Love and Other Consolation Prizes(85)

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

She didn’t say anything as the festive music continued to play and the world of Luna Park orbited past their field of vision. That’s when Ernest saw people in uniforms. No one in particular, a group of men, sailors. There were plenty such men to be found on a sunny day. They were pointing to an exhibit where a bear was drinking from a baby bottle. Then one of them glanced over and tipped his cap and leered.

When Ernest turned back, Fahn’s horse was empty. He glimpsed a blur of yellow as the carousel kept spinning. He jumped off and orbited the ride until he found the direction he’d seen Fahn running. As he slipped through the oncoming crowd, he caught another glimpse of her dress and realized she was heading back toward the ferry landing. When he caught up to her near the entrance, she was standing still, staring at the ground, her shoulders rising and falling as she caught her breath.

To Ernest she looked like a rock as a river of people flowed around her. He smiled wanly at the children who passed, laughing.

He took her hand and tried to look into her downcast eyes. “We don’t have to leave so soon,” he said. “Why don’t we just take a break, grab a lemonade and go for a walk?”

Her eyes darted as she glanced up at him and then out toward the ferry, which arrived every thirty minutes. “I’m sorry, Ernest. I know we just got here, but I can’t stay. I don’t think I belong here…”

Ernest didn’t know what he could say to make things better. She had all the confidence in the world within the confines of the Tenderloin, but out here, in the sunshine…“I don’t belong anywhere.” He shrugged. “But here I am.”

She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “I was hoping to tell you in a better way. But Mrs. Blackwell sent a telegram to Miss Amber, care of the Great Northern Railway. She told her about how Maisie had left and how I’d come back.”

Ernest imagined the mixed reactions to those bits of news.

“She got a reply this morning,” Fahn said. “Amber didn’t mention Maisie at all. But she insisted that if I stayed at the Tenderloin, I would have to earn my keep by working upstairs. I know I once told everyone I wanted—”

“You don’t have to,” Ernest said. “Surely, Mrs. Blackwell—”

“I won’t put her job at risk.”

Fahn pulled her hat down lower, shading her eyes. “I’ll manage somehow. Let’s just go home.” She walked out of the park toward the incoming ferry.

Before Ernest could argue or convince her otherwise, he heard the steam whistle blaring from the inbound vessel. And then he heard the peculiar, yet unmistakable strains of collective voices, singing. The song wasn’t from one of the operatic divas featured at the amusement park but was coming from a choir that had assembled on the forecastle of the ferry West Seattle. Even from a distance Ernest recognized the dour countenances of ministers in black robes and ladies bearing signs condemning drinking on the Sabbath. Evidently Mayor Gill’s opponents, the Mothers of Virtue and a sister group, the Forces of Decency, hadn’t been willing to submit. The election had stirred up the hornets’ nest.

Fahn buried her face in her hands.

“Follow me.” Ernest took her arm and spirited her across the parkway to a nearby trolley platform for Seattle Electric Railway’s Alki line. He hastily bought tickets and they boarded the car just in time. He sat Fahn with her back toward the ferry. The protesters disembarked and they began their parade into the amusement park as the trolley rolled away. He held on while they cruised down toward the tidal flats and across the muddy trestles of a bridge that would take them in the direction of home.

—

AFTER SWITCHING TROLLEYS on Spokane Street, they glided back into Pioneer Square. Ernest took Fahn’s hand and helped her off at the platform nearest to the Garment District. She looked tired—not just tired, but lost in shadow.

Ernest couldn’t bear to go back to the Tenderloin in that moment.

But as he scanned the neighborhood, he could see there was no peace and quiet to be had, not in theaters, noisy restaurants and saloons. Plus the streets seemed more crowded than usual, as cars and delivery wagons slowed down and more picketers were gathering for what appeared to be another rally against the newly elected mayor. Ernest spotted Mrs. Irvine addressing the crowd with a megaphone from atop a flatbed truck.

The AYP had revealed Seattle to the whole nation—the good, the bad, the outrageous. But now the wild, open town that Mayor Gill had supported was being put to the test, from its own citizens. Plus the return of Halley’s Comet had aroused yet more doomsday superstitions, worrying parishioners back into church pews, where they hedged their bets with acts of repentance. And those who already had a desire to save souls caught fire and had been joining Mrs. Irvine by the hundreds. A blessed unrest was flooding the Garment District, and Ernest wasn’t sure what might happen at the Tenderloin without Madam Flora or Miss Amber there to defend against the pious incursions.

He led Fahn across the street to the quietest spot he could find, H. J. Ellison’s Bookstore, a favorite hideaway, which was peaceful inside and smelled like coffee and leather. He led her to a row of popular novels, far from the front of the store.

“I really don’t feel up to another lesson on French literature,” Fahn mumbled as she absently browsed recent books by Harold MacGrath and Joseph Conrad. “This is my day off. Why don’t we just go home and I’ll sleep until I have to work?”