Just North of Bliss

by Duncan, Alice

  Not for Win the stiff, stodgy family groupings of days gone by. No, sirree. Win valued the natural style of photography, and he was going to wrest some sort of naturalness out of Belle Monroe if it killed him. He almost laughed out loud when he realized that for Belle, acting natural was totally unnatural. Ah well, his was not to wonder why.

  “What do you want us to do, Mr. Asher?” Garrett asked.

  It was a sensible question. Win pondered it for a moment. He didn’t dare ponder too long, because he didn’t expect Belle to stay serene for very many more seconds. At last, unable to think of any particularly inspiring pose and deciding that it didn’t matter yet anyhow, he said, “Just stand together, if you will. Miss Amalie, you stand on Miss Monroe’s right side. Master Garrett, you stand to her left. That’s the way.”

  On her own, Belle put an arm around each child’s shoulder. The gesture surprised Win, since he didn’t know she had any spontaneity in her.

  As he ducked under his black cloth once more, he wondered if he was being a little too hard on her. She did seem to have established a certain rapport with the Richmond children, so she couldn’t be a completely stuffed shirt. Maybe it was only men with whom she got fussy.

  What the hell; he didn’t care. He pulled the chain one last time for the day, the explosion made his subjects jump a little, and he felt he’d accomplished something important.

  Punching the air in happy anticipation, he turned to the Richmonds, who had risen from their seats. “There. That’s all right, then. I’ll develop these shots and be in touch with you.”

  The Richmonds exchanged an anticipatory glance, and Mr. Richmond asked, “When do you expect them to be ready?”

  “I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do with Belle and the children, Mr. Asher,” Mrs. Richmond added with gratifying enthusiasm.

  Good. Win knew that as long as he had the Richmonds on his side, getting Belle to behave herself and cooperate would be easier. “In a day or two. Would you like me to visit your hotel, or would you prefer coming to my booth? Will you be continuing your stay in Chicago? If you’ll be here for a while, I won’t have to rush the project.”

  “Oh, we’re going to be here for another six weeks,” Mr. Richmond said, his voice rich with complacency. “I want my children to experience the Exposition fully. And Gladys and I intend to visit with friends and relatives in Chicago as long as we’re here.”

  “Will you be coming to the fair for a few more days?”

  “Oh, my, yes,” exclaimed Gladys. “We haven’t seen a quarter of it yet. It’s so huge.”

  Grinning, Win nodded. “It certainly it. There’s something for everybody here. It’s the biggest fair of its kind ever presented.”

  “It’s amazing.” Mr. Richmond shook his head to convey his sense of amazement. Win was interested to note that he still appeared self-satisfied and confident even when amazed. “Why don’t we pop in each day we’re here, and you can let us know when the plates are ready and when you wish to begin the photographic sessions.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Win said, glad they’d decided on this course of action since he didn’t want to leave his booth for too long at any one time. “In fact, instead of waiting until these plates are ready, why don’t I begin with the family sittings tomorrow?” He knew that if he accomplished the free part of his deal first, they’d be more happy to lend their cooperation—not to mention their children’s nanny—to the rest of his scheme.

  “Wonderful.” Mr. Richmond gave Win a broad smile, and his hunch about the free stuff first was confirmed.

  “Great.” Win unlatched the flash plate from the side of his camera. “What sights do you plan to take in on your holiday besides the fair?”

  “We’re going to visit my father’s cousin’s farm,” Amalie informed Win.

  She sounded excited about it, and Win guessed life had changed a lot in the hundred and twenty-some years since the Revolution. It used to be that children wanted to get away from their home farms. Nowadays visiting a farm was something to look forward to as a holiday. “Good for you,” he said with a grin. “My uncle Charlie and my aunt Verna have a farm not far from Chicago. I used to stay with them during the summer months sometimes.” He continued working, dismantling his equipment and tucking his plates in his bag as he spoke.

  Amalie was wide-eyed with intrigue. “Oh! Was it fun on the farm?”

  Win thought about it as he folded up his tripod. “Actually, it was a lot of work,” he said at last. “Farming isn’t exactly an easy life.”

  “But you get to ride horses,” Garrett pointed out.

  His father chuckled. “That’s right, son, but it’s one thing to ride a horse in Washington Square for fun and quite another to ride a horse pulling a plow.”

  Win didn’t point out that generally one didn’t do that these days, because he didn’t want to annoy Mr. Richmond. He said only, “Absolutely.” As he carried his tripod to the cupboard in which he kept it overnight, he saw Belle looking at Mr. Richmond as if she, too, wondered where he’d come by his notions of the farming life. He felt a little better about dealing with her after that, since she evidently had something in common with him. He’d begun to think they were about as alike as a polar bear and a Chihuahua, although he wasn’t sure who was which.

  After he locked his booth up, he walked with the Richmonds entourage to the main entrance to the Exposition. Night had fallen, and all the electric lights with which the fair was bedecked lit their way. He noticed Belle gazing up at the night sky and said with a smile, “The city lights make the stars appear dim, don’t they, Miss Monroe?”

  With a small start, she glanced at him. “Indeed, they do.”

  “I like the ‘lectric lights,” Garrett said firmly. “They’re progress.”

  “That’s right, my boy,” agreed his father.

  Mrs. Richmond allowed herself a tiny sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. I think the moon and stars are prettier than electric lights.”

  “Me, too,” agreed Amalie.

  “I’m rather fond of the moon and stars myself,” Belle said hesitantly.

  “I have to admit,” Win admitted, “that while I’m all for progress, I do think we’ll miss being able to see the stars at night. Should, that is to say, people get carried away with electric lighting.”

  “Pshaw,” Mr. Richmond scoffed. “Progress, my boy. Progress is the only answer to the world’s ills.”

  “You’re probably right.” Win wasn’t sure if the slight pang it cost him to agree with Mr. Richmond was because he was an antiquated reactionary, as he suspected Belle to be, or because it was really true that with every advance in technology, the human race lost a little bit of its history. Probably the latter. He really didn’t want to think he was akin to Belle Monroe.

  “Sometimes progress crushes something beautiful, though,” Belle said so softly Win could scarcely hear her.

  “Fiddle,” laughed Mr. Richmond.

  “Belle’s right, George,” said Mrs. Richmond.

  Win didn’t say anything, but he had to agree with her.

  The children both yawned, which Win supposed was as good an ending to the conversation as any. He waved after the Richmonds and Belle as they rode away in the cab Win had flagged down for them. Then he stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked back to his booth. He worked until long past midnight, developing the plates he’d taken of Belle and the children.

  When he viewed the result of his work, he knew that, whatever it took, he was going to have to talk Belle into allowing him to take the series of photographs he envisioned featuring her alone.

  Chapter Five

  “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Belle murmured as she and Mrs. Richmond and the two Richmond children strolled along the Midway in the direction of Win’s booth. “I felt silly standing there, staring at the camera.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Richmond bracingly. “I think Mr. Asher is a brilliant photographer, and I think his idea for a series of pictures
featuring you and the children is a brilliant idea.”

  “Me, too!” Amalie, skipping along between her mother and Belle, was as bright as the day itself in her yellow checked frock and with the yellow ribbons encircling her pretty straw hat fluttering behind her.

  “Me, three,” agreed Garrett. He was clad in yet another sailor suit this morning and looked as natty and neat as anything. Although Belle knew this condition wouldn’t last, she enjoyed seeing him thus for however long it did.

  She knew for a fact that Garrett had at least four sailor suits, which seemed excessive to her, although she didn’t begrudge them to the boy. If one’s parents were rich enough to supply a clean set of clothes for every day in the week, why shouldn’t they? Belle herself wouldn’t cavil at supplying her own children with new clothes. If she ever had any children. If she ever had any money.

  “Hmmm.” The notion of being photographed didn’t sit as well with her as the notion of eventually having children, even without money attached. She knew Mrs. Richmond was eager to have Amalie and Garrett photographed, however, and Mr. Richmond was eager to get a good deal. Yankees and their deals were another aspect of life in the North of which Belle couldn’t approve. Not that she had anything against saving money; she disapproved of flaunting one’s skill as a haggler.

  The day itself was beautiful, however, and she eagerly anticipated spending another several hours at the World’s Columbian Exposition, so she wasn’t as unwilling to pose for Mr. Asher as she’d been the night before. There was something about being at a World’s Fair that affected one’s sense of what one considered seemly.

  That, at least, is what she’d written to her parents the night before when she’d attempted to explain this new venture into which she was being thrust. “There’s something about this fair,” she’d written in her best, most elegant cursive, “that seems to be affecting my sense of what I consider seemly.

  “While I would have been horrified if Mr. Willard, at the drug store, offered to take a series of photographs of me and sell them to newspapers, somehow having a series of photographs taken with Amalie and Garrett at the Columbian Exposition doesn’t seem so horrid.”

  She’d pondered long and hard, chewing her pen and worrying, before she’d decided to allow that paragraph to stand. She’d already given the missive to the gentleman at the front desk at the hotel this morning, so she might as well resign herself to whatever consequences accrued from it.

  Her ultimate reasoning for telling her parents about the photographs was that she imagined they’d find out eventually anyhow, if any of the pictures appeared in newspapers in Georgia. She knew from experience that it was better to confess one’s sins openly than to have them sneak up on one and attack one when one least expected them to do so.

  She vividly recalled her brother trying to hide the fact that he’d begun smoking a pipe, only to be found out in his subterfuge when his trousers caught fire. It had taken a couple of weeks for the burn on his bottom to heal, too, and poor Paul had been subjected to dreadful teasing during that period. In truth, people still teased him about it.

  The notion of having this episode in her life discovered and exposed, as if she were ashamed of it and were trying to keep it hidden, made Belle shudder. The fact that she was ashamed of it and would have kept it hidden if she believed it possible, was something she guessed she’d just have to live with. She could outright refuse to pose with the Richmond children, but that would surely put a strain on her good relationship with the family. A few photographs weren’t worth the risk.

  At least, she hoped to heaven they weren’t.

  The sights and sounds and smells of the Exposition fascinated all three ladies as they walked through the fairgrounds. Belle loved the Grand Basin and the Court of Honor, even if her beloved South wasn’t particularly well represented therein. The white City, which had looked magnificent last night under the glow of all the electric lights, still looked magnificent under the benevolent rays of the morning sun.

  “It’s difficult to take it all in, isn’t it, Mrs. Richmond?”

  Gladys, glancing around with her own eyes wide and fascinated, nodded. “It’s a testament to American know-how, as George keeps telling us.”

  “Over and over,” muttered Garrett.

  Amalie giggled.

  Belle said, “Garrett,” in a repressive voice, but didn’t offer further admonishments since she agreed with the boy.

  Gladys Richmond giggled, too, and Belle was glad for her own restraint. “He does carry on a bit sometimes.”

  Deciding it would be best to change the subject—Belle didn’t approve of children taking their parents to task—she said, “After we sit for a couple of Mr. Asher’s photographs, why don’t we reward ourselves with a ride on the Ferris wheel?”

  “Yay!” Garrett went so far as to throw his sailor cap in the air. He was unable to catch it on its downward flight, and an organ grinder’s monkey snatched it from the pavement and plopped it on its own head.

  Naturally, this created an atmosphere of hilarity in the two children. Even Belle and Gladys were laughing by the time they got to Win’s booth. He stood at the door waiting for them, as if he couldn’t wait to get started.

  Mr. Richmond, who’d had to attend to some business affairs before going to the fair, stood behind Win, beaming at his approaching family. His son ran up to regale him with the tale of the organ grinder’s monkey. Mr. Richmond’s hand rested on Garrett’s shoulder. Tenderness swept through Belle.

  Sometimes Mr. Richmond seemed pompous; sometimes he seemed loud; sometimes he seemed like a money-grubbing half-wit; but he loved his family, and Belle honored him for it. Her own father loved his family, too. Since she’d moved to New York, Belle sometimes compared her own family back home in Georgia to the families she was being exposed to up North. She knew she was being unjust when, every now and then, her own family suffered by the comparison.

  Realizing she was treading into unproductive, not to mention unworthy, territory, she decided to concentrate on photography.

  Win greeted them heartily. “Ladies! So good to see you again!”

  It was good to see him again, too, although Belle hated herself when she recognized her intrigue. She had no business being attracted to a damned Yankee photographer, for heaven’s sake.

  He bowed formally. Belle realized as she watched him do so that she hadn’t seen very many Northerners bow like that. She might have believed Mr. Asher to be a superior form of the breed if she didn’t get the feeling he was being facetious.

  “Welcome to my lair, ladies.”

  Belle knew he was being facetious then, because he waggled his eyebrows like the villain in a melodrama. She sighed inside, wondering why Yankees had to make fun of everything she valued from her own Southern roots. Manners, for instance.

  Mrs. Richmond giggled like a flirtatious schoolgirl. So did Amalie. Belle forced herself to smile at Mr. Asher. She didn’t think flirtatious behavior on the part of businessmen or nannies was appropriate.

  “It’s a rare day,” said he, breathing deeply of the fresh morning air.

  “It certainly is,” agreed Mrs. Richmond.

  Belle guessed the day was rare enough. She didn’t think she’d ever get accustomed to the odor of Chicago’s famous stockyards that scented the air when the air blew just right. Or, rather, just wrong.

  On the other hand, she supposed she did prefer the aroma of cattle to the stink of New York City’s fish market. The place nearly gagged her every time she and Mrs. Richmond visited it. According to Mr. Richmond, there was no better place to get fresh Maine lobsters, however, and he adored his lobster. Belle had to admit lobsters made good eating, although she didn’t consider them in any way superior to her native crawfish.

  “Can’t you just feel the excitement in the air?” Win stood in the door to his booth.

  Belle was taken aback to detect the note of fervor in his voice. How very odd. Or perhaps it wasn’t. Just because the man was a Yankee and att
ractive to her—two attributes she mistrusted a good deal—didn’t mean he didn’t honestly feel a keen sense of excitement about his work. Even Yankees deserved to take pleasure from their work, she granted grudgingly.

  He looked at her suddenly, as if he expected her to answer what she’d understood to be a rhetorical question. “Er, yes. Indeed, the atmosphere here at the Columbian Exposition is palpably exciting.”

  She didn’t like it when the look in his eyes changed from excitement to cynicism. Nor did she understand it.

  “Right. I guess that takes care of excitement.”

  He said it as though he thought Belle had squashed the excitement in the air all by herself, and she didn’t appreciate it. Just because she hadn’t known he’d directed his question at her was no reason for him to sound like that.

  “All right now, let’s get started.” He seemed considerably more cheerful when he turned to deal with the Richmonds. “This is going to be fine. Fine.”

  Thus dismissed, Belle wandered over to the chintz-padded bench under the window and sat. She felt left out, neglected, and misunderstood, and disliked herself for it. She was only a nursemaid and nanny. She had no business feeling left out of the Richmond family, because she’d never belonged to it.

  Trying and almost succeeding in taking comfort from that thought; and also reminding herself that it was natural for her to harbor unsettled feelings since she was the first member of her family to leave her home state in more than three decades; she sat and surveyed Win’s small temporary booth.

  For a temporary photographer’s headquarters, it was a sturdy little place. Belle understood from newspaper articles that the directors of the Columbian Exposition had built this fabulous fair in an area that used to be a swamp. Belle knew swamps, and she felt a little better with this acknowledgment of a link between her and her Northern neighbors. If it had been a swamp, the directors and their minions had done a superb job of transforming it. No one would know that this acreage had ever been anything but part of the city of Chicago.