“This is a special year, Miss Gaebele,” Ralph continued. “Halley’s Comet caused a near panic in Chicago last month on a dark day over that city. The comet will be a springboard to my ministries this year, warning people about getting their souls right before the end times come. The end could be near, very near. People will come to my tents to find answers to their fears.”
Jessie hoped he wasn’t the type to create fears and then offer no solutions. There’d been other disasters already that year. Mine explosions across the Atlantic, and in the Cascade Range of Washington State, 118 people had died in a terrible spring avalanche that buried three trains.
“Do you worry about the end, Jessie?” Ralph asked. She lowered her eyes. “You ought to.”
She looked boldly at him then. “But the earth moved through the tail of the comet, and we did not burn up. Doesn’t that mean humans have been given another chance to do right in this world?”
“We have time to confess our sins, but at any moment, poof.” He snapped his fingers. “You must think of that, Jessie. Women especially must remember these things and tell them to their children.” He lifted his fist to the air as though announcing a new thought. “I believe I’ll hold a special gathering just for women. Yes, that would be a wonderful thing. If women cleanse their souls, they’ll lead their families to the purity necessary to be at peace, regardless of when the world ends. Write that down, Jessie.” He smiled when she looked back up at him. “You’ll be doing the Lord’s work helping me,” he said. “How fortunate you are.”
Jessie knew she ought to think of her soul and what it needed for purity, because she’d had thoughts, some that, if she didn’t ignore them, would take her to an unforgivable place. Lust in one’s heart was the same as knowing someone in the biblical sense, wasn’t it? Though she had not known Mr. Bauer that way, she had longed for what wasn’t hers to have. And this emptiness she carried with her on her journey made her almost wish the tail of the comet had done what some had predicted and ended it all.
Ralph came around to the side of the desk where Jessie sat, her hands clasped now in her lap. “We can mutually benefit each other, Miss Gaebele. You provide good secretarial skills for my ministry, and I will ensure that you have the best working environment you could ever hope for. Only other women work here. No temptations.”
What had her mother told him? He paused to put down the glob of limp cotton that was his hanky and pulled out a leather book. “Of course, a lot of my singers who travel with me are men. We urge local churches to provide the chorus, but we bring our own director. You’ll have to deal with men but only at a distance. These are my past traveling schedules, contacts in various cities and whatnot; these are my current plans for the year.” He pointed to stacks of folders on a side table. The pile of papers jutted out like the bad teeth of a neglected child. “And this will be our daily schedule. We’ll begin with Bible reading each and every day. Your mother said that would be something you’d particularly want.”
“I’m sure she did,” Jessie said.
She’d have to speak with her mother about what led the reverend to think she couldn’t work around men! But then she remembered how she’d felt the day Mr. Bauer returned to the studio, wishing she were all alone with him and feeling relief that while Voe was there she was protected from her own emotions. It certainly was worth a try to listen to her mother this once.
Ralph Carleton talked so much she wouldn’t have time to daydream. And he promised to pay her more than what she’d been making at the studio.
Ralph stared into her eyes. “You will find your true direction here. We will keep you safe from temptation, Miss Gaebele.”
“Isn’t it the Lord Himself who keeps us from temptation?” Jessie said.
“Indeed,” Ralph said. He sat back then, on the edge of his desk, one leg on the floor, his thick thigh squeezing the linen of his bent pant leg. He crossed one arm over his large chest to hold the opposite elbow. He looked at her through newly approving eyes. “I believe your mother underestimates you.”
“My mother loves me dearly.” And she fears I’ll say the right thing but not always do it. Maybe working here would keep her feet from slipping. Jessie reached her hand out to shake Ralph Carleton’s and set the date she’d begin to work for him.
For Jessie, knowing she would tell Mr. Bauer she was leaving made her think of the women who said good-bye to their men before they sent them off to the Philippine-American War. They had to put aside the future, think of how they’d live knowing that their husband or fiancé wouldn’t be there to hold them when they needed it.
Jessie had never been held by the one she was leaving. The days before she told him of her departure were like the songs she never wanted to end, even knowing that when they did the melody would continue in her mind long after the music had stopped. It would never again ring in her ears as it had or be as transforming.
When could she tell him? Her eyes scanned the appointment book. His first appointment arrived. She listened to customers welcome FJ back, commenting that he looked well and that they hoped to see him at their lodge or at church before long. Jessie kept her face from expressing the jab of pain when someone mentioned church.
Jessie witnessed no knowing looks suggesting that she was anything other than a professional assisting him with a request for prints while he and Voe finished up. She kept the lines of professionalism as tightly tuned as a violin string. She answered, “Yes, Mr. Bauer,” when he asked her to get him something, always by calling her Miss Gaebele. She made suggestions discreetly, never acted as though she had authority over his thoughts and actions, though she knew she did. Oh yes, she knew she did, which was the very reason she had to leave, had to work somewhere else. It was the only way.
She waited until the day ended. It was a Thursday. She was nervous. Then Voe said, just before she left, that she and Daniel had set the date for their wedding. “Saturday next,” she told her. “You’ll be my witness, won’t you?”
“Of course. I didn’t realize things had moved along so quickly.”
“I think I’m ready,” Voe said. Her face beamed, and Jessie felt her joy and let it wash over her, if only for a moment.
“Could I speak with you, Mr. Bauer?” Jessie said after Voe left and all the windows had been closed, the drapery drawn. They were in the office area.
“Mr. Bauer. FJ,” she began.
“You sound so serious, Miss Gaebele. Shall I fix us tea?”
“No! Please. Just let me say this.”
He looked suddenly alarmed, adjusted his glasses. “Is something wrong?”
“I’ve taken another position,” she blurted. She’d planned to say how much she had liked working for him, how grateful she was for his instruction and the camera and for his supporting Lilly’s seamstress work and for Selma’s having fine employment. She’d rehearsed it all, but when she sat before him, watched his eyes as he sat behind the desk, the words flew out before she could think to control their exit.
“Are you ill? The mercury.” He stood so quickly his chair nearly fell back. He walked around the desk. “Let me see your hands.”
She let him hold them, knew she ought not to.
“I don’t understand, Jessie,” he said.
“I’m not ill. I… My mother thinks I ought to try another profession.” She was such a coward!
“I have put much responsibility on you these past months, I know that. But you seemed to thrive on it. The studio is doing well. I know you haven’t had time away, that you allowed Voe to have a vacation while you kept the studio open, and I’m grateful. But to leave? Surely I could relieve your mother’s concerns. Unless they are your concerns too.”
“It’s… I think I should separate myself. I mean, don’t you?”
She looked for some recognition on his face, some understanding that they shared feelings that had not been openly expressed, perhaps never should be. She longed to see that he too knew that to remain in close contact would only cause su
ffering, inflict a wound that would never heal, would just keep hurting, weeping.
He looked away. Maybe I’ve read into his looks and movements. Lilly and my mother are wrong, and I half believed they weren’t! She swallowed, her throat thickening.
He began, “Was it that day in the retouching studio with the baby—?”
“Ralph Carleton has offered me a position that will earn me a little more money. So one day I can have my own studio,” she said. She said it firmly, taking the attention from how she felt to the business at hand.
He stepped back, sat on the desk. His shoulders dropped, in relief, she thought. “Oh. Well. We could talk about an increase in pay then. Yes, we must.”
“Eventually I’ll be your competition,” she said. “And it wouldn’t be fair to have you train me further and be the source of an improved salary, then have me spin around and buy a studio that might take business from you.”
He stared at her. He’s upset. “Miss Gaebele. The chance that a young woman barely eighteen years old could purchase a business, compete with a diplomat in the photographic congress, and take clients from an established studio is quite a fantasy on your part. An indulgent fantasy, I’d say.” He smiled as though she were fifteen and had just walked through his studio door.
Jessie felt her face grow warm and her breath shorten. She wasn’t sure if it was his condescension of her talents and capability that riled her passion or that he failed to see that she was leaving because to stay would break her heart.
“Good, then. We won’t have discussions anymore about portraits versus more candid shots. The world is moving faster, Mr. Bauer. My interests in the profession may well overtake stuffy studio artist’s poses.” He winced. “I’m sorry,” she said, overcome with remorse for her sharp tongue. “You’ve done so much for me. I shouldn’t have said that.” She heard her heart pounding like raindrops on the rooftop. She fought back tears.
He said nothing for a time. She heard squirrels chatter outside the window.
“No, I’m the one to apologize, Miss Gaebele.” His voice was as smooth as a finger brushed against her brow. “I had no call to poke holes in your dreams. No cause at all. You’re very talented. You’ll go far. I’ve no right to hold you back. I… A salary increase can certainly be considered, if I haven’t insulted you to the extent that you’d refuse to consider it. I’ve become…fond of you, your presence.”
“And I yours,” she said. “Perhaps too much so.”
“No, no,” he told her. “I never should have… The presents, did they offend you? I sometimes felt so…different with you, so alive again. Young.” He sat on the edge of the desk just as Ralph Carleton had, only he clasped his hands together as though in prayer, his elbows resting on his thighs. “I never meant to hurt you. I… Jessie, perhaps I ought not say this, but—”
He did feel as she did, at least a little. She had to be the stronger of the two. She had to keep the words from being spoken. It was up to her, before he began to see the depth of what she felt or acknowledged anything more of his own.
She stood, put out her hand. “I know Voe will be good for you, and you can find another assistant to train. You’re very good at that. And I am truly grateful for all you’ve done for me, for my family too. Good-bye, Mr. Bauer,” she said.
He tried to hold on to her hand after shaking it, but she pulled away.
He stood then, clasped his hands behind him as though a military man standing at ease. “Very well. But Voe, Miss Kopp, has just told me she’ll be getting married at the end of next week. I’m sure you knew.” Jessie nodded. “At least remain until after the wedding and her week of honeymooning. Please, don’t leave me before that.”
She’d be fine, she told herself. Only two weeks and a day. “Very well. After their honeymoon, I’ll be replaced.”
She turned toward the door before he could say anything more. She ached for him to reach out to stop her, breathed a prayer of gratitude that he didn’t. The last thing she saw clearly before her tears sent spirals of light shattering through her world was the portrait of his wife and his two sons hanging on the studio wall as Jessie rushed past.
The Long Good-Bye
“MY SISTER’S FOUND A NEW JOB,” Selma told Mrs. Bauer. The two sat at the table shelling peas that Selma had picked from beneath the window hothouse Mr. Bauer had made. “Early peas are just the best, don’t you think? So tiny and yet so tasty.” She popped one into her mouth.
“Oh? Yes. I guess they’re good.”
“I like them in greens with a few carrots cut up on them. Mama likes to put onions in the greens, but I don’t like the taste they leave in my mouth. Do you?”
“I don’t notice much,” Mrs. Bauer said. Something the girl had spoken of earlier made her want to ask a question, but she couldn’t remember what it was. She was just so tired. All the time now. She’d thought after Robert was born this would all end, be different, and somehow she’d feel that life was worth living rather than just going through the motions. But even the laughter of her children failed to ignite some sort of spark in her. She was a weight on her husband and her children with her malaise.
She had left the Ladies Aid Society leadership more than a year ago and said it was because of her carrying Robert, but really, she hated being up front, hated the bickering that went on about such inane things as whether tulips or peonies should be the centerpieces for the spring luncheon. The real issue was about whose tulips or peonies would appear, whether Mrs. Jeffs or Mrs. Kursa would gain the upper hand by which flowers were placed. There’d been a time when that sort of thing mattered, but not anymore.
Even Mr. Bauer’s leaving her alone, not scratching on her bedroom door anymore, even that had not relieved the pressure she felt in her head in the morning or the terrible weight she felt when she looked at him at the end of the day, wearing his own fatigue from his illnesses and the studio work now that he’d gone back. Studio work.
“Did you say your sister has taken another job, Selma?”
“Yes ma’am. She’s going to work for the evangelist.”
“Taking photographs?”
“Oh, no ma’am. She’s going to be his secretary, write his letters and that sort of thing. It seems silly to me. She never liked school all that much, and my older sister, Lilly, makes fun of her wording when she writes notes. She writes except when she means accept. Even I know the difference!”
“That surprises me,” Mrs. Bauer said. “My husband hasn’t mentioned it. Maybe he feels now that he’s back full-time he only needs one helper. But I would have thought he’d keep Miss Gaebele rather than that coarse girl, Voe Kopp.”
“What’s a coarse girl?” Selma asked.
“Forgive me. It’s isn’t a word I should have used to describe her. She’s just… I find her sharp in her words and not particularly faithful to our profession.”
“Are you a photographer, Mrs. Bauer? I guess I didn’t know that.” Selma bit into a pea, and it squirted a tiny bit of juice onto the table. Selma didn’t seem to notice.
“I did retouching for a time. Quite a long time, actually. But I never liked it. For my father. He was a photographer. And then for Mr. Bauer.”
“I guess I thought that closet with the paintbrushes set up on a table belonged to Mr. Bauer. What does retouching do exactly?”
She needs to wipe up that wet spot from the pea.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“I just wondered what retouching was for.”
“It’s to take out blemishes from a person’s face. Or sometimes the extra lines around eyes or a mouth. The wrinkles formed when a person smiles a lot—some people don’t like to see them held static forever, the way they are in a photograph.”
“Did you retouch the picture of Russell and your other son, the one in the hall?”
She felt her stomach tighten. “No, I did not.” She sounded upset even to her own ears. She took a deep breath. “He was a perfect child. As is Russell. And Robert. They’
re all perfect. They don’t need retouching.”
“And Winnie, she’s perfect too?”
“Did I leave her out? How could I?” How could a mother forget one of her children? What kind of mother is that? She’d been having dreams where she left one or all of the children behind in Cos-grove’s when she went there to buy a hat or gloves and left with packages filled with brushes and paints that weighed her down, and it wasn’t until she got home that she discovered she had no children. They were all gone and she couldn’t remember where to find them. That pea juice will stain the oilcloth if the girl doesn’t wipe it up.
“Selma, do you see the pea juice there, on the tablecloth? Wipe that up before it stains.”
The girl squinted. “I can’t see where it is, Mrs. Bauer. Can you point it out?”
“It’s as large as the bottom of a pan,” Mrs. Bauer snapped. “Are you blind? Right there!” She pointed.
Selma’s face took on a frightened look. The girl rose and got a rag and wiped it around, but she obviously wasn’t paying attention. She missed it. “Here, give me that.” Mrs. Bauer grabbed the cloth and scrubbed at the table. She moved the rag, stared. It was still there. It had already stained! They’d have to throw it out. A perfectly good tablecloth ruined. The girl stood with her back jammed against the dry sink.
Mrs. Bauer yanked at the cloth, spilling the peas they’d shelled into the bowl. “It can’t be repaired,” she said. “Take it out, take it out.” Why am I so distressed? Where has my mind gone? They’re only peas.
“Mama?” It was Russell. He’d come in from outdoors. “Mama?”
“Would you take the tablecloth outside? It’s been ruined by pea juice. Perhaps your father can use it to lie on when he does what he does with the car.”
“Change the oil.”
“Yes. When he does that. It will keep him from getting his coat dirty.” The boy took the oilcloth from Selma. The two exchanged looks. Is he mocking me?