It Happened at the Fair (36 page)

“Della scurried past the east entrance of Machinery Hall.”

CHAPTER

39

Della hurried in the direction of Terminal Station, past the broad pediment over the east entrance of Machinery Hall. Fire, Water, Air, and Earth stood side by side. Fire grasped lightning in one hand, a torch in the other. Water held a dolphin spurting like a fountain. Cullen’s invention encompassed both.

TERMINAL STATION

Rounding the corner, she circumvented the building, then passed its annex and a blacksmith’s shop before reaching an open area beside the incoming railroad tracks. A large crowd of men and a few women gathered about a wooden shed. A white and gold fire carriage stood to its right. Though the engine could be outfitted with parade reels and wheels, it held more serviceable ones today.

A dozen members of Company Eight stood at attention in red shirts and black trousers. An oversized numeral eight emblazoned on each black helmet and each silver belt buckle reflected off the sunlight.

She leaned to the left to see better. Cullen’s hair had been carefully brilliantined beneath his jaunty derby hat, his gray suit showed off his physique, and his silk bow tie drooped against his shirt with the artful indifference so many men were now affecting. Smiling, he laughed at something one of the men in the front row said, giving no sign of nervousness or concern.

It was good to see him in his element. Something had changed since her episode on the Ferris wheel. She couldn’t put her finger on it exactly, but Cullen was different somehow. His moods were more intense, his concentration more keen.

“The problem with current sprinklers is threefold.” His voice projected confidence and conviction as he held up three fingers, then ticked off each of his concerns. “The perforated iron piping is prone to clogging from oxidation. The pipes discharge water over the entire building, which often causes more damage than the actual fire. And most important, the current sprinklers are manually activated. This means they can’t be activated at night when so many highly destructive fires occur.”

Members of the crowd murmured, nodding their heads in agreement.

“My system is completely automatic.” Removing a sprinkler head from his coat pocket, he held it aloft. “It’s a valve with deflectors and is set into operation when temperatures reach a predetermined heat level. The solder around this cap melts, then the cap falls off, exposing the diaphragm beneath it.” He pointed to a cap covering the sides and bottom of the sprinkler head. “When the diaphragm is exposed, the pressure causes it to burst, allowing water to gush out and extinguish the fire. As you can see, each sprinkler activates independently according to when the heat level is reached. So the entire building will not be deluged, only the part on fire.”

She glanced about the audience, pleased to see he had captured their full attention.

“Beside me, I have a twelve-by-twelve foot shed. Inside I have strewn the floor with a mass of chips, shavings, tallow, cask shavings, barrels, cotton, and a decrepit old loom, fully threaded.”

Her eyes widened at each subsequent mention of combustible material. How on earth would that tiny spigot put out all that?

“I’ve fitted the shed with water pipes and three of my sprinklers. Once the fire takes hold, I expect the first sprinkler to open within a minute and the entire conflagration to be extinguished within three.”

Skeptical glances were exchanged. Men swapped bills surreptitiously, making bets on the outcome. But the firemen gave one another knowing looks, as if they had no doubt the system would do just as Cullen claimed.

Still, her stomach began to tense. She wished he hadn’t made such an impossible prediction. It would have been better to light the fire, then let the sprinklers do their job in whatever amount of time they needed.

“The contents of the shed have been saturated with paraffin oil,” he continued. “Fire Marshal Murphy, chief of the Fourteenth Battalion of the Chicago fire brigade and in command here at Jackson Park, will light the shed in two places.”

Cullen stepped aside. Murphy, in a white chief’s helmet, struck a match, then tossed it and one other inside two strategically placed openings. Within seconds, huge, dense flames burst forth with a roar.

The crowd stumbled back several yards. The blaze gained complete mastery of the shed, licking its sides and sending up billows of smoke.

Heat stung Della’s face and pressed against her. Holding a handkerchief to her nose, she continued to fall back, along with everyone else. One minute passed.

The fire on one side of the shed began to falter and fade. But the other portions continued to burn. Two minutes passed. Then, three.

Cullen’s brows began to crinkle. His body tensed.

Hose men reached for the nozzle at the end of their reel. They looked to their chief.

The chief held up his hand, stalling his men.

Four minutes. Cullen turned to Murphy and gave him a nod. The brigade opened their hoses and doused the fire.

The crowd stood still and quiet.

Cullen turned to them, his face grave. “I’d like to thank Company Eight for standing at the ready for us.”

A smattering of applause. Money exchanged hands.

“As you can see, their help saved the day. I apologize. I don’t know what happened, but will do a thorough investigation and get back to you as soon as I can.” The color had all but drained from his face. “Thank you for coming.”

Amid murmuring, most of the crowd dispersed and left. A few gentlemen approached Cullen, as did the fire chief. A fireman squeezed Cullen’s shoulder, then joined his comrades as they made sure all hot spots were extinguished.

A woman stood back and to the side. Della kept her distance as well, her heart breaking for him.

CHAPTER

40

Noise bombarded Cullen from every side. The fire brigade’s shovels clinked against buckets as they scooped up the remains of his shed. Railway cars screeched to a stop on the tracks to his left. And voices layered one over the other like bricks building a wall to shut him out.

He tried to pay attention, to hear, to lip-read, but his mind whirled. What had happened? Why hadn’t his sprinklers opened?

It didn’t really matter, though. Not now. He’d failed. Again. And even if he were to do another demonstration successfully, this would be the one they’d remember.

Mr. Ferris shook his head. “I’m
pzzld
. The design looked as if it
shld
work. I’m
srry
it didn’t.”

Cullen concentrated on breathing in and out. “Thank you. And thank you again for those tickets.”

Another man approached. Cullen muddled through the rest of the conversations, nodding, trying to reassure people he would find and correct the problem, but he received only looks of sympathy by way of response. He may as well pack up and go home.

“Something isn’t right,” Vaughn said, leaning on his cane. “You look through the debris very carefully. Let me know what you find.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll do just that.” Cullen spotted Della hanging back. In a rush, he realized he had nothing to offer her. Not even a farm. He might as well—

“I’m sorry, McNamara.” The chief squeezed Cullen’s shoulder. “I was really hoping everything would work out.”

“Thank you for your help, sir. I’m sorry I let you down. I’ll clean this up. I know you and the boys have other things to do.”

“Nonsense. We’ll help you with it.”

“Thank you. I—” He stopped, his train of thought completely shot. For there, not thirty yards away, was Wanda all fancied up in her Sunday blue skirt and shirtwaist.

Waggling her fingers, she headed toward him.

Murphy glanced between the two. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Cullen gawked at her. “What are you doing here?”

Cocking her head, she propped her hands on her waist. “Now is that any way to greet yer
fee-on-say
?”

He immediately swung his attention to Della.

She stumbled back, her eyes wide, her lips parting. She looked from him to Wanda, then back to him.

His chest squeezed. He opened his mouth to explain, but what could he say? That yes, Wanda was his fiancée, but he didn’t love her—at least not the way he loved Della? That he’d written Wanda a letter ending the engagement?

He swallowed. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not with Wanda standing right there. He respected her too much, loved her too much to act in such a thoughtless way. So he closed his mouth and said nothing.

Whirling around, Della ran past the blacksmith’s and Westinghouse Company’s offices, her hands holding up her skirts, her hat bobbing from side to side.

Die and be doomed. He looked to see if Wanda had noticed. It would have been hard to miss.

All flirtatiousness had fallen from her stance. In its place were limp arms, a stricken face, and a world of hurt. “What’s goin’ on, Cullen?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Did you get my letter?”

“The letter about ya changin’ yer mind?” Her voice rose. “The letter Thomas Hodge read to me?” She walked up and walloped him as hard as she could with her traveling bag.

The boys shoveling behind him paused for the merest second, then continued.

He stepped to the side, holding his arm out. “Is there any chance we can do this later?”

Her eyes took on a moist sheen as she drew her satchel back again.

He caught it one-handed, then yanked it free from her grasp. “What are you doing here?”

“What do ya think I’m a-doin’ here? Thomas reads me some letter about how ya changed yer mind all of a sudden, outta the big blue sky. That after being together fer fifteen years, ya wanna call it quits. And yer wonderin’ what I’m doin’ here? Didn’t all them books ya read teach ya nothin’?”

“How long have you been calling Hodge by his Christian name?”

She narrowed her eyes. “How long ya been callin’
her
by her Christian name?” She pointed in the direction Della had fled.

He wanted to say that was different. He was in love with Della. But now probably wasn’t the best time. “You and I haven’t been together for fifteen years.”

“I was seven when we started, and I’m two-and-twenty now.” She held up her fingers, giving them a quick count while she whispered the numbers, then jerked up her head. “Fifteen. I’m still countin’ fifteen.”

“How long since I asked you to marry me?”

“Now how am I supposed to remember that?”

His anger began to bubble. “I remember. Zero. It’s been zero years because I never asked you, did I?”

She jerked back as if she’d been slapped.

His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. This is just a bad time, is all.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry to have called at a bad time. Why don’t ya tell me when a good time is and I’ll see if I can arrange it.”

With every last ounce of control he had, he reined in his temper. “Where are you staying, Wanda?”

“I have no i-deer. I just got off the train this mornin’ and it took me all the live-long day ta find ya in this god-awful city. They wouldn’t even let me through them gates unless I paid ’em fifty cents.
Fifty cents
. I done told ’em you and me was gettin’ hitched and how exactly were we supposed to do that when yer in here and I’m out there. They congratulated me on our weddin’, then still made me pay.” She blew a strand of hair from her face. “Guess ya cain’t expect much more from a bunch o’ Yankees. Anyway, I figured we’d marry up now and then I’d stay with you.”