Go Away Home

by Carol Bodensteiner

  I don’t think I told you that I first met Mr. Littmann at the Caithers’ holiday party. He looked at me so intently that night it made me uncomfortable. Now I think he was looking at me as if he were looking through a camera lens—as though I couldn’t see him. No doubt he looks at everyone that way.

  He was also at the river that day Vern took us skating. I wasn’t aware of it, but he took photos of me there. He gave me one so I’ll be able to remember the day I fell!

  Tell your postmaster friend I say hello.

  Liddie

  In Joe’s last letter, he’d told her the postmaster thought she must be either his mama or his girlfriend because she wrote so much. Joe hadn’t set him straight. Instead, he said he’d had fun keeping their friendship to himself. Liddie laughed that someone would think of her and Joe that way. Joe obviously considered it a joke, too.

  Chapter 18

  Mrs. Tinker ordered prints of Liddie and Anna wearing their dresses. These she framed and hung on the entryway wall where customers were certain to see them. They created quite a stir.

  At first Liddie was abashed when someone drew attention to the photos. Gradually, she grew comfortable saying simply, “Thank you, I’m glad you like them.”

  Mrs. Tinker capitalized on this interest with questions that often led to an update of an existing dress or even a completely new garment. Two women for whom Mrs. Tinker designed dresses chose to have portraits made.

  As a result, Liddie found herself at the photo studio from time to time to relay a request from Mrs. Tinker or pick up prints. If Mr. Littmann was not busy with a client, she grew brave enough to ask how a photo was taken or how a camera worked. He did not seem bothered by her queries. Indeed, quite the contrary. He seemed flattered.

  One afternoon, Mrs. Tinker sent her out early to pick up notions from Fisher’s and to return a photo proof to the studio. When Liddie arrived at the studio, Mr. Littmann was engaged with customers. When she caught his eye, she lifted the package slightly.

  He excused himself from his customers with a polite smile. In the two steps it took him to reach Liddie, an impatient frown replaced the smile.

  “I did not mean to interrupt,” Liddie said. “Mrs. Tinker asked me to bring this by.”

  “I expected you later,” he said, his tone clipped. “Come back in an hour.” He looked at the clock. “Better yet, I’ll meet you at the Decker House at four.”

  “The Decker House?”

  “I’ll buy you tea for your trouble.”

  “It is no trouble. Should I give you this package then?”

  “No.” He took the envelope and tossed it onto the disheveled desk. “I’ll see you at four.”

  Outside the studio, Liddie looked in the direction of the Decker House. Why was she going there? She shook her head as she crossed the street. The more she thought about meeting Mr. Littmann, the more anxious she became. After she purchased the notions for Mrs. Tinker, she sought out Minnie in the ladies’ department and confided her fears.

  “Oh, Liddie. Don’t be silly.” Minnie giggled. “You are meeting him for tea. You and I have been there for tea a dozen times. Besides, you talk to him all the time.”

  “We’ve been there for tea exactly three times. But I have never been to tea with a man. I’ve never been anywhere, really, with a man.”

  “What about Harley?”

  “Harley was a boy.”

  “And Joe. You told me you’ve gone places with Joe.”

  “Joe doesn’t count.”

  “Really?” Minnie cocked an eyebrow. “I think he counts.”

  “Be serious, Minnie. What will I talk about?”

  “I’ve told you, ask questions.” Minnie shrugged. “People like to talk about themselves. Especially men.” She glanced around at the other customers. “I have to get back to work.”

  Liddie gave Minnie a quick hug and turned to walk away. Then she whirled around and came back. “But what does he want?”

  “He wants to meet you for tea.” A mischievous grin played on Minnie’s face. “And for all one knows, you’ll tell me tonight that you have a beau.”

  “Oh, Minnie.” Liddie dismissed the idea. But she wondered. Was he interested in her in that way? And if he was, would she really mind?

  Liddie arrived at the Decker House at exactly five minutes to four. She paused, held her breath for a moment, and then exhaled to calm her nerves before stepping through the lobby doors. Forcing herself to assume the most casual of attitudes, she scanned the room. Mr. Littmann was not there, so she made her way to a small corner table. She thought to remove her gloves but decided against it. Instead, she folded her hands on top of her handbag and attempted to appear as though she belonged there.

  Though the lobby was full of people, she didn’t make eye contact with anyone. She studied the pattern in the rug, scanned the headlines of a newspaper someone had left on a nearby chair, tucked away a loose thread in her cuff. The fifteen minutes she sat there felt like an eternity. Had she misunderstood? Had he meant for her to come back to the studio? As she considered leaving, all of a sudden he was standing over her.

  “Miss Treadway.” He bowed. “I am so sorry to leave you sitting here like this. It is unconscionable.”

  “Mr. Littmann.” The tension in her chest eased.

  “My last appointment took longer than I anticipated.” He set a satchel by the table and sat facing her. A waitress appeared.

  He looked at the empty table and then at Liddie. “You didn’t order?”

  “I didn’t know that I should.” Her cheeks flamed.

  “Tea and biscuits,” he said to the waitress. “And hurry, or we may both expire.” He smiled at Liddie. “Thank you for waiting so patiently. I hope I haven’t gotten us off on the wrong foot.”

  “No. Of course not. I enjoyed watching the travelers come and go,” she said. A polite lie.

  Once the waitress delivered the cookies and a steaming porcelain teapot, Liddie focused on sipping tea, hoping to calm her stomach as she scrambled to think of something to say. Her mind was blank.

  “This is quite the hub of activity,” Mr. Littmann observed, nodding toward a group surrounded by luggage. “I understand you traveled to Chicago last summer.”

  “Yes. Mrs. Tinker took me with her to buy fabric. I’ve never seen so many people in my life!” Liddie said.

  “Did you visit the Art Institute?”

  “No. What’s the Art Institute?”

  “One of the finest art collections in the world, though it doesn’t compare to New York. You haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen New York.”

  Mr. Littmann leaned in, enthusiasm making his eyes dance. Liddie’s eyes lingered on the scar on his eyebrow. It spoke of adventure and mystery. She had to agree with Minnie—he was handsome.

  “Day or night, there’s something going on. During my last visit, I met Alfred Stieglitz at his Gallery 291. Stieglitz and I talked for ten minutes.” He paused, looking at her as though he expected her to say something. When she said nothing, he asked, “Are you familiar with his photography?”

  Liddie shook her head and saw disappointment in his eyes. His questions made her feel woefully inadequate, but what should she be expected to know? She was only a farm girl.

  “Many photographers—Stieglitz is one—want to create the same compositions and moods accomplished in paintings,” Mr. Littmann said. “It’s the composition I’m working to attain, even in a candid photograph.” He was gazing out the window. “Maquoketa has a quaint charm. And some surprises.” He looked back to Liddie. “You, for instance. To find another soul with such an interest in photography is unexpected.”

  She had once described his photographs as unexpected. Liddie now wondered if he’d used that word intentionally. She took another sip of tea and said, “At the studio, when you let me look through your camera lens . . .�
� Again she hesitated for fear he’d think her foolish.

  “Go on.”

  “I don’t know how to describe it. It felt as though there was power in the camera. While I looked through the lens, I felt that no one knew I was there. Do you ever feel that?”

  “A remarkable observation.” He nodded. “Yes, I do feel that. But for me, the real power is in the darkroom when I print the pictures.”

  “I’d like to see that sometime,” Liddie blurted, before it occurred to her that she’d just suggested a desire to be alone with him in a dark room. Heat crept up her neck. She lowered her eyes to the crumbs on her plate. Unconsciously, she fingered the high collar of her dress.

  If Mr. Littmann noticed her embarrassment, he didn’t let on. “I must say, Miss Treadway, meeting you has been a boon to my business. In fact, it is because business has been thriving that I invited you to meet me today.”

  Now she looked up.

  “I’d like you to work for me a few hours a week.” He sipped his tea without ever taking his eyes off her.

  She blinked. “I couldn’t. Mrs. Tinker . . .”

  “Your commitment to Mrs. Tinker is weekdays. Correct? If you spend Saturdays at the studio, it would be perfect.”

  “A job?”

  “I need someone to handle clerical duties, greet customers, prepare packages for clients. I’ll pay a fair wage.”

  It took some moments for Liddie to digest the thought. But now that the possibility of a job was in front of her, she thought it was quite a brilliant solution. Though Mrs. Tinker had been paying her more since she completed her year of apprenticeship, she still did not earn enough to cover all her expenses herself. She wanted very much to prove to herself and her family that she could be self-sufficient. So why not take another job?

  An idea began to form in Liddie’s mind. “I am delighted you asked me. I’d like to work for you.” The idea took root and she plunged ahead. “If it is not too bold to ask, as part of the arrangement, would you teach me more about photography?”

  “It would be my honest pleasure.” Mr. Littmann relaxed in his chair.

  A swell of confidence caused Liddie to sit up straighter. “Then I accept.”

  He took her hand. “Yes. It would be my honest pleasure, Miss Treadway.”

  She felt sweat form on her palms. She slid her hand out of his grip and folded her hands on her handbag. “I do sometimes work for Mrs. Tinker on weekends.”

  “We need to agree on terms, then.”

  She nodded.

  When they parted company in front of the hotel, Liddie walked quietly for one full block until she was out of sight of the Decker House. Then she broke into a skip, cavorting like a child until she was within a block of the boardinghouse.

  Minnie would never guess the news, and Liddie could not wait to tell her.

  Chapter 19

  “Good morning, Mrs. Tinker. Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Still giddy from the previous evening, Liddie hung her shawl and hat on the hall tree. She put the box of pastries she had picked up at Becker’s that morning in the kitchen. “For later,” she explained.

  “The sun is pretty in May,” Mrs. Tinker agreed. “It’s a little chilly in here, though, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “This stove is so touchy. If I can get it going, it will take the edge off.” As Mrs. Tinker puttered with the stove, she asked, “Did you get the notions?”

  “Yes, everything you asked for.” As Liddie sorted and stored the supplies, she thought about telling Mrs. Tinker her news right then. But the idea of announcing her new job over lunch tickled her. She imagined Mrs. Tinker would be delighted at her good fortune.

  “Liddie?” Mrs. Tinker spoke over her shoulder. “Mrs. Ellers told me her son Harley saw you at the Decker House with Mr. Littmann. I thought it unlikely.”

  Harley! Liddie felt the color drain from her face. It hadn’t crossed her mind that he might be there. She hadn’t seen him since the holiday party. Now the memory of what she’d said that night and how he’d looked so stunned came rushing back.

  “Well, yes. I did see Mr. Littmann. At the Decker House.”

  “Hmm?”

  “When I got to the studio, Mr. Littmann was busy with a client. He took the proofs and asked me to meet him later.”

  “He asked you to meet him there?”

  Liddie heard disapproval in the rising inflection of Mrs. Tinker’s voice, and she began to feel as though she’d been caught in a misdeed. Though she hadn’t done anything wrong, had she? “I didn’t know what he wanted.”

  “You could have asked.”

  Liddie flushed. “He was busy with clients. Besides, we were seated where everyone could see us.”

  “I expected better sense from him.” A frown creased Mrs. Tinker’s forehead as she faced Liddie, her hands on her hips.

  “I thought . . .”

  “What did you think?”

  Liddie’s cheeks flamed. “That he might be”—she felt unbelievably foolish—“interested in me. But it wasn’t that at all.”

  “It wasn’t? What was it, then?”

  “He wants me to work for him.”

  “Work for him? Indeed! Harley also told his mother you and Mr. Littmann were holding hands.”

  “Mr. Littmann says business has been so good he needs clerical help. Partly because of your customers wanting portraits. He thought of me because I’m so interested in photography.” She rushed to explain. “I told him I couldn’t because I work for you. Then he said only Saturdays. And I’d get to learn about photography. And the extra money will help pay my room and board. Minnie plays piano at Fisher’s when she’s not working her regular job.”

  “And what about holding hands?”

  “He did take my hand for a moment. He was pleased I said I’d take the job. I took my hand right back. It didn’t mean anything. Truly!” Liddie fought to control her anxiety. “I could only see good from accepting his offer. Did I do the wrong thing?” She hiccuped, and to her own dismay, dissolved into tears.

  “Oh, Liddie.” Mrs. Tinker tsked. “Come, sit here.” She guided Liddie to the settee, where she sat with her arm around Liddie’s thin shoulders. “I’m going to get us a cup of tea.”

  “The sewing . . .” Flustered by her tears, Liddie retreated to her responsibilities. “There’s so much to do . . .”

  “The sewing will get done in time.” She headed to the kitchen, slipping the “Closed” sign in the front window as she passed by. Soon she returned with two cups of freshly brewed tea and the teapot. “Now drink this and let’s talk. Start at the beginning.”

  When Liddie finished, Mrs. Tinker said, “I’m relieved. I don’t hold with gossip, but Mrs. Ellers is generally reliable. I would not expect something inappropriate from Mr. Littmann. Still, one can never be certain.”

  “Then you’re not angry?”

  “I was never angry, my dear. I was concerned. Something that may be quite innocent can be so easily misconstrued. You cannot be too careful with your reputation.” Mrs. Tinker refilled Liddie’s teacup. “Now. Is this job something you are really interested in?”

  “Very much.”

  “Then it is your decision.”

  After talking with Mrs. Tinker, Liddie no longer assumed her mother would be happy about this new job. She went home that weekend.

  When her mother suggested they sit in the parlor, Liddie glanced around. Each time she returned, the spaces she’d grown up in and known so well seemed smaller. Nothing had actually changed—the furniture was arranged as always; the knickknacks held their traditional places—yet it felt different. She had come to realize it was she who had changed, not her old home. If she stayed for a few days, she knew the proportions would return to normal and she would feel as comfortable as always.

  As she told her mother abou
t the job, she explained, “I thought the money I earned would help. Then Vern wouldn’t have to worry about how much it costs for me to live in town.”

  Her mother put a hand over her mouth and coughed. Her eyes started to water.

  “Mama! Are you all right?”

  Margretta held up her hand. “Yes . . . yes. I’m fine.” She wiped at her eyes. “Liddie, I’m glad you’re thinking about how you can take care of yourself. Your father would be proud. But don’t be overly concerned about the cost. We want you to have this opportunity.” She lifted knitting needles and a skein of yarn out of her basket, and knit several stitches before she continued.

  Liddie had noted that after her mother’s grief at G. W.’s death passed, she returned to sitting in her own small rocker.

  “Now, what makes you think Vern is worried about the cost?” her mother asked.

  “He didn’t want me to go. And Aunt Kate said—”

  Margretta inclined her head in curiosity. “What did my sister say?”

  “She told me that after Papa died, Vern had a lot more responsibility. That he worried about how much it all cost.”

  “Your brother does have more responsibility. And the cost of things is always an issue. But your father was a good businessman.”

  Liddie hoped her mother would say more about Papa. She glanced at her father’s chair, thought of him sitting there with his pipe, and wondered how he would view her life now.

  Margretta knit half a row before she spoke. “Did it occur to you that Vern didn’t want to lose you? After Papa and Amelia?”

  “Vern? I never thought—”

  “I keep telling you he cares about you.”

  “Maybe.” Liddie had to admit her brother had been different since he’d been courting Minnie. Still, she had a hard time erasing the critical figure from her childhood.