they passed the Russian furs exhibit, a long aisle with stuffed bears on hind legs and snow dogs positioned under a bower of hanging furs.
“Mr. Morgan. You must have said something for him to allow me out of my shift. He’d never agree to such a thing unless you said something quite convincing. I wondered what it was.”
“Whatever it was, it’s not worth telling now.” John pointed his cane down the direction of the aisle teeming with animal furs and lush food smells. “And what do you make of this one? You must have an opinion.”
Mable was surprised by the question. It wasn’t a normal occurrence for her opinion to be sought after by anyone. She looked at the Russian exhibit and smiled. She had an opinion, all right. And since this stranger appeared to want to know, she’d oblige with an honest answer.
“I think it’s fun.”
“Fun?” He raised his eyebrows. “Not scary or grotesque? Those bears have fangs.”
“No. Not scary. They’re just . . .” She laughed. “Fun. I have the oddest idea that they’d look charming with a tutu or a suit and bright red boutonnière instead of just standing there glaring at everyone. What if they were dancing instead of menacing?”
“A dancing bear with a boutonnière? The idea has merit.” He nodded, eyes smiling at the corners, giving away his amusement. He tilted his head as if considering it. “And look at the children.” John took a step back as a group of eager youngsters flooded in front of them, making for a souvenir stand. “No doubt they’d enjoy your dancing bears.”
“Maybe they would,” she said, stepping back so the children could swarm in around the toys.
Mable watched as the children played, laughing and dancing about, and adults picked out mementos from displays of engraved commemorative glassware and rows of painted ornamental fans. The fans were inexpensive and lackluster in their artistic appeal—not like the grand Cassatt art exhibit at the fair. But still, she liked their whimsy and pointed out the bright colors and beautiful botanical scenes painted on them.
“Pick one,” John said.
Mable smiled. “Are you sure?”
He was already paying the man, so he must have been. It seemed that when John made a decision, he was sure of himself in it.
Mable happily agreed to accept the gift. She chose a nature scene with palm trees, a blue sky, and a hill with colorful stucco houses built into the side. It was hot out, so she spread the beautiful gift wide and fanned it back and forth as they walked. The peace was broken, however, the instant they heard a commotion arise across the Midway.
Children bolted past them in a clattering rush.
Men in suits began to shout and point, drawing attention from the crowd and sparking gasps and shrieks from the ladies.
Over the bustle of international music and the reveling crowds they heard shouts of “Fire!” and “The Cold Storage Building is on fire!”
Mable tore her glance from left to right, searching for flames that would surely overtake them.
She’d heard too much about the effects of the Great Fire in 1871. Chicago was still rebuilding. What would happen if fire overtook the White City a second time, and in the grandest spectacle the world had ever seen? She prayed nothing like that could happen again. Not in the city where dreams came true.
The children they’d just seen—were they safe? Were all accounted for?
She glanced back at the vendor tables they’d passed.
The patrons had scattered, the children with them. The vendor was hastily packing up his wares. He didn’t look up. Didn’t seem to notice anything but shoving souvenirs into the crates beneath the cart.
“Mable?”
John gripped her elbow, gently but with intention, and edged her forward. “We need to keep moving.”
She nodded but the action felt foreign, as if she were watching the events playing out on a stage.
The sound of clanging fire wagon bells filled the air.
Onlookers cheered for the firemen. Some
“Mr. Morgan. You must have said something for him to allow me out of my shift. He’d never agree to such a thing unless you said something quite convincing. I wondered what it was.”
“Whatever it was, it’s not worth telling now.” John pointed his cane down the direction of the aisle teeming with animal furs and lush food smells. “And what do you make of this one? You must have an opinion.”
Mable was surprised by the question. It wasn’t a normal occurrence for her opinion to be sought after by anyone. She looked at the Russian exhibit and smiled. She had an opinion, all right. And since this stranger appeared to want to know, she’d oblige with an honest answer.
“I think it’s fun.”
“Fun?” He raised his eyebrows. “Not scary or grotesque? Those bears have fangs.”
“No. Not scary. They’re just . . .” She laughed. “Fun. I have the oddest idea that they’d look charming with a tutu or a suit and bright red boutonnière instead of just standing there glaring at everyone. What if they were dancing instead of menacing?”
“A dancing bear with a boutonnière? The idea has merit.” He nodded, eyes smiling at the corners, giving away his amusement. He tilted his head as if considering it. “And look at the children.” John took a step back as a group of eager youngsters flooded in front of them, making for a souvenir stand. “No doubt they’d enjoy your dancing bears.”
“Maybe they would,” she said, stepping back so the children could swarm in around the toys.
Mable watched as the children played, laughing and dancing about, and adults picked out mementos from displays of engraved commemorative glassware and rows of painted ornamental fans. The fans were inexpensive and lackluster in their artistic appeal—not like the grand Cassatt art exhibit at the fair. But still, she liked their whimsy and pointed out the bright colors and beautiful botanical scenes painted on them.
“Pick one,” John said.
Mable smiled. “Are you sure?”
He was already paying the man, so he must have been. It seemed that when John made a decision, he was sure of himself in it.
Mable happily agreed to accept the gift. She chose a nature scene with palm trees, a blue sky, and a hill with colorful stucco houses built into the side. It was hot out, so she spread the beautiful gift wide and fanned it back and forth as they walked. The peace was broken, however, the instant they heard a commotion arise across the Midway.
Children bolted past them in a clattering rush.
Men in suits began to shout and point, drawing attention from the crowd and sparking gasps and shrieks from the ladies.
Over the bustle of international music and the reveling crowds they heard shouts of “Fire!” and “The Cold Storage Building is on fire!”
Mable tore her glance from left to right, searching for flames that would surely overtake them.
She’d heard too much about the effects of the Great Fire in 1871. Chicago was still rebuilding. What would happen if fire overtook the White City a second time, and in the grandest spectacle the world had ever seen? She prayed nothing like that could happen again. Not in the city where dreams came true.
The children they’d just seen—were they safe? Were all accounted for?
She glanced back at the vendor tables they’d passed.
The patrons had scattered, the children with them. The vendor was hastily packing up his wares. He didn’t look up. Didn’t seem to notice anything but shoving souvenirs into the crates beneath the cart.
“Mable?”
John gripped her elbow, gently but with intention, and edged her forward. “We need to keep moving.”
She nodded but the action felt foreign, as if she were watching the events playing out on a stage.
The sound of clanging fire wagon bells filled the air.
Onlookers cheered for the firemen. Some
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