Free Fair Weather by Richard Peck

tackle a jailer.
    He was dyin’ to fight ev’ry night.
    Aunt Euterpe sank back against the buttoned upholstery and took refuge behind her veils. She huddled there like she was coming away from Lincoln’s funeral as onward we rolled, heading for the fair.

T HE W ORST D AY IN A UNT E UTERPE ’ S L IFE

    Part Two
    U nder the summer sun the exposition glittered like a city carved from crystal. The flags of all nations snapped in the china-blue sky. The doorway of the Transportation Building was a solid-gold sunburst. A mass of roses bloomed across the islands with the Japanese temples. And over the domes and spires of the fair the captive balloon looked for the curve of the earth.
    We left Granddad and Buster at the Hall of Electricity. There, it was said, over a long-distance telephone you could hear music being played in New York.
    Aunt Euterpe had seemed to rally. She shooed Lottie and me into the Horticultural Hall to pay a quick call onthe giant cactus in there. But she was in a rush to get us to the Woman’s Building, which was to her the beating heart of the fair. After all, Mrs. Potter Palmer ruled the Board of Lady Managers.
    The Woman’s Building stood on the lip of the lagoon like a villa of ancient Pompeii blown up to gigantic size. The building itself had been designed by a young woman, Miss Hayden. It was fine, of course, by far the finest building we’d ever set foot in.
    As quick as you came inside, you were in a vast hall like a cathedral. There on one wall was a tremendous mural by Mrs. MacMonnies. It depicted cavewomen of prehistoric times, seeming to discover fire.
    “Bringing enlightenment to their menfolk,” Aunt Euterpe murmured behind her veil.
    “Learning how to cook so they’ll never get out of the kitchen,” spoke Lottie into my other ear.
    The pictures on the far wall showed modern women. To understand them took more education than I had. The women danced and played lutes across one panel. I comprehended them. In another, I thought they were flying a kite. But Aunt Euterpe said they were in the Pursuit of Knowledge. In the center scene three women and a girl picked apples off a tree. I thought I grasped that. But Aunt Euterpe said they were gathering the Fruits of the Arts and Sciences.
    These pictures had been painted by Miss Mary Cassatt. Aunt Euterpe said she was the finest artist alive, and a great friend of Mrs. Palmer’s.
    We roamed room after room. Aunt Euterpe trod more firmly in this world full of the achievements of women. I believe I did too. It showed what women could do. They could paint and explore and discover. We could.
    We came upon an exhibition called “The Model Farm Kitchen,” though could there ever be such a wonder as we beheld? The range was fired by gas, so you’d never have to gather another stick of kindling. Water ran hot and cold straight into the sink. Electric lights hung down. A machine washed your clothes for you and wrung them out. Lottie and I couldn’t look at each other for fear of laughing out loud.
    There on the wall of The Model Farm Kitchen was a verse I tried to learn by heart to repeat to Mama. It was called “The Hymn of the Farm Wife”:
    Let the mighty and great
    Roil in splendor and state!
    I envy them not, I declare it.
    I eat my own lamb,
    My own chicken and ham,
    I shear my own sheep and I wear it.
    I have gardens and bowers,
    I have fruits, I have flowers,
    The lark is my morning’s charmer;
    To no one I bow,
    So here’s to the plow!
    Long life and content to the farmer.
    But it didn’t ring true to Lottie. She suspected a man poet had thought it up.
    We drifted on and came to the auditorium just in time to hear Susan B. Anthony on the subject of women’s suffrage. Aunt Euterpe pulled us inside, and we were glad enough to sink into the velvet seats even if it meant being lectured to.
    Miss Anthony’s favorite subject was giving the vote to women. It seemed a long shot to me. But she was an elderly lady, full of years and wisdom.