If I had known how my friend would behave once she knew my secret, I might have hesitated to even tell her at all. My friend never holds back when something catches her interest. And while it was nice to have her support, it was a bit overwhelming as well!
She wheedled me until I told her what I had written to Mr. Coleman and then made suggestions on what I could include in further letters to make them more personal. It seemed to be her personal mission to see me educated on anything I might need to know. To that end, she brought me Mrs. Elliot's Housewife, a recent volume on practical receipts on cookery.
I knew she meant well, but it was hard not to feel a little insulted by the gift. I knew how to cook. Over the years, I'd cooked often with my mother and she had taught me everything she knew. I was sure I knew how to cook, even if most of the time I'd had the help of my mother, sister, or a maid.
The book did have some interesting insights into preserving food, something that I admittedly had done little of. We'd always had a small garden in the back, but Mother had always handled preserving the vegetables. I thought I'd known what to do, but there was a lot contained in the book that I had never seen Mother do before. Simply different receipts or modern advancements?
So at least I was learning something, even if it didn't seem to have anything to do with farming. When I asked if Molly knew of a book on that subject, she informed me that she was still looking and I needed to be patient.
Mother seemed to be doing much better than she'd ever been all year. I credited that to the visits from our next door neighbors. After my conversation with Molly, I'd watched for her to come up the sidewalk. As soon as I saw her with her mother, I rushed down the stairs.
I was in time to hear Angelica say, "How sweet of you to come, but you really should have sent a message. Mother Garrison has been a little weak today. I'll be sure to tell her—"
"You came!" I exclaimed as I strode across the entryway. "Mother is going to be so pleased! She's been expecting you."
Angelica turned, her expression startled. "Elizabeth?"
"Molly and I made the appointment yesterday," I told her, standing next to her. I smiled at our neighbors. "Mother is very excited to have some company. She says she loves to have me with her but could use some different conversation."
"We'll keep an eye on her and if she grows too tired, we'll leave," Mrs. Parker said gently. She smiled at Angelica. "You are such a good daughter to her."
"Hmm? Oh. Well, thank you, I do my best," Angelica said, taking a step back. "If Elizabeth had warned me that you were coming, I would have been ready. I hope you won't be long?"
"I hope Mrs. Parker will have a nice long chat with Mother," I said, linking my arm with Molly's. We shared a conpsiratorial look. "After all, it has been too long since anyone has visited Mother. You wouldn't want anyone to think you're keeping people away from her."
Angelica gaped at us as we walked to the staircase. "Can you tell Sally to make us a coffee tray?" I asked over my shoulder. "If she is busy, I can come down and bring it up myself."
Should I have felt bad? Perhaps, but I couldn't even muster up a little remorse.
Mrs. Parker came nearly every day after that and Molly came with her. They brought conversation in the form of the latest gossip around town, which I hadn't been able to give. I was delighted to see the color returning to Mother's cheeks, even if she coughed more than ever.
I knew Angelica complained to my brother about how often our friends and neighbors visited without spending more than a few minutes with her. I knew because John told me how pleased he was that our friends had remembered Mother. I could have told him the part his wife had played in turning away visitors, but I was not that unkind.
Waiting for letters had become my main occupation besides caring for Mother. I found myself taking notes of things I wanted to include in my next letter to Mr. Coleman. There were other letters I wrote, to my siblings, cousins, and some friends, but it was my letter to the man out west that I hadn't even met that occupied my mind.
Of course, there were some things that I didn't feel ready to tell him. What would he think of my sister-in-law? Would he be compassionate like Mother, or would he be as disgusted as I was by her behavior? I didn't want to give him a bad impression of my family, so I decided not to say anything about her.
For the first time in several months, I felt like I could leave my mother for a few hours for the Sunday service. It was a delight to see so many friends in one place and the majority of them asked after Mother's health.
At the very least, I could say that my impulse to respond to the advertisement had brought some good. If I hadn't done that one thing, I wouldn't have gone out looking for an answer and told Molly about Mother.
But, of course, I had seriously underestimated how much of an interest Molly would take in my life and how far she would go to help me. She was my closest friend, but her ideas of help differed from mine. Somehow, though, she always managed to persuade me to her way of thinking.
Which was how I found myself in my Sunday best in the middle of the week. I felt overdressed in the summer heat as I walked with Molly towards downtown. Mrs. Parker was with my mother, so I felt no guilt for the day's activity.
I'd never sat for a photograph before and didn't know what to expect. Molly, who'd had a family photograph taken when her younger sister died, told me there was nothing to it and that I'd likely find the whole process boring.
"You'll have to sit and not move," she told me as we made the walk into the town center. "It used to take a long time; I know someone who had to sit without moving for fifteen minutes! If you move, it ruins the picture and you have to start all over again."
"What if a fly lands on my nose or I have to sneeze?" I asked, wondering why I had let her talk me into this. It wasn't as though it was important Mr. Coleman knew what I looked like. His advertisement hadn't specified looks.
"What if the moon falls from the sky or a hurricane hits?" Molly responded cheerfully. "We could stand around all day and worry about all the 'what if's' that are possible. Don't you think this will be a nice gesture for Mr. Coleman?"
"Well, I suppose." And I only said that because I couldn't think of a reason why it wouldn't be a nice gesture. "But won't it cost more to send a photograph? Will he think I want one in return?"
Molly let out a laugh. "And what would be so bad about that? Wouldn't you like to know what Mr. Coleman looks like? After all, you don't want to travel thousands of miles to meet a mountain man with a beard and missing teeth, would you?"
I couldn't deny that I was curious and the picture Molly painted made my stomach clench with anxiety. But...on the other hand, would knowing what he looked like affect how I viewed him? Shouldn't the important thing be our personalities and an agreement of minds?
There seemed no clear answer as we approached the little shop. A sign proclaiming Davis Photgraphy hung over the windows. I didn't know anything about the man. My time had been taken up with Mother's care, so it had come as some surprise to know a photographer had set up a shop at all.
Who would have thought a photographer would find enough business in a town like Peru?
"I'm not sure that this is a good use for my allowance," I said. "Doesn't it caost up to six dollars?"
"It used to, but there have been advances in how they make the photographs. At most it will cost you fifty cents." Molly was not about to let me hesitate. She pulled me through the door before I could think of another objection. "Good afternoon, Mr. Vanderson!" she called out.
A middle aged man straightened up from a small counter. "Ah, Miss Molly," he said with a fond smile. He reached his hand out. "This must be your friends, Miss Garrison. Welcome to my studio."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Vanderson," I responded, shaking his hand. "I hope you will excuse me. I'm a little nervous."
"No need to be nervous, my dear girl," he told me kindly. "All you have to do is sit while I do all the work."
"I'm not used to sitting still."
He laughed. "I assure you there is nothing to it at all. In fact, the whole thing doesn't take as long as it used to. Miss Molly and I will keep you entertained while you do it, though not too entertained. I wouldn't want to make you laugh in the middle of the photograph."
With that, he guided me to the back of the room. There was an armchair and table, along with a simple bench. "How would you like to be captured?" Mr. Vanderson said. "Which one would you be more comfortable sitting on? Or you can stand if that's what you would like?"
While he began to set up his equipment, I deliberated over where I wanted to be. Standing without moving was not appealing. The armchair seemed comfortable so I chose to seat myself on it. Mr. Vanderson returned to my side and set about arranging me in the proper way. One hand was left in my lap and the other was placed on the little table. The man fussed over how my skirts were arranged and then he made sure my hair was just so.
The last time my appearance had been so carefully arranged, I'd been a child and Mother wanted to make sure I remained clean for church on Sunday.
"Eliza, you look so tense!" Molly said with a laugh. "Just breathe before you fall over. If you collapse, you'll have to start all over again, you know."
I narrowed my eyes at her. She might be my friend, but that didn't give her the right to laugh at me!
"Miss Molly, I don't think you're helping. Now, Miss Garrison, please don't move, unless there is some great emergency," Mr. Vanderson cautioned, stepping away from me. "Keep your eyes on me."
Though Molly stood close to the man, watching his every move and asking questions about what he was doing, I didn't even try to understand. I simply wanted the whole thing to be done and over with as soon as possible. It wasn't as though I were afraid, but I was uncertain what a photograph of me would reveal.
Mr. Vanderson slid a plate into the square box and then bent down under a cloth. "Now try not to blink," he said as he reached his hand to the front of his strange little box.
Don't blink? I stared at him, feeling the urge to blink inspite of being told not to do so.
He removed something from the front and then began to hum a tune. Then, he covered the camera again. "And that is it," he declared cheerfully. "You may blink now, Miss Garrison. Feel free to look around my studio as I develop the photograph."
"There, you see?" Molly said with a grin. "It wasn't so bad was it?"
Breathing out, I stood up. Maybe I had been too nervous, because my muscles ached. "How long will it take for him to finish the photograph?" I asked.
"Not long," Molly said as she went to the wall. When I joined her, I saw that there were many photographs displayed there, mostly of people though a few were of buildings. Where had Mr. Vanderson traveled with his camera? What had brought him to Peru?
"Wouldn't it be wonderful to have your own camera to catch the important moments in life?" Molly asked, studying a photograph that showed a couple laughing together.
Honestly, I couldn't imagine such a thing. "I don't know that it would be used often enough to be worth the expense."
"I think that if we all had a camera, we would use it," Molly said, turning to me. "Just think of the memories we could look back on! It would be better than any journal entry because you could see it right then."
My gaze landed on what looked to be a battlefield. Bile rose in my throat as I saw bodies sprawled on the ground. "Not all memories should be captured or remembered," I said softly.
Molly followed my gaze. "And yet we cannot simply ignore the bad things that happen," she said seriously. "I think it is better if we learn from them."
Shaking my head, I turned away. Maybe there were lessons to be learned from the War Between the States, but I didn't want to be reminded of the violence that had nearly destroyed our nation. I knew there had been lives lost; I didn't need to see it.
Death was too real a topic for me.
My friend continued to study the photographs. For me, the time seemed to stretch on as I waited. How was Mother? Was I staying away too long? Would Angelica hold it over my head if something awful happened?
"Ah, here we are," Mr. Vanderson said as he came from the back of his studio. Heheld the photograph in his hand. "What do you think, Miss Garrison? I think it turned out rather well."
Breathing out, I took the photograph and examined it. Was that me? It was not like looking in a mirror at all since my image was caught in shades of brown. Too serious an expression? No smile.
How could I send this to Mr. Coleman?
"Mr. Vanderson, you have caught her exactly!" Molly exclaimed, looking over my shoulder. "Is it possible you would be willing to show me how you do it?"
The man chuckled. "I am always happy to share my art with anyone who is interested, Miss Molly."
Is that really what I looked like now? I barely remembered paying Mr. Vanderson for his work and then I was outside. "Your mother will be happy to have a copy," Molly said cheerfully. She paused. "What's wrong?"
"I can't send this."
"Why not? You look wonderful and it catches you better than a painting ever could! I'm certain Mr. Coleman will love to receive it."
I gestured with it. "I look like a judgmental spinster!"
"No, you don't." Molly shook her head. "I will admit you look serious, but that makes you appear dependable. You wouldn't have wanted Mr. Vanderson to take a picture of you laughing, would you?"
Since that would have made me look like a fool, no. But it still didn't look like me. Or at least, not what I thought I looked like. "I don't know," I said, looking down at it. "It doesn't look right."
"Eliza, if I am pushing you too much, just tell me," Molly said, lowering her voice. "I want you to succeed and to be happy. I know you won't find that happiness if you stay here."
Heaving a sigh, I silently agreed. Funny how my childhood home had become a place I desperately wanted to escape. When Mother died, there would be nothing to tie me to the house itself.
"You really think this photograph will make a difference?"
"I don't think it will hurt your cause. It's not like you are a hideously deformed person," Molly said honestly. "But if you don't feel comfortable sending it to Mr. Coleman, you don't have to do it."
"Thank you for giving me permission," I said sarcastically. "I...I just don't know. I'll have to think about it a bit more."
"Just don't think too much. Sometimes you just have to pray, take a deep breath, and just take action." Molly began walking and I hurried to catch up to her. "It's alright to be afraid of making things change."
Caught off guard, I stumbled. Afraid of change? I wasn't...I didn't even finish the thought. I knew she was right. Things had changed so much since Father died and now I was forcing another change on my life.
Is that why I hesitated to send the photograph? Did I feel like it would speed up my courtship by correspondence?
"My father says Mr. Willis has been asking about you," Molly called over her shoulder. "The man seems to think that because we are friends, my father could tell him all the personal details of your life."
Mr. Willis? I shuddered as I quickened my steps. "How horrifying."
"Indeed. Maybe more terrifying than sending your photograph to a man who isn't Mr. Willis?"
"Stop pushing, Molly! I said I'd think about it!" Even as I said the words, I already knew what I was going to do. And Molly knew it.
Sneaky, manipulative friend! There were times I wondered how and why I put up with her.
~*~
Dear Mr. Coleman,
You will have noticed this letter is larger than usual. I had my photograph taken here in Peru and have included a copy for you. As I think I said in my first letter, I am no beauty, but I hope you think I look well enough.
Have you ever had your photograph taken? I hadn't and I wasn't sure what I should expect. It was surprisingly easy, though my friend teased me for being nervous. My friend thinks it would be wonderful if all could have cameras to take photographs whenever they could. I'd never thought of such a thing, and I don't see how it could be a practical idea. What do you think?
It is now becoming humid where I am. I always enjoy summer, but the heat can be uncomfortable at times. Does Wyoming get hot? I have heard that the winters can be very cold.
I have been reading Mr. Dickens' story The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Have you read it? I am eager to learn how the story will end. Some might think I read too much, but I enjoy the fictional words that stories present. It helps not to be too weighted down by real life. Do you think that is a bad thing?
I never used to think it was possible to think too much, but my friend says that is what I do...