Chapter 26
The bright morning sunlight that had bathed the opening ceremony of the Columbian Exposition was giving way to clouds by the early afternoon, a new coolness to the wind that buffeted the thousands of people lining the boulevard leading to Jackson Park.
The festivities had begun yesterday, with a parade of over seventy-five thousand participants and a million spectators.
The streets from the Lake Front Park, through the Loop to Jackson Park, had all been cleared, all business suspended, buildings bedecked with patriotic bunting and flags as residents and visitors alike thronged to see what was trumpeted as the biggest parade in the history of the whole country.
Then, this morning had commenced with a sunrise salute of all the states’ national guardsmen, over ten thousand in total.
President Harrison himself had led a three hundred-carriage procession to the park for the official dedication ceremony, surrounded by city officials, governors from nearly every state, and every person of importance in Chicago and its environs.
A five-thousand strong chorus had sung the national anthem for the hundreds of thousands in attendance, spectators filling the park and the whole street down several blocks.
And in the midst of that throng, six women were wearing Maggie’s hats.
Tovah’s letter had been both blessing and boon, a much-needed encouragement that she’d been so grateful to receive.
Her friend’s natural warmth and humor had come through on every line, and when she’d suggested Maggie use the city itself as her inspiration, it had felt like a bolt of lightning from beyond.
Isn’t Chicago famous for skyscrapers? And isn’t this the Columbian Exposition, with so many amazing inventions and contraptions on goodness knows what else?
Your hats are part of that, Maggie. Don’t be afraid to dream big.
Let your hats be big! If the women want ridiculous, give them ridiculous—your way. Elegance isn’t everything, after all.
With a jolt of understanding, Maggie had realized her friend’s advice made sense.
Simplicity and elegance could only take her so far, and the women who had commissioned her wanted something different, something exciting, and yes, maybe even ridiculous.
If she stayed safe, she’d disappoint them as well as herself.
After reading Tovah’s letter, Maggie had gone for a walk in the September sunshine, grateful to leave the gloomy confines of Dr. Holmes’ apartment building for the fresh air, such as it was with the scent of the stockyards on the breeze. She realized just how much she’d needed a change.
She had taken a streetcar to the Loop, and walked all through the city’s downtown, studying with new eyes the grand buildings that had given birth to the word skyscraper—the Rookery, with its massive atrium filled with light; the Auditorium Building, the tallest building when it had been constructed just a few years ago, with row upon row of arched windows; the magnificent Home Insurance Building, now twelve stories and nearly two hundred feet tall.
As she’d walked, Maggie had felt the energy of this new and expanding city surge through her veins; she had felt as if it might shoot out of her fingertips.
Every streetcorner beckoned with possibility, the glimpse of the slate-blue lake in the distance like a promise the city itself was making to her.
Inspiration was a tangible thing, a force she could wield, and she had walked all the way to Lake Front Park, sitting on a bench facing the water to start the sketches that flew from her fingertips so quickly that Maggie imagined she could almost see sparks in the air.
The park, she knew, had been expanded over the water with the debris from the Great Fire of 1871. It felt fitting, that the park’s foundations were, quite literally, made from the rubble of loss and destruction, and that something both beautiful and good had been built from the veritable ashes.
She would be the same.
Brendan had been right; she could not let the odious Mr. O’Malley triumph over her in any way.
She wouldn’t let the smirking women and their inane desire for amusement triumph over her, either.
She would make the most glorious and astonishing hats, worthy of an event such as the Exposition Dedication, and whether or not they would make her fortune or her future, whether her name would be known, derided, or simply forgotten, she no longer cared.
It was enough to know that she had dared.
And now it was the day of the Dedication, the festivities well underway, and Maggie walked along the crowded thoroughfare through Jackson Park with Brendan, Danny having gone ahead with his friends, her stomach full of flutters even though she felt surprisingly calm.
Whatever happened today, she’d done her best. She’d made six hats she was proud of.
Maggie didn’t even know how the women in question viewed her designs.
At each house, she’d been instructed to leave the hat with a maid; an exercise in amusement, it seemed, was not worth the effort of speaking to the milliner in question.
Even Mrs. Stein had not deigned to see her, which had foolishly hurt, for she realized she’d considered her former employer her friend when, in truth, Maggie knew she never truly had been.
At least she hadn’t seen Theo when she’d delivered the hat to the mansion on Prairie Avenue; she wasn’t sure her confidence extended to another interview with him.
“Nervous?” Brendan asked, sliding her a sideways smile, and Maggie shook her head.
“No,” she replied firmly, meaning it. “Curious.”
She’d been craning her neck for a good fifteen minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of her creations, but with a hundred thousand people in the park alone, she knew it was unlikely.
Still, she hoped she might see at least the flash of color, the bright band of silk—because the fear that lined her stomach like lead was that the women wouldn’t wear the hats at all.
They’d see them as too much, too strange, too silly, even.
For Maggie had followed Tovah’s advice and “dreamed big”—she’d made each hat like a model, in silk or felt, straw or satin, of one of the glorious skyscrapers of the city.
Of course, she hadn’t done it to an exacting measure, and, in truth, it was more inspiration rather than literal rendering, but she’d taken the shape of each building—the soaring height, the wide atrium—and transferred it into a hat by the means of wire and fabric.
Each hat had taken several attempts, and she’d learned more in the last month than she had in her lifetime when it came to millinery or even any kind of craft.
She’d wasted yards of silk and satin and an entire bale’s worth of both straw and wire attempting her creations, and thanks to all her efforts, she now had mere pennies in her purse, and she had yet to be paid for a single hat, and might never be, if they were not to the women’s taste.
It had been a terrific and undoubtedly foolhardy gamble, and Maggie hardly knew if she’d been horribly reckless or simply daring.
The truth was, she never would have attempted such a thing if not for both Mr. O’Malley’s attack and Tovah’s letter.
One had shocked her to the core, devastating and nearly destroying her, and the other had reached down and brought her out of the depths, to light and hope and possibility.
Together, both had made her realize she simply had to take a risk—not just for the prospect of success, but for her own self.
Not for her pride, but her dignity and self-worth.
“Do you see any?” Maggie asked, standing on her tiptoes for a better look. They had already had the official dedication, a raft of speeches, a rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” and “Hail Columbia” and several performances of various entertainers and musicians.
She and Brendan were standing outside the magnificent Manufacturers Building, and the celebrations were set to go into the night, with the archbishop of Ireland even giving a speech. But Maggie had yet to see a single one of her hats.
“Those women most likely have places inside the building, where all the important people are,” Brendan told her with a teasing smile. He squeezed her hand in reassurance before letting it go. “Don’t worry.”
“I am worried,” she admitted. Despite her certainty and bravado, her belief that it didn’t matter whether her hats were a success or not, Maggie knew she still wanted them to be.
Of course she did. They had taken so much work, so much hope, and the thought that she might not even get a response, never mind payment, never see them out in the world…
It was a bitter pill, but one she knew she would have to swallow, and then soldier on. She would not let herself be defeated—not by Patrick O’Malley, or the millionaires’ wives of Prairie Avenue, or anyone.
“But,” Maggie added pragmatically, determined to be optimistic, “I know there’s nothing I can do to influence the outcome, so I might as well enjoy the show!”
“Thatta a girl,” Brendan replied with a grin, and Maggie smiled back at him.
Out of all the misery and shock, there had come one unexpected blessing—her friendship with Brendan was finally restored.
The agony of the tumult of her emotions had settled at last, and she knew she was willing to accept what Brendan so freely offered—his friendship, along with his loyalty, generosity, and support. She hoped she could offer him the same.
“Why, if it isn’t my tenants!” The rich, laughing voice of Dr. Holmes made Maggie instinctively stiffen.
Over the last month of living in his building, she’d done her best to avoid him as much as possible.
She found his manner cloying and too familiar, his charm like honey he spread over every word and smiling glance, with a hidden sting beneath that she sensed more than felt.
Even when he was smiling, she thought there was something cold and calculating about him.
Brendan insisted the man was harmless, simply full of himself and his airs, but Maggie wasn’t so sure.
She’d learned, however, not to debate the matter with him; Brendan seemed as set in his opinions as she was in hers, and she could understand why, considering his livelihood depended on Dr. Holmes.
“Are you enjoying the Dedication?” Holmes asked, taking a step closer to Maggie so she felt compelled to lean back a little.
“Very much so,” she replied, unable to keep from sounding stiff. “I trust you are, as well?”
“Oh, of course,” Holmes replied carelessly.
“All this pageantry and showmanship—who wouldn’t enjoy it?
” There was something strangely sneering about his tone that Maggie had never heard before.
She wondered if he was envious of the success all around them, for he seemed like a man fueled by the endless supply of his own ambition.
“It is quite the spectacle,” Brendan remarked cordially, before letting out a little gasp and touching Maggie’s sleeve.
“Maggie, look!” He put his arm around her shoulders as he pointed in the distance to where she could see the high, peaked crown of a hat in deep green silk—one of her designs, that she’d made for Mrs. Wyatt.
She’d hoped the green would complement her auburn hair.
“Oh, she wore it!” Maggie exclaimed, and for a moment her hopes soared like the seagulls circling high in the sky above them, and she felt as if she could rise onto her tiptoes, spread her arms out wide and fly.
It didn’t matter what people thought, she realized recklessly, it really didn’t.
Her hats been worn. Her hats had been seen.
“Well done, Maggie,” Brendan murmured, his arm still around her shoulders. “Well done.”
“I daresay I don’t know what all this excitement is about,” Dr. Holmes remarked, sounding slightly put out by the fact they’d ignored him for all of a few seconds. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Maggie designed hats for some of the ladies present,” Brendan explained. “Wealthy, well-connected ladies. She’s going to be Chicago’s most famous milliner one day.”
“Oh, is she?” Holmes replied, sounding amused. He looked Maggie up and down in a way that made her toes curl and her stomach cramp.
“I am,” she retorted, angling herself away from the druggist, determined to dismiss him as she searched for the sight of another of her hats. “One day,” she whispered, leaning into Brendan, “I will be.”