In This 1917 Photo, the Mother’s Glove Hides More Than Just Her Hand
The autumn rain drumed steadily against the windows of the Grand Victorian mansion in Newport, Rhode Island, as antique dealer Katherine Walsh carefully sorted through the contents of the Peton estate. The family had lived in this imposing house overlooking the Atlantic for nearly a century.
But with the last heir’s passing, everything was being sold to settle debts and taxes. Catherine specialized in historical photographs and documents, and she’d been called in to evaluate what appeared to be an extensive collection of family memorabilia. In the mansion’s oak panled library, she discovered dozens of photograph albums, each one meticulously organized and labeled in elegant script.
One particular album caught her attention. Bound in burgundy leather with brass corners, it bore the inscription, the Peton family, war years, 1914 1920. As Catherine opened it, the scent of old paper, and faded memories filled the air. The photographs chronicled a wealthy American family during the tumultuous years of World War I, showing garden parties, charity events, and formal family portraits.
On page 12, Catherine paused at a striking formal portrait dated Christmas 1917. The photograph showed the Peton family arranged in their luxurious drawing room with expensive furniture and elaborate holiday decorations providing a backdrop of prosperity and refinement. Mr. Charles Peton stood behind his wife’s chair, distinguished in his tailored suit, while their three children, two boys and a girl, were positioned around them in holiday attire. But it was Mrs.
Eleanor Peton who dominated the composition. Seated regally in an ornate chair, she wore an elegant black velvet dress with intricate beadwork, and her dark hair was styled in the fashionable Gibson girl arrangement of the era. Most notably, she wore pristine white gloves that extended past her wrists, formal and immaculate.
Something about Mrs. Peton’s left glove struck Catherine as unusual, while her right hand rested naturally on the arm of her chair. Her left hand was positioned awkwardly, almost defensively, and the glove appeared slightly bulkier than its counterpart, as if concealing something beneath the fabric. 3 days later, Catherine sat in the conservation laboratory of the Newport Historical Society, across from Dr.
Elena Rodriguez, a specialist in historical photography analysis. The lab was filled with sophisticated equipment designed to examine and preserve historical documents without damaging them. “This is certainly a remarkable family portrait,” Dr. Rodriguez said, adjusting the specialized lighting over the photograph.
The Peton family was quite prominent in Newport society during this period. Charles Peton made his fortune in shipping and steel, and Eleanor was known for her charitable work during the war. Catherine pointed to Mrs. Peton’s left. Something about the positioning and shape has been bothering me. It looks unnatural somehow. Dr.
Rodriguez carefully examined the photograph under magnification. You’re right to be curious. Look at the way she’s holding her left hand. There’s tension there. Almost as if she’s trying to conceal something. And yes, the glove does appear to have an unusual shape. She switched to a different magnifying lens with enhanced contrast capabilities.
“See how the fabric of the glove appears stretched in this area,” she said, pointing to a spot near Mrs. Peton’s wrist. “And look at these shadows. They don’t match what you’d expect from a normal hand position.” Dr. Rodriguez moved to her computer and began scanning the photograph at high resolution.
I’d like to try some digital enhancement techniques. Sometimes we can reveal details that weren’t apparent to the original photographer or viewers. As the enhanced image appeared on the monitor, both women gasped. Under digital magnification, it became clear that Mrs. Peton’s left glove was indeed concealing something significant. The outline of what appeared to be thick bandaging was visible beneath the white fabric, and there were subtle stains that hadn’t been noticeable in the original photograph. “Catherine,” Dr.
Rodriguez said quietly, “I think Mrs. Peton was hiding an injury of some kind.” “But why would she go to such lengths to conceal it during a family portrait?” “And what could have caused an injury severe enough to require that much bandaging?” Catherine added, staring at the enhanced image with growing concern.
Catherine spent the following week diving into historical records about the Peton family. At the Rhode Island Historical Society, she met with genealogologist Marcus Thompson, who had extensive knowledge of Newport’s prominent families during the early 20th century. The Petanss were indeed one of Newport’s most influential families, Marcus explained, pulling out files filled with newspaper clippings, society pages, and business documents.
Charles Peton was deeply involved in wartime manufacturing, producing steel for ships and munitions. Eleanor was equally prominent in her own right. She organized charity drives, hosted fundraising events for the war effort, and was considered one of the most elegant women in Newport Society. Catherine showed Marcus the enhanced photograph, explaining about the mysterious bulkiness of Mrs.
Peton’s glove. Marcus studied the image with growing interest. “This is fascinating,” he said. I have quite a bit of documentation about the Peton family from 1917 and there are some interesting gaps in the social calendar around Christmas time. He pulled out a collection of newspaper clippings from the Newport Daily News. Look at this.
Throughout 1917, Elellanar Peton was mentioned frequently in the society pages, attending various events and hosting gatherings. But then suddenly in December 1917, there’s almost nothing. No mentions of her attending Christmas parties. No reports of holiday entertaining at the Peton Mansion. Marcus continued searching through his files.
Here’s something even more curious. I have a guest list from the Aers’s New Year’s Eve ball, one of the most important social events of the season. Elellanar Peton was expected to attend, but at the last minute, the family sent their regrets, citing Mrs. Peton’s temporary indisposition. What kind of indisposition? Catherine asked. That’s just it.
There’s no explanation. In those days, society families were very discreet about health matters, but usually there would be some mention of illness or injury if someone missed major social events. Marcus pulled out one more document, a shipping manifest from Charles Peton’s business. This might be relevant.
In late November 1917, there was an accident at one of Peton’s steel foundaries. Several workers were injured and there was significant damage to equipment. Charles himself went to oversee the situation personally. Catherine felt a chill of recognition. Marcus, do you think Eleanor might have been at the foundry when the accident occurred.
Catherine’s next stop was the Rhode Island Department of Labor archives, where industrial accident reports from the early 20th century were preserved. She met with archivist David Kim, who specialized in workplace safety records from the World War I era. Industrial accidents were unfortunately common during the war years, David explained as he pulled files related to the Peton steel works.
The pressure to increase production for the war effort often led to corner cutting on safety measures. The accident report from November 28th, 1917 made for disturbing reading. An explosion in the main furnace area had injured six workers and caused significant structural damage. The report noted that several members of the Peton family had been touring the facility that day to inspect new equipment installations.
“Look at this,” David said, pointing to a section of the report. “It mentions that Mrs. Charles Peton sustained injuries during the incident and was transported to Newport Hospital for treatment.” But then there’s a note added later that the family requested all medical records be kept confidential. Catherine felt her pulse quicken.
What kind of injuries? The report doesn’t specify, but it does mention that the explosion sent metal fragments flying throughout the work area. Anyone caught in that zone would have faced serious risk of cuts, burns, or worse. David pulled out hospital admission records from Newport Hospital. I can tell you that Mrs. Peton was admitted on November 28th and remained in the hospital for nearly 2 weeks.
“Quite a long stay for that era, unless the injuries were severe. But she was well enough to pose for a family portrait by Christmas,” Catherine asked. “Apparently, so though, as your photograph suggests, she may have been concealing the extent of her injuries.” David paused thoughtfully. “There’s something else that might interest you.
The accident report mentions that Mrs. Peton was wearing her wedding ring and several pieces of jewelry when the explosion occurred. The report notes that medical staff had difficulty removing these items due to complications. Catherine stared at the document. What kind of complications? David met her eyes with a grim expression.
The kind that would require extensive surgery and leave permanent damage to the hand and wrist area. With help from Dr. Rodriguez at the historical society. Catherine obtained special permission to access archived medical records from Newport Hospital. Dr. Sarah Chen, the hospital’s chief medical historian, met them in the restricted archives where the oldest patient files were preserved.
Medical privacy laws are complex when dealing with historical cases, Dr. Chen explained. But given that all parties have been deceased for decades, and this has clear historical research value, we can review the records. Eleanor Peton’s medical file from November December 1917 revealed the full extent of her injuries.
The explosion had caused severe trauma to her left hand and wrist with metal fragments embedded in the tissue and significant damage to several fingers. According to the surgeon’s notes, Dr. Chen read from the file, Mrs. Peton’s wedding ring had been driven into her finger by the force of the explosion, causing what he described as catastrophic damage to the digit.
They had to perform emergency surgery to remove the ring and address the trauma. The medical records included detailed surgical notes describing the removal of metal fragments, treatment of severe lacerations, and the amputation of Mrs. Peton’s left ring finger due to irreparable damage. The surgeon noted that Mrs.
Peton was extremely concerned about maintaining her social appearances, Dr. Chen continued. There are several mentions of her insisting that the injuries be kept confidential and that she be fitted with what he calls a prosthetic solution that would allow her to maintain normal social function. Catherine studied the surgeon’s sketches and notes.
A prosthetic finger, yes, and quite an elaborate one. According to these records, the hospital worked with a specialized craftsman to create a realistic prosthetic finger that could be worn beneath gloves. Mrs. Peton apparently insisted that no one outside the immediate family should ever know about the amputation. Dr.
Chen showed them the final medical notes from December 1917. The surgeon wrote that Mrs. Peton had made remarkable progress and that with the prosthetic device and careful styling, casual observers would never suspect the extent of her injuries. But Catherine realized looking back at the enhanced photograph.
The bulkiness of the glove suggests that even with the prosthetic, concealing the injury required additional padding or bandaging. Exactly. Dr. Chen nodded. The Christmas portrait was taken less than a month after her discharge from the hospital. She would still have been dealing with significant healing and probably required extra protection for the surgical site.
Catherine returned to the Newport Historical Society to research the social expectations and pressures faced by wealthy women. In 1917, she met with Dr. Patricia Hoffman, a historian who specialized in women’s roles in early 20th century high society. Understanding Elellanar Peton’s decision to hide her injury requires understanding the incredible social pressures faced by women of her class, Dr.
Hoffman explained as they sat in the society’s research library. Physical appearance and perceived perfection were absolutely critical to maintaining social standing, Dr. Hoffman pulled out books and articles about Newport society during the World War I era. For a woman in Eleanor’s position, any visible disability or disfigurement could have serious social and economic consequences, not just for her, but for her entire family.
But surely people would have been understanding about an industrial accident,” Catherine asked. “You’d think so, but society was often cruel about such things. There was a prevailing belief that physical perfection reflected moral and social worthiness. A visible disability could lead to social ostracism and the family might have found themselves excluded from important business and social networks.
Dr. Hoffman showed Catherine photographs of other Newport Society women from the YA period. Notice how every woman in these formal portraits presents an image of absolute perfection. Flawless skin, perfect posture, elegant hands displayed prominently. The hands were considered particularly important as symbols of refinement and breeding.
She pulled out a society magazine from 1918. Look at this article about the art of gracious living. It specifically mentions that a lady’s hands should always be pristine and unmarked by the coarser aspects of life. For Ellaner to have lost a finger, especially her ring finger, would have been seen as deeply shameful, and there was probably pressure from her husband’s business interests as well, Dr.
Hoffman continued. Charles Peton Steel Company relied heavily on social connections for government contracts during the war. Having a wife who appeared damaged could have affected his business relationships. Catherine began to understand the enormous pressure Eleanor must have felt, so she chose to hide the injury rather than risk social and economic consequences for her family.
It seems likely Dr. Hoffman agreed. The Christmas portrait was probably intended to demonstrate that she had recovered completely and that the family had weathered the crisis without lasting damage, even though, as your photograph reveals, that wasn’t entirely true. Catherine’s investigation led her to research the history of prosthetics and medical devices in early 20th century America.
At Brown University’s medical history archives, she met with Dr. Robert Martinez, who had written extensively about the development of prosthetic devices during World War I. The war created an unprecedented demand for prosthetic limbs and devices. Dr. Martinez explained as he showed Catherine photographs and documents from the period.
Advances in battlefield medicine meant that more soldiers were surviving injuries that would have been fatal in previous conflicts, but many were left with permanent disabilities. He pulled out a catalog from 1917 published by the American Prosthetic Company. Look at these advertisements. They’re marketing invisible solutions for people who wanted to conceal their disabilities.
There was tremendous social stigma attached to visible prosthetics. The catalog included detailed illustrations of prosthetic fingers designed specifically for women. These devices were quite sophisticated for their time. Dr. Martinez noted they were custom made to match the patients remaining fingers and the better ones were nearly indistinguishable from real fingers when worn with gloves.
Catherine studied the catalog images. How would something like this have been made in 1917? Usually from carved ivory or specially treated wood with careful attention to color matching and proportion. The most expensive versions included mechanical joints that allowed for some degree of movement. Dr.
Dr. Martinez pulled out a case study from the period. The process typically took several weeks and required multiple fittings to ensure comfort and realistic appearance. He showed Catherine a photograph of a woman from 1918 wearing a prosthetic finger. As you can see, when worn with gloves, the device is virtually undetectable. But he pointed to the glove in the photograph.
Notice how the glove appears slightly stiffer and more formal than it would naturally, just like Ellaner Peton’s glove in the family portrait. Catherine realized exactly the prosthetic would have required the glove to be slightly larger and more structured to accommodate both the device and any additional padding needed for comfort. Dr.
Martinez pulled out one final document, an invoice from 1917. This is from a prosthetic maker in Boston who specialized in what he called society solutions. The prices were extraordinary, equivalent to several thousand today. But for families like the Pettons, maintaining social appearances was worth any cost. Catherine decided to research whether any other members of the Peton family had left records or memoirs that might provide insight into Eleanor’s injury and recovery.
At the Redwood Library in Newport, she discovered that one of Ellaner’s O daughters, Margaret Peton Collins, had donated her mother’s personal papers in the 1960s. The collection included Elellaner’s private correspondence, diary entries, and personal photographs that had never been publicly displayed. Librarian James Morrison helped Catherine navigate the extensive archive.
The Collins donation was quite comprehensive, James explained as he pulled boxes from the climate controlled storage area. Margaret apparently wanted to preserve her mother’s memory, but also specified that certain materials should remain sealed until 2000 to protect family privacy. Eleanor’s diary entries from late 1917 provided intimate insight into her experience following the industrial accident.
In her careful handwriting, she described the pain of her injuries, her fears about social consequences, and her determination to present a perfect facade to Newport society. December 15th, 1917. Catherine read aloud from one entry. The prosthetic device is still uncomfortable, and I must be so careful about positioning my hand naturally.
Charles insists that no one must ever know about the accident. Too much depends on maintaining our family’s reputation. Another entry dated December 22nd read, “We are having the Christmas portrait taken tomorrow. The photographer has been sworn to secrecy about any irregularities he might notice. I pray that the gloves and careful positioning will be sufficient to maintain the illusion.
” Catherine found a letter Ellaner had written to her sister in California. You cannot imagine the constant vigilance required to conceal this affliction. Every social interaction, every public appearance requires careful planning. I sometimes feel as though I am living a lie, but Charles is right. Two, much depends on keeping up appearances.
The most revealing document was a letter Eleanor had written to her daughter Margaret in 1925, 8 years after the accident. My dearest daughter, I hope you will understand someday why we chose to hide the truth about my injury. In our world, perception is everything, and a single moment of carelessness could have destroyed not just my place in society, but your father’s business and your own future prospects.
” The letter continued, “The Christmas portrait has become almost symbolic to me, a testament to our family’s ability to present strength and perfection even in the face of adversity. But I sometimes wonder if the cost of maintaining such illusions is worth the burden it places on one’s soul. Armed with all the evidence she’d gathered, Catherine arranged a meeting with the current Newport Historical Society board to present her findings about the Peton family portrait.
The presentation took place in the society’s main conference room with Dr. Rodriguez, Marcus Thompson, and several other historians in attendance. Catherine began by displaying the enhanced photograph, clearly showing the bulkiness and unusual shape of Elellanar Peton’s left glove. She then walked through each piece of evidence, the industrial accident report, the medical records, the prosthetic device research, and Elellaner’s own private writings.
“What we’re looking at,” Catherine explained, is not just a family portrait, but a carefully orchestrated piece of theater designed to conceal a traumatic injury and maintain social standing. She showed the group Elellanar’s diary entries and letters. Mrs. Peton lost her ring finger in an industrial explosion, but went to extraordinary lengths to hide this fact from society.
The Christmas 1917 portrait was taken specifically to demonstrate that she had recovered completely even though she was still dealing with the physical and emotional consequences of her injury. Dr. Rodriguez added her analysis of the photographic evidence. The digital enhancement reveals not just the prosthetic finger, but also the extensive padding and bandaging that Elellaner was still using to protect the surgical site and ensure the glove fit properly.
Marcus Thompson contributed historical context. This case perfectly illustrates the tremendous social pressures faced by wealthy women in early 20th century America. For Eleanor, revealing her disability could have had devastating consequences for her family’s social and business standing. The board members were fascinated by the revelation. Board chair Dr.
Elizabeth Warren noted, “This transforms our understanding of the photograph entirely. What appeared to be a standard formal family portrait becomes a poignant document of a woman’s struggle with disability, social expectations, and family loyalty.” Catherine concluded her presentation by noting that Elellanar had successfully maintained her secret for the rest of her life.
She continued to attend social functions, host charity events, and maintain her position in Newport Society for another 30 years, all while concealing the loss of her finger. The prosthetic device and careful styling allowed her to preserve not just her own reputation, but her family’s place in society. The photograph, Catherine added, serves as a reminder that every formal portrait tells multiple stories.
the one that was intended to be seen and the hidden truths that lie beneath the surface. 6 months later, the Peton family portrait became the centerpiece of a new exhibition at the Newport Historical Society titled Hidden Stories: What Family Photographs Don’t Show. Catherine had worked with Dr. Rodriguez and the exhibition team to create a comprehensive display that honored Elellanar Peton’s story while exploring broader themes about disability, social expectations, and women’s experiences in early 20th century America.
The exhibition included the original photograph alongside the digitally enhanced version, allowing visitors to see both the public image Eleanor had carefully crafted and the hidden reality beneath. Eleanor’s diary entries and letters were displayed with her permission from her estate, providing intimate insight into her experience.
A special section of the exhibition focused on the history of prosthetic devices and the social stigma surrounding disability in Eleanor’s era. Dr. Martinez from Brown University had loaned several period prosthetic devices, and the display included information about how social attitudes toward disability have evolved over the past century.
The exhibition also featured stories of other Newport families who had dealt with similar challenges, demonstrating that the U Peton’s experience was not unique. Many prominent families had faced the difficult choice between acknowledging disability and maintaining social standing. Catherine had arranged for Eleanor’s prosthetic finger, which had been discovered among her personal effects, to be displayed as part of the exhibition.
The delicate ivory device, carefully crafted to match Eleanor’s natural fingers, served as a testament to both the artistry of period prosthetics and the lengths to which Eleanor had gone to maintain her secret. Most importantly, Catherine worked with local disability rights advocates to create educational programming around the exhibition.
The displays included information about how society’s understanding and acceptance of disability has evolved and how Elellanar’s story reflects broader issues that continue to resonate today. On the exhibition’s opening night, Catherine stood before the Peton family portrait, now understanding the full story behind Eleanor’s carefully positioned left hand.
The white glove that had once hidden a painful secret now served as a symbol of resilience, determination, and the complex choices faced by women of Eleanor’s generation. The photograph had revealed its hidden truth after more than a century. But more importantly, it had sparked conversations about dignity, acceptance, and the courage required to navigate society’s expectations while dealing with personal challenges.
Elellanar Peton’s secret was finally safe to tell, and her story would inspire future generations to understand that true strength sometimes lies in the struggles we choose not to show the
