He pushed past her, still clutching his boater to his face. The next day, he caught the train back to New York City. In February he headed south to Charleston, and this past April returned to New York to catch the Lake Shore Limited to Chicago. With each move, a trunk accompanied him, along with a large suitcase. The trunk was stored in the luggage car; the suitcase he insisted on having in his sleeping compartment, where he paid to have both berths. He always tipped the porters well for the extra trouble. He had attended Dale Carnegie’s class at the YMCA in Harlem and been impressed by bits of wisdom: always repeat a person’s name, always tip generously.

Riverview Amusement Park wouldn’t open until mid-May, which gave him plenty of time to get settled in Chicago. In the last few years, amusement parks had sprung up across the country, along with nickelodeons and movie theaters and vaudeville houses. The amusement parks had the advantage of great crowds and countless children. He’d been dazzled to the point of nausea the first time he’d visited Luna Park in Coney Island. A summer day with tens of thousands of visitors eating hot dogs and lobster rolls and buttered corn, swimming in the ocean, screaming on the roller coasters—even fucking, in the dark rides.

But he learned to navigate Luna Park and its boardwalk rival, Dreamland, and then later Wonderland outside Boston, and finally Riverview. He’d been amazed to see that they all had the same rides—Hell Gate, the Witching Waves, the Blue Streak coaster, the Derby Racer.

Carousels of course were a dime a dozen, as were the Infant Incubators. They were very impressive, though the little things looked a bit like grubs. When the German who’d invented the incubators couldn’t find hospitals that would pay to house and staff his miraculous machines, he’d taken them to Coney Island, then Wonderland and Riverview. A German doctor hadn’t invented the Hell Gate attraction, but he wondered if the engineer who’d designed the dark ride at Dreamland had designed those at Wonderland and Riverview.

Now, the wind off the Lagoon brought little comfort as he walked: his clothes were soaked with sweat. He slipped a hand into his pocket to stroke the dress there. His heart stirred, knowing what was ahead, and recalling this afternoon’s events.

“What’s your name,” he’d asked as their boat neared the Hell Gate chute.

“I already told you. Maria,” she replied, her tone sullen, and moved from his lap to the bench. He could tell she was growing uneasy, but he knew that, within minutes, the tunnel’s terrors would override any mistrust she had of him.