Page 61 of Familiar Things New

Mr. Fitzpatrick turned to his wife with a small, amused-looking smile.

“Are we?” he asked, crooking an eyebrow.

“Oh, just as long as it wouldn’t be a problem,” she said, fidgeting with a pedal of one of the fake flowers. “I know we were only discussing prints before, so it’s perfectly fine if we can’t change it, but my parents had a tintype portrait of our family when I was a little girl. And it might be nice to continue the tradition. We have one of those cardstock-mounted prints from last year, but perhaps you could produce a tintype for us this time?”

“Oh.” Andrew clicked his tongue once as he thought it over. He looked back at Edwin. “I, uhm . . . I think I’ll have to speak with my partner before I commit to it. See, I, well, I injured my knee when the two of us were photographing a party for the Whitney family in New York City, and—”

“The Whitney family?!” Mrs. Fitzpatrick said, her eyebrows shooting up. “Really?”

Smiling bashfully, Andrew nodded.

Mrs. Fitzpatrick placed a hand on her chest over her heart. “Oh my. What an experience that must have been.”

“Yes, it, uhm, it was something,” Andrew said, blushing. He clasped his hands together. “Anyway, let me speak with Mr. Beasley about the tintype.”

Andrew started over to Edwin. Edwin’s strained smile had now vanished completely.

“Do you think you’d be able to stand long enough to prepare everything? And then to take the photograph yourself as well?” Edwin whispered.

“I believe so. Resting in between sessions really has helped. I should be able to get through making a tintype or two.” He frowned. “I might need some assistance in the darkroom, though. If you’re all right with that.”

“Of course. I’m sorry I haven’t learned how to set up a tintype yet.”

“It’s really very similar to producing wet-plate negatives,” Andrew said. “You’re welcome to try the whole thing yourself, even. I’d tell you what to do.”

Edwin’s eyes popped. “Are you joking?! I can’t attempt to make a tintype for the first time when you have a real client in here.” Just then, the two Fitzpatrick boys began to bicker behind them. Edwin leveled a look, one that seemed to communicate that the children’s squabbling was only helping him prove his point. “Andrew, I’d be slower than molasses in January while trying to figure it out. The poor Fitzpatricks would be in shambles by the time I returned from the darkroom with the plate.”

Barely suppressing a chuckle, Andrew shielded his mouth with his hand. Edwin huffed a light laugh, amused by his own commentary, too. But then he became serious again.

“I’m sorry, but I’m too nervous,” Edwin said.

“It’s fine, Edwin, really. Would you like to watch me while I do everything, though?”

“Yes, that would probably be wise. After all, I did say that I wanted to make sure you had time to rest so that you could heal. I better learn the tintype process, too, in case someone else comes in wanting one over the next week or so.”

“Do you really want to help me for that long?”

“I’ll help for however long you need,” Edwin said. “Or . . . for longer, even.”

Oh, Edwin was so wonderfully sweet.

Andrew took an uneven step backward, straightening his posture, and turned to face the Fitzpatricks.

“I can produce a tintype for you. But please forgive me if I end up making a few unpleasant faces while I work the camera or hobble to and from my closet over there.” He huffed an uneasy laugh. “It won’t be because of you, I promise. It’ll only be because of my injury.”

Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s face pinched. “I’m sorry to hear that. We could come back some other time if that would be better? I’d hate to be responsible for your condition worsening.”

“Please stay,” Andrew said. “I’ll be fine.”

Over the next few minutes, Andrew worked to set everything up for the tintype. After cleaning one of his iron plates, he and Edwin went into the closet, where he then showed Edwin how to coat the plate with collodion (an identical process to coating the clear glass plates, though the mixture was harder to see on the iron in the low light from the red-tinted oil lamp). Then, Andrew sensitized the plate with the silver nitrate.

Once Andrew was finished preparing the plate, he realized he needed to find a pressure plate for the plateholder. After a moment of searching, Andrew spotted one on the top shelf. He stretched his arm out, trying to reach it, only to then stumble forward and smack his swollen knee on one of the table legs. Tears sprang to his eyes as a rush of pain slammed into him and stole the breath from his lungs.

“Jesus, hell, Andrew! Are you all right?” Edwin whisper-yelled.

Andrew let out a soft whimper and nodded, cursing himself for his inability to balance. Thankfully, he managed to load the plate into the holder without issue, along with the pressure plate. But when he then attempted to walk, a second flash of pain shot up his leg, and he winced.

Drat.