Page 48 of Under the Tulip Tree
When I had the earrings in place, she glanced in an old mirror on the wall, its worn silvering distorting the edges. “You probably think I’m silly, me an old woman, fussing about a picture,” she said, using a small comb to straighten her short white hair.
“I don’t think you’re silly at all.” Our gazes met in the glass. “I’m glad Alden thought to bring a camera.”
“You two seem to be gettin’ along.”
Heat rushed to my face. “We’re becoming friends.”
She turned to me, a half smile on her lips. “Mm-hmm. Friends is good.”
We returned to the living room only to find Alden on the front porch.
“The light is perfect out here.” He indicated the chairs on the porch. “Mrs. Washington, if you’ll have a seat, I’ll step down off the porch and take the picture looking up at you.”
Frankie settled in the chair and turned to face Alden while I moved out of the way. Her hands rested in her lap, with her right hand covering her gnarled fingers. A plain gold band I’d never noticed before sparkled in the sunlight.
Alden looked into the camera, tried various angles, but eventually frowned and shook his head.
“Perhaps you should look at Rena,” he said, motioning to where I stood on the walk amid the flowers, just down from the porch steps.
She nodded, turned her head, and faced me. I thought she might smile, but she took on a pensive look. Before Alden could snap the picture, Frankie brought her right hand up and covered her lips as though deep in thought.
I heard the camera click.
“Perfect.” Alden cranked a lever and smiled.
Frankie continued to stare past me. Only after I returned to the porch did she seem to shake herself out of her reverie.
“Funny, I hadn’t thought of that photograph in years.”
Alden glanced at me. I shrugged. “What photograph is that, Mrs. Washington?”
“A photographer came to the contraband camp sometime after Illa Crandle got me the job doing laundry. One day she gathered a group of us slaves to have our picture made.” She chuckled. “We had to stand still for the longest time before that man came up from beneath his black cloth and said hewas finished. We couldn’t figure out how the thingamajig worked or if he was just fooling with us. Years later, a professor put out a book about the war here in Tennessee. He was giving a speech at Fisk University, and I went to hear him. Would you believe he had a copy of that picture?”
“Do you recall the name of the professor?” Alden asked, his eyes sparking with interest.
Frankie shook her head. “No, that’s been too many years ago. But I was right happy to see that photograph. I’d forgotten some of the people in it, but Miz Illa and Nell were there.”
“Was Sam in the picture too?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if the familiarity we’d experienced in her bedroom gave me courage, but I couldn’t leave this question unanswered.
A soft smile parted her lips. “Yes, Sam was there. And wouldn’t you know, he was the only one smiling.”
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Sam.
I couldn’t seem to get away from that man. If I needed water, he was there to haul it. When I accidentally let my fires go out, he had them blazing in minutes. Despite my gruff words, ugly glares, and downright rudeness, the man would not take the hint and leave me alone.
“Folks is talkin’ about you, Frankie.”
Nell and I sat on our cots, wrapped in blankets to ward off a chilly October wind blowing outside the tent. Illa Crandle wouldn’t allow labor on Sundays, so the day was ours to enjoy despite the turn in the weather.
“What do I care?” I pretended nonchalance, but inside, I fumed. I didn’t like being the subject of gossip.
“Folks is wonderin’ why you so mean to Sam when it be clear as day he likes you.”
I scoffed. “That man likes everybody. He ain’t got no special feelings for me.”
“That’s not what people are sayin’.”
