It Happened at the Fair (20 page)

“I’d planned to, but before I could, I accidentally started a fire with my chemicals. It quickly spread. The sprinkler system—which by then I’d discovered had problems—didn’t work. The whole thing burned to the ground.”

She took a quick breath. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No, praise God. But he lost everything. His entire inventory.”

Two birds played chase by the fountain, diving, then soaring, then wheeling to the left.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Not as sorry as I am. Anyway, he sent me packing. I went back to farming and have been there ever since.”

“What about the new system? Did you ever install it anywhere?”

With a pained look, he shook his head. “Only some sheds I’d tested it on in Boston.”

“It worked, though.”

“Like a beauty.”

During the entire tale, he’d hardly looked at her.

She’d hardly taken her eyes off him.

Smoothing up the hair at the nape of her neck, she faced forward. The toes of his boots continued to tap. With each movement, his thighs shifted ever so slightly. She gave them a surreptitious look. They were huge. Almost the size of her waist.

Images of his body bared from the trousers up again flooded her mind. The breadth of his shoulders, the bulges along his chest, the flatness of his stomach, the mountain of muscle when he’d flexed his arm.

She’d relived those moments a thousand times. When she broke her fast. When she told the children stories of knights and princes. When she slipped under her covers at night.

Neither of them spoke of it. Ever. Both acted as if it had never happened. The only measurable change was the use of their Christian names.

Did he think of those moments the way she did? Did he think of her at all other than as a means to an end?

If he did, he never gave her any indication of it. He touched her only if she needed assistance, then immediately released her. He never stood closer than he should. His fingers never brushed her accidentally. He never watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Yet she was attuned to his every move, subtle or otherwise. She thought of him constantly. She looked forward to their evenings with great anticipation. She took extra care with her toilette.

All for naught. Even now, he didn’t fully extend his arm on the bench, nor did his trousers touch so much as a smidgen of her skirt.

She turned her head and looked at him. How could he not feel the undertow? It was as if the gravitational pull had moved from the center of the earth to the center of him.

Yet she could do nothing. Only men had the privilege of acting on their feelings. Females had to wait. And wait. And wait. And then it seemed as if the only men who did act on their feelings were the ones who were the least appealing to her.

Just once, she wished she were a man. What freedom. What luxury. What fun. For if she were allowed the privileges of a man, she’d take his hand and bring it to her lips.

Of a sudden, his toes stopped tapping. His body tensed. With deliberate casualness, he removed his elbow from the bench and drew his feet in.

She continued to stare. She might not have the freedom to act on her feelings, but she could do her best to prod him along.

Clearing his throat, he sat up, then rested his elbows on his knees.

Still, she stared.

He clapped his hands together, the sound loud in the quiet of the garden. “So what’s the first thing you’d like to show me?”

You’d be quite surprised
, she thought.

He took a cautious glance at her over his shoulder. “Would you like me to go through my alphabet?”

She snapped together her first two fingers and her thumb.

He slowly sat up. “Does that mean no?” He snapped his fingers and thumb together.

With a nod of her head, she made one knocking gesture with her fist.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “And yes.” He knocked in the air.

“Only once.” She demonstrated. “You knock only once when you say yes, and your fist is in the
a
position.”

He tried it.

“Very good. Let’s do it
again
.” She held one palm up and brought four fingers from her other hand down onto it. “
Again
.”

“No, yes, again.” He did the signs perfectly.

“That’s right.” She resituated herself on the bench. “Now, I’m going to teach you some vocabulary words, then we’ll make some sentences with them.”

Within half an hour, he could use the language of signs to say many of the basics, including,
Hello. It’s nice to meet you. My name is C-U-L-L-E-N. What’s your name?

“This is much easier than reading lips,” he said.

“Yes, but you must remember not to use it in public.”

“I’ll remember.”

“Now you say something.” She put her hands in her lap.

What do you do?

I’m a teacher.

He gave a quick shake of his head. “I understood ‘teach.’ What was that last thing you did?”

“It’s the sign for
person
. You’d be far more familiar with the way men gesture when they refer to females.” She drew an hourglass with her hands. “In the language of signs, you do the same thing for
person
, but without all the curves. Just two straight lines.” She demonstrated.

One side of his mouth curved up. “I like this one a lot better.” He made an hourglass.

She raised a brow. “That’s not a real sign. This is female.” She touched her thumb to her chin then brought down her hand. “But we digress. ‘Teacher’ is what I was signing.
Teach
, then
person.
”

His smile grew. He signed,
You-are-my
-
teach
and an hourglass.

Her cheeks warmed. Her mind went blank. She couldn’t think of one new gesture to show him. “That’s probably enough for now.”

Placing his fingers near his lips, he moved them forward and down in her direction, as if he were blowing her a kiss.
Thank you
.

She gave a slight nod.

His face sobered. “I mean that. I’ll be very careful with this knowledge.”

A restless bird chirped from one of the vines, its green leaves softly stirring in the faint evening air.

Thank you
, she signed.

A loose pink rose tumbled toward him. Instinctively, he swooped it up, then cradled it in his palm and examined it with a startled expression. Looking up, he extended it out to her.

She cupped her hands. Placing one of his below hers, he rolled the flower into her hands, barely shaking off the curled petal of the fullest-blown rose in all the garden.

CHAPTER

19

D
on’t think about her
, he chanted to himself.

Shucking off his clothes, he prepared for bed, then stood in front of the mirror. His suspender lines were fading but still visible. Pushing aside all other thoughts, he went through the puckers, smilers, and wides, then the pinchers, lip biters, and lifters three times each. He tried not to notice her handwriting or to think he was touching something she’d touched first.

Determinedly, he shifted his thoughts to Wanda. Sitting in bed, he wrote a long letter to her about the buildings, the exhibits, the statues, and the people. He told her about the wax figures in bridal attire, the tailors who’d taken credit for Adam’s and Eve’s leafy coverings, and the shoe with turtles’ claws protruding from its toes. He told her of his concern over the struggling economy and how a great many of the exhibitors were having trouble enticing customers, not just him.

He went through her two most recent letters and marked out all of Hodge’s comments, then reread the letters without them. They offered lukewarm responses to what he’d seen at the fair, and then her frustration with his father for making Cullen go in the first place. She told of a neighbor whose farm had been taken away by the bank, then blithely went on about things she’d done to prepare for their wedding.

Last, she brought up the smokehouse. Nothing overt that Hodge would be able to detect, but certainly enough for Cullen to read between the lines.

I went to the smokehouse today to fetch some bacon fer Ma. I lingered there, letting my eyes look at all that meat. It smelt mighty good. So strong. Made me light-headed fer a minute. Whenever I play hide-and-seek with the youngins, that’s where I go. It’s my hidin’ place. Especially at night.

Then, as with every other letter that had passed between them, she ended it with her devotion to him and her deep, undying love.

Closing his eyes, he placed it against his nose. But there was no flowery scent, nothing that might bring images of her to mind. Of course, the only scent she wore was that of lye soap. But even that would have provided him a bit of comfort. Folding the parchment in half, he re-creased the edge and slipped it into the sturdy envelope.

Guilt hovered along the periphery of his mind. Something had happened tonight on that bench with Della. Something strong and elemental that he needed to avoid at all costs. He placed his head in his hands. He loved the signs. Couldn’t wait to learn more. But that island, that garden, that tucked-away bench was a dangerous place. Especially with the way he’d been feeling.

Tucking Wanda’s letter beneath his pillow, he blew out his candle and slid his feet under the covers. Lord willing, he’d dream about her instead of the woman who’d infiltrated every corner of his mind during the day and, more recently, during the night.

CHAPTER

20

Cullen’s height allowed him to see over the heads of the crowd as Dr. Jastrow, in the name of psychology, administered various tests on Helen Keller. The laboratory-like room held a variety of instruments, books, tablets, and charts. The tolerant young lady stood at the front of the room and made no complaints when Dr. Jastrow applied instruments to measure the sensitivity of her fingers and palm, had her feel a series of wires and rank them in order from roughest to smoothest, and had her speak Longfellow’s “Psalm of Life” as rapidly as possible with her fingers, which fascinated Cullen.

But what captivated him most was the method by which she “listened” to Dr. Jastrow’s instructions. She arranged her hand against his face in a way that somehow allowed her to feel his words. Yet an explanation of this was never given. The scientist was way too busy scribbling notes about the results of his tests.

When Miss Keller had completed her sign recitation, Dr. Jastrow announced she had formed nearly seven letters per second, undoubtedly the utmost capacity for any sign reader to read.

The crowd clapped in approval, and Miss Keller immediately smiled. Cullen realized with some amazement that she’d felt the vibrations of the applause.

Leaning down, he whispered to Della, “Were you able to follow along as she signed Longfellow’s ‘Psalm’?”

“It was very fast. If I hadn’t been familiar with it, I’d have struggled, I’m sure.”

Her hat was larger than what she normally wore and matched a white, lacy gown he’d not seen before. Rows of tiny ruffles graced her upper sleeves, then formed a V-shape across her chest. With every movement, every breath, they gave a subtle flutter. Beneath them, the gown hugged her waist and hips, much like the hourglass shape he’d made with his hands.

The crowd began to chatter as they waited for the next test.

“Is that a new gown?” he asked.

She glanced up, surprise and pleasure touching her face. “It’s not new. I’ve just been saving it for the warmer weather.”

“It’s very becoming.” And it was. So different from her typical skirt and shirtwaist. Made him think of the seaside, laughing children, and elegant women.

The crowd quieted as Dr. Jastrow made his concluding remarks.

“Before we dismiss, we have another distinguished guest I’d like to briefly introduce you to. Considering he is best known for inventing the telephone, you might not be aware he is also a long time advocate for the deaf. Please welcome Dr. Alexander Graham Bell.”

Exclamations and applause accompanied Dr. Bell’s approach. Shaped much like a cracker barrel, he stepped to the front and tugged on his vest. A head of puffed-up white hair matched a large white beard.