was poking into the road.
“Do you think you should do that?” Evie questioned.
“Why not? They probably think of it as a weed.” She sniffed it. “Mmm, smell.” She held it out to Evie.
“No thanks.”
With a shrug, Cassandra stuck it in her handbag. As they approached Forty-second Street, the Croton Reservoir loomed, a great brick construction providing much of the city’s clean water.
“It is hard for me to get my bearings and compare what is in this location in the future,” Evie said.
“It is the site of the New York Public Library.”
“Oh, and so Bryant Park is next to it.”
“No, not yet, that is where the Crystal Palace is now.”
They turned the corner at the reservoir and could make out the top of the massive dome glittering in the sunlight. Along Forty-second Street, the curious milled past to see the nearly-completed structure. Ladies, out making rounds in their carriages, rolled by, checking on its progress. Workers skittered about within a roped-off area, careless of the attention.
Nothing could prepare them for how spectacular a building it was. The exterior of the palace had been recently finished. Like an enormous, overturned Tiffany lamp, it was constructed of painted glass panels and wrought iron. Its shape was of a Greek cross, with four sections, each of equal length, and a great dome in the middle. The façade was decorated with rows upon rows of arched, glass windows and panels, enameled in robin’s egg blue, pink, lavender, pale green—translucent, but not transparent. Three more huge arches made up the entrance, directly beneath a half of a great gothic rosace. From behind the rope, they could see workmen inside and could hear the pounding of hammers on metal, smell the heat of soldering and smelting, and the tang of fresh oil paint. They stood and stared until a stocky man in coveralls noticed them.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said cheerfully, removing his hat as he walked toward them. “What do you think?”
Cassandra spoke. “It is absolutely breathtaking. We just came to see how it is all coming along. We will not be here for the Fair, so we are taking the opportunity now.”
The man smiled proudly as if taking credit for the entire operation. “Yes, it is an amazing piece of workmanship, I have to agree. It will stand forever—a monument to man’s ingenuity. The next time you come to New York, you can visit it again.”
Cassandra knew that the building would be destroyed in a fire some years later. She put on a sad countenance. “I do not know if we will ever have a chance to come back. This is our year to travel. After that, we will be devoted to home and family.”
Evie glanced at her.
The man looked around furtively. “Well, I am the foreman supervising the ironworks, and I can take you in if I want to. Would you like a brief tour? I am afraid I cannot take you everywhere, because it is not completely safe yet, but I can give you an idea of where the various exhibits are going to be.”
“We would be delighted!” replied Cassandra.
“Yes, please!” agreed Evie.
Cassandra felt gratified that she was finally showing some interest.
The man took out his handkerchief and wiped his face, taking a moment to smooth his hair back before replacing his hat. He grinned broadly. He glanced around, then lifted the rope so his guests could slip under.
“I am Mr. Wayne Marshall,” he said as he led them inside.
“Mrs. Reilly.”
“I am Miss Bay.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, still smiling, his weathered face crinkling around the eyes.
As they walked toward the center, he pointed out where some of the exhibitions would likely be situated, and explained that more than twenty-three nations would be represented. He excitedly spoke about the technological marvels that he’d heard about that would be displayed, sewing machines and elevators and all manner of modern machinery. There would be sculptures and paintings, mineralogical exhibits, and metal
“Do you think you should do that?” Evie questioned.
“Why not? They probably think of it as a weed.” She sniffed it. “Mmm, smell.” She held it out to Evie.
“No thanks.”
With a shrug, Cassandra stuck it in her handbag. As they approached Forty-second Street, the Croton Reservoir loomed, a great brick construction providing much of the city’s clean water.
“It is hard for me to get my bearings and compare what is in this location in the future,” Evie said.
“It is the site of the New York Public Library.”
“Oh, and so Bryant Park is next to it.”
“No, not yet, that is where the Crystal Palace is now.”
They turned the corner at the reservoir and could make out the top of the massive dome glittering in the sunlight. Along Forty-second Street, the curious milled past to see the nearly-completed structure. Ladies, out making rounds in their carriages, rolled by, checking on its progress. Workers skittered about within a roped-off area, careless of the attention.
Nothing could prepare them for how spectacular a building it was. The exterior of the palace had been recently finished. Like an enormous, overturned Tiffany lamp, it was constructed of painted glass panels and wrought iron. Its shape was of a Greek cross, with four sections, each of equal length, and a great dome in the middle. The façade was decorated with rows upon rows of arched, glass windows and panels, enameled in robin’s egg blue, pink, lavender, pale green—translucent, but not transparent. Three more huge arches made up the entrance, directly beneath a half of a great gothic rosace. From behind the rope, they could see workmen inside and could hear the pounding of hammers on metal, smell the heat of soldering and smelting, and the tang of fresh oil paint. They stood and stared until a stocky man in coveralls noticed them.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said cheerfully, removing his hat as he walked toward them. “What do you think?”
Cassandra spoke. “It is absolutely breathtaking. We just came to see how it is all coming along. We will not be here for the Fair, so we are taking the opportunity now.”
The man smiled proudly as if taking credit for the entire operation. “Yes, it is an amazing piece of workmanship, I have to agree. It will stand forever—a monument to man’s ingenuity. The next time you come to New York, you can visit it again.”
Cassandra knew that the building would be destroyed in a fire some years later. She put on a sad countenance. “I do not know if we will ever have a chance to come back. This is our year to travel. After that, we will be devoted to home and family.”
Evie glanced at her.
The man looked around furtively. “Well, I am the foreman supervising the ironworks, and I can take you in if I want to. Would you like a brief tour? I am afraid I cannot take you everywhere, because it is not completely safe yet, but I can give you an idea of where the various exhibits are going to be.”
“We would be delighted!” replied Cassandra.
“Yes, please!” agreed Evie.
Cassandra felt gratified that she was finally showing some interest.
The man took out his handkerchief and wiped his face, taking a moment to smooth his hair back before replacing his hat. He grinned broadly. He glanced around, then lifted the rope so his guests could slip under.
“I am Mr. Wayne Marshall,” he said as he led them inside.
“Mrs. Reilly.”
“I am Miss Bay.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, still smiling, his weathered face crinkling around the eyes.
As they walked toward the center, he pointed out where some of the exhibitions would likely be situated, and explained that more than twenty-three nations would be represented. He excitedly spoke about the technological marvels that he’d heard about that would be displayed, sewing machines and elevators and all manner of modern machinery. There would be sculptures and paintings, mineralogical exhibits, and metal
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