“Wonderful!” Win jumped up onto the platform and shook Garrett’s hand energetically. “You did a bully job this evening, Master Garrett.” Whirling and grabbing Amalie’s small hand, which made the little girl giggle, he lifted said appendage to his lips and said, “And you, too, Miss Amalie. You’re both terrific subjects, and I appreciate your cooperation. You behaved exceptionally well, and I’m looking forward to seeing the results of our joint effort.”
Gladys beamed at him.
Belle did not. “But I don’t want to stay here for another hour!” she shouted at last.
Everyone turned to stare at her, and she felt like an idiot. At least she’d succeeded in getting their attention. Win glared at her. She glared back. “I’m tired,” she announced stoutly.
“But you promised,” he said.
“I said I’d sit for you, but I didn’t say I’d remain all night!”
“You won’t have to stay all night!” He sounded exasperated. Looked it, too. “For God’s sake, Miss Monroe, you saw how busy my booth is during the day. This is the only time it’s practical to take the pictures!”
Fiddlesticks. He was right. Glancing at Gladys, Belle thought she detected a pinch of disappointment on that good woman’s face. Perfect. Now Belle was not merely an idiot, but an inconsiderate one as well.
Feeling as if the fates were conspiring against her and resenting it, she acquiesced. “Oh, very well. I’ll stay for another hour.”
“I don’t know why you’re being so reluctant,” Win said grouchily. “The children are having fun. Why can’t you have fun?”
“It is fun,” Amalie agreed.
“Yeah,” said Garrett. “It’s loads of fun. I can’t wait to see the pictures.”
Gladys remained silent, a consideration Belle appreciated. She tried to come up with a pleasant expression, for Gladys’s sake. “I’ll be fine.” Her smile felt like a grimace. “And I won’t be longer than an hour.” Shooting Win a ferocious glare, she asked through gritted teeth, “Will I?”
He snarled, “Oh, for God’s—” He sucked in a gallon or two of air. “No. I won’t keep you for more than an hour. And I’ll see you to the door of your hotel room.”
“We have a suite at the St. Clair,” Gladys said helpfully.
Win’s smile for her appeared quite friendly, which Belle didn’t understand. It was she, after all, who was the one being detained and persecuted—er, she meant photographed—after all.
Garrett, Amalie, and Gladys all waved as they left the booth. Belle waved back, feeling as though her last friend on earth had deserted her.
From the look Win cast at her after the door to his booth closed, he felt the same way.
For land’s sake, that wasn’t fair. A body would think she was being difficult, and she wasn’t. She was doing him a favor, in fact. For a hundred dollars.
Bother. For the first time in her life, Belle wondered if people were right when they claimed the love of money was the root of all evil.
Chapter Eight
“No,” Belle said as she walked along the Midway beside Gladys, “it wasn’t too bad.” It was the morning following her evening of martyrdom, and Belle needed approval of her sacrifice, although it hadn’t felt much like a sacrifice after the first few minutes.
“I’m glad, dear. I felt badly, leaving you that way.”
“Me, too,” said Amalie, who didn’t look as if she’d felt badly at all. She was skipping along, as bright and eager as ever, her blue eyes sparkling.
The truth was that Belle had enjoyed her time alone with Win. She was ashamed of herself for it. He’d treated her as if she were special, which was a novelty in Belle’s experience. She’d been thinking about it all morning long, in fact, because according to all the values she’d been taught as a child, being treated as if she were special shouldn’t have been such a blamed novelty. According to what she’d been taught, southern ladies were special, and southern gentlemen treated them as such. But it had been Win Asher, a blasted northerner, who’s pointed out her own lack of special treatment. Fiddlesticks. Still, it had been a pleasant change for Belle.
What had been really wonderful was that he’d taken her up on the Ferris wheel after she’d posed for him. Now that had been truly special. The fact that they’d been in the carriage with fifty-eight others had removed any hint of impropriety, too, even though they had been sitting rather close to one another. Belle got tingles when she thought about it. She knew that was a bad thing and tried to stop it but couldn’t.
She, Gladys, and the children spent an enjoyable morning taking in the sights, sounds, and tastes of the Columbian Exposition. Belle was especially taken with the African village, with its tribe of Zulu warriors. Or perhaps they weren’t warriors. They appeared exotic and dangerous, whatever they were.
“Oh, boy, I wish I was an African,” Garrett whispered as he stared with round eyes and glowing cheeks at the enormous spears carried by the tribesmen.
“Good heavens, Garrett!” Belle exclaimed, astounded. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to give up civilization for barbarism.
Eyeing the spearsmen more closely, she decided at last that she could understand the appeal such a life might have for a small boy child. He could run around practically naked, act like a perfect savage, kill wild animals, and tell tall tales about his heroic deeds, and people would praise him instead of making him change his clothes, bathe, and behave himself.
While she’d lived in Georgia, she’d never once thought that other ways of life might be as precious to those living them as hers was to her. It almost, but not quite, gave her a better opinion of Yankees. Wherever she lived, Belle still thought she’d prefer a life lived around people with manners and consideration for others.
A light breeze blew in from Lake Michigan, carrying with it the tang of the open sea to Belle’s fanciful mind. She’d seen the ocean a couple of times, but this lake was at least as impressive as the glimpses she’d had of the Atlantic Ocean. Gulls and other sea birds apparently thought the same thing, because they resided on Lake Michigan, too. As well, there were ducks and geese and any number of other birds flying around, searching for food.
Pickings were good for the birds, what with crumbs of bread and kernels of popped corn being dropped by fair goers all day and practically all night. Belle’s rebelliously single-minded brain returned to the Ferris wheel, and she sighed dreamily.
“What is it, Belle?”
Turning to Gladys, Belle was embarrassed to find that she was being scrutinized by that lovely lady. “Oh, nothing,” she said, trying for an airy note. “I was just thinking about . . . something.”
Gladys was silent for a moment. Amalie and Garrett were so busy taking in the sights and sounds of the fair that they weren’t paying any attention to their adults. Mr. Richmond had gone off to some office somewhere in Chicago to transact business, so the ladies and Garrett were on their own today. Belle preferred it this way. Men only got in the way. Most men. Most of the time.
Win Asher hadn’t been in the way last night. In fact, he’d definitely added to the enjoyment of Belle’s evening.
“Mr. Asher is a good-looking man, Belle.”
Gladys’s comment hit Belle’s eardrums with a thud, and she gave a visible start. She whipped her head around and gaped at Gladys. “I beg your pardon?”
Gladys smiled sweetly. “You heard me, Belle. I said I think Mr. Asher is a very good-looking man. He also has a good business, from the looks of things, and his prospects appear quite superior, particularly since he’s in an unusual line of work. A girl could do worse.”
What girl? Belle blinked at her employer, not sure she’d understood Gladys’s message. Although she wasn’t in the habit of repeating herself, and she possessed a quick mind and a sprightly turn of phrase under most conditions, the only thing she could think to say at the moment was another, “I beg your pardon?”
Gladys took Belle’s arm in a tender grip. “Belle, Belle, you’ve been mooning around al
l morning long. I hope you won’t allow yourself to fall too hard for the photographer, dear. At least not until we know more about him. He seems like a good man, but one can never tell about these things. I’ll be happy to check into his background if you really think you’re interested in him.”
More horrified than stunned, Belle could only continue to stare at Gladys for several seconds. Fortunately for her, the children were absorbed in watching a couple of peacocks spread their tails for a peahen who was strolling nearby and trying to appear disinterested.
It took Belle almost a full thirty seconds to collect her staggered senses before she burst out, “Good gracious sakes alive, Mrs. Richmond! Whatever are you thinking?”
Gladys sighed. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to upset you. But I did think I detected a certain amount of mutual interest on both your parts.”
The weather on this typical Chicago summer morning was already moist and quite warm. Now Belle discovered she needed to fan her face, which had taken to burning like a hot coal. She wouldn’t have been surprised if steam had risen from the tip of her nose or her chin. She fumbled in her reticule for a few moments before she yanked out her fan and applied it vigorously. “Land’s sake, Mrs. Richmond—”
“Will you please call me Gladys, Belle? Mrs. Richmond is my mother-in-law, and I’m not that lady, however fine and good she is.” Gladys shuddered eloquently. “Besides,” she added, sounding almost as if her feelings were hurt, “I consider us much more than employer and employee, Belle. I would like you to consider me your friend.”
Belle might have laughed—as, most likely, Gladys had intended she do—if she weren’t in such a state of shock. “But Mrs.—er, I mean Gladys, I assure you, I’m not interested in Mr. Asher. Nor,” she amended, trying not to sound bitter about it, “is he interested in me.”
“Whatever you say, dear.” Gladys patted her on the arm. “But I have eyes. Whatever his intentions, if it turns out that they are dishonorable, I want you to tell me, Belle. Please promise me that.”
“What?” Unaccustomed to shrieking in public, Belle was aghast at the ghastly noise she’d just made. She was even more aghast when people turned to look at her.
“Gee whiz, Miss Monroe, did a wasp sting you?” Garrett appeared more fascinated than distressed by the prospect. “Can I see?”
Amalie whacked her brother on the shoulder. “That’s not nice, Garrett!” Before Belle could take her to task for resorting to violence on her behalf, Amalie looked up at her in sincere concern. “What’s the matter, Miss Monroe? Did a wasp sting you?”
Belle would have liked to tell her what the matter was, but she didn’t know what to say. Words swirled around in her head, but none of them fell into coherent sentence order. “I—er—um . . .”
“It’s nothing, children,” Gladys said, taking pity on Belle. With a huff, Garrett grumbled, “That was a heck of a noise for nothin’.”
Amalie hit him again. “Don’t say heck, Garrett! That’s swearing!”
Garrett raised his arm to strike back, and Belle snapped out of her stupor. Her hand whipped out like lightning and grabbed Garrett’s wrist before he could lay his sister out on the Midway. “That’s enough of that, Garrett.”
“But she started it!”
“Yes, dear, I know.” Belle turned and frowned down at Amalie, whose expression had taken on a mulish cast. “Amalie, it is very unladylike to strike another person, especially if he has done nothing to you.”
“But he said—”
“Enough of that.” Belle released Garrett’s wrist when she judged he was under control. “Never strike another person, Amalie. It’s wrong and bad, and I’m disappointed in you.”
“As am I,” said Amalie’s mother, who was a good support in disciplinary matters, even if she couldn’t have controlled her own children with an electrified cattle prod of the sort they’d seen in the Agricultural Building.
Amalie’s stubborn expression didn’t abate appreciably.
Determining Amalie was under control, if not happy about it, Belle turned her attention to Garrett. “And as for you, young man, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. No matter what the provocation, a proper gentleman never strikes a lady.”
“You just said she’s not a lady,” Garrett pointed out sulkily. “She’s just a bratty little girl.”
“I am not!”
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
In an effort to forestall a fruitless argument, Belle swept Amalie up into her arms. “That’s enough from both of you.”
“I should say so!” Gladys, frowning as fiercely as someone of her gentle disposition could, grasped Garrett by the hand. He tried to pull away, but she held fast. “No, young man. If you can’t behave in a manner that doesn’t put your parents to shame, I shall hold your hand until you can.”
Emitting a noise that sounded like a cross between a whine and a snarl, Garrett subsided. Belle tried not to smile, but she recognized his expression as one of sublime frustration. She was also extremely grateful to the children for interrupting what had become a disturbing conversation.
She was appalled to learn that her private feelings about Win Asher were so plainly discernible, at least by Gladys. Not, naturally, that she had any private feelings about him. True, she’d enjoyed herself with him last night, but she’d enjoyed herself with lots of young men before. She was, after all, a Monroe from Blissborough, and thus sought after by the swain of Blissborough and its surrounding towns and villages.
It was also true, unfortunately, that her family had no money, but they had an old and honorable name, and Belle had been sought by plenty of men. The fact that she hadn’t taken to any of them—indeed, that she’d found them all flat and uninspiring—didn’t mean a thing, except that her standards were high.
And the very notion of falling for a Yankee was enough to make a young southern lady faint dead away.
Except that Belle, in a gesture so extravagant as to have given her palpitations at the time, had dispensed with her corset this morning. With an internal grin, she guessed she wouldn’t do any fainting today.
She’d intended merely to loosen her stays a bit. But the weather had boded miserably hot and humid again, and after considering the matter long and hard, she’d decided to take the outrageous step of discarding the garment altogether. She’d been scared to death for the first hour or two of her day, until she realized nobody seemed to have noticed her shocking behavior.
Life was infinitely more comfortable without a corset. Of course, it helped that Belle possessed a slim figure and had no unsightly bulges or protuberances that might have embarrassed her if they’d been displayed to the general public.
The Richmonds and Belle been strolling along the Midway Plaisance, on their way to Win’s booth. They continued to do so in their new configuration—Amalie in Belle’s arms and Garrett’s hand being held by his mother—for several more minutes before Gladys spoke again. Belle wished she hadn’t once she heard what she had to say.
“I’m sorry if I disconcerted you, Belle. If you’d like to chat with me about anything, including Mr. Asher, please don’t be shy about it.” She gave Belle such a speaking look that Belle felt herself blush again.
“Truly, Gladys, there’s nothing to talk about,” she muttered under her breath, wishing she believed it. The truth of the matter was that she’d been thinking about Mr. Win Asher a lot these past couple of days. She’d also believed that her innermost thoughts were hers alone; she’d had no idea Gladys had stumbled on to her secret.
Gladys kept gazing at her in a manner that let Belle know she didn’t believe a word of it, and it was all Belle could do not to twitch and squirm. As luck would have it, she spotted a booth that made her thoughts careen in an entirely different direction.
“Oh, look over there!” Because Amalie was in her arms, and Belle was in the North where her parents couldn’t see her, she pointed. “That’s Madame Esmeralda’s Fortune-Telling Booth.”
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p; “So I see,” said Gladys, who sounded as if she didn’t understand Belle’s fascination with the place.
“I met a young woman in Mr. Asher’s shop who works there. She dances at night at the Egyptian Palace and tells fortunes during the day.” She paused, wondering if she should impart any of her initial impressions of the young woman.
“Really?” Gladys sounded interested, so Belle went ahead and gave her companions a vivid description of Miss Finney’s attire at the time of their meeting. She left out the fact that Miss Finney had used profanity, since Belle cringed inside every time she relived the incident.
“What’s a fortune teller?” Amalie asked.
“Well,” said Belle, glad for this diversion in the conversation. She really didn’t want to talk about Win Asher with Gladys. Or anyone else. “There are some people who claim they can tell a person’s future by reading palms or looking into crystal balls. I think they also deal out different kinds of cards and claim they can read a person’s future in the results.”
“Cards?” Garrett scoffed. “So, if I deal a couple of kings, does that mean I’m going to rule America?”
“Not that kind of cards,” His mother said. “I think the cards fortune tellers use have different pictures on them.”
“Oh.” Garrett glared at his hand, which his mother still held in a grip from which he couldn’t extricate himself. Belle deduced he didn’t like it that his sarcastic comment had been demolished so neatly.
“Can fortune tellers really tell the future?” Amalie was obviously fascinated by the prospect.
“Certainly not, dear,” Belle said with conviction. “But some people pay them lots of money in hopes that they can. Some people don’t like the idea of the future taking care of itself, but want to know what’s going to happen to them ahead of time.”
“It’s all bunkum,” Garrett stated positively. “Papa said so.”
“Hmmm,” said Gladys, as if she wasn’t as willing as her son to take her husband’s word as Gospel.
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