Memory's Embrace (28 page)

“My photograph is ready, I presume?” he asked, without sparing so much as a glance at Banner. His
manner said that he hoped the portrait had not been finished, so that he would have some reason to believe Tess incompetent.

“It is,” less replied coolly, turning to go back into the workroom, take the photograph from its line, and carry it to the front counter. “That will be fifty cents, please.”

Mr. Filbertson harrumphed and wheezed as he rummaged through his pockets for the money. Presently, he laid two quarters on the scarred if immaculate countertop. “There,” he said.

“I understand you had my brother arrested,” she replied companionably.

Mr. Filbertson shifted and shuffled a bit, his hands resting on the counter. “Er—yes—well—the depositor’s money had to be recovered, you know. In any case, restitution was made by Mr. Cedrick Golden, and, to my knowledge, your brother is no longer being detained.”

Tess was enjoying the banker’s discomfort, but she decided to take pity on him all the same. “I certainly don’t blame you for recovering what was rightfully yours, Mr. Filbertson,” she said, in businesslike tones. “We all must do that, don’t you agree?”

Filbertson reddened; obviously, he knew that Tess was referring to the pressure she had brought to bear the day before, in order to get her own money back. “Yes,” he grumbled, as though it pained him to have to capitulate in even this small way. “Yes, Mrs. Corbin, sometimes we must.” With that, he snatched up his photograph and stomped out of the shop again.

“Are all your customers so warm and friendly?” chimed Banner, watching Mr. Filbertson as he thun
dered across the busy road, nearly getting himself run down by an ice wagon.

“He was my first,” admitted Tess. “I hope the others will be more personable.”

Banner laughed and agreed and then went on to say, “Your first client! This is an occasion. Let’s celebrate with a nice dinner. Following that, we can go to the hospital and visit our surly patient.”

Tess was hungry, and she was tired, too. After all, she hadn’t slept the night before—she’d been too intent on her vigil at Keith’s bedside—and now there were shadows stretching their way across the road outside. But there was one thing she needed more than a rest and a good, nourishing meal, and that was to see her husband, to touch him, to talk to him.

“Couldn’t we go to the hospital first?” she asked shyly.

Banner shook her head in a firm manner that said she was used to giving directions and, more often than not, having them obeyed. “I’m positively ravenous, and I suspect that you are, too. Besides, you can’t cater to these Corbin men, Tess. If you do, they’ll walk all over you.”

Tess couldn’t bring herself to argue. “I’ll just change and lock up the shop, then,” she said, making her way toward the stairs leading up to her private rooms. There, she undressed, washed quickly, put on a clean skirt and shirtwaist, and hastily redid her hair.

When she came downstairs again, Banner was surveying the shop’s bare walls, a pensive look in her beautiful, clover-green eyes. “I think you should display your work, Tess. Put some photographs in the windows and along these walls.”

The idea was a good one, and Tess smiled as she pulled the window shades. “First I’ll have to take some photographs to display,” she pointed out as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, and she locked the door behind them.

“You can take mine,” said Banner affably. “And Keith will be out of the hospital soon, so you could take his ….”

Keith was, as Banner had said, in a surly mood. When Tess came to his bedside and kissed his forehead in greeting, he scowled at her.

“I hope you didn’t drop everything and rush over here on my account,” he grumbled sardonically, casting one eloquent glance at the dark window nearest his bed.

Banner, standing on the opposite side, rolled her eyes and then gave Tess a reassuring wink before bending to kiss Keith herself. Having done that, she turned and walked out of the room without a word in parting.

Watching his brother’s wife disappear from the ward, Keith struggled not to smile and failed. A corner of his mouth quivered and then lifted in a reluctant grin.

Relieved, Tess tried to swallow a yawn and smoothed the dark-honey hair back from Keith’s forehead. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

The azure eyes darted to her face, reading the weariness there. “You’ve been working today, haven’t you?” he accused.

It didn’t occur to Tess to lie. “I did develop one picture. It was amazing, how fast this day went by—”

“For you, maybe,” Keith retorted, grumpy again. “If I don’t get out of this place, Im going to go mad!”

“You will not go mad,” Tess answered briskly. “You need to be here, to rest.”

“You’re a fine one to talk. You were up all night. And then you went to your shop and—”

Tess laid an index finger to his lips. “Shhh. Stop fussing. Losing one night’s sleep wont hurt me, and I didn’t do any hard work. I didn’t even have to fix my supper—Banner bought that.”

He caught her hand in his, removed it to a little distance, inspected the bare ring finger. “I forgot to give you your wedding band,” he observed distractedly.

Tess felt suddenly, inexplicably sad. Or perhaps it was just her weariness that made tears spring into her eyes.

“Shoebutton,” Keith said softly, and the word had the tone of a gentle reprimand. He wrapped his uninjured arm around her, drew her close, and held her.

Chapter Seventeen

S
ATISFIED THAT
K
EITH WOULD INDEED RECOVER
, B
ANNER
returned to Port Hastings the next morning. Tess, never having had a sister of any sort, was sorry to see her go. Sorry to be alone again.

Fortunately, there was work to be done. Tess went upstairs, made up her own bed and the one in the tiny spare room, where Banner had slept, cleared away the dishes left from their light breakfast.

As the morning passed, customers arrived, one and then another, keeping Tess gloriously busy. At one point, she thought to herself that, like a four-leaf clover, Banner had brought her good luck.

It was nearly noon when Rod and Emma arrived—Rod
looking subdued and slightly embarrassed, Emma patently miffed.

“We’ve come to have our portrait taken,” she announced stiffly. “Sort of a belated wedding picture.”

Tess recognized an olive branch when it was extended to her, however reluctantly, and she promptly led the couple into the tiny alcove that served as a sitting room.

Rod took the high-backed chair, looking solemn, while Emma stood behind him, equally somber, one plump hand on her husband’s shoulder.

Tess made sure her camera lens was focused properly, measured out the correct amount of flash powder, and draped a heavy black cloth over her head and the camera itself. When the view she saw through the lens suited her, she squeezed the rubber bulb. The powder exploded and Rod flinched a little, though Emma stood, stalwart, through it all.

“I’ll take one more, just in case,” Tess said busily, mostly to herself, as she again fussed with the powder tray and the cloth. Banner’s suggestion, that she put samples of her work in the shop windows, was uppermost in her mind, and Rod and Emma would make good subjects, for they were a handsome couple.

Rod shifted in his chair and muttered; the tightening of Emma’s fingers upon his shoulders settled him. Tess found herself smiling beneath the heavy drape.

“Aren’t you going to ask how poor Rod got out of jail?” Emma demanded, when, at last, the session was over.

Tess bit her lower lip and averted her eyes, amused by her friend’s huffy indignation. “I don’t have to ask,” she admitted evenly. “Cedrick was here yesterday, and he told me.”

“Aren’t you even going to apologize?” prattled Emma, as Tess led the way back into the main part of the shop. “This was all your fault—”

Before Tess could spring to her own defense, Rod, to her amazement, did that for her.

“Blast it, Emma, it wasn’t Tess’s fault and we all know that. I shouldn’t have done what I did!”

There was a short, thunderous silence. Emma absorbed her husband’s statement, squared her shoulders, and turned a blinding, forgiving smile on Tess.

“Well, then, there’s no reason we can’t all be friends again, is there?” she sang out.

Tess chuckled and shook her head. “No, I guess there isn’t. How is your mother, Emma?”

Emma deflated a little. “She’s not at all well, Tess Rod and I are thinking of taking her back to St. Louis. She could have the best of care there, and, well—”

“Why don’t you just come right out and say it, Emma?” Rod broke in, in exasperation directed more toward himself than his wife. “I’m not accomplishing anything here, and it’s clear enough that I can’t stay out of trouble without my father around, holding my hand!”

Tess sighed, feeling sympathy for her brother, despite all the trouble he had caused during the short course of their acquaintance. “Rod, you’re being too hard on yourself. You got along without Asa’s help for years.”

“This is different.” He paused, gave Emma a pensive, wistful look. “I have a wife now.”

“What about the money you gave Cedrick? What about the play?” To her own surprise, Tess found the thought of Emma and Rod going so far away very
disturbing, even though she knew it might be the best thing for them to do.

Rod’s shoulders moved in a despondent shrug. “He’ll never give back my initial investment—the money Papa gave me. And he’s not going to give me that part unless you join the company, too. Which, of course, is out of the question.”

“I’m afraid it is,” Tess said softly. “When do you plan to leave for St. Louis?”

“As soon as Papa sends the fare,” sighed Rod, and he looked so defeated that Tess wanted to weep for him. Maybe he had been misguided in his efforts to become a great actor, but a dream was a dream, and Tess understood that as well as anyone. “A week or so, I guess,” he finished sadly.

Tess looked from Rod’s face to Emma’s. “Won’t you come and stay with me, here, until you go? There is no sense in your paying for a hotel room, after all.”

No one said that there was no money for a hotel room, and probably none for food, either, though Emma’s relief was visible.

“I could help you in the shop while Rod makes the arrangements for Mama!” she suggested brightly.

Tess knew that she could run the shop on her own, but, for the sake of her friend, she pretended enthusiasm. It would only be for a week or so, after all. “I would appreciate that, Emma,” she said quietly. “And, of course, the portrait is my wedding gift to you both.”

Having many errands to perform, including fetching their belongings from the hotel—Tess suspected that they had already been turned out—Rod left.

More customers came—a fancy gambling man wearing a diamond ring with a stone the size of a banty’s
egg, a somber woman with a row of stair-step children and a shy husband, a sailor on leave from one of the steamships constantly coming into the harbor.

Emma proved to be very good at greeting clients and keeping them occupied until their turn to sit for a portrait came, probably because she had grown up in a general store. Rushing about, seating people for their portraits, Tess was glad to have her friend keeping order out front.

Everything went along smoothly, during all of the morning and much of the afternoon. Tess was looking forward to closing up, changing her clothes, and going off to the hospital to visit Keith.

And then Cynthia Golden came in. The dislike Emma felt for this woman, and with justification, Tess had to admit, was palpable.

“I would like to make an appointment to have my portrait taken,” Cynthia announced, ignoring Emma’s quiet, stony ire. Or was she ignoring it? Tess couldn’t tell. Cynthia, for all her striking beauty, was not a quick-witted woman, and the possibility that she hadn’t even noticed Emma’s rancor had to be considered.

“Certainly,” interceded Tess, in a welcoming way, edging Emma out from behind the counter before she could drive off a paying customer. “Do you need them done today?”

“Oh, no,” said Cynthia obliquely, giving Emma one curious glance, as though she thought she should know this person but could not quite place her. “I’ll come tomorrow. With Cedrick.”

Tess had no desire to see Cedrick, tomorrow or any other day, but this was, after all, a business, and she
was determined to handle things in a professional manner. “Ten o’]clock?” she inquired, pen in hand over the ruled—and so far, empty—appointment book on the counter.

“That’s much too early.” As if to add gravity to her point, Cynthia yawned prettily. “I don’t even stir before eleven-thirty, my dear. Might I come at two?”

“Might I come at two?” mimicked Emma, in a tart undertone.

Tess nudged her friend hard in the ribs, smiling broadly at Cynthia, who, it seemed, had not heard Emma’s mockery. “Two would be fine, Miss Golden,” she said firmly.

“Thank you,” said Cynthia, whose mind was clearly already grappling with some other monumental thought. Distractedly, she left the shop.

“Why did you have to be so friendly to her?” demanded Emma, a study in petulance, the moment Cynthia was gone.

“She’s a customer,” Tess said flatly. And the subject was closed.

Cynthia did return the next day, promptly at two, but, to Tess’s vast, if secret, relief, Cedrick did not accompany her. In any case, she had little time to worry about Mr. Golden during the coming days, for she was literally swamped with customers, taking portraits all day long and staying up half the night to develop them. And despite all this, Tess invariably spent several happy evening hours with Keith.

He was getting stronger every day and more anxious to leave the hospital. Tess developed a new liking for
the nun he privately called Sister Attila—actually, her name was Sister Margaret—who put up with his drastic changes of mood in a patient, stoic way.

Finally, after several more days, he was released. He would still be required to remain in bed for most of each day—a prospect he made more than one lewd joke about—but Tess was overjoyed, all the same. Having Keith near her, throughout the long workdays and the heretofore even longer nights, would give reality to a marriage that she had sometimes thought was only a product of her imagination.