A Flickering Light (12 page)

“Well, good for you,” Voe told him. “Do you know where your pa is?” Voe looked behind him to see if Mr. Bauer had followed him in. “He’s the one we’re waiting on.”

“He’s home. Sick, ma’am. My mama sent me here to tell you that you should go home today. Come back tomorrow and open up. Here’s the key.”

“Don’t give it to me,” Voe said. She backed away from it as though he held a snake. She nearly walked backward off the porch.

“I’ll take it,” Jessie said as she approached. She brushed her hands on her skirt and took the key, putting it into her pocket. “Did your mama want us to contact the appointments your father had scheduled for today, to let them know not to come?”

“She didn’t say,” he said. “Ma’am.”

He was a handsome child, lithe, with serious brown eyes. Jessie recognized him as one of the two boys in the picture hanging in the office area. He wore his hair smooth with a part to the side just as in that picture. He’d said he was eight, making him a few years older than Roy. He leaned slightly forward as though he was accustomed to looking down at someone, being attentive.
His little brother must be the other boy in the photograph
.

“I’ll take care of this,” Jessie said, patting her pocket. “You tell your mama thank you for her confidence in us. We’ll be here in the morning. Maybe your papa will be better by then.”

“I don’t think so,” Russell said. Jessie watched his eyes tear and his lower lip quiver.

Jessie thought of her own father and his illnesses, how he’d sometimes writhe on the floor, holding his side. Nothing frightened her more than seeing him in pain, watching her mother try to help and not being able to, all of them feeling helpless. Her stomach started to hurt just thinking about it.

Jessie used soft words to calm him, the way she did when Roy clung to her. “If he’s seen the doctor”—Jessie waited for Russell’s nod before she continued—“then he’s in good hands.”

“Is it the mercury poisoning?” Voe said.

“Poisoning?” Russell turned to her. He looked alarmed.

“He told us he sometimes became ill, for a time, from doing photographic things,” Jessie told him. “She just wondered if that was what had caused his illness now.”

“Mama says it’s the jaundice and ’monia.” He struggled over the last word. “She didn’t say nothing about poison. Didn’t say anything,” he corrected himself.

“Pneumonia,” Jessie said.

“New-monia. I don’t know what happened to the old one, but with this one he coughs and looks a funny color and has to stay in bed.”

Jessie encouraged, “I bet you help him by talking to him and assisting your mother when this happens.” Russell nodded. “Meanwhile, we’re here to assist with photographic things. And you’re there at home to be with him. So he won’t have any worries and he can put all his energy into getting well.”

He wore a forced smile and wiped at his eyes with his fingertips. “I pray for him,” he said.

“Good. We can do that too.”

“I better get back,” Russell said. He didn’t make any move to leave, though.

“Would you like us to walk back with you?” Jessie asked. He seemed so young to have come so far.

“Nope. I mean, no ma’am. I can do this on my own. My mama said I could.”

“Looks like you’ll have to wait to see where Mr. B. lives,” Voe whispered to her.

Jessie ignored her. To Russell, Jessie said, “You be careful now. Your mama will be looking for you, so you go right back.”

As Russell headed off down the street, walking beneath the leafless trees, Jessie said, “That was an odd thing to say.”

“What?

“About my wanting to see where Mr. B. lives. Why would I care about that?”

Voe shrugged. “I was just being…attentive,” she said. She beamed as though she’d used a fascinating word to good avail.

“You attended to nonsense,” Jessie told her. “Let’s go inside and see what you can be attentive to in there.”

“We’re supposed to come back and work tomorrow.”

“It’s poor business not to let people know there’s been a change. They’ll be very upset if they arrive and no one is here to take their pictures.”

“Well, I’ve been given the day off,” Voe said. “I’m going to the beach. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, she headed off down the street, nearly overtaking Russell before turning a corner and disappearing.

Jessie shook her head and headed inside to look at the appointment book. Two sittings were scheduled. A single portrait, one woman; and a family with a child. She picked up the phone to make the cancellations, held it to her ear for a moment waiting for the operator to come on and ask for the exchange. Then she put the receiver down. Her heart started to pound.

Do I dare?

What would be the harm of waiting for them to arrive, telling them of Mr. Bauer’s illness, and asking if they’d prefer to reschedule? But since she couldn’t tell them when he’d be better, she’d offer this alternative: perhaps they might like to have her do the sitting, as she was Mr. Bauer’s apprentice. After all, they were already here and ready. Why not? If they didn’t like the photograph, they wouldn’t have to pay. That was Mr. Bauer’s policy, and it could certainly be hers. On his behalf, of course. It was just good business sense to offer. Mr. Bauer wouldn’t want her to do anything less.

The rest of the morning, Jessie tidied up, then set the camera just the way Mr. Bauer would have. She’d watched him often enough, hadn’t she? She felt anticipation, a tiny prickle of fear too, but didn’t one always feel a little fearful when trying something new? She’d just do her best. Jessie piled her hair up high to give her added height and dignity. She brought out a long scarf and some books for possible props.

The woman arrived at the studio on time. Jessie was glad she’d redone her hair even if the earth-colored wisps worked their way out around her ears. Lilly’s dark hair had natural waves and was thick as Grandma’s gravy, and it always looked tidy and shop-girl smart. Jessie hoped she looked as confident as Lilly always did.

This woman, about Lilly’s age, held herself stately as Jessie told her, “Mr. Bauer has taken ill and won’t be able to do your sitting today.” The woman’s shoulders dropped, and she actually looked relieved. Jessie wondered if she might be just as nervous as Jessie was.

“Oh. Well. How unfortunate. I can come back another time.” She started toward the door.

“I can reschedule you,” Jessie said. “Or I could do the sitting.” The woman hesitated. “I’ve been asked to run the studio while he’s ill.” That was partly true. “Of course, if you don’t like the results, the policy will apply that you needn’t pay.”

“Well…”

“There are other studios in town. Polonia’s has a good reputation, though I can tell you from experience that Mr. Bauer is one of the best. He’s won awards and gold medals for his portrait work, and he’s a fine instructor, so I believe I’ve gained much from my association with him.”

“Does Polonia’s have a female photographer?”

“I doubt that,” Jessie said. Here was the opening. “There aren’t many of us around, though I did see some feminine work exhibited in
Camera World
, in the magazine that just came, so there are a few more women venturing into this artistic field. Would you like to look at it, to see if the subject was handled as you might like? Women do have a different eye for these things, I think.”

“I would. If you don’t mind.”

Jessie located the issue she had devoured whenever it first arrived. Mr. Bauer maintained the membership, hoping to have some of his work published in it, though the editor, Mr. Steigliez, was said to be
very
selective.

Together the two women turned the magazine pages, and Mildred Simmons, the client, pointed to a style or two she liked. “I have a large nose, you may have noticed,” she said, putting her hand to her face. “And I don’t think I’m particularly…pretty. This woman”—she pointed—“she isn’t really attractive either, but the portrait makes her seem so. I’d like that.”

Jessie’d had time to look at her client, to watch her, and she risked now saying what she thought were Mildred’s fine features. “You have beautiful hair, Miss Simmons—”

“Please, call me Mildred. I hate the formalities, don’t you?”

“I’m Jessie Gaebele, Jessie. Beautiful hair and lovely skin, as white as cream and without a blemish.” The woman put her fingers to her face. “And a fine, elegant neck. I think we can emphasize those qualities with the right lighting. And I would not have you look directly into the lens but rather gaze down, perhaps to the side, so we can capture that elegance without sacrificing softness.”

Mildred’s face blushed. “You could do that? It’s an indulgence, this portrait. I’ve become engaged, and I want to my fiancé to have a portrait to put into his satchel when he travels, to carry with him.”

“Let’s see what we can do.” Jessie led her into the operating room as though she’d done this sort of thing a hundred times.

What Jessie told her mother later about the episode was how quickly the time went. “I was glad the sittings were scheduled two hours apart because the first took much longer than I thought it would. I had to help put the client at ease and then identify her photographic strengths and then find words that would help her share my views, assuming I was correct in my assessment. And with Miss Simmons I apparently was. Once she seemed to trust me, it was really fun, Mama.”

Jessie sat at the table, eating one of her mother’s ginger cookies, glad this wasn’t one of the days she had to go to Mr. Steffes’s to work. “I made her laugh, and her whole face changed. I had her look at a book and sit by the window, and then in front of the dark screen with no reflecting light at all, and the window light fell just onto her hair and highlighted the side of her face.” Jessie spoke to her mother’s back as her mother rolled a piecrust at the doughboy. “When I developed the dry plates, the pictures turned out as I thought they would! What I imagined in my mind I could actually make appear on the print! It was magic, Mama. Maybe that’s what the Kodak ads mean when they say where the camera is, there is ‘Witchery of Kodakery.’”

“Hush now, the way you talk,” her mother said, swinging around. She pointed with her rolling pin. “No magic and witches in this house.”

“Sorry, Mama. But truly, it was one of the best afternoons I’ve ever had.” She’d leave out the witch talk when describing the absolute joy that came from creating something she thought beautiful and that pleased another. “I even fixed tea for her afterward.” Jessie had read that back East, the women photographers held afternoon teas in their studios to help people feel comfortable and to advertise the quality of their operating rooms. She took another ginger-cookie bite. “The family with the child that was scheduled did decide to wait until Mr. Bauer is better, but that worked out well too because I had more time to develop Mildred’s plates without feeling rushed. Oh, Mama, it was just the best time!”

Her mother spoke into her piecrust. “I always pray you’ll have a good day, though I’ll add words tonight about this witchery nonsense.” She placed the flat dough into the rectangular pan. They’d be having deep-dish apple pie tonight from the looks of it, using up the rest of the dried fruit to get ready for this year’s crop. If there’d be any, considering the storm. “What’s Mr. Bauer’s illness anyway?” her mother asked.

“Pneumonia. At least that’s what his son Russell told us. He came to the studio all by himself. He said he’s eight years old.”

“The Bauers had another boy, about Roy’s age, I think. And a little girl? The boy was killed a few years ago. It was in the paper. Some strange accident with a horse.”

“An accident? He lost a son? How awful.” Jessie thought how close Roy had come to a similar fate. “How sad for them.” She swallowed, enthusiasm for her day disappearing from lightness into weight.

“There’s a portrait hanging in Mr. Bauer’s office of a woman and two boys. Russell was one. The other must have been that little brother. And his mother. I guess we’ll meet her tomorrow. She’s going to come down and ‘show us how to do things.’”

“I thought that’s what you were being trained for all this time.”

“It hasn’t been quite six months. Mr. Bauer may not think we’re ready. But I think we are. When I show him the prints of what I did today, I think he’ll be pleased.”