Chapter Three #2
Harriet waited until the men kept walking. “It’s a seedy drug market,” she whispered behind her gloved hand. “There are a few tunnels that run beneath the Pike from the Tyrolean Alps.”
The thought made Grace feel suddenly ill.
“I guess I’m full from breakfast” was all she said, shoving the last of her cone into Oliver’s hand.
“Since when have you ever not wanted ice cream, Grace Carter Covington?” he asked, but he devoured it without waiting for her answer.
“Come,” Lillie said, noticing Grace’s fallen temperament. “Let’s go watch small children ride on that simply enormous tortoise.”
Grace crumpled the gossip rag in her hand.
The massive ivory palaces in the distance shone in the sunlight, shimmering like a dream.
In Hagenbeck’s Animal Show there was an elephant going down a slide, and a female photographer standing on stilts to capture a photograph.
Small boys chased one another in sailor suits, and one girl was crying over a melted ice cream.
Grace and Lillie stopped to admire the giant working floral clock, created with varying shades of centaurea, verbena, and twelve-foot-tall numbers made of red coleus.
The marching bands were awash in bright brass sounds, and the scent of chocolate melded with the scarlet and pink begonias.
As they stepped inside the massive Palace of Agriculture, the floral scent dissipated into ripe fruit and rich, freshly-pressed olive oil.
There was a huge roaring bear made of prunes and a wine temple draped with clusters of grapes in the California exhibit; a temple constructed entirely of multicolored corn cobs; and the Liquid Carbonic Company’s soda fountain, which was flanked with potted palms and a wide bar staffed by waiters in crisp white uniforms. Grace ate and laughed until her stomach ached.
She’d never seen so many people, so many inventions.
It felt as though she’d opened an invitation from the world and glimpsed the swirling calligraphy of the card beneath.
Doubt cut through the delight she felt, hollowing it like a knife.
Could she really go back to Kansas City after this?
Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had?
She remembered being a young girl, hiding behind an urn during one of Aunt Clove’s dinner parties. Lillie and Oliver had made a brief appearance to be shown off and petted, and Grace had snuck down the stairs herself, for just one glimpse.
She’d hid behind the chinoiserie and watched the champagne-infused laughter, the intricately set table of flowers and candlesticks, the guests in their shimmering gowns, and told herself she didn’t care that they didn’t want her.
But she’d shrewdly observed their manners.
She didn’t want to be invited, she told herself, hugging her knees to her chest—she just wanted to be adequately prepared in case she ever was.
Now, beneath the columned, towering ceilings of the Palace of Transportation, she passed a revolving steam engine and shook hands with a man she’d never have dreamed she would meet—the inventor Thomas Edison—then followed Earnest through the rows of hundreds of gleaming new-fashioned American automobiles and motorcars while he considered buying one.
His eyes shone as he examined the machines one after another, sitting in the plush red seats.
“But how will you finance one of my shows if you buy one of these, Mr. Allred?” Harriet said playfully, running her fingers along the hood of a jet-black American Mercedes. “Don’t think I don’t remember your promise.”
His eyes crinkled as he winked. “I haven’t forgotten.”
Grace didn’t even dare touch the automobile. How strange to be around people for whom money was no object. It felt like magic.
And she couldn’t deny how flattered—and perhaps even a little frightened—she felt that Earnest had seemed to take an interest in her. Why would he want her when Lillie was right there?
He tilted his paper cone of puffed corn toward her so that she could try it.
“I have a little surprise for tonight,” he said conspiratorially. “Do you like surprises, Miss Covington?”
“That all depends. When they involve death, dismemberment, or disaster? No. But if they involve dinner, dancing, or dessert… then… yes.”
Earnest smiled and leaned closer to her ear. “How about defiance of gravity and displays of wonder?”
“Then do say more,” she said breathlessly.
“I believe something will happen tonight that will make history and the future meet. It’s in the very air itself. Can you feel it?”
The crackle in his voice gave her a sudden thrill.
“What do you think, Miss Covington? Would you like to see history made?”
His excitement was contagious. She felt the spark down her spine. To be where history happened. That’s what she wanted from this week. To be near enough to touch it.
She nodded.
“Save a dance for me tonight, won’t you, Miss Covington?” Earnest asked. He kissed her on the hand, then Lillie’s, and helped them into their carriage.
“Could this day have been any more perfect?” Grace breathed, collapsing into the velvet seat as soon as the door was closed.
“He likes you,” Lillie said, her smile stretching wide. “My darling, he must see what I see, which means he is going to fall effortlessly in love with you.” She brought her forehead to touch Grace’s, beaming, and they both squealed.
Grace soaked her sore feet in gloriously hot water before lacing them into slippers and donning a gorgeous oyster silk dress covered in embroidered flowers for the Dragon Ball.
The nephew of the emperor of China, Prince Pu Lun, had built a replica of his summer palace in the Chinese pavilion and was throwing an elegant party for those lucky enough to gain the invites: red and gold, and stamped with an official chop.
The Cinch had determined which households were invited, and Grace’s uncle had overruled Aunt Clove and said she was allowed to come.
Aunt Clove was in a huff about that, hovering and eavesdropping more than usual, wanting to know how the fair had gone.
“Did you see the statue of the president of the United States of America made out of butter?” Aunt Clove asked. “How crass.”
“No. But we saw the X-ray machine and a horse that does math, which was decidedly more impressive,” Lillie said.
“Was that actress there today?” Aunt Clove asked. “The one with Theodore Parker?”
Oliver smiled bitingly. “Her name is Harriet, Mother.”
“It’s an odd pairing, certainly. I’m sure Mrs. Parker would be rolling over in her grave,” Aunt Clove said. “Will she be there tonight, then?”
“Mrs. Parker? No. Last time I checked, she was still dead.”
“Oliver. Stop being cheeky. You know very well I meant that actress.”
“Harriet,” Oliver said.
Lillie was watching Oliver carefully.
His face remained smooth and with the perfect amount of nonchalance when he pulled on his gloves and said, “I have no idea. I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
He was a chillingly good liar, Grace noted—and between him and Aunt Clove, she didn’t get to speak to Lillie privately until they were entering the Chinese pavilion.
Lillie was dressed in a red silk dress with an exquisite, intricate pattern of lace over the bodice that was mirrored along the hem.
The neck was high but draped with strands of lace that emulated delicate necklaces.
Her hair was pulled up with pins in the shape of gold lotus blossoms that caught the light.
She was nothing short of stunning. Several heads turned wherever she moved.
Lillie didn’t seem to notice.
The Imperial Chinese pavilion was set beside the Belgium exhibit and just in front of Cuba.
The Ferris wheel was visible in the distance, peeking out from beyond the elegant, upwardly sloping eaves of the vibrant red entrance gate.
They passed through it and stepped into the Chinese pavilion, which had a fragrant rose garden, a goldfish pond, and an intricate pagoda carved with six thousand pieces of wood, ivory, and ebony.
Red Chinese lanterns hung from the timbers, delicately swaying with the evening breeze.
“I need your help tomorrow evening,” Lillie whispered to Grace, taking her arm. “Can you distract Oliver for me so I can slip away?”
“What do you mean, distract him?” Grace asked. “We’re in the middle of the fair. Shall I propose a game of croquet?”
“I’ll pretend to go off with some friends tomorrow evening.
I just need him and my mother to not be asking questions.
It shouldn’t be hard.” Lillie’s fingertips grazed her blood-red lips.
Her hair smelled like it always did, clean and faintly of lavender.
“Not as though he hasn’t been distracted enough lately,” she said under her breath.
Grace paused. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Lillie’s eyes scanned the crowded palace, pausing for a moment on Harriet. She almost seemed to say something.
“Never mind,” she said.
“Look,” Grace said, eager to change the subject. “There’s the prince.”
Prince Pu Lun was speaking with the fair’s president and organizer, David Francis. He was flanked by bodyguards and wore small circular spectacles. His ornate silk robes were intricately embroidered with gold-wrapped thread that shimmered in the light.
“Cheers.” Lillie accepted a teacup, raising it to Grace just as Adolphus Busch, the St. Louis beer brewing magnate, presented the prince with the gift of a brand-new carriage.
The crowd exploded with applause.