Fixing me with a stern eye, Papa said, "Well, Eliza, what am I going to tell the deputy from Ouray when he comes to collect his prisoner tomorrow evening?"
I swallowed hard and faced Papa. My lying days were over. "Calvin's my friend," I said. "I had to save him from hanging."
"What the devil for?" Papa's voice rose and his face turned redder than his hair. It appeared he was working himself up into a temper after all. "The boy's bound and determined to follow in his father's footsteps—cheating folks at cards, lying and stealing, corrupting innocent children!"
"Calvin didn't corrupt me! I've been bad all my life. Just ask Aunt Mabel. She'll say it was you I got it from."
I was hollering so loud Miss Jenny came to the door and peered out at Papa and me. I don't know what we'd have said or done next if she hadn't burst out laughing. "Lord, the two of you are a fine pair," she said. "Just look at your fiery faces. If I had any doubts about Eliza being your daughter, Alfred, they're gone now."
Papa stared at Miss Jenny. "What in tarnation is so blamed funny? Eliza let that scoundrel go! And more's the pity, she's not even sorry!"
"Now, Alfred," Miss Jenny said, still grinning, "you know full well prisoners escape from that jail with amazing regularity. No one need know Eliza had a thing to do with Calvin's disappearance."
Papa ignored Miss Jenny. 'Your little prank almost got my deputy killed, Eliza."
"What do you mean?"
"The poor man went running into the Diamond Saloon, gun drawn, ready to shoot. Holliday was on his feet in a second, pointing his revolver straight at Elliot's heart." Papa paused, to let me think about that, I guess.
"Luckily Elliot had the good sense to drop his gun fast and raise his hands," Papa went on. "Seeing nothing but a game of faro, he apologized. Doc bought him a whiskey and that was that."
Papa eyed me steadily. "It could have gone differently, Eliza. Holliday has shot men for a sight less than what Elliot did."
I felt so heavy with remorse I feared I might sink right through the porch floor. "I never dreamed anything of the sort would happen, Papa."
He just looked at me. Miss Jenny had stopped smiling. She didn't have anything to say either. Papa's chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. It was the only sound except for the soft din coming from the saloons down the hill on Harrison Avenue.
Finally Miss Jenny broke the silence. "What's done is done," she said softly. "Why don't we go inside? I believe it's almost time for breakfast."
By the time we finished eating, Papa had agreed to cover up my part in Calvin's escape if I promised to go down to the jailhouse and apologize to Elliot for jeopardizing his life. I was glad to say I would.
"Now that our unpleasant business is out of the way," Papa said, "we have other matters to discuss, Eliza."
Taking Miss Jenny's hand, he went on, "If Jenny ever sets the date, I plan to marry her someday."
He paused to give me time to digest the news, but any fool could have seen there was something of a romantical nature cooking between the two of them. The only thing that surprised me was Miss Jenny's failure to name the day. According to Aunt Mabel, most women leaped at the chance to snare a husband.
"Till Jenny becomes my wife," Papa went on, "we're hoping you won't mind living here. Elliot and I share a room at Widow McGraw's boardinghouse, a respectable place but not fit for a girl."
I assured Papa I'd be happy to stay with Miss Jenny, having had my fill of hotels and boardinghouses. My answer pleased them both. When Papa left for work, he was whistling despite the fact he'd gotten no sleep, thanks to me.
***
After we cleared the table, I helped Miss Jenny wash the dishes, a chore I hadn't done for a long, long time. I hated it just as much as I remembered.
When we were finishing up, Miss Jenny asked me where Calvin had gone.
"He's heading back to Baltimore," I told her, feeling a heaviness in my chest I'd never experienced before. "He plans to finish his schooling there."
"That sounds like a fine idea," Miss Jenny said. "According to your daddy, Calvin's a smart young man, though lacking a sense of direction in life. A good education may set him on the right course."
"I reckon," I said, hoping I wasn't developing a weak heart.
"What about you, Eliza?" Miss Jenny asked. "Have you thought about what you want to do?"
"Me?" Surprised by the question, I scowled at the greasy pan I was drying. "What choice do I have? I'll either get married or, more likely, live out my days as an old maid."
"Surely you don't believe that, Eliza."
I stared at Miss Jenny, flummoxed. She'd been a girl herself and not that long ago. Had she already forgotten how it was?
"Miss Jenny," I said, speaking slowly so she'd be sure to understand, "you know full well girls aren't supposed to do anything but sit and sew and act ladylike in hope of catching a husband."
"For heaven's sake," Miss Jenny said, sounding a bit riled. "I'm not married, but I don't think of myself as an old maid."
So saying, she led me into the room where she kept her camera and showed me the pictures she'd taken. Some were portraits and some were land scapes. Every one of them showed you something you might not have noticed otherwise. The way sun shines on a brick wall, for instance, or the shape of a shadow on the ground. A plume of smoke from a steam locomotive or a look in a woman's eyes that gives away her secrets.
"This is my work," Miss Jenny said, sounding as fierce as Calvin when he used to talk about vengeance and such. "It's what I do. Married or single, I'll always be a photographer, never an old maid."
I studied Miss Jenny's pictures, taken by the way they caught a moment of a person's life and preserved it forever. Long after the folks who posed for Miss Jenny were dead and gone, even if nobody remembered who they were, their faces would be here, proving they'd lived on earth a while—been happy or sad, pretty or plain, fat or thin. I thought of the weeks I'd spent with Calvin, of the people and places I'd seen, and wished I'd had a camera to save it all from slipping out of my head.
"Is it hard to take pictures, Miss Jenny?"
She thought a moment, showing she wasn't the sort who gives easy answers to keep a person from asking more questions. "Anyone can learn the mechanics of photography," she said. "What's hard is taking a good picture. For that, you need a sharp eye, a great deal of patience, and years of practice."
Miss Jenny paused and looked at me closely. "If you're interested," she said, "I could use some help with things like changing portrait backdrops, loading the flash pan, developing the plates, and so on."
I jumped at the offer, partly because I was hoping to get out of doing chores of the domestic kind but also because it sounded a heap more interesting than learning to embroider and crochet and sew a fine seam, which was what most girls did in their spare time.
Miss Jenny smiled and put her arm around me. I leaned against her for a moment, enjoying the comfort of a motherly embrace which I had sorely missed.
After Miss Jenny left the room I lingered at the window, thinking of Calvin. Someday he'd come walking up the hill to Miss Jenny's little house. I knew he would. Why, I could see him just as clear as if he was already there. When he knocked at the door, I'd invite him in. After he got used to the shock of seeing me all grown up, I'd pose him for a portrait. The "Reformed Outlaw," I'd call it.
Then, a hundred or more years from now, a person might come across the photograph. A girl maybe, no older than me. She'd stare at Calvin's face and wonder who that handsome gentleman was. She might even make up her own story about him. But I doubt it would be any better than mine—which happens to be the truth.
Mary Downing Hahn, The Gentleman Outlaw and Me--Eli
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