Chapter Thirteen
Arthur
Arthur swirled a finger’s worth of brandy in a bulbous-shaped snifter and watched the brown liquid turn as his thoughts continued to spiral, the sense of security he’d once had unraveling fast while he replayed that evening’s events in his mind.
He couldn’t help but feel as though he had simultaneously ruined his progress with the fair and harmed his relationship with Jesse, both in only a few short hours.
Because when Arthur had returned from that ridiculous misunderstanding that he’d had with Jesse, he’d felt as though his entire world had been knocked off-balance from it.
Dammit, he still couldn’t believe how Jesse had reacted to him saying they’d have to reschedule.
Arthur had explained that it hadn’t been personal.
It hadn’t been because of who Jesse was, exactly, though he’d been a bit concerned about that, but rather, because, in Arthur’s life, there were fairly strict rules of etiquette to be followed for meetings such as the one he’d planned with Mr. Russell.
Normally, Arthur would have been in favor of eschewing some of those rules himself, but when it came to this very particular matter—securing a spot as an exhibitor in the World’s Fair—he simply hadn’t wanted to risk it.
Why hadn’t Jesse been able to see that?
Arthur had been so taken aback by Jesse’s behavior that he hadn’t been able to be his charming self for the remainder of the evening.
Disoriented from their confusing interaction, Arthur had spent the entirety of the meal only half invested in the conversation.
He hadn’t even managed to show the extent of his enthusiasm for Jesse’s wonderful idea to modify the Gordon Jobber.
How was it that everything could have gone so spectacularly wrong?
“Not sleeping tonight?” Charlotte asked as she came into the library.
Arthur sighed. “Probably not.”
“Would you like some company?”
“Please,” he said, half-heartedly patting the cushion beside him.
When Charlotte was settled, Arthur handed her the snifter of brandy. She took a sip.
“Did Emma have a nice time with Lizzie?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so.”
“It was probably for the best that she wasn’t here to watch me make a fool of myself in front of Mr. Russell, wasn’t it?”
“Don’t be so critical of yourself. You were a perfectly fine host.”
“Fine host,” Arthur repeated with a scoff. “I needed to be engaging. I needed to be knowledgeable. I needed to be charming. I needed to be so much more than ‘fine.’”
“Every one of the organizers likes you, including Mr. Russell. And you said yourself that they still need to find someone to represent Chicago’s printing companies. You’re the owner of two of our city’s print shops.”
“Not the largest ones.”
“No, not the largest ones, but I can’t imagine that being too important, not when your two shops have such a variety of types of presses, and not when your name is known by most people here in our city. Goodness, even in New York, people know of the Chicago Hughes family.”
“Because of my father,” Arthur grumbled.
“Does that matter?” She took one more sip of brandy before handing it back to Arthur. “Mr. Burnham will choose you.”
“We’ll see.”
Arthur took a large swig of brandy. Charlotte crossed her ankles and sat back against the cushion, stretching out her legs.
“Are you worried about Jesse?” she asked.
Arthur twirled the snifter around in his hands.
“Yes and no.” He threw back the rest of the brandy in one fast gulp and set the glass on the side table before reclining back.
“I feel horrible that I’ve upset him. Truly.
But I’m upset, too. It’s hard for me to believe that someone as clever and observant as Jesse wouldn’t know that there are rules to follow when inviting someone in for a formal dinner like that.
I mean, it was a business meeting. I couldn’t have had one of my employees strolling in uninvited.
Even though Mr. Russell wouldn’t have suspected that Jesse and I are together in a romantic sense, he still would have thought that it was rude of me not to tell him that someone else was coming, either beforehand or within the first half hour of his visit.
” He clicked his tongue. “Which means that Jesse was aware of these things, only he expected me to . . . to what? Ignore them? God, Charlotte, there are consequences for that sort of thing. Exhibiting in the World’s Fair is important to me.
Even though I’ve never told Jesse why, he still knows that it is.
And that ought to have been enough for him.
Why would Jesse want me to hurt my chances of being chosen? ”
Arthur crossed his arms with a huff.
“I’m not meaning to be captious, but haven’t you been ignoring plenty of society’s rules and expectations when it comes to Jesse?” Charlotte asked.
“So?”
“So, how could he have known that you’d be so stubborn about this one particular meeting, then?”
“Because it was an important meeting!”
“But imagine how it looked to him. Over the last few weeks, you’ve been behaving as though you’re not someone who cares for these rules, but then, suddenly, you seemed to care very much. In fact, you cared so much that you wouldn’t even let the poor man come inside.”
“It wasn’t that I wouldn’t. It was that I couldn’t.”
Charlotte knitted her brows together. “Are you sure about that?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Arthur shouted.
Arthur’s words seemed to linger, reverberating off of the library’s walls. Both Arthur and Charlotte went quiet. And then the only sound left was the tick-tick-tick of the mantel clock and the crackling of wood in the fireplace.
“Arthur, Jesse was probably very hurt by you sending him away,” Charlotte said. “And, personally, I think you could have handled the whole thing better.”
Arthur clenched his teeth. Charlotte was right. He knew she was right. And he hated it.
“He’ll be fine,” Arthur said with a flick of his wrist. “Once he’s had some time to stew, he’ll come to the realization that I had no choice but to send him away.
” Charlotte crooked an eyebrow, and Arthur sighed.
“Although, I suppose I could have explained myself a bit better first. Or been a bit . . . kinder.”
He pursed his lips as the memory of their meeting replayed in his mind, but this time, with the knowledge that he hadn’t been one hundred percent in the right.
He winced as he tried to view the same scene through Jesse’s eyes.
Oh, he hadn’t been very nice to Jesse, had he?
He hadn’t meant to be cruel. He’d been stressed about the meeting.
His stomach had been in knots for over a half hour by the time Jesse had shown up, so much so that he’d barely even been able to eat the hors d’oeuvres.
But Jesse hadn’t known that. How could he have?
“Dammit,” he cursed under his breath. “I have to apologize to him.” He lolled his head to the side to face Charlotte and reluctantly met her eyes. “Don’t I?”
“Yes,” she said. She patted his knee twice and removed her hand. “I’m afraid so.”
Groaning, Arthur turned away and began to bounce his leg. “I hope he forgives me.”
Arthur’s muscles tensed, unease crawling up his throat as he waited for Charlotte to reassure him.
But she stayed quiet instead.
***
On Saturday morning, Arthur showed up at Putnam Press and knocked.
He waited for several minutes, fighting a shiver as the wind blew past, but still, no one came.
Dread settled heavy in his stomach as he cupped his hands over the window to look inside, telling himself Jesse had probably been so preoccupied that he hadn’t heard the knocks.
But no one was there. Arthur’s heart began to race.
Where was Jesse? Didn’t he need to start on the formes for the newspaper by now?
Arthur needed to investigate, needed to see for himself whether Jesse had punched his time card into the clock earlier that morning.
Arthur’s hands shook as he fumbled for his keys.
He was trembling so badly that he barely managed to shove the brass into the lock, but eventually, his fingers steadied long enough for him to unlock the door.
Once inside, Arthur hurried over to the punch clock on the wall and began looking through the employee cards for Jesse’s name.
It took some frantic searching—searching that involved tossing other men’s cards on the floor as he worked through them, even though he could have simply straightened each of them to read the names printed on the tops of the slightly curled papers—but he finally found it. Arthur’s eyes fell to the latest entry.
Friday, February 10, 1893
Time in: 07:10 a.m.
Time out: 11:22 p.m.
Arthur furrowed his brow. Jesse had worked late the previous evening.
Extremely late. Did Jesse typically work until eleven on Fridays?
Arthur couldn’t remember Jesse ever telling him that, if so.
In fact, Arthur recalled Jesse saying that he was often the one who took care of the cooking and cleaning at home because his hours tended to be much more favorable than Giuseppe’s.
Which meant that Jesse must have stayed late intentionally.
Jesse was avoiding him.