The photographer Robert Kincaid wanders into the life of the housewife Francesca Johnson, for four days in the 1960s. But she already had a lovely family...
I woke up early in the morning. Turn around and were able too to kiss Richard good morning. But when I turned around there was no Richard beside me. And then I remember that he was gone. I would wake up lonely in a bed for the next three mornings as well. I would be all by myself. But what if I work hard and fast, maybe the days will go faster. Maybe they would come back earlier!
I got out of bed and fixed my hair. I put on some clothes and went down to the kitchen to fix some ice-tea. I was greeted by dirty carpets after the family entered with dirty shoes the day before the left. And as a housewife, there are not many choices. There is only two, you can let it be dirty in your kitchen. Or you pick them up and walk out to clean them. And as a housewife, and a mother I decided to pick them up and walk out, behind the house to clean the muddy carpets. I dipped them into the hot water and scrubbed them with a scrub. The sun was pouring and it was a hot day here in Iowa. This summer was the hottest summer over 10 years.
I felt the sweat ran all over my body, so I put the carpets on dry and went into the house. I walked up to the bathroom and took a cooling shower. I felt the cooling water against my body. My hair went wet and my hands were touching my stomach. I took the vanilla soap and rubbed my whole body in it. I turned off the shower and started to dry myself. I watched myself in the mirror and brushed my hair. Then I put my hair in a tassel and went out to the bedroom. I put on a white dress, and walk down.
The carpets were dry and I went to the front of the house. I whipped the carpets against the pillars. The sun was still pouring and I couldn't see any clouds in the sky. But I saw something else. Away from the small road, I saw a green car drive into our little gravelled. I laid the carpets down on the stairs and went down on the lawn. It was a green GMC from Washington.
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There was a man who drove the car. His hair was grey and he looked professional. He stopped by our red farm and jumped out of the car. He was sweating and I saw that he wasn't able to this heat.
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- Excuse me, Mam, I'm searching for Roseman Bridge. Tell me, is it long from here. I'm pretty sure I've lost my way, he said and looked deep into my eyes. I looked at him and smile. "
- No, no it's not that long. You're pretty close, it's only about 2 miles away from here.
- Which way? I looked at him and went up to him. I point with my finger and tell him which way.
- It would be much easier if it was signposted. But it's not so, I looked at him and he smiled. I can follow you and guide you to the bridge, or I can tell you. You decide.
- Will you follow me? he asked and smiled.
- Yeah, I just need to get my shoes. I'll be right back! I said and walked into the house to get 'em. When I walked out again he was waiting for me. If Richard was here he wouldn't let me go. But there was no Richard and I decided on my own.
He was driving and I was his compass. I told him the way to the Roseman Bridge.
- Why do you want to go to the Roseman Bridge? I asked him and looked into his eyes.
- I'm a photographer. I'm working for the newspaper: National Geographic and they wanted me to photograph a covered bridge here in Iowa. And I found Roseman Bridge in the library and I thought that it would be great for the newspaper, he smiled and I saw how proud he was for saying that.
We were driving and he asked me if I smoked. I said yes and he gave me a cigarette. I told him to drive left and that we almost were there. And I looked at him and saw how wild and excited he was. He had something that Richard hadn't.
- By the way, my name is Robert. Robert Kincaid., he smiled and looked at me.
- I'm Francesca Johnson, I said and smiled back.
- I can hear that you're not here from. So if I may ask, where you from?
- I'm from Italy.
- Italy?
- Yeah! And I told him all about the trip from Italy to Iowa and why I was here. And he was listening and asking, and he cared about my story. He was something special and he had something that I couldn't explain. He was a photographic soul, and his heart was big, and his smile where lovely.
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Suddenly we had arrived at the Roseman Bridge, here in Iowa. Where I moved to with Richard when I was 20 years old. And since then, I have been living here for such a long time. And I have never been leaving Iowa. This is my home. And I don't know why, but I stay here.
