Read Online Swan's Way by Becky Lee Weyrich - Free Book Online

derby cocked at a rakish angle, beckoned to her with his twinkling blue eyes. Before him on the tables lay the most fascinating display of old daguerreotypes in gutta percha cases, ambrotypes, tintypes, cartes de visite , and the early cameras and equipment that had been used to produce the haunting images from out of the past.
    “Afternoon, ma’am,” the elderly vendor said. “If you’re interested in photography or history—either one—you’ve come to the right place.”
    Almost immediately, Ginna’s gaze fastened on an intriguing view of a Civil War battlefield, taken while the fight was in progress. The sepia-toned print made the figures in uniform seem alive. The smoke from rifles and cannon actually appeared to drift before her eyes. And she could make out the distinct figures of soldiers, both Union and Confederate. She knew she had to have this old photo.
    “Ah, you have excellent taste,” the man said. “That’s a Mathew Brady photograph taken near Petersburg in 1864. One of his best. Of course, he didn’t take it himself. See?” He pointed to a figure standing behind the line of fire with his hands plunged into the pockets of his canvas coat, obviously posing for the camera, as he observed the battle raging. “That’s Brady right there in the shot. Probably Timothy O’Sullivan or Alexander Gardner—one or the other of his top two assistants—was behind the camera. Most of the views marked ‘Photo by Brady’ were actually shot by some member of his staff. Brady had poor eyesight, you see.”
    An image flashed through Ginna’s mind of a dark-haired man wearing rectangular, blue-tinted spectacles in wire frames. Along with that came a fleeting whiff of a scent, which to her knowledge was totally unfamiliar. Somehow she knew, though, that it was Atwood’s cologne.
    “This is one of Brady’s cameras,” the man continued, not noticing the frown that had come over his customer’s face.
    Blue glasses? Atwood’s cologne? Ginna mused, thoroughly puzzled. How could she know any of this? She knew who Mathew Brady was, of course, but not much about him. Only that he was a Civil War photographer and had posed President Lincoln and many other famous people. He had done ordinary citizens as well—working men and women. Engagement portraits .
    As she glanced over the array of old photos, her gaze fixed on one of a couple, the woman standing behind the seated man. On a marble-topped table beside his Gothic Revival chair sat a clock, the hands frozen in time at ten minutes to twelve. She picked up the photo and turned it over, looking for a name or date.
    “It’s a shame, but the subjects in these old pictures are almost never identified. We can only guess at the date by the clothes they’re wearing.”
    Ginna pointed to the clock. “At least we know what time it was.”
    “Nope! ’Fraid not. That clock was just a prop. It was always set at eleven-fifty. I’ve seen dozens of photos with that same clock, showing the same time.”
    Ginna continued studying the photo. The man and woman must have been husband and wife. They appeared to be in their forties, both with dark hair, both looking proper, serious, and stiff.
    “Do try to relax, won’t you? You look as if you’re staring into a hangman’s noose.”
    The voice out of nowhere made Ginna jump. She glanced about, but there was no one nearby other than the bearded vendor, and he was once more talking to her about Brady’s large camera obscura.
    She listened for a moment or two before her mind began to wander again. Suddenly, all manner of unexpected and seemingly unrelated bits of information flitted through her mind. Broadway and Tenth streets. 859 Broadway, to be exact, over Thompson’s Saloon. Chandeliers like stars. Gold-and-silver walls. Brady’s Famous National Portrait Gallery .
    Just as that thought crossed her mind, the man holding the camera said, “Mathew Brady had a large studio in New York City, back before the Civil War. It was