But a sixth sense told her it was important to keep some money aside for a rainy day. Her situation at Sloane House felt too precarious to not be prepared for any sort of problem. Yesterday’s events only reinforced that.
With some of the portion she kept, she bought another ticket to the fair. She also hid some cash in the lining of her boot. If she suddenly did get dismissed, she didn’t want to be worrying about how she was going to eat or find shelter. At least not immediately.
Rosalind went to the World’s Fair on her next day off. This time, she didn’t mention where she was going to anyone. Things had gone from bad to worse with Nanci, and though no one had actually said anything, Rosalind felt a shift in everyone’s attitudes toward her—as if she hadn’t been completely innocent when Veronica claimed she’d seen her steal her tortoiseshell comb.
After paying the entrance fee, she went directly to the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building. It was not only the largest building, but also had the distinction of being the only structure that held booths from almost every state and country present at the Columbian Exposition. Rosalind figured if Miranda had gotten mixed up with someone at the fair, there was a good chance that someone in that building might have seen her.
She was wrong.
In fact, three hours later, she was regretting her decision. She’d forgotten that thousands of people visited the fairgrounds every day, and during that time, exhibitors were busy talking to visitors. No one had time to scan the crowds and look at women.
Still, she tried. Over and over, she interrupted conversations, asked for help, and explained that her sister was missing. But no matter how many people she showed Miranda’s photograph to, no one recognized her sister. In fact, the only response she’d gotten had been lewd offers.
After a pair of workers from the Ireland cubicle followed her for several minutes, Rosalind left the building. Outside, the air was warm and humid. Almost stagnant.
She left the fairgrounds in a haze of disappointment. She was running out of ideas for whom to contact about Miranda, but she was not eager to rush back to Sloane House. But she stepped on a trolley and took it back toward Michigan Avenue.
By now she was familiar with grip cars and was even more used to the ebb and flow of big-city life. Now she had a better sense of whom to avoid completely. In addition, she’d begun to be invigorated by the noises and sights of Chicago. She was intrigued by the many people from different backgrounds, amused by the way everyone—no matter what economic level they were on—was able to mingle and meander together. An energy was present that didn’t exist in the countryside of Wisconsin.
After helping a very scared tourist on the trolley with directions, Rosalind realized she’d come full circle. Now, instead of avoiding crowds, she sought them. Instead of only looking to associate with people just like her, she was finding joy in meeting folks who were far different. She was worlds apart from the shy, timid girl who’d arrived at Sloane House with only a hope and a prayer of discovering what had happened to her sister. Somehow, some way, she’d come into her own.
And she was grateful for that, she realized. Even if she still failed in her efforts to discover what had happened to Miranda, she was thankful for the opportunity to grow as a person. So few people had been given opportunities like the one she’d received.
She traveled a quarter of an hour, then hopped off the trolley and stepped into a candy store. Giving in to temptation, she bought a small bag of peppermints. After popping one in her mouth, she decided to avoid the street car for a bit and walk to Sloane House.
The peppermints kept her happy as she strolled down one block, then two. Just as she crossed another intersection, a fight broke out on the street.
It began in an instant, with the force of lightning. First there was calm, then within seconds a noisy fray broke out. Fists began to fly, curses were screamed, clothing was torn. Within seconds, the altercation that had started between two men quickly turned into a noisy brawl that encompassed at least twelve ruffians.
Rosalind became frightened as the fight grew more violent. She noticed other women, men, and children taking great care to move far out of the fight’s perimeters. Thinking that was the right decision, she darted into the first open door she saw, the open door to a beautiful stone church.
The entrance loomed like the first sign of hope she’d been aware of in ages. The cool vestibule felt like a long-forgotten hug, easing her muscles. Encouraging her to relax, gently reminding her to take time to pray.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she walked slowly inside, becoming aware of the strong sense of peace that surrounded her, melding in with the dim light, infusing her senses with the scents of incense, candles, and lemon oil.