They left him behind and entered the line, then rode the elevators up to the 110-foot platform of the wireless telegraph observation office. The elevator opened into a room made of glass walls surrounding wooden desks, switches, and boxes of cylinders. It smelled like crisp paper and a hint of copper. There was a clicking sound as the dispatchers sent wireless messages to theSt. Louis Post-DispatchandtheSt. Louis Star. “Step right up and try it!” one of the uniformed workers encouraged the crowd. “Send messages across the fairgrounds and then go retrieve them yourself!”
Grace stepped closer to the windows overlooking the emerald, manicured strips that spilled over the grounds below, the streetlamps set like neat pins amid the lagoons and canals, the sculpted cupolas perched atop the ivory buildings. The Ivory City stretched on and on. The people below looked so small, walking the strip of the Pike. She could glimpse a bird’s-eye view of Jerusalem, a massive holy city surrounded by walls that contained replicas of the Western Wall and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre’s jewel-blue rotunda. Grace walked the periphery of the telegraph room, and in the distance, she glimpsed the Philippine Village, with young boys diving for coins in the lakes.
It was impossible to believe that soon, all of this would be gone. A brilliant matchstick whose flame drew the world close, and then snuffed out.
Through a partitioned window she saw another room, where a great spark appeared to accompany each signal sent through the air.
She cocked her head at Earnest, then raised a gloved hand to knock.
The man who answered looked annoyed. “Yes,” he said through a bushy mustache.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. “But it’s urgent. We are looking for someone named Glen Parkins. We need to speak to him.”
He scowled. “There’s no one here by that name.”
Earnest appeared at her side and Grace stopped the door from closing with her foot. “Perhaps it’s Perkins?” she asked.
The man shook his head and shut the door roughly in her face.
Grace’s cheeks burned. She took a step back, and Earnest gently touched her elbow.
Had Ethel invented someone? Made up a story and sent them on a wild goose chase?
Just then a young man in a cap tapped her on the shoulder. He was Latino and had a baby face, with the barest beginning of a mustache. “Ma’am. I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said. “Do you mean George Parsons?”
“Yes!” Grace said, turning on her heel. “Yes, that must be who I mean.”
“There’s a George Parsons who works here. But he left town. Had a family emergency.”
“Thank you. Did he say when he would return?”
“I think the boss expects him back on Friday.”
That was three days away.
“Could I leave my name and a way to get in contact as soon as he returns? It’s really urgent we speak with him,” Grace said.
“That’s a good idea,” Earnest said. “Let’s leave him my address. It’s a little more permanent.”
“What’s your name?” Grace asked the young man as she pulled out her notebook for a piece of paper.
“Santiago.”
“Thank you so much for your help,” Grace said.
Earnest wrote out his address and handed it to Santiago. “As soon as you can.”
She kept waiting for Earnest to offer to pay him, but he didn’t. He smiled at Grace and took her by the arm.
She stole a look over her shoulder as they made their way to the elevator. Santiago was slipping Earnest’s address in his pocket.
A sixth sense was making her feel as though something weren’t quite right.
Grace followed Earnest into the elevator, but at the last minute she stepped out.
“You go on,” she said, as the doors were closing. “I forgot one thing.”
She opened her purse. She had only a few dollars left. She hesitated.
