summon a reaction as those around her did, bellowing with shock and indignation.
She glanced to her left. Mrs. Reilly sat stick straight, lips tight. She worked for a charity and likely felt that the indignation was appropriate, but she showed no emotion. On her right Mrs. Hawkins dabbed at damp eyes with a handkerchief. “Pity,” she said to Grace. She reached over and patted her hand. “So happy we could save you from that.”
Grace pulled her chin down to her chest, fighting her owntears. She could not comprehend why anyone would want to save her. And there were so many immigrants. No one could save them all. But what struck her most in that moment was that these people even cared to try.
After the lecture, when cookies and punch were served, Mrs. Hawkins urged her toward the door. “We have some ironing to do before bed, and I have seen enough suffering for tonight, love.”
In the carriage Grace pondered further. “How do you suppose he learned the trade?”
“Here and there at this newspaper and that, love. He worked with Governor Theodore Roosevelt back when the man was president of the police commission. If it weren’t for Mr. Riis’s photographs, the tenement situation would be worse than it is.”
“Why is that?”
“He brought knowledge of it to people and then reform. We’ve a long way to go, but with people helping, change can happen.”
“Is he why you and the Benevolents opened Hawkins House?”
“In part I suppose he was, love.”
The influence an image could stir up enthralled Grace. She was unsure if she could afford photography equipment and doubted she could manage to use it anyway. But she could purchase pencils and paper. The possibilities were endless. You are smart. You are important. You are able.
The next morning after Annie had gone off to do the mending, Mrs. Hawkins reached for Grace’s hand as the two of them sat at the breakfast table. “I see how interested you are inphotography, love. Why don’t we look up that man who took your picture on Ellis Island? Still have that card?”
“I do.”
“Good. Go and get it. I’ll go next door to telephone him, and if he’s available, we’ll go see him. I’m curious myself about the photographs he takes of immigrants. I wonder if they are anything like Mr. Riis’s.”
Grace honestly could not remember many of the faces of her fellow immigrants on the ship, but the poor people Mr. Riis had photographed had probably walked down the same staircase at Ellis Island that she had when they entered the country.
Mrs. Hawkins returned in short order. “He is available, love. Let’s go now.”
“Oh, I . . .” Just as soon as Grace got the courage to do something, it seemed to wane.
Mrs. Hawkins placed a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “It is all right, love. Like my Harold used to say, ‘Carpe diem.’”
Grace shook her head.
“It’s Latin, love. It translates roughly: pluck the day when it is ripe. You understand. Seize this opportunity. You are interested in photography. You told me so, and it’s clear from your admiration of my Harold’s portrait. So here is your opportunity to learn more and to see your own photograph.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, isn’t this lovely.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hawkins.” How could she refuse when this woman encouraged her so? And she certainly wouldn’t want to deny the woman this memory of her husband. Grace had never heard a man spoken of so highly—and long after he was gone.
Right before Grace and her landlady were to depart to see Mr. Sherman, the mailman came to the door, whistling as always. Annie appeared, unforeseen like a ghost, and opened the doorbefore he could place the letters in the mail slot. “Here’s one for you, Grace.” Annie held it out, but Grace hesitated, stunned.
“Another one?”
Annie bobbed her head. “Sometimes the mail gets backed up and you get letters on the same day that were mailed a week or two apart.”
“But so soon?”
She glanced to her left. Mrs. Reilly sat stick straight, lips tight. She worked for a charity and likely felt that the indignation was appropriate, but she showed no emotion. On her right Mrs. Hawkins dabbed at damp eyes with a handkerchief. “Pity,” she said to Grace. She reached over and patted her hand. “So happy we could save you from that.”
Grace pulled her chin down to her chest, fighting her owntears. She could not comprehend why anyone would want to save her. And there were so many immigrants. No one could save them all. But what struck her most in that moment was that these people even cared to try.
After the lecture, when cookies and punch were served, Mrs. Hawkins urged her toward the door. “We have some ironing to do before bed, and I have seen enough suffering for tonight, love.”
In the carriage Grace pondered further. “How do you suppose he learned the trade?”
“Here and there at this newspaper and that, love. He worked with Governor Theodore Roosevelt back when the man was president of the police commission. If it weren’t for Mr. Riis’s photographs, the tenement situation would be worse than it is.”
“Why is that?”
“He brought knowledge of it to people and then reform. We’ve a long way to go, but with people helping, change can happen.”
“Is he why you and the Benevolents opened Hawkins House?”
“In part I suppose he was, love.”
The influence an image could stir up enthralled Grace. She was unsure if she could afford photography equipment and doubted she could manage to use it anyway. But she could purchase pencils and paper. The possibilities were endless. You are smart. You are important. You are able.
The next morning after Annie had gone off to do the mending, Mrs. Hawkins reached for Grace’s hand as the two of them sat at the breakfast table. “I see how interested you are inphotography, love. Why don’t we look up that man who took your picture on Ellis Island? Still have that card?”
“I do.”
“Good. Go and get it. I’ll go next door to telephone him, and if he’s available, we’ll go see him. I’m curious myself about the photographs he takes of immigrants. I wonder if they are anything like Mr. Riis’s.”
Grace honestly could not remember many of the faces of her fellow immigrants on the ship, but the poor people Mr. Riis had photographed had probably walked down the same staircase at Ellis Island that she had when they entered the country.
Mrs. Hawkins returned in short order. “He is available, love. Let’s go now.”
“Oh, I . . .” Just as soon as Grace got the courage to do something, it seemed to wane.
Mrs. Hawkins placed a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “It is all right, love. Like my Harold used to say, ‘Carpe diem.’”
Grace shook her head.
“It’s Latin, love. It translates roughly: pluck the day when it is ripe. You understand. Seize this opportunity. You are interested in photography. You told me so, and it’s clear from your admiration of my Harold’s portrait. So here is your opportunity to learn more and to see your own photograph.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, isn’t this lovely.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hawkins.” How could she refuse when this woman encouraged her so? And she certainly wouldn’t want to deny the woman this memory of her husband. Grace had never heard a man spoken of so highly—and long after he was gone.
Right before Grace and her landlady were to depart to see Mr. Sherman, the mailman came to the door, whistling as always. Annie appeared, unforeseen like a ghost, and opened the doorbefore he could place the letters in the mail slot. “Here’s one for you, Grace.” Annie held it out, but Grace hesitated, stunned.
“Another one?”
Annie bobbed her head. “Sometimes the mail gets backed up and you get letters on the same day that were mailed a week or two apart.”
“But so soon?”
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