Fair Game, page 6
part #2 of A Fair to Remember Series
* * *
Dinah slid the last piece of the morning's correspondence into the proper file and squared the pile of papers into a neat stack. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do before I take a lunch break, Mrs. Johnson?"
Her supervisor glanced at the clock, then peered at Dinah over the top of her half-glasses. "Nothing that can't wait until you get back. You've worked right through the lunch hour as it is. If you want to take an extra few minutes, that will be fine."
Lila looked up from her desk across the room. "As long as I don't have to cover for her if she decides to stay out half the afternoon. I don't want to have to tramp around the grounds at two o'clock to pick up the rest of the reports."
"I'll be back long before then," Dinah promised and hurried to the elevator.
Once downstairs, she took a moment to compose herself before starting off. It was sweet of Mrs. Johnson to allow her some extra time for lunch, and Dinah intended to make full use of it. But not for eating.
She set a brisk pace across the Grand Plaza, brushing past the knot of people gathered near the Columbian Fountain. Unlike the clear blue sky of her first day in Chicago, today was overcast. Heavy, dark clouds rolled in across the lake and hung low, giving the sky an ominous appearance that did nothing to lessen Dinah's own uncertain mood.
After looking forward to this moment for so long, after all the planning and scheming to get herself to Chicago, she found herself beset by sudden doubt. Perhaps she had been as mad as Aunt Dora thought for making this move.
Dinah skirted the west end of the Grand Basin and crossed the bridge over the South Canal. Thoughts whirled through her mind like the gulls swooping overhead. Would he recognize her right away? How would he react when she met him?
And what would she say in response? Panic seized her when she realized her well-rehearsed greeting had faded from her memory like mist from the lake.
Maybe a casual approach would be best. She would simply walk up to the booth like any other fairgoer and take stock of the situation—and him—before deciding how to proceed.
Yes, that would work. Pleased with her decision, she hurried along the colonnaded walk to the building's main entrance. Once inside, she paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light and get her bearings. She stood in the center of the rotunda, surmounted by its mammoth glass dome. Ahead of her lay the huge exhibit floor with its myriad booths and displays.
How to find the booth she sought? Dinah started along the central aisle, passing exhibits from Great Britain and Germany. Would even an extended lunch break give her sufficient time to locate it? Another broad walkway intersected with the one she followed, dividing the building from north to south. To her great relief, she saw exhibits from the United States on the south side of the divide and quickened her pace. At least she had narrowed the possibilities down a little.
Why hadn't he given her more specific directions in his letter? Or had he even known the location himself when he wrote to her? She did have the name of the booth, but that didn't tell her where to find it. She looked around and clucked her tongue in irritation. Not a Columbian Guard in sight
Dinah marched toward the east end of the building. There was nothing else for it. She would walk up and down each aisle on this end, then repeat the process on the west half if necessary.
Scanning the signs of the various exhibits, she had to remind herself to keep up her pace. How she would love to stop and explore some of them in more detail!
But that could wait for another time. Right now, her goal was the Minnesota Threshing Company exhibit.
She passed the pavilion of the American Sugar Refining Company, which claimed to hold more than two hundred samples of various kinds of sugars. Schall & Company displayed a scene representing the Landing of Columbus, all done in gum paste.
Dinah's lips quirked upward. Whoever would have thought of coming up with such an idea? Onward she trudged, past exhibits of bee culture, canned goods, and tobacco.
A pair of men rounded the corner, so engrossed in conversation that Dinah barely had time to skip out of their way. The two men walked on, apparently unaware of their near collision.
"Did you see that thresher?" The older man said to his companion. "Fella says it's the newest one on the market. It's supposed to cut our time in the field in half."
Dinah spun around. "Excuse me!" She trotted after the men until she caught their attention. "I heard you mention a thresher. Could you tell me where it's located?"
The speaker gaze her a quizzical look, then shrugged and pointed toward the south end of the building. "Back there in the annex, with all the other farm implements."
"Thank you!" Dinah hurried in the direction indicated and found herself in yet another great hall filled with all manner of reapers, threshers, and plows.
Her gaze roamed back and forth from one side of the broad, central aisle to the other, looking for the right sign. Dinah's attack of nerves returned in full force. There it was: the Minnesota Threshing Company display.
She pressed her hands against her skirt to dry the moisture on her palms and slowed her steps, trying to adopt the leisurely pace of any other fairgoer.
Where was he? She sized up the crowd gathered near the edge of the booth. Most showed only a casual interest before drifting off to view the other displays, but one couple stood talking to a plump, pretty woman next to a piece of equipment Dinah recognized as a binder. At the other end the exhibit area, two men bent over a thresher, deep in conversation with a tall, slender man who appeared to be pointing out its features. All three had their backs turned toward her.
She felt a flutter in her stomach and took another look at the three men. There was something about that salesman... The other two nodded affably and strolled away. The man attending to them turned so she could see his face.
Numbness crept from the top of Dinah's head to her fingertips.
It was him.
Desperate to blend into the crowd, Dinah fell into place behind a passing couple and eased up to the edge of the booth. She peered past the couple's shoulders, drinking in the familiar features: the long, lanky build, the high forehead, and aquiline nose.
Age had made some changes. His face held more wrinkles than she remembered, and the nose seemed a little more beaked. Silver strands shot through his hair, the same dark brown as her own.
What had time done to her own appearance? Dinah's hand crept up to her cheek, and she ran her fingers along her jaw line. His features were still recognizable, even with the changes wrought by age, but she had been a mere child the last time he saw her. How long would it take him to recognize her? After all, it had been ten years.
The couple ahead of her asked a question, and he responded. The voice, at least, was just the same. Dinah's vision dimmed, and tightness gripped her throat. For a moment, she wanted to run away.
No, she could do this. This meeting had been the focus of her dreams for a decade. She wouldn't turn back now.
The couple moved away, depriving her of her protective cover. Dinah's breath caught in her throat. Her moment had arrived. Hoping her tottery legs would support her, she stepped into his field of vision.
Her words of greeting died upon her lips the instant their eyes made contact. The smile she remembered so well froze, then slid from his face. His jaw sagged, and his lips parted. From where she stood, she could see them tremble.
"You're the very image of your mother, the first time I saw her." His voice was husky when he spoke. "The same heart-shaped face, that tilt to your chin. Even your eyes are exactly the color hers were." His Adam's apple bobbed.
Tears stung Dinah's eyes and pooled along her lower lids. "It's been a long time, Papa."
He reached out and folded her in his arms, pulling her tight against him. Together they formed an island in the midst of the swirling throng. Surrounded by a thousand strangers in an unfamiliar city, Dinah felt a sense of being where she belonged, of coming home at last.
A long moment passed before he stepped back, still cradling her shoulders in his hands. His eyes glistened, but his face wore a broad grin. "My little girl, all grown up. I always knew you'd turn out to be a beauty."
Dinah knew her cup of joy had reached its brim. "I was so happy to get your letter."
"I should have asked you to come sooner. I never meant to leave you for so long."
With an effort, Dinah pushed back the memories of those dark years when she longed to be with him, to feel like part of a real family again. "It doesn't matter, not anymore. What matters now is that we're finally together again." And if she had her way, there would be no more separations. She would be a part of his life from this day on.
Her father kept staring, drinking in the sight of her. "You're looking well... no, wonderful!"
Dinah felt her cheeks grow pink with pleasure. "I've missed you so much."
His eyes misted. "You'll never know how hard it was for me to leave you with your aunt and uncle. I knew it was more important for you to have a woman's care and someone your own age to be with than to spend your growing-up years traipsing along after me."
"It was hard for me, too." Tears threatened again, and she blinked them back. "You didn't even let me say goodbye."
"That was probably a mistake. I can see that now. But I was doing what I thought best for you... and maybe for myself, too. I wanted to remember you smiling and happy. Can you forgive me for that?"
The shadow of doubt in his eyes tugged at Dinah's heart. "Of course," she whispered.
As happy as she was at this moment, she could forgive him anything. It would have been hard for him to have a child trailing along on his travels. She could see that now, although living out of a suitcase and sleeping on trains would have been a small price to pay to be able to stay with her father. Nearly anything would have been better than growing up a cousin like Gladys.
But that was her selfishness speaking. She could put all that behind her now. She was no longer a child who needed to be looked after, but a grown woman who could be a help rather than a burden.
And he realized that, too! Hadn't he shown it by writing to her and asking her to join him? Joy welled up within her. Let the past remain in the past. They were together again, and that's all that mattered.
She reached up to pat his cheek, feeling the need to say the words aloud. "You're forgiven, Papa."
"Ernie?"
Her father started when the quiet voice spoke beside them. Dinah turned to see the woman she had noticed earlier regarding them quizzically. "Is everything all right?"
Her father's face split into a wide smile. "More than all right. Things couldn't be better." He pulled Dinah close to his side and wrapped his arm around her. "Allow me to introduce my daughter, Dinah, all grown up and making her father one proud and happy man."
Dinah nodded politely, resenting the intrusion. She had waited too long for this reunion to have it interrupted by meaningless introductions. They had a lot of catching up to do, after all. She wanted to hear about all the things her father had done in the years since she saw him last. Why didn't the woman leave them alone and go on about her business?
As if sensing Dinah's irritation, the woman hesitated, then held out her hand. "I'm happy to meet you. I'm—"
"Sorry," her father cut in. "I'm so excited I forgot my manners. Dinah, this is Abby Watson. Abby is... a good friend and coworker."
Dinah caught the quick look the other woman shot at him but didn't know how to interpret it.
Abby stepped back. "Excuse me now. I need to get back to work."
The light in her father's eyes dimmed. "We all do, I suppose." He turned to Dinah and caught her hands in his. "You don't know how much good it's done me just to see you again. How long are you going to be in Chicago?"
Laughter gurgled from Dinah's throat. "As long as you are. When you wrote and said you wanted me to join you, I packed up and left the farm as soon as I could. I'm working right here on the fairgrounds, over in the Administration Building. We'll be able to see each other any time we want."
Her father's eyes flared wide. "I never expected... well, aren't you the enterprising little thing? That's quite a surprise. Quite a surprise, indeed. I'm putting in long hours here at the booth, but we'll have to get together for a meal sometime when our schedules allow."
Dinah nodded eagerly. "Of course. We have so much to catch up on. I'd better be getting back myself, but I'll see you soon." She stood on tiptoe and brushed a quick kiss on his cheek. Their visit might have been shorter than she'd hoped for, but there would be plenty of other times to talk and reminisce... and make plans for the future.
* * *
"When I get through with you, Preacher Man, you're going to wish you never got out of bed this morning." The face that filled Seth's vision split in a taunting leer, and a quick jab showed that the speaker intended to back up his statement.
Seth dodged the jab and tried to ignore the hoots and catcalls from the circle of onlookers.
"Stretch 'im out, Mac!"
"Put one in his breadbasket!"
Seth kept his fists at chin level and eyed his opponent's movements carefully, watching for the next swing, the one that might take him down. He danced back lightly on the balls of his feet and looked for an opening to throw a punch of his own.
The other man feinted with his left, then caught Seth with his right as he ducked away, landing a blow on Seth's jaw that knocked him to his knees. His opponent moved away, then came back and held out a hand to help him to his feet.
"Aw, come on," called a deep-voiced man on the sidelines of the ring. "You aren't quittin' already, are you?"
Mac grinned. "Afraid so, fellas." He clapped Seth on the shoulder. "I'm about finished for today, and it looks like you are, too."
Seth regained his balance and worked his jaw back and forth. "I won't argue with you. You pack quite a wallop. But then, you always did, even back when we were kids."
Mac's trainer came up and threw a towel around the boxer's shoulders. "That's my boy! Keep throwing punches like that next time you get in the ring with the champ, and you can go all the way to the top."
When the noisy circle of admirers moved on to watch the next sparring match, Seth and Mac headed over to where they'd left their street clothes on a bench by the wall of the gym. Seth stripped to the waist and toweled the perspiration from his head and torso, then pulled on a clean shirt.
He touched his chin gingerly. "I ought to make you come teach my boys' class tonight. It's going to be hard to talk if my jaw tightens up on me."
Mac looked around as if making sure he couldn't be overheard. "Those weren't exactly sissy taps you were giving me. I'm going to be feeling that punch in the ribs for a few days, but I didn't want to let on when we were out there in front of everybody."
Seth grinned, regretting the action when his jaw protested. "I knew it wouldn't do you any good for me to hold back while you're in training. Not when you're planning to be the next middleweight champion."
"Yeah." Mac swabbed his forehead with his towel. "If they let me do it my way and fight it clean."
"What do you mean?"
Mac shrugged. "Nothing. Just something I overheard. Forget I mentioned it." He finished dressing quickly and bent to lace up his shoes. "You know, I never have figured it out. You would have done just as well in the ring as I have, maybe even better. Why did you give it all up just when it looked like things were going your way?"
The compliment warmed Seth. "I guess God had other plans for me."
"Just as well. I would have hated having to face you in the ring for real."
Seth rolled his boxing clothes in a towel and tucked the bundle under his arm. Waving goodbye to his friend, he left the smell of sweaty bodies behind and stepped into the fresh outdoor air.
Acting as a sparring partner for his old friend wasn't exactly the kind of thing most people expected of a man of the cloth, but it gave him the opportunity to mingle with men who would never darken the door of a church. God does work in mysterious ways.
He turned the corner and headed toward his small apartment, thinking about what Mac had said about his giving up the ring. At one point in his life, he would have committed every ounce of his focus to reach the point where he saw his name on the marquee of the fighting arena. But then the Lord got hold of him and changed his life for good.
Some of his old cronies thought he was out of his mind for giving up the chance at fame and fortune to become a poor Bible-thumper, as they termed it. At one time, Seth would have thought that a crazy idea himself.
He smiled when he thought of how much his goals had changed since those days. He had no regrets, none at all. Fame and fortune would never be his, but he had by far the better end of the deal.
Sports had been his passion while he was growing up. He loved the challenge of keeping his body in tip-top condition and the excitement of the competition. Not until he neared maturity did hear realize the fight game also had its seamy side, one where money often outweighed skill in determining the winner.
That brought his thoughts back around to Mac's offhand comment. What had he meant about wanting to make it a clean fight? Had someone been pressuring him to throw a match?
He knew Mac well enough to know his friend wanted to win on his own merits as a fighter. He also knew how much pressure could be applied by men driven by greed to make the outcome of a fight go the way they wanted it to.
Seth's jaw tightened. He needed to have a talk with Mac, and soon. Even a championship wasn't worth a man sacrificing his integrity.
7
"How did God make everything in just six days?"
"My granny says we're supposed to act like Jesus. So how come when my brother tried to walk on water, he sank plumb up to his neck in the river?"
"If God speaks English, like in the Bible, how can He understand when the Poles and the Italians talk to Him?"
