Langdon charged after him. The groups of women had shifted, and he was forced to scoot around their periphery. By the time he reached the steps, Sharp was nowhere in sight. Langdon swallowed a curse and stomped down the stairs. He reached the bottom as the worker from the Silk Room rounded the corner of the building.
He put out his hand and waylaid her. “Has Officer Sharp been in the Silk Room?”
Her eyes widened. She blinked rapidly. It was answer enough.
“And he had lunch with Miss Millard.” Not a question but a statement of fact.
She gulped. “Yes, but— That is, he— We—” She closed her mouth so abruptly her teeth clacked.
She hadn’t given a full sentence, but he received full disclosure anyway. The factory worker turned security guard had already created conflict between Langdon and his father. Langdon would not allow Sharp to interfere in another of his relationships. Balling his hands into fists, he set off in search of Willie Sharp.
Willie
Willie headed across the fairgrounds to the Administration Building with his longest stride. A security guard running across the grounds would likely make people think there was an emergency somewhere. But walking fast he could do without scaring anybody.
All the busted glass and the frame for the display case needed to come out of the Silk Room. Willie was willing to carry it all out, but he didn’t know where to take it. Mr. Felton had said, “Help ’em get that room in order so a new display case can be set up in there.” But he hadn’t given Willie any idea what to do with the old one. He hoped his boss was in his office and would have an idea on how to swap out the old for the new without giving folks a clue that something bad had happened in the Silk Room.
“Sharp! You, Sharp!”
Willie skidded to a stop and turned around. He expected to see one of the other security guards hollering for him, but instead it was Langdon Rochester. He fidgeted in place, wanting to finish his errand but not wanting to be rude to his boss’s son.
The man charged up to Willie. His red face was all dotted with sweat. “I need a word with you.”
Willie pointed to a white oak growing on the edge of the fairgrounds. “Let’s get in the shade, then. Looks like you’ve been in the sun too long.”
The man muttered but he followed Willie. They ducked beneath low-hanging branches, and Willie propped his hand against the tree’s rough trunk. It felt good to stand still for a minute in the shade from the oak tree’s red leaves. He took off his cap and swiped his forehead with the inside of his wrist, then plopped the cap in place again.
“Whatcha need with me?” Whatever it was, Willie hoped it wouldn’t take long. There was still lots of work to be done in the Silk Room.
They were in the shade, but Rochester’s face hadn’t changed from beet red. He yanked off his bowler and slapped it against his leg—whap, whap, whap. “Did you eat lunch with Miss Millard today?”
That’s what he needed to know? Willie shoved off from the tree. “I did. Had jambalaya from the Creole Kitchen. It’s pretty good if you wanna give it a try sometime.” He pushed aside a straggling branch. “If that’s all, I—” He recalled what Miss Millard said about taking a picnic with a gentleman. All at once he understood. He swallowed. “She didn’t meet up with you.”
“So she told you we had made plans?”
Willie nodded.
“And yet she didn’t come.” The man glared at Willie. “Because she was with you.”
How could he talk himself out of this without sharing things he wasn’t supposed to share? Willie scratched his temple. “That’s true enough, but not only with me. With me an’ her boss, Miss Warner, an’ the two other girls who work in the Silk Room. We all had lunch together.”
“Even though she knew she was to meet me.”
He held up both hands and hoped Rochester would see it as surrender. “You’re gonna need to talk to Miss Millard about it. Right now I got work to do.” He took a step.
“You won’t have a lick of work to do if you don’t stay away from Laurel Millard.”
Willie stopped and shot Rochester a scowl. “What do you mean?”
The man’s lip curled into a sneer. “I’ve decided to court Miss Millard. She’s exactly the kind of wife I’ve been searching for—pretty, respectable…easily pleased.”
Willie didn’t know for sure what Rochester meant, but he didn’t like the way it sounded. “What does that have to do with me?”
“She had lunch with you when she was supposed to picnic with me. You won’t let that happen again.”
Rochester spoke friendly enough, but the spark in his eyes gave a warning. A senseless one because Willie hadn’t done a thing to keep Miss Millard away from Rochester. Although, the way the fellow was acting, he hoped Miss Millard would decide on her own to stay away from him.
Willie blew out a breath. “I don’t have anything to say about what Miss Millard does.” If he did, he’d tell her to be careful. “I can’t promise I’ll stay away from her, either.” He’d been assigned to guard the room she worked in—they were going to be together whether Rochester liked it or not. “An’ now I gotta go talk to my boss. Bye.” He set off across the grass.
“I’m telling you, Sharp, keep your distance from Miss Millard. I possess the ability to have your position terminated both here and at the factory. You don’t want to put my words to the test.”
Willie pretended not to hear Rochester’s threats. The man was mad. Folks didn’t think straight when they were mad. That’s why Quincy got himself in trouble sometimes—he let his anger get out of control and the whole rest of him followed. In time the truth about the damage to the Silk Room would spread around. Mr. Collier, Mr. Felton, and Miss Warner didn’t want it to, and Willie wouldn’t be the one to spread it, but somehow, some way, it’d get told. Things like that always did. And then Rochester would understand all his blustering was wasted.
Willie shook his head. He didn’t know Miss Millard. Not hardly at all. He knew she didn’t turn up her nose at folks, because she’d talked nice to Quincy. He knew she came from a well-to-do family, because a driver carried her to and from the fairgrounds every day. And he knew she felt real strong about folks destroying somebody else’s belongings—she’d been teary eyed most of the morning, sniffling the whole time she strung purple-colored thread into the loom. So no, he didn’t know much, but what he did know made him think she could do a whole lot better than matching up with his boss’s high-and-mighty son.
But Ma would say that wasn’t any of his business, and Ma would be right. So he pushed aside thoughts of Langdon Rochester and Miss Millard and hurried on to Mr. Felton’s office. He found his boss alone, bent over some sort of chart on his desk. Willie explained the problem about all the debris needing to come out of the Silk Room, and Mr. Felton scowled deeply, drumming his fingers on the chart.
“Mr. Collier’s already got a new case waitin’ to go in there. He saw to that even before he came an’ met with me. But if we go carryin’ things in an’ out now, folks’ll notice an’ wonder about it.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” Willie stood beside the desk and fiddled with his cap. Mr. Felton likely didn’t need his advice, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from finding their way out of his mouth. “If we wait until dark an’ let the night watchmen swap things out, nobody’ll see, but it’ll make it awful hard for Miss Warner an’ her girls to get everything set up again before the doors open tomorrow.”
Mr. Felton pushed back his chair and rounded the desk. “Guess it’s best for me to talk to Miss Warner. C’mon.”
The men climbed the basement steps, Willie behind his boss, and then the two of them headed through the center of the square. At the fountain, Mr. Felton stopped and plunked his fists on his hips.
Willie stopped, too. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“Thinkin’.” He tapped his foot. People walked around them, and he d
idn’t even seem to notice them. He dropped his arms and huffed a short breath. “Mr. Collier’s arranged to have a couple o’ policemen start walkin’ the grounds at night. Even so, I don’t wanna put the night watchmen to work cartin’ things out o’ the Women’s Buildin’ an’ settin’ up the new display case in there. We had two”—he held up two fingers to Willie—“fellows on duty, an’ somebody still sneaked into that buildin’ an’ caused a mess. I need those men doin’ their job.”
He paused, working his jaw back and forth and staring hard at the fountain. Willie had an idea that seemed to make good sense. He couldn’t throw it at his boss without being asked, though. He’d already got himself in trouble for talking out of turn. Maybe this wasn’t on the same subject, but he didn’t want to risk aggravating Mr. Felton.
Finally Mr. Felton jerked into motion. Willie trotted after him. They went into the Women’s Building and straight to the Silk Room. Miss Millard was at the loom, where she’d been when he left, and the other two girls were standing on a bench, hanging curtains. Miss Warner seemed to be sorting through things in one of the crates. She looked up when Willie closed the door.
“Mr. Felton.” She stood and crossed the floor with her hand out. Mr. Felton shook it. “I didn’t expect you to come and assist Officer Sharp in discarding our rubble.”
“We ain’t here to clear it out. At least not yet.” Mr. Felton folded his arms over his chest. “Fastest way to let our cat out o’ the bag is to parade this stuff through the middle o’ the grounds right under everybody’s noses.”
The woman made a face. “Of course. It would certainly invite questions.” She shook her head, releasing a heavy sigh. “I should have realized it myself. I’m…not thinking clearly today.”
Mr. Felton made a clicking sound with his tongue. “You’re bound to be a little muddled, considerin’ all this.” He swung his arm toward the crates and pile of wood from the dismantled display case. “If we can’t haul stuff out durin’ the daytime, then it goes to follow we have to haul it out at night. I can have the supervisor of the maintenance men ask a couple o’ his workers to stay until sundown. They’ll take all the broken stuff out an’ carry in the new display case an’ whatever else you need. Then you an’ your girls”—all three of the Silk Room workers peeked in Mr. Felton’s direction—“can get ever’thing set up again tomorrow.”
“Absolutely not.” Miss Warner lifted her chin. “I cannot allow my employers to lose another day of showcasing their product.”
Mr. Felton gaped at her. “You all fixin’ to stay here all night?”
“Of course not. I will release my girls at their regular quitting time.” The woman looked as puffed up as a mama cat defending her kittens against a neighbor dog. “I, however, will stay as long as necessary to make this room presentable for guests by morning.”
Mr. Felton puffed up, too. “I ain’t lettin’ you stay here at night all by yourself.”
She pinched her lips tight and crossed her arms. Willie knew there wasn’t one thing funny, but it tickled him to see such a mild-mannered lady fixing to butt heads with his whisker-faced, gravel-voiced boss.
The idea he’d hatched out by the fountain rolled in his head. It needed saying before Miss Warner’s face got any redder. He tapped his boss on the arm. “Mr. Felton? I agree it’s not safe to let Miss Warner stay here all alone”—her frown grew fierce—“but keepin’ the room closed up for another day’ll likely make folks wonder what’s goin’ on in here.”
Both Miss Warner and Mr. Felton were frowning at him now. He swallowed. “If someone stays with Miss Warner until everything gets put to right in here, then she can get done before tomorrow, an’ you won’t hafta worry about her bein’ alone.”
Mr. Felton pinched his jaw between his finger and thumb. “Hmm…I reckon I could ask Mr. Collier to—”
“I’ll stay.”
His boss gave a jolt. “Why you?”
Willie glanced at Miss Warner. Ordinarily he wouldn’t share something so personal with a stranger, but he couldn’t ignore Mr. Felton’s question. “ ’Cause there’s nobody lookin’ for me to come home. It won’t matter if I stay late.”
Mr. Felton stared at Willie for another few seconds. Then he turned to Miss Warner. “Are you comfortable stayin’ here by yourself with Officer Sharp? If you want me to get somebody else, too, or even somebody else altogether, I’ll do it.”
Miss Warner eyed Willie. Her face drooped, real sad looking. “Have you no family at all, Mr. Sharp?”
He raised his shoulders in a slow shrug. “I’ve got a pa, but he’s in the convalescent hospital, tryin’ to get better. So for now, I got nobody waitin’ for me.” Not even a cat. He straightened his spine and looked her full in the face. “I’d be pleased to stay an’ help you make the room nice again an’ then escort you home. Truth is…” He couldn’t stop a grin from lifting the corners of his mouth. “If my pa heard I did anything less, he’d skin me good.”
To his surprise, she laughed. When she did, her hazel eyes lit up and her cheeks went rosy. She appeared ten years younger and a whole lot prettier. “Very well, Mr. Sharp. For one so young, you’re very gallant. I will accept your kind offer.” She shifted her attention to Mr. Felton. “Please arrange for a pair of strong, dependable men to assist me this evening. Then Mr. Sharp and I will ascertain the Silk Room can be open for visitors tomorrow morning.”
Laurel
Laurel wanted to find Langdon at the end of the day and beg his forgiveness for not picnicking with him as they’d planned, but she couldn’t delay meeting Eugene without alarming him. So with reluctance she trudged through the center of the square to the Administration Building’s tunnel, frequently casting searching looks over her shoulder with the hope of spotting Langdon on the grounds. But she reached the tunnel without receiving so much as a glimpse of him.
Eugene was waiting beside Mr. Salisbury’s carriage on the other side of the tunnel. For a moment she considered asking him to take her to the Georgia Manufacturers Building, but sensibility reigned. She couldn’t ask without explaining why she needed to see Langdon. Eugene had been so protective the day Langdon approached her at the Women’s Building. Although he’d apologized for his reaction, he would certainly express curiosity if she insisted on seeking out the man before returning home. So she climbed into the carriage, hoping she would have a chance to speak with Langdon the next day.
Over supper, Laurel told Mama, who could be trusted not to speak of it elsewhere, about the damage done to the Silk Room. She pushed the last green pea back and forth across her plate with her fork, shaking her head in sad confusion. “So many things ruined, Mama, and so senseless! The hours I spent weaving that beautiful yellow cloth, only to have it destroyed by an intruder…I had planned to ask Miss Warner if I could purchase the length at the end of the exposition and sew dresses for Anna and Mary. They were so taken by the shimmering gold. Wouldn’t the two of them, with their dark hair and brown eyes, be beautiful in yellow silk dresses?” She sighed. “That can’t happen now.”
“No, but maybe…” Mama tapped her chin with her finger. “Was the entire piece destroyed?”
Laurel envisioned the damaged strip of fabric. “It had holes poked in it here and there, and of course the whole end frayed where the threads were cut. There were a few sections, perhaps six to eight inches square, left unharmed.”
“Was it discarded, or did Miss Warner choose to salvage it?”
None of the garbage had been carried out yet when Laurel left, and she couldn’t remember if the poor battered yellow silk was in the toss-away or the keep box. She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ll know tomorrow morning, I suppose.”
A secretive smile formed on Mama’s face. “If it’s still there, ask to bring it home. If you can’t sew dresses from the cloth, you might be able to fashion hair bows. They could even be displayed at the exposition as a sample project, the way the tapestries were on displ
ay.”
Laurel gasped. “Oh, what a wonderful idea! A way to make something beautiful from the ashes of destruction. I’ll look for it tomorrow, if the maintenance men didn’t put it in the rubbish barrel.”
An odd question flitted through her mind. Had Miss Warner and Officer Sharp eaten supper? They’d vowed to stay until the Silk Room was ready for visitors again. The five of them had accomplished much during the day—rehanging curtains and tapestries, fixing a broken chair, sweeping up all the broken glass, and even creating new dioramas from materials found in the cabinet. They weren’t as nice as the original ones, but at least there was something ready to put in the new display case. She hoped the officer and her supervisor were able to finish quickly and go home for a good meal.
“But who would have fixed Officer Sharp’s supper?”
Mama sent her a querying look. “What?”
Laurel hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. She released a self-conscious laugh. “I’m sorry, I was thinking. The security guard who has been assigned to watch over the Silk Room made mention today he lives alone because his father is in the convalescent hospital. He and Miss Warner stayed late to finish the room, so they were probably very hungry when they were able to leave. I hope they had a chance to eat.”
“I hope so, too.” Mama picked up the dishes and carried them to the washbasin. “Why is Officer Sharp’s father in the hospital?”
Laurel retrieved the dipper from its hook and ladled hot water from the reservoir into the basin. “He didn’t say. But isn’t the convalescent hospital a place for someone to recover from an illness?”
Mama scraped bits of lye soap into the steaming water. “Yes, or from an injury.” She paused and smiled at Laurel. “Perhaps we should pray for Officer Sharp’s father to come home quickly. Then Officer Sharp won’t be alone.”
“That’s a good idea. And we should pray for Officer Sharp.” She told Mama about his dispute with the man on Blue and Gray Day and the man’s threat to have him discharged from his position. “With his father in the hospital, he shouldn’t need to worry about losing his job, too. Especially when he didn’t do anything wrong.”
A Silken Thread Page 17