***
As the guests gathered for dinner, the manner of Dawn’s acquaintance with Nathan Osborne became clear. He, too, had attended the same art school. Unlike Luke, he’d completed his studies there. Try as he might, he could not remember having met him in any classes. That was not unusual considering the more open nature of coursework, where students could choose their focus and seek the masters of their choice, provided there was space in their studios. But beyond their connection through the school was the intersecting circles of their families.
They served dinner in the large dining room on a table, stretching nearly the length of the room capable of seating ten guests in comfort. Luke positioned himself to the right of his host, Evan, intentionally giving Nathan and Edward and Dawn the chairs at the opposite end close to Mrs. Hartmann.
He and his associate had spent little time discussing their assignments. Instead, Nathan’s attention had been focused on Dawn.
As a steady stream of conversation came from Lena’s end of the table, Luke attempted to draw Evan into conversation about his wilderness experience. After a time, the lively dialog at the opposite end of the table drew even Evan’s interest.
“You’ve seen the pyramids!” Evan said.
Nathan nodded. “The country was part of our four-month tour. My friend’s uncle is a British officer who’s been stationed there since the occupation. It was a natural stop to make. They provided excellent guides who spoke reasonable English, at least when they wanted to.” He gave a short derisive laugh. “There was more than one occasion when we were attempting to purchase an item from a tradesman when we suspected we were being fleeced by a conspiracy between the merchant and our guides. Since the Anglo-Egyptian War, I don’t believe the British have established themselves in such a way as to foster real friendships with the locals.”
Luke, who had made a professional habit of studying the human face, noted Nathan’s smooth cheeks, wondering if the man had shaved before dinner. He scrubbed a hand across his own stubbled jaw, frowning at the unfortunate inheritance of a whiskered family tree.
Dawn’s attention to the man was clear in the way her body leaned toward him, as though his winsome personality irresistibly drew her. “Did you travel on the Nile?”
“I did, in fact. We saw the pyramids traveling on the river.”
“I’ve seen pictures.” She lay her hand on her father’s arm as he was drawing a fork to his lips. “You remember? Maxime Du Camp’s photographs of his tour.” Her voice rose in pitch and her eyes sparkled. “They were remarkable. Oh, how I’d love to see the pyramids for myself!”
Nathan nodded. Caught up in her enthusiasm for his experience, he rushed on to explain. “It was Du Camp’s photos that convinced me. Seeing them, I knew I must learn the art. The accuracy, the details one can capture with a camera can’t be matched by the human hand. Did you know that the word photography is a combination of two Greek words meaning ‘drawing with light’? It’s a perfect description of the magic produced by the camera. Don’t you agree?”
Luke had his own opinions of its advantages. With the opening and closing of a shutter, an image was captured, as easily as that. There were no smudged lines, no lost moments when a subject moved away from the eyes of the artist, no shift of lighting as the sun slipped behind a tree or building. It wasn’t that such a dynamic artist tool failed to fascinate Luke. It was simply a matter of money and training, something that obviously was not a matter of concern for Nathan Osborne.
“I’ve brought along a few of my own photographs. Would you like to see them later?” Nathan asked.
Lena voiced her approval, and suggested they take their coffee and tea into the great room to continue their discussion. She caught Luke’s attention. “And you, Luke, won’t you share some of your drawings with us?”
Luke glanced at Dawn, then back to Lena. Both women smiled encouragingly.
“Yes, do please,” Dawn said. “I’ve seen only a few of your sketches, so please share them with us.”
Luke dropped his gaze to the napkin crumpled in his lap. He felt the hook sink deep in his lip, then discovered the way to slip free. “I didn’t bring a portfolio with me. When I’ve completed a few sketches for the celebration, you’re welcome to see them.”
Most seemed placated by his response. Chairs were pushed back and feet began shuffling toward the larger more comfortable room. Only Dawn remained a still life in the midst of the sudden activity about her. Her eyes held a look of benevolent curiosity. At a touch on her sleeve from Nathan, she looked at him and smiled, then slipped her arm through his and left the room.
Was she a patron or a saint—one who truly appreciated his talent or one who merely took pity on one more struggling artist? As much as he was discomforted in the presence of her social class, he needed to know the answer. She’d become a mystery to him, at once, aloof, and in another moment, a sympathetic spirit. Like shifting shadows, he could not capture her true essence—but he thought he must try.
Chapter Ten
Lenses
“Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth.” Henry David Thoreau
June 28, 1890
“These are wonderful! But you have none of the pyramids?” Disappointment pulled at the corners of Dawn’s mouth.
Nathan passed the leather portfolio to Lena, on the divan across from him. “Have you ever picked up a photographic glass plate?” Nathan wagged his head. “I wasn’t inclined to lug around a crate of them through Egypt. Maybe if I’d thought I could take the photos I imagined, I’d have risked it.” He smiled. “Remember, I’m still a student.”
“I suppose, but what if you never go back?” Dawn couldn’t comprehend such a missed opportunity. If she had been in his place, would anything have deterred her from trying?
“Oh, that’s not a likely possibility. I’ll be returning.”
The truth of his statement shined in his eyes with fierce determination. From what she’d learned from their summer together, she didn’t doubt him for even a moment. He would return.
She remembered then, those long stimulating conversations they’d had over that languid summer of 1887, when her interest in art was far less than his. She’d met no one with such enthusiasm for his work, unless it was their gardener, who could talk for hours about the roses he pampered like children.
With Nathan, there had never been the tension the differences in their genders might have created. He was passionately in love with not just his work but another woman, or so he’d said. His fiancé had gone to Europe that summer, traveling with her mother and sister. That knowledge had made it easy for her to talk openly with him, to spend more hours watching him drawing or painting than filling her own bedraggled sketchbook. She’d have quit her classes months earlier if it’d not been for the pleasure of his company.
What had happened to the woman he’d promised himself to love for all eternity? The strikingly beautiful woman he sketched repeatedly throughout those months of her absence. Dawn had sensed, even then, his propensity for giving himself completely to one idea as with one love, until the heat of his passion had cooled and another took his interest captive. Would that explain why he was unmarried? Had he lost his passion for the woman before they’d married? Or had she for him?
“Whatever happened to Kathleen?” She wasn’t sure who was surprised more by her question put to voice so directly.
Nathan had been answering Lena’s question about the marble statues he had seen at the Louvre in Paris. He cut short his answer and turned to Dawn with a pinched, unhappy expression. “That’s right. I was engaged to her then, wasn’t I?” His gaze drifted past her, and she fancied he was sketching Kathleen once more.
Returning to the present, his expression was not one of sadness, but one embracing a pleasant memory. “We found we weren’t as compatible as we’d been before her trip. I think we both had things we wanted to do with our lives, sadly, we wanted to do them separately.” His eyebrows lifted as one. “We parted a
miably. I think our parents were more upset about it than either of us. I’m fairly certain my mother had the names of our children planned and may already have embroidered them on blankets.”
His answer left her feeling confused and disquieted. The safety of his engagement had made their companionship so simple, so free of expectations aside from friendship. He could be her friend without her concerns about his motives. There’d been none of the tension that she knew existed in most relationships between two single people.
As he resumed his conversation with Lena, Dawn rose slowly to her feet and stepped to the stone fireplace where Evan had kindled a small fire. The light from its flames extended cheer to the corners of the room. She found the added warmth comforting.
Evan and Luke were engaged in some serious discussion concerning guns and game. Curious, she took a step closer to where they sat.
“But not everyone who moves into the frontier comes with the knowledge they need to survive,” Evan said. “I can tell you stories of many who found their way back east after just one winter. A good many died for lack of preparation and even the smallest portion of common sense.”
With his back to her, Dawn presumed Luke was unaware of her presence. She entertained thoughts of clearing her throat or making some noise with her skirts. She chose not to.
Luke rocked forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But what about you? You already knew how to shoot and ride well. You knew about protecting yourself from the elements, what animals were a threat, and which ones harmless.”
Evan cocked a shoulder. “I’d shot ducks and rabbits as a kid on our farm. Honestly, I learned by watching and asking questions. Beyond that, well, the good Lord watches over fools, too. There were things that happened along the trail that should have killed me had it not been for the mercy He showed me.”
Luke sat back with a long sigh. She watched his hands run along the tops of his legs, a gesture of dissatisfaction, perhaps. What was he really asking?
“I just can’t believe that people venture out on their own into the wild.”
Evan seemed to measure with great care his next words. “You know about all those folks who traveled west even before the railroads? Many died, but a lot of them made it to their promised land. They risked everything for a dream of something better. They didn’t come empty-handed, but most weren’t soldiers prepared for war either.
“I think it depends more on your willingness to see past the mountain and keep your sights on what might be on the other side.” Evan looked up as Lena moved up beside him. He looped his arm around her waist and drew her close.
“Have you told him of your mountain experience?” Lena asked, a soft smile touching her eyes.
Evan asked, “Would it help?”
“It’s not fiction, and I think Mr. Brennan respects authenticity more than most.” She turned an understanding smile to the artist.
Evan chewed on his bottom lip a moment. He started his story as a train pulls from a station. “It was Lena’s first winter. We were up in the Sawtooths before the mines shut down for good. A few folks needed my help to get them over the pass and down into the lower elevation before winter snowed us all in.”
Lena interrupted, “And what he didn’t say, because he’s a gracious man, is that I was too stubborn to know what was good for me. I should have gone with them, but I stayed against his advisement. That’s where the adventure began.” She covered his hand with hers. “It was because he came back for me after a storm blocked the pass with snow.”
“Mrs. Hartmann, please take my chair,” Luke said as he rose to his feet and moved aside for her.
Evan continued, “Despite what you might think, I’m not a mountain man. I like it here in the lower elevations, especially when winter moves into the high country. Sawtooth City, or what’s left of it, is as high as you’d want to get. But the Galena summit is the only way to get you from Ketchum to the higher valley, and it’s close to 9,000 feet. It’s a beautiful place in summer, but hostile in the throes of winter.”
He shifted in the chair, and share with Lena a grim smile. “It’s where I found myself that day and night, caught in a whiteout on snowshoes. Because the snow was too deep for my horse, I left her behind with the stage manager at Galena. Guess that was the smartest thing I did.”
Dawn dug her fingers into the high back of Lena’s chair. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed Luke standing rigidly to the side, his rapt attention evidenced in his expression.
“Have you ever heard of snow blindness? It’s something you can try to protect yourself from, but sometimes there’s just nothing that can be done.” Evan asked.
Dawn said, “I thought that was just something from fiction.”
Lena reached back and patted her hand. “I assure you it’s real. It made his trip down the mountain more perilous than ever. To make matters worse, the snow didn’t stop, even as he made his descent with only his remaining senses to guide him.”
“Blind as I was, I could see up here.” He touched his temple with a finger. “Up here I could see Lena’s face as clear as if she’d been standing before me. She was what was waiting on the other side. I knew she was my future and that somehow, I had to get back or die trying.” He looked up into Lena’s eyes. Something sweet and almost tangible passed between them. “Came close to passing beyond the veil. Seems I had business yet to do.”
Evan leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clutched into a single fist. “That’s a long-winded answer, but what I’m trying to say is that if you want to go out there and draw animals where they live, then you’re the only thing standing in your way of doing it. Your youth and strength are an asset. You’ve got a sound mind. But you’ll be tested. Count on it. When you get through your pass to the other side of that mountain, you’ll be a better man for it.”
“Or dead.” Nathan stood beside Dawn, his lips pressed into a grim line. “It is a possibility,” he said.
“Mr. Osborne is a fine young man, isn’t he?”
It sounded like a rhetorical question, so Dawn didn’t answer her father’s statement, but continued to remove the pins from her hair, her back to him. His woeful countenance reflected in the mirror as he hovered behind her. The mirror reflected her own face, that of a spoiled child with lips stretched taut. With a slow expulsion of breath, she dropped her hands to her lap and turned to face him. As much as she wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness, her anger created a wall she couldn’t push past. Or was it a mountain?
Edward took a step back and sat heavily in the upholstered chair beside her. “Can I explain?”
She turned to face him, her throat squeezed tight.
He ran a hand through his hair and dropped his eyes to the rug as he appeared to gather his thoughts. “We were simply corresponding at first. Melody—” He looked up, hesitating, correcting his familiar reference. “Mrs. Corbyn, had some novel ideas for raising campaign funds. She understood my—our—repugnance to the usual groveling for money in exchange for favors.” He paused again, pressing his teeth against his lower lip before continuing. “We met a few times when she was in the city. Those meetings turned into luncheons together, then dinner.” His voice took on a defensive tone as he added, “She’s an intelligent woman.”
“I doubt that was your primary reason for continuing the relationship,” Dawn murmured.
Edward studied her, then with a half-smile said, “True. She’s an attractive woman.” He blew out a long breath through thin lips. “Why do I feel as if I’m confessing to an affair?”
Dawn pushed herself to her feet and in her awkward gait crossed the few feet separating them, where she perched on the arm of the chair beside him. She lay her hand on his. “I’ve been impossible. I’m sorry.”
Edward covered her hand with his, and they sat for a time, a rich silence in which the presence of the other said more than words. “I had dreams for you, hopes.”
Dawn looked at him for explanation.
“I’ve been selfish,” he said hoarsely.
When she started to object, he lifted his hand to hush her, just as he had in her youth. “Let me finish. You needed me when you were a child. The loss of your mother meant that I was all you had, but I clung to you as much as you did to me. I don’t think it was wrong—back then. But when you grew into womanhood, I knew you struggled with the treatment of your classmates. I tried to help by filling your days—art classes, riding lessons, every social function that any mother would desire for her daughter—then came the political fund raisers and strategy meetings. Before I even realized what I was doing, you were an integral part of my career.”
She squeezed his arm. “I’ve loved every minute.”
“I could sense that, and your enthusiasm made it even more difficult to let you go.”
Dawn searched his face for the words he wasn’t saying.
“You need to be free to marry. You need to experience what I shared with your mother. She’d be ashamed of me for not helping you find your way. All these years, I’ve been thinking more of myself than of what was best for you.”
The chill she’d experienced earlier returned like a sudden opening of a door to a winter day. She weighed her response, tempering it with time. “And that’s why you’ve renewed your efforts at husband hunting for your pathetic daughter.”
“No! Dawn, that’s not what I’m saying.” He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “I’m doing this all wrong. I brought you here to explain about Melody.” His shoulders sagged. “If only your mother were here.”
If her mother had been here, there would have been no Mrs. Corbyn to explain. But the pain she heard weighting his voice caused the anger to drain and pool into a deep chamber of her heart, a dark space she’d reserved and guarded over the years. She knew the ache might never go away completely, but she would try for his sake to accept again things beyond her control. “You, more than any man I know, deserve happiness. If Melody Corbyn is the woman to give it to you, I’ll not stand in her way. I’m your daughter, not your wife.”
A Portrait of Dawn Page 10