Twice a Bride Read Free Page A

feet from the Greek column he used as a stationary elbow rest.
    The more he thought about Mrs. Gortner’s suggestion—almost a demand, really—the more he liked the idea of partnering with someone who could paint portraits from his photographs. It’d be all the better if the artist could also colorize existing prints. That, too, was a popular service in the bigger cities. Two months in business may be too short a time to be considering expansion, but if he could find the right man for the job, they’d both benefit.
    While waiting for his two o’clock appointment, he made a mental list of the artists he’d met. Jorgensen and McGregor in New York, and several in Chicago and Kansas City. It was doubtful he could lure any of them to Cripple Creek. From his darkroom, he pulled out the plates for this sitting, then returned to the studio and inserted the first plate into the back of the wooden box on the tripod.
    It’d be better to solicit help from someone local, anyway. Someone with connections in the district could help stir interest in the Photography Studio. His friend Jesse had been in Cripple Creek for several years and was certainly doing his part to help spread the word, but as much as Trenton appreciated his friend’s enthusiasm, a blacksmith and livery owner’s sphere of influence in the arts was admittedly limited.
    He’d write out an advertisement for the Cripple Creek Times and deliver it to the newspaper this afternoon. He might even pen a letter to Susanna while he was at it.
    When the studio met his satisfaction for the next client, Trenton pulled a sheet of scrap paper and a fountain pen from the top drawer of his desk. He needed just a short advertisement, direct enough that he wouldn’t waste his time with anyone who wasn’t qualified for the job.
Painter Wanted: A skilled portrait painter to work with photographer.
Send letter of application and a sample of your painting to The
Photography Studio at North First Street.
    He returned the pen to its cradle in the desk and greeted Mr. and Mrs. Updike as they arrived for their sitting.

    The rope of bells on the door jangled, and Susanna looked up from the tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries.
    Helen bounced into the confectionary with a newspaper tucked under her arm. Her pointy nose sniffed the air. “Oh, I do love the smell of warm chocolate.” She glanced at the strawberries, only a slightly brighter red than her braid, then jabbed a boney finger toward the door behind the counter.
    “My father went to the bank,” Susanna said in answer to Helen’s silent question. “But you still can’t have one.”
    “We’ll see about that.” Helen studied her the way one would a butterfly specimen. “Have you been sour all day, or did you save it all for me?”
    Sighing, Susanna returned the last strawberry to the tray and wiped her hands on her apron. “You do this every day, week after week. Then tell me how you feel about sticky, gooey candy and the people who rot their teeth eating it.”
    Helen’s tongue darted out. “You didn’t seem to mind it so much when Trenton fed you the chocolate-coated strawberries.”
    Susanna’s stomach knotted. “You have a lot of nerve mentioning him.”
    Helen planted a hand on her hip. “It wasn’t my fault that downhearted man left you.”
    “You were there!”
    “And so were you.” Helen waved the newspaper. “I thought this might help you feel better. But thanks to your foul temper, I can see I’d be wasting my time.”
    Susanna slid the candy tray into the oak icebox against the back wall. “How is a Podunkville rag going to help?” If it couldn’t take her out of this place, it wouldn’t make her feel even one iota better.
    Helen raised the rolled paper, holding it like a summer fan just below her sparkling green eyes. “It’s not the Scandia Journal , dearie.”
    “So you dropped coin for the Topeka Capitol-Journal .” Susanna rearranged the tray so the icebox door would close. “A clear