For a moment Grace thought Theodore was going to decline. But the muscle in his jaw rippled with his curt nod.
Harriet brought them to Luchow-Faust’s, the Tyrolean Alps restaurant on the Pike. They moved down the long stretch of Pike, more raucous in the night than it had been that morning. Theodore’s hold on Grace’s arm tightened near the dizzying entrance to the House of Mirth with its funhouse mirrors and the bars that spilled out with drunk patrons. Barkers were yelling into megaphones and from somewhere in the distance, Grace heard cannonfire. Eventually, upon entering the German portion of the fairgrounds, they passed through an alpine village complete with castles, a ridge of snow-capped, manmade mountains, and a group singing “Das Wandern.”
By the time they arrived inside the restaurant, Grace’s head was spinning.
“A table for three,” Theo said to the host. “Somewhere private, please.”
It was warm inside, and when Grace took off Theo’s coat, she felt his gaze fall ever so briefly along her clavicle, the curve of her shoulder.
She relished a little of the power of it, that though he apparently thought her station in life far beneath him, he could still find her attractive.
“Did you follow me out here just to ruin my suit?”
The derision in his voice that night in Chicago flashed across her mind, razor-sharp and unbidden. It almost took her breath away. To be judged by someone and found wanting—it had made her feel so hollow, like a melon that had been scraped raw and clean.
She abruptly turned away.
The inside of the restaurant was an architectural marvel, with soaring ceilings and seating for 2,500 unobstructed by any posts. Grace’s eyes scanned the room as they were led up to a large, more private room on the second floor. There was a gorgeous mahogany bar, and a Black man was playing the piano on an elevated stage.
“A Budweiser, please,” Theo said after studying the extensive menu.
“I’ll have a Roman punch and… a chocolate éclair,” Harriet said. “My frazzled nerves want some chocolate. I’ll share with you, Grace.”
“Thank you. I’ll have the Faust Blend coffee with cream.”
“And some french fried potatoes for the table,” Theo said. As the waiter left Theo excused himself to speak to someone he recognized at the bar.
Harriet leaned toward Grace as though she were sharing a secret. “That’s Scott Joplin playing the piano over there,” she said.
“He’s good,” Grace said.
“He better be. He’s the King of Ragtime.”
“I’d pay to hear him again. Is he playing at Festival Hall this week?”
Harriet shook her head. “Festival Hall is reserved for ‘civilized’ music. No ragtime allowed, except on the Pike.”
“I thought the fair was supposed to be welcome to all,” Grace said.
Harriet chuffed. “Tell that to the African American man I saw being denied a cup of water this morning. This is hardly the same experience for everyone.”
“But—” Grace began. But wasn’t the fair supposed to be about progress? Wasn’t that the entire point of it?
Harriet took a strong sip of her drink. “You smell like Theodore, you know.”
For some reason, Grace’s face warmed.
“It’s that distinct note of… something,” Harriet said. “You know? Like cinnamon and smoke.”
Grace did know. It was different than he had smelled in Chicago, and now, to her, he smelled like Christmas. Like when her father made spiced cider and they drank it in front of the fire. “It was kind of him to lend me his coat,” she said, stirring cream into her coffee. She could feel Harriet’s eyes on her.
“Ever think about taking my fake suitor as your real one?” Harriet teased, nudging Grace.
Grace almost choked. “Having oodles of money and smelling nice hardly make up for having the personality of a dishrag.”
Harriet snorted, offering half of the éclair to Grace, who couldn’t tell if she felt squeamish or starving. She hoped the sweet richness of the cream filling would fill the emptiness and calm her stomach.
It was as if Harriet could read Grace’s mind. “What happened tonight was terrifying,” she said quietly. “Wasn’t it?” She hesitated, then put her hand gently over Grace’s. Grace blinked up at the chandeliers.
