Go Away Home

by Carol Bodensteiner

  “No. But when she got it, she was ecstatic and read a line or two to me.” Liddie peeked at him. “Truthfully, Vern, it didn’t sound like you.”

  The color in Vern’s cold-reddened cheeks heightened. “I wrote Joe.”

  “You wrote Joe?” Astonished, she took her eyes off the ice. Of course, it made sense. They were friends, after all. Liddie squeezed his hand and trained her eyes back on the ice. “You said the right thing, that’s for certain.”

  “Look how well you’re doing,” Minnie called.

  Liddie tried to smile, but as she looked up, the tip of her blade caught on the ice and she lost her balance. Thrashing to right herself, she let go of Vern’s hand, grasped for his arm, and missed.

  The next thing she knew, she was on her back, the wind knocked out of her. She looked up at the concerned faces of Vern, Minnie, and a crowd of other skaters, including Thomas Littmann. She groaned.

  “Are you all right?” Minnie knelt beside her.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Miss Treadway, let me help you,” Mr. Littmann said.

  “I’m all right.” Liddie tried to push herself upright. As she did, her hands slid on the ice and she banged her funny bone. “Ow!” She fell back, gripping her elbow.

  “Together we can get her on her feet,” Mr. Littmann said to Vern. “You take one arm, I’ll take the other.” He handed a camera to Minnie. “Hold that for me. Take care; it’s fragile.”

  February 20, 1915

  Dear Joe,

  We had fun skating on Saturday, thanks in no small part to you! Vern and Minnie got on so well. The best I can say for myself is that I didn’t kill myself. Though I tried. I’m still sore from the fall I took. I spent the rest of the morning by the bonfire.

  The Friday night dances sound like fun. I’m glad you eat a solid meal at least once a week at the potlucks.

  Work is back to normal now that the holidays are over. Mrs. Tinker gives me more responsibilities all the time. Today, I measured a woman for alterations. Mrs. Tinker watched, of course, but she didn’t make it seem like she was watching. I am proud she trusts me.

  I’m sure hearing the wind blowing all the time does wear. Take heart, spring will be here soon. Sending warm thoughts your way.

  Liddie

  Chapter 16

  In the weeks after the Caithers’ party, Liddie had hoped to run into Mr. Littmann. Then, after she’d tumbled right in front of him while skating, she hoped never to see him again. But after her initial embarrassment faded, she returned to stopping by the studio window to see the new photos he displayed.

  One day early in March, the snow had melted and Liddie could feel spring softening the edge of the cold morning. In the window of the photography studio, pictures of children skating on the river caught her attention, and she stopped to look. Those were the same children who’d been there when she’d been skating with Vern and Minnie.

  “You’ve recovered from your fall?”

  She jumped. Mr. Littmann stood just behind her right shoulder. She had not heard him walk up, but there he was, only inches away.

  “I’m so sorry.” He stepped back a pace. “I have startled you again.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Liddie said, even though she didn’t think it was. He really didn’t know her, and even if he did, it was rude for him to come up on her like that. She realized her hand had instinctively covered her heart, and she dropped it to her side. “Only my ego was bruised.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He frowned. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

  “Yes.” She forced herself to breathe evenly. “Believe it or not, I am almost used to being startled.”

  “Used to being startled?” He focused on her in the same intense way he had at the party.

  Liddie averted her eyes. “When I’m concentrating on something, I hear little else. Because it was so easy, my brother delighted in tormenting me.”

  “That doesn’t sound nice. How many siblings do you have?”

  “One brother, one sister. I don’t see them or my mother often now.”

  “When you talk about them, a shadow crosses your eyes.”

  “I do miss them. I only go home once a month. So I don’t see them otherwise unless they come into town. And my sister lives in Wyoming now.” Liddie stopped, finding herself saying more than she intended. “I’m sorry. I’m prattling on.”

  “You are not prattling. I enjoy knowing how families interact. That’s what I attempt to show in my photographs.”

  “That’s exactly what attracts me to them.” Liddie brightened, thankful to move the discussion away from herself. “This child with his mother at the river.” She pointed to a photograph at the center of the display. “He’s looking at her with such a smile. They appear so happy together.” Liddie glanced up. He was studying her instead of the photograph.

  “If you like that photo at the river, I have others you might enjoy. Do you have five minutes? I could give you a quick tour of the studio.”

  She hesitated. Going into his studio alone—was that appropriate?

  “I’m meeting Mrs. Davies,” Mr. Littmann said. “Five minutes is all I have.”

  A blush warmed her cheeks. Had he read her concern? This was ridiculous. She could make her own decisions. She lifted her chin and stared directly into his eyes. “As long as I’m not late for work, I would enjoy a tour.”

  Mr. Littmann unlocked the studio door and swung it open.

  Liddie arrived breathless at Mrs. Tinker’s that morning, having run from the photography studio. The time had passed so quickly, she hadn’t noticed when the promised five-minute tour turned into twenty.

  “Why so out of breath?” Mrs. Tinker asked as Liddie unpinned her hat and checked her hair, then hung up her cloak and sat to wipe snow off her shoes.

  “I’m sorry to be late. I thought I had plenty of time.” She always made a point to be working on her first project of the morning by seven thirty, and here it was after eight.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh yes.” Liddie took a dress from the alterations rack and read the tag pinned to the shoulder as she settled in at her machine. “You’ll never guess who I ran into this morning.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Mr. Littmann. The photographer from the Caithers’ party. I walk by his window every few days to see his pictures. He’s never been there before, but this time he was. And he gave me a tour of his studio!”

  Mrs. Tinker raised both eyebrows. “Hmm?”

  “He said it would only take five minutes, and it would have, except I asked so many questions.” While she talked, Liddie tore out a seam and took the dress in along the chalk marks. “I had no idea there was so much work involved in taking photographs and printing them.”

  Liddie did not tell Mrs. Tinker about the pictures Mr. Littmann had taken that day at the river. Pictures that included Liddie skating and sitting by the bonfire. She had been completely taken aback at seeing herself. He explained that the light was right and the composition interesting. He hoped she didn’t mind. She said she did not, but she couldn’t get it out of her head that he’d been watching her, photographing her.

  “I’ve heard he has done well with his studio,” Mrs. Tinker said. “The party was an opportunity for him to meet people.”

  “That’s what he said. He’s had four appointments because of the party. He says he hardly has time to take care of everything.” Liddie hadn’t stopped talking since she sat down. Realizing this, she stilled her hands in her lap. She had been attentive to doing things perfectly since that first day. “I really am sorry I was late.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mrs. Tinker said. “You don’t make a habit of it.”

  “I want you to know how much I appreciate . . . well, everything. I never imagined how much I’d like being here.”

 
“You have talent, Liddie. For most girls, working as a seamstress is a stepping-stone to getting married. Seldom do I find someone who has both the capability and the interest to do more. You could become a real dressmaker.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Tinker.” Liddie felt breathless and her voice squeaked. “Really?”

  “The real design work is done in New York and Paris, of course. But a good dressmaker can offer creativity and value to her clients wherever she is.”

  Paris. New York. The names swam in Liddie’s mind. She had never seriously thought of herself and those cities in the same sentence. It was beyond her imagination.

  “You should think on it. Though I doubt this is what your mother had in mind when she approached me. Your Aunt Kate, maybe, but definitely not your mother.”

  “What do you mean?” She was surprised by the idea that her mother and aunt had discussed their expectations for her with Mrs. Tinker.

  Mrs. Tinker walked to the window, where she looked out for some time before speaking again. Finally, she faced Liddie.

  “Parents want to give their daughters opportunities—to see a bit of the world, to learn things—preferably to meet the right man. All without letting them get too far from home. So they seek out jobs like this.” Mrs. Tinker waved her hand at the sewing room. “Girls stay with me for six months, maybe a year. They attend a party or two. They attract a suitable man, and they marry. They acquire sewing skills they’ll use throughout their lives, but sewing is never the goal.”

  Mrs. Tinker continued. “Frankly, I feel lucky you stayed through your apprenticeship and continued working here after. I’m sure marriage is what your mother wants for you. She hopes to see you well cared for.” Her eyes were gentle. “And what mother would not want that?”

  “You mentioned my aunt. You think she has different ideas?”

  “Kate is an uncommon woman. Her ideas ruffle some feathers. At least around here.”

  Liddie was not surprised to learn that Kate spoke her mind to others as she had with Liddie’s father.

  “She’s chosen a nontraditional path for herself, and she may see you taking a different route, too.”

  “That would be good?” Liddie looked to Mrs. Tinker for agreement.

  “It’s not so much a matter of good or not good. It’s a matter of knowing what you want to do.”

  Liddie surprised herself when she admitted, “I don’t know what I want.”

  Mrs. Tinker laughed. “Some people just know. Others figure it out over time. If you don’t know with certainty, don’t act too hastily. That’s the best I can tell you.”

  Mrs. Tinker went to the dress form and made a few tucks in the bodice of the dress hanging there. Then she stepped back and stood silently, tapping her thimble-clad finger on her chin. “In any case, it is wise to be prepared, and I just had an idea. If you think you might like to do more dressmaking, it would be useful to have examples of your work to show. Perhaps Mr. Littmann could take photos of dresses you make so you can build a portfolio.”

  “A portfolio?”

  “Yes. A book of the work you’ve done to show potential customers.”

  “A portfolio,” Liddie whispered in wonder. Then her heart sank. She’d spent her savings to buy fabric and notions to make Christmas presents and a spring dress for herself. “You’re kind to think of it, but I . . . it’s too early, don’t you think?”

  “Not at all. Your dresses have people interested. We want to encourage that interest.”

  “The photos cost a lot, don’t they? I can’t afford—”

  “Oh my dear!” Mrs. Tinker exclaimed. “I didn’t mean for you to pay for the photos. You are still working for me. The benefit would be mine, too. This is my business expense.”

  Liddie raced to the boardinghouse that night, eager to tell Minnie about her day. When she arrived, she found an envelope addressed to her on the hall table. In it was the picture Mr. Littmann had taken of her sitting on a log at the river’s edge. She was laughing, her face upturned, the light on her cheeks. On the back of the photo, he’d written, May you always be so happy—Thomas Littmann, photographer.

  Chapter 17

  When Mrs. Tinker decided on something, she did not dawdle. Within a week, she’d made an appointment for Mr. Littmann to photograph the dresses. She borrowed Anna Caither’s dress with the promise that Anna could be there when the photos were taken. Liddie simply watched all the activity with amazement, unable to believe it was all about her and her portfolio.

  On the appointed day, Mrs. Tinker had a dress form delivered to Mr. Littmann’s studio along with the dresses, which were meticulously packed between layers of tissue paper. When she and Liddie arrived at the studio, Mrs. Caither and Anna were waiting.

  “You brought your doll,” Liddie greeted Anna.

  “Do you think it’s silly?” Anna’s eyes darted to her mother.

  “I am glad you like her dress so much,” Liddie said, thinking about how often Vern kidded her about making doll clothes.

  As he shook Liddie’s hand, Mr. Littmann leaned in and added in a conspiratorial tone, “Lucky for me I came to work early that day, isn’t it? Look at everyone you’ve brought in my door.”

  His comment flustered her. “It was Mrs. Tinker’s idea,” she said.

  “Shall we start with Anna’s dress?” Mrs. Tinker interjected.

  “Quite right,” Mr. Littmann said, holding Liddie’s hand for an extra beat before releasing it. Then he led them to chairs against the wall. “You’ll be able to see best sitting here,” he said. “If you’ll ensure the dress is well displayed, I’ll adjust the lighting.”

  Liddie helped Mrs. Tinker position Anna’s dress on the dress form. When she stepped back, the rose dress looked nondescript and a little forlorn. For the first time, Liddie wondered if the dress she’d worked so hard on was a bit plain. “Will such a pale dress show against this background?” she asked.

  “It’s all in the lighting,” Mr. Littmann responded.

  As he positioned silver panels on tripods, they caught light from the windows, and Liddie watched shadows appear and disappear, causing details to become more pronounced. In a matter of minutes, the dress looked like the gown Liddie remembered. “The light changes everything,” she murmured.

  “Even more so when you view it through the camera lens,” he said, and Liddie yearned to see what he meant.

  After photographing the dress, Mr. Littmann replaced the plate in the camera and stepped away. A frown carved wrinkles in his forehead. “It doesn’t seem right,” he said.

  “What doesn’t?” Mrs. Tinker asked.

  “To take photos of the dress but not the young lady who wore it.”

  Anna grabbed her mother’s elbow. “Oh, Mama, could I?”

  “We are here as guests, dear. To watch. Remember?” Mrs. Caither placed the girl’s hands firmly back in her own lap.

  Mrs. Tinker hedged. “It may take more time than Mr. Littmann has available.”

  “I have blocked the entire morning for this sitting, so we have plenty of time.” He lowered his voice so only Mrs. Tinker and Liddie could hear. “There would not be an additional fee.”

  Liddie observed that Mr. Littmann and Mrs. Tinker shared considerable skill in customer relations. Once he took photos of Anna, she expected there would be no way Mrs. Caither could resist buying prints.

  While the Caithers were preparing for Anna’s photo session in a little room down the hall, Mr. Littmann remarked, “We’ll want to make photos of you in your dress as well, Miss Treadway.”

  Immediately, she imagined Mr. Littmann’s piercing eyes regarding her through the camera lens. “No!” she exclaimed, blushing to the roots of her hair. “I mean, it’s not necessary. We only need pictures of the dress.”

  “I leave it up to you, Liddie,” Mrs. Tinker said. “It is an opportunity.”

  It wa
s one thing to find out he’d been watching her at the pond. Quite another to know he would be observing her in that intense way.

  “Think about it while we take Miss Caither’s photos,” he suggested.

  Mr. Littmann brought in a small chair and a matching table, then directed Anna how to sit. Confident and efficient, he was masterful at helping the girl relax in front of the camera.

  Liddie absorbed his every action. How he changed the film plates. How he talked with Anna. How he positioned her head and hands.

  “Take a look, if you wish,” he said to Liddie. He gestured to the camera as he stepped away to work with Anna.

  Had he been reading her mind? Or her face? Self-consciously, she stepped up to the camera, standing as she’d seen him stand. She edged up to peek through the eyepiece. Everything was upside down. She peered around the camera and then through the lens again, marveling at how the camera reduced everything it focused on to a well-composed image. As she studied the effect, Mr. Littmann turned toward the camera and winked. He knew she was looking at him. Heat filled her chest and she pulled back. Avoiding his eyes, she retreated to stand by the wall.

  “You have a budding fashion model, Mrs. Caither,” Mr. Littmann said when he finished.

  Gladys Caither beamed. “We are eager to see the pictures, Mr. Littmann. When will they be ready?”

  “We’ll check my calendar before you leave.”

  By the time he returned, Liddie had decided to model her dress for photos, too.

  That night, as Liddie sat at her dressing table, the lamp casting an amber glow on the paper, she was eager to share with Joe the excitement that still rippled under her skin. When she put pencil to paper, she felt as though he were sitting across the table.

  . . . Though the studio is a big open room, the pictures look as though we’re in someone’s parlor because of the way he arranged his “props”—an elaborate high-backed chair and a small round table.

  When he let me look through the camera lens, I had the strangest feeling . . . as though I were somewhere apart, seeing something no one else could see, while no one could see me. There is a power I can’t explain. A photographer saves a moment for the future. Or lets it pass by. If there is no photograph made, no one would ever know, but by making a picture, even an everyday event takes on importance.