Maude Brown's Baby (21 page)

“Yeah?”

“Well, she’s a pretty woman and I thought I’d like to know her better.”

“Like Rebecca or Jenny?”

Jake looked up. “Yeah, like that. Anyway, I invited her to dinner once or twice. I found excuses to come to Galveston. We spent time walking on the beach and even went to a few flicks. She really likes those moving pictures.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I figured that all the time I spent with her entitled me to some extra privileges.”

“Yeah?”

“She didn’t think so.”

“What happened?”

“I got pretty mad, but so did she. I wasn’t used to that.”

“You get along now.”

“Yeah, but now it’s only a business arrangement. She has rooms to rent, and I like coming to Galveston.”

“Then it’s not a problem for either of you.”

“Not for her, I’m sure.”

Elton looked across from his bed toward the man who’d helped him survive all the sch
oolyard bullies, the man who had gotten him a job when no one else was hiring, and the man who had decided it was time for Elton to learn about the “weaker” sex.

Jake didn’t look up again. He kept his elbows on his knees, hands limp, but now he was tapping both feet, like someone anxious to talk before he lost the will.

“You know me, El. I’ve always been good at looking out for myself. I like being in control, running the show. But these last three days have been rough. I was worried sick about you—hell, we all were—but it’s more than that. I know now that I’m responsible for what happened to you.”

“Naw, Jake, I did this on my own.”

Jake’s head shot up and he locked on Elton’s eyes.

“No
, you didn’t. I pushed you. I wanted you to have a woman, any woman, the way I do. I didn’t stop to think you might be different from me. Maybe you couldn’t just have your fun and forget it.”

“So what, Jake? So we’re different. Everyone is different.”

“There’s more. Seeing Clara with Don—I don’t know what will happen between them, but the two of them together, that’s real.”

“Real?”

“Did you see them in the yard just now? They were washing the damn sheets and towels, but the way they laughed and carried on, you’d think they were at a picnic. That’s what I mean. That’s real.”

“I don’t understand why you’re upset. Do you still have feelings for Clara?”

“No, Elton, I’ve never loved any woman, but I can see that Don does, and somehow, I envy him.”

The trolley stopped near Murdoch’s Pier and the new Crystal Palace. The popular tourist destinations were busy for a Wednesday afternoon, but the day had turned beautiful, so Clara and Donald were not surprised. Like dozens of other couples, they chose to walk along the seawall, where they could enjoy the beach view without getting sand in their shoes.

“Electric Park was just over there,” Clara said, pointing as they walked. “I wish you could have seen it.”

“I did,” Donald said. “Naomi and Clarence brought me to Galveston soon after they took me in. Cletus, too. He’s their son. That must have been about three years before the park closed.”

“Then you saw it at its best. I’m afraid Electric Park fell on hard times. The last hurricane took all that was left.”

“We came here on the Interurban, right up to this entrance,” Donald said. He and Clara stopped in front of two squat but massive pillars just across the street from the Crystal Palace. He touched the stone lightly, as if comforting an old friend.

“And I remember these markers, because of the way they affected my new family.” He quietly read the inscriptions, which commemorated the 1900 storm and construction of the first seawall.

“Naomi and Clarence lived on 19
th
street, a few blocks from the gulf side of the island. They have a photo of Cletus and his dad on the front porch. Cletus was just a toddler then. I don’t know how they saved the picture. They lost the house and everything else in the storm.”

“They were lucky to survive.”

“That’s what Pa says, luckier than most. They moved to Houston and started over.”

Clara noticed a poster across the street in front of the Crystal Palace. She squeezed Donald’s upper arm.

“Donald, do you like moving pictures?”

“Sure!” He looked in the direction of Clara’s gaze. There were several posters in a row. He read one of the titles, which was big and bold.

“
To Hell with the Kaiser
? You really want to see that?”

Clara laughed. “No! I mean
The Soap Girl
with Gladys Leslie. I read about it in the paper, it’s only showing today.”

“Let’s go,” Donald said, “if we can make it across the street in one piece!”

Clara slipped her arm in Donald’s as they waited for enough space between the buggies, motor cars and bicycles to open up. For safety, they chose instead to use the walkway across Seawall Boulevard. It led right to the second story entrance of the Crystal Palace.

“The next show starts in half an hour,” Donald said, tucking two tickets and fifty cents change from a dollar into his pocket. He wasn’t sure about Gladys Leslie, but he was happy to see that the second feature was a Keystone
Cops comedy,
Saved by Wireless
.

Donald bought two nickel cups of ice cream from a kiosk on the wide veranda. He and Clara stood eating them with flat wooden spoons as they looked out to sea. The quickening breeze moved a loose curl that had fallen to the side of Clara’s face. Donald fought the urge to touch it. She spoke.

“Donald, I’ve been thinking about your family.”

“Naomi and Clarence?”

“No, your natural parents. When we found those photographs, it brought back all my memories of the storm and the terrible days after.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I mean it might be possible, even after all these years, to find out more about what happened to them.”

“But how? Eighteen years
…”

“I have some ideas. Do you mind if I continue looking after you return to Houston?”

“I’d be grateful, but how?”

“I’ll start with Mama’s collection. There are more than three hundred photographs in the box, but we only looked at a few. I remember you were certain that whoever took the photograph of you had good equipment and knew how to use it.”

“Yes. How does that help?”

“Donald, you said you recognized the photographer’s style.”

“Yes?”

“What if the same person
took some of the other pictures in the box? If they did, you might learn more about the photographer.”

Donald looked deeply into Clara’s eyes, and she focused as closely on his. He spoke first. “That’s an excellent idea.”

He wanted to say much more.

The Soap Girl
was just as Donald expected. Piano music began even before the curtains parted and the flickering Vitagraph logo appeared. Soon, the image of a young woman filled the screen, long curls hanging down on her shoulders. Her eyelashes fluttered as she gazed up and away toward her unobtainable goal. Words on the screen revealed that she was Marjorie Sanford, lovely heiress to a laundry detergent and cosmetic soap fortune, who longs to be accepted into high society.

“Gladys Leslie is my favorite actress,” Clara whispered.

The piano player, hidden in an alcove near the foot of the stage, played louder. Early on, Marjorie meet the man she would likely fall in love with. That’s when Donald lost interest in the story, but he enjoyed the lighting and photography. He reshot individual scenes in his mind, imagining how he would have done them better.

Piano music told the audience something exciting was about to happen. The beautiful young Marjorie appeared in a bathtub, up to her neck in luxurious soap bubbles. That scene was well done, Donald thought.

“I knew she was going to fall in love with the press agent,” Clara said after the last reel ended and the piano music stopped. Before Donald could respond, the electric house lights came up, and a uniformed man stepped onto the stage. He raised his hands to quiet the audience. A second officer was standing stage right, arms front, right hand holding his left wrist.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the first man urged, “before we begin the second feature today, I invite you to listen to a few words from Captain Russell Talbot, a brave man who has just returned from the fighting in France.”

The audience broke into applause with scattered cheers and whistles. Four-Minute Men speeches were popular. Captain Talbot stepped forward in his crisp dress uniform, complete with kid gloves and rows of combat decorations over half his chest. He waited for the applause to taper off, then swept his right hand slowly left to right.

“My fellow citizens, as you sit here today in this beautiful theater, in the safety of this fair city, enjoying the bounties of our great nation, I ask you to remember the tens of thousands
of people in France and Belgium—people just like yourselves—who at this very moment suffer as slaves under Prussian domination!”

There were several boos and hisses from the audience.

“I ask you now, what is it that keeps the same thing from happening here? What prevents the Prussi
ans from dominating our land, killing our people and defiling our women, as they are doing now all across Europe?”

More than a few in the audience gasped at the image of defiled women. More boos and hisses. Clara leaned closer to Donald and gripped his arm. Captain Talbot continued, sweeping again with his right arm, index finger toward the ceiling to stress his point.

“I will tell you. It is our brave men at the front! Men like you, and you and you.” As he spoke, the captain pointed to several young men closest to the stage.

“Won’t you join them? If you do not fight the Huns in Europe, you will someday fight them here in America! Here, on the streets of Galveston! I urge you now, this very minute, to add your name to the roll! Who will join us?”

“I will!” a young man shouted from the second row.
             

A second man stood, then a third.

“So will I!”

“And I!”

The applause lasted a full minute before Captain Talbot, wiping tears from his eyes on his uniform sleeve, bade the audience to be silent. He directed the three young men to an Army recruiter at a small folding desk beside the piano player, who began pounding out
Stars and Stripes Forever
.

Donald and Clara left the theater at the end of the second feature. The Keystone Cops tw
o-reel comedy had helped temper the emotions Captain Talbot stirred. To their right, small groups of men and women gathered around the young men who had just signed up. Everyone cheered them on.

Donald felt Clara shudder as they passed the last group. He patted her hand, which she had looped under his arm.

“You’re thinking of your brother?”

“Yes.”

“And I worry about Cletus. Naomi and Clarence haven’t gotten any letters from him lately.”

“I’m still receiving letters from
Henry, but he sounds different.”

“Ma says the same about Cletus.”

Donald guided Clara outside and onto the large veranda fronting the theater. The salt air was refreshing. She stopped at the railing and reached into her bag for a handkerchief. He rested his hand on her back. Clara spoke so softly that Donald barely understood what she said next.

“Donald, did you see the captain’s left arm?”

“I noticed that he didn’t move it.”

Clara turned to face him. She put one hand flat against Donald’s chest, patting lightly with her fingers spread. She stared at the back of her hand a few seconds more before she could speak. Donald leaned closer to hear.

“That was a wooden prosthesis,” she whispered, looking up. “Captain Talbot didn’t have a left arm.”

Jake sat on Clara’s front porch swing, pushing slowly with his heels back and forth. It would be dark soon. Foley said to be back in the office Thursday morning, so that meant leaving Galveston in the next few hours. Nothing left to do here anyway, he thought. Elton is recovering and I’ve got the photos I came to get. Even Donald had …

“Where’s your friend?
”

“Oh, hi
, Rebecca, I didn’t hear you walk up. Don and Clara went to the seawall. They’ll be back soon. Have a seat.” He stopped rocking the swing and patted the slats of the space beside him.

“You looked deep in thought,” Rebecca said, gathering her skirt. “Good thoughts, I hope.”

“Only the best.”

Rebecca’s skin glowed in the warm afternoon light. Jake studied her profile with a photographer’s eye, something he rarely did. Rebecca fit Gibson’s popular illustrations of the ideal woman: slender waist, ample bosom, full lips, and a narrow, slightly upturned nose. She promoted the look with the delicate use of rouge and lip color, which she brushed on sparingly.

How different from Maye, Jake thought. Maye uses cosmetics like a printer uses ink. He started the swing moving again and lifted his arm over its back, behind Rebecca’s shoulders.

“When do you
leave for work?”

“The car will be here in an hour. Jenny’s getting ready now.”

“Don and I are going back to Houston tonight.”

“I guessed that. I’m sorry you can’t stay longer.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Maybe I could come to Houston sometime. I’d love to see the newspaper office where you work.”

Jake eased his arm from Rebecca’s shoulders, pretended to scratch his head, then rested his hands in his lap.

“That would be nice, Rebecca.”

Donald and Clara walked along the seawall from 23
rd
Street to 30
th
and back again. They didn’t talk any more about the war, although it was on both their minds. They stopped instead at a soda fountain and ordered hot dogs. Real ones this time, Donald thought.

“And two
Triple-X
cream sodas,” he said to the man behind the counter. They took their food and drinks to a small round table near the front window that faced the boulevard. The traffic was continuous.

“More automobiles every day,” Clara said, shaking her head. “Do you remember the first one you saw?”

“No. By the time I was old enough to notice, they were common in Houston.”

“I remember seeing my first motor car,” she said, “not so much the machine, but how it scared the horses and mules.”

“Nowadays there must be more automobiles than buggies. Draymen are learning to drive trucks and livery stables are going out of business. Even the trolley lines are suffering because of motor cars. People would rather drive themselves.”

“But cars are so noisy, and the smells take your breath away.”

“Not Mrs. Carhart’s Cadillac.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sometimes she drives it herself.” Donald grinned at Clara. “The chauffeur doesn’t approve. He told me it embarrasses him to be a passenger in the front seat with her at the wheel. It’s worse because he wears a uniform, so everyone notices.”

Donald held the straw steady and sipped his cream soda without lifting the glass. Another couple came in and sat at the adjacent table near the
Coca-Cola sign. Everyone wanted a window seat.

“Mrs. Carhart began driving by herself after Cadillac offered electric starters. She bought one of the first models with that feature.”