A Silken Thread

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She glanced at the sign above the lurking hunk of gray iron, and her heart tripped into a double beat. Rochester Steam-Powered Engines—Langdon’s booth. Smiling so broadly her chapped lips stung, she hurried to the large square of carpet upon which the engine stood.

  Three men sat on a row of stools with their backs to the door. A fourth man, with thick hair and a mustache as gray as the engine behind him, looked up from a small table and nodded. “Good day, miss. Are you exploring the exhibits today?”

  “No, sir. I’m seeking—”

  “Miss Millard?”

  Before she could turn in response to Langdon’s voice, his hand was on her arm. She lifted a smile to him, but it faltered when she met his disapproving frown.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She’d anticipated a warm welcome, and his ire-laden question rendered her momentarily speechless. She licked her lips, gathering her wits, and braved an honest response. “I’ve come to see you.”

  He flicked a look over his shoulder at the other three men, presumably his coworkers, then guided her off the carpet square and several yards across the tile floor. He stopped in front of a window. The clouds hid the sun, bringing in very little light through the panes of glass, but electric lamps hanging from cords above their heads illuminated his unhappy face. “I thought you understood we wouldn’t see each other until President’s Day.”

  “You said you wouldn’t be able to fetch me. But you didn’t say I couldn’t visit you.” She peeked around him at the men in the Rochester booth. “Am I disturbing you? There aren’t any visitors in your booth right now, and it seems to be well manned.”

  He stared out the window, his jaw muscles twitching, for several seconds. Then he faced her again, and the irritation she’d glimpsed earlier was gone. She risked another smile, and he returned it with a quick upturning of his lips. “I apologize for my less-than-friendly greeting. You caught me by surprise.”

  She’d intended to. Perhaps it wasn’t such a wise plan after all. “I hoped we might find a place to sit”—she gestured with her lunch pail to a bench pressed against the wall between windows—“and visit while I ate my lunch. Mama packed three applesauce cookies with my sandwich. I’m willing to share.” Would the prospect of a sweet treat erase the remainder of displeasure in his expression?

  “That’s kind of you, but I already ate.” He patted his taut belly. “Allday and I had steaks at the Piedmont Driving Club. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  She frowned. “Did you say Allday? I thought he was away this week, visiting his grandchildren in Chattahoochee Hills.”

  Langdon laughed. He hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets and rocked slightly. “Yes, he’d intended to be gone, but one of the children developed croup, and his daughter sent a telegram advising him to delay his visit.”

  Something didn’t make sense. “Then you weren’t needed here in the booth after all. Why haven’t you come to see me?”

  “Laurel…” Hearing her name uttered in his low, smooth-as-warm-honey voice spun a web of longing around her. “I’d told you the days of absence would make us all the more joyful to see each other again.”

  They’d been apart for four days. He hadn’t appeared joyful at her arrival. She toyed with a wind-tossed strand of hair. “But—”

  He pressed his finger to her lips. “Shh. Let’s pretend we never made the agreement to have those days apart. Return to the Silk Room. Will your family attend on President’s Day?”

  Laurel nodded. None of them wanted to miss the opportunity to hear President Cleveland’s speech.

  “Then let’s meet outside the Auditorium, beside the lion sculpture to the right of the doors.” The finger he’d used to shush her glided to her cheek and along her jaw. “There’s something important I want to address with your mother. Will you ascertain she is available to speak to me?”

  Laurel’s chest went light and fluttery. “Yes, Langdon. Of course.”

  Willie

  The tower chimed six. Willie’s shoulders slumped with relief. Another day done. A whole four days’d gone by, and nobody’d harmed any of the ladies who worked in the Silk Room. Maybe Briggs and Turner had only been spouting threats to scare Willie. They’d seemed awful serious when they had him against the wall, but he didn’t know any man—rich, poor, or otherwise—who’d molest a woman. If they hadn’t done anything by now, they likely wouldn’t. He could relax.

  Miss Hill and Miss Collinwood scooted out right away, jabbering like a pair of magpies. Miss Warner, as always, was at her desk, scratching notes on a page with her ink pen. Every day she recorded how many visitors came to the room and if anybody said anything she thought was important enough to write down for the folks who owned the silkworm farm. Such a faithful employee. No matter what happened, she’d stay until the end of the exposition.

  Miss Millard could’ve been gone already, but she was moving slow, putting the loom away and getting it all covered up for the night. He leaned against the wall and waited for her and Miss Warner to finish up so he could walk them out. While he waited, he watched Miss Millard out of the corners of his eyes.

  She’d been pretty quiet all week. And fidgety. He figured she was worrying about the lost pay. Or maybe sorrowing because Langdon Rochester had stopped coming around. But today, even though she’d still been mostly quiet and even a little fidgety, it hadn’t seemed like nervous fidgets. When she came back from her lunch break, she wore a smile, and it’d stayed on her face all afternoon.

  His lips twitched, wanting to smile, too. He’d been praying extra hard for the Silk Room ladies, for them to stay safe and not to worry. Seemed like his prayers were helping. Now if his prayers for Quincy and him to be friends again would do some good, and if Pa would get all better, and if Langdon Rochester would leave Miss Millard alone, then—

  Miss Warner closed her desk drawer with a snap and stood. “Laurel, are you finished? I’d like to depart.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Miss Millard slung her shawl around her shoulders, picked up her lunch pail, and crossed the floor to her boss. “I’m sorry if I kept you. I’m a bit…distracted.”

  Miss Warner tipped her head. “Are you still troubled about the break-in? Mr. Felton assures me the night guards are keeping close watch on the building, and of course”—she aimed a warm smile at Willie—“Officer Sharp is an excellent deterrent to mischief during the day.”

  The two women moved toward the door. The strand of hair that never seemed to stay in Miss Millard’s bun drifted across her cheek, and she pushed it behind her ear. “Oh, I’m not at all concerned about another break-in, ma’am. I have great confidence in Officer Sharp.”

  Willie’s pulse gave a little leap. She did?

  “Something wonderful happened.” She hunched her shoulders and giggled. “I believe Mr. Rochester intends to request permission to court me.”

  “My, my, that is exciting news.”

  Miss Warner and Miss Millard entered the hallway, but Willie stopped inside the room and stared at Miss Millard’s back. He’d been so sure Rochester was only toying with her, entertaining himself with the pretty young woman. Willie should be happy he was wrong, because she was so happy, but his stomach ached like he’d been mule kicked.

  Miss Warner turned and frowned. “Willie, do you plan to stay all night? Please come out so I may lock the door.”

  “Sorry.” He scuttled to the other end of the short hallway. He rubbed his jaw with his knuckles. “Um, Miss Millard?”

  She aimed her secretive smile at him. It did something funny to his chest. “Yes?”

  He swallowed. She was a sweet girl, kind and giving. He’d seen evidence of it. And what little Willie knew of Rochester didn’t seem right for her. “I just wondered…are you sure?”

  Her fine eyebrows pinched together. “Sure about what?”

  His tongue felt swollen, making it hard to talk. “About courtin’ with
Langdon Rochester. It”—if his face blazed any hotter, his hair might catch fire—“doesn’t seem like he matches you very good.”

  She shook her head real slow, the same smile she’d had all afternoon still giving her the rosy-cheeked look. “Officer Sharp, you sound like Mr. Rochester when he speaks of you. Would you believe he’s jealous because you and I spend so much time together?”

  Willie drew back. “But we don’t hardly talk.” Funny how much it bothered him to admit it.

  “Oh, I know, and I’ve told him so. There’s no reason at all for him to be jealous of you, and you needn’t be jea—” Her eyes widened. She looked aside, licked her lips, then met his gaze again. “You needn’t be concerned. Mr. Rochester’s crossness will end once I’ve accepted his offer of courtship.”

  Miss Warner put her key in her little purse and stepped close to Miss Millard. “Are you very certain of that, Laurel? If Mr. Rochester is expressing jealousy over incorrect situations now, you could very well deal with such behavior—or worse—the entirety of your relationship. Please consider whether you could accept being questioned and treated with mistrust by your husband.”

  Miss Millard hung her head. Regret struck Willie. They’d stomped her happiness the same way Turner had stomped the silk. He didn’t want to leave mars on her heart. He touched her arm. “Miss Millard, you must know him better than me or Miss Warner do, since you’ve spent time with him an’ his family. You’re a smart girl. You’ll do what’s right.”

  She looked up, first at him and then at Miss Warner. Her brown eyes were moist. “I know he’s the right one for me. He’s handsome, educated, well mannered, wealthy…”

  Misery twined through Willie’s gut. He wasn’t any of those things. Maybe she and Rochester were evenly matched.

  “The only concern I have rests more with myself than with him.” She fixed her frown on Willie. “You see, his family has several servants…several black servants.” She cringed, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve never dealt with that situation. It would seem very awkward to live in a house and not be friendly with the others residing there. But not having any experience…” She shrugged again. “I had hoped you might advise me on how you and Mr. Tate developed your friendship, but—”

  “Sharp?”

  Miss Millard and Miss Warner looked past Willie, and the uncertainty on their faces made sweat break out over Willie’s frame. Had Briggs and Turner come in? He turned around so fast he got dizzy. He grabbed the wall. The two troublemakers weren’t there, only Mr. Felton with two police officers. Relief buckled his knees, and he eased against the sturdy wall.

  Mr. Felton quirked his fingers. “You ladies go on out. This don’t concern you.”

  Anything to do with the Silk Room concerned Miss Warner. Worry exploded through Willie. He bolted upright. “Are you comin’ about my pa? Did somethin’ happen to him?”

  “Ladies…” One of the policemen stepped forward. “We gotta talk privately to Sharp. Let me escort you out.”

  Miss Warner and Miss Millard moved past Willie. They both looked at him as they went, and the concern in their eyes made him want to assure them. But he couldn’t.

  As soon as the policeman closed the door on the ladies, he clomped back to Willie and the other men. “Let’s get this done.”

  Mr. Felton stuck out his hand. “Lemme have your keys.”

  Fear gnawed at Willie’s gut. His hands started to shake. He pawed in his pocket, his movements clumsy. “How come?” He put the keys in his boss’s hand, and one of the policemen reached out and snagged his wrist. He snapped a handcuff on him.

  Willie looked from man to man, confused and more scared than when Briggs and Turner had him cornered against the brick Administration Building wall. “What’re you doin’? What’s goin’ on?”

  The officer hooked Willie’s other hand in a metal cuff, locking his hands behind his back. The one next to Mr. Felton said, “You’re bein’ arrested for stealin’.”

  “Stealin’ what?” Willie’s voice came out like a frog trying to croak. His mouth was so dry his throat hurt. “What do you think I took?”

  “The pay envelopes that turned up missin’ from the desk drawer last Tuesday.”

  Was he hearing right? He shook his head, wishing he could wake himself up from a bad dream. “I guard this room. I guard Miss Warner. Why would I steal from her? Mr. Felton, tell ’em. Tell ’em I wouldn’t steal.”

  Mr. Felton stared at the floor.

  The police officer behind Willie grabbed one of his arms. The second officer took hold of his other arm. The two of them started marching Willie to the door. Willie dug in his heels and sent a frantic glance over his shoulder. “Mr. Felton!”

  His boss looked up. “I’m sorry, Sharp, but they’ve got sound reason to suspect you. You’re the only other person with a key to the Silk Room, an’ you got a reason to need money.”

  “But I didn’t take it. You gotta believe me. I didn’t take it.”

  The policeman on his left yanked hard, forcing Willie to take a stumbling step. “That’d be easier to believe if the empty envelopes hadn’t turned up in your cubby.”

  Briggs and Turner…They had to’ve put those envelopes in his cubby to blame him. They needed him out of the way so they could—

  He wriggled. “Mr. Felton, you gotta put another guard in the Silk Room. The ladies, they need somebody lookin’ out for ’em. There’s folks bent on runnin’ Miss Warner out o’ the exposition. Will you put somebody—Dunning or Elkins—in the room?”

  Mr. Felton didn’t look at Willie, but he nodded.

  Assured the ladies would be safe, the fight went out of him. He staggered along between the two officers, handcuffs biting his wrists, humiliation bowing him forward. What would happen to Pa now? He’d worry something awful if Willie didn’t come visit tomorrow. How would Pa be able to stay at the hospital if Willie couldn’t pay the bill? The only good thing he could think of was at least Miss Warner and Laurel weren’t watching him be led off in shame.

  Langdon

  Langdon plopped his bowler on his head, angling it slightly over his left eyebrow, and set off on the long walk around Clara Meer to the Administration Building’s tunnel. The citrusy aroma of oranges filled his nostrils as he passed the California State Building. He wrinkled his nose. He’d enjoyed a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice each morning until he started smelling oranges every day. He might never drink orange juice again.

  Of course, oranges smelled a little better than the burnt-oil stink emanating from the Machinery Building. Perhaps he should have chosen a different route today. The damp wind blowing south to north seemed to assault him with unpleasant aromas. He angled his head sharply to the right in hopes of diminishing the stench, and he caught sight of some unique activity. Two policemen appeared to be dragging one of the exposition’s security guards through the middle of the square.

  His steps slowed, but when recognition dawned, Langdon broke into a trot. He jogged past the Mexican Village and the Agricultural Building and cut behind the Auditorium. He arrived at the Administration Building at the same time as the officers. As he’d suspected, they had Willie Sharp in handcuffs.

  He stepped into their path. “Excuse me, why are you arresting this man?”

  The policeman on Sharp’s left tried to shoulder past Langdon. “Out o’ the way. This don’t concern you.”

  Langdon stood his ground. “I’m afraid it does. He is on a brief hiatus from his usual employment at my family’s factory—Rochester Steam-Powered Engines.” Ah, the satisfaction of seeing the two officers come to attention. “If he’s involved in criminal activities, it could affect whether or not we keep him on the payroll.”

  The officer on Sharp’s right harrumphed. “He’s accused o’ stealin’ three pay envelopes.”

  “I see.” When he’d mentioned Sharp’s possible involvement in the theft, he’d been merely toying with
Laurel, trying to determine how far she would go to defend the young security guard. But now…“Have you any proof?”

  “We found all three packets wadded up in the back o’ his cubby right here on the fairgrounds.”

  Then Sharp wasn’t a very intelligent thief. He waited for the young man to react to anything that was said, but Sharp slumped between the two officers with his head low. Langdon stifled a snort. “Thank you for the information, gentlemen.”

  He moved out of their way and watched them escort Sharp through the tunnel to a waiting police wagon. The accused thief climbed into the fully enclosed black-painted cab as meekly as a lamb going to slaughter. Langdon shook his head. What a fool.

  Laurel

  The moment Laurel arrived home Saturday evening, she darted to the kitchen. If Langdon planned to ask Mama for permission to court Laurel, Mama needed fair warning. Mama also needed to be made to understand Laurel would not abandon her and leave her without companionship.

  She found her mother at the stove, stirring a pot of something rich and savory—probably chicken stew. She captured Mama’s elbow. “Please set the spoon aside and sit at the table with me. I have something important to tell you.”

  Mama gently disengaged her arm. “May we talk over dinner? I’m ready to drop the dumplings into the broth.”

  Laurel sighed, but she backed away and watched Mama portion spoonfuls of dough and flip them, one by one, into the burbling pot. Then she placed the lid on the pot and turned. She frowned. “Why have you not set the table?”

  Laurel steepled her hands and pressed them beneath her chin. “Mama! Who can think about such simple things as making dumplings or setting a table when one’s life is about to change?”

  Mama’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath the steam-frizzed strands of silver hair falling across her forehead. “And how, pray tell, is your life about to change?”