The Roswell Legacy by Frances Statham (parable of the sower read online .TXT) 📗

pince-nez and gazed at the letters. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid we’ve got a problem.”

“The boys have run away,” Hansel said.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. A very clever maneuver. If you two hadn’t come at the same time, we might not have suspected until next week.”

Riley leaned over and looked at the notes again. “But evidently they plan to get back to school before the term begins. What do you think we should do, Dr. Pemberton?”

“We’ll send out a search party first thing in the morning. But if we don’t find them, there’s nothing left to do but contact their parents.”

In the middle of the night, the steady clack of wheels produced a monotonous, metallic rhythm as the train sped west. While first-class passengers slept in luxurious berths, two small boys, curled up on a seat in one of the day coaches, were oblivious to the sound.

CHAPTER

28

With the Columbian Exposition in full force, the former mud flats of Jackson Park possessed a fairy-tale quality, with islands, lagoons, and wide sweeps of lawn amid a white and gold city. Frederick Olmstead, who had landscaped the parks of New York and Washington, had worked his magic again.

The Columbian Guard, dressed in old-world clothes, resembled the Vatican Swiss Guard with their hose and doublets and swords, as Ginna and Jonathan walked past the statues and fountains on the way to the Transportation Building, which Andrew’s mentor, Louis Sullivan, had designed.

“The exposition is supposed to point to a new age,” Morrow said, joining them. “But Andrew says the architecture has only looked backward to antiquity—all except for Louis. He’s the only one with a vision.”

“But the landscaping is certainly a work of art,” Ginna said.

“Yes. And I suppose we should just enjoy the hoopla like all the other tourists and forget the architecture.”

Jonathan laughed. “That’s a little hard to do with all the turrets, pagodas, and Parthenons—all painted white and gold.”

Trimmed with stucco, the twelve main buildings designed to hold exhibits took up twenty acres each, and interspersed among them were over two hundred smaller buildings of diverse architectural styles. And along the Midway were a Ferris wheel and a merry-go-round, dime museums and freak shows, booths selling cotton candy and iced champagne, and birds on a stick and snake charmers.

After they had spent nearly an hour in the Transportation Building casually viewing the displays of horse-drawn carriages, railcars, steamboats, gondola balloons, cable cars, and the brand-new horseless carriages, Morrow said, “What else would you like to see, Ginna?”

“The artistic exhibit, especially the collection of Gobelin tapestries and porcelains.”

“And you, Jonathan?”

“The map of the United States made out of pickles.”

Ginna nudged him. “Be serious, Jonathan. That sounds like something David would say.”

“Oh, no. David doesn’t like pickles. He would choose the bearded lady, more than likely,” he countered.

“And I might have to choose some headache powders,” Morrow said, “if that cannibal drum on the Midway doesn’t let up.”

“I’m sorry, Morrow,” Ginna said. “Do you really have a headache?”

“No, dear. I was only making a joke, too.”

Ginna gazed in the direction of the Midway tents. “Do you think Siamese twins get headaches at the same time?”

“I don’t know. Let’s go and ask them,” Jonathan said, taking Ginna by the hand.

“Morrow?”

“You two go ahead. Why don’t I check on Nanny and David, then meet you at the pavilion in an hour? We’ll all be ready for something cool to drink by then, I’m sure.”

They parted company, and Ginna and Jonathan went on alone. They held hands so that they would not be separated by the crowd. As they approached the Midway, Ginna stopped suddenly.

“Look, Jonathan. Do you see those women over there?”

“It would be hard to miss them, Ginna.”

She giggled. “The Montgomerys didn’t know I overheard. But all twelve of them came up on the same train from Washington. The older woman, Nelly Rose, brought her girls all the way from New Orleans to see the sights.”

“They seem to be attracting almost as much attention as the sideshows.”

“Which reminds me, where are the Siamese twins?”

“You really are serious about wanting to see them?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes. My father operated on Siamese twins several years ago. Only they were from England, not Siam. But they were lucky, he said, because most can’t be separated. I want to tell him about these.”

The barkers along the Midway vied for the crowd’s attention. As show times neared, people gathered at the ticket boxes and paid their money to see the sights they had never seen and probably would never see again.

Music was everywhere—from the cannibal drumbeat to Sousa’s band—played by small, dark-skinned natives in scant clothing made of leopard hide juxtaposed against tall, fair-skinned men in bright red uniforms with brass buttons and plumed hats.

From one attraction to another Ginna and Jonathan went, sampling the flavor of the exposition like wine tasters who are careful not to imbibe too much on a single bouquet. And when the hour was up, they had seen only a small portion of the exposition’s offerings.

“I wonder if anyone has been to every exhibit and every show?” Ginna asked as she and Jonathan began to walk toward the pavillion.

“I doubt it. Although some act as if they’re trying. It would more than likely take several months of constant attendance. And who has the time to do that?”

“Certainly not us.”

Jonathan took Ginna’s hand again. He leaned over and whispered, “No, we have other things much more important to do.”

Ginna smiled, thinking of the upcoming wedding and the honeymoon later. Suddenly remembering the letter she’d found in her mother’s nightstand, she said, “I finally found your missing letter, Jonathan.”

“Oh? Where?”

Ginna became uncomfortable. “Don’t ask me. But I love the idea of our honeymoon being out west. Are you and Andrew really going to go into the cattle business?”

“We’re discussing it, Ginna. Of course, if we do, he’ll put up some of the money, but I’ll be the one running it. That’s why it would be nice to take a western tour—to