Eliana paused outside the San Juan Prospector to enjoy the grand views—the flat plain, grassy meadows, and stunning vista. To the east lay a sandy desert, and to the west the grand San Juan Mountains, full of promise and adventure. She pulled in a deep breath, entered the large sandstone building, and addressed the clerk. “I’d like to see Mr. Wilson, please.”
A neatly dressed man entered the front room, wiping ink-stained hands with a clean rag. “Miss Van Horn, it’s a pleasure to see you.” He examined his fingers. “Having a little trouble with the printing press.”
“Are you still accepting advertisements today?”
“Certainly. It’s business as usual. Nothing stops the San Juan Prospector from going to press.”
“I have a few things I’d like to discuss with you,” she said with a smile.
“Snivens, show Miss Van Horn to my office while I finish cleaning my hands. Make sure she’s comfortable.”
Mr. Snivens ushered Eliana into a large office and seated her in a tufted leather chair across from a large mahogany desk. Such exquisite furniture. What would it be like to have such luxury? Eliana only wished Papa’s hard work would reap similar benefits. She would like to see him enjoy some measure of comfort in his lifetime.
“Now, what can I help you with today?” The older man settled into his oversized chair.
Eliana placed a paper on the desk. “First of all, I would like to place another advertisement for Van Horn Photography in your paper. Father and I will only be here a little while longer, and we want to make sure that everyone in the community who would like to have their photograph taken will have the opportunity. We are hosting a special on family portraits.”
“I’ll see to it.” Wilson settled back in his chair. “I’m glad you dropped by today. I understand that your father will be heading out to visit The Silver Queen before he embarks on his expedition.”
“I take it you mean Silverton?” Eliana asked.
“Indeed, I do. I’d like to get a picture of a Mr. Francis Snowden at the mine. He was the first to put up a cabin and stake a claim in that flourishing town, and he’s the only surviving member of the Baker party, who discovered the mineral deposits there. I have a correspondent headed that way to conduct an interview. But a photograph would be a nice addition to the story.”
“I’m sure he’d be honored to do that for you, Mr. Wilson.”
“Very well, then. I look forward to printing the engravings of the Robbins survey when he returns. You must be very proud of your father.”
Eliana beamed. “Oh, yes, sir. I am. But you know that the U.S. General Land Office has first rights to the photographs.”
“A mere technicality. I’ll handle the GLO.” Wilson glanced at the pendulum clock on the wall. “You had something else?”
“Mr. Wilson, I happen to be in possession of an important document. Perhaps you could help me locate the owner. You may already know to whom this belongs.” Eliana placed the leather-bound journal on the mahogany desk.
Mr. Wilson arched his brow. “May I?”
“Please do. This journal is filled with pages of very eloquent prose describing the vast wilderness of the territory. And there is no name to be found. I’d like to place an advertisement seeking its proper owner.”
Mr. Wilson put on his eyeglasses and examined the book. He fumbled through some of the pages, landing midway. His eyes scanned the page. He cleared his throat and read aloud.
The ravine sings to the tune of a thousand stars above. The night in no way diminishes the glory of this place, but rather illuminates a view that remains hidden in the day. The moon above shines down on white-capped mountains, a beacon urging me to come near. As I travel forward on frozen ground, large flakes cling to my garments and will soon cover the ground like a woolen blanket. My shelter lies near, a cave, and fresh pine boughs for my bed. A flickering spark is all that I will need to ignite a small fire and regenerate the warmth I once felt in late spring. Should an avalanche usher me to an early end, I am grateful for having sojourned under such a majestic and heavenly night.
Eliana sighed. “I regret having intruded on this individual’s private world, but…”
“Miss Van Horn, you have done a great deed by bringing this to me.” The editor held up the journal to the light of the window, the San Juan Mountains visible in the distance. “This world needs to be shared!”
The chill in the air penetrated Yiska’s aching ribs through his buckskin coat. He’d hoped to be feeling better by now—or was it Mr. Whiley’s announcement that still wounded him? Chilled him. How could his boss refuse to let him go on the survey expedition? Whiley knew that Yiska was more familiar with that territory than anyone else. It was on the Navajo reservation, after all.
Only the other day he’d wondered how he could prevent the adventurous Miss Van Horn from going on the trip. But at least if he was there he could help keep her safe…and keep her secret. He’d also get to spend time with her. Of course, she’d be safer still if she didn’t go at all.
He hadn’t managed to find an opportunity to talk to her about halting her plans for the trip. When he saw how disappointed she’d been about the missing photography supplies, he hadn’t had the heart to discourage her further. Instead, when he’d gone back to purchase some new clothing and a journal, he bought her that slip of ribbon. What was he thinking? If he couldn’t find a way to talk her out of the trip, how would he ever manage to offer her a small gift? He sighed. No use dwelling on it. Mr. Richmond’s peculiar look at Yiska was punishment enough for his impulsive act.
But perhaps giving her the lace would make her more receptive to considering his concern for her. Obviously she hadn’t fully thought about the dangers. Maybe he would be able to speak with her today.
He stepped into Van Horn’s photography studio in a store front next to the bakery. From the corner of the room he watched Eliana as she posed her friend’s family for a portrait. Alice’s mother was seated, and her father stood behind her, hand on her shoulder. Alice and a younger sister stood on their mother’s left, while two boys stood on the opposite side by their father. A backdrop of a painted mountain landscape completed the scene.
“Andrew and Angus, you must keep still. If you keep smiling, your faces will be blurred in the picture. Now please cooperate and keep your mouths closed. If you do, I’ve a gumdrop for each of you.”
Yiska had seen those boys before. Weren’t they the ones who had called him names in front of Eliana last week? He slipped out and decided to go to the bakery to pass the time until they were finished.
Once he knew they had gone, he returned to the studio with two raspberry turnovers wrapped in a cloth napkin. Miss Van Horn bent over a table with a paintbrush in hand. “Mr. Wilcox, I’m glad you came by.”
“I was at the bakery and thought to bring you a snack.” He set the pastries on the table.
“How thoughtful. And these are my favorite!” Miss Van Horn walked over to an elegant tea service in the corner of the room. “Do you drink tea, Mr. Wilcox?”
“Yes.” He looked at the table where Eliana had been working. “What are you doing over there?”
“I’m hand tinting some ferrotypes. Color adds a little life to their faces, don’t you agree? I’ve some photographs to develop as well. It’s been such a busy week. Townsfolk are making sure they come see us before we are on our way again. We won’t be back in Del Norte for some time.”
Yiska looked around the room. “No, I reckon you won’t.” A display table caught his attention. He pointed to a celluloid panel with four identical miniature portraits. “What do you call these?”
“Four ferrotypes to a panel are called bon tons.”
“That’s a peculiar name. What do people do with such small pictures?”
“They put them in lockets or in miniature albums like these.” Eliana picked up a small, ornate book and opened it to show pages of tiny pictures inside. “The actual photographs are referred to as gems. These show many of our clients over the years who have been gracious enough to let us have a sample.”
“Gems. This one is of you.” A beautiful jewel. On the table beside them, Yiska noticed another picture of Miss Van Horn. He picked it up. As he held it he imagined what it would be like to hold her in his arms. But why dream something that will never be?
“That’s a cabinet card. Papa took that one of me a few weeks back in the new dress he bought for me.”
“I remember that dress. You had it on the first day we met.” Why’d he have to say that? Now she was blushing.
“Since you’re here, you must allow me to take your portrait—a cabinet card. Don’t be shy. People have their pictures taken all the time. Have you ever had yours made?”
“No, can’t say that I have.”
Miss Van Horn glanced over his outfit and smiled. “Are you wearing new clothes?”
He nodded. Did she think he had dressed up to come see her?
“Perfect. See, you are all dressed for a sitting. You must agree,” she said.
How can I say no to such a charmer? “All right. On one condition.”
Miss Van Horn tilted her pretty head. “And what, Mr. Wilcox, is that?”
“Do I look like a Mr. Wilcox to you? Please call me Yiska.”
“Then come this way, Yiska.” She turned her head back over her shoulder. “Oh, and you must call me Eliana.”
Eliana had almost spilled the pigments when she looked up and saw Mr. Wilcox—Yiska—enter the studio. How ruggedly handsome he looked in his fringed leather coat. He took his hat off and hung it on a hook by the door, his dark hair framing his chiseled features. And now she would finally get to take his photograph.
Eliana began to move one of the chairs away from the sitting area when Yiska placed his hand on hers.
“Allow me.” He gazed directly into her eyes. “All of them?”
“All but one. They can go over there against the wall.” As he put the chairs away, she said, “I’m so glad you stopped by today. Papa will be pleased.”
“I wanted to see the shadow catcher’s daughter again before you left Del Norte.”
Eliana’s curiosity piqued. “Shadow catcher?”
“That’s what Indians call photographers. Will I see your father today?”
“He’s in town, but I expect him back anytime.”
“Good. He asked that I stop by, but I do have something that I’d like to talk to you both about.”
“All right. But now let’s get you situated for the photograph. Please place that chair directly in the center of the backdrop.”
Yiska positioned the chair per her direction.
“Now, you may sit down.”
Yiska turned the chair around, its back facing the camera, and straddled it.
Eliana giggled. “All right then, have it your way. For now.”
“That’s my aim,” he said with a grin.
Eliana tilted her head one way and then the other. “Would you mind, Mr. Wil—Yiska—if I fixed your hair? You have a slight issue of indentations from your hat.”
“Whatever you please.”
Eliana grabbed a comb from her pocket and proceeded to flatten the subtle bumps. She hadn’t realized his hair would be so thick.
He looked up at her. “You could always let me wear my hat.”
“No, I think it will be better without it.” Eliana recalled the first time she saw him—his hat was missing. In this close proximity, the scent of rich, new leather tickled her senses. How good he smelled. “Yiska, I think you ought to remove your coat.”
“That won’t be as easy as you think,” he confessed. “I’m healing up from a couple of bruised ribs.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I let you move those chairs.”
“It’s not the kind of thing a man likes to brag about.”
Eliana could tell by the way he glanced away that she shouldn’t press for an explanation. She hoped his injury wasn’t from those big-booted ruffians who had taken him to jail.
“No harm done. Now, if you could help me off with my coat, that’d be mighty nice of you.”
Eliana stood behind him and carefully pulled the coat as he released his arms from one sleeve and then the other. She laid it down on a chair, her heart aflutter. Gracious. She’d never been so intimate with a man in her life. She looked toward the front door, wishing she could go out and get a breath of fresh air. She walked over to retrieve Yiska’s hat from its hook and peeked out the window. What was taking Papa so long?
“What next?”
“Well…we must position you for the photograph. I’d rather you sat in the other direction please and place your hat on your knee. Sometimes we like to give our subjects props, and I cannot think of a more suitable one for you.”
Yiska adjusted himself accordingly.
Eliana gingerly placed her hands on his sturdy shoulders to square them, his warmth passing through her fingers. Thoughts rushed into her head of the last time she had been this close to him—the day he had helped her down from Mr. Whiley’s buckboard, and she thought he might kiss her.
She pushed a loose tendril of hair from her face and regained her bearings. “Now, when I go over to the camera to take the picture, you must remain perfectly still or the picture will be blurred, and we’ll have to go through all of this again.” She couldn’t endure it.
“How do I look?”
“You look very handsome.” Did I really say that? She was accustomed to complimenting her subjects, but not under these circumstances. Oh, how could she?
Yiska smiled.
Oh, but he had a nice mouth. And his eyes. “Mr. Wilcox, you mustn’t smile, or it will ruin everything.” She noticed a speck of jam from the raspberry turnover on his face.
“You…you have a bit of raspberry on your face.” Eliana pointed to his chin. “You know, they used raspberry syrup in the old days to keep the camera’s glass plates wet. We mostly use dry plates now.”
“Tintypes.”
“Yes, although they are actually made from iron.”
“I see.” Yiska wiped his face, and then again, missing the spot both times.
“No, here.” Eliana dabbed it away, blushing.
She turned and hastened to her camera, pulling the black tarp over her head before he could see that her face had probably reddened to the color of that raspberry jam. She wanted to remain there forever, but no…. She regained her composure and looked through the view-finder. “Mr. Wilcox! Please do not smile.”
Yiska seemed eager to watch her develop the photographs. His interest in the procedure seemed genuine. Eliana was glad to answer his questions, but she simply couldn’t allow him to be alone with her in the darkroom. He waited in the sitting area, and her thoughts swirled so much she could barely breathe by the time the processing was completed.
A short time later Eliana emerged from the darkroom and handed Yiska the finished product.
“Thank you. But I don’t know what I’ll do with it.” Yiska walked over to the display table and picked up the small portrait of her. “How about a trade?”
Eliana’s pulse quickened. “That sounds fair.” They stood silently for a moment, admiring one another’s images.
“Good news!” Papa waddled into the studio carrying a huge box. “Our supplies have arrived! We can leave any day now.”
And when they did, apart from his photograph, would Eliana ever lay eyes on Yiska again?