Shot #7: Still Images
By VStarTraveler

Summary: When the Mexican beauty walked in, he knew he would do anything for her until she actually asked. Then it took some serious convincing and a great deal of effort to really do it. Family/humor.

This story is written by the "Writers Anonymous POV Challenge" in which the story is told from the perspective of someone who is not the protagonist.

Tucson, Arizona Territory
End of July, 1878

She was, in a word, exquisite.

With her dark hair and fine features, she appeared to be Mexican of Spanish descent. Her age was indeterminate, but she was mature, probably somewhere between 30 and perhaps 40. There was no gray visible in her hair and only the finest of lines graced the corners of her eyes and mouth, making me wonder if I could see this only because she wore no makeup. Of course, with the color and texture of her skin and her long lashes, there was no need for it. Similarly, despite the summer heat, she showed no signs of sweat; her face had a natural glisten that highlighted her features far better than anything that I could ever hope to achieve. The woman wore boots and a long riding skirt that showed traces of dust near the bottom of the hem. Otherwise, she was spotless and not a single hair appeared to be out of place. Then there were the dark pools of her eyes...entrancing.

She wore riding gloves on her hands so no ring was visible on her finger; I could only hope that she had walked into the right place and that I would not be disappointed when she removed the gloves. Completely taken by her beauty, my heart was racing as I stuttered, "May I help you, Ma'am?"

Her face broke into a lovely smile, revealing perfect teeth not often seen in these parts. Any doubt that I would do anything in the world for this lovely woman evaporated only to return like a lead weight when she spoke a second later, reminding me that beauty is sometimes only skin deep.

"Yes, Señor, I would like for you to shoot my children."

Anything in the world but that. I so was taken aback, so disbelieving, that the words rushed out. "I'm sorry?"

Her smile continued as she said, "I want you to shoot my children."

There, she had repeated the awful request so there could be no mistake. I was shocked at her callous disregard for basic human decency, for the respect for life, and for the love of her own children. Surely this beautiful woman could not be so cruel as to be willing to kill her own flesh and blood. Perhaps she was older than she appeared, that her children were in those troublesome teen or early adult years where rebellion is sometimes a problem. Maybe they had turned on their family or, coming up with the first thing I could imagine, had turned to rustling or robbing stage coaches or banks. My stuttering got no better as I forced out, "Ma'am, are you looking for the marshal?"

She gave me a strange, questioning look before saying, "No, I want you to do it."

Still thinking that I had misheard or maybe misunderstood, I said, "Ma'am, I'm sorry but I don't understand."

"They will be a year old in a few days so I would like for you to shoot them for me"

I had heard from my sister of her problems adjusting to the rigors of motherhood, but this seemed to go well beyond that. Perhaps she could no longer handle the stress so she had decided to hire someone to do the deed since she could fear failing if she attempted it of her own accord. As beautiful as she was and as hot as she'd just made my blood run, the woman must have icewater running in her veins. I had to do something to get her out of my shop so I could go find the marshal or maybe her husband, whoever he was, to stop the horrible tragedy that she was planning, particularly against such young children. It would have been smart to come up with a suitable deception to buy time, to keep her there where she could be found, but in the heat of the moment, it was the truth that blurted right out.

"Ma'am, you must have me mistaken for someone else. I do not and would never, ever shoot children. In fact, I could never shoot anyone!"

"Really? But your sign..." She picked up one of my fliers. "It says you do." Pointing to the word below my name, she said, "Oh, I'm so sorry. The English word, photograph!" With a light laugh, she added, "I want you to photograph my children."

The weight of a thousand fears seemed to lift from my heart as I breathed out the breath I'd unknowingly been holding. I was about to respond when the door opened again, tinkling the bell, and an older gentleman with whitish-gray hair visible below the brim of his hat walked in. He was a large, burly-looking man, his face deeply etched with years of hard, outdoor living. One might ordinarily have thought he was a rancher or a farmer, but there a couple of things that seemed to point to something more.

First, the man was not wearing clothing appropriate for either of those professions. Instead, he wore a Sunday go-to-meeting suit that seemed to be well-fitted to his size. It was a bit difficult to tell for sure, however, due to the second point. He was gripping a pint-sized child tightly in an arm on each side of his barrel-like chest. The tight grip was apparently necessary as both children were squirming, obviously wanting down and doing their best to get there, making it look more like he was carrying big sacks of flour than children. Despite his age and appearance, he seemed to have some experience and looked to be at no risk of dropping them, though he also didn't seem to be able to improve their positions either.

Looking at the woman, he said, "See! I told you Mamá was in here!"

Both of the toddlers started calling for their mother in that frantic, insistent way that children of that age do when they can say only a few words but that one special word is capable of making things happen.

The woman, on turning to see them, rushed over, giving the older man a quick kiss before taking one of her youngsters and giving the other a kiss and a squeeze to allow both the man and the toddlers to breathe easier.

Turning back to me as they babbled loudly, she asked, "Can you shoot them this afternoon?"

With a nod and a smile, I agreed, hoping I wouldn't want to shoot them before the afternoon was over.

~HC~

Mrs. Cannon, it turned out, understood the basics and that one did not ordinarily photograph very young children. The exposure time needed for the photographic plates that would record the scene was just too great for the photographer to be sure of getting a good image before the child moved, thereby spoiling the photo and the expensive imaging plate. She understood and agreed to cover the expense of any ruined plates over the grimace of her husband.

"Is there anything that can be done to speed up recording the image?" Mr. Cannon asked.

"Well, possibly. I have some brand new plates that we could try. I understand that they allow a shorter exposure duration, but I haven't used this type before so I don't know how effective they might be. They are more expensive, though."

"Of course," he practically groaned even as his wife was agreeing. The look of concern continued to grow in his eyes.

Minutes later, I was in the prep room with the camera and the new plates when I heard them talking through the vent in the wall as they prepared the children to go before the camera.

"Victoria, we can't afford to spend a fortune on photographs. Between the cost of these more expensive plates and getting the pictures themselves, we could be talking big money right when we need it to purchase cattle for the new deal with the army."

"John, there are always new deals with the army or the Indian Bureau or someone, and you always deliver."

"But I have to have the cash to do it."

"You'll find it, John. Besides, you promised. One of us and at least one with the twins."

"Yes, you're right. I promised," he sighed. "And you're right. It is important. Okay. Let's try one; if it doesn't work, we'll come back next year when they're bigger."

"John," she said plaintively, as if it was almost two syllables. "That is the problem. They will be bigger. They're growing so fast, I want to preserve this memory of them like this, when you could still hold them both without them getting away."

She laughed lightly, leading to what sounded like a "Hmph" and more laughter from her and the children.

His voice was low, as if speaking to himself, when he added, "Well, when we were little, people preserved their memories in their minds without photographs and did just fine."

Mrs. Cannon must have overheard him, however, for as I was opening the door to come out with the camera, I heard her call across the room, "Well, some of us are older than some of the rest of us and someone did promise."

Defeated, he replied, "Yes, dear. I know."

~HC~

The children sat on the floor playing while their mother and father posed for the first photograph. I told them to look at the camera and stay very still. Instead, she turned slightly, looking at her husband, while he looked at her so it was in profile rather than looking ahead. She was beaming at him and, within seconds, he was smiling back at her. It was a very flattering scene, but something was wrong.

"Excuse me. I suggest that you don't smile, since most people can't hold the smile still long enough to get a good shot."

"My husband makes me smile," said Mrs. Cannon. "It will be okay."

"My wife makes me smile, too," he replied. "Well, most of the time."

Her punch was playful and the kiss that followed was quick since the kids were starting to crawl around. Then the boy, I think, stood up, and his sister followed.

"Ready? On three. One, two three! Hold it. Hold it. Hold it. And done!"

She moved quickly, picking up the boy leaving the girl for Mr. Cannon while I went to change the photographic plate. When I returned a few minutes later, they were sitting, holding the children for the next photograph. Since they were going to be holding them in this picture, the standard plate was in the box.

Despite some squirming and squeezing that was probably tighter than normal, we got the image without any noticeable movement. Of course, the plate would record movement that might not be noticed and then reward us with a blur, ruining the shot. I suspected that Mr. Cannon's fingers were crossed about as tight as the grip he had on his daughter.

When the camera was ready for the third shot, I sat it down and then prepared the magnesium wire flares that would increase the light level and help shorten the exposure time even further. With the hoods adjusted to direct the light right at them, all that remained was to light them and pull the shutter. First, though, it was important for the children to be comfortable.

"Mrs. Cannon, what are their names?"

"This is Betsy and this is Bobby. Say hello, children."

They paid no mind, laughing instead at Mr. Cannon making smiling faces trying to keep them entertained.

"That's good, Mr. Cannon. Keep them focused right there. Betsy, Bobby, hold still kids and we're going to take this picture."

With all ready, I hit the igniters; the magnesium wires flared, burning bright. This caused both children to start screaming just as the shutter opened. Two pairs of little arms went up in the "Pick me up" pose as they bawled. Shot number three was definitely a bust.

Both parents stepped in to calm the children, which was somewhat surprising. Men of our time—or perhaps it's been that way from time immemorial?—seem to have a tendency to let the women deal with the children and their problems and only be around for the calm parts. Mr. Cannon was a rather gruff looking man, but he was quite hands-on, soothing his little one and bringing him under control almost as quickly as the mother with hers. It was Mrs. Cannon, though, that decided a break was in order to change diapers and soothe little tummies with a spot of milk. They went upstairs to my apartment over the shop and Mr. Cannon returned a few moments later.

"Mr. Willis, there are some things men just can't do. I'll be back shortly," he said before stepping out the door.

I was looking at my watch as the shop bell on the door stopped its little dance. With Mr. Cannon gone and not available to help, it was, I realized, going to be a long afternoon.

~HC~

Setup for the next image took a little while but Mr. Cannon didn't return so Mrs. Cannon handled the children on her own. She seemed to make it a game, keeping the kids' attention and keeping them together. She used the small chair and stood one on either side so they could hold the back to help steady themselves. While they could walk on their own, they frequently flopped or fell, leading to laughter or tears depending on the result on impact. When they both went down simultaneously, if one felt more strongly about the situation than the other, the quieter would often agree to defer to the judgment of the more vocal and join in.

The camera was ready when she had them standing and still. She had already given me new instructions.

"When I say 'Now,' please take the picture. There's no need for the 'ready, one, two, three.' They're only one so I don't think that means too much to them. Not yet, anyway."

The twinkle in her eye made me realize that her sense of humor equaled her beauty and I smothered a sigh at my bad luck for her walking through my door a few years too late.

There were lights and reflectors all around, so it was quite bright, even though we had dispensed with the magnesium flash since it expensive and not worth the effort if it was only going to make them cry. Mrs. Cannon was smiling and nodding and waving her fingers to keep their attention as I released the shutter to get the shot.

Perhaps it was my movement, anticipating, but the boy (since I could finally tell them apart by little differences in their clothes) giggled, let go of the chair, and sat down hard on his little bottom just before the shutter released. As he did, his feet rolled up in the air, causing his sister to laugh and imitate him. There were lots of giggles but a sad sigh from Mrs. Cannon, who understood that the picture was ruined and that she'd be paying for the wasted plate.

It was then that I started to ask if we could stop there, to break the growing tab, but her look told me she was determined to carry on. Like the gambler who insists on playing "just one more hand," knowing that Lady Luck will finally smile on him and make up for his long string of losses that he refuses to attribute to his deficiency in skill, Mrs. Cannon seemed to know deep down in her heart that the next image would be the one, even if the odds seemed stacked against her. Sadly, I picked up the camera and went back to set up for the next attempt.

The door tinkled a few minutes later as I was setting the camera back up. Mr. Cannon walked in, giving an almost imperceptible nod to his wife before picking up the girl. There were whispers between them before Mr. Cannon pulled me to the side.

With an almost equally low voice, he said, "Mr. Willis, is there some way we could hold these little banditos without being in the picture? Victoria desperately wants one of them by themselves, without us being in it."

Thus came the 'mountain' idea, where a number of blankets were draped over a some chairs and crates. Somehow, Mr. Cannon folded himself up small enough to hide beneath it all while Mrs. Cannon positioned the children up top. Mr. Cannon then grasped a back or a little leg or something for each from under cover of the blankets. Mrs. Cannon did her little attention routine, but it didn't work. The kids seemed quite interested in their restraints. They investigated by trying to pull the blankets off to discover the cause, and more giggling ensued.

"This decade would be good!" called Mr. Cannon from his hidey-hole. It was muffled and in a lower voice, but he added, "Or else I may never get up!"

Mrs. Cannon looked sympathetic to her husband's plight, but she also looked determined. "Be patient, my husband. We're almost—Now, Mr. Willis!"

There was a little movement, but with all of the light and the fast-imaging plate and shutter speed, I couldn't be sure if it was before, during, or after, and whether the image would come out. Even if it was good, both had been looking down inquisitively at the hidden hands holding them so, despite Mrs. Cannon's direction, I doubted that the end result would be interesting enough to be purchased. The afternoon was dragging and the expense was mounting. This, I hoped, was the end, so I turned to Mrs. Cannon to put an end to the exercise.

Even before I had a chance to say a word, the gambler spirit came out in her in force. "Let's try one more, Mr. Willis. Children, you sit right here while I rearrange Mount Papá into something more interesting. John—"

"Got it, Victoria. Go to it," he replied as he crawled from under the stack.

She started rearranging the pile as if she had a plan, so he stayed down on the floor only to be mobbed moments later by both of the little tykes. I stepped out to prepare the camera for one more, hopefully last, shot.

~HC~

The door bell tinkled again just before I was ready to step out of the prep room. Hoping to not lose a sale, I called, "I'll be right out!"

Coming out with the camera, I saw Buck and Mano, two of my friend Sam's buddies, standing out front, grinning. I had no idea why they would show up so I called out, "Hi, guys! Have a seat and I'll be with you in a few minutes when I'm finished with these fine folks."

Mrs. Cannon was standing still, her head cocked slightly with a contented look on her face as she looked at her husband and children. Mr. Cannon's eyes were barely open as he held two sleeping toddlers.

I approached Mrs. Cannon and whispered, "Looks like we won't be taking any more photos today, Señora."

"Oh, no! This is perfect!" she said. "Manolito, get Bobby."

I was surprised to see that Buck and Mano had come on back without me noticing. The Mexican man took the little boy while Mrs. Cannon took the girl from her husband's arms. While they were placing the sleeping children on the pillow, I turned to Buck and asked, "Buck, you know these people?"

"Him," he said, extending a hand to Mr. Cannon to help him up, "all the days of my life. He's my big brother."

Looking back at Manolito and Mrs. Cannon, Buck added "That's Victoria's brother, too. John found us a little while ago and asked us to come down to be in one more family portrait."

Now fully awake, Mr. Cannon added, "Yeah, I figured if we're going to have to mortgage the High Chaparral to pay for these, we might as well get a good one that includes all of us."

~HC~

It was early the next morning when Mr. and Mrs. Cannon walked into the shop. They'd stayed in Tucson overnight so I could develop the pictures and make a set of photos for their review.

"Good morning, Mr. Willis," said Mrs. Cannon cheerfully.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cannon. Mr. Cannon. Where are your children?"

Mr. Cannon replied, "They probably had enough of this place yesterday, so we left them with their uncles. That way, they can all have fun and we can talk in peace. How did the pictures turn out?"

I sighed when laying the pictures out on the review desk where they could look at them in good lighting. "Of the seven shots we took, one was completely ruined. Three were still images that weren't blurry, but you'll probably be disappointed in the others. They came out with parts that were blurred, but even worse, they were, well, a bit silly."

Expecting looks of disappointment, I was surprised to see Mrs. Cannon smile and then continue smiling as she looked and nodded at each image. Mr. Cannon sat to her side, his hand covering his mouth and most of the bottom part of his face.

"Mr. Willis, we'll take them," she said.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Cannon, but which ones? The still images?"

"Mr. Willis, they are just still images or messed up images to you, but to John and me, they're all images of our children. They may not be perfect to you, and the children may not have been perfectly still in them, but they show our children just how I want to remember them. They're always playing and moving and having fun together. Mr. Willis, I want them all, plus a large copy of these three. John?"

Noting her extras, I turned to Mr. Cannon, expecting him to put an end to Mrs. Cannon's dreams of all of her selections and my dreams of a nice payoff. He slowly removed the hand he'd been holding over his mouth to reveal a smile forming.

"Mr. Willis, these aren't the posed looks we usually see in photographs, but, after seeing them, I'm glad they're not. Yes, there are a few blurry parts but these are genuinely good portraits of our kids, capturing a little of their character, not the stone-faced images that we commonly see in too many pictures. Considering the challenges, great job."

We settled up the bill, with Mr. Cannon making a payment on the pictures delivered and the plates, with the rest due in two weeks, after his delivery to the army, when he planned to pick up the rest of the photos. As I walked them to the door, I was feeling a great sense of relief that they were happy with their purchase and that I'd made a nice sale. Even better yet, I decided that I wouldn't be dealing with babies or small children again for a very long time. I was already debating putting a sign out front that said "No babies," "No kids," or something similar, when Mrs. Cannon turned back toward me.

"Mr. Willis, thank you so much. We look forward to showing off your work. We will be sure to tell all of our friends about your nice work with the babies, too. I'm sure many of them will want pictures of their children, too. And we'll see you again about this same time next year."

The End

Author's Note:

Thanks for reading. Any feedback you might provide will be greatly appreciated.

The goal for the challenge is to have an outside observer tell the story from his or her point of view, telling the tale of the protagonist (Victoria) against the antagonist (her quest for the "perfect" photo), but being largely outside the action. In this case, the photographer, the facilitator allowing her to pursue her goal, tells her tale without actually directing it.

One might ask why Mr. Willis, the photographer (yes, for those who've read the previous shots, it's Roland Willis, the new photographer in town from Shot #3: A Most Unintentional Hero, with his advertisement, "Roland Willis, Photographer") was confused by Victoria's use of the word "shoot." While a picture was sometimes known as a shot (and with the advent of higher speed photography in the mid-to-late 1870s, as a "snapshot"), according to

etymonline dot com/word/shoot

the word "shoot" was not associated with act of taking photographs until about 1890 with the introduction of moving picture cameras. Therefore, he might well have been shocked by her request.

As for why Victoria might have struggled with the word, the word "photograph" originated in 1839 when she was very young, so it might not have been known (or considered an important word to her English tutor (see the opening of Shot #4: Just a Simple Little Wedding). Since most early photos were Daguerreotypes (to the mid 1850s with the introduction of other photographic methods), the pictures were generally known by that name and the photographer "took" the picture like we do today. Still, photography was not widely practiced in the United States until the 1860s during the American Civil War. With her excellent grasp of the English language, it was still a second language to her so she might have been more likely to associate the word 'shot' with 'shoot' than a native speaker of the time.

I checked a number of other words like tykes and hidey-hole to make sure that they were in use at the time of the story. A couple didn't make the cut since they were more modern and were replaced with words that were period appropriate.

Wikipedia notes that Hurter & Driffield began a systematic evaluation of sensitivity characteristics of photographic emulsions in 1876. Then, in 1878, heat ripening of gelatin emulsions was discovered. This greatly increased sensitivity and made possible very short "snapshot" exposures like those needed in this story. It was later that same year that Eadweard Muybridge used a row of cameras with trip-wires to make a high-speed photographic analysis of a galloping horse. Each picture was taken in less than the two-thousandth part of a second, and they were taken in sufficiently rapid sequence (about 25 per second) that they constituted a brief real-time "movie" that could be viewed by using a device such as a zoetrope, a photographic "first". The higher speed photographic plates allowed babies and young children to start being photographed more regularly, too.