~Chapter Three ~

She shook her head as she walked, skirting the fair at the far end, her thoughts turning toward the strangeness of the day thus far. At least now she knew what the train had brought. Veering into town, she'd tend to a bit of shopping before she returned home. Her first stop was the tea shop, a small packet of the dried catnip tea her father enjoyed for his nerves, as well as a small strawberry cake which she nibbled at as she moved on in her shopping. She stepped into a second-hand shop, browsing with a smile sent toward the girl behind the counter. She rumaged through scraps donated by others when their projects were completed. Too small for anything usually, but a bright flash of crimson caught her eye and she snatched it up with a quick measurement. Whatever gown this had become, she was sure it was magnificent, and its owner was a true angel for leaving so large a square. She dug through the bottles of paint on a shelf, most were the usual colors, and she could not help but feel disappointed. A rolled black cloth undone, and she grinned at the sight of bristles and wood, unused save one empty spot, but she hoped he would forgive it's loss. A book plucked from the shelf the moment she noted its title. A barrel of buttons sitting beside the counter caught her eye as she went to pay for her selections. Half buried, but still vibrant, a two-hole button of shiny ebony color, a four-leaf clover of silver color cut into its surface on both sides. She added it to her pile with a grin, knowing just what she'd do with it.

When she left, she had spent much of her pin money, but she had been happy to lose every penny for what she gained. She made for home, though it would be noon before she reached it. A note was laid on the breakfast table when she entered. Setting down her parcels, she plucked it up.

I have gone over to Johnson's to help him get his bull loaded.

Hazel has gone with the Cobb girls to get her flowers entered.

They're planning on staying in town until the official opening tonight.

I will be home as soon as I can.

She set it down and put the perishables away. She found herself in a very cheery mood as she prepared some sandwiches and covered them in a cloth on the table. The items she'd purchased with her newly made friends in mind were carefully wrapped in what pretty writing paper she could find. For the last one, she would, however, need a goodly length of strong twine.

The sun had neared the horizon, the crowd gathered outside of the gate, awaiting the official opening of the fairgrounds. The dusky sky was awash in purples and deep indigos pouring into golds and red wine swirls at the horizon. The mayor stood in his spot atop the hastily constructed platforms of orange crates and planks. The people were looking over his shoulder, peering all about to try and see more. The glint of the gold pocket watch in his hand caught the low light and he let the long finger reach the space between the one and the two at the top of his watch before he raised his hand to call for silence.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I, your mayor, Rupert Brown, am a man of few words. I know you're anxious to go in and enjoy the fair, and I wouldn't want to keep you from it. This is the one hundred and forty-second year since our proud county was ..."

"Get on with it!" A voice from the back of the crowd shouted

"Yes... yes." He frowned a bit and lifted his hand to the switch, speaking a bit quickly. "And with our thoughts turned from the past to the promise of the future, I am proud to hereby declare the fair... Open!" he threw the switch and across the field, like dawn, long rows of electric bulbs, strung on wires high overhead and transecting the fairgrounds, rose to illuminate the scene. Everyone gasped and then broke into wild cheering as the wide gates were thrown open and the crowd began to drift through to investigate the booths and attractions. The air was filled with the scents of all manner of food to tempt the tastebuds, booths hung heavily with prizes to win by game of chance or raffle ticket, a midway of rides for children and adults, and of course at the end of the row, the promise of a show unlike any other seen before.

She walked with her sister and father, her purse heavy with her bounty. Her father kept tugging at his pressed collar, and gazing around expectantly. He was fooling no one. She knew who he was looking for, though she had so far been just as happy to feign ignorance to his feelings as he was. Hazel found time to flirt with every boy who paid her attention, which was every boy in town who didn't already have a steady girl of his own, and some who did. She was quite used to it, and shifted between being polite toward Hazel's beaus and supporting her father as he talked to friends they met on the way. Soon though, they were moving again, the crowd flowing around them like a river of flesh and chatter. At last, they reached the tent at the back of the fairgrounds, the panels between the signs rolled back, though a rope was hung, one end held by the warmly smiling, dark haired form of Peter Walter, the second, his face shaven, his Gatsby gone in exchange for a jauntily tipped fedora. He wore a deep red shirt beneath a black vest, his trousers the same almost glossy ebony. He had a long spool of tickets wound like a serpent around his arm and up across his shoulders, trading the slips of paper for pennies. His voice carried well, and she could hear him reminding folk to keep hold of their tickets for they could use it when the show was over for discounts on souvenirs.

"Oh my .." She heard Hazel gasp. "Look... just look." She looked where her sister was pointing and saw the sign blowing slightly in the breeze.

"Steam Man Band? Sounds interesting. May we go see the show, Father?" Her tone interested but not overly so. She didn't want to reveal that she had been there earlier. Why ruin the surprise?

He looked all around, and not spying the widow he sought just yet, he gave a nod and began digging into his pocket for payment once they were in the swiftly moving line. Mary fell back, just a bit, and signaled Peter with a subtle press of her finger to her lips and a shake of her head to not in any way betray that she had been there. He did not show that he registered it, but when it was their turn, he was his charming self, but showed no sign of familiarity. She had been in the tent before, but now, the ceiling was covered in steam, the air was humid and the electric lamps that hung about were flickering, making the scene a bit eerie. She perched on her chair, her hands folded in her lap, squeezed tight to hide her anticipation and excitement.

"He was quite handsome." She heard Hazel say from the other side of her father. "The man with the tickets. Pity he's not done anything more with his life."

She opened her mouth to defend Peter, but closed it quickly, reminding herself that she hadn't been there before as far as they knew. The lamps began to dim and a voice that she knew to be the Colonel's rose in the darkness that now permeated the tent.

"Step right up an see the fabulous sights, hear the fantastic sound, experience the wonder, the mystery, the marvel of my very own hand made ... Ladies and Gentleman, I present to you, the 8½th wonder of the world, P. A. Walter's Steam Man Band."

All was silence and darkness. The faint sound of heavy footsteps, the whir of gears and cogs shifting. Then, like a cold touch of fingers to the back of your neck, soft and yet somehow ominous, a voice rose melodically in the dark.

"Oh children of ours... gather around...Yes pull up a seat, and sit on the ground. I'll tell you a story, and I'll tell it well..."

"This isn't one of those horror shows is it?" She heard Hazel whimper softly as lights began to flicker at the stage, all tinted purple and green, the steam from the band roiling upward toward the ceiling and lending an air of further mystery.

"... and how he fell..."

The sound of mechanic motion was almost drowned by the rising tide of crickets and creaking frogs, the notes of a banjo plucked made the hairs at the back of her neck rise, the trio of voices rising as one.

"One moonlit nii-iiight..." then, with a hiss of steam and a rumble of thunder, the notes of a squeeze box and the lights rose to illuminate the band, their instruments in hand. She grinned at the deep, collective inhale from the crowd. The Spine in his black fedora, red tie and black suit cradled his guitar, the gleaming silver of his fingers plucking out the proper notes as Rabbit, his accordion against his chest, the bright red of his gloved hands moving to draw the melody forth, the goggles situated at the band of his hat, The Jon's golden visage, framed by the coils of blonde beneath his top hat, the pale blue of his eyes glinting with child-like glee as he strummed along. "One moonlit night, on the bayou a silhouette, the air was sweet and the fog was violet."

From that moment, the crowd was theirs. Each song enthralled and the jests between the songs set the people to laughing at their antics. She watched them as one by one they introduced themselves individually and gave the story of their creation. It sounded a bit fanciful, but she'd never been outside of Virginia. Who was she to say there were not copper elephants of dangerous intent wandering about in Africa. The music was varied, even working in a bit of a jazzy beat which she was sure would offend the more staid citizens, but being played by machines somehow it seemed quite accessible to them as even Widow Bishop was tapping her cane along with the music. The songs played on, a cheery song about steamboats followed by a sprightly ditty about a navy captain's adventures. Then talk of the wild west, of electronic harmonics and Rex Marksley, the greatest of inventors and sharpshooters. By the time the show wound down, a last song that reiterated the band's tale of creation and their longing to feel as humans did, the chorus inspiring a sing-along. Everyone seemed thoroughly entertained, applauding mightily as they would for any human band, as if, for a moment, they forgot the Steam Man Band wasn't human.

Mary smiled as the crowd began to filter out, grinning wider when a pair of boys walked past arguing who would win in a fight, Captain Alexander or Rex Marksley, each having their favorite and hearing nothing of the other one winning. The crowd slid out slow as many stopped to pay the quarter for hand-colored pictures of the band as souvenirs, only fifteen cents if they'd kept their ticket as told, which many had. She rose with her father and sister and they joined the queue. Hazel bought both a group photo and one of The Jon, the latter done when her father was not looking and quickly stuck it in her pocket as they drifted away from the tent.

Hazel found a group of girlfriends from school and her father was content to let her go with them to sit in the school booth to try and raise money for new blackboards. Down the row, at the Boy Scout's booth, she could see by the look on the widow Pearce's face that they had not yet found the right measure of sugar to use. "Look, Father. Lemonade." She glanced up at him, watching his face shift from seeking to one who found what he was looking for.

"Oh... yes. I am a bit thirsty now that you mention it." He stood up straighter and smoothed his hair, then his shirt front and his fingers rose to fidget with his collar.

"I'll be fine, Father. I think, if it is alright with you, I'll go explore a little? You'll be alright?" All but biting her lip in her effort to hide her smile. She loved her mother, and she knew he had as well, but it had been four years, but she and Hazel were grown. He deserved a little happiness of his own.

"Yes, yes... whatever you think best, Mary." Spoken distractedly as he was already stepping away in an attempt to look casual. Just run into Judith as if it hadn't been his intention for weeks now.

She shook her head in amusement and walked on to go look over the fair in the evening, a bright and alluring thing. She watched the rides with keen interest, the carousel in particular. She was fairly sure she was the only one who had ridden it with her head tipped back to watch the workings move. In its way, it was beautiful as the carved horses and pretty lights. By the time she made her way back to the Walters' tent, the next show was already in progress. A few kids were still trying to see, though the occupied bleachers made such impossible. It was nearly the end of her personal money, but she crept up and grabbed the eldest by the back of his collar, guessing right that he was the leader.

"Hold your horses..." She laughed. "You're not in trouble." He stopped trying to kick her in the shin when he realized it was a girl who'd grabbed hold of him. Crouching down, she held out a dime to them. "Take this, and buy yourselves tickets tomorrow. You'll be able to see much better from the front row. " She dropped the dime in his palm, enough to buy each of them a ticket and perhaps even some candy floss. They ran off and she hoped they'd use it. Everyone ought to see the Steam Man Band, she thought.