The Carousel Painter

by Judith Miller

  “No!” Her eyes shone with alarm, and she clutched my hand. “Mother won’t let me go with Tyson unless we’re chaperoned. I don’t want her coming along. And you know she will. Please promise you’ll come.”

  How could I refuse? I wanted to tell her that she should avoid Tyson, but I knew she wouldn’t listen. “I may have to borrow one of your father’s walking sticks, but if it means that much to you . . .”

  “Oh, it does. I knew I could count on you, Carrie. And don’t you worry about the carpet or Mother. I’ll take care of everything.”

  My toe was much improved by morning, but not so much that I didn’t wince when I shoved my toes into my shoe. Though I had expected Tyson once again to feign illness and disappear, he’d been dressed and at the breakfast table on time. We attended church together, all of us crammed side by side in the pew with Tyson pressed to Augusta’s right and I to her left. There was little doubt Augusta was pleased by the arrangement. As for me, I was content to be at the end of the pew, where I didn’t have to sit next to either Tyson or Mrs. Galloway. Augusta’s mother had spoken to me that morning, but I wasn’t convinced all was forgiven. Mrs. Galloway had tapped her foot on the hardwood floor throughout breakfast. I decided either she had a nervous tic or she wanted to ensure that I noticed the rug had been removed. How could I not notice? I truly didn’t know what to say. Though I’d offered my apology, I couldn’t offer to pay for the rug. I’d never earn enough money to replace such a costly item.

  When the sermon finally began, I was quite pleased that Tyson was in attendance. The preacher spoke with eloquence about looking beyond outward appearances and seeing the heart of each person we encounter. He spoke of the Pharisees, and I immediately counted Tyson among them. I elbowed Augusta to make certain she was listening. She sucked in a breath and frowned. It was obvious I’d offended her. Though I’d need to explain my action later, I was sure she’d turn a deaf ear. Augusta had already made it perfectly clear: Tyson could do no wrong.

  Our first opportunity to speak alone wasn’t until after lunch. At the completion of the meal, Mrs. Galloway interrogated me at length regarding the condition of my foot. Though I told her it was fine, she offered to take my place as chaperone for the trip to the zoo. I declined but could feel her eyes on me as Augusta and I excused ourselves to freshen up for the outing.

  My toe ached, but I forced myself to walk as normally as possible. I could limp once we were away from the house. The moment we were upstairs, I apologized for nudging her during the sermon.

  “I simply thought the preacher made a valid point. Some people aren’t what they appear. They wear one face in public and another in private. I wasn’t referring to you.”

  “Like my mother?” she asked.

  That wasn’t the response I’d expected. I dropped to the side of the bed and briefly contemplated my answer. “I suppose your mother does have two faces. I think she believes she’ll be happy when those wealthy people in Fair Oaks welcome her among their number. But once that happens, there will be something else she hungers for to make her happy. I think we’re born with a longing for something more than humans or things can fill, but I haven’t yet figured it out. Does that make any sense at all?”

  “I suppose, but right now I’m more interested in having Tyson make me happy.”

  I loosened my shoe and wiggled my toes. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re hoping Tyson will fill your empty space and make you happy. But he won’t.”

  Nostrils flared, Augusta planted her hands on her hips and glared at me. “Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

  “The preacher said a person who is beautiful on the inside is a person who would exhibit it on the outside, as well.” I met her harsh gaze.

  “So you can judge him?”

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying. Tyson is attractive on the outside, but I think you need to get to know him better. You need to be certain his principles match your own.” I tightened the laces of my shoes and cautiously stood. “I just don’t want him to hurt you. I’m afraid you’ll pledge your love to him and then discover he’s one of those wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

  Augusta checked her hair in the mirror and then turned to face me. “You need not worry about Tyson. He’d never do anything to hurt me.”

  I gathered up my reticule and sketch pad and followed her out of the room. Mrs. Galloway stood in the foyer watching my every move. There would be no opportunity to borrow one of Mr. Galloway’s walking sticks before we departed. Such a request would give the older woman ample reason to declare me medically unfit for a day at the zoo. “Enjoy yourselves,” she called after us. I half expected her to change her mind and come along.

  On several occasions during the carriage ride, I glanced up to see Tyson watching me. When we arrived at the zoo, he squeezed my hand and winked while he helped me down. Augusta had turned and was none the wiser for what he’d done, but my anger was boiling like a teakettle. I considered kicking him in the shin but didn’t want to take a chance on injuring my other foot.

  We’d proceeded only a short distance when he offered me his walking stick. I was loath to take the thing, but Augusta insisted. Rather than create a scene, I begrudgingly accepted. We’d stopped to look at the elephants, viewed several cages of monkeys, and stared into a watery pool of crocodiles when I finally tapped Augusta’s arm.

  “I need to sit down and rest. Why don’t we see if there are some benches nearby?”

  Her eyes sparkled as though I’d given her a special gift. “Of course. I think I saw benches near the lion cages not far from here.”

  Augusta proved to be correct. We located several benches where I would have a clear view of the lions and tigers. “This will be perfect. I’ll sit here and sketch while the two of you complete your tour.”

  “We won’t leave you for long,” Tyson said. He touched my shoulder in a much too familiar manner.

  I shrugged his hand from my shoulder. “Do take your time. Augusta will vouch for the fact that I prefer to be alone when I draw.”

  He tipped his hat and grinned at me before offering his arm to Augusta. I didn’t know how she could care for such a man. He was a scoundrel of the worst sort, yet she seemed totally unaware. I settled on the bench and watched as they sauntered off. To most they appeared a young couple in love. To me, they were a disaster in the making.

  Immediately upon our return, Mrs. Galloway greeted us from the front porch, buzzing about like an annoying fly. As soon as Tyson mounted the steps, she clasped his arm in an overtly possessive hold. It was at that moment I fully realized Mrs. Galloway was awestruck by the Farnsworth name—or money . . . perhaps both. She continued to clutch his arm while she ushered us into the house.

  Mr. Galloway looked up from his reading when we entered the parlor. “How did you enjoy the zoo, Carrington?”

  “I had a lovely afternoon, thank you.”

  “Show him your drawings, Carrie.” Before I could object, Augusta pulled the sketchbook from my hands and flipped open the cardboard cover. She turned back the pages and shoved the book into her father’s hands. “Look at these. Carrie thinks they would make marvelous carousel animals. Don’t you agree?”

  Mr. Galloway hunched forward and held the book toward the early evening light filtering through the front window. He studied each page far longer than I’d expected, yet his expression remained unchanged. An unexpected uneasiness crawled up my spine as he continued to examine the final drawing. He closed the sketchbook, and as he handed it to me, I could see the excitement in his eyes.

  “These are excellent drawings. I particularly like the lion. Do you think you could paint the animals to look like your sketches? I’m sure children would love them.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, my enthusiasm increasing. “I don’t believe the woodworkers would find them any more difficult to carve than the horses, once they became familiar with the patterns. They’ve already made one giraffe, so I don’t think they’d object to
trying some other animals.”

  Mr. Galloway rested his forearms across his thighs. “Once we are fully staffed at the factory, I think we should begin producing some of your drawings. What do you think?”

  “I would be very pleased.” I wanted to shout for joy and clap my hands, but I forced myself to maintain proper decorum. “I have several other ideas, too.”

  “Good! I’ll go over these with Josef. I’m sure he’ll find them exciting.”

  Josef. The carousel factory manager’s name was enough to set my nerves on edge. I could only imagine what he might think when Mr.

  Galloway arrived with my sketches. “Perhaps you should wait until I’ve been there awhile longer before you speak to him. I wouldn’t want him to think I’m pressing any advantage due to my friendship with Augusta.”

  Mrs. Galloway scooted to the edge of the settee. “On the other hand, those men need to know that you are the owner and they must do as you say, Howard. I don’t imagine your father permits his employees to have any authority in his business operations, does he, Tyson?”

  Tyson lifted one shoulder into a half shrug. “I have no idea. I care little about business matters.”

  “Oh?” Her brows knit together for an instant. I wasn’t sure if she was perplexed or worried by his response. It took her only a split second to regain her composure before she turned to her husband. “Still, Howard, I think you must be stern with those men, or they will run roughshod over you.”

  “Agatha, your opinion is quite clear. I think it’s probably best if you make the decisions regarding operation of the household and I’ll take care of decisions regarding the businesses.” Mr. Galloway stood up and nodded toward the dining room. “I do believe Frances is ready to serve our supper.”

  Although Augusta strenuously objected, I insisted upon leaving as soon as the evening meal was over. Both she and Tyson accompanied me to the boardinghouse. I would have preferred that Tyson remain behind. The driver’s company would have been preferable to Tyson’s, but at least he stayed in the carriage when we arrived at the boardinghouse.

  Augusta stepped inside to bid me farewell. We were standing in the hallway with Mrs. Wilson when Josef thrust open the front door and nearly plowed the three of us to the floor. I don’t know who was the most surprised by the incident, but Josef was the first to recover.

  He uttered a brief apology and said, “I see you have finally returned from your weekend of pleasure.”

  “And it would appear you’ve been out enjoying yourself, also,” Augusta replied.

  Josef cocked a brow at Augusta’s tart response. “You make a mistake, Miss Galloway. I’m back from working at the factory. We are without enough workers, and this makes the long hours for some of us.”

  Augusta tipped her head to one side. “Perhaps you should better utilize the workers you already have, Mr. Kaestner. I know Carrie’s abilities far exceed the work she’s currently assigned.” Leaning forward, Augusta plunked a quick kiss on my cheek. “Take care of yourself. I expect you for dinner at least once during the week.”

  I could feel Josef’s eyes trained on me. No doubt he thought I’d been complaining to Mr. Galloway. “Please don’t plan on me. It’s late when I get home from work, and—”

  “Then next Saturday evening for sure. You can spend the night again.”

  I opened my mouth to refuse, but Augusta wagged her finger.

  “I won’t hear an objection. Thomas will call for you next Saturday evening. You can act as my chaperone again,” she whispered in my ear.

  “We’ll see,” I murmured. I didn’t want to argue in front of Mrs. Wilson and Josef. I knew I wouldn’t win. However, I didn’t plan to continue acting as Augusta’s chaperone. Besides, Mrs. Galloway would be delighted to assume the role, since she obviously considered Tyson Farnsworth an ideal match for her daughter. The thought caused an involuntary shudder, and I rubbed the goose bumps that covered my arms.

  CHAPTER

  11

  As promised, Mr. Galloway arrived at the carousel factory early Monday morning. Several hours had passed when one of the workers summoned me to the front offices. I did my best to brush the whitish dust from my clothing and face as I followed along, but I’d been sanding for some time and the dried milky primer had descended upon me like a winter storm.

  Josef didn’t acknowledge me, but Mr. Galloway smiled and beckoned me forward. “Let me take a closer look and see if it is truly Carrie hiding under that white mask.”

  I swiped my handkerchief across my cheeks and nose and hoped I’d successfully removed any remnants of the paint. Mr. Galloway’s smile gave me hope that this would be a friendly exchange.

  “Sit down, Carrie,” he said.

  This time I didn’t bother to wipe the dust before I plopped onto the chair. I wondered if Josef noticed.

  “Josef and I have been discussing the men who have recently resigned from their jobs. I wanted to discover the reason.”

  “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” My voice cracked as I spoke.

  Mr. Galloway’s sorrowful smile answered my question. “Not because it’s you, Carrie, but because you are a woman. Some of the men are superstitious about women in the workplace. Some say they are uncomfortable having a woman around—they must watch every word they say. Others believe men are entitled to factory jobs because they have families to support.” He leaned against the desk and tented his fingers beneath his chin. “Those who are married tell me their wives are unhappy that a woman is working in their midst. And some are opposed simply because they believe the other men will be angry if they don’t join the opposition.”

  “Do you want me to resign, or do you plan to fire me?”

  “Neither. I’m not sure Josef agrees with my decision, but I’m not yet ready to succumb. I’m going to advertise in Philadelphia and New York. If we’re fortunate, we may locate a few experienced men. And who can say, if those men who quit don’t find work, they may come back and ask to be rehired.” Mr. Galloway tapped the drawing on Josef’s desk. “After I talked with the men, Josef and I had a good look at your drawings.”

  Mr. Kaestner’s gaze remained fastened upon the pages. He didn’t appear pleased, but I was eager for a change of subject and decided to brave the storm.

  “What do you think of them?” I ventured.

  He shrugged and dropped into a chair beside the desk. “They are not bad drawings, but they need changes before they will work for us. A carver’s eye is needed for the best carousel animals.”

  My thoughts whirled. Not bad drawings? Not bad? What would it take to impress this man? I curled my fingers into fists and dug my fingernails into my palms. I needed to remain calm. “I didn’t realize you were an art critic, Mr. Kaestner,” I said in a measured voice.

  He tipped his head to the side and squinted his right eye as if picturing me in the sights of his rifle. “I am the art critic when it comes to carousel animals in this factory.” He looked up at Mr. Galloway. “Unless it is someone else you are wanting to take over this duty.”

  “No, of course not. You’re the expert, Josef. I brought these to you for your opinion because I thought Carrie’s unique animals might give us an advantage over other carousel factories.” Mr. Galloway’s apologetic tone surprised me.

  A lock of Josef’s thick brown hair fell across his forehead, and he swiped it away with an agitated grunt. While keeping his eyes on Mr. Galloway, Josef flicked his index finger and gently pushed the drawings a few inches away—as though secretly attempting to distance himself from my efforts. But I knew exactly what he was doing.

  Why was he so unwilling to receive fresh ideas? Did he fear I’d usurp his position? Surely he knew that wouldn’t happen. I had no idea how to carve, and I possessed no interest in learning.

  “Right now we don’t need more advantage, because we cannot keep up with our current orders. We will fall further behind if we design new animals. There is not time to perfect the designs or draw the templates we would need. The car
vers, they would not be able to create with the same speed and skill, and the painting techniques would need time to be decided and perfected. These things, they differ with each new animal. Making changes now is a bad idea.”

  Mr. Galloway cupped his chin and nodded. “You’re right. This isn’t the time. But I don’t think we should completely disregard the idea of adding these animals once we’re caught up with our orders. I like what Carrie has done.”

  For the first time in many months, I experienced that warm feeling I used to get when Papa praised my artwork. “Thank you for your confidence in me, Mr. Galloway.” I flashed a smile and decided the time might be right to request a move from the sanding room. With men quitting, surely my talents could be put to better use. And once the men realized I could make a valuable contribution to the factory, they’d be more likely to accept me. “Since we’re so far behind on the painting, Mr. Galloway, perhaps one of the apprentices could sand the horses and I could help with more of the painting. I believe I’ve already acquired the necessary skills to sand and apply primer.”

  “I do believe Carrie is right. There’s no sense wasting her talent with sanding and priming. Let’s get her to work on some of the more technical painting so that we can complete the current orders.” Mr. Galloway patted Josef on the shoulder. “I’m relying on you, Josef. With you at the helm and Carrie’s talent, I know we’re going to make our carousel factory the best in the country.”

  Mr. Galloway’s plaudits were appreciated, but Josef’s leg was bouncing up and down. He’d apparently developed the nervous habit of jiggling his leg to help him overcome worrisome situations—not nearly as embarrassing as my tendency to erupt into fits of laughter. And it was becoming increasingly clear that Mr. Kaestner considered my presence in his factory a worrisome and irritating burden.

  Though I thought his attitude less than gracious, I did feel a smidgen of sympathy—mostly because I’d experienced similar difficulties. Well, maybe not similar, but at least I’d been forced into some circumstances I didn’t like. “I agree. I think Mr. Kaestner is going to lead the factory toward immense prosperity.”