The baby squirms in his muslin dress. His mother centers him on her lap as the photographer drapes her face and arms with a length of dark cloth. From beneath the shroud, she murmurs, Hush, Charles. Be still. The photographer steps back, himself disappearing beneath the curtain of his bellows camera. Leather stretches and contracts on metal ribs. Light and chemical. Shapes form on glass. I’m here, Charles. I’m here. Later your grandfather will look at his baby portrait with the dark blurred figure in the background and see only her.