Go Away Home

by Carol Bodensteiner

  Liddie propped herself on an elbow and held out a hand to accept the biscuit. “Did you make them with lard?”

  “Bacon drippings. I’m making butter tomorrow.”

  “We have some advantages living on a farm, don’t we?” She broke the biscuit in half and took a bite.

  “I do try to conserve at every turn, even though we raise so much we hardly lack anything,” said Minnie. She looked toward the river. “I wonder if Joe and Vern are having any luck?”

  “I bet they’re having a lot of luck getting a nap in. Just like their daughters.” Liddie glanced at the blanket in the shade of the oak tree where their daughters were curled together like kittens. She smiled. They hadn’t moved in half an hour. She turned back to Minnie. “Thanks for recommending Edna to me. I never expected a paying client.”

  “Really, I never said a word. They stopped by the other day, and when Edna saw the pictures, she wanted one of her and her grandsons. She didn’t know you could take nice photos like that right in her house.”

  “I hope she’s not disappointed. I haven’t taken pictures in so long.”

  “Stop that, now. You took our pictures and we love them.” Minnie shook her head. “I don’t know how you find time.”

  “I can find time for photography.” Liddie smiled. “Besides, so far I’ve only done pictures for you and us. Edna is my first real client.”

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll do well. But wait until Rose is walking. Then we’ll see. I spend all my time running after Pearl. She gets into everything.”

  “Rose pulls up on things. I expect her to take steps on her own soon.” She brushed crumbs off her lap. “Joe may have gotten more than he expected when he gave me that camera. I almost feel as though I must take on clients to justify the costs.”

  “After what he spent on the car?” Minnie giggled.

  “What?”

  “I swear, Liddie. I thought I saw steam coming out of your ears that day.”

  Liddie buried her face in her hands. “I’m still embarrassed by how I acted. Besides, he was right. We both use the car.”

  “He should have been ashamed. Springing that on you. Your darkroom helps make it up.” She pulled the picnic basket closer and began to dig through the contents. “I brought something I thought you might like to see.”

  “What?”

  Minnie handed over a folded-up newspaper.

  Liddie unfolded it and saw it was a page from the Chicago Examiner. She looked up, puzzled.

  “There.” Minnie pointed.

  When Liddie found the item, her heart pounded. The article reported that Thomas Littmann, a photographer whose photos of French soldiers had appeared periodically in the Examiner, had been injured in a motorcar accident. He was expected to survive. Liddie searched for more, but there was nothing else.

  “How did you get this?” she asked.

  “Mr. Caither picked it up on a trip. He recognized Littmann’s name and knew his wife would be interested. She passed it along. I held on to it for a while. I wasn’t sure I should show it to you.”

  “I’m glad you did. I’ve wondered if he made it to Paris.”

  She read the item again. He’d done what he wanted to do. And apparently achieved some success. She was glad for him for that. She shivered. “I hope he’s all right.”

  “The article didn’t give us much. I’ve wondered. Do you ever regret not marrying him?”

  Liddie smiled. “Not in the least.” She folded the newspaper and handed it back.

  “You don’t want to keep it?”

  “No. I’m glad to know what happened to him, but knowing is enough. Do you have another biscuit?”

  As Minnie reached in the basket, she asked, “Do you suppose you could take another picture for us?”

  “Another?” Liddie frowned. “Didn’t you like what I did?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I love them. Vern does, too. I had the one of the three of us in the parlor, and he took it to our room and set it on the dresser so he can see it more often.”

  “That’s sweet. So why do you want another?”

  “When we have a baby . . .” Minnie let her words trail off.

  “A baby?” Liddie looked at her blankly.

  Minnie ran a hand over her midriff, a coy smile on her face.

  “You’re pregnant? But the doctor said . . .”

  Minnie raised her eyebrows. “I guess doctors don’t know everything.”

  “Oh, Minnie!” Liddie hugged her. “I’m happy for you.” Then she searched Minnie’s face. “Are you okay? Really okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m not getting my hopes up this time. Maybe a little. I can’t help it. I’m going as easy as I can. And I’m praying.”

  “What does Vern say?”

  “I know he’s trying not to hope too much, either. But he’s excited. He’s the one who wanted to tell the two of you today.”

  Liddie hugged Minnie again. “This is wonderful news. I can’t wait to take a picture of the four of you. My gift to the new baby.”

  “Let’s sit on the porch,” Joe said as they finished up supper.

  “I planned to make the Fergusons’ pictures tonight.” Liddie spoke over her shoulder as she washed the dishes. Who’d have imagined the Miller photos would have led to two more clients? Liddie was euphoric that people wanted her to take their pictures.

  “Couldn’t they wait? The moon is full.”

  “How about this: I’ll only develop the film. That doesn’t take long. I’ll join you in plenty of time for the moonrise.”

  “Honest to God, Liddie. I think you’d rather be in the darkroom than anywhere else.”

  “Not true. I won’t be long. Half an hour at most.”

  She wiped her hands and scurried into the darkroom. Several nights in recent weeks, as soon as she’d put Rose to bed, Liddie had lowered the black cloth over the door and slipped into her other world. Once she started, she usually became so enthralled with the process that by the time she hung the last prints to dry and cleaned up the chemicals, it was often near midnight.

  The last time she’d gone into the darkroom, she had been sure she hadn’t been in there more than a half hour when Joe had knocked on the door.

  “Coming out soon, Liddie?” he asked.

  “In a bit. I have prints in the trays.”

  “I had something more fun in mind for us to do,” he teased.

  A familiar ripple raced through her groin, but inexplicably, impatience edged her voice when she replied, “Only a little longer.”

  He left without another word.

  Honestly, she thought. Didn’t he know she couldn’t quit in the middle of printing? But niggling guilt snaked through her gut, and she finished as fast as she could. When she came out of the darkroom, he was in bed, his back toward her. She crawled in, wrapped her arm around his chest, and blew kisses against his neck. She knew he wasn’t asleep, but he wouldn’t be enticed. Lying there, Liddie had almost heard her mother’s voice admonishing her that the wife’s job is to keep her man happy.

  Joe had been chilly for days after. Even fresh bread hadn’t been able to bring him around. Liddie had vowed not to let the darkroom come between them again.

  In under an hour, she developed the Ferguson film, cleaned up, and joined Joe on the porch. They held hands as they watched the moon rise over the barn. Even as they talked, she listed in her mind all the things she had to do tomorrow. It would be a full day.

  “You gonna be gone all morning?” Joe asked over breakfast.

  “Morning is the best light in Edith’s parlor. We only have a couple hours to get the photos taken.” Liddie put the breakfast plates in the dishpan to soak and went back for the breadbasket.

  “Hey, I’m not done.” He snatched another slice of bread and reached for the jar of strawberry preserves before she took
that away, too.

  “Sorry. I don’t want to be late.” She whisked the table clean, leaving Joe holding bread in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. “I’ll drop Rose off with Minnie on the way.” She’d tried taking Rose along to photo sittings, but it wasn’t practical now that the child had started walking.

  Joe grunted.

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Something.” She smiled, hoping to bring him out of his pique.

  He ignored her smile and drained his coffee. “Will you be here for dinner?”

  “Of course.” She expected a kiss good-bye, but he was out the door. “Joe?” She ran out onto the porch. “Joe, please.”

  He kept walking. She wanted to go after him, but there wasn’t time. Everything was ready to go; she had only to put it all in the car. She wrestled the heavy camera stand into the backseat along with three reflector sheets. She wished she had tripods, but Joe had been none too pleased with the cost of the reflectors.

  On her last trip into the house, she gathered up Rose and a bag of diapers. A dishpan of tomatoes and the bushel of yellow apples sitting by the door were the latest reminder of work she hadn’t done. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.

  She’d talk it out with Joe over dinner, she promised herself as she cranked the car to life, though the cold roast beef sandwiches she had planned weren’t all that conducive to a warm conversation. She’d make him something special for supper.

  When she drove into Minnie’s yard, Liddie didn’t even turn the car off. She set the hand brake and rushed Rose up to the porch and into Minnie’s arms.

  “You’re a lifesaver, Minnie.” Liddie gave her a quick hug. “I hope Rose isn’t too much trouble. I wish we had time to talk. Maybe when I pick Rose up.” She brushed her lips against Rose’s forehead. “I’ll see you soon, sweetie. I love you.”

  “The girls will have fun.” Minnie adjusted Rose on her hip. “She won’t even notice you’re gone.”

  Back behind the steering wheel, she waved to Minnie, released the brake, and set the car in motion. Minnie’s last words echoed in her ears. Would Rose really not notice she was gone? It was an offhand comment, she decided. It didn’t mean anything.

  Once she was in the Gaftons’ parlor, creative energy swept away those thoughts as Liddie shared her ideas for a photo of the Gaftons’ daughter, Nessie, an attractive and accomplished pianist.

  By the time they were finished, it was nearly noon, and Liddie’s anxiety resurfaced. There was no way she’d be home in time for dinner. Joe would come in to eat and find nothing. He would be angry. And with good reason.

  As she drove into Minnie’s yard, Minnie came out, Rose in her arms.

  Liddie reached for her daughter. “Hi, sweet Rosie. I told you I’d be right back.” The lighthearted tone she used with her baby gave way to contrition when she spoke to her friend. “Minnie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “It was no problem. Rose ate when Pearl did. I was about to put her down for a nap.”

  Vern stood at Minnie’s side, arms crossed, displeasure in the set of his jaw.

  “Thank you, Minnie. You too, Vern.” She offered an apologetic smile. “I’ll make it up to you, but I have to run. Joe . . . I think he’ll be upset.”

  “Worried, maybe.” Minnie spoke evenly. “I was beginning to worry, myself.”

  “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  “Go.”

  “You’re a blessing.”

  As she drove, Liddie rehearsed an apology, every version sounding inadequate. By the time she pulled into the yard, Rose was asleep and her own stomach was a tangle of nerves. She scooped up the toddler and ran to the house. She expected Joe to be there and steeled herself for the anger that would surely be on his face, for the harsh words that would follow.

  Silence greeted her when she opened the kitchen door. A silence that elicited relief in Liddie’s stomach and apprehension in her heart.

  “Joe?” she called softly, so as not to wake the baby. “Joe?” There was no answer. She looked around. If he had eaten dinner, there was no sign of it. No dirty dishes. No crumbs. She lightly touched the stove. It had not been lit. And what did she think? That he would fire up the stove and cook a meal for himself? That was her job. Guilt weighed heavy on her heart.

  She settled Rose in the crib with a kiss, covered her with a light blanket, and stood at the door for a full minute to be sure the baby didn’t wake. Then she went in search of her husband. He could be anywhere, but she took a chance and climbed up to the haymow. Sure enough, he sat looking out the south door.

  “I thought I might find you here.” She tried to sound cheerful as she picked her way between the mounds of hay.

  He did not speak.

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder.

  He shrugged her off.

  “Please, Joe.”

  “This was a mistake.” He stared into the distance.

  “A mistake?”

  “Asking you to live on a farm.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You love photography. A farm isn’t what you want.”

  As his words soaked in, Liddie almost stopped breathing. “I do want this.”

  “The farm was my dream, not yours.”

  “Joe, stop.” She crouched, taking his hands in hers. “I love the farm. I love our life together.”

  “You’re gone during the day to shoot photos. You disappear in the darkroom at night.” He looked beyond her. “What am I to think?”

  Liddie pried open his hands so hers could rest in his palms. She knelt there, feeling his warmth soak into her skin. She looked up at him. “I never meant to neglect you. Please believe me. I do like photography. But I love our life here. Have I not told you that I love you?”

  “You have.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I do. But you love photography more.”

  “I don’t, Joe. Truly.”

  “I miss you, Liddie. I want you to be my wife.”

  “I really thought I could do both. Do you want me to stop?”

  Finally, he looked at her. “You’d quit photography if I asked you?”

  She ached for his forgiveness. She nodded and immediately ached for the loss of her beloved photography, too. When she’d worked in Maquoketa, she’d found ways to do both sewing and photography. Wasn’t it possible to be married and still do the other things she loved?

  “I would not ask it of you. But Minnie shouldn’t be working so hard. Not now. She’s got her own family.” He brushed her hair back behind her ear, then brought his hand to rest against her neck. “And Liddie, I want time for us to talk like we used to.”

  The heat of his hand radiated through her skin, melting her reticence. He was what she loved. “These photos for the Gaftons are the last. I only have to finish printing them.” He frowned. “Three hours at most,” she added. Maybe she could do it faster.

  “I didn’t say never. You know that, right?”

  “I know.”

  Liddie remembered how Mrs. Tinker had told her she would clear off the worktable when her husband came home. Liddie had to go away from their house to take photos. If she made pictures in the future, she could not let time with Joe and Rose suffer.

  “I wonder if other farm wives ever think about needing a maid? Having someone to cook and clean while I did photography would surely help.”

  “But not to replace you in any other way.” Joe pulled her into his arms.

  “Definitely not.” She cuddled against the familiar warmth of his chest.

  Chapter 46

  When the phone jangled, Liddie was cleaning oatmeal off Rose’s face. “That does it, honey. All clean.” She looked up at Joe as the phone rang again.

 
“I’ll get it,” he said.

  Liddie set the toddler on the floor. “You play quiet now.” She held a finger to her lips as she waggled a sock doll in front of the little girl. “Daddy’s on the phone.”

  “I’m real sorry to hear that,” Joe said. “When did it happen?”

  His sober tone sparked anxiety. Liddie arched her eyebrows in question. Who? He shook his head. Dread formed in her chest. Who? She gripped the back of the chair.

  “Of course. I’ll be there.” He hung the receiver on the hook and faced her. “Minerva Ward died last night.”

  “Oh no! I saw her a week ago. She was fine.” Liddie shuddered. “What happened?”

  “Flu. Henry said she came down with it two days ago. She died last night.”

  “So fast! She was my age.” Liddie clenched the sleeves of her dress in her fists. “We went to school together.”

  “They asked me to be a pallbearer.”

  “You can’t,” she blurted.

  Joe looked at her with surprise. “Of course I will. Minerva was our friend.”

  “No, Joe. Once was enough. You were just a pallbearer for Nessie. Why does it have to be you?” Her voice broke.

  She’d taken those photos of Nessie a little over a month ago, delivered the prints only a week ago. The images of the young girl, the light from the window illuminating her face as she sat with one hand on the piano keys, were etched in Liddie’s mind. The family had been so happy with the photos. And now she was dead.

  Her reaction to Joe was not logical. She knew it. Friends were supposed to help each other in times of need. But not now. Not when death was crowding on all sides.

  Every week, the paper detailed battles, advances, defeats. One story touted that the first US soldier killed in combat in the war was from Iowa. The article made it sound as though that were a badge of honor. So many soldiers dying in battle. Now, the influenza.

  “It isn’t safe anymore. They’ve canceled public gatherings in New York, Boston, and Des Moines because of this influenza. There’s talk of doing that in Maquoketa, too. It’s dangerous to even attend the funeral.”

  Joe didn’t relent. “Hank and Minerva are our friends. I won’t turn my back on him.”