The lighting on that summer weekend had proven tricky, but Rye was an artist and he was able to consistently get beautiful shots with early-morning and evening shadows. Rye could work magic with photographic imagery. His photos became narratives and sometimes there was a poetic nuance about them—the horses, the men, the women, the buildings all working together to create a story of the west. The beauty of the architecture, limestone, timbers and people melded into a tapestry of life and art. Rye Fulton’s photographs told a human story of a community working toward common goals, surviving a great economic turndown with the generosity of a benevolent owner and a hardworking and diverse staff. The ranch was a respite from the Depression and drought that dampened a spirit of hope.
Rye watched as one particular photo came to life in the developing pan. The blacks, whites, and grays were varied and the developing shapes soon disclosed one of the most beautiful portraits Rye had ever shot. He remembered the girl. She wore a blue dress, but it was her eyes, her soulful expression, and enigmatic smile that engaged him. He’d been looking at a face of immeasurable depth and mystery. Something about this girl pulled him close. This impromptu portrait was his finest work, a pinnacle of artistic endeavor. Such happenstance that for one brief moment with neither thought nor design he, Rye Fulton, could take such a picture. It was inspiring. He hung the photo on the drying line and watched as the water rinse dripped onto his working bench.
There was much he could do commercially with such a portrait. He had advertisers that would fight over this face as a symbol of their marketing. This girl had an ethnicity about her that made her uncommon and intriguing. What advertisers wouldn’t love the idea of “uncommon and intriguing” as part of an advertising campaign? He had heard the girl sing during the weekend, so if she’d pursue a singing career, perhaps this should be her publicity shot. Or he could do what he was doing at this moment, lust after the young woman, hardly a girl, in private, alone.
He laughed for a moment, thinking he had photographed a Madonna only known to God and himself. The image touched his soul. Yes, he would keep this photograph to himself. It would not be part of the Glidewell Ranch article. Maybe one day he would give her a print of her portrait. But this first one was his.
Chapter 56
Belonging Somewhere
Every evening as Mary and Maizie sat having a cup of Ol’ Jon’s tea, the two talked about all manner of interesting topics: fashion, dreams, love, beauty (inside and out), racial prejudice, education, leadership, government, and justice. Maizie listened to all that Mary was saying and began to take part in the conversations, expressing her interest, her questions, and eventually her thoughts, ideas, and even her opinions. Maizie was developing her mind and this made Mary happy. She was also demonstrating some spunk, which Mary found refreshing. The two were breaking new ground, and her dreams for Maizie were hard to keep silent.
“You would enjoy learning more about the world,” Mary said on one of those evenings. “You’re intelligent. Look at all you have learned in less than a year’s time. I want you to consider completing a high-school education. James said he has a friend, a retired professor from Drury College, who might be able to help you achieve competence in certain subjects and be allowed to enter college without a high-school diploma.”
Sounds like you’ve made up your mind, thought Maizie, a challenge on her lips that she didn’t voice out loud. “So no matter what, I am going to school?”
“I guess you could say that,” said Mary. “I feel I know what’s best.”
Maizie just shrugged. “I’m not cut out for college. I did enjoy school, but now I just don’t know.”
“Give it some thought. I don’t want to put you under any pressure,” said Mary, feeling a tinge of disappointment at Maizie’s lack of enthusiasm.
“But you are putting me under pressure. You make me feel like I should really want to, but I’m not sure.”
“This is important for you and your future. Why waste an opportunity like this? James can make it happen.”
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do. But… I don’t want to leave here.”
“Why?”
“I feel my future is here. But if I go to college, you might find someone better than me to do my job. Then I’d be out of work. That scares me.”
“So it isn’t Capp?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“I know you miss him. I can tell.”
“No. I don’t miss him! Quit pretending you know all about me. You don’t. No one does.”
Mary pulled her chair away from the table and stood. As responses to Maizie’s outburst ran through her mind, she hit upon the only question left to ask. “Then why are you so afraid of leaving to attend college?”
“I just told you! Weren’t you listening? I may never get back to Glidewell!” Maizie yelled as she stood and stepped back. In her haste she knocked over a vase on the breakfront. Looking in horror at the broken porcelain, she bent to pick up the pieces. “I’m so sorry,” she said through tears.
“It’s all right, Maizie. No harm done. The vase was not expensive.”
“I just don’t want to go.” Looking at Mary, her hands shaking, she cried, “What if you decide you don’t need me? What if I end up on the outside, beyond the Osage orange-tree fence? I have no one, nothing.” She began to weep. Her sobs were deep, driving her to sit down again, the broken shards still in her hand.
“You’re scared you can’t come back here?” Mary was stunned.
Maizie attempted to breathe deeply but the air caught in her throat. This level of distress wasn’t warranted, Mary thought. She placed a hand on Maizie’s shoulder. “Take some time to think
