“You are not a mess. You are beautiful. And most women I know would pay a fortune for those lovely curls of yours. I know I would.”
I chuckled and pushed the hair from my forehead. “If that’s the case, let’s cut them off and I’ll sell them. I could certainly use the money.” Augusta’s eyes turned serious. “You need not worry about money. You can stay with us for as long as you like. We’re going to have great fun. We’ll be just like sisters.”
I could feel myself longing to curl around a stray branch of the Galloway family tree, but I quickly chided myself. I could never become Augusta’s older sister, neither by blood nor through friendship. Not now. Not ever.
During her time in Paris, Augusta’s aunt Evangeline had permitted us to associate at will. Evangeline Proctor had considered me a proper companion for her niece. But that would not be the case here in Ohio. It had taken but a few minutes for me to realize Mrs. Galloway and Evangeline Proctor were complete opposites. Mrs. Galloway would never accept me as her daughter’s equal, but there was no need to mention such matters right now.
Instead, I clasped Augusta’s hand tight within my own and led her to the uncomfortable divan. With little urging, my friend disclosed the particulars of her life here at home. Some of the details had already been conveyed in her occasional letters to me, but much was new information. I was, however, taken aback by her rather formal behavior—something I’d not observed in Paris.
While living in France, Augusta had been impulsive and carefree. Here in Collinsford, she appeared to worry about propriety. During warm afternoons in Paris, we had thought nothing of removing our stockings and walking barefoot in the grass or wading through an occasional puddle. On cooler days, we had strolled along the narrow streets eating crusty hunks of bread from the downstairs baker’s shop. On occasion we had even managed to cajole the owner of a nearby cheese shop into giving us free slices of the nutty-flavored Emmental he featured in his store. Something about Augusta’s demeanor told me she would never do such things in this city. The realization dampened my spirits, and I wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake by coming here.
Augusta studied me with her inquisitive gray eyes that reminded me of Stormy, the silvery cat I’d left in the care of the baker’s wife. Stormy hadn’t seemed to mind when I plopped him on Madame Leclair’s wide windowsill and kissed him good-bye. The baker’s wife said he’d be a nice addition. What Madame Leclair didn’t say, but I already knew, was that she wanted a mouser. She’d be disappointed. Stormy was a fat, lazy cat who’d come to expect his food delivered in a china bowl each day. He’d never become a mouser—unless, perhaps, she starved him. That might force him to action, but I hoped she wouldn’t resort to such harsh tactics.
Thoughts of the animal evoked a twinge of melancholy, and I blurted, “Do you have a cat?” Two tiny frown lines appeared between Augusta’s eyebrows. No doubt she was thinking I’d lost my mind. Here she was in the midst of revealing her hopes to find the perfect suitor, and I asked about a cat. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been missing Stormy.” I’m not certain my explanation allayed her concerns over my mental condition, but at least she smiled.
“We do, but Mother won’t let him in the house. She isn’t fond of cats, so Boots spends most of his time out in the garden with Thomas. Except when it’s too cold. Then he’s sent to the cellar. He isn’t friendly like Stormy.” Augusta shifted her position and leaned a little closer. “So what do you think?”
I narrowed my eyes as if contemplating my response to Augusta’s question while my mind raced to recall what I was supposed to answer. I’d been only half listening throughout her commentary on life in Collinsford. I could feel the beginnings of a giggle, so I swallowed hard and said, “I’m thinking.”
“Don’t be silly. A simple yes or no is all that’s required.” She grinned. “But if you say no, I’ll be forced to keep on until you change your answer.”
“In that case I suppose I might as well say yes.” I did wish I knew what I’d just agreed to, but I supposed time would tell.
With Augusta’s help, I unpacked one of my trunks before her mother returned from the Ladies Aid meeting. I was pleased there hadn’t been sufficient time to attack the others before we were summoned to the supper table. Given Mrs. Galloway’s earlier comments, I figured I’d be repacking and moving out as soon as she could shuffle me out the door. My stomach growled with hunger, but I wasn’t looking forward to enduring any more of Mrs. Galloway’s scrutiny.
Sometime while Augusta and I were upstairs, though I didn’t know exactly when, Mr. Galloway had returned home. At least I assumed the man standing in the downstairs hallway was Mr. Galloway because his appearance hadn’t alarmed Augusta.
He stepped forward and offered a broad smile. “You must be Carrie,” he said. “Welcome to our home.” He glanced at his daughter. “Augusta has been anxiously awaiting your arrival. We’re pleased you’ve safely arrived.”
His warm greeting was a welcome surprise. However, if his wife was anywhere within earshot, I was sure that Mr. Galloway would be reprimanded later this evening. Once the family gathered around the table, Mr. Galloway thanked God for our food and my safe journey to Ohio. From the look in Mrs. Galloway’s eyes, I had my doubts that she concurred. Not that I believed she wished me injured in a train wreck or lost at sea; she just didn’t want me in her house—at least not for long.
“Augusta tells us that you are an extremely talented artist,” Mr. Galloway commented while passing me a bowl of cubed potatoes swimming in butter and parsley. I accepted the bowl and helped myself to two small pieces of potato. I didn’t want Mrs. Galloway to think me without manners. Mr. Galloway frowned and shook his head. “You’ll starve to death with that tiny portion. You’re far too thin as it is. Take another helping of potatoes.” He pointed into the bowl. “And choose those larger pieces.”
I complied but kept my head bowed when I passed the bowl to Mrs. Galloway. I didn’t want to see her scowl.
Mrs. Galloway took the bowl from my hand. “I imagine Augusta was exaggerating or Mr. Brouwer wouldn’t have been charging such exorbitant fees for art lessons. Isn’t that correct, Carrie?”
“No. Well, yes . . . Well, I mean, I don’t believe I’m as talented as my father, but I don’t feel his teaching fees were excessive. He charged much less than many of—”
“There. You see, my dear? I knew she couldn’t be as talented as Augusta suggested.”
The woman’s comment was stated with an authority that defied rebuttal, but Augusta wasn’t deterred. “Carrington is extremely talented. One day people will pay a fortune for her paintings. Even her father said she possessed greater talent than his own.” Augusta swiveled toward me. “Didn’t he, Carrie?”
“Oui,” I mumbled.
“That’s no more than a father’s pride in his child,” Mrs. Galloway replied.
“I do have talent.” The words slipped out with far too much pride and bravado. I wanted to scoop them up like the parslied potatoes and shove them into my mouth, but that wasn’t possible. To make matters worse, I looked in Mrs. Galloway’s direction. Her pale eyes reflected either shock or anger. Turning away with a jerk, I immediately experienced a painful crick in my neck. I refrained from rubbing the aching tendons, figuring I deserved a bit of punishment for my sassy remark.
“I’d like to see some of your artwork,” Mr. Galloway said.
Although I didn’t know if he truly wanted to see my artwork or if he was merely attempting to keep some semblance of peace during the meal, I was thankful for his intervention.
“What do you enjoy painting? Do you prefer portraits or still lifes?” He looked directly into my eyes as though he genuinely wanted to know.
“I enjoy both. And animals, as well,” I said. “One of my favorite paintings is of my cat, Stormy. I gave it to Madame Leclair for taking him in when I left France.” I nearly added that I missed him very much but remembered Augusta’s mother wasn’t fond of cats.
“I’m
sure you miss him,” Mr. Galloway replied.
“Yes,” I whispered. Mr. and Mrs. Galloway seemed a strange match. He so pleasant and kind—she so disagreeable and harsh. How had such opposites decided to marry each other?
“Did you stop by to see how the house is coming along?” Mrs. Galloway asked her husband.
He nodded and continued to eat his supper. I’d learned from Augusta that her parents were building a new house in the area of town known as Fair Oaks. I thought their existing house quite lovely, and certainly large enough for their family. Augusta told me her mother wanted a house in Fair Oaks because that’s where the right people lived—people who were wealthy enough to be listed on the social register. The idea of building a house just so you could live next to rich people seemed silly to me, but who was I to make judgments on such matters?
“And? What was the progress?” Mrs. Galloway was clearly impatient with her husband.
“There will be a small delay due to the plumbing for the bathroom.”
Mrs. Galloway leaned forward. I thought the lace on her mauve gown might dip into her buttered potatoes, but she stopped short. “How small?” she hissed.
“Some of the pipes have to be reordered. We received the wrong size.”
“And whose fault is that?”
He shrugged. “Does it really matter?”
“It matters to me. If it’s the builder’s error, then we need to reduce his fee, and if it’s the manufacturer’s mistake, he needs to decrease the charges for the materials.” She pushed her plate aside. “You may recall that I have a party planned. The invitations have already been sent out. If I have to cancel, I’ll be the laughingstock of Fair Oaks before we’ve ever moved into our new home.”
“I—”
Mrs. Galloway interrupted her husband with a glare. “And don’t say I told you so, Howard.”
“I wouldn’t think of saying such a thing, my dear. However, I do believe your guests will understand if the party has to be rescheduled.
I’ll go over first thing in the morning and remind the men that they need to do everything in their power to meet the deadline.”
If I hadn’t been present at the table, I think Mrs. Galloway would have told her husband he needed to do more than talk to the builders tomorrow morning. Instead, she clamped her lips together and remained silent until Frances entered the room and asked if we were ready for dessert.
Frances had served each of us a slice of lemon pound cake and was returning to serve coffee when Augusta said, “Carrie promised she’d come to the party so that I can introduce her to our new neighbors in Fair Oaks.”
My dessert fork slipped from my fingers and landed with a muffled thump on the linen tablecloth. I had never agreed to attend a party in Fair Oaks or anyplace else for that matter. Why would Augusta say such a thing? Even if I hadn’t told her, she should be able to see that her mother wasn’t pleased by my presence. Both Mrs. Galloway and I glared in Augusta’s direction. At least I’d discovered something the two of us could agree upon. She didn’t want me at her party, and I didn’t want to attend.
“I don’t recall that conversation,” I said.
“And I don’t recall giving you permission to extend invitations without prior permission.” Mrs. Galloway looked down her nose at Augusta.
Augusta ignored her mother’s remark and frowned at me. “You did agree, Carrie. This afternoon when I told you I’d badger you until you said yes.”
So that’s what I’d agreed to while thinking about Stormy. “It sounds as though the party may be postponed, and I don’t know where I’ll be living then. It may be impossible for me to attend.” It was a feeble attempt to try to save Augusta from her mother’s ire.
“But you promised to attend, and even if the party is postponed, you’ll still be living with us. Won’t she, Father?”
“She is welcome to . . .”
Mrs. Galloway shook her head with a vehemence that made me stare in wonderment. How many pins had she used to hold her hair in place? If I had shaken my head with even half that intensity, my unruly locks would have spilled over my forehead like a waterfall. Yet not one strand of Mrs. Galloway’s perfectly coiffed hair fell out of place. It was probably afraid to, I thought. A giggle began to tickle the back of my throat. Oh please, not now. This wasn’t the time for a smile, much less a giggle. I grabbed my glass of water and gulped.
“By the time our new house is finished, I’m sure Carrington will be well established in her own home. She tells me she’s planning to look for a job and begin a new life . . . somewhere.”
The gulp of water and Mrs. Galloway’s curt response had doused my urge to laugh. Even though Augusta’s mother didn’t say so, I knew somewhere meant far from Marigold Street or their new house in Fair Oaks. Hadn’t she earlier condemned the impropriety of such an independent way of life? But that was before she’d learned of my unimpressive lineage and the fact that I was homeless. Had she expected me to secure a job and locate a place to live during the past three hours?
“Carrington arrived in our home only hours ago. There is no need to speak of work or moving to her own home. She is our guest.” Mr. Galloway’s stern look silenced his wife.
My discomfort mounted, and I longed to flee from the room. My appearance at their home had created this tidal wave of emotions, and I felt I should say something to smooth the rough waters. I forked a piece of the pound cake and chased it around the dessert plate until it broke into a thousand tiny crumbs. “I do want to find a job. But I’m somewhat uncertain how I would go about securing one.” The words hung in the air.
Mrs. Galloway shifted in her chair and defied her husband’s warning look. “Perhaps if you tell us your qualifications, we can help. I know of several ladies in Fair Oaks who are hiring domestics.”
“Mother!”
“I am attempting to help, Augusta.”
Mrs. Galloway glanced at me. I was expected to take up her defense. “Don’t be angry with your mother, Augusta. I asked for help.” The lemon cake no longer held any appeal, and I pushed it aside. “I fear my abilities keeping house would fail miserably. I have no experience.”
“With proper training, I’m certain you could do well.”
Mr. Galloway cleared his throat. “There is plenty of time to consider your future, Carrie. You and Augusta have much to talk about, so if you’d like to be excused . . .”
Augusta pushed away from the table and signaled me to follow. After rushing upstairs, she waved me into the bedroom and closed the door. “I do hope you’ll forgive Mother for her boorish behavior. She’s bent upon impressing folks here in Collinsford and gaining access to a higher echelon of New York society. I know it’s silly, but she fears any hint of unsavory gossip will besmirch the Galloway name and ruin our opportunity.”
“Opportunity for what?”
With a sad smile, Augusta said, “She lives for the day when she’ll see the Galloway name on the New York social register. Being somebody is what Mother lives for, and any unforeseen circumstance sends her into one of her moods. Before inviting you, I should have explained your circumstances in detail, but—”
“But you knew she’d call a halt to your invitation?”
Augusta’s forlorn look affirmed my suspicions. Mrs. Galloway considered me a broken rung on her climb up the social ladder.
“Please forgive me, but I desperately wanted you to come to Ohio. And I’m delighted you’re here, no matter what!” She thumped one of the pillows for emphasis. “Mother’s attitude will soften toward you. I’m sure of it.”
I didn’t share Augusta’s confidence—not in the least. Immediately sensing my lack of conviction, Augusta continued her litany. And though I offered forgiveness a multitude of times, she wouldn’t cease. Eventually I gave up and permitted myself the luxury of daydreaming.
My thoughts returned to Paris, and I was wondering if Stormy realized I’d deserted him when Augusta grabbed my arm. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.” We were
lying across Augusta’s pale yellow satin bedspread. Even though we’d been careful to take off our shoes, I knew Mrs. Galloway would be annoyed if she walked into the room and discovered us. Thoughts of the unpleasant woman peering into the room stirred me to action. I pushed myself up until my legs dangled over the edge of the bed and my toes rested on the floor. I wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep. The voyage had been rough, and my nights had been filled with more worry than sleep. And the train hadn’t proved much better. Instead of purchasing a ticket for one of the expensive Pullman cars, I’d traveled in one of the less expensive and very uncomfortable coaches. No matter how I had arranged myself in the seat, each time I nodded off, my head snapped forward and wakened me with a jolt.
“I’m sorry. After a good night’s sleep, I think you’ll find me much better company.”
“Oh yes, of course. I should have realized you’re tired. I should let you get to bed. I’m so sorry.”
Augusta’s words were enough to propel me off the bed. I grabbed my shoes, bid her a quick good-night, and scuttled down the hallway before she could apologize again.
Once I’d slipped between the sweet-smelling sheets, I expected sleep to come quickly. But my mind played tricks on me and flitted from one thought to the next. I tried to recall what I had learned about Mrs.
Galloway when Augusta was living in France but soon realized there had been little mention of the woman. Instead, Augusta had spoken of her father and brother.
In retrospect, I suppose I hadn’t questioned her because it didn’t seem important at the time. After telling her my mother had died when I was ten and hearing that Augusta’s mother was very much alive, we hadn’t talked of them again. Rather, it had been our fathers that we had compared and discussed. And I’d heard a good deal about Augusta’s brother, Ronald, as well. I’d been jealous until she told me how he’d teased her when she was a little girl.
The Carousel Painter Page 2