room, banging the door against the wall after him.
“Mary, help me into my shoes,” I’d said and coughed again.
“Emily, you really are not well. Perhaps you should stay home,” she said as she bent to fasten the buckle on my beautiful silk and leather pumps.
“As with most of my life, I find that I have very little choice left to me. I must go, Mary. It will be all the worse for me if I stay.”
She hadn’t said anything more, but her pitying expression had been words enough.
I’d been grateful that the carriage ride to the Midway was blissfully short, though the roads were clogged with people. Even Father gaped around us. “My God! The entire world is in Chicago!” he’d exclaimed.
I was glad that he was too busy to stare at me, and too busy to notice that when I dabbed my lace handkerchief to my mouth it was because I was attempting to cover a cough.
Even ill and nervous as I was, I will never forget my first glimpse of the Midway and the miracle that was the World’s Columbian Exposition. It was, indeed, a great, white city, luminous as my mother’s pearls. Awestruck, I held to Father’s arm and allowed him to lead me to the group of dignitaries that waited in an elegant group before the street entrance of the Midway Plaisance.
“Burnham! Well done—well done!” Father had bellowed as we joined them. “Ryerson, Ayer, Field! Look at the crowds. I knew if they could get it built it would do well, and by God, I was right,” he’d blustered, then he’d freed my arm and hurried to join the other men.
As Father clapped Burnham on the back, Arthur Simpton stepped past him, met my eyes, and tipped his hat to me. His smile beamed happiness, and some of the tightness in my chest began to loosen as I returned his smile and even dared to mouth a quick “I have missed you so!” to him.
“Yes!” he’d shouted and nodded, and then had hastily rejoined the other men while my father was still engaged in an animated conversation with Mr. Burnham.
I’d joined the women’s group, finding Mrs. Simpton easily, as she was so tall and handsome, though we hardly murmured the barest of polite hellos to one another. We were far too busy staring around us in wonder.
Mr. Burnham, who looked as if he had aged years since my dinner party, though it had only been little over a week ago, cleared his throat dramatically and then lifted an ivory and gold scepter with a miniature domed building atop it, and announced, “Friends, family, businessmen, and beloved ladies of Chicago, I bid you to enter the White City!”
Our group moved forward into pure fantasy. To either side of us was a living museum. As we walked down the Midway we passed groups of exotic village settings so that it appeared as if we had been transported instantly and magically from China to Germany, Morocco to Holland, and even to the darkest regions of Africa!
We didn’t speak to each other more than to gasp and point from one marvel to another.
When we reached the Egyptian exhibit I was mesmerized. The temple stretched above me, a golden pyramid, covered with exotic and mysterious symbols. I’d stood there, my breath coming rapidly, my handkerchief pressed against my lips stifling another cough, and the golden curtain that served as the door to the temple was pulled aside. A stunningly beautiful woman had emerged. She sat on a gilded throne that had been built atop two side-by- side poles that rested on the shoulders of six men, black as pitch and muscular as bulls.
She’d stood and commanded everyone’s attention so completely that, even in the midst of the human cacophony surrounding us, fell a pocket of silence.
“I am Neferet! Queen of Little Egypt. I command that you attend me.” Her voice was rich and distinctive, with an accent as seductive as it was foreign. She’d opened her golden cape, and shrugged it off to reveal a scant costume of silk and strands of golden beads and bells. From within the temple came a drum beat, sonorous and rhythmic. Neferet lifted her arms gracefully and began to undulate her hips in time with the music.
I had never seen a woman so beautiful or so bold. She did not smile. Truthfully, she seemed to mock the watching crowd with her icy gaze and her brazen looks. Her large dark eyes were painted heavily with black and gold. In the small indentation of her navel rested a sparkling red gemstone.
“Emily! There you are! Mother said she’d lost you. Our group has moved on. Your father would be very angry if he knew you had remained here, watching this lewd woman’s show.” I’d looked up to see Arthur frowning at me.
Staring around us, I realized he’d been right—his mother, the rest of the women, our entire group were all nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, I didn’t realize I’d been left! Thank you for finding me, Arthur,” I’d taken his arm, but as he led me away I’d glanced back at Neferet. Her dark gaze met mine, and very distinctly and haughtily, she’d laughed. I remember that at that moment all I could think was:
But I was not Neferet. I was queen of nothing, and I would rather be led around by Arthur Simpton than abused by my father. So I’d clung to Arthur, telling him how good it was to see him and how desperately I’d missed him, and listened to him talk on and on about how excited he and his parents were about our impending betrothal, and how he was not at all in the least bit nervous—though his torrent of words seemed to belie his protestations.
It was almost dusk by the time we found our group, finally rejoining them at the base of the enormous and fantastic creation Arthur explained they were calling a Ferris wheel.
“Emily, there you are!” Mrs. Simpton called to us and waved. I’d been mortified to see that she was standing beside Father. “Oh, Mr. Wheiler, did I not tell you my Arthur would find her safe and sound, and return her to us? And so he has.”
“Emily, you must not wander off. Anything could happen to you out of my sight!” Father had gruffly taken me from Arthur’s arm without so much as one word to Arthur or his mother. “Wait over there with the other women while I get our tickets for the Ferris wheel. It has been decided that we are all riding it before we depart for the University Club and dinner.” He’d tossed me toward the group, and I’d stumbled into Camille and her mother.
“Excuse me,” I’d said, righting myself. It had been then that I’d noticed what I hadn’t earlier when the Midway had completely captivated my attention—Camille was with the women’s group, as were several of my old friends: Elizabeth Ryerson, Nancy Field, Janet Palmer, and Eugenia Taylor. They seemed to form a solid and disapproving wall behind Camille and her mother.
Mrs. Elcott had looked down her long nose at me. “I see you’re wearing your mother’s pearls as well as one of her dresses, although the reworking of it has very much changed its appearance.”
I’d already been more than aware of how the alteration of Mother’s dress accentuated my body, and I could see by the censorious looks on their faces that while I had been distracted by the wonders of the fair, they had been judging and condemning me.
“And I see you are on the arm of Arthur Simpton,” Camille added in a voice that echoed her mother’s pinched tone.
“Yes, convenient of you to get yourself lost so that he had to find you,” Elizabeth Ryerson had spoken up as well.
I’d squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. There was no point in attempting to explain my jewels or my clothes, and I certainly was not going to hide from these women, but I’d felt I must come to Arthur’s defense. “Mr. Simpton was being a gentleman.”
Mrs. Elcott had snorted. “As if you were being a lady! And it’s
“Emily, are you quite well?” Mrs. Simpton had moved to stand beside me, facing the group of sour-faced girls. I noticed she was sending a hard look to Mrs. Elcott.
That had made me smile.
“Quite well, thanks to your son. Mrs. Elcott and Camille and a few of the girls were commenting on what a gentleman he is, and I was agreeing with them,” I’d said.
“How nice of them to notice,” Mrs. Simpton had said. “Ah, Emily, there are our men with the tickets.” She’d pointed to Father, Mr. Elcott, and Arthur. The three of them were walking toward our group. “Emily, you will sit beside me, won’t you? I have a dreadful fear of heights.”
“Of course,” I’d said. As Mrs. Simpton walked forward to meet her son, who was smiling distractingly at me, I’d felt Camille brush up close to me. Behind her I could feel the weight of the other girls’ stares. Her whispered voice had been filled with spite. “I find that you are very changed, and not for the better.”
