Page 7 of Familiar Things New

“Saturday works for me,” he confirmed.

“Should I send someone with a carriage?” William asked. “Or will you be reviving your wagon?”

“Carriage, please. I sold the wagon.” Andrew paused. “I sold what was left of it, rather.”

William snickered. “Funny man.” He tipped his head. “I’ll expect you on Saturday, then, Andrew.”

Andrew nodded. “Saturday.”

William lifted his foot, clearly moving to leave, but then he set it back down on the pavement.

“One more thing,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Don’t bother bringing the pints of albumen. I prefer beer.”

Before Andrew could splutter an explanation for the error on the flyers, William began walking away, chuckling as he started up the street. Andrew cringed some more, though he couldn’t help but laugh a little himself, too. He stayed rooted to the spot as William continued north. He really hadn’t expected someone like William Whitney to be so friendly. Or funny. Or charitable. And hiring someone like him—someone who had probably made the worst first impression possible; someone whose business’s flyers had a blatant misprint on them—had to have been exactly that—charity. Andrew might have felt some sense of shame about it all had William not seemed like such a genuinely nice fellow.

Wind whipped past and caught the brim of Andrew’s hat, lifting it a little, but he caught it with his hand before it could be taken away for a second time that week. And then, once the only son of the Whitney family was out of sight, he started back toward the boarding house.

***

Everything Andrew needed for the photography session was packed beside him in the carriage. Bags of solutions, a large wooden box and stand, and other materials were piled on the seat, while the tripod for his camera lay folded on the floor.

Andrew wrung his hands as the carriage rolled through the streets of Albany. Various shops and homes flitted past the window while he made his way to the estate, though he quickly became so caught up in his thoughts that he stopped registering the scenery completely, the sound of the horse’s hooves clip-clopping on the pavement soon lulling him into such a daze that he nearly missed his chance to view the wondrous site of the expansive estate grounds from a distance.

Luckily, though, the carriage soon rolled over a patch of uneven pavement, and the resultant rocking shook Andrew out of his state of intense rumination just as the horses rounded the corner onto Ten Broeck Street.

Andrew’s eyes flew wide, and his mouth fell agape as the beautiful Whitney mansion came into view. Federal-style, the white brick building had a hipped roof and four front-facing columns with a large second-story balcony. Between the street and the mansion, there was an expansive garden with walkways and neat rows of shrubbery. Traveling up the semicircular drive leading to the front, Andrew could see the carriage house on the far side of the estate, along with what looked to be an octagonal conservatory out back. He was still wringing his hands and staring at the imposing structure before him in a slight stupor when the coachman came to fetch him.

“Here we are, Mr. Thompson,” the man said.

Andrew forced a smile and climbed out of the carriage. Almost immediately, several other servants came outside to meet them.

“We’ll bring everything inside for you,” one of them said.

Andrew managed a nod but then remembered how fragile everything was, especially the bottles of chemicals (though he had tried to pack them well, wrapping each of them in cloth before placing them in the black leather bags), and he whipped back around to catch the men before any of them might inadvertently mishandle the luggage.

“Be careful with everything!” he spluttered but then winced at his forceful tone. Softening his voice, he added a low and gentle, “Please.”

Andrew reached inside the carriage and picked up the bag that contained his view camera. He couldn’t let the servants carry it, regardless of how skilled they probably were. Because, oh God, if his camera broke, then there’d be no way he’d ever make money as a photographer again. His business would never recover from the financial strain of having to purchase a new one.

Slinging his camera bag over his shoulder, Andrew put on a cordial smile in order to conceal his still-simmering nervousness, and he then followed the men into the house, his legs wobbling like egg whites in a pan.

Unsurprisingly, the inside of the Whitney mansion was as incredible as the outside, with a wide reception area and winding staircase in the entryway, the woodwork of which was absolutely beautiful. Plenty of light was pouring in from the windows, too, which only made everything seem even grander, somehow.

While Andrew stood marveling at the space, a tall, lanky man approached, his hands clasped in front of his chest.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Thompson. Mr. Whitney has asked me to bring you to the library, where the family would like to have their portraits taken.” Only then did Andrew realize the other servants had already started carrying his bags down the hall. Smiling, the man nodded in their direction. “Please, follow me.”

He started away, and Andrew hurried after him. They passed by the staircase before continuing toward the back of the house, eventually going through the third door on the left. Andrew couldn’t help but smile as he walked across the threshold. With the room’s many bookcases, the large and well-kept fireplace, and the beautiful carpet (the colors of which were a mixture of blue and goldenrod), it would make the perfect place for the Whitney family portraits.

“Do you require anything else?” the man asked.

Andrew looked around.

“Would it be all right for me to set up my dark box here in the room?” he asked, retreating to the wall closest to the entryway. “Over here, perhaps. It should be far enough away from the sofa and the fireplace that way. The smell of the chemicals isn’t pleasant, as you may or may not know, but I’d rather not have to put it in another room. I have to be very careful and very quick, you see, because I have to sensitize a plate just minutes or sometimes even moments before a photograph is taken.”

“You can set everything up however you please. Mr. Whitney informed me that the space is yours to use in whatever way you see fit.”

Looking around the room once more, Andrew began rubbing his hands together.