A Flickering Light (32 page)

“Bob. Bob,” the boy said. He swung around as his father held his hand and nearly lost his balance. FJ settled him on the carpet. He took one last look in the mirror before he sat beside his son. The face he saw now frightened him; it was an old and aging face. He couldn’t see much future there at all.

Mrs. Bauer wanted the party to be perfect. Several other mothers were bringing their daughters to her home for the first time. She scanned the nursery. Could five little girls and their mothers be comfortable here? She should have held it somewhere else. She thought about asking her older sister, Eva, to host it, but Eva could be so…unpredictable at times. One never knew what mood she’d be in, so it was better to let her be. Eva had a birthday in this same month, and Mrs. Bauer had sent her a lovely card. She’d heard nothing back. Typical. Mrs. Bauer expected a little recognition for making that effort, but it rarely happened from her sister. Sometimes she even forgot she had a sibling.

This nursery room would be too confining. She wouldn’t be able to stand the noise.

No. It was settled. The invitational card had been sent.

Why had she agreed to have this party? She did things she didn’t really want to do because it seemed the right thing to do for her child, but maybe not. She found herself snapping at Winnie, poor soul. She could see the child’s lower lip tremble before Mrs. Bauer even realized she’d raised her voice. Pressure throbbed against her head. She held her palms to her temples.

Scrapes of Winnie’s chalk grated on her nerves as the child created pictures on her slate. Mr. Bauer just had to buy the dustless chalk introduced at the world’s fair exposition in St. Louis. It was the newest rage. It was nice to have no dust in the nursery, yes, but the noise…she preferred the quiet Binney and Smith product, Crayola crayons, they called them. But their bright yellows, black, and reds filled a page that couldn’t be reused the way the chalkboard could. Paper was expensive, Mr. Bauer told her. Of course, whatever he needed for his studio proved no obstacle. He could get paper shipped in for that at a much greater expense than Winnie’s picture paper. Why, he’d even said he allowed Miss Gaebele to print photos of her liking. She hoped the girl would pay for that. It was only right.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Bauer? I could get you some tea.”

“What?” Selma. The girl was so soft and secretive. “No. I’m fine. What time did they say they would come?”

“We told them three o’clock,” Selma said. “From three to five.”

Two hours! What would she do with them for two hours? “Do we have enough sandwiches made up? I wouldn’t want to run out. Maybe I should fix more.”

“No. That is, I think the two platters are enough,” Selma said.

“You never know. You never know.” She clasped her hands, looked at them. They were so red! Was she getting the same sickness her husband had? She caught her image in the mirror as she rushed toward the kitchen. Her face blotched as red as her tongue and felt bumpy as well. She needed to keep busy, that was all, not think of things. Avoid mirrors. She’d be fine.

“Yes, I’ll fix more sandwiches. Is the knife sharp? I don’t want to pressure the bread.”

It was a family gathering and nothing more for Jessie’s birthday. No Jerome this time, thank goodness. Uncle August couldn’t make it in either; the roads from Cream were drifted shut. Darkness arrived before people even left their workplaces, so her other grandparents would remain home as well. Jessie would see them Sunday.

Jessie didn’t expect any presents. They’d all been saving for Roy’s needs. The doctor had told them about a book written by a Dr. Samuel Potter and that Roy likely would be found to have a condition called dyslalia. “It will mean hours each day of retraining Roy,” one of the Mayo brothers had told them.

When Jessie asked, the Mayo brothers said the banjo was a fine idea, but they warned against anyone who might suggest using “mechanical contrivances and tyrannical practices prescribed by fools.” Jessie fully intended to get Dr. Potter’s book from the library and read more so she could work with Roy.

Lilly gave Jessie a stitched shirtwaist with a separate ruffle that hung over the bodice. She’d tatted the edges so it looked almost like eyelet, something expensive that the Gaebeles couldn’t afford.

“It’s beautiful, Lilly. Thank you.”

“I just appreciate you going with me on the city sleigh ride.”

“It was fine,” Jessie said.

“So you’ll do it again?”

“I might.” She held the blouse up to her bodice, then showed it to her mother, commenting on the tiny stitches. The sleigh ride hadn’t been as much fun as Lilly seemed to think it was. The cold air numbed her mouth and made it hard to talk to people. If she pulled her wool muffler up over her mouth and nose, just under her eyes, the moisture fogged her glasses and made her mouth all wet, so when she lowered the muffler to speak, her lips froze instantly. Jessie was a good sport about it and didn’t complain, not even when the boys got to throwing handfuls of hay at one another over the heads of the girls. Just like boys.

“I wanted you to see that you can enjoy yourself with young men your own age,” Lilly said.

“You worry over much, sister,” Jessie said. “I get along fine with young men. Really, I do. I like them in a group like that.”

“That’s how I like them best too,” Lilly admitted.

“Open my gift.” Selma handed her a paper envelope that she’d decorated with pictures of birds and lilacs. “To remind you of spring,” she said. “I know you like flowers and everything.”

“M-m-me t-t-too,” Roy said.

“You sure do take good care of Mama’s herbs and my lily of the valley,” Jessie told him.

“No, he means he helped make the envelope, decorating on it when I brought it home.”

“Thank you. You too, Selma,” Jessie said. She brushed Roy’s hair from his eyes.

“He needs a haircut, I know,” her mother said. Jessie started to say that she hadn’t meant any fault but realized her mother often chose offense where none was intended.

“I got the paper from Mrs. Bauer.”

Jessie felt a little freezing with the mention of Mrs. Bauer.

“I wrote it myself,” Selma said.

You are more to me than sister
,
Taking pictures that you love;
Yet I know no other word to use
Than Sister, whom I love
.

“It’s really nice, Selma. It really is. I feel the same about you too. And Lilly. And…well, not you, Roy. You’re a boy. But I love you just the same!”

Roy laughed.

“I can sing the words,” Selma said. “I thought of music for them.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Jessie told her. She wasn’t anxious to hear about “the pictures you love,” as she wouldn’t be able to take any for some time to come. The ones she’d taken on the train, the Gypsy grandma and baby, the other outdoor pictures of snow—those were all gone too.

But Selma began, and after the first words they all tried not to look at Roy, who opened his mouth. They hoped he’d sing, smooth as an ice skater on a newly brushed pond. But he didn’t.

The doctors had told them that no surgery would help Roy speak more smoothly, but they had good news too. With a special kind of person who taught speech, someone Roy would have to visit in Rochester once a month, and with hard practice at home, he might be able to speak on his own with less hesitation. They would take turns working with Roy every day, and Jessie wondered as she watched him dig into her cake if he would tire of the activity or see it as valued attention. She could do it while she remained at home, which would be for quite a while now.

If he had a banjo to go with the exercises, it might lighten the drudge. Sears, Roebuck and Company catalog listed the Imperial Banjo at twenty-five dollars, but they could buy a cheaper model for seven. Both amounts stretched the family budget. The special language person was the higher priority, but even that expense would have to wait until spring. Jessie hoped the book would give them additional suggestions.

Her mother brought out her present then. It was a quilt, one she’d been working on for months, maybe even years. “I gave your sister Lilly a quilt on her eighteenth birthday, for her trousseau if she ever uses it, and this is yours. I hope you like it, Jessie.”

The quilt was pieced with squares of material made up of an anchor print against an indigo blue. The alternating blocks were prints of horse heads on a lighter sky blue. Jessie wasn’t familiar with the quilt pattern.

“What’s the pattern called, Mama?”

“Contrary Wife,” her father said. But he had a grin on his face.

“It is not,” her mother corrected. “It’s Road to California. I know you like to travel, and these pieces of shirtings were what I had available.”

Jessie had seen the prints before, worn by Roy and her father. “They do have a transportation theme,” Jessie said. “By land or by sea. All we need is a bicycle or a train.” Jessie laughed as she said it, but her mother’s eyes showed disappointment.

“I should have thought of that,” her mother said.

“No, no, it’s wonderful. I love it.” Jessie stood up and hugged her mother with the quilt pressed between them. “It took hours and hours, and the stitching is beautiful. I’m so pleased. I’m just not good with a needle and thread myself.”

“See to it that you don’t just put it in your trunk and keep it there forever,” her mother said, mollified. “Your sister’s quilt will be gaining moth holes if she doesn’t find herself a beau soon.”

“Perhaps we’ll always be shop girls,” Jessie teased. “With our mama looking after us.”

“Hush now,” Jessie’s mother said, but she smiled.

“I nearly forgot,” her father said then, standing and stepping out onto the porch. He returned with a large box. “Voe brought this by. Or rather Daniel Henderson did. That pair might need one of your wedding quilts before long, Mother,” he added.

“Daniel does seem sweet on her,” Jessie said.

“Does he have a brother?” Selma asked.

Jessie stared at the box. She knew this had to be the surprise that Mr. Bauer had asked Voe and Daniel to pack up. Maybe it was the framed double-exposure portrait. Had it been removed from the window? It had caused such a row with her parents. Why would he do that? Well, he didn’t know. She’d never told him. Her heart started to pound. Her parents would not like a gift coming from Mr. Bauer. It was one thing to drop by on his way home, as he had two years before, but to make a concerted effort to give a gift… She could only hope that he’d put no card inside.

“Voe is very generous,” Jessie said, preparing the setting for her parents to see this gift as nothing to be wary of. “But let’s everyone dig into the cake or Roy will have it all consumed, won’t you, Frog?” she said. “Besides, we need to be turning the handle on the ice-cream maker or we’ll never have ice cream tonight. Papa, it’s your turn.”

“Oops, I’m back on it,” her father said.

“I’ll get the plates and cut the cake,” her mother said, rising.

Selma said, “I can’t believe you can wait for such a big present to be opened!”

“I’m a patient one,” Jessie said. “Ice cream and cake first.” She forced a smile.

She looked across at Lilly, who wore a knowing look.

Affectionately

A
FTER ICE CREAM
, J
ESSIE’S FATHER,
without asking, took a screwdriver and opened up the box. Roy and Selma hovered over him.

“Wh-wh-what is it?”

“Well, I don’t know,” her father said. Selma began pulling out newspapers that settled across the top. “You’ll have to ask our Jessie. Her name’s on it, and it’s from the Bauer Studio.”

Jessie moved to the box then, dread caping her small shoulders. Her skirts brushed the newspapers piled on the floor. She’d tell her mother that the double exposure could just stay in the box until she had her own place to live in; then she could hang it on her own wall. That’s what an eighteen-year-old did, make these choices.

Jessie took a deep breath. “I think it’s that double exposure that upset you, Mama. Mr. Bauer probably wanted it out of his studio display window and didn’t know where to store it so he sent it here. As a little birthday surprise. You might just leave it in there,” Jessie told them. “Is there any more cake?”

“It isn’t a picture,” Selma said. “It’s too big to be a picture. It’s a big black satchel.”

He’d sent her a suitcase? Why would he give her something so personal as a satchel? Maybe he wanted her to leave, and this was his way of sending her off.

Roy and Selma stepped aside, and Jessie leaned over to look at the black handle that faced her. She started to pull, then saw the label: “Folmer & Schwing Division, Eastman Kodak Company, Rochester, New York.”

Mr. Bauer had given her a camera? He couldn’t have known about the broken Kodak… Well, maybe he could have, if Selma told him in the last few days. But Voe and Daniel had been working on the surprise package long before that.

She continued to pull up on the heavy object, which arrived in her hands as a rectangle. She knew immediately what it was without taking it out of the bag: a Graflex, one of the finest. She ran her fingers over the smooth leather, imagining what was inside. The lens was made by Goerz in Germany, and it would take five-by-seven plates, a perfect size for her work. The shutter speed was as fast as a thousandth of a second. Yet it was easy to carry, simple to operate, and so much more versatile than the little 3A Graflex she’d seen in the photo magazine that made postcard-size photographs. She’d seen this one in the photographic catalog, but it was much too expensive for her to even dream of. With this camera, she could take more photos that told bigger stories, like the man who’d done the exposé on the children laboring in the Carolinas. Jessie had never forgotten those pictures of emaciated children with the haunting eyes.

Mr. Bauer understood how much she wished to take photographs out in the world, and he’d given her a gift to honor that desire.

Roy pulled on her sleeve. “O-o-open—”

“Open it up,” her mother finished.

“I already know. It’s a camera. A very nice one.”

“Did you tell him you’d broken yours in Rochester?” Selma asked.

“Yours is broken?” This from her mother.

“It’s a long story,” Jessie said. “And no, I certainly did not tell Mr. Bauer.”

“It was delivered a while ago, but Daniel Henderson asked that we keep it until your birthday.”

“From Mr. Bauer,” Lilly admonished.

“I’m sure it’s a gift from the Bauer
family,”
Jessie said. “They remember my birthday because it’s the same day as Winnie’s.”

“Let me see it,” her father said. Jessie opened the bag and passed the camera to her father as though she passed steaming water over the head of a baby.

“I’ll look for a note. I’m sure it’s from all of them.” Jessie pawed through the packing that had been under the camera bag and felt a note there but decided to let it be.

“Voe must have forgotten to put it in,” Jessie said, making her voice light. “I’ll check with her tomorrow. Meanwhile, let me get this packaging out of here.” She put the newspapers written in German back into the box and shoved it toward the door. Roy bent to help her and she let him. Anticipating her plan, he opened the door, and she pushed the box over the threshold and onto the back porch. “You go back in,” she said. “It’s cold out here. I’ll just get it off to the side so no one trips over it in the morning.” Roy complied. Jessie reached into the packing, felt for the slender card, pulled it from the box, and tucked it beneath her skirt supporter before going back inside.

“The Bauers must really like your work,” Lilly said.

“I’ve done well for them.” She pushed by Lilly into the kitchen. “And I haven’t had a vacation since I began working there. Even you get a vacation now and then.”

“When the shop closes to maintain the sewing machine,” Lilly said.

“Photo assistants usually do get time away, but with Mr. Bauer’s illnesses, that just hasn’t been possible. So this is their way of saying thank you, I’m sure.”

Her mother appeared to be fascinated by the camera her father still held. He turned it this way and that. Jessie took it from them and showed them the way the top handle lifted up and formed an opening that looked like those goggles men wore when they drove automobiles. She pulled on the lens, and the bellows behind it stretched like a small concertina. “You look down through here at your subject, and there’s a mirror that reflects what you’re looking at, only backward. Images used to be upside down, but not with this camera. You put a glass plate in the side, right in that slot.” She pointed. “And then you take the picture.”

“Can you take mine?” Selma swirled around like a dancer.

“It has no glass plates,” Jessie said. “I’ll have to get some, and then I can. But you’ll have to sit still or I’ll put you into one of those head clamps photographers used to use when it took so long to expose a picture.” Jessie held her hands on either side of Selma’s ears and pressed gently.

Selma laughed and then with Roy took turns looking into the camera while her father held it. Her mother said how nice it was that just when she needed it, God had provided by giving her a camera even better than the one she’d broken. “You’re a very blessed girl.”

“You have to stop it,” Lilly said. She brushed Selma’s hair while Jessie stood to the side.

“I’m going to try on your shirtwaist,” Jessie said. “It’s really lovely. Thank you.”

“What should I stop?” Selma asked.

“Not you. Jessie. She knows what I mean.” To Jessie she said, “It’s going to hurt you in the end.”

“What are you talking about? You need to tell me. Ouch! Don’t pull so hard,” Selma complained.

“Such an expensive gift.” Lilly shook her head, starting to brush Selma’s hair again.

“The Bauers can afford nice gifts,” Selma said.

Lilly frowned. “That is none of your business, Selma. People’s finances are their own personal affairs.”

“And so their giving me an expensive thank-you gift is none of your affair either,” Jessie said. She’d moved away from the girls and slipped off her blouse, unhooking the skirt supporter. The small card she laid on the dresser with the supporter over it. She put Lilly’s gift on, let it fall over her chemise. It was a lovely blouse. “This fits perfectly, Lilly. Thank you. I’ll wear it tomorrow.”

“Jessie…”

“Better to be the darling of an old man than the slave of a young one,” Jessie told her. She kept her voice light.

“You don’t have to be either. You aren’t allowing yourself to really—”

“It isn’t your affair, Lilly. It’s mine.”

“That’s just what I’m worried about.”

Jessie felt guilty over letting the family think there’d been no card, but she didn’t want the embarrassment of having to share it in case Mr. Bauer had written something personal. She’d wanted to get up in the night to read it, but her sisters were there, always there. One more reason to be out on her own. She slipped the card into her drawer and in the morning carried it with her to work while she imagined him writing it, ordering the camera, arranging for its delivery. A block or so from home, with the air so cold she could see her breath, she pulled the note from her muff and stopped beneath one of the big walnut trees, where the snow was beginning to melt in a circle out from the trunk. She pulled the card from the envelope before lifting the cream-colored paper with a bird stamped on the front.

Her heart hesitated. She admitted to herself that she hoped his words were more than comforting, maybe words of his fondness for her, something to indicate that she truly was special in his eyes. A wave of shame flushed through her. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said out loud.

She imagined Mr. Bauer telling her the same thing in person. Maybe they’d stand in the darkroom, the orange glow covering up every blemish on her face, on his, as they stared at each other. Perhaps he’d reach out his hand to her. Maybe they would—

She stopped herself.

She was as bad as Selma with her ideas of romance. The thought frightened her but also made her heart beat a little faster. She wasn’t sure what she felt for Mr. Bauer, but it wasn’t romantic love. It was just fondness. Yet her breath quickened at the thought of his coming back to the studio, of being able to work side by side with him every day. Except that she was planning to go out on her own. Soon.
Probably just this cold weather making my breath come fast
. She looked at the cream-colored card. It would tell the story, true. She opened it and read:
Happy birthday wishes to you. We hope this camera will bring you many days of good shooting. Thank you for your association with us. Sincerely, the Bauer Studio
.

Sincerely, the Bauer Studio!

She turned it over to see if he’d written anything personal on it at all. Nothing! Why, it was practically a formed letter that might be sent to a client or maybe to one of their suppliers whose birthday Mr. Bauer happened to remember. Tears pressed behind her nose, pooled in her eyes, froze on her cheeks.

She was so foolish. She’d been defending his feelings to Lilly as though they were nothing but good intentions from a kindly older man, and so it was, the truth laid out. It was simply a well-intentioned gift from an employer. She’d completely misread his intentions.

She thought about tearing the card up but decided she could show it to Lilly, reassure them all that there was nothing unseemly happening. She wiped her eyes, then put her gloved hands back into the muff. She straightened her small shoulders and stepped over a pile of snow to return to the sidewalk and started to walk. Frozen tears tightened her face. She passed the studio, wanting a little more time to gather herself. What had she expected? He was just being kind to her. She had misread everything: his helpfulness, his comments on her retouching skill, the silver photo case, even the meaning of the day they’d had tea together.

Had tea together
. Jessie scoffed at her naiveté. She was no different to him than Voe was, or Selma. She was nothing special. The camera was a generosity from both of the Bauers, Mrs. Bauer and the children too. The thought of the children brought a twinge to her heart.

She looked through her mind for the leaves that healed, Ezekiel’s leaves. With the camera, she no longer had to wait to take her own photographs. She’d be able to develop at the studio, but eventually she could arrange a space in the basement of the family home for that. And if not, in the home of wherever she moved to when she branched out on her own.