A Flickering Light

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  Reflected Light

  JESSIE AWAITED MRS. BAUER’S visit by arriving early and cleaning the studio. She wiped the leather chairs with turpentine into which she’d dropped lemon juice. In the kitchen, she scrubbed the sink’s tea stains with borax and salt until the white shone bright. Back in the reception room, she noticed fly spots on the oak armrests, on the windowsills too, so she mixed milk with warm water to wipe them down. All the while she thought about Mrs. Bauer. Would this woman want to make great changes in the way they’d been doing things? Was she a skilled photographer like her husband and father? Would she resent these two young girls who spent their days with her husband or be grateful that the studio was in good hands?

  When the first hour passed and Mrs. Bauer still hadn’t arrived, Jessie nearly went off with Voe, who once again thought they should just close up shop and leave. Instead, Jessie sent Voe to inventory the developing chemicals to see what they might need to order, while Jessie checked the schedule. There were two more sittings arranged for this day, and she decided she’d handle them the same way she’d managed yesterday’s appointments. At least until someone told her not to. Her mother’s warnings she set aside.

  Mrs. Bauer arrived shortly before the lunch hour. She kept a stern look, narrowing her otherwise full lips into a line made straight by her clamped jaws. Little warmth flowed through her deep brown eyes, which Jessie thought were a most striking feature. When people looked angry, Jessie wondered if they might actually be frightened; she wondered that now. Mrs. Bauer’s full cheeks each had a patch of red smudged on them. Jessie thought it was rouge, but the woman had completed a vigorous walk if she’d come all the way from South Baker Street. That probably explained it. Despite her stern look, she was a truly beautiful woman who held an equally beautiful child tightly by her hand.

  Mrs. Bauer did not introduce the child to Jessie or Voe, but she would be Winifred, whom Mr. Bauer had spoken of so often. The child had her mother’s olive skin with dark eyes, but hers sparkled with curiosity. Jessie assumed the child had visited the studio on weekends with her father, but she moved around the reception room as though seeing things for the first time.

  “What’s this?” she asked her mother, who tried to talk with the girls. “What’s that?” she’d ask, picking up a large feather fan sometimes used in the operating room. Jessie’d put it in the Indian vase in the reception area as a flourish of color.

  Mrs. Bauer answered Winifred with short, clipped responses, and Jessie noted that the color on Mrs. Bauer’s cheeks grew deeper with the child’s frequent requests for attention.

  “If it would be all right with you, Mrs. Bauer, Voe could take Miss Bauer—Winifred’s her name, right?—to the kitchen area. I brought some of my mother’s cookies in. We could talk here, and I’d be sure to let Voe know what we discussed. Is that all right with you, Voe? I mean, Miss Kopp?”

  “That’s the bird’s chirp as far as I’m concerned,” Voe said, reaching for Winifred’s hand. “I was hungry for some of your ma’s cookies after I made up the order.”

  Mrs. Bauer sighed, tiredness settling on her face. “That would be helpful. I don’t intend to spend the entire day here. I’ve left Russell at home with his father, but I don’t want to put that burden on him for longer than necessary. I’m sure Winifred will appreciate a cookie. Go along with Miss…Kopp,” she said, checking to see if she’d gotten Voe’s name right. “Miss Gaebele and I will talk and come get you in a moment.”

  It pleased Jessie that Mrs. Bauer knew her name. Perhaps Mr. Bauer had discussed Jessie’s work here. Or maybe he’d complained about his one headstrong assistant.

  “I have no idea how long we might have need of you girls to run things,” Mrs. Bauer said. She sat on the edge of the reception room divan, knees tight together, hands folded on them. She looked ready to take flight. “The last time Mr. Bauer became so ill, we had someone run the studio and we spent the following year in North Dakota. But we… There were…” She took a deep breath. “But Mr. Risser left us to buy his own studio, and so we returned to Winona once again. Of course, we had never sold the house. We fully intended to come back. My mother lives here now. That was the mercury poisoning. But he’s had pneumonia before too. The doctor seems to think that’s what this is.”

  “I’m sorry to hear he’s so ill,” Jessie said. “My father has bouts of illnesses too. We all worry over him and pray for his recovery, but it is a hard time for my mother.”

  Mrs. Bauer turned her full gaze at Jessie. “Indeed. Few people understand the strains of illness unless they’ve experienced its effects on the family. Thank you for acknowledging that.”

  Mrs. Bauer sat silently, then pulled at the fingers of her gloves. “Let’s look at the schedule.” Jessie handed her the appointment book. “These will have to be cancelled, I imagine,” Mrs. Bauer said. “I doubt you’ve had time to do the portrait work or the developing that would maintain the reputation of the studio.”

  “I did have a little experience in camera work before I came here,” Jessie said. She swallowed. She didn’t want to make herself sound more skilled than she was. “My uncle August purchased a camera for me after the St. Louis World’s Fair, and I enjoyed myself immensely taking shots. That’s not studio portrait work, but I did come with a little understanding…enriched by Mr. Bauer’s instructions, of course. He’s explained everything he’s doing in portrait work. Of course, we did develop many, many plates.”

  “Most of your efforts should be to fulfill requests for prints from plates already made. There’s still strong interest in the Tenney collection and the few surviving Grove plates, is there not? We were so fortunate not to lose them all in the fire in ’04.” Her mind appeared to go somewhere distant with the mention of the year.

  “A number of postcard sales come from those prints,” Jessie agreed.

  “They do. People like to send prints to family, especially over the holidays.” Mrs. Bauer was back and all business again.

  “He’ll want to run the ads again for Christmas, won’t he?”

  Mrs. Bauer seemed confused, or perhaps she hadn’t considered the loss of revenue if they couldn’t do portraits at that time of year. Christmas, Mr. Bauer had told Jessie, made or broke their yearly finances. “I’ll have to ask him. Or perhaps you can confer with him by phone when he’s feeling a little better.” She began to fidget with her gloves, moving them back and forth between her hands. “I can continue to do touch-up work. Maybe at home, though we’re not set up well for it. But of course, there won’t be much need for that if no sittings are scheduled.”

  Jessie cleared her throat. “I did keep a sitting yesterday,” she said. “The client said she wouldn’t mind having a woman take her picture, though I told her I was only an apprentice. I thought—that is, I was only trying to be helpful.”

  Mrs. Bauer stiffened. “And did you develop the plates already? There’s a level of skill required for both, you know.”

  “I do understand,” Jessie said. “I have developed them. I’ll get the prints if you’d like.”

  “Yes, I would.”

  Jessie’s heart pounded while she made her way to the developing room and took the prints from the hangers where they’d dried. She didn’t bring them all. She’d already calculated that if the Bauers were upset at her for having used the plates, she could replace them. They cost $3.60 a dozen. She’d have to work extra days at Mr. Steffes’s to make it up.

  Winifred’s laughter drifted from the kitchen. Jessie thought then that Voe would be good with children in the operating room. It wasn’t Jessie’s strong suit, especially if she had to manage the camera and lighting and everything else. She and Voe could do this together. In fact, they’d need the two of them to really make it work if there were family portraits scheduled.

  Mrs. Bauer stared at the prints Jessie handed her. The clock ticked as Mrs. Bauer looked back and forth between them. Jessie hoped she wasn’t about to be fired and wondered what kind of failure it meant that someone co
uld get dismissed before she was even paid. She couldn’t stand the silence. “I can pay for the plates if you think the photographs aren’t worthy of the studio. And the chemicals. I work another job and it might take me a while, but I can repay everything. I didn’t mean to do anything but to help out. I realize I have much to learn.”

  “I know Mildred Simmons,” Mrs. Bauer said. “She attends Second Congregational, and this photograph”—she looked up at Jessie—“makes her look more beautiful than she really is. Has she seen these?”

  “Not yet. I haven’t called her back. I know I was being bold, but I really thought if I could do it well, it would help your studio overall. I don’t want to do anything to hurt it. Mr. Bauer’s been so kind, such a good instructor, that I took the risk.”

  “These are quite good,” Mrs. Bauer said. “Quite good. I like the way you’ve captured Mildred’s sweetness. People seem to pass right over her as though she isn’t worthy of note, but that isn’t how I see her. This photograph is how I see her.”

  Mrs. Bauer appeared to smile. At least the corners of her tight lips lifted. Jessie beamed. She thought she’d found an ally in those eyes.

  “Who took these?” FJ demanded. His head pounded and he gasped for breath. He tightened his fist, frustrated.

  “One of your shop girls.” Mrs. Bauer fluffed up the pillows behind his head, her eyes moving toward the chewed cigar on the nightstand. “That can’t make you well,” she said. She picked up the cigar and tossed it in the wastebasket.

  FJ grunted. “Few vices left.” He coughed and decided he didn’t have a very strong argument for cigars at the moment. He looked back at the prints. “Mildred Simmons. Doesn’t reflect her,” he said. “She’ll hate them.”

  “Do you think so? Both Miss Gaebele and I thought they showed off Mildred’s best features. She really is soft and gentle. And her nose, well, you hardly notice it in the photograph. Instead you see this thoughtful-looking woman with gorgeous hair and translucent skin.”

  “You two thought it looked good?”

  “Yes. Miss…Kopp entertained Winifred. I suspect the girl is good at the more tedious work. But Miss Gaebele has an eye, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Don’t like them,” he said. He tossed the prints onto the covers. “Mildred’s not that lovely.”

  “But you’re the one who says portraits capture the heart of the person. Now see, she’s done that and you don’t like it. Well, I like it. And Mildred is bound to. The girl must have gotten her relaxed and comfortable, the very things required. I think she should continue to do the sittings, at least until you go back.”

  “What about the Johnsons? They were scheduled for yesterday.” He coughed.

  “They decided to wait for you. But if we tell people that Miss Gaebele is your assistant, I think they’ll proceed. Of course they can always have the choice, but we need the revenue, Mr. Bauer. You know that.”

  “I told both of them to leave the camera work alone. Until their training was complete.”

  “It was really complete, Fred,” his wife said. She rarely used his first name, didn’t even know that it was his middle name, that he was born Gottlieb Friedrich Bauer and that he’d taken Fred and added John when he came to America, dropping that totally German name. She only used Fred when she wanted something.

  “Christmas is coming,” Mrs. Bauer continued. “You’ve always said it’s our busiest time. I don’t think we can afford to let those appointments go. You should have let them take portraits by now. Were you extending their training? Longer training didn’t help when you had the other two assistants, Miss Schulz and Miss Phalen.”

  “No. They went off to work for Risser,” he said.

  “Well, you don’t want to lose these girls. Let them do the work.”

  “I’ll be well before Christmas,” he said. “And I have prepared them. They did it all except expose the film and manage the flash powder.”

  “You see? They learned. At least Miss Gaebele did.”

  She was right. “Will you do the retouching that’s needed?”

  “If necessary,” she said, though she bristled. “I imagine you haven’t had time to train them on that. Or on tinting.”

  He shook his head.

  “I’ll do my part with the retouching. You do your part, FJ, by not being so disparaging of them that they up and quit. Otherwise you might have to call Herman Reinke and tell him that the partnership of the ranch is done for and just sell that…place.”

  This discussion had made him weak. He wondered if perhaps he wasn’t also dealing with the mercury effects, the numbing of his fingers, the overall weakness. Add that to his raspy breathing. She was probably right about the cigars. But wrong about selling the ranch.

  “As long as we’re paying them, we may as well get the work out of them we can,” Mrs. Bauer insisted.

  A coughing seizure took him over. “All right,” he said finally. She held a cup of water up to his mouth for him to drink. “Let the girl take the sittings. But I want…to see the prints. Before the clients. And you’ll retouch.”

  “Agreed,” Mrs. Bauer said.

  At least he’d gotten his wife to participate again. He’d have to deal with Miss Gaebele’s bold moves later.

  “What’s she like to deal with?” Lilly asked.

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Bauer. She’s been your boss these last few months.”

  “She’s all right,” Jessie told her. They were dressing for the Christmas program, in which Selma and Irene Fleischer would be singing a duet. Selma had been prepared and bundled up and had left with her father an hour earlier to rehearse yet one more time at Immanuel Evangelical. Selma didn’t need it, but Irene insisted. “Mrs. Bauer is a little snippy at times and reminds me of Mama with her directions, but she doesn’t stay at the studio for very long. Since the colder weather, I carry the prints to their house. I worried about her sending Russell back and forth to do it. He’s such a somber boy. Takes his work seriously.”

  “She came into Stott’s today and bought several pairs of gloves. Christmas presents, I imagine. It would be nice to just go into some store and buy whatever you wanted, wouldn’t it? I noticed that Gillespie’s and McMahon’s had all their shoes on sale. I’d sure like to have gotten some high-button shoes.”

  “I’d like a pair of their warm boots,” Jessie said. “The snow’s already up to my knees, and when I shovel the walk, I can barely toss the snow over the top of the bank. Bunches keep falling back down onto my shoe tops, and then I have to dry them out. But I can’t keep them off because it wouldn’t be seemly to take someone’s portrait in stocking feet.”

  “You’re shoveling the walk there? That man has you doing everything. At least you’re finally getting paid.” She stuck a long hatpin into the felt, fluffing the ostrich feathers with her hands. “They must really like you.”

  “Aren’t you going to wear your fur hat?” Jessie asked. “It’s cold out there.”

  Lilly looked at Jessie in the mirror. “I suppose you’re right about that,” she said and removed the long hatpin. She put it in the porcelain holder on their shared dresser, fluffed the feathers once more, then lifted the hat from her head and put it back into its cardboard box. “I miss spring.” Lilly sighed. “You’ll have to take my portrait one time. When the weather warms.”

  Jessie nodded. She decided not to tell Lilly about Mr. Bauer’s less-than-enthusiastic response to her portrait work. She couldn’t understand it, really. She’d taken the test and passed it fine. She’d been able to convince nearly all of the scheduled portrait appointments to allow her to do the work, and no one, not a single person, had decided not to take at least one finished and framed print. Several clients had purchased four and five. She’d gotten new customers that way, when satisfied people told others about the studio.

  A younger clientele expressed willingness to spend for portraits, and she’d even scheduled a couple of Norwegian loggers for a sitting next week. They were spending the holidays w
ith family in Winona. Lumbermen, Mr. Steffes told her, had lots of money to spend and usually spent it on “women and liquor.” Mr. Steffes had relatives in Wisconsin’s Chippewa woods. He claimed to know all there was to know about loggers and immigrants. When she’d told him of her new appointment, Mr. Steffes said, “Get ready for the strong scent of toe jam because those Norwegian loggers don’t like to wash their feet in the cold weather. Even if they don’t take their boots off, you’ll be introduced to their toes. It’s why they have those big smorgasbords with all the rich smells. To cover up their own.” He’d grinned, showing off a hole where a tooth should have been.

  Jessie smiled with him. “I think it’s the Swedish who have smorgasbords,” she’d told him.

  Now, standing at the bedroom mirror, Jessie said, “Yes, I’m finally getting paid. It’s a good wage and good working conditions.”

  “Except for shoveling snow. Well, at least you have your camera back.”

  Jessie didn’t correct her sister. She hadn’t wanted to tell her of that snag and have to listen to her lecture about how Mr. Bauer took advantage of her. She hurried out the door, shouting over her shoulder, “I’ll see about helping Mama get Roy going. Uncle August and Grandpa and Grandma will be here any minute. We don’t want to be late for Selma’s concert.”

  Jessie did wonder what sort of argument might have gone on with the Bauers when she broached the subject of their payment and getting her camera back. Mrs. Bauer looked this way and that, as though she hadn’t known about the details of either.

  But when Jessie brought the photographs to the Bauer home for Mr. Bauer to assess, Mrs. Bauer had met her in the foyer and handed her paychecks for her and Voe, their first in six months. She told Jessie that Mr. Bauer expected her to take the test and that he would discuss the camera issue with her later.

  “Later?” Jessie had said. “But it’s my camera.”