The train trip was nothing like the one Jessie had taken with her family to Rochester. It was a much longer ride to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, a different state altogether from Minnesota. But the countryside shimmered its prodigal growth, corn and wheat spreading sheets of green across the rolling hills. When she thought of what she’d face in Milwaukee, all the uncertainty, her heart beat faster and her palms sweated. All the doubts came roaring back: Maybe she wasn’t as good a photographer as she thought herself to be. Maybe Mr. Bauer had indulged her all this time, hadn’t really told her the truth about her work so she’d keep learning from him. Maybe she couldn’t make it on her own without her family to protect and salute her efforts.
She’d have to take one step at a time and trust that she wasn’t alone on the journey. The Lord knows my lot. He makes my boundaries fall on pleasant places. She’d cling to that psalm, those boundaries.
The train lumbered its way across the Mississippi, heading east and leaving behind the bluffs she’d known all her life. It traveled through areas where geese and ducks clustered like thick flies on reedy waters. Maples and oaks stretched in long arcs of woods. In the fall, as their foliage changed, they’d look like an artist had cleaned her brush on their leaves, but now they boasted green. A dog splashed into a pond, followed by children, as the train chugged by. Jessie strained her neck looking back at them. Children. She thought of Roy. He never even knew that she’d deprived him of time and resources too, just to have her own way. He’d forgive her, though. There never was a soul as generous as Roy’s. Still, she felt her face grow warm with shame again.
The land flattened out the farther south and east she went, but she could see smaller hills and valleys rolling away from the tracks. She remembered the Gypsy at the Rochester hospital who had said Jessie would travel far. In one of the library books, Jessie had read about glaciers, ice pushing earth eons ago, and that Wisconsin’s western rolling landscape was what remained. She wondered if Milwaukee had a library. She allowed herself a moment of anticipation. She was going somewhere new. She could pose a new picture of who Jessie Gaebele was.
Mrs. Johnson had sent the fare for her to come. As the fields and lakes and trees whispered into her consciousness and then whisked out again, Jessie felt encouraged. Strong. This was the best next step, and sometimes that’s all one had. The end of the journey was just too far away, and as the Gypsy said, there’d be many valleys and hills in between.
For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, Jessie remembered. Plans to give you a future and a hope. The verse from Jeremiah had come to her as she’d thought of the Gypsy. She wasn’t sure she had it memorized correctly, but the sentiment was true. Her mother must be praying for her, or someone was.
What was similar to the ride to Rochester was the burping and belching of the engine smoke and the array of people. She was traveling, all right, far away from the home she’d known. She would let her art lift her above her fear and sadness. She took her camera out and invited a hovering child or two to examine it. Their interest, looking into the lens, passed the time, and the photographs she took she thought might be the beginning of her own study in everyday faces in everyday places. A couple of businessmen nodded their heads when she passed to the dining car, careful not to let her large camera bag bump them. She put it on the chair next to the window and sat on the outside seat at the table so no one would pick it up and whisk away the spoon that fed her dream. The moon rose, and it was full enough to shadow the trees they rumbled by. She could see cows standing in fields, it was so bright. Her thoughts turned to her uncle August, her home, and her parting.
Lilly had directed Jessie to talk to no one, not a single person, while on the train. Her mother told her that speaking to another woman or the conductor, if she needed help, would be fine. Roy’s dimples disappeared when he looked at Jessie, and he acted as though someone had stepped on his banjo and he would never play it again. Tears pooled in Selma’s eyes as she watched Jessie pack her trunk.
“It’s my fault,” Selma said. “That’s why you’re leaving.”
“I’m the one who acted improperly. You are innocent, Selma. You are.”
“I just let it slip out that you’d hugged Mr. Bauer and called him Fred and—”
“Selma.” Jessie held her sister’s shoulders. “You did nothing wrong. See, I get to leave Winona and travel to Milwaukee. It’s something I always wanted to do.”
“Maybe,” Selma said, not convinced.
Jessie hugged them all. She held her mother longer than she had in years but still felt the stiffness of her judgment. Jessie told them she’d write as soon as she had an address. Then Roy and Selma said they had a song, and so they had, the very hymn Roy had tried to sing at the hospital, “Just as I Am.” Jessie savored the sentiment. She was accepted just as she was. Again though, Selma sang alone, her voice as smooth as their grandmother’s pancake batter. Jessie hugged Selma, lifted Roy’s chin. “You keep at it,” she told him. “You’ll sing smooth again one day; I just know it. You’re powerful!”
“P-p-power is wh-wh-when you w-w-want to quit but y-y-you k-k-keep going,” Roy said.
“So it is,” Jessie said and held him close.
“Y-y-you’re p-p-powerful too.”
Disgraced, yes. But powerful. Now she was strong enough to walk away.
Her father drove Jessie to the station, just the two of them. Daniel was there working, and he helped unload the trunk. “Taking a trip?” Jessie nodded. “Does Voe know?”
“I haven’t told many people. I’m going to help run a photo studio in—” She stopped herself. He might tell Voe, who might tell Mr. Bauer. “Out of town,” she finished, keeping her voice light. “I’ll write to Voe when I get there and find a place to stay.”
“She’ll be unsettled that I saw you off and she didn’t. She said you were going to work for that evangelist.”
“Things change,” her father interjected.
“Just tell Voe I’m thinking of her. If Voe had come along to say good-bye, I would have blubbered the entire way. I’ll write.”
“I guess that makes sense, then,” Daniel said.
Jessie reached over to hug him. She didn’t care what her father thought of that. And then she hugged her father, the man who had always been there, perceptive and strong.
“I’ll miss you, Jess,” her father said. “You keep your mother from becoming too certain of herself.” He grinned as he held her narrow shoulders and looked into her eyes.
“That’s something you’ll have to do on your own now,” Jessie told him.
“A father ought to give his daughter good advice when she leaves home,” he said, clearing his throat. “Usually that happens when she’s off to marry and he knows she’ll be in the hands of a good man, or at least he hopes. But you, you were always more of a fireball that even spring snowmelt couldn’t put out.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been a trial to you, Papa. I never intended—”
“You feel deeply, Jess, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But our loves can burn us up if we’re not careful. Your photography—it’s a good thing for you, even though your mother worries over your being an unmarried career woman your entire life.”
Jessie smiled.
“I don’t worry about that. You’re a lovely young woman with much to give. But for now, give it to your art. Let some time pass before you share your heart, Liebchen. Ja?”
His use of the German endearment, which she’d only heard him say to her mother, made her want to weep. She hugged him again, pressing her face against his cotton shirt. “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered, breathing in the scent of his dray horses. “I’ll do my best to make you proud of me, I will.”
He held her, then spoke softly. “I’d ask a blessing over you, if you’d let me. I know I haven’t done much out-loud praying over you children. I let your mother do most of that. Maybe that’s my error, my part in your downfall.”
She stepped back to stare. “Oh, Papa, you couldn
’t be a better father. You couldn’t. It wasn’t you, the cause of this. It was me.”
He nodded, then pulled her back to him and spoke low, his chin resting on the top of her head. “So I say it now. I ask the Lord to bless your journey, to keep you ever safe and strong. Let Him be the One to light your path and bring you back to us one day.”
She was so moved she couldn’t speak. She kissed him on the cheek, then stepped aboard the train, wiping her tears with her gloved hands and waving as the train left the station.
She remembered now, in the dining car of the train, the rough of his weathered face. He’d had tears too, Jessie thought. That’s why his cheek tasted of salt.
She blinked back her own tears as the train’s porter came by to ask what she’d like to eat.
Memories, she thought but didn’t say. I’d like to eat the memories until they fill me up and I’m no longer aching alone.
Lakeshore Lighting
IT WAS DARK WHEN JESSIE arrived in Milwaukee, and she decided to simply stay in the well-lit train station until morning. Then she’d get a horse cab and make her way to the Broadway Street address of the Johnson Studio. She should have thought about some arrangement for this first night. Well, she would adjust. Cool air greeted her as she stepped into the stone building. It felt like fall here, though it was July. She could remain in the terminal with its oak benches and marble tiles. It was an elegant place to spend a night.
Jessie put her camera on the varnished bench, sat beside it, pulled her knees up, turned, then used the camera bag as a pillow. She had shoved her trunk under the bench as far as it would go but assumed if anyone tried to move it or the camera, she would certainly wake up. She hadn’t realized how tired she’d be after just sitting all that time on the train, thinking, entertaining children. She fell asleep when her head touched the tapestry bag.
She woke to someone shaking her shoulder.
“Miss Gaebele? I’m so sorry. I had the cab waiting at the far side. And I ran a little late, so I hope you haven’t been here too long.”
Jessie’s mouth felt dry as the chicken pen and just as foul, she thought to herself, then smiled at her terrible pun. “What time is it?” Jessie asked.
“Midnight. The bewitching hour, my husband always used to call it. I’m Suzanne Johnson.”
She was a tall, stately woman, and her hat feathers brushed Jessie’s face as the woman leaned over her. Jessie sat up.
“I hate to waken you, but I’m sure you’ll rest more comfortably at the Harmses’ home.”
“Is that where my room is?”
“Well, you might call it a room, but I’d say it’s more like an apartment. You’re quite a fortunate young woman with all your connections.”
The Harmses, Mary and Henry C. and their daughter, Marie, embraced Jessie from the moment she arrived. They were in their nightclothes but still gracious and kind and all three standing by the door when the doorman let her in. She was given a room on the third floor large enough to house a family of four. She imagined the letters she’d write to her sisters telling them about her night of lovely accommodations in a fine German home. She wouldn’t be able to remain, that was certain. It was simply too elegant for a single working woman. She wrote a brief postcard to her mother that Mrs. Johnson was familiar with a family who had put her up for the night. Then she turned out the gaslight and fell immediately asleep.
In the morning, Jessie pulled open the window drape to gaze out onto Lake Michigan. The sun rose up behind it. Below the window, a rolling lawn of green eased toward a hedge that marked the cliff’s edge. A winding path meandered along the edge of the bluff like icing trim on a layer cake.
It was beautiful. Lush. Her heart sank. She’d had a luxury for a night that she didn’t deserve. She was grateful for that, but her final destination would pale in comparison.
She dressed quickly in a skirt, the blouse Lilly had made for her, and the cream-colored tailored jacket that had been her uniform at work. It was likely too warm to wear the jacket, but she wanted to look professional after all, especially on her first day. Her eye caught FJ’s necklace. She left it in its box.
She made her way down the carpeted stairs, looking for the kitchen. She hoped to find Mary Harms, who insisted she use their Christian names. Instead, a white-capped maid stopped her and directed her into the dining area, where she’d bring “Miss, your tea if you’d care to tell whether cream and sugar are needed.” Jessie sank into the chair when the tea arrived, with cream and sugar, an indulgence. Her hands shook as she lifted the porcelain cup. Everything here spoke of wealth. She surely didn’t belong.
When the family appeared, minus Marie, who was sleeping in, her mother said, Jessie thanked them for their kind hospitality. “I’ll have my trunk removed as soon as I find proper accommodations.”
The couple looked at each other. “Is there something wrong with your room?”
“Oh no, Mrs. Harms, Mary. It’s just that I can’t possibly afford… I’m saving so I can buy my own studio one day, and your room is much too grand for my small allowance.”
“But Gottlieb told us all about you and insisted you stay here.”
“Gottlieb?”
“Mr. Bauer to you, I’m sure,” Mary said.
Gottlieb?
“He goes by Frederick now, I think,” Henry Harms offered. “FJ is how he signed the letter. A poached egg?”
“He did tell us of your plans to one day have your own studio. Yes, dear,” Mary answered her husband. “And for you, Miss Gaebele?” Jessie nodded assent, her mouth open in surprise at what they knew of her.
“Mr. Bauer arranged this?”
“He’s a cousin, dear. And spoke highly of you. We contacted Mrs. Johnson as soon as we knew you were coming and would need rooms.”
“A fine business mind is worthy of welcome,” Henry continued, and Jessie wasn’t sure if he spoke of Mr. Bauer’s business mind or of someone who had just entered the room. He couldn’t mean her. She turned around. No one was there.
“Gottlieb,” Mary said, “is a family name but one that is often difficult to pronounce here in America. And when what happens in the homeland makes people here uncomfortable, we don’t like to bring attention to our German heritage. I’m sure that happens in Winona too, ja?”
Jessie nodded, though she wasn’t at all sure. Her head spun, her thoughts in a swirl. Gottlieb? Mr. Bauer knows I’m in Milwaukee?
Her mouth went dry. She lifted the crystal glass of water.
“So, then. It is the Christian thing to do, to offer to others what one has to give. You’ll stay with us. Perhaps you can show Marie how to use your camera in return. And there’s always enough for breakfast and dinner, should you be present at those times. Nothing would be expected, of course.”
“I should warn you,” Henry said. “There are a number of galas that my wife and daughter attend each year, and a young woman of high repute is always a welcome addition.” Jessie wasn’t sure she met the criteria. She lowered her eyes. Surely they cannot know.
“You may find yourself quite busy in an evening if Marie and Mary have anything to say about it,” he continued. “Good music. Fine food and dancing.” Henry bit into a honey-draped biscuit, letting the crumbs litter the linen. The white-capped maid brought the silver crumb chaser and swept the area clean before stepping back into the shadows behind him.
“I…wouldn’t have the proper clothes,” Jessie said. It was such a lame excuse. Dancing? A new temptation already?
“You’re Marie’s size. I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Henry said in the blithe way fathers had of expressing their ignorance about women and fashion. Marie was larger and rounder than Jessie and three inches taller at least. If Marie was like Lilly, she’d hate having to loan her clothing out to a total stranger, even with the best of recommendations. But more, the thought of attending events where she’d be asked to dance made her skin feel like ants had found her flesh. The Harmses were apparently not of the faith that frowned on
dancing. Well, what did it matter? She couldn’t possibly stay here.
“I can have the cook pack a lunch for you if you’d like each day,” Mary said. “We always have extras.”
“I…I couldn’t accept it.”
“The apartment was simply gathering dust. We have plenty of room. It’ll be lovely to have someone occupy that space who will appreciate it.”
“It’s arranged,” Henry said before he finished his coffee and went off to the brewery, one of several businesses Mary Harms told her that they owned.
“I’ll need to consider,” Jessie said. “How far this is from the studio… I’m not sure that staying here would be wise. I…” Such luxury, such gifts. I don’t deserve this. No, she had to change that inner voice. She’d been given healing leaves while she stayed on that river.
“You think about it, dear,” Mary Harms said. “We can talk this evening when Marie’s with us. That girl… She should have a little of your gumption, leaving home and starting on your own. Well, we’ll just love to help. That’s what family is for.”
Mary gave Jessie directions to the Johnson Studio, which wasn’t more than two miles away. Then Jessie picked up her things and headed out.
Jessie strode along the shore, her mind spinning with Mr. Bauer’s reach. He must not come here. Surely he wouldn’t. No. He wouldn’t. Maybe he hoped to absolve some of his guilt by making this arrangement for her.
She couldn’t stay there, not without the Harmses’ allowing her to pay them. It wouldn’t be right.
It might also be unwise, if she were to hear stories of “Gottlieb” every time she turned around. And then there’d be the dancing. Her mother would be appalled, and it would be another challenge that she didn’t need, something else pressing against her fragile faith that she so desperately hoped to nurture. Sea gulls dipped above her, and she pulled her jacket tighter. This lake country was so much cooler than Winona. And here she walked on top of the bluffs rather than looking up at them. She thought of that morning when she’d wanted so much to take the photograph of the fires moving up the bluffs. Mr. Steffes’s fall had intervened, but even so, she got the job that changed her life. It had been only three years ago.
A Flickering Light Page 37
