Go Away Home

by Carol Bodensteiner

  Margretta completed a row and began to knit her way back. “Now tell me about Mr. Littmann. And this job.”

  “Then you’re not saying no?”

  “Not from what Ernestine says.”

  “You talked with Mrs. Tinker? How?”

  “That is why they invented telephones, dear.”

  “Then everyone will know . . .” Party lines spread news faster than the Maquoketa grapevine.

  “What people will know is that you have shown such talent that you will now be learning photography under the tutelage of the esteemed Thomas Littmann, as well as expanding your expertise as a designer and seamstress.” Her mother paused to let the news sink in. “Mrs. Tinker has not achieved her success by being indiscreet.”

  “Mama, I will only be a secretary. A clerk.”

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll also learn about photography.”

  “Then you’re not angry I took the job?”

  Margretta put the knitting needles down and patted Liddie’s hand. “I’d have preferred you talked with me before accepting. I know you want to be grown up. But even adults can benefit from getting another opinion.” She picked up her needles. “Try to remember that we’re here for you, Liddie. You don’t have to do it alone.”

  May 12, 1915

  Hello, Joe!

  Guess what! I have a new job in the photography studio. I’ll continue to work with Mrs. Tinker during the week and spend Saturdays as a clerk in the studio. I am telling you before someone else does.

  Mrs. Tinker was in a dither that my reputation would be tarnished because I met with Mr. Littmann. Yes, I met with him. In broad daylight. In the company of a whole lobby of people. To talk about the job.

  I am excited to have a job I came to myself. Though I love the sewing, Mama and Aunt Kate arranged that. This job is all mine.

  I expect fieldwork is keeping you busy. I think of you turning the soil and remember when you, Vern, and Papa worked our fields in the spring. Seeing the little plants push through the ground fills me with hope. Do you feel that way?

  I’m surprised you were able to continue as a drayman once the fieldwork started, but with all the Canadian boys going off to the war, I imagine there are many jobs that need to be done. More money to be made, as you say.

  Now we will both be working two jobs. I couldn’t be happier.

  Yours truly, Liddie

  Chapter 20

  “What do you think after one day, Miss Treadway?” Mr. Littmann asked as he locked the studio door.

  Liddie looked up in surprise. Her first day had passed in a blink. “I think it went well.” She began to clear the desk. “I do have some questions, if you have a few minutes.” In fact, her list of questions filled a full page.

  “Of course.” He pulled up a chair beside her desk. Before sitting down, he took off his suit coat, brought the shoulder seams precisely together, smoothed both sleeves flat, then draped the garment over a chair.

  Liddie had never seen him in anything but a full suit. She noticed that his white shirt fit well across his shoulders. The seeming intimacy of this caused her cheeks to flush. She lowered her eyes and busied herself, centering her list of questions on the desk in front of her.

  “It certainly helped to have you out here entertaining customers until I could get to them,” Mr. Littmann said.

  His comment forced Liddie to look at him. He sat leaning back, legs crossed, his gaze as open and casual as his posture. Did he really think she’d only been entertaining customers?

  She cleared her throat. In her discomfort, she read the first thing off the list. “How do you handle the proofs?”

  He laughed out loud. “So eager to learn the business? Already?”

  “Yes. I mean, no.” Liddie was flummoxed. “I thought if I knew more about where things are and what you do, I could answer some customer questions without interrupting you.” She sighed, forcing herself to admit, “There were times today when I thought I was more a bother than a help.”

  “A bother?” He laughed again. “You were no bother. You have no idea what a relief it was not to have to answer the door and deal with people when I was working with a client.” He checked his pocket watch. “It’s nearly two thirty. I don’t want to impose on your time.”

  “I don’t have other plans, and really, I’d like to know more.”

  “Let’s have at it, then.” He slid his chair next to hers. “Let’s see your list.”

  He was so close she saw the blond stubble of whiskers on his chin, smelled the last cigar he smoked. He had just locked the door, and she was alone with him. In exactly the type of situation both her mother and Mrs. Tinker had cautioned her about. She rubbed her palms hard on her skirt. This is my job, she thought. Nothing more.

  She continued checking questions off her list. His answers were thorough and helpful, though his manner kept her off guard. When she looked up from taking notes, she often found him staring at her, his head tilted slightly toward her. She chose to believe he was simply waiting for the next question, though she was never quite sure. When he showed her the filing drawers, she felt him standing so close to her shoulder as she leafed through the folders that she flushed and stepped back, telling him she’d seen enough for the moment.

  She walked out of the studio two hours later with the understanding that the office was hers to manage as she saw fit. While he was meticulous with anything that involved taking or printing photos, Mr. Littmann had no interest in the paperwork of the business. Any system she came up with would be fine, wonderful, excellent, he said. She did not see how six hours on Saturdays were enough to stay ahead of the paperwork, but Mr. Littmann did not seem concerned. “You can see why I’ve gotten so far behind.” He shrugged.

  She was also left feeling unsure about the photographer’s intentions toward her.

  In the following weeks, Liddie delved into office management. The jumble of paperwork related to photo orders, payments, and receipts suddenly fell into place when she found a Kodak organizing system, including a cashbook and register cards, that Mr. Littmann had apparently bought and shelved in the closet. When the Kodak dealer made his usual delivery the following week, he was happy to explain the whole system to Liddie, who was delighted with the orderliness of it all.

  Though Liddie enjoyed discovering new ways to make things run smoothly, it didn’t take her long to find the work mundane. The best part of the job was after the clock struck two, when her paid hours were over.

  While Mr. Littmann expected a degree of formality when customers were present, he was relaxed and friendly when they were alone. After he locked the studio door, they would spend an hour or more reviewing the work of the week and studying proofs from the latest printing.

  One Saturday, after she’d been working at the studio for more than a month, Mr. Littmann was bemoaning a family portrait sitting he had just finished.

  “What was the problem?”

  “Almost everything!” Mr. Littmann paced as he listed the challenges. “The three girls in white dresses, for one. White draws the eye. When I positioned them in different spots, my eyes bounced all over. Grouped together, they became one big snowball.”

  “What else?”

  “The strong contrast of color. Dark colors on the parents, pure white on the girls. Made it hard to get the exposure right.” He took out a cigar and lit it, then drew on it and blew out a cloud of smoke.

  She shifted to avoid the smoke. Cigars were not as pleasant as her father’s pipe. “There’s a lot to think about, isn’t there?”

  “More than most realize.” He stood staring at her intently. “Do you have a camera?”

  “Me? No.”

  “You should. You’ll learn faster if you get used to seeing the world through a lens.” He turned abruptly, headed to the back of the studio, and brought back a compact folding camera. “You can use this
one. I even have film.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. What if something happens to it?”

  “It was my first camera. I haven’t used it in years.” Mr. Littmann opened the camera and peered through the lens. “It works fine. See what you think.”

  Reluctantly, Liddie took the camera. She regarded the device from one side and then the other, holding it away from her body as though it were a slightly dangerous animal. Finally, she admitted, “I don’t know how to make it work.”

  “It’s easy. Let me show you.” As he took the camera, his fingers grazed the palm of her hand. A shiver rippled through her wrist.

  While she listened to him explain how to load the film, how to open and close the lens, and how to frame pictures, the palm of her hand felt warm where he’d touched it. The feeling was delicious.

  “He gave you a camera?” Mrs. Tinker’s normally well-modulated voice escalated in pitch. “And you accepted it?”

  “I didn’t think . . .” Surprised at the intensity of Mrs. Tinker’s response, Liddie stumbled on her words. “We were just talking, and he thought of it . . .”

  “You did not think, and that is the problem,” Mrs. Tinker interrupted. “Liddie, men bestow favors on women because they expect favors from them in return.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like. You must return it.” Mrs. Tinker tapped a thimble-clad finger sharply on the worktable, punctuating each of her last four words with a metallic exclamation point.

  “I can’t.” Liddie was frantic. “What would I say?”

  Returning it would embarrass her. She would have to explain that as a woman, she could not take a gift from him, and the tension she had felt would be out in the open. What if he laughed at her? What if he was insulted and fired her? If she returned it, she could not take pictures, something she desperately wanted to do. Give the camera back? She could not. She just could not.

  “You’ll thank him but tell him you only want to do your job.”

  As soon as Mrs. Tinker mentioned doing her job, Liddie knew this was her answer.

  “That’s just it, Mrs. Tinker. Mr. Littmann wants me to learn photography so I can be more help in the studio.” Liddie talked fast, convincing herself of the logic. “The camera wasn’t a gift. It’s a loan! So I can learn about the business.”

  Mrs. Tinker eyed her suspiciously. “How would having a camera help your work? He hired you for clerical support.”

  Liddie described the difficulties Mr. Littmann had outlined with the family portrait. “I’d have been able to help if I’d known about photography. It was then he suggested I have the camera. It really is for the job. Nothing else.”

  In the end, Mrs. Tinker agreed to let her keep the camera, but the discussion left Liddie wondering if Mr. Littmann had indeed given her the camera because he liked her. That idea rather appealed to her, too.

  All that week, Liddie carried the camera with her everywhere. At first, she felt self-conscious, certain everyone was staring at her as she fumbled to open the camera, found subjects on which to center the lens, tried to remember everything Mr. Littmann had said. She felt like a pretender to some grand skill about which she knew virtually nothing.

  Gradually, though, her mind focused on what she saw through the lens. The feeling of anonymity she’d experienced in the studio returned. She pointed the camera at her fellow boarders playing whist in the parlor. On Main Street, she enjoyed the contrast of a horse tied up next to an automobile. In the park, she trained the camera on children playing tag, a mother pushing a pram, a couple sitting on a picnic blanket, each time thinking of a story the picture told.

  Each of the images she framed through the camera that week burned in her mind. Except she never pushed the lever to take an actual photo. Not even once.

  Chapter 21

  “You didn’t?” Mr. Littmann stared at her in disbelief.

  It was a quarter after two the following Saturday. The camera now sat in the middle of his desk, a monument to her insecurity.

  “I couldn’t make myself do it,” she said, unable to meet his eyes.

  “Why not?”

  “I was . . . I don’t know . . . afraid, I guess.” She struggled to explain. He’d done an indescribably generous thing by lending her the camera. She’d repaid his generosity by not taking a single picture. She was miserable.

  “Afraid of what?”

  “I’m not sure. That the pictures wouldn’t be good? That I’d waste the film? Maybe that you’d laugh?” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her eyes riveted on her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.

  His laughter filled the studio. “Oh, Liddie! You thought I’d laugh at you? You must have a mighty poor opinion of me.”

  “See. You are laughing,” she pointed out.

  “But not at you. At this situation. I felt the same way the first time I held a camera.” He sat beside her. “Please look at me. I can’t talk with you if I can’t see your eyes.”

  She drew a breath and raised her head. The gold flecks surrounding his irises sparkled as he held her gaze. She managed a weak smile.

  “Better. Now tell me what you were thinking.”

  “The cost. Film is so expensive.”

  He shook his head firmly. “I cannot dismiss the cost of film, but as any photographer will tell you, in the big picture, film is cheap.” He let the idea sink in. “Think of it this way. If I set everything up for a family portrait and then only take two images to save on the cost of film, what happens if someone moves or closes their eyes? The cost of the sitting will have been a waste and the family will be disappointed—or angry. A scene is only there for a moment. It is bad business to miss it because you are saving on film.”

  “Explained that way, I see the point,” she said. And she did. For a photographer, film is cheap. But it still seemed too precious for her.

  “Okay, then. You were worried about what I’d think?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s true. When you do something creative, you wear your heart on your sleeve. You do the best you can, knowing not everyone will like it.” He went to the front window and looked down at the photos displayed there, speaking almost to himself. “But there’s a balance. To make a living, I have to take photos that people will buy. But if I only did that, it wouldn’t make me happy as an artist. So sometimes, I slip in a bit of creativity they don’t expect.”

  He returned to the desk. “Do you ever worry that someone won’t like a dress you make?”

  “All the time.”

  “Then do you make only what they ask for, or do you take chances, try new things? Something special to suit a particular woman?”

  “Mrs. Tinker often convinces women to do something different than they thought they wanted. I admire how she does that.”

  “Exactly. You can’t worry about what others will think of your work. You try things. Some work. Some don’t. But don’t be afraid to try. Okay?”

  “Now I’m embarrassed I didn’t try.”

  “Liddie! What am I going to do with you?” He frowned as he shook his head, but his eyes smiled.

  It struck her that he’d called her by her given name. She liked the sound of her name coming from him.

  “There’s a whole new week starting this afternoon.” He handed her the camera. “Fill this roll before you come in next Saturday. Then, if you’re interested, I’ll show you how to develop the film and print the pictures.”

  They talked on. She told him all the things she’d almost taken photos of. He brought out files of pictures he’d taken over the years, covering the desktop with pictures of people, buildings, and landscapes. They examined them together. As they stood side by side, his arm occasionally brushed against hers. Each time it happened, she peeked at him. He seemed completely oblivious, and she concluded the contact was accidental.
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  “Curses!” he exclaimed when he finally looked at his pocket watch. “I didn’t realize the time. I’m late for a meeting.” Mr. Littmann reached for his suit coat. “We’ll continue this discussion. You’ll catch on,” he said, and was out the door.

  She put the camera in her handbag, vowing to use every frame on the roll of film. As she walked back to the boardinghouse, she imagined Mr. Littmann standing beside her as she focused the camera, asking what she saw, suggesting something, and occasionally, just occasionally, brushing his arm against hers.

  True to her word, Liddie took photos. Each time she brought in a roll of exposed film, Mr. Littmann gave her a new roll. He developed and printed the film. It delighted her to see the images she’d viewed through the camera appear as photographs. Mr. Littmann used every frame—even those that were blurred or dark—to teach her how to make better images. The thrill of seeing the photos far exceeded the excitement she felt when she completed a dress.

  Two months passed, and he did not offer to show her how to develop film and print pictures; she was too shy to ask.

  Liddie could feel the pain in her sister’s brief letter. Since their son, Melvin, had been born with a harelip, Fred refused to hold him. Amelia asked Liddie not to tell their mother and not to say anything negative in the letters she wrote, lest Fred read them. It took a week for Liddie to figure out what to say without saying what she really wanted to.

  July 6, 1915

  Dearest sister,

  We are so excited to hear that you and Fred have a baby boy, just as you both had hoped. Mama and I wish we could be there to help you. You must be incredibly busy with two wonderful babies. I’m glad Gertie’s daughter is staying with you.

  Have you been on more picnics? It makes me smile to think of you and Gertie loading all the children in the buckboard and heading to the river for a day. Then loading them up again like cords of wood to sleep as you go home.

  I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be working with Mr. Littmann and learning the photography business. Recently, he loaned me a camera so I can take my own pictures. This is a whole new world to me, Amelia. Wouldn’t it be something if I could take pictures of you and your babies?