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A Season at the Grand

By Sherri Wilson Johnson

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Point Clear, Alabama, 1905

Amelia Harris stepped off the Baldwin with one gloved hand in the porter’s hand and the other gripping the handle of her camera case. She could not afford for either of them to land in Mobile Bay. If she lost her camera, then her summer in Point Clear would end before it began, also terminating her career with The Photographic Times. They had sent her here to capture nature photographs as well as images of the elite guests enjoying their seaside holiday, and she couldn’t allow any mishaps to derail her assignment.

Besides, the summer here enjoying the same luxuries of the wealthy meant a reprieve from the matchmaking of Aunt Polly and Aunt Patsy. Why did they insist her marriageable years had an expiration date and that her occupation as a photographer would damage not only her reputation but her future, as well? Why did they think a woman only twenty-five years old couldn’t still find a husband?
“Miss?” The porter’s voice snapped her out of her rumination.

With a quick nod and a prayer her embarrassment hadn’t touched her cheeks more than the June heat already had, she smiled, then released his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure. Enjoy your stay at the Grand Hotel. Your belongings will arrive in your room shortly.”

Amelia smoothed her left hand across her stomach and breathed a sigh. As though that would calm the butterflies which flooded inside her. What did she have to be anxious about? While this might be her first assignment this far from home and without a chaperone or colleague, she carried herself well among the elite and had nothing to fear. Besides, she was here to photograph, not to make friends. Her presence as a commissioned photographer required no further burden of proof.

With The Photographic Times expecting a minimum of two thousand nature images for their penny postcards, socializing sat at the bottom of her priority stack. Best she decide right now to pack her jitters away in her trunk along with her swimwear and leave them there all summer.

Pressing her shoulders against the coastal humidity, she took a step down the boardwalk toward her awaiting adventure.

“Jimmy, come back here. No running on the boardwalk, young man,” a woman’s stern voice called from behind Amelia.

Before she could peek over her shoulder for a hint at the commotion, a boy—Jimmy, most likely—broke through the cluster of guests and slammed into her, ripping her case from her hand.

“Oh no!” She fell to her knees on the weathered boardwalk and grasped the case seconds before it spun its way into the glistening bay. With her hat now dangling by its string across her back and her body splayed out on top of the leather case like a dead fish, she must already be the subject of the onlookers’ gossip. Surely, it would be better if she reboarded the bay boat and returned to Philadelphia this instant.

“Miss, are you all right?” As a deep voice floated over her, heavy with obvious concern, she pushed off the case and attempted to stand.
But her shoe had entangled itself in the hem of her skirt, and she wasn’t going anywhere without this gentleman’s assistance.

“Here, allow me.” He extended his hand to her.

With no choice, she placed her hand in his while raising her chin as she sucked in her embarrassment.

He helped her to her feet, her grasp on the case handle tighter than before.
When her gaze met his, she gulped.

Titus Overton? The general manager of the resort and one of the most eligible bachelors of the South held her hand. Of course, she would sprawl out in front of someone of his status.

He pointed his glassy stare at her, then smiled without showing his teeth, which would have been a difficult task with such a thick mustache resting on his upper lip. The portraits she’d seen of him in the society section of the newspaper hadn’t revealed the blueness of his eyes, how even the waters of the Gulf of Mexico were no match for them. Nor had those images hinted at the sandiness of his hair. Indeed, it was as if he were made from the very nature that surrounded him.

Her belly did another flutter, which raced upward and took her heart prisoner.

No, no, no, you are here to work. Nothing else.

“Miss…”

She cleared her throat. “Yes, Miss Harris, Amelia Harris. I’m here with The Photographic Times by way of Philadelphia.”

He nodded and released her hand. “Of course, well, if you are satisfactory now, stable on your feet, I’ll let you proceed to the registration desk.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I—well—there was a boy who pushed past me and ripped my camera case from my hand. I assure you, I am not a clumsy woman by nature.”
“Under the circumstances, especially after being aboard a vessel for so long, I’d say you handled yourself quite gracefully. A lesser woman would have gone over the edge.” He smiled again, little crinkles surrounding the outer corners of his eyes. “Titus Overton, general manager. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m certain we will see each other again. Do not hesitate to ask me if you need assistance with anything regarding your photography.”

With cheeks ablaze and threatening to set her entire being afire, she gave another nod, then returned her hat to her head. Putting one foot in front of the other and steering clear of the edge, she marched away from what counted as her most humiliating experience to date.

Lord, please don’t let this be an indication of how this summer will go. I need this assignment and the time away from home.

#
Miss Amelia Harris. From Philadelphia.

Titus watched her walk away, hands inside his suitcoat pockets, the warmth of her gloved hand still tingling on his.

Was it the heat that sucked every bit of moisture from his mouth and throat, or was it the flaxen-haired woman with the appropriate amount of pink gracing her cheeks? With eyes like sapphires in the most perfect almond shape, she could rule the entire world. If he guessed right about her, she had no clue about the lasting impression a first interaction with her made.

Titus swallowed—or at least tried to—as the traveling photographer disappeared into the main building. Would her accommodations be suitable enough for such a fine and lovely woman? For if she requested something different, something with a view of the bay, he’d make it happen. As manager of the resort, he could do that.

As the last of his forty new guests exited the boardwalk and followed the crushed-shell path to the hotel, Titus pivoted toward the bay and released his breath. The pelican on the post at the end had the right idea.

Freedom.

Landing wherever the wind took him.

Nothing tethering him to anything or anyone except his need for food.

Removing his hat, he retrieved his kerchief from his pocket, then wiped the sweat from his brow and the back of his neck. The summer’s heat was only beginning. The start of the almost-endless noise from guests who would come and go throughout the season meant little peace for Titus. Little privacy. Scarce thinking time. No time for planning his future far away from the resort.

One day, he’d shed the obligations that came with managing the Grand Hotel, obligations Uncle Sidney had placed on him when Cousin Norman drowned at sea. Uncle Sidney’s position on the board of directors and his greed assured his wishes came true. This time, at Titus’s expense. Uncle Sidney had been so good to him during his formative years, but after losing Norman, he’d placed all the expectations he’d had of his son on Titus’s shoulders. One day wouldn’t be here soon enough.

After returning his hat to his head, he shoved his hands into his suitcoat pockets again with a sigh. If Titus didn’t mind himself, this summer might also mean the end of his carefree days as an unattached man, if previous summers were any indication of the matchmaking that transpired when wealthy women took their holidays.

He’d vowed after losing Evelyn he’d never let his heart betray him again, never let his gaze admire a woman for more than a few moments. Just enough to give his heart that little lift of glee it needed every so often. That tingle that reminded him of love’s purpose.

But then it had to stop there.

The Baldwin sputtered away from the boardwalk, and the last of his staff wheeled carts of trunks and luggage toward the hotel, leaving him alone with the pelican and his thoughts. Alone, that was, until the warm gulf breeze whipped across him, sending the pelican into the air and making Titus wish he could fly away with him.

His migratory bird research and his efforts to protect them, watching the males and females find their mates, build their nests, then start their families—was all he needed. Not the noise humans brought with them, not the heartbreak that accompanied entanglements.

Straightening his shoulders, he nodded to no one but himself and strengthened his resolve. His mission involved getting through this summer while searching for a replacement, then moving on to the work he really wanted to do—preserving nature and doing something that mattered. Unencumbered by a mate of his own.

Free and limitless like the gulls and the pelicans.

No Miss Amelia Harris from Philadelphia would hinder his objectives. No, sir, she would not.

#
Amelia didn’t mind that her room didn’t face the bay, nor did she mind the simplicity of its furnishings. She’d spend most of her time outdoors photographing, anyway. As long as the bed brought support and comfort at the end of each day and didn’t squeak or creak too much, she couldn’t ask for more. Facing east, it would provide her with the rising sun each morning streaming through the window, which was all she needed for her prayer and Scripture time.
She might even take advantage of the seats beneath the moss-draped oaks twenty feet outside her door for her time with the Lord. She had much to thank Him for. First, over all, her safe travels and the unscathed equipment. Given the multiple trains she’d boarded plus the steamboat from Mobile to Point Clear, it had taken miracles to keep everything in good condition.

All her trunks now sat at the foot of her bed except for the trunk with her developing chemicals. Due to their toxic and flammable nature, she didn’t want them with her. Plus, the management had insisted they be kept in one of the outbuildings until she needed them for her darkroom. Since most of her film wouldn’t be developed until she returned home, she’d only need the darkroom for developing the photographs of the resort per the magazine’s agreement with the owner. She’d photograph the management and staff, the guests enjoying the festivities at the resort, and schedule appointments with the guests for family portraits. Officially, she’d work three hours a day except on Sundays and had the freedom to take additional photographs at her leisure.

With her work not beginning until Monday, she could enjoy tonight’s dinner and dancing plus the service in the morning. Surely, the resort provided a minister for the guests.

Amelia laced her shoes, wiping a smudge from the brown leather toe of her left shoe, then stood from the bed and focused on her reflection in the mirror. She’d sent her black skirt to the laundry for cleaning after her collision with the boardwalk.

Tonight, her lilac chiffon dress with pink roses embroidered down the front had its chance to shine. The lace sleeves, which came to her elbows and boasted pink ribbons tied in bows, added an extra dose of gaiety to Amelia’s heart. Aunt Patsy had insisted she bring the dress for dancing. Although she had no intention of dancing with anyone tonight or any night this summer, there was no harm in looking her best. Once guests found out she had come to take photographs of their families on holiday, they would expect someone who looked friendly, well-kempt, and professional all at the same time. So tonight, she’d make a favorable impression on as many as she could and hope her appointments filled up, leaving no gaps in her schedule.

A smile touched her lips as her eyes drew tight in a smile of their own. Would it be completely terrible if she danced tonight? Just one dance? She hadn’t done so since the winter gala, and the only gentlemen who’d asked for her company on the dance floor were ones her aunts had pushed toward her. No one had awakened her heart, and since none had come calling, she must not have stirred any curiosity in them either.

Giving a twist to the left, then to the right, Amelia checked her reflection again. While she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world, she had features men had complimented in the past. But to capture more than momentary attention from the gentlemen at the Grand, she needed more than a handsome appearance. She needed wealth and a desire to fill a home with children. She had neither. Mama and Pa hadn’t left her with much when they passed, and her aunts weren’t among Philadelphia’s most elite. Given her chosen path of traveling for photography, she’d placed herself in an awkward position—one that very well could turn her into a spinster, as her aunts feared.

She shrugged.

No matter. None of that mattered this summer. Nor did it matter if she danced with any gentlemen tonight. She’d keep her expectations low because she’d most assuredly fail to meet the expectations of any of the gentlemen here at the Grand.

On her way out the door, she snatched her new Kodak Brownie camera. Perhaps if she found herself lacking in conversation, she could fill her time with capturing some of the evening’s gaiety. And perhaps a stroll to the boardwalk could offer an opportunity to capture the sunset over the western horizon. A tingle jolted to her toes merely thinking about capturing a pelican in flight or a dolphin emerging from the sea. The evening held endless possibilities she could enjoy and whispered reminders of the promising days ahead.

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