Willie lifted his cap a little and scratched his head. “Um, shouldn’t I be?”
Her cheeks went all pink and she dipped her chin. “I’m sorry, how silly that must have sounded.”
Dunning snorted under his breath. Willie wanted to elbow him good.
“You see…” She lifted her face and met his gaze. “I overheard the gentleman in the Auditorium this morning threaten to have you discharged.”
Dunning’s jaw dropped. “What’d you do, Sharp?”
Willie ignored his partner and gave Miss Millard his full attention. “I wasn’t tryin’ to be contrary. I just wanted him to know how I felt.”
“Felt about what?” Dunning shifted his foot against the ground, as impatient as a kid on a playground wanting his turn at bat. “What’d you do?”
Willie blew out a breath and stepped closer to Miss Millard. He hoped Dunning wouldn’t stick his nose into their conversation. “I’m sorry you heard all that. But I’m not sorry I said what I did.”
“You didn’t say anything wrong, and I’m so glad you didn’t lose your job.” Her brown eyes glowed, giving Willie a warm feeling that went all the way from his head to his toes. “I—” The Chimes Tower began to play its short twelve-thirty melody. She jolted and took two stumbling steps backward. “I’m late for work. I have to go. Good day, Officer Sharp.” She took off running before Willie could tell her goodbye.
Dunning grabbed his arm. “What was that all about? Who’s wantin’ to get you fired?”
Willie sighed. “A man at the governor’s speech. He told me to take a black soldier’s picture off the table with the white soldiers. I didn’t want to do it ’cause the picture was next to a friend o’ his. Seemed like since they were friends, the two oughta be together, even if one’s black and one’s white.”
Dunning stared at him with his mouth slightly open for several seconds. Then he huffed a laugh. “You’re funnin’ me.”
Willie shook his head. “No. That’s what he got upset about.”
“No, I meant you gotta be jokin’ about leavin’ those two pictures together. A black soldier’s picture shouldn’ta been on the whites’ table. You shoulda done what he said.”
Willie’s chest tightened, making it hard for him to suck in a full breath. “But—”
Dunning thrust his hand in the air. “Look, Sharp, you’re young, too young to know how that war tore everything apart. Lots o’ folks—me included—still have deep feelin’s about what shoulda been left alone. I ain’t gonna fault you for bein’ young an’ stupid, but don’t expect me to back you if you stick up for them over your own. Partners or not, I’ll side against you.”
Then, just as quick as he’d gotten stony, he broke into a smile and clapped Willie on the shoulder. “C’mon, we was headin’ to get somethin’ from the Mexican Village when that little gal stopped us. Let’s go.”
Willie didn’t think he’d be able to choke down tortilla-wrapped spicy beans and beef. He kept his feet planted. “Tell you what, one of us should probably stay on patrol. I’ll make another swing around the lake, keep an eye on things, while you get your tortilla.”
Dunning’s forehead crunched into an uncertain scowl. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. Go ahead.”
His partner hesitated for a few more seconds, then nodded. “All right. I’ll bring you one.” He grinned. “Unless I get too hungry on the walk back. Then I might eat it.”
Willie gave the expected laugh, and Dunning strode off, whistling. The owner of the little coffee shack set up near the lake had offered free coffee to the security guards. Willie wasn’t any thirstier than he was hungry, and he’d never been much of a coffee drinker, but he needed something to occupy himself. So he walked to the shack and requested a cup of hearty Colombian coffee.
The good smell rising from the speckled pots on the roaring stove inside the shack cleared a little bit of the unpleasantness he carried from his brief exchange with Dunning. The owner’s buxom, smiling wife gave Willie a steaming mug. He held it two handed and walked slow and careful across the grass to the edge of the lake.
All three rowboats were out on the water. Two of them carried teenage boys who hooted and tried to splash each other with their oars. Quincy was at the front of the third one, rowing a young couple around the lake. He spotted Willie and nodded, grinning big. Willie managed a smile and nod in reply. The man and woman snuggled close, making sheep’s eyes at each other, while Quincy did all the work for them. A heaviness settled in Willie’s stomach. Quincy was good enough to tote them on the water, but he bet they wouldn’t invite him to have a meal at their table.
He lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip. Hot. Strong. It smelled a lot better than it tasted, but he wouldn’t waste it. He was draining the last of it when Dunning clomped up beside him. His partner smelled like garlic and tomatoes, and he wasn’t carrying a tortilla. So he either ate the one he’d planned to bring for Willie or he didn’t get it at all. Willie didn’t much care.
Dunning trailed Willie to the coffee shack. Willie returned the mug, and then the two of them set off across the footbridge to the other side of the lake. Neither of them talked. Dunning wasn’t much of a talker, which suited Willie fine. They hadn’t been hired to spend the day talking. They were supposed to keep watch over the fairgrounds. Besides, he was used to holding his talk during the day.
At the factory, signs warning men to pay attention hung on every wall. One of them read, “Idle talk brings work to a halt,” and another stated, “Inattention = Accidents.” Willie doubted getting caught up in chatter here at the exposition would make somebody lose a finger or otherwise get hurt, the way it could at the factory, but he was drawing a good wage to pay attention. So that’s what he did. Even if the other guards didn’t.
Raucous laughter exploded, so loud it could’ve been right next to Willie’s ear, but it came from the other side of the lake. Years ago Pa had explained how the water made voices sound louder, which was why Jesus could teach a whole crowd from the middle of a lake. Willie hadn’t understood it, but he’d believed it because Pa said it. He believed it especially now, with that laughter sounding even louder than the band playing in the square. Somebody was cutting up and having a good time.
He squinted against the splashes of sunlight on the water and peered across Clara Meer. Quincy was pulling a rowboat up onto the grass. Briggs and Turner were close by, pestering him. Willie’s chest went tight. Why were the two of them by the lake? They’d been assigned the north end of the fairgrounds, the area around the Government Building.
Willie set off at a trot for the footbridge. Dunning called his name, but he didn’t slow his pace, and his partner came pounding up alongside him. They crossed the bridge together, but at the other side Dunning fell back. Willie charged up to Briggs and Turner and stepped in front of Quincy.
“What’re you fellows doin’ over here? This isn’t your area.” Willie kept his voice low, friendly even, but underneath he was plenty worried. The bulging muscles in Quincy’s jaw spoke of his temper building. When Quincy got riled, he didn’t always use good sense. He hoped his pal would stay quiet and let Willie handle things.
Turner nudged Briggs with his elbow. “Lookee here, Sharp’s gone all territorial on us. Acts like he owns the lake.”
Briggs smirked. “Or maybe he thinks he owns the—”
Quincy lunged. Willie grabbed him around the middle and hissed in his ear, “See to the rowboat.”
Quincy quivered from head to toe, straining against Willie’s grip.
“I mean it, Quince. You’re gonna get yourself fired.”
The threat must’ve pushed past Quincy’s anger to his sensibility. He jerked loose of Willie and stomped to the edge of the lake. He crouched and fiddled with the oarlock.
Willie edged sideways and put himself between Quincy and the two guards, who were both grinning like they’d won a contest. He sent u
p a prayer for God’s calm to fall on all of them and settled himself in a relaxed pose he didn’t really feel. “Mr. Felton told us to stay in our assigned areas so no parts of the park are unprotected. Me an’ Dunning have this part covered. So why’re you here?”
“Takin’ a break, Sharp.” Briggs imitated Willie’s stance, resting his weight on one hip and slipping one hand into his trouser pocket. “Felton might be a tough supervisor, but he lets us take breaks.”
Willie glanced across the grounds to the huge clock on the Chimes Tower. The hands showed five minutes past one. “Kinda early, isn’t it?”
Turner snorted. “Actually, it’s kinda late. We’re just now takin’ our lunch. Had to ‘help’ a couple fellas off the fairgrounds who’d been drinkin’ somethin’ a little stronger’n root beer.” He and Briggs shared a laugh. “They weren’t any too happy to go, so it took some doing.”
“We were headin’ to the Mexican Village for stone-cooked tortillas an’ beans.” Briggs pointed past Willie to Quincy. “Saw this boy fightin’ to pull the rowboat out o’ the lake an’ offered to give ’im a hand. But he didn’t take it so well.”
Based on their talk in the past, Willie could imagine what they’d offered. He had no authority over Briggs and Turner, but he couldn’t stay quiet and let them torment Quincy. He looked over his shoulder to Dunning, who stood about ten paces away with his hands jammed in his pockets.
“Ted, you went after tortillas at the Mexican Village a little while ago, but you didn’t bring any back. Are they out?”
Dunning harrumphed and shifted in place. “They was makin’ more when I was there, but a whole lot o’ folks were waitin’ for some. Might be out by now.”
Willie turned back to Turner and Briggs. “I ate at the Japanese Village yesterday. Had rice with vegetables an’ fish, an’ it was real tasty. Kinda fun to eat with chopsticks, too. You might wanna give it a try.” He pointed to the colorful village set up near the lake, between the Women’s Building and the Manufacturers and Liberal Arts Building. If they went to the Japanese Village, they’d be heading toward their assigned patrol area instead of away from it. Which meant they wouldn’t cross Quincy’s path again.
Briggs made a sound low in his throat—half growl, half chuckle—and took a step in the direction Willie wanted him to go. “All right, Sharp, I’m too hungry to argue, so we’ll go get us some rice an’ fish. Could be, though, before long you’ll wish we were in your territory. You might need a little extra help to handle the trouble that’s comin’.”
Chills rolled through Willie. He glanced at Dunning. His partner seemed to examine the few clouds dotting the sky. He likely hadn’t heard Briggs’s last comment. Willie turned back to Briggs, a question ready to leave his tongue.
“C’mon, Simon. Let’s git.” The pair tromped by Willie without saying anything, but the fury in Briggs’s eyes spoke plenty.
Dunning watched the pair go. Then he hustled to Willie. “If you aren’t about the biggest fool I’ve ever seen. First you tell some expo guest you won’t put a picture where he wants it, an’ now you’re accostin’ two o’ the men you’re s’posed to work alongside. You’re fixin’ to get yourself booted right off these grounds. That what you want?”
Willie’s chest pinched. “ ’Course not. But when I said I’d patrol this area, keep trouble from breakin’ out, I meant it. Those two”—he swung his arm in the direction Briggs and Turner had gone—“were causin’ trouble. Causin’ it on purpose. Am I supposed to ignore it just ’cause they’re wearin’ a uniform like mine?”
Dunning nodded hard, making his cap slip low on his forehead. He settled it back in place. “Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re s’posed to do. These uniforms put us all on the same side, same as the Confederate an’ Union uniforms put all those soldiers on the same side.”
A sad smile tugged at Willie’s cheek. “ ’Cept it didn’t, did it?”
Dunning frowned. “Didn’t what?”
“Put ’em all on the same side. They might’ve worn the same clothes on the outside, but the color of the man underneath kept some apart.”
Dunning lifted his gaze to the sky and drew both hands down his cheeks, pulling the skin into jowls. He looked at Willie again. “You aren’t gettin’ it through your thick head, are you? I’m gonna say this once more, an’ then I’m done. The organizers of this exposition can shout from the stage how it’s showin’ the way blacks an’ whites are workin’ together in harmony, but the only way there’ll be harmony is if they stay in their place an’ we stay in ours. Look in a mirror when you get home today, Sharp. You’re white. Start actin’ like it, or—” He clamped his lips tight.
Willie waited a full thirty seconds before he braved the question. “Or…what?”
Dunning puffed his cheeks and blew out the air. “Never mind. I don’t wanna threaten you.” He folded his arms over his chest and gave Willie a mournful look. “Truth is, I like you, Willie. You seem like an honest, hardworkin’ fellow. So lemme give you some advice, the same kind I’d give my own son if I had one. Just ’cause you believe somethin’ doesn’t mean you have to tell everybody about it. You’ll be better off if you keep your comin’-together talk to yourself, because there’s a lot who won’t listen to it as calm as I do. Understand?”
Willie glanced at Quincy. He must’ve fixed whatever needed fixing, because he was sitting on the bank with his knees pulled up and his arms draped over them. He looked more sad than mad. Willie understood what Dunning wanted him to do. But how could he do it without betraying his very best friend?
Langdon
Langdon leaned against the back of the cold steam engine and checked his pocket watch again. If the workers in the Silk Room followed their usual schedule, pretty little Laurel Millard would exit the Women’s Building promptly at three. He would intercept her this time, ahead of that long-legged, sour-faced man who’d hurried her off at noon.
He slipped his watch into the little pocket of his vest and tapped his finger against the hard circle beneath the layer of silk. In only four days of the exposition, he’d enjoyed encounters with a dozen young women—three only a few words in passing, two only a flirtatious look, and the remaining seven at least a conversation similar in length to the one he’d had near the food shack with Miss Millard. He’d had what his buddies would call a sampling of women. He suspected a couple of the girls would be willing to delve deeper into a relationship with him, based on their simpering expressions and ridiculous giggles, but the one he found the most appealing was the one who didn’t giggle, didn’t simper, and didn’t turn petulant even when denied a plate of food.
In truth, he wasn’t willing to settle on any one girl. Not yet. But Miss Millard intrigued him enough that he desired more time with her. And he would have it in—he checked his watch—three more minutes. He strolled from behind the engine and gave Clyde Allday a light clap on the shoulder.
“Will you be all right for a bit, Clyde? I’ve got a hankering for one of those meat pies from the Costa Rica booth.”
Clyde’s watery eyes lit. “I’ve heard those are good.” He dug in his pocket, withdrew a dime, and offered it to Langdon. “Would you buy one for me, too?”
Langdon stifled a groan. He’d only used the meat pie as a ruse to leave the building. Stevens and Sanders were at the Auditorium listening to war veterans share stories. A number of former Confederate and Union soldiers were expected to speak, which meant the two men could be gone for hours. He shouldn’t leave Clyde alone in the booth too long—Father had been quite firm about that—but how could he have a decent conversation with Miss Millard and still go across the grounds to purchase a meat pie?
He held up his hand. “There’s no guarantee they’ll have meat pies for sale. It’s been a pretty busy day here, so they could be sold out. If they have some, I’ll buy one for you and you can pay me back. But this way I don’t risk losing your dime on the way to their booth.”
/> Clyde smiled and pocketed the coin. “That sounds fine, Langdon. Go ahead.”
Langdon shot out the front doors, across the bridge, past the small fountain to the southeast corner of the Women’s Building. Then he stopped. Using a window as a mirror, he straightened his tie, smoothed his hair into place with his fingers, and adjusted his lapels. Presentable, he locked his hands behind his back and sauntered around the corner, as nonchalant as could be.
He reached the bottom of the porch steps and placed his foot on the first riser. The front doors opened and Miss Laurel Millard scurried onto the porch. Langdon remained at the base of the steps and rested his palm on his upraised knee. Miss Millard came down two steps, and her gaze landed on his. He smiled. How shy and innocent she seemed with the delightful blush stealing across her cheeks.
“Mr. Rochester.” She glanced around, as if afraid of being caught. “H-how good to see you.”
He surmised she made the statement to be polite, but he intended to entice her to utter it sincerely in the future. He held out his hand, she took hold, and he guided her to the base of the steps. “Pardon my intrusion on your break, but I’m not sure how else to speak with you. I presume you aren’t allowed to socialize while you’re on duty.”
A rueful sigh escaped her lips. “You’re right. Our supervisor is quite strict about personal visitors.” Then her expression changed to curiosity. “Why did you want to speak with me?”
“Well…” He chuckled, pushing back his jacket and sliding his thumbs into his trouser pockets. “I wondered what you thought of the goat-cheese-on-rye sandwich. Assuming, of course, you had time to eat it.”
She clasped her hands at her waist like a child reciting a poem. “Please forgive me. I’ve been remiss in thanking you. The sandwich was very good…different, but very good. In fact…” A delicate laugh trickled from her throat. “I told my mother we need to purchase a jar of mustard the next time we visit the market.”
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