November 1, 1918

Sleepyside, New York

Rebekka VanZandt held up the finished strip of crocheted lace and admired it in the early afternoon sunshine.  The last piece was finally done and now she could make her wedding gown.  It had taken the seventeen year old most of the past year to make each piece of lace in the proper length to be sewn onto her dress.

Her grandmother had brought the pattern along with others with her from Holland more than fifty years ago and as far back as Rebekka could remember, she had begged to be allowed to learn how to make the beautiful lace.

“Rebekka?”  The young woman’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of her mother’s voice behind her.  “Your father needs help down in the studio now.  It is almost two o’clock.”

I’m coming, Moeder”  Rebekka quickly folded up the strip of lace and placed it in the drawer with the others before leaving her bedroom.  She hurried down the short hallway and through the sitting room to the front door.  Her family had lived in the large three bedroom apartment over the VanZandt Photography Studio as long as Rebekka could remember.  Diederik VanZandt had opened his studio when Rebekka was two and her older brother Niels was five.

Both Rebekka and her brother had grown up helping their father and Niels had planned to take over the business someday.  But of course the War had changed everything.  Niels had hurried off to enlist in the army, his best friend Henrik Vanderpoel in tow, less than two months after President Wilson had asked the Congress to declare war on Germany. 

The Vanderpoels were one of the founding families of Sleepyside and Henrik had grown up in the old yellow  brick house set back in the woods on the outskirts of town.  He and Niels had always been the best of friends and Rebekka had known since she was thirteen that she and Henrik would someday marry.  Unfortunately, he hadn’t come to that realization until her fifteenth birthday. 

Rebekka quietly pushed open the door on the left side of the small entranceway at the base of the rear stairs.  This door led into her father’s studio.  The other door led to the alley along the side of the red brick building.  Her father had a client, she could hear him talking as she closed the door behind her.

“Mrs. Belden, you must remember that young Harold is only five months old.  I understand that you only wished to have a photograph of the child but perhaps if you sat in this chair and held him on your lap it would work much better.”

Rebekka couldn’t hear Mrs. Belden’s reply as she tiptoed up to the main reception area.  Amelia and Joseph Belden lived even farther outside of town than Henrik’s family on a place called Crabapple Farm.  She had never been inside, but the summer before last, Henrik had taken her on a ride along Glen Road in his Oldsmobile before he had put it up on blocks and left for training at the newly opened Camp Dix in nearby New Jersey.  They had admired all of the beautiful estates.   The Manor House sitting in majestic splendor on top of a small hill with its rolling lawns and long curving drive ending with tall black wrought iron gates attached to a gatehouse.  The Frayne mansion although not as large and elaborate as its neighbor, was equally as beautiful with Nell Frayne’s rose garden surrounding the front of the house.  Finally there was the old VanRhyne estate.  The large brick house had been vacant for several years since old Mr. VanRhyne had died, but her father had mentioned that there was talk of turning it into an inn.

The reception room was empty and Rebekka settled herself on the high stool behind the desk.   Opening the appointment book, she saw that her father only had three other scheduled appointments for the day.  She busied herself with some correspondence while her father finished photographing young Harold Belden and his mother.

“Ah, Rebekka, my daughter you are here.”  Diederik said as he escorted the Belden’s out of the rear studio.  “Please take care of Mrs. Belden and her lovely son.” 

“How are you today, Mrs. Belden?”  Rebekka asked as she swiftly totaled up the bill for the session on a piece of paper.  “That will be one dollar for the session today and the photograph will be ready to pick up a week from tomorrow on November 9th.”

“Thank you.”  she continued as Amelia Belden handed her a dollar bill and accepted the written receipt in exchange.  “Have a lovely afternoon and please come again.”

Almost as soon as the Belden’s had departed, Rebekka’s father came back out into the reception area again.  “How is your mother doing this afternoon?”

“Today is one of her good days, Papa.”  Rebekka replied.  Greta VanZandt had suffered a breakdown during the summer after learning that her son, Niels had been killed at Belleau Wood.  “She was sitting by the front window doing some mending when I came down.”

“That is good.  Is there any word from your Henrik?”

“”Not since the letter I got three weeks ago.  I am praying that he stays safe until this horrible war is finished.”

“Well, if what I read in the New York Times a couple of days ago is true then Germany is on the verge of surrender so perhaps this war will be over within the month.”

“Oh I hope so, Papa.  Then Henrik will come home and we can be married.  I am very nearly finished with my wedding dress.  I finished crocheting the last piece of the lace today.”

“That is very good.  When is my next appointment, daughter?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Frayne are coming in at three for their anniversary portrait.”

“Very good.  I shall be in my darkroom please let me know when they have arrived.”  Diederik placed a kiss on his daughter’s forehead and headed into the back of the building again.

Rebekka Vanderpoel carefully folded up her wedding dress and placed it back in the small trunk.  The flower trimmed hat was rewrapped in its tissue paper covering and placed on top before she closed the lid and set it on the bench in the front hallway.  She would call Ms. Trask the next day to arrange for someone to return and pick it up.

Hopefully young Juliana would find her missing ring when she returned to the Manor House.  Family heirlooms should be passed down through the generations.  She looked down at the small diamond on her own left hand.  Even though Henrik had been gone for nearly fifteen years, she still wore her rings.  She had no living children to pass the family treasures down to, their only daughter having died of polio in 1930.  Instead, they would be divided between her niece Anna and her nephew Albert and their children.   Henrik and his brother Peter had both returned safely from France in December of 1917 and she and Henrik had been married the following May in the garden behind the house.

Those days seemed like a lifetime ago.  Sometimes when she got involved in helping the Bob-Whites with one of their projects, Rebekka recalled what it was like to be as young and carefree as the teens.

“Ah well, time marches on for all of us.”  Rebekka said to herself as she locked the front door and began turning off the lights.

Author’s Notes:

This is a submission for Ronda’s 17th Anniversary Writing Project.