A Flickering Light

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  She looked for cleanser to clean the wound. Her husband was always a step behind other businessmen who prospered. Oh, they had a comfortable life, but he’d made investments in the salve, kept detailed ledgers, but nothing really came of the orders. A few were shipped, mostly to North Dakota and Seattle, where Watkins’s products weren’t so easily acquired. Mr. Bauer had seen military duty in the West and remembered the prairies, liked them, left behind the salve with some friends there, south of Bismarck. He received a few orders after that.

  He’d left so much more behind in North Dakota.

  Everyone had urged them to have another child as soon as they could after Donald’s death. Again, people intruding upon the intimacies of a marriage, making such suggestions. People had no idea of the strain.

  Well, perhaps they did. At least the relatives knew she’d gone home to live with her mother when her father died in 1895 and stayed longer than was socially acceptable. She hadn’t cared. Her mother needed looking after, or at least she told herself that. Her sister and her brother, Orrin, were of no help even though they lived in the same town. Or had Orrin moved on by then? She couldn’t remember. She came back to Winona but returned to her mother’s again in the fall of 1900. Mr. Bauer had begged her to come back, to bring Russell, just a baby then. He’d been talking about investing in cropland in North Dakota, and she had put her foot down. As if such an investment made sense. They’d argued; she took Russell and went home to her mother’s.

  But Mr. Bauer charmed her with his easy, persistent smile. He told her of the government’s plan to permit homestead claims to be proved up. He’d get a partner, someone to stay there to do the work. They’d share the crop profits. And he could even set up a photographic studio in nearby Hazelton, make it seasonal so it would pay. And then she could travel, take her mother and Russell and visit relatives wherever they’d like. There’d be resources. Resources. He spoke about money as though it was something to be consumed rather than saved for times of trial. She’d had plenty of trials.

  She’d listened and returned to him. Nine months later, Donald was born, in late 1901. Dear, dear Donald with his light hair and sweet smile. She sighed. The paper-cut pain was almost desirable, distracting her thoughts of Donald. She pressed her finger, forcing blood she let drip over the dry sink. She watched it drop by drop, then decided to ease her discomfort with the salve, wrap the small throb in her handkerchief. Later she’d have to put extra bluing in the water to remove the stain. Scrub it hard.

  Mrs. Bauer drifted back into the parlor and picked up the picture her husband had taken of the three of them, her and Russell and Donald. She evaluated herself. It wasn’t one of her best photographs. She looked harsh, half her face in shadow. She’d retouched it, hoping to bring out the natural fullness and a small lift to her single-strand lips, barely wider than a yarn thread. She’d held the brush in her mouth to keep it moist while she perused the detail on the plate. Russell stood behind her, his hand gently on her neck, so protective. Only Donald smiled, and now he was gone. She ran her fingers across the cool glass that covered Donald’s face.

  She heard the door slam. Russell shouted, “Did you see me, Mother? I hit the ball further than anyone.”

  “Farther than,” she corrected.

  “They said I was too young to play with them, but I hit the ball fur…farther than even I thought I could.”

  “That’s good. You ought to stay in now, wash up for supper. Your father will be home soon.” She looked at the kitchen clock, annoyance spearing her lethargy. He should already be here. He’d probably stopped off at one of his lodges. No telling when he’d be home now.

  She thought she saw a flash of anger cross Russell’s eyes. Mrs. Bauer shared his sentiments, though for very different reasons. She simply could not count on her husband to be home at any given time. It was a small thing to expect, and yet he wouldn’t comply. “We’ll eat without him,” she said. “Wash up.” She grabbed at the cupboard door, jerked plates out, slammed them on the table.

  Feeling angry was better than feeling nothing.

  Chaos greeted Jessie once she reached Broadway Street and home. Her stomach growled to be fed, but her mother had other plans.

  “I’ve had your father looking all over town. You had an interview this morning,” her mother said. “You left the house in the dead of night. Roy told us, though it took him a while.” Her little brother waved and grinned as he sat at the table, but then he almost always did grin. He burped then, a belch that sounded like a bullfrog’s croak and had earned him the nickname of Frog, at least from Jessie. “Roy,” her mother chastened.

  “I left early morning,” Jessie corrected.

  “You didn’t eat any breakfast and went off on your own without permission.” Her mother looked at the clock. “Nearly noon. What have you been doing? Never mind. You’ve missed your interview. I thought it was something you might even enjoy. Where have your thoughts gone these days! Do you know how rare it is to find work that waltzes with one’s interest?”

  “Waltzes, Mama?” This from Selma. “I didn’t think we were allowed to dance.”

  “Hush, child,” her mother said. She wiped imaginary dirt onto her white apron in that way she had when she was annoyed, crossed her arms over her broad chest. Ida Gaebele was a force to be reckoned with, and this morning that force was a full tornado.

  “I didn’t miss the interview, Mama. I got the job,” Jessie said. “Voe and I were both hired.”

  “You told Voe about the opening? Clara Deacon would have been so much the better companion for you than Voe. I didn’t know that girl cared much about photography or anything associated with a trade like that.”

  “Voe’s a good girl, Mama. I don’t know why you don’t like her. Besides, Mr. Bauer wasn’t really looking for a camera girl.”

  “But the ad said—”

  “He wants someone blank as a school slate.”

  “I see why Voe would qualify, then,” Lilly said. She’d come home for lunch from her work in the glove factory.

  “Hush now. It isn’t nice to speak ill of others.”

  “But Mr. Bauer was willing to take me on anyway,” Jessie continued. “We start on Monday.”

  “That’s good, then, I suppose,” her mother said. “Though your disappearing this morning is still to be explained.” Jessie looked over at Selma. She hadn’t said anything about seeing Jessie leave. She’d kept the secret, but Roy with his tuned-in ears had heard her and told their parents anyway.

  “What on earth happened to your sleeves? Did the man put you to work today? He’ll have to pay for repairs or provide a clothing allowance.”

  “There was an…incident. Early this morning,” Jessie said. She reached for a dry slice of toast on the oven’s warming shelf. “Mr. Steffes of the bicycle shop was injured, and I helped him.” Jessie sat down and picked at the crumbs that dropped onto the checkered oilcloth spread over the table. “I got blood on my sleeves, so I tore them off as I didn’t have time to come home to change, and I knew you wouldn’t have wanted me to embarrass myself with stained clothing, or be late for the interview, either.”

  “And what was so important that you had to leave this house without breakfast and without telling anyone where you were going and before you were properly attired for your interview?” Her mother squinted. “You’re not wearing a corset.”

  “A photograph, Mama. I wanted to take this picture—”

  “I might have known,” Lilly said.

  “What sort of photograph would lure you to the cycle shop?”

  “I was only… I heard him fall and I had to help him and get the doctor, so I missed the photograph anyway and then hurried along to Mr. Bauer’s. I had my priorities right, Mama.”

  “Is Mr. Steffes all right?” Lilly asked as she removed pins and hung her small hat on the rack.

  “I guess so. He was in good hands when I left.”

  Jessie filled in the details, embellishing just a bit for Roy’s benefit. He li
ked stories. With Mr. Steffes “in good hands,” her mother became practical. “Did he let you use the bicycle to make your appointment?”

  “I didn’t even ask. He was…scattered in his thinking, Mama. From his injury. Like when Papa fell that last time before we moved.”

  “Well, he might have loaned you the bicycle since you’d taken the time to help him.”

  Jessie decided to wait to tell about her rental. Perhaps she wouldn’t even have to. “His shop could use some cleaning. I thought I’d see if he might like a cleaning girl after I work at Mr. Bauer’s studio. Maybe a couple of afternoons a week.”

  Her mother nodded agreement. Then her eye caught that shirtwaist again. “Well, let’s get them sewn back on, those sleeves.”

  Jessie lowered her eyes. “I left them at Mr. Bauer’s studio.”

  “You tore your blouse at your new employer’s? But I thought—”

  “I tore them before the interview, Mama, and didn’t have anywhere to put them, so I put them in the camera bag. I’ll get them back on Monday.”

  “You forgot your camera?” Selma asked.

  Jessie took a deep breath. “Mr. Bauer doesn’t like ‘amateur camera girls,’ as he calls them. So I had to agree to…that is, to leave my camera there and not use it for six months. Until I’m certified.” She cleared her throat. “When he’ll start paying me five dollars a week.”

  “F-f-five d-d-dollars. Is th-th-that goo—?”

  “Yes, it’s very good, Roy,” his mother finished for him. Jessie ached each time her nearly six-year-old brother spoke, his words like a taffy pull stretching out and out but without any sweetness. She didn’t like it when others cut him off and finished things for him either. It just made him lower his eyes and speak less. She’d heard about a hospital in faraway Seattle that treated young children like Roy. She wondered if she might somehow get him there. But Seattle was even farther away than Rochester, which had a fine hospital, but even that would take money they just didn’t have. “Hush now while I get these details.”

  “It’s more than twice what I made at the bindery,” Jessie told Roy. “After paying Mama and Papa for my room and board, there’ll be enough left for me to buy you a whistle if you’d like, from my first earnings.” He nodded. “You’ll just have to wait a bit. Because it’s an apprenticeship, and I won’t be paid for…six months.”

  She knew the family needed what she could earn, and she hoped her mother wouldn’t just dismiss the Bauer Studio job because of the long delay in payment. This was such a grand chance, as her mother had already noted, to do something she loved.

  “Six months. That makes no sense. I’m not sure we can afford—”

  “Mr. Bauer will be training us, as though we were at the normal school. When we’re finished, I’ll take a test and be certified, and then I could work for any photographer in the city. I could even go to other cities.” She didn’t add, And maybe one day have my own studio. Women didn’t own many businesses in Minnesota, not photographic ones. You had to go to big cities like Chicago or St. Louis to see professional women photographers, and she suspected her mother would never approve of her going to places like that. She wouldn’t approve of such a dream. It wasn’t practical in the least.

  “He also said if I wanted to work extra, he’d give me special training in retouching,” Jessie continued. “I’ll have a profession, Mama. Just as if I’d gone on to high school and normal school.”

  “But six months… What could take so long to learn?”

  “Chemicals.” She made her voice light. “He said sometimes photographers get mercury poisoning and then have to be away from their studios for months at a time. He wants us to learn all the business so we can operate his studio, handle the books, take money, make prints, and such, even when he isn’t there to tell us how to do it. It’s a very responsible opportunity. There’ll be laws passed requiring such certification, Mama. That’s what he said, and this way I’ll learn correct procedures. It’s more schooling. You and Papa always said schooling is important.”

  Her mother said nothing, then, “Yes, it is.” Jessie sensed resignation. She thought her mother might not have heard her words about the mercury. “But six months without pay. I think we’d best discuss this when your father comes home, Jessie. Meanwhile, you go change your shirt. Those ragged sleeves look like a dog chewed the edges.”

  “Lilly, will you help me sew them back on?”

  “If you ever get them returned. Your new employer is a strange one, if you ask me,” Lilly said.

  “I don’t remember that I did,” Jessie said. She smiled. She’d gotten through her mother’s and older sister’s objections. She just had her father’s to deal with now.

  Lilly, with her perfectly coiffed hair despite a day’s work as a seamstress and packager at Stott and Son, sat across from Jessie at the supper table. Selma adjusted her spectacles and slipped into the chair beside Lilly. Both Selma and Jessie had eyes that required correction with lenses; no one else in the family did. Roy fussed with the oilcloth, and Jessie put her hands over his to stop the fluttering movements. He looked up at her, surprise in his eyes. Sometimes Jessie wondered if he was aware of things he did. She wished she could give those hands something productive to do, but right now she prepared herself for the questioning she knew would come. She only hoped she could carry her arguments through to acceptance.

  A parent sat at either end of the dining room table, and her father blessed the food. This was followed by the passing of potatoes and opinions about Jessie’s active day.

  “I’ve already decided,” Jessie defended when Lilly told her she was being taken advantage of. Lilly’s comment had surprised her, as she’d thought Lilly would say it was just part of the working world to be apprenticed out without pay. Lilly presented herself as so much wiser all the time. “It’s a fair trade,” Jessie continued. “No different than going to school, but I won’t have to pay for the apprenticeship. Because that’s really what it is.”

  “It’s forced labor,” Lilly said. “We’re forming a club at work where we can talk about things that the women workers all have in common, and one of them is how we’re treated at our employment.”

  “Stott’s a good employer,” Jessie’s father said. He was a tall man with a full head of hair that had just begun to gray. Jessie thought him handsome. He must have weighed thirty pounds more than Mr. Bauer did. He had wide, short fingers, and Mr. Bauer had long musician’s fingers. Her father’s bushy eyebrows lifted as he spoke to Lilly, passing the potatoes as he did. “That’s a good job, Daughter. One not to trifle with.”

  “I know that, Papa,” Lilly said. “But they’d never ask us to work for six months without pay.”

  “I’d like to have him take my picture sometime,” Selma said. The big bow she wore at the back of her head dwarfed her pale face, made her look younger than her eleven years.

  “I’ll photograph you after I’ve had my training,” Jessie said.

  “It just isn’t fair,” Lilly insisted, her arched eyebrows perfectly plucked.

  “Your sister could be right, Jessie,” her father said. He combed his thick mustache with his fingers. Lilly beamed as she leaned back into her chair. “Six months is a long time without pay. Most apprenticeships at least provide room and board while their workers are learning.”

  Jessie couldn’t explain it, but somehow the sacrifice of no earnings and no photograph taking felt, well, warranted. It would make her success have more meaning.

  “But it’s a professional apprenticeship, not just learning a simple skill, Papa. That takes time. Some of the photographers in town charge for such classes. And girls aren’t even allowed to take them.”

  Her father nodded. “Well, now, let’s take a look at it. Every opportunity arrives in a carpetbag. Sometimes there are rocks in that bag and sometimes gold nuggets. We all have to decide how to convert whatever we’ve got into whatever we want.”

  “I—I—I w-w-want—”

  “What? What
do you want, Son?” Jessie’s mother interrupted. “More potatoes? Rolls? Eat your greens.”

  Roy shook his head. “I-I-I w-w-want…” He swallowed. “I—I—I w-w-want g-g-gold.”

  Jessie’s father tousled his hair. “Don’t we all, Son.”

  Jessie smiled at Roy. She’d love to give him treasures.

  “Jessie will just have to see if she has gold or if she’ll have to lug some rocks before she can fill that bag with what she wants.” Her father smiled at his middle daughter. “I think it’s a fine opportunity.”

  “She won’t be able to contribute,” Lilly complained. “And I’ll bear the results of that, I suppose.”

  “You’re older. You’re working. You can afford it,” Jessie said.

  “Jessie, don’t be sassy,” her mother said.

  “I don’t know why you always take her side,” Lilly said.

  “She didn’t,” Jessie said.

  Jessie’s father frowned. She’d been too quick to snap at Lilly. Why had she been so impulsive when she was so close to achieving what she wanted?

  Forks poked at sausages. The clock ticked.

  “It’s how we spread the load in this family,” her father said at last. “Each does her part, Lilly, as she can. And we help each other. My parents helped me; we can do likewise.” His voice held a wistful tone, and Jessie wondered what dream he might have planted that never came to bloom. “You’re of fine help and support to us, Lilly. And we need that and appreciate it. Very much.”

  “And what part will Jessie be doing? If she’s working all day for nothing, at something she even likes to do, and then doesn’t contribute—”

  “I hope to get an evening cleaning job,” Jessie said. “And I can help Mama more with the laundry. Or I can rake the leaves this fall. So you won’t have to, Lilly. I know the dust bothers your cough.”