Surrender a Dream

From "Surrender a Dream" ChicagoSpring 1894A black enamel Overman safety bicycle rounded the corner. The silver spokes flashed in the sunlight, and the rubber ball-bearing pedals propelled the bike at an outlandish speed of twelve miles per hour. Air-filled pneumatic tires absorbed the shock as the wheels bounced over the deep ruts and steel cable-car tracks that checkered the busy intersection.Ringing like Quasimodo's bell was the cycle's newest doodad -- a sparkling London chime with a genuine nickel gong. It sat atop the handlebars next to a black leather tool bag and a lollipop-shaped oil can that swung from its chain and clanged in ear-ringing discord against the steel bar post. Despite its annoying sound, the can was necessary, for its contents -- the Dynamic Cycle Oil -- made the chain mechanism glide like a yacht on Lake Michigan. Speeding through the morning air, the bicycle made another turn and then sailed down Randolph Street, right into the path of an oncoming bakery wagon.The wagon team reared and the bicycle swerved right, jolting over the curb and cleaving its way through the crowded sidewalk. Women shrieked and men yelled, but the bicycle plunged onward, brakeless and out of control. Suddenly the cycle veered left, heading straight for an iron street lamp. The cyclist released the handlebars and, with both arms, grabbed the lamp post. The front wheel dropped down the curb, and with a loud crunch the bicycle dumped over, leaving its rider clinging like ivy to the cold iron post.Adelaide Amanda Pinkney slowly slid down the lamp post. Her pent-up breath whooshed out the moment her kid pedaling shoes touched the granite sidewalk. She let go of the lamp post and looked at her bicycle, lying across the curb at a twisted angle. Its front wheel was still spinning. Stooping down, she tilted the cycle upright and stared at her pride and joy.It was crooked. She stood and rolled the crippled bike up onto the walk and then watched helplessly as her special plaster-cast, custom-fitted saddle fell to the ground with a sickening thud."Hey, lady! Get a horse!"Her gaze shot up. A crowd had gathered and stood back a bit -- her audience. Some of the men were smirking and the women shot her horrified looks before they regained their composure and scurried away. A few men mumbled something about women drivers before they went on. Not one gentleman offered her assistance. So she ignored them, figuring they were just angry at the thought of being run down by awoman.Then she saw the driver of the bakery wagon and she heardrealanger. He stood with his arms waving like a flag. German curses bellowed from his mouth as he stared at the mess in the street.Addie stifled a groan at the sight. The wagon doors must have opened when the horses reared, and all the wooden trays, filled with loaves of bread, golden doughnuts, and crusty muffins, were scattered in the street. The bread loaves looked like oval pancakes, and the muffins were crumbled chunks. Whole doughnuts rolled along the cobbly gray street until they chanced into the path of speeding carriage wheels.A Chicago policeman, appearing solemn-faced behind his thick gray brush of a mustache, walked toward her. Clenched between his teeth was a whistle whose shrill trumpet could be heard even over the clamor of the busy street. His long, dark coat had double rows of brass buttons. They sparkled, but not half as brilliantly as the star that was pinned on his left breast pocket.Addie wanted to run.Instead, she leaned her bicycle against the lamp post and managed to appear busy as she tucked a few loose strands of raven-black hair back under her straw hat. She tugged her boned shirtwaist back into its proper position and fiddled with the braid on her jacket. Just as she began to dust off the chalky dirt from her navy serge skirt, the policeman arrived. Unable to ignore him when he stood only a scant two fBarnett, Jill is the author of 'Surrender a Dream', published 1991 under ISBN 9780671723415 and ISBN 0671723413.