A Flickering Light (25 page)

Double Exposure

FJ
PHONED IN LATE TO
tell the girls that he was going to the hospital with his wife and to carry on without him. It was March 19, 1909. Miss Gaebele had answered. While he waited at the hospital for news of the birth, he thought about her cool voice on the phone when she told him she hoped all would go well. Something had changed in her. “We’ll handle things fine here,” she’d said. He was probably imagining it, but the girl had been less vibrant of late. Not sullen exactly. Distant when he gave instructions about how to always return the chemicals to their usual slots so that they wouldn’t get confused and perhaps cause physical harm; less enthusiastic when he admonished her to use the lower voltage light bulb in the printer so as not to “burn” the negative she made from the plate. He missed her light delight, as he thought of it, which had characterized the studio the year before.

He had not given her a present for her seventeenth birthday. Perhaps that had offended her. But no, the coolness had happened much earlier than that.

He was hoping that the news he planned to share—that the congress had accepted his double exposure for the July exhibit—would please her. There’d be an article in the paper, and such publicity would only help his business. All in all, he felt quite contented. Russell and Winnie were staying for a few days with their grandmother. He’d be heading to North Dakota to oversee the planting next month. The fall flax crop sale had exceeded expectations and lifted pressure from the studio operations. He’d recommended less wheat, and that had been a good decision, even though Reinke had resented the flax success. Best of all, he had a child about to be delivered, and he was certain that his wife’s troubled times would be over now.

She had been often sick and in bed, her emotions up and down like the roads up the bluffs and back. Sometimes her feet swelled and she couldn’t walk. Those days he’d remained at home to assist. He was grateful he hadn’t let either of the girls go, as the business continued without interruption despite his wife’s special needs. But now that would be over, and he was glad of it. The baby would arrive without difficulty. His wife had never had trouble delivering. Tonight he’d give out cigars to his cronies at the lodge. At least he hoped he would.

He took a cup of coffee the nurse brought to him.

“While you wait, sir.”

His hands shook.

“I’m sure everything will be fine, sir,” the nurse said.

“If it’s a boy, we’ll name him Robert,” he told the nurse.

“That’s a fine name,” she said and left him alone.

He hoped everything would go all right for his wife, for them, for this child. They hadn’t yet picked a girl’s name. Maybe Joan, a name related to Jessie, named for her mother.

Jessie
. So interesting that he had two Jessies in his life: a wife whom he loved and an employee who somehow had found a place in his heart. He cared about the young woman and her future. That was all it was, and he hoped she understood that. Maybe that was why she’d seemed cool of late, had even asked to be called Miss Gaebele again, even when it was just the two of them working in the developing room. He’d honored that, of course. But it did take away a little of the informality of being at the studio.

Perhaps the double exposure would bring some of that back. He could only hope. Maybe he should consider taking her to the congress meeting in St. Paul this year, to show off his model. He’d have to think about that.

For now he would concentrate on his wife and bringing this infant into the world and keeping the baby safe, ever so safe.

Jessie’s pursuit of employment at other studios had gained her nothing except sore feet. Polonia’s was too small and Mr. Polonia did all his own work, he told her, had no need for assistants. She tried to be discreet, not wanting the news to get back to Mr. Bauer, but her mother heard it from a woman at church who had seen Jessie going into Van Vranken’s studio.

“Were you delivering something?” her mother asked. “I didn’t think studios worked together like that.”

“No. Yes. No. All right, Mama. I’m looking for additional work so I can contribute to Roy’s trip and maybe one day be out on my own.”

“Why didn’t you say so? Ralph Carleton is looking for a full-time assistant. Your father could approach him for you.”

“The evangelist? Oh no, Mama. I want to stay with photography.”

“You could have a worse employer,” her mother said. “His influence might do you good.”

“It probably would,” Jessie said. “But I was hoping to advance my art too.”

“Your art. Is that the only thing that drives you?”

“No, Mama.”

She was certain she told her mother the truth.

President William Howard Taft was scheduled to visit the Winona Normal School. When Jessie learned of it—her father mentioned the proposed visit was in the paper—she urged Mr. Bauer to take a camera and get a picture of the president.

“It’s much too difficult to catch a face decently while the subject is moving. It’s hard enough in the studio. Think of it as taking photographs of kittens,” he said. “Or young children. I haven’t yet taken one of Robert because it’s not reasonable to ask a child to sit so still. Maybe when he’s six months old.” Jessie remembered the stillness of the infant who had died. “But a president can be as energetic as an infant or a cat,” Mr. Bauer continued. “Very likely he will be either getting into his car or getting out. He won’t be standing around waiting for a photographer. Those around him won’t allow the citizens to come too close either, Miss Gaebele. It would be a blurred shot at best.”

“But you could try. You did a double exposure, and that was a challenge. This could be a nice feather in your cap.”

“You think so.”

“I do,” Jessie said. “He’s going to be at the normal school. And there’s a parade later as well. Why not try to take a parade picture too?”

“No parades. I’m not interested in that. Too—”

“Trampish,” Jessie finished for him. He nodded once in agreement. “It’s not tramping,” she continued. “You’ve said yourself that much of the quality a client wants comes from the developing, the retouching. You can do magic in the darkroom.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Can I, Jessie?”

He looked at her in an odd way, she thought.
Flirtatiously?
There’d been none of that after she’d asked him to refer to her as Miss Gaebele. He’d acted surprised, but she told him that sometimes she called him Mr. B. when she was at home, and her family seemed to think that too informal. She had decided not to call him that anymore and would like it if he’d remember to use her surname as well. He had complied. He forgot sometimes, but then he’d had much on his mind with a new baby at home.

“Outdoor photographs don’t suit me,” he continued.

“I hope I never grow too old to try a few new things,” she said.

He harrumphed and turned away.

She would take it herself then. But the next day he changed his mind. “You’re right, Miss Gaebele. I can try something new. I’ll see what I can do with my camera on my shoulder, though I must tell you, it reminds me of tramp photographers. I have worked to keep them from piercing real photographers with their sharp talks about giving people high quality when they know they can’t. Their failure sets a bad name for those of us who could succeed.”

“You’ll need an assistant,” Jessie said.

“I’ll need both of you. One to carry the plates and one to help with the camera setup. It’s probably insane to try such a thing, but at least the weather is cooperating.”

They left early and set up the camera near the normal school, hoping they’d anticipated the place where he’d come out of or get into his car. It felt like a picnic almost while they waited. The camera made them look official.

The big man, Taft, came out of the school earlier than expected. He stood, shading his eyes, viewing the crowd. Jessie and Voe scurried after Mr. Bauer, who fast-walked with his cane and carried the stand while Jessie rushed behind him with the camera. They paused at the president’s touring car.

“Over here, Mr. President!” Jessie shouted.

She handed Mr. Bauer the camera, and he quickly put the plate inside as Jessie jumped up and down. The crowd began to move toward the president, but she kept calling, and he looked toward her as he came around to enter the vehicle. He stopped, posed, his large belly arching before him.

Mr. Bauer got the picture of President Taft as he stood up in the presidential car. It was not a double exposure by any means. Instead it was a portrait captured outside, with Mr. Bauer making the best of elements he couldn’t control. It was a very good likeness, Jessie thought. Very good indeed.

The picture was written about in the paper. Actually, Jessie wrote the article for the
Republican-Herald
. She’d been very careful with her grammar and asked Mr. Bauer to look it over. He tugged at his mustache as he read, made several suggestions, then nodded his approval. His smile warmed her to her toes. She submitted a print of the picture as well. The local newspapers still resisted using photographs, but it didn’t matter. The article saluted Mr. Bauer’s work, and the portrait was in the glass-encased window of the Bauer Studio gallery now. Any number of people stopped by to see it. Mr. Bauer planned to take it to the congress in July.

Jessie sent the article to the president in Washington DC. By return mail, the White House requested prints. Jessie howled when she saw the letter’s return address, and she opened the mail as she always did, singing out to Voe, who helped pose a couple in the operating room as Mr. Bauer directed.

“You see, you weren’t too old to try something new,” Jessie said, bursting into the room. “The president of the United States of America wants
your
work. Your cabinet card will sit in the White House!”

“What’s that?”

“I’m sorry,” Jessie apologized to the couple holding their pose. “Mr. Bauer’s picture of President Taft has been requested by the White House. You’re being photographed by a man who photographed the president!”

The couple beamed. So did Mr. Bauer.

She could make things happen. There was art in that.

In September, two events surprised Jessie. Mr. Bauer’s double exposure was written up in the St. Paul paper in an article submitted by someone attending the congress. Later the Winona papers ran it too. The exposure was touted as a unique contribution to the photographic field. His model, of course, was not mentioned, but Mr. Bauer had done something innovative. Perhaps there’d be increased interest in his techniques and Jessie would be a part of whatever exciting changes might come from that. She could imagine people choosing a double-exposed portrait to be framed or that others might come to learn how he’d posed and developed the print. She had helped him in the darkroom, had washed the plates and worked the solutions as he tried over and over to make sure that the double exposure was clear and that each of the two images of her appeared as he wished. He’d used the smaller glass plate, but it was still a dramatic photograph, and she was pleased for him and pleased for herself.