The doctor gave his hands a clap. “Very good, you both have keen eyes and you are both right. This work of art was made in 1870 and looks to be completed at a skating carnival in the Victoria Rink. There is a fellow here in Montreal who does this type of work. Practically everyone goes to his studio where he photographs each person individually then makes a composite, working all into the appropriate places. He is the same man who took the photo of Charles and me, but he has developed unusual techniques since then. He is McGill’s official photographer.”
“Who is this man?” Sam asked, quite interested in what they were being told.
“His name is William Notman and he has a studio at this address,” the doctor said as he wrote on a scrap of paper. “If you are interested I know he would do a wonderful job of creating a special photograph of the two of you.”
A knock came on the door and Eleanor poked her head inside, “Your next class starts in ten minutes, should I ask Fredrick to take it also?”
“We are just leaving,” Sam answered before the doctor could speak. “We have already taken up much of your important time. Thank you very much for all the help you have given us.”
Once again they exchanged good wishes and parted company. It was obvious Sara felt relieved at the lack of bad news. Sam wanted to tell her he thought the news was not going to be bad when they were able to learn the situation. But he knew nothing he could say at this time would change her mind. Instead as they stepped outside the door of the doctor’s office, he asked his wife, “How do you feel about getting a keepsake photo of our visit to this amazing city?”
“Let’s do it!” was all she said as she grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him in the direction of the exit.
Chapter Twenty-five
About an hour later they stood in the unusual office of William Notman. The walls of the outer office were covered with prints of every description. Some were of finished products and beside them were photos of the subject taken in the indoor studio, in the same pose, but a different setting.
“This could be very interesting,” Sara said still looking closely at the selection before them. “Look over here, Sam,” Sara spoke quite excitedly and her husband was quick to join her to look at the many poses. “These are all of the Windsor Hotel. This one says it is the St. Andrew’s Society Ball in November of ’78,” she read the card beside it. “This must be the same ballroom we saw. Look how beautifully dressed everyone is. Here are Princess Louise and her husband, the Marquis of Lorne.”
“And Prime Minister Macdonald,” Sam added, as he pointed to another character. Putting his arms around her, he whispered, “I wondered if anyone famous was ever in our bed.”
“You mean like Sarah Bernhardt maybe?”
“I was thinking you’d be more interested in Mark Twain or the Marquis of Lorne.”
“You rascal,” she answered with a sly grin. A young gentleman came into the outer office and the couple stepped away from each other.
“Mr. Notman?” Sam asked, extending his hand.
The fellow shook his head saying, “No, I am Mr. Notman’s assistant. Mr. and Mrs. Fielding, I presume?” The look of surprise showed on both their faces made him continue. “Doctor Brown telephoned from the university and asked us to take care of you.”
They were whisked away to separate rooms where several people assisted them. There was clothing of all descriptions and working quickly they were both undressed then redressed. Sara had makeup applied and her hair quickly coiffed by someone who was quite skilled. Then she was helped into an elegant ball gown. Jewellery, much like she saw on the woman at the ball, was placed in her hair and around her neck. It all looked quite beautiful but when she was admiring it closely one of the ladies said, “It is glass. If it was real we could all be in danger of a robbery. Sometimes grand women come here for their portraits with their own jewels and bodyguards.”
They worked quickly and it was obvious they were used to what the process involved.
The dress Sara wore carried a long train and one of the assistants carefully scooped it up in her arms and directed her to walk out into the adjoining room … the studio.
This was a large area with three oversized skylights directing the sunlight into different areas of the room. Properties for the photographs almost filled the space, most appearing to be for winter design.
Several moose and elk heads rested in one corner and when Sara hesitated at the sight, the girl answered, “A very successful hunter is coming in tomorrow for his photograph and these were brought in today for preparation.”
Sam was walking toward Sara from across the room, a large grin covering his face. “You are quite ready for the ball now.”
“Not quite,” Sara answered, as she turned around and showed how the dress was pulled together with string and clamps at the back so the front fit perfectly.
Sam laughed as he lifted his jacket slightly and showed similar restraints. “All right, a pretend ball then.”
The woman directed them to the area Sara recognized as properties from a ballroom, similar to the ones in the hotel.
All of a sudden beside them appeared an energetic gentleman with a strong Scottish accent as he greeted them. “Mr. and Mrs. Fielding, I am William Notman.” He was a brusque, smart-looking man but wore an unusual beard, with long sideburns which continued down over his jaw to meet under his chin, the rest of his face being clean shaven. As they shook hands he continued, “Clarence Brown has asked me to give you special attention today. He mentioned you are staying at the Windsor and suggested a ballroom setting. Please have patience with me as we set your pose.”
With only words of direction he proceeded to place them in a position to resemble a stopped moment in a fast waltz. He instructed two of his assistants as to what he required. He wanted the dress to look like it was flowing in the motion. He excused himself and went to another customer as they were being prepared.
The loop on the train of the dress was placed around Sara’s wrist and a thin metal stand was set under their clasped hands to rest them on. Trying to work quickly, the assistants sewed several strong threads to the dress, pulled tight and tied them to a chair to make it look like it flowed elegantly on its own. Even Sara’s hair was pulled to the side to look like they were involved in fast motion. Sam rested his knee against another stand as if he was taking a step.
It was a long and grueling process when Mr. Notman appeared to be satisfied with everything. He directed the couple to look into each other’s eyes but not to smile. “It is nearly impossible to hold a smile for forty seconds and that is how long I need you to be perfectly still for. Ready … take a breath and … hold it!”
The forty seconds stretched out for what felt like several minutes, but they held their pose perfectly. Each read the smile and laugh in the other’s eyes.
With few words, Mr. Notman went to another gentleman who stood wearing his blanket coat, toque and scarf of the Montreal Snowshoeing Club. He was ready to set the pose again.
Sam and Sara were both directed back to the dressing rooms where it all began more than an hour before. Sara found an older woman dressed completely in elegant furs having make-up applied for her photography session that would begin soon. An assistant helped Sara out of her apparel and thanked her for coming as she left the room.
Once again they found themselves in the office of the studio, quite alone. Finally one of the male assistants stepped inside, surprised the Fieldings were still there.
“How much do I owe you?” Sam asked, proceeding to pull out his wallet.
“Nothing. Doctor Brown is taking care of it and will see the finished product is sent to you.” The young man removed a photograph from the wall and returned to the other room. Obviously the decision of payment and follow-up was taken care of and there was no changing it.
The studio was not far from the hotel and they thought to enjoy the walk back.
“He appears a touch eccentric,” Sam suggested of the man whose work was becomin
g quite famous.
“And I think a bit of a perfectionist,” Sara added. “His work is nothing like I have ever seen before and I didn’t expect such an extensive process.”
“I couldn’t help but think when I was looking into those beautiful blues of yours, how it is too bad photographs are only black and white.”
They walked through Dominion Square again and were quite surprised at how fast the ice palace was growing. They continued slowly back to the hotel, starting to feel rather tired after their unusual day.
“What a day this has been,” Sara said to her husband as they continued at their unhurried pace.
“As most days are since we have been together,” Sam responded as he sat down on a bench, pulling his wife down beside him. “I wonder how I could have ever thought I had everything before I met you. As it turns out, I had nothing.”
They stayed for a while, holding hands, not saying anything as the day gradually turned to the dark of the moonless night. They watched as the lamplighter passed by to light their way through the park. People of all descriptions continued to walk hurriedly past them, most on their way home after the workday. As they sat on the bench they both realized the task they came to Montreal for was completed and it was time to continue on with their journey.
Going back into the hotel they decided to stop at the cigar shop in the rotunda to order a gift for Doctor Brown. Sara hesitated at the door before stepping into the shop, wondering if women were allowed in such a place.
Sam took her hand and said, “They can’t do any more than ask you to leave.” As he spoke he looked directly at the well-dressed man behind the counter and expressed a look of daring at him.
The proprietor looked back and more or less gave a slight shrug. Although a woman coming into the shop may be rather unusual, he would not cause any fuss.
Together they found a beautifully-carved box which contained two-dozen hand-wrapped cigars imported from Cuba. Behind the counter were fancy bottles of imported liqueurs and Sam selected two the same, saying he would take one with him and the other was to be sent to Dr. Brown at McGill University. After leaving the instructions and payment the couple left the small shop to return to their room. They were both tired after their busy day and thought to relax before they left the city.
Prior to going back to their accommodations, they decided to go up to the observation tower in the corner of the hotel situated on the crossing of Dorchester and Peel Streets. This was an area topped by a copper-roofed cupola. They looked out at the large city from a height of a hundred and thirty feet above the ground. They were the only people at the moment to look out at the sights in the dark night as there really was not a lot to see other than the lights of the city. Looking toward the mountain they watched a trail of torches moving in a long continuous line and knew the men from the Montreal Club were out on an evening tramp.
It was rather warm in the room and they removed their fur coats, laying them on a bench. It offered any visitors a place to rest after the climb up the long stairway. When they were alone together, they generally held onto each other. Sometimes it was a hand placed lightly on a knee under the cover of a table, but as often as possible they liked to feel the touch of the other. Tonight Sam gently placed his arms around his wife’s waist as he stood behind her and pulled her close. Sara in turn held his hands in hers and leaned her cheek back against his, feeling the light stubble. She put her right hand against his cheek and as they stood for the moment, no words needed to be said. What they had together always felt right, almost from the moment they met.
Sam pulled back a little and placed a gentle kiss upon her neck before he whispered, “Did you know it is two months ago today you came to my aid?”
Sara stiffened slightly, seeming surprised at the idea. “It can’t be! It feels like we have shared a lifetime together.”
“It is … but I cannot remember a time when I did not love you.”
“It is a good thing my father is no longer living. My mother would have understood, but not my father.”
“He would have seen we are right together, Sara. We are meant to be.”
Together they looked out upon the city at the lights flickering like a thousand stars.
“I think the first time since I went west I didn’t long to go back to New Brunswick was the first morning I woke and you were beside me.”
“Why that day?”
“Because you were there and it felt like the place I was supposed to be. You wiped out many years of loneliness in one night.”
“The first time I knew I wanted you, was when I woke and saw you in the rocking chair you pulled close to the wood stove. You had been in it all night and were quite stiff from sleeping there. I think it was the first time anyone ever did something for me just because they wanted to, not because I ordered or paid for it. I thought you didn’t know who I was and you still did that for me. When I found out you knew, I couldn’t go back.”
Again they stood silent for a time, still standing cheek to cheek.
Sam spoke again, “Would you like to go back home to New Brunswick?”
Sara didn’t move or speak, as if she hadn’t heard him.
“We don’t need to be in a big hurry to get to Philadelphia and if you would like to go we can take the time.”
He saw the single tear run over her cheek and held her a tighter. “I would, Sam … I would like to go home for a little while.”
Chapter Twenty-six
As the crow flies the distance to St. Stephen, New Brunswick from Montreal was close to three hundred and fifty miles. Normally it would mean a ride of about half a day or so by rail. The route Sam and Sara took to get to her hometown was rather complicated compared to the course already travelled. They had barely left Montreal when they changed trains at the town of Chambly in order to direct their route to Sherbrooke, Quebec, only to change trains again. It took them almost thirty-seven hours to cross the state of Maine and arrive back into Canada. For the most part the time spent travelling was not done on the train, but rather waiting in the various stations of Wilson, Brownville Junction and Mattawankeag before arriving in McAdam Junction in New Brunswick. Even then, they had to make another change at Watts Junction before they were finally on the train taking them to St. Stephen.
Needless to say they were both tired by the time the conductor announced their arrival in the town Sara called home for most of her life. As she looked out the window at the familiar sight, Sam saw the look of fatigue swiftly vanish.
“I never imagined I would ever see this place again,” she said absently, as if she was talking to herself. “As much as I wanted to come back, it seemed to frighten me. But now I can show you my home. Where I came from,” she said with a look of contentment on her face.
It was mid-morning when they walked into the train station.
“Sara … Sara Gardiner … is that you?” The man behind the counter exclaimed as he saw the two standing before him.
Sara looked at him and for a moment couldn’t identify the man, until suddenly the concentration in her expression changed to one of recognition. “Are you Duncan Campbell?”
“I surely am,” he answered as he stepped out from behind the counter. “You haven’t changed a bit.” He held her tightly in a warm embrace and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I was so sorry to hear about William.” He hugged her once more, then pulled away. “I can’t believe you haven’t changed a bit. Anne said in your letter it sounded like you were having a hard time out on the prairies. She is going to be so excited to see you.” Duncan was so thrilled he could hardly stop talking until he looked up and saw Sam watching them.
“Duncan, I must introduce you to my husband, Sam Fielding. We were married at the beginning of November. Sam, this is Duncan Campbell. He is Anne’s brother.”
The gentlemen shook hands and in unison said, “Nice to meet you.”
“I must get back to work here, Sara. A lot of freight came in on the train and I have to get it sorted before
people start coming in for it. Will you be going out to your house?”
“Is anyone there?”
“No, it has been empty for almost a year since your father passed. No one really knew what to do with everything and I thought you might be coming home after William died. I am so sorry Sara. Things have been hard for you.”
“Things have been hard for a lot of people, Duncan. Has everything been stored in the house? Could we get a ride with someone?”
“I’ll ask Benton. He has to take a load that way this morning and can drop you there. I must get word to Anne you are here. She will be so excited.”
They rode with Alexander Benton, all three sitting on the seat of his wagon. After he made his delivery in Milltown, directly south of St. Stephen, he continued west in the direction of the Winston home. It was surprising they left a mountain of snow behind them in Montreal and came to a land where only a few banks sat where the sun hadn’t melted it. Alexander explained winter seemed to be rather unpredictable here, being so near to the ocean. As cold as it was to the north this area had, so far this year, been spared the dreadful chill and any great amount of snow. He was quick to warn them the weather could change at any time and not to think living there resembled the southern states.
“I remember,” said Sara, “some winters were like this and others seemed to give us very deep snow. My father used to say it was one of God’s surprises and reason for us to be prepared for whatever may come.”
The house was located almost two miles west of St. Stephen. “If we should keep going west we would soon come to the St. Croix River and crossing it we would be back in the state of Maine,” Sara told her husband as they continued along. “In fact, the river decides the border between the two countries. Directly south of the river from town is the Maine community of Calais. All of us have friends across the border. Even in times of war the two towns remained friends. Oddly enough when the town celebrated the American Independence on July 4th, 1813, St. Stephen supplied the gunpowder for the salute, or so the tale is told.”
New Beginnings (New Beginnings Series) Page 26