Your father and I are overwhelmed with shock and grief by your news. How could such a thing have happened? He cannot even put pen to paper to express his disappointment. We have no doubt that you tried your best, but we fear you have given up on your marriage too soon.
I cannot bring myself to tell anyone of these most unfortunate events. As far as Hartford is concerned, you are still married to a successful businessman.
I thank God your aunt and uncle are there for you. Your father will write to my brother about funding your needs until you are married again, which we hope will be soon. My own daughter! How could you do this to us?
Please, keep us informed of your progress. I would hope your aunt will find some decent gentlemen among her associations there. We are ready to have you come home but will wait for further news from your uncle.
With love, as always,
Mother
Jessica tore the letter in two and buried her face in a pillow. A knock on the door startled her.
“It’s Auntie.”
“Come in.”
Her aunt sat on the bed, and Jessica collapsed into her arms.
“Now, now, it can’t be all that bad. Tell me what your mother had to say.”
Sitting up, she gathered the two pieces of paper and handed them over. Her aunt pieced the letter together and began to read. Wiping a tear from her cheek, Jessica waited.
Her aunt handed it back. “Well, I think they are in shock. It’s only the first letter since the news. Give them time.”
“Yes, I suppose it is a shock.” She sniffled. “I’m still myself, Auntie. Doesn’t that account for anything?”
“Jessica, you are a good person, beautiful and gifted. Yes, it accounts for much.”
Her aunt’s love and acceptance buoyed her. With her head held up high, she would continue to make her way. But at the moment, she felt as weak as a kitten.
Chapter Fifty-nine
May 1887
As the weeks passed, Jessica sensed that the world did not care as much about her as she feared it would—not in Clermont City, anyway. No one seemed to mind that Miss Messing was content to remain unmarried, though several of her aunt’s friends knew gentlemen whom they were desperate to introduce her to. She politely declined their invitations.
Writing to her parents and thanking them for their offer of money, she ended her letter telling them how well she was doing and that her art was beginning to bring her income. The letter that followed from her mother contained a note of one hundred dollars and questions about her social status. She huffed at that inquiry. What social status? The money was placed into the account her uncle had helped her open. It was her own bank account, and she was delighted to add to it from the sale of her art whenever possible. With great diligence, she worked to provide worthy, sellable pieces. Neither of the galleries she showed in was grand. The space in Lamont’s General Store was even smaller than the slender Talbot Gallery, and it was on the same side of the street as the town saloon. It was only the beginning. She continued to think of the day she would show her work in Jilly’s Gallery in San Francisco, perhaps a place in the heart of New York City. When her mind ventured further, she saw her paintings boldly displayed in her hometown of Hartford.
Her daydreams became a daily mantra for her future until she walked into Talbot’s Gallery to deliver her paintings. The little renditions of the town had been relegated to the back corner of the room. She asked, “Mr. Talbot, wouldn’t these look nice in the window?”
His answer was, “Not at the moment. I have other clients who need attention.”
On her latest visit to the gallery, Mr. Talbot asked her if she would join him and his wife on a trip up to Oakland. “I know you’ve wanted to visit the gallery there. They’re having a showing.”
With a smile that went from ear to ear, she gladly accepted his invitation.
~
The stagecoach left early in the morning, rocking along in a merry fashion. Mrs. Talbot seemed to be less inclined to enjoy the trip and sighed heavily when they finally reached Oakland’s stagecoach station. From there, they hailed a cab to Gate’s Gallery. Jessica’s thoughts went to the time she’d arrived in Oakland from Connecticut. Her appearance in shambles, she hadn’t bothered to look around and saw only train tracks sprouting from the city in every direction. Anxious to be on one of them heading to her new home, she had no use for anything else.
Today, she was most content to be where she was in life, and not the innocent, young woman who had arrived with barely a piece of clothing to her name. Now she surveyed a city that was hailed as the place to be. The shop-lined streets of 7th and Broadway were abundant with merchandise, luxury hotels, and restaurants she had read about. A fresh food market was filled with buyers, and sidewalks bustled with people. She was here in the heart of it all.
Finally, they arrived at the gallery. Stepping down from the cab, her eyes were drawn to the large windows framed ornately with creamy swirls of wooden carvings. She could hear a woman at the door, welcoming patrons inside. Catching a sliver of the window through the crowd, she saw a colorful piece of art on a white wall. The sight sparked joy in her heart, and she was excited to see more.
Looking at the other woman, she was glad she had chosen one of her dresses from the collection she had once worn in San Francisco society. It was more formal than her usual attire. Straightening her flower-and-feathered bonnet, she then adjusted her green, paisley waistcoat and smoothed her lace-paneled skirt. She and the Talbots joined the line of patrons and waited their turn to enter the gallery.
“Welcome, welcome,” Jessica heard the woman say at the front of the line. It rang a familiar tone. She tried to peer around the woman in front of her whose large frame and feather-adorned hat blocked her view. Moving farther out of line, she still couldn’t satisfy her curiosity with all the feathered hats and full skirts blocking her view. When it came time to be welcomed she was taken aback.
“Why, Jessica!” Jilly grabbed her hand, their skirts colliding as Jilly whisked her away from the door and into the gallery, abandoning the other patrons.
Heat flared into Jessica’s cheeks. Her breathing became shallow and she fought for composure. “Jilly, what a nice surprise.”
“Where on earth have you been these past months? I heard from Margret Peterson that you no longer live with your husband. Lenny hasn’t seen you, either. What has become of our budding artist?”
Jilly was creating a scene. Luckily, the gallery had partitions and not everyone within earshot. “I’ve been living with my aunt and uncle. Frederick and I are … I mean to say, we had some. …” Wringing her gloved hands, Jessica searched for the Talbots.
“I see.” Jilly leaned in closer and talked in Jessica’s ear. “Not that it matters to me, but some in your previous circle find it distasteful. Margret Peterson is here, as a matter of fact. I love Marge, but she’s a bit prudish. This could get uncomfortable for you.”
Jessica caught on that her “previous circle” had already heard of the divorce. She had two choices—to be polite and rejoin the Talbots, or she could stand proud and honest. The choice would be made clear once Margret spoke.
“Jessica! Hello, my dear.” Margret looked her up and down as if she were inspecting a piece of meat for dinner. She tilted her head and puckered her mouth. “How have you been? I do not envy you, and here you have the courage to come out in a most public way. I mean it’s just … well, I could never. It was a shock.”
“Hello, Margret. It’s nice to see you. I’m very well. As you know, I have divorced my husband, and I have devoted my life to my art. I’m here to see these wonderful works by such talented artists. Such inspiration. How have you been?” Bringing her hands to the front of her skirt, she plastered a smile on her face. Without even blinking, she waited for her reply.
Margret put a smile on as well. “I … I have been very well myself. The dinners and luncheons have been taking so much of my time. We had the mayor over just the other night, and some of the cit
y council and bankers were eager to dine with us, though Frederick was absent. We heard such awful rumors. I hope they’re untrue, for your sake as well. My husband said we should wait and see, then we found out Frederick is no longer working for the bank. Another shock. My dear, the two of you have created quite a lot of gossip. Thank goodness it doesn’t reflect on my husband and me. Loring is such an asset, as you know. San Francisco adores him.”
“I’m sure it’s very fulfilling for you, Margret.” Jessica turned to Jilly. “Would you relay a message to Lenny for me? Tell her what I have said to you both here today and anyone else who asks. And Jilly, I’d love to get together with you and hear about your gallery.”
“Why, of course.” Jilly’s enthusiasm set Jessica at ease. “Have you been selling any of your art? I want to see it, and maybe we can find a place for you. Give me your new address, and I will send our latest newsletter. The gallery is growing and doing quite well.”
“Yes, I have my work in a few galleries. I’d love to show you what I’ve been working on.” She took a tiny pencil and small pad out of her purse and wrote down her address. “Thank you, Jilly.”
“My pleasure, Jessica. We love to support new talent. It’s our motto.”
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I must join my companions.” Jessica turned and heard Jilly say, “Yes, by all means,” and Margret let out a huff.
The Talbots were viewing a set of paintings. “Jessica, these remind me of your oils,” Mr. Talbot whispered as she drew closer to him and his wife. “We must promote you here. Leave it to me.” She smiled and remained close while she glanced around for Jilly and Margret. She caught sight of them talking closely with a few other women. They were surely gossiping about her. She cleared the thought—today she felt successful. Her pride was not hurt by Margret’s comments. At last she had faced what she feared and came out victorious. Let Frederick’s society judge her as they would. She was no longer attached to their world. Her art would one day hang in this gallery, signed Miss Jessica Messing.
Chapter Sixty
Jessica drove her uncle’s carriage to Mr. Talbot’s gallery with her latest rendition of the town park. It was one of many of her paintings of the scenic area but from a different angle. People traveling through town especially liked the small paintings. Today she noticed a few on a small table closer to the front. It was progress and she gleamed with pride. When Mr. Talbot didn’t immediately appear, she went in search of him. Through the open door in a small room at the far end of the building, she found him in the empty space with his chin resting in his hand.
“Mr. Talbot?”
“Hello, Miss Messing. Why, I didn’t hear you come in.”
Looking around, she was immediately struck with an idea. She set her painting against the gray, concrete wall. “Mr. Talbot, do you mind me asking what you use this space for?”
“Why, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. I have plenty of storage upstairs.”
Jessica knew she had to act quickly before he decided. “Mr. Talbot, would you consider having me rent this room from you? I’m painting more in oils, and I’m afraid my aunt can’t tolerate the odor any longer.”
Mr. Talbot looked it over from side to side. “Why, it’s hardly a room at all.”
“It’s fine for me. What do you say?”
He rubbed his chin. “I suppose you can pay me out of your commissions, say, three dollars a week?”
Calculating the cost against her commissions, she came back with her own amount. “Two dollars?”
“Two twenty-five a week, and you’ve got yourself a studio, for what it’s worth.”
“It’s a deal!” She stuck her hand out. He gently shook the tips of her gloved fingers. Jessica looked down at his scant handshake. “I’ll move in right away!”
~
The cramped nine-by ten-foot space was like a palace to Jessica. It had a small window and its own entrance from the back of the building. The alley was a place for old carts and over ripe fruit from the small grocery store nearby. Today it smelled of rotting oranges. Broken frames and packing newspaper were stacked haphazardly alongside her door. She gave a quick survey of the frames. Perhaps she could mend some for her art. Gathering the garbage, she placed it in a pile away from her entrance. A good sweeping and she was ready to move in.
The thread-worn, cotton carpet her aunt had given her from the attic was the heaviest item, and she felt as if she were carrying a dead body. It was stained with her paints from her previous use of it, yet it added warmth and authenticity to the space. Bringing in her long, stand-up easel, she was glad for the tall ceiling. Going back and forth to the carriage for her supplies, she brought in a small table and chair for her watercolors and baskets filled with her supplies. A hook on the wooden door for her smock would complete her studio. The window was barely twelve by eight inches, but she was elated that it opened. A small curtain would add a touch of elegance. Laughing to herself, she felt a pleasant state of ease come over her. She was a woman artist.
There was one last thing she had to do. She reached into her pocket and took out Jacob’s necklace. A kiss to the beaded strand, she then looped them over the top post of her easel.
~
A few more touches on a piece she had been working on for days and it would be completed. Jessica had fallen in love with her little studio and spent most of her time creating the art that truly inspired her. The June heat kept her from closing the back door however stinky it got. The cool, concrete studio gave some relief. The pots of fragrant flowers she placed at the entrance just outside helped to curb the smell. She was learning to accept this part of the deal. The door that led back into the gallery was locked from the other side, and she had placed several of her canvases against it.
Mr. Talbot came around the back to peek at her progress. He turned his head with a wrinkled nose and a loud sniff. “I’ll get Jonas to remove that rubbage, Miss Messing.” He walked in and admired her work. “I could get a good price for this, but I must say, your watercolors are selling very well. I hope you don’t abandon them altogether.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” Jessica replied as she continued to dab the reddish-orange color onto the canvas. “Could you really sell my oils?”
“No, not in my gallery. They’re too provocative for a lady. I’m sure I would lose some customers, and that wouldn’t go well for either one of us.”
Jessica stepped back as Mr. Talbot examined the painting in front of him of a young woman, dressed in tattered clothing, walking barefooted through small puddles of mud, a child clinging to her with a rag doll in her hand.
“This is too sad,” he finally said. Then he paused before continuing. “Life is difficult. You and I live in a small, clean town, away from hardship. My wife is in four different clubs. Your aunt attends some of them. But I will tell you, your art is a story of the less fortunate. There is a market for that sort of gritty realism.” With his palms together, he said, “I pray that you also paint a little dog in a park or children standing in front of a church. Perhaps these lighter subjects in oils?”
Jessica smiled. “Of course.”
“I’ve talked to the owner of the Gates Gallery.”
Jessica froze, waiting for the next words to come out of his mouth.
“She seems open to the idea. She’s difficult to deal with. I mean to say, she’s picky about what she displays. I am also discerning about what I have in my gallery, yet people’s tastes run a bit broader in the larger cities, so we shall see. I suggest. …”
With mouth agape Jessica hugged the man who had helped her gain her independence.
“Yes, well, as I was about to say”–he pulled away, flustered–“you will have to change your name.”
She brought her chin in. “My name? I’ve signed them with my full name, Miss Jessica Messing.”
The little man rolled his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, the ‘Miss’ isn’t necessary unless you are advertising for a husband.”
&nbs
p; Jessica’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, I didn’t think of it that way.” Her mind rushed to think how she would delicately conceal that part of her signature.
“It’s J. Lingerhoph from now on,” she heard him say, bringing her out of her thoughts.
“It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?” He had a satisfied look on his face.
Jessica didn’t know what to think of having to change her name to sell her art. She chuckled with amusement at his suggestion. “Who will know I’ve done these paintings?”
“You and I. We will assume you are a male artist in oils, and you can remain a genteel lady artist in watercolors. I’ll say I receive J. Lingerhoph’s works from abroad and feel they would do well in a larger gallery. And please, Miss Messing, don’t try making your watercolors gloomy. This trend is quite disturbing. After all, I’m here to make a profit from my artists’ work. And I can tell you, as a male artist you will see more money, which I will take a small fee from, of course.”
She pursed her lips and squinted her eyes. This would take some thought. She could certainly use more income. Perhaps she might make enough to find a room to rent, a place to call her own. She realized the freedom in such a disguise. She could paint as a man, as bold as she pleased. “I’ll do it.” They shook on it. This time it was a real handshake. Mr. Talbot left. She could sense his satisfaction and it made her smile.
Alone, she was nearly trembling with anticipation. The thought of breaking some sort of artistic law by not revealing her real name excited her. She cupped her hand to her mouth, barely covering the broad smile on her face.
Unbuttoning her high collar, Jessica took the strand of beads from her easel and placed them around her neck. She retrieved her brush, and without rebuttoning her collar, she continued to paint. The open door let in a breeze mixed with the stench of the garbage and the heady aroma of lilies. It mingled with her oils and the smell of success.
Chapter Sixty-one
June 1887
Traveled Hearts (First In Series Book 1) Page 26