Winnie turned and saw him. Her face lit up with a smile that could melt steel. “Coming, Papa,” she called back, taking but a moment to say good-bye to her friends, then racing toward him, her gait wide but agile. Her running made him think of Donald. She was now two years older than Donald had been when he died. She’d never known her older brother. The photographs Fred had taken of Donald kept his middle son frozen as a four-year-old. But every now and then he came alive in a certain smile on Russell’s face, or in the way Robert brushed off his pudgy palms by slapping them together, or in Winnie’s gait.
“Did you have a good day, Papa?”
“I did,” he said as he closed her door on the touring car. He drove the car more often now, and even Mrs. Bauer tolerated with minimal complaint the wind whipping the feathers on her hat. He stepped into the car, having already cranked the engine.
He asked for the name of her little friend, and then Winnie quizzed him. “What did you learn today, Papa?” she said, settling her hands in her lap. She looked like he did, he thought, when he was about to interrogate Russell regarding his lessons.
“A father is supposed to ask that question,” he told her.
“I’m faster,” she said. “I give you my turn.”
He smiled. “What did I learn? Let me think. Well, I learned that Miss Gaebele is returning to Winona.”
“Do I remember her?”
“You might. She’s Selma’s sister. You remember Selma? Yes, well, Miss Gaebele worked with me at the studio, along with Mrs. Henderson. She has a birthday the same day as yours, yes?”
“Jessie!” Recognition brightened Winnie’s blue eyes. “Jessie, Jessie, Jessie. Why did she move away?”
“Now it’s your turn. What did you learn today?”
She took a deep breath. “God made a big boat, and He took all the animals along so everyone could go fishing.”
Her summer Bible-school teacher would chuckle to know how that story had been remembered. “That’s why God had Noah build the boat, for fishing?” he teased.
Winnie stayed serious. “Yes sir. But it rained so much they couldn’t go. Then a bird found a dry place so they could fish from the shore, and God sent a rainbow so they could find the dry place where the pot of gold sat, and they never had to worry about being wet again because God said so, and they were all very rich because they fished on a certain side of the boat, and God is so good.”
“You’ve gotten the last part exactly right,” he told her. He turned the corner and slowed down to cross the railroad tracks close to their home.
“Is Jessie coming to visit us?”
He shook his head, wishing he hadn’t mentioned Jessie’s return. Winnie might blurt that out at home, and he wasn’t sure how the news would be received. In the past year his wife had not mentioned the girl who had run the studio and kept them solvent on two occasions due to his illnesses, but she’d found other things to chide him about. Their trips to Rochester to “talk out their problems” brought improvement, but he knew she wasn’t happy, and he didn’t always know what subjects might trigger her telling him about it. Still, he was quite certain he noted a flicker of annoyance whenever Miss Gaebele came into a conversation. He’d never confessed his indiscretions to his wife. What would have been the point? He wasn’t ever going to pursue it, repeat it, make the same mistake. He’d recommitted to his wife and family. Telling her of a time when he’d wandered, if mostly with his emotions, could only hurt his wife and the best chance they had at keeping their marriage together.
“We might see her around, right, Papa?” Winnie said, and he smiled. One minute she was a child chattering about fishing, and the next she sounded like an adult putting the future into perspective.
At their South Baker Street home, he let Winnie out, and she ran into the house while he backed the car into the garage. Before closing the shed door, he wiped the fenders down with his rag, checked the tires and the fuel tank so the car would be ready the next time he drove it. He took the rug out from where he placed his feet and shook it. Then with a brush he kept for the car, he swept the area before putting the rugs back. Killing time, he told himself. I’m killing time. He picked up his cane and walked into the house just as Winnie told her mother, “Jessie’s back in town.”
“The Gaebele girl?” Mrs. Bauer said. “Who told you that?” Mrs. Bauer was having a good day. She wore a new apron with strawberries printed on green fabric. It made her think of summer and the garden, and she planned to whip cream to serve with the small crop of strawberries she’d picked in the backyard. Now she felt annoyed, though she didn’t know why.
“I did.” Her husband removed his hat, and she noticed he wore a pinched look on his face. He hung up his jacket and tugged on his suspenders as though they weren’t straight, which of course they were. Her husband was quite tidy about his person, expected the same of her. “We played, ‘What did you learn today?’ and that was my news. I thought she’d remember the girl, but she didn’t at first. And I’m not certain that Miss Gaebele is back, just that she might be coming back.”
“She’s Selma’s sister, isn’t she, Mama?”
“Yes. Go change your dress now, Winnie. There’s time for you to play before supper, but not in your Bible-school clothes. Your father wouldn’t want you to get dirty.”
“She needs a new dress or two,” Mr. Bauer said as Winnie left the room. “Her knees will be showing soon.”
“Heaven knows I haven’t had time or energy to sew,” Mrs. Bauer said. He was always so critical of her and everything she did. “I have Robert to look after and the garden and—”
“It wasn’t a criticism, just an observation. Perhaps we could have Lilly Gaebele sew a frock for her. Save you the trouble.”
“Why would you say such a thing? It’s no trouble to sew for my own child.” How could he think that doing for her children proved a burden? She loved her children. They meant everything to her. Those two occasions when she’d gone home to her mother’s hadn’t been to avoid her children but to find a place of peace, to separate herself from the demands of the day-to-dayness that being a wife required. She could feel weight settle on her shoulders like the heavy fur cape she wore in winter. She had to stop the downward pressure.
What had Reverend Carleton said? Could her husband’s words hold a different meaning? She must think of other ways her husband’s words could be construed, not always go with her first impression, which was that he criticized. Maybe it was just an innocent comment about the children’s needing new clothing.
“I happened to notice that the dress looked short, and I thought of the Gaebele girl’s sewing business, that’s all.” Jessie Gaebele. That’s why she was irritated. It wasn’t her recent lack of sewing that had given her pause. It was the mention of that girl. Mrs. Bauer had no idea why that should upset her. The girl had done nothing but assist them during difficult times, yet whenever he mentioned her, she found herself defensive, comparing herself to the pretty young woman with photographic talent that rivaled her own. Mrs. Bauer always fell short. Reverend Carleton had said she ought to talk with her husband about such reactions—not that she’d mentioned to him about the Gaebele girl. Heavens, no. She couldn’t imagine doing that, speaking about a person or an issue that she couldn’t frame in her own mind. Her husband’s nimble words would snarl hers, and she’d end up feeling worse than if she’d never brought up the difficult subject.
“What? Were you speaking to me?” She turned to him.
“Yes, I was. You were drifting. I think I hear Robert up from his nap.” Her husband sighed. “I’ll go get him. Where’s Russell?”
“Melba will get Robert, and I didn’t drift off. I was thinking,” she told her husband. Is he changing the subject on purpose? Good. They were supposed to find ways to step over little annoyances until they’d had a chance to clarify what was so upsetting and talk about it later, when they were both calm. “But I’m sure Robert would be pleased to see you.” She spoke the words as though introduci
ng a new member of her Ladies Aid Society.
“Good. I’ll have him help me read the paper,” he said.
Mrs. Bauer let him go. Strange how she’d gone from a happy day to one where she wondered if she’d have the courage to talk with her husband about how he knew that Jessie Gaebele was back in town.
Reunion
THE TRAIN RIDE BACK FROM MILWAUKEE felt very different than when Jessie had headed southeast the year before. Fields of corn rose up, far from harvest. No migrating geese clustered in the wetlands. All around her the world did the work of maturing, and she did that too.
She’d met a few of her goals, she decided. She’d eked out a payment to Marie for her receptionist help, paid Suzanne for the chemicals, sent small amounts home, and saved the rest for her debt.
Suzanne’s surprise envelope, given just before Jessie left, made being debt-free possible. “It seemed only fair for you to share in the profit from the sale of the business,” Suzanne had told her. “Without you, I wouldn’t have had a business to sell.”
Funny how Suzanne’s money held no obligation; Jessie received it as a gift.
On the other hand, she fully intended to return the money Fred had paid the Harmses for her room and board. She’d give him a piece of her mind as well. He’d had no right to impose that kind of obligation on her, or on the Harms family either. She’d found out the amount he sent, and saving to pay it back had been her highest priority.
Jessie wondered about her family’s reception of her on this visit home. There was still history—the weight of Roy’s stammering and how her relationship with Fred had disappointed her parents and her sisters. Lilly had never written to her in Milwaukee, not once, and Jessie wondered how she took the reading of Jessie’s letters out loud after supper. She probably retired early so she didn’t have to hear them.
Jessie stood up on the train, just to change her thinking. Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. She remembered the verse from Philippians and found herself smiling as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Memorizing scriptures and poems, her mother had said, was like filling a pool from which one could later draw nourishment. Jessie hadn’t deserved that pool from which she might easily draw courage or confidence; she’d put a cover over the cistern of her soul.
So the arrival of the verse as though from nowhere lifted Jessie’s thoughts away from Lilly’s disapproval. True, just, pure things she contemplated as the Chicago and Northwestern chugged through Wisconsin, crossed the mighty Mississippi River, slowed and screeched into the Winona station house.
Jessie knew there would be no one to meet her, as she hadn’t told them the exact date she’d be leaving Milwaukee, so she wasn’t expecting to see her father standing on the platform, his eyes searching the windows as the steam billowed its way back across the train, clouding her sight.
“Papa!” she shouted, though he couldn’t possibly hear her through the steam and the clanking. She waved her gloved hand, grabbed her camera case, and began running through the car toward the door. The porter held up his palm, his dark face holding a smile as she told him, “That’s my papa out there. He’s waiting for me!”
“In a minute, miss. In a minute.”
She nearly lost her balance when the train finally stopped. The porter reached for her elbow to steady her, then stepped aside as he pulled open the door. Jessie jumped off, and with one hand holding her hat and the other swinging her camera case, she raced back toward the spot where she’d seen her father standing.
“I’m here,” she shouted, and he turned and opened his arms to her. It was the best homecoming present she could have. “But what are you doing here?” she said when he set her back on her feet. “I didn’t tell you when I was coming. Oh, wait. I’ve left my bag on the train.” She raced back to where she’d been sitting, pushing through the passengers heading out, grabbed the carpetbag, and surged back with the crowd to link arms with her father.
“A little flummoxed?” he teased.
“Just tell me how you knew.”
“Only one Chicago and Northwestern brings people from Milwaukee each day,” he said. “Five o’clock.” He looked at his watch. “On the dot.”
“You’ve come here every day?” she asked. “Since I wrote?”
“Just since last week. When your trunk arrived. Stationmaster called me to say they had a trunk to be sent to our address. It sat all weekend before they notified us.”
“I’d planned to pick it up when I got here,” she said.
“Already at home. Hauled it there myself. Roy could hardly keep from opening it, said he wanted the surprise you promised to him.”
“I do have a few small things for everyone,” she said as they approached her father’s drayage wagon. “But Roy’s surprise isn’t in there. I’ll take care of that before I leave for Eau Claire.”
Her father stopped. “You didn’t say anything about visiting Eau Claire,” he said. “Not right away, I hope.”
“I’m not exactly…visiting,” she said. She decided she’d tell him now, even though the tone of his voice indicated that he might not like hearing it. “I’ve taken a position there.”
“In photography?” Jessie nodded. “Your mother hoped maybe you’d given up those pursuits. Milwaukee didn’t discourage you then?”
If anything, Milwaukee had given her new hope, after a few stumbles. But even then, she hadn’t fallen. “I thought you’d be happy I’ve found another job,” she said. “So I won’t be a burden on you and Mama.” At least the episode with Fred hadn’t spilled into the public like the affair of that architect Frank Lloyd Wright and his paramour, Mamah Borthwick Cheney. What stings and assaults their families must’ve been enduring, having their relationship discussed daily in the newspaper. Mrs. Cheney had gotten a divorce, but Mr. Wright had not. It was a scandal.
Not that she and Fred had participated in an affair anything like theirs. Just an episode. But she knew her family carried grief for her actions. Lilly had added to Jessie’s guilt by telling her before she left that her parents blamed themselves for not giving Jessie more upstanding morals.
“You’re not a burden,” her father said. “I’m just disheartened that you didn’t look for work in Winona, maybe see if Reverend Carleton might be in need of a receptionist. I believe your mother and I, and your sisters, are willing to let bygones be bygones.”
She was tempted to ask him what had transpired between him and Fred at the river when they’d been fishing. Had he let bygones be gone and had Selma just misunderstood?
Think on these things…
She patted his large hand as he bent to lift the reins. “I’m a businesswoman now, Papa. And we professional women need to go where there’s work. The Everson Studio in Eau Claire needs an assistant, and Suzanne Johnson gave me a solid recommendation.”
“Don’t be too prideful now, Jessie,” he cautioned.
“I wasn’t… I… She let me read her letter. It was nice of her to recommend me, that’s all. She’s the one who told me about the opening anyway. There’d been a notice that her studio had changed hands, and Mrs. Everson guessed that Suzanne had an assistant who might be needing work. At least Eau Claire is closer to Winona,” she said. “I’ll visit. Maybe you could visit me there too.”
“I thought we’d stop on the way home, just to see Reverend Carleton,” her father said. “Maybe he’d offer you better pay than you’ll get in Eau Claire.”
She didn’t look at him, brushed at a smudge on her glove. “Papa, I’m already committed to Eau Claire, for at least six months. You wouldn’t want me to go back on my word, would you?”
“Well, let’s not tell your mother just yet,” he said.
As the wagon rattled along, Jessie breathed in the familiarity of home: the majesty of the bluffs, the clatt
er of horse-drawn carriages and autos crossing over the streetcar tracks. The rough weave of her father’s shirt rubbed against her arms. She slipped her elbow through his arm and pushed back her father’s disappointment—threatening to stick its nosy head into this precious reunion.
Fred had seen the trunk with the Gaebele name on it when he’d gone to the train station to pick up an order of his own photographic supplies. Voe Henderson, his assistant, often did that for him, but she’d been “feeling poorly” as the women often said, and her husband had called in to say she couldn’t pick up the supplies that day because she’d be late. It was one of the difficulties of having hired a married woman who was expecting her first child. He wondered how long it would be before she told him she couldn’t continue her employment, forcing him to train another assistant yet again. Voe had worked with him for several years now, hired when Jessie was. Voe wasn’t nearly as artistic or as efficient as Jessie, but neither did she cause distractions. She did her job, made him laugh occasionally, then went home to her husband, at least on days when she came to work. When she didn’t, he had to handle her jobs too.
His wife had once done a great deal of photographic work with him. She’d managed most of the retouching and tinting, which Voe didn’t like to do. Mrs. Bauer had otherwise helped out at the studio too, but that was long ago. Now Voe managed the appointments and made patrons feel comfortable. Voe also did most of the developing, as he’d twice been affected by the mercury poisoning and avoided the chemicals now as much as possible. So he assumed the duties of the portrait taking, printing, tinting, and retouching.
Mrs. Bauer was a skilled retoucher, but with young children to care for, she’d insisted he manage those things by himself. Fred believed that during the school year, when only Robert was at home, Melba could easily look after him for an hour or two so his wife could work with him at the studio. But Mrs. Bauer resisted. Anything having to do with photography distressed her. But then, most things did distress her, even with her following the doctor’s suggestions.
An Absence So Great: A Novel (Portraits of the Heart) Page 12
