Margaret Brownley (43 page)

Timber Joe and Annabelle patrolled the perimeter of the church property, rifles in hand. Anyone slacking off got a not-so-subtle reminder to keep working.

“Ouch,” Barrel yelled from inside the church door frame.

No sooner had Barrel cried out than Caleb raced toward him with his brand new medical case in hand, a gift from his father. “Did you know that your thumb is the same length as your nose?” he asked.

Barrel held his swollen thumb up. “Not anymore.”

Elizabeth tugged on Lucy’s skirt, pulling her attention away from Barrel. “Will I get a vode?”

For a moment, Lucy was stumped. “Oh, you mean a vote?” Not knowing how to answer, she pushed a curl away from the child’s pretty round face. How could she tell a three-year-old that some things may not be possible simply because she was a girl? How, for that matter, did you explain a world that keeps Lee Wong away from his family and demanded separate schools for colored children? A world that had, for far too long, turned its back on a man like David Wolf.

She longed to fight the injustices in the world, but how could she? No longer strapped for money now that Caleb’s education and the church building were both paid for, Lucy wished with all her heart that she could do something with her photography that would make the world a better place. But no matter how much she prayed, God either wasn’t listening or wasn’t answering.

Elizabeth stared at her, patiently waiting for Lucy to respond. The little girl’s big blue eyes held so much faith and hope and trust it was like looking into an endless sea of possibilities.

“Maybe your shutter isn’t open wide enough to see God’s plan for you
.”

Startled by the memory, Lucy was as puzzled today by Barrel’s words as she was when he first spoke them.

As if to sense Lucy’s confusion, Elizabeth’s eyes grew rounder. “
Maybe your shutter isn’t open wide enough . .
.”

Then, like a bolt from the sky, Lucy knew—knew without a doubt what God was calling her to do. The answer, of course, had been staring her in the face for weeks. She would bombard every newspaper and magazine in the country with photographs of women saving lives and teaching the young. She would post her photographs in public places and mail them to every state and US senator. The message she would send was that men and women worked and prayed together, so why couldn’t they vote together? No sooner had the thought occurred to her than the sun suddenly moved from behind a cloud, and it was as if the very heavens smiled down on her.

Her heart beat with excitement. Her pictures would show in every way possible why keeping the vote away from women not only hurt Texas but hurt the entire country. It might take awhile to convince newspaper editors to run her pictures but she wouldn’t give up until they did. Photographer Mathew Brady had his war and she had hers.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she exclaimed. “And that, my dear, sweet child, is a positive. One day you
will
get to vote.” With God’s help and a lot of dry plates.

Elizabeth’s face lit up. “Will you take a phot’graph of my vode?”

Lucy tilted her head sideways. “Why do you want me to do that?”

“So that we can keep the vode safe in God’s pocket.”

Lucy smiled. “Then I most definitely will take a photograph.”

“I’ll take it,” Skip said, stepping out from behind the camera.

Lucy laughed and hugged both children to her. She caught David smiling at her from across the way and knew he would approve her decision. Her heart nearly bursting with happiness, she blew him a kiss in front of God and everyone.

Epilogue

Alas! Some advice simply bears repeating: Never climb higher to
take a photograph than you can afford to fall.

– M
ISS
G
ERTRUDE
H
ASSLEBRINK, 1878

O
hhh,” Lucy squealed. Never had she imagined herself flying, but that’s what it felt like to ride in a gas balloon.

She held on to the side of the wicker basket and looked straight down. Surely this is what the world must look like as seen through God’s eyes.

Above their heads, the massive red silk envelope gleamed in the sun. It rustled in the wind and the gondola creaked out a reluctant response.

“It doesn’t feel like we’re moving,” she said, amazed at the smooth ride.

“That’s because we’re moving as fast as the wind,” the aerialist explained. An older man with white hair and mustache, Eugene Gage kept his hand upon the catch.

She shaded her eyes against the hot September sun. “I do believe that’s Barrel.” She waved to the man on horseback pursuing them below. Soon they left him far behind. In the distance the Rocky Creek River looked like a narrow satin ribbon, giving no clue of the dangers that lurked there.

The meadows that had been so green following the spring rains spread out beneath them like a brown velvet carpet. Already a few trees were beginning to turn, dotting the landscape with splashes of yellow and gold.

She moved behind the tripod and dived beneath the dark cloth, prepared to take a photograph of a herd of cattle. However, as soon as the animals spotted the aircraft, they panicked and ran across the field.

She did manage to snap a photograph of a farmer on his plow, and not a moment too soon. The instant the horses saw the aerial ship they took off, dragging the plow and farmer behind. Lucy couldn’t help but laugh.

“I bet he never plowed a field so fast,” she said. She glanced at David, who stood facing the center of the basket and hadn’t said a word.

“David, really, you’re missing all the fun,” she called.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll wait for the photographs.”

“I didn’t know you were afraid of heights,” she said, teasing.

“Only heights of a thousand feet or more,” he assured her.

“Oh, there’s the church.” She clapped her hands together. The newly built Rocky Creek Community Church looked like a child’s dollhouse from such mind-boggling heights, though in reality it was really quite large. School was due to start next week and already the new Mrs.
Doctor
Myers had been busy getting her new classroom ready.

Lucy peered through the viewfinder. “Do you think we can get closer?” she called.

“I’ll try to land next to the church,” Gage said. “We’ll descend slowly so you can get your photographs.” He reached up to vent the hydrogen.

The balloon began to descend and the images that had blurred together like a water painting began to separate into individual trees. Lucy snapped her photographs, oohing and ahhing at the shifting shapes in her lens.

Fortunately the church was in full sunlight, which meant less exposure time was needed and she was able to get photographs from various altitudes. She couldn’t wait to show these to Pastor Wells and Sarah.

Just as the gondola grew level with the church, an unexpected gust of wind sent them sailing toward the steeple.

“Hold fast!” Gage shouted.

Lucy grabbed her camera and David grabbed her. The basket slammed into the top of the church with a jolt. The cow weather vane that David had made special for Reverend Wells flew off the top of the steeple.

“Oh, no!” Lucy cried.

The gondola spun around and struck the church again, this time with such force the bell tower tilted sideways. David pulled her to the floor of the basket, protecting her with his body just as they hit the side of the church for a third time. The loud shattering of glass made Lucy cringe. The balloon then took off again and she peered cautiously over the side of the gondola.

Below them the grappling hook used for landing swung back and forth on a long rope. Overhead, the gas roared like an angry lion.

The pilot called to a man walking a dog and asked for assistance.

The man looked startled. The dog ran circles around him, barking until the owner was hopelessly entangled in his leash. By the time the man was able to free himself the balloon had passed him by.

With a sudden lurch, the bottom of the gondola touched the ground and the three of them rolled over each other. The basket bopped up and down like a frog hopping lily pads.

“We have to jump,” the pilot shouted. With that, he disappeared over the side.

David grabbed Lucy by the hand, but she pulled back. “My camera!”

By the time she had a hold on her camera, it was too late to jump. Without the pilot’s weight, the balloon rose straight up. From the ground the pilot tried to grab hold of the rope but they soon left him far behind.

The balloon suddenly dipped and headed straight for the top of a towering tree.

The impact sent them both flying backward. The gondola swung back and forth before gradually coming to a halt.

“Are you all right?” David scrambled toward her on hands and knees.

Facedown on the floor of the gondola, Lucy lifted herself up. She pushed a tree branch away from her face. “I think so.” The balloon hovered high above the top of a bur oak tree, but the basket held fast to the branches.

David peered over the side. “We’re in luck,” he said. “We’re only about fifty feet off the ground.”

Lucy picked herself up. “I’m sorry I talked you into this. We could have both been killed.”

“Anything for a good photograph,” he said good-naturedly, pulling a yellow-brown leaf from her hair. She laughed. How she loved this man, loved everything about him.

“What are we going to do?” She’d climbed her share of trees, but even she wouldn’t be so foolish as to climb down this one.

“I guess we hang around for a while,” he said.

“You’re a big help.” She checked her camera but it didn’t appear damaged. She then glanced at the ground, which seemed so far away. Fighting back tears, she turned to David.

“I should never have asked you to come today. Ever since you’ve known me, I’ve caused you nothing but trouble. I almost got us buried alive and then you were shot because of that photograph and—” The tears did come but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. “And now look at us. We’re stuck in a—”

“Marry me.”

She slammed her mouth shut and practically forgot to breathe. “What did you say?”

He captured a teardrop on his finger and held it up like it was a precious gem. “I said marry me.”

For a moment she couldn’t find her voice. “You . . . you can’t be thinking right,” she stammered at last. “After all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

He gazed at her, his eyes filled with tenderness. “There’s nothing wrong with my thinking,” he said. “I love you. And that’s the way it’s been since the first day we met. I didn’t think it was possible for us to be together, but the people of Rocky Creek proved me wrong.”

Even her tears couldn’t hide the sincerity in his eyes. Normally she would have grabbed her camera to capture such a moment, but not today. Instead, she tucked the moment into her heart for safekeeping.

“Are you asking me to be Mrs. David Wolf?” she whispered.

“Actually, I’m thinking about legally changing my name to Combes. That is, if his son Joseph doesn’t mind. Pastor Wells says that a name change signals a new beginning, and I can’t think of a better way to honor the man who took me under his wing than to begin life anew with his name. So what do you say? How does Mrs. David Combes sound to you?”

Her heart was beating so fast she could hardly speak, and he grinned down at her. “I think you better say
yes
while the church is still standing.”

She wished he hadn’t reminded her. Recalling how the original church had burned down and the new one sustained damage, she stifled a sob. “Are . . . are you sure you want me for your wife? My photography takes up a lot of my time.” Her work with the suffragette movement was of great importance. “And I promised Brenda and Barrel to help them with their opera house and . . .”

She babbled on and on, just as she always did when she was nervous or anxious or, in this case, about to accept a marriage proposal.

“Is that a negative?” he asked when at last he was able to get a word in edgewise.

“It’s a positive,” she said, then proceeded to tell him all the reasons why she wanted to be his wife.

David patiently waited for her to run out of steam but, of course, he had to know that the only way to make her stop talking was to give her mouth something better to do. And that’s exactly what he did.

Dear Reader

T
his is the third and last book in my Rocky Creek series. I do so hope you like Lucy’s and David’s stories as much as you liked Sarah’s and Justin’s in
A Lady Like Sarah
and Jenny’s and Rhett’s in
A Suitor for Jenny
.

I loved writing about old-time photography, and have nothing but awe for the brave souls who first took camera in hand. It wasn’t just men who battled unwieldy equipment and exploding chemicals in the name of art. Women were also photographers, and a few even made names for themselves.

Since female occupations were not listed on the census until 1870, it’s hard to know how many professional women photographers existed in America before that time. We do know, however, that some, like Julia Shannon of San Francisco, owned their own studios as early as 1850. Julia took the family portrait to new heights when she shockingly advertised herself as a daguerreotyper and midwife.