against or a railing to casually support her balance as she turned once again to face the Fe
rris wheel and scrutinize the forms and faces of the people scurrying around.
The Bedouin, a performer from the Syrian exhibit, brushed passed her with his red and yellow silken robes flapping over his boots of sheepskin. His turban looked slightly askew to Charlotte, and his step seemed weary. She wondered about him only fleetingly, however. She was not watching the exotic performers, nor the fairgoers. Rather, she was interested in the people working to keep the Midway Plaisance in action. They were in constant motion themselves. So far Charlotte had identified three different styles of uniforms worn by people clearly toiling on the Midway, rather than feasting on the concessions and enjoying the sideshows. They were hawking souvenirs and novelties, selling tickets to the individual attractions, collecting trash, giving directions, moving wares.
They were like servants, she thought. People didn’t really see them unless they needed something.
Charlotte just needed to see one in particular. He was here. She could feel it.
Archie emerged from the Chinese Village, regretting that he lost both valuable time and the cost of admission chasing the wrong woman. He was within reach of grasping her elbow when she turned her head to look at a display, and he saw her face. And it was not Charlotte. The suit was identical—probably off the rack at Marshall Field’s, he realized—but it was not Charlotte.
He stood in the middle of the Midway, contemplating his options. The Ferris wheel was in plain sight before him. As he approached it, he shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare and peered at the car lifting off the platform. Quickly he scanned the crowd assembled on the next platform. As frightened as Charlotte was by the Ferris wheel, however, Archie could not imagine she would get on it. At the same time, he imagined she would not stray far—if she had come to do what he suspected. His gaze turned to Cairo Street nearby, just on the other side of the wheel. While Archie doubted Charlotte would go into Cairo Street for her own amusement, she might go if she thought she had seen her husband. As he walked toward the camel at the entrance to Cairo Street, Archie played with the coins in his pocket, wondering if the risk was worth the price of admission.
Charlotte paused her wide loop at the base of the model of the Eiffel Tower, and she could not help but think of Lucy Banning Edwards, who conceivably could be standing at the base of the real Eiffel Tower at that very moment. She was wearing the suit Lucy had given her last Christmas Eve so she would have something to wear to church, and in that church service Archie had held her hand for the first time.
Archie knew the truth now, all these months later, and he still wanted to hold her hand.
She wanted to let him.
But she couldn’t, not as long as he was out there.
A mock wedding procession emerged from Cairo Street into the Midway, the camels ornamented brightly and elaborately. On the back of the first animal rode a half-stripped Egyptian who danced with his bronzed, muscular shoulders. The tom-tom beaters followed, and behind them the camel with the canopied howdah bearing the bride. More drums and a procession of priests completed the entourage.
Charlotte’s wedding had not had a single festive moment. Although this Egyptian wedding procession was meant for entertainment only, it convinced Charlotte of what she wanted.
She wanted to be free of him. Henry was safe. Nothing bound her to the man any longer.
27
H e was there.
When the commotion of the Egyptian wedding procession cleared the street, Charlotte saw Lathan Landers. His back was to her, but the slope of his muscular shoulders and the solid stance of his booted feet were unmistakable. He wore the same black trousers and starched white shirt he had worn ten days ago, and standing with him at the base of the Ferris wheel were two other men in similar garb. If they were supposed to be working, they did not seem too concerned about it. When he threw his head back and laughed, he made a quarter turn. His face crinkled with familiarity that soured her stomach.
Charlotte’s first impulse was to spin around, run down the Midway, and lose herself in the Irish Village or some other attraction safely away from the Ferris wheel.
She reminded herself she had not come this far for nothing.
At the edge of Cairo Street, she hovered, veiled—she hoped—by the horde swarming the camels, daring to stroke their necks or contemplating an exotic ride of a lifetime. Lathan and his companions drifted slowly toward one of the loading platforms of the Ferris wheel. He had not seen her yet. She was sure of it.
Laden with brave and nervous passengers, the camels swayed down the street, curious followers trailing after them. Only a gaggle of mesmerized children stood between Charlotte and Lathan Landers, and Charlotte at last found her feet moving.
Toward Lathan. Not away from him.
Still he had not spotted her. She would know from his expression if he had. And then she was close enough that he would hear her.
“Lathan,” she said. He turned his head slightly, and she said again, “Lathan.”
His form turned and faced her, his bright blue eyes—Henry’s eyes—sweeping up and down to take in her appearance. His two friends turned as well, their low whistles stirring up her unsettled lunch.
Lathan glanced at his friends, and a sneer crossed his face. “Forget it. The goods are not as sweet as they look.”
As he stepped toward her, Charlotte forced her feet to stay put and swallowed the bit of her noon meal that had worked its way up to her throat.
“You should not have left the way you did,” he said flatly.
The weight of breathing pressed on Charlotte’s chest. “Why did you send me that note? Why didn’t you just leave me alone after all this time?”
“You took something that belongs to me, and I want it.”
“I only took what was mine.”
He came closer and in one swift motion clasped her wrist. “You’re nothing to me, but you helped yourself to something that matters.”
“I helped myself to a life where I did not have to dread the sound of you coming back into the house.”
“You know what I’m talking about.” He tightened his grasp.
Charlotte refused to display pain. “Let go of me, Lathan. You never wanted to be a husband.”
He laughed. “Then it worked out nicely that I never had a wife.”
A woman in a blue dress and an out-of-style hat approached. “Lathan Landers, get your hands off that girl or you’ll be sorry.”
Lathan released his grip and turned toward the woman, who took his arm and leaned against him, raising her face for a kiss. He obliged by holding her chin and kissing her hard. The woman giggled under his mouth and wantonly returned the kiss.
A shiver ran through Charlotte as she remembered his touch in the early days. She had always hated it, had never wanted Lathan Landers.
Lathan’s hands went to the woman’s waist, and at last she pushed him away playfully. “Lathan, we’re in public!” But clearly she was pleased with the attention. Lathan laid an arm lazily across her shoulders and turned back toward Charlotte.
“We’re off for the day and going up on the wheel,” he said to her, glowering. “You’ll come with us and we’ll finish this conversation.”
“I’d rather finish here.” She resisted even lifting her eyes to the wheel.
The woman tugged on Lathan’s arm. “I’ve been waiting all day. I insist you come up with me.”
“I’m going up,” he said again, an arm around the woman but his eyes on Charlotte. “You wouldn’t have come looking for me if you didn’t want to talk to me.”
“Surely we can talk right here. It doesn’t have to take long.”
Lathan laughed. “You’ll look silly talking to yourself, because I’m going on the wheel.”
“I’ll wait for you, then.”
He shook his head. “No. You’re coming.”
The woman in the blue dress pulled away from Lathan. “Who is this girl?” she demanded to know. “Why does she have to go with us?”
“She’s nobod
y that matters,” Lathan answered, “just someone with whom I have some unfinished business.”
“I don’t like my fiancé dallying with other women.”
Lathan laughed loudly. “Believe me, this is the last woman on earth I would want to dally with.”
Charlotte felt the flush rise. “I feel obliged to tell you Lathan and I were married two years ago.”
The woman slapped his chest. “You swore you weren’t married.”
“Are you going to believe me or a stranger you just met?” Lathan leaned in and kissed the woman again.
The woman eyed Charlotte, tilted her chin up, and put a possessive arm through Lathan’s elbow.
“I see I was wrong to disturb you.” Charlotte turned to go, barely keeping herself from running down the Midway.
“Oh no you don’t.” Lathan reached for Charlotte’s wrist. “We still have some things to clear up, and since you’ve taken the trouble to find me, we might as well do it.”
“But you promised we would go on the wheel,” the woman in the blue dress whined. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”
“And we shall go,” Lathan assured her. “She’ll come with us. I’ll even buy her ticket.”
Charlotte’s heart pounded, but she did not resist further. If this was what it would take to be finished with Lathan Landers once and for all, then somehow she would muster the resolve. They stood on the platform together—Lathan, the woman, his two friends, and Charlotte. The line inched forward at a steady pace as sixty people at a time filled a car before it lifted off the ground. Lathan had his hand low on the woman’s hip and kissed her passionately several times while they waited, each time sneering in Charlotte’s direction. She simply turned her head. The truth was plain that Lathan had not sent her that note with any intention of reclaiming her as his wife. He went so far as to deny he ever had a wife. And not once had he asked directly about the welfare of the baby. He spoke of his own child as if Henry were something he owned.
Dilemma of Charlotte Farrow, The Page 19