Katherine and James were married six months later. It was a small wedding, since neither Katherine nor James knew many people. Her parents were there, of course. And Mrs. Brock, the landlady. And James’s best, (and only), friend in New York—a fellow Peabody employee named Eric Cantrell. Eric was a photographer and he took the only picture taken that day of the newlyweds. There was no such thing as a digital camera in the 1930s. Photography required more stillness, more planning, more patience.
On the surface, Eric had none of the qualities that would seem to be required for a photographer at the time. He was always fidgeting, very impulsive, and entirely impatient…until he had a camera in his hands. His camera worked a kind of magic on him that was utterly remarkable.
Aside to the Reader: I know in my short note to you at the beginning of this tale I said that this book contains no magic, so please do not take me literally here. Eric’s camera did not work any REAL magic on Eric. It was really just the ordinary magic that happens when a person is doing the very thing they were meant to be doing. You may have experienced this “magic” yourself.
Anyway, the only picture taken that day is in black-and-white and it has Katherine in the center with a smile that can only be described as “beaming.” Her eyes are direct and they look right into yours through the years. They seem to carry a secret that not even her smile has been let in on. They seem to somehow know of the hurt and the pain and tears looming not too far off into the future. They know, and yet they shine anyway.