Luke quit scratching behind his ear. It was an old tell he’d forgotten about. He folded his hands across his chest and grinned. “Fine, it’s something,” he admitted. “I’m not ready to tell anyone about it yet.”
“Whatever it is, it’s making you blush.”
He was blushing because he was nervous and embarrassed. He wasn’t ready to peel back the layers of his soul and expose this wildly romantic, overblown experiment to his fusty older brother.
“Maybe someday I’ll be brave enough to show it to the world,but for now?” He leaned over and locked the drawer. “For now, I’m keeping it to myself.”
Once Luke’s office was operational, he set about tracking down the lovely Marianne. He knew almost nothing about her except that she was pretty and valiant and that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her in the two weeks since they met on the ice.
The Department of the Interior was housed in a massive building on F Street with two marble wings built atop a granite foundation. The department was a hodgepodge of government agencies that didn’t neatly fit anywhere else. It oversaw the US Geological Survey, the Census Bureau, the Patent and Trademark Office, the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the Bureau of Pensions, and a dozen smaller agencies.
Luke had an old friend who worked in the department’s accounting office. Oscar might have access to payroll records that could lead to Marianne’s identity.
Luke got straight to the point after entering Oscar’s crowded office. “I know the department has a team of photographers documenting the state of the city,” he said. “Do you know one named Marianne?”
Sadly, Oscar had no access to employee records. Over six hundred people worked for the Department of the Interior, and Oscar didn’t know of anyone named Marianne, but he managed payments for the department’s external vendors.
“I pay a weekly bill for our photographers to use a darkroom on Twelfth Street every Friday morning,” Oscar said. “You could probably track her down there. Better hurry, though. There’s a rumor that the government photographers will be getting the axe soon.”
“What do you mean?”
Oscar rolled his eyes. “Penny pinchers are always looking forways to trim the budget. They’re saying that the government has plenty of blueprints to document all our buildings and bridges, so they don’t think the photographs add anything.”
Luke frowned. It was hard for a woman to make her way in this city, and he didn’t like the thought of Marianne losing her job because of tightfisted government bureaucrats.
“Thanks,” he said to Oscar, casually strolling from the office.
Where did this clawing sense of urgency to protect Marianne come from? He didn’t even know her, but he felt an instinctive need to look after her. He had connections throughout the city, and if Marianne needed help, he would be there to provide it.
Three
Marianne trudged down the sidewalk on Friday morning, cradling the satchel of photographic negatives for the pictures she’d taken this week. Ice and a crusty film of snow covered most of the sidewalk, but she aimed for the few patches of bare concrete as she made her way to the Gunderson Photography Studio. It was the largest studio in the city, with a gallery in the lobby, a studio for making portraits, and darkroom space that could be rented by the hour.
It was mercifully warm inside. She flashed a smile toward old Mrs. Gunderson at the front counter. “Is the government darkroom available?”
“Abel Zakowski is still using it, but he should be out soon.” Abel also worked for the Department of the Interior, although they performed drastically different tasks. While she took photographs of people and buildings all over the city, Abel took photographs at government speeches and events.
Marianne took a seat in the waiting area. It was crowded today, with a number of families lined up to have their portraits made. Photography was becoming more affordable, with some people coming every few years for new family pictures. Marianne’s gaze ran across the photographs mounted on thewall. None of them were to her liking. They were formal poses taken before props of Grecian columns or painted backdrops, whereas Marianne preferred capturing people out in the real world. Sometimes it was pictures of workday routines that were the most moving. Last year she had photographed girls working in a fish cannery down by the wharves, and those pictures had been submitted to the Bureau of Labor to argue for better enforcement of child labor laws. Three of those girls were only fourteen years old, and seeing their young faces drawn with exhaustion was more persuasive than any dry government report.
She still had a few minutes before Abel left the darkroom, so she took a well-thumbed novel from her handbag. Opening the book, she was soon transported to the arid landscapes of seventeenth-century Spain and the adventures of long-ago people.
“Hello, Aunt Marianne.”
She caught her breath as her gaze flew up to the man standing beside her chair.
“Hello, Luke,” she said, trying to block the thrill from her voice but probably failing. He’d come looking for her. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Not after the roses, and especially not after the way he was currently gazing down at her with roguish delight. “Thank you for the roses.”
“You’re welcome. May I join you?”
There was an empty chair beside her, and he filled it the moment she nodded.
“Have you recovered from the ice?” she asked.
“Fully. How’s the dog?”
“Bandit is doing well, and my nephew thinks you are the bravest man in the city. How did you know I would be here?” Her heart still pounded at Luke’s unexpected arrival, for he was as attractive as she remembered.
“Rumor has it that the photographers who work at Interior get their photographs developed here on Friday mornings, andI couldn’t resist the temptation to seek you out.” There wasn’t much room in the crowded lobby, so he was pressed close to her side, and energy and excitement immediately hummed between them.
