The Carousel Painter

by Judith Miller

  I’d closed the latches on my travel cases only minutes earlier when Mrs. Wilson called upstairs to say Mr. Lundgren was on his way to help me. Before I could object, Mr. Lundgren popped into sight, his unruly brown hair flying in all directions. “You just point me to the baggage, and I’ll get it down those steps.”

  He entered my room, and I motioned toward the corner. Refusing my offer to carry one of the bags, he hoisted one in each hand and led the way downstairs. Josef jumped to his feet as Mr. Lundgren stepped outside and dropped the two valises on the porch.

  “Why didn’t you call me to help you, Ralph? I would have carried the bags downstairs.” Brows furrowed, Josef directed his frown at me.

  “I told him I would carry one, but he insisted.”

  “Next time you will call me to carry your cases, ja?”

  After assuring Josef I would do so, I thanked Mr. Lundgren. The older man waved off my offer of a coin for his help and hurried back inside as if to escape argument. I was just about to sit down in the chair beside Josef when I remembered I’d left my reticule upstairs.

  “I’ll be back in a moment.” I strode inside and hesitated at the flight of stairs. At the moment, I wondered if having my own bathroom was really worth climbing to the third floor. Exhaling a giant breath, I climbed the first flight. No sooner had I arrived on the third floor and entered my bedroom than I heard a carriage arrive.

  I’d given Augusta strict orders that I no longer wished to have Tyson call for me, that his constant appearance without her had given rise to questions. She didn’t inquire any further but had promised I need not worry; she would accompany Tyson in the future. I stood at my window and looked out, eager to see if Augusta had kept her word. I expected to see her step out of the carriage. Instead, a handsome young man I’d not seen before opened the door, hollered something to Thomas that I could not distinguish, and stepped down. I leaned forward on tiptoe and rested my forehead against the bedroom window, hoping to see Augusta. My excitement bubbled like a boiling kettle. I could only assume she had given Tyson the mitten and this was her new beau. But the handsome gentleman closed the door and strode toward the front steps alone. Perhaps she’d spied my baggage on the porch and decided to wait in the carriage. She wouldn’t dare send a stranger to escort me!

  Grasping the banister with my hand, I flew down the two flights of stairs, the soles of my shoes sliding from step to step like a sled on ice. I braced myself and held tight as I slid down the final flight. But my hold wasn’t firm enough to avoid a collision with the handsome gentleman who happened to enter the front door at the exact same moment.

  He managed to remain upright as I catapulted into his arms. I looked into blue eyes that shone like sunshine on water. His smile was every bit as engaging as his sparkling eyes. “You must be Carrington,” he said.

  His words broke the spell, and I reluctantly took a backward step and removed myself from his embrace. “Yes, Carrington Brouwer.” My voice warbled like a dying bird, and I cleared my throat. “And you are?”

  This time I croaked. From bird to frog—that should impress him. I swallowed hard and stifled a rising giggle.

  “I am Ronald Galloway, Augusta’s brother.” His grin returned and he bent forward into a grand bow that made me chuckle. Returning to an upright position, he said, “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. My sister speaks of you often.”

  “Does she? I hope it’s all good.”

  “Very good, but she failed to tell me of your beauty. I will soundly chastise her for that oversight.”

  “Ja, I do not know how anyone could forget to speak of Carrie’s gut looks.”

  There was no way of knowing exactly when Josef had entered the foyer. Ronald had completely blocked him from view until he’d stepped to the side as he spoke.

  Ronald jerked and glanced over his shoulder. Evidently he’d not known Josef was standing behind him, either. With a slight turn of his body, he extended his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  He accepted Ronald’s hand. “No, we have not met. I am Josef Kaestner. For your father, I manage the carousel factory.”

  “Ah yes, I remember. You’re the German fellow he hired in Philadelphia.”

  Josef’s jaw clenched at the remark. “I am American citizen. Not born in this country like you, but still I am American.”

  His tone was harsh and anger flashed in his eyes. From his spread-legged stance and curled fists, I wondered if he might punch Ronald in the nose. “Josef! Could I impose upon you to tell Mrs. Wilson I am leaving?”

  When he looked at me, I yanked on my left earlobe, but the gesture had little effect. Thankfully, Ronald didn’t seem to notice that Josef was glaring at him. I was certain Josef desired an apology, but it didn’t come. His complexion changed from pinkish red to magenta, and I wondered if he might explode like an overcooked beet.

  “Josef!” I hadn’t meant to shout, but my tone gained the attention of both men, who suddenly looked in my direction. There I stood—tugging on both my earlobes like a bell ringer heaving the ropes in a church tower. Josef relaxed ever so slightly. Ronald stared at me as though I’d completely lost my senses.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Once we were on our way, Ronald didn’t hesitate to quiz me about my strange behavior. I didn’t want to betray Josef ’s confidence, yet I could hardly tell Ronald I was trying to enlarge my earlobes. They were already the size of my thumb tip, and no young lady desired large earlobes!

  Rather than tell him an outright lie, I lapsed into a rambling account. By the time I uttered the final word, he appeared thankful to have me clamp my lips together. My response rendered him both speechless and bewildered. With my task accomplished, I settled back against the leather carriage seat.

  We’d traveled approximately a mile when Ronald tentatively inquired about my portrait painting. I surmised he feared another lengthy, incoherent response, but this time I answered with clarity and brevity. My reply had the desired effect. His pinched features and rigid posture completely disappeared.

  “Perhaps some of the guests at Mother’s housewarming would be interested in sitting for a portrait.”

  “With my work at the factory, I don’t have time. But in the future I may return to painting on canvas instead of wood.”

  “That’s right! Augusta told me you paint the carousel horses in Father’s factory.” He looked at me for a moment. “Fascinating.”

  “Exactly what is so fascinating? That I work in your father’s business, or that I paint horses?”

  “Both. It’s difficult to imagine a young lady working in a carousel factory—or any factory for that matter. Are there others of you?”

  He made it sound as though I belonged to some strange organization. I thought of his mother and how she’d stared at me that first day I’d arrived. I’d even been wearing this same hat. Ronald was staring at me in much the same manner—as if I had horns poking from my head. I surreptitiously touched my hat just to make certain.

  “I’m the only woman working in the factory at this time, but I imagine there will be more in the future. Who can say what changes will take place. I’d like to think that your father or Josef would consider hiring other women if they were qualified to perform the duties.”

  “So you’ve encountered no problems with the men or the work?”

  How should I answer his questions? I didn’t want to tell him that Louis had mixed sand with my paints and been discharged; nor did I care to tell him that many of the men had threatened to walk out shortly after I’d begun work, and most of them still wouldn’t speak to me. On the other hand, I could hardly say I’d been welcomed with enthusiasm.

  “It has been challenging. Painting the horses is much different from painting on canvas. Still, I find the work much to my liking.”

  He tipped his head back against the seat and chuckled. “I can’t imagine my sister or any other woman I know ever saying she enjoys work.”

  I shrugged. “One does
what is required. I feel fortunate I am able to paint.”

  To avoid further questions, I decided to pose some of my own and inquired about Ronald’s schooling. I listened with interest while he told me his studies were focused upon business so that he might one day properly take his place alongside his father. While I was listening to Ronald’s explanation, it occurred to me that this would be the perfect opportunity to discover a little more about the chameleon.

  “And what about your friend Tyson? Is he enrolled in the same course of study?”

  I’d done my best to carefully phrase the question so I didn’t appear overly interested in Tyson. I didn’t want Ronald thinking I’d set my cap for Augusta’s beau. Fortunately for me, Ronald was pleased to furnish a plethora of information. I learned that Tyson had entered college with the intention of becoming a lawyer, a profession his father had chosen for him. And his earlier arrival in Collinsford hadn’t been because his classes had ended or because of his rowdy behavior. Rather, he had been dismissed from school due to bad grades. In fact, he’d been barred from taking the final exams.

  “So you told him to come to Collinsford and you’d join him when you finished classes?”

  “We never discussed that, but you can never tell about Tyson. He’s an impulsive sort of fellow. Of course, we all think the world of him.” Ronald chuckled. “I do believe he’s been putting some of his classwork to good use, what with the theft of Mother’s jewelry. I think he imagines himself some sort of sleuth who is going to solve the crime.”

  “And do you believe he’s making progress with his investigation?”

  “I have no idea. I say let the police do their work and find the culprit.”

  I nodded my agreement, yet I wondered if the police were aware of the many lies Tyson Farnsworth had been telling since his arrival in Collinsford—or if they cared. They would probably think the fabrications had nothing to do with the missing necklace. And they’d probably be right. Yet the fact that he was doing his best to point the police in my direction made me wonder why he’d lied about so many things.

  Augusta and Tyson were waiting in the foyer when we arrived. This was my first visit to the Galloways’ new home in Fair Oaks, and Augusta immediately offered a tour. I was amazed by the gardens and the abundance of lush greenery, but Augusta explained her mother had hired several gardeners to work on the plantings while the interior work was being completed. Leave it to Mrs. Galloway to have nothing less than a perfect lawn and blooming flowers for her housewarming party. And she was more than a little relieved that she wouldn’t have to have the party at the Wentworths’ home after all.

  The house was beautiful, much larger than I thought necessary for a small family, and ostentatious enough to make Mrs. Galloway the envy of at least a few wealthy friends. Having heard informal suppers were considered the trend among members of high society during the summer months, Mrs. Galloway had decided to follow suit. While I was certain the others had eaten, I’d had nothing since lunchtime and was famished, but to mention such a fact would be rude.

  Later, when Augusta and I went upstairs to dress, my stomach growled in protest. Augusta touched her fingertips to her cheeks. “Goodness, Carrie! Your stomach sounds like an approaching thunderstorm. Let’s get you dressed so you can go downstairs and get something to eat.” She motioned toward the door. “Mother has a number of new servants, but any one of them should be able to help you.”

  It would have been simpler to have a tray brought upstairs, but such a request would have been an imposition. And Mrs. Galloway didn’t need the servants otherwise occupied. The older woman was scurrying around as if her very life depended upon making a good impression on the residents of Fair Oaks.

  The dress I had chosen was a pale yellow silk with bell-shaped sleeves of silk velvet in a deeper shade. The dress reminded me of blooming buttercups. Augusta declared the gown a perfect shade for my complexion.

  “Don’t forget to come back up for the ostrich feather fan, and I have some feathers I’ll place in your hair. They will be perfect.”

  Caring little about the fan or the feather hairdressing, I crossed the room while waving my agreement. At the moment, I wanted a slice of bread or piece of cheese to stave off the hunger pangs. Rushing down the back stairs, I signaled one of the recently hired maids. The dear girl took my plight quite seriously and led me to the kitchen, where I was offered much more than bread or cheese. It was impossible to eat all she placed in front of me, but I did my best, even eating a second tea cake. I offered profuse thanks and headed for the back stairs. I needed my corset loosened before the evening’s festivities began. Otherwise I’d surely burst!

  To my dismay, the stairway was blocked by several butlers who pointed me toward the other exit. There wasn’t time to argue. Augusta would soon be coming down to help her mother greet the guests. Grasping a handful of silk, I hiked the skirt of my gown and rounded the corner with all the speed I could muster. I should have been watching more closely, but my mind was focused upon my corset when I collided with Tyson outside Mr. Galloway’s library.

  My elbow landed in his midsection with a powerful blow that would have tested a pugilist. When I heard an immediate whoosh of air, I wondered if I’d knocked the breath out of him. I leaned in close to his doubled-over form and listened for the sound of his breathing. Arms wrapped around his stomach, he leaned against the doorframe. He was still on his feet, so I assumed I hadn’t killed him.

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding my own breath until I needed to exhale and inhale before I could speak. “Can you breathe?” My voice caught in my throat. He wasn’t dead, but what if I’d caused a terrible injury? What if he didn’t recover? Augusta would never forgive me. I felt the blood drain from my face and thought I might faint. I couldn’t be certain if it was fear or the tight corset, but I didn’t want to swoon.

  Tyson gave one nod and slowly tipped his head far enough to drill me with an angry glare. “That . . . was . . . unnecessary.”

  That he was well enough to be angry gave me assurance I hadn’t mortally wounded him. And his unwarranted accusation infused me with renewed strength. I stood tall and squared my shoulders.

  “If you think that was an intentional act on my part, it only reflects how little you know about me. I would never do such a thing.”

  Using the doorframe as a support, he straightened. Still clasping his waist, he looked at me. The anger suddenly disappeared from his eyes and was replaced by a look I couldn’t quite discern—as though he’d had a revelation of sorts. No matter the reason, I was thankful his anger had dissipated and offered yet another apology, even though he was as much at fault as I.

  I don’t know if Tyson accepted my apology. There wasn’t time for me to wait. If I didn’t soon get upstairs and have Augusta untie my corset laces, I was going to faint or expel the contents of my stomach on the highly polished Italian tile, a debacle for which Mrs. Galloway would not soon forgive me. The idea of such an occurrence created a tickle in the back of my throat. Only the pressure of my corset stayed a fit of giggles.

  I signaled one of the maids to bring Tyson a glass of water and hastened upstairs, where I was confronted by a pouting Augusta.

  There was no time to placate her. “Unfasten my dress and loosen my corset before I faint.” When she didn’t move, I added, “Or I’m going to disgorge the contents of my stomach on your dressing table.” That brought her across the room in record time.

  The pout remained, but she nimbly loosened my garments. The relief was immediate. I inhaled and then exhaled a cleansing breath of air. “That feels so good. You can’t imagine the pain I’ve suffered since going to the kitchen. I can tell you the food your mother plans to serve at the party is absolutely marvelous.”

  Augusta didn’t seem to care about the food or my discomfort—only that we were going to be late making our appearance at the front door. I did my best to send her without me, but she insisted the maids were busy and there was no one to help with my dres
s. With genuine misgiving, I turned and inhaled—but only a little.

  “The corset needs to be taut or the dress isn’t going to fasten. Take another deep breath.”

  I pretended to inhale but simply could not bear that unyielding piece of feminine misery pressing on my ribs for the remainder of the night. If the dress didn’t fasten, I’d remain in the bedroom. Augusta could say I was ill, which wouldn’t be far from the truth!

  Undeterred by my lack of cooperation, Augusta continued her efforts. She yanked and tugged and finally exclaimed, “There! I’ve got the dress completely fastened.”

  I sighed. At least exhaling air helped a little. Of course, exhaling required that I inhale. Therein lay the difficulty. I could only hope that the food would soon digest and I’d feel a smidgen of relief. Perhaps that was why the Bible warned against gluttony. I would ask Mrs. Wilson rather than Mr. Tobarth. Explaining my difficulties to a man would be highly improper—and embarrassing. The thought of mentioning undergarments to Mr. Tobarth made my stomach lurch. I held my palm to my mouth.

  “You’re not going to . . .”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment.” I knew I’d feel better if I could empty my stomach, but Augusta was motioning me toward the door.

  Both Ronald and Tyson were waiting in the foyer. Tyson stood with his palm resting across his waist. His thumb was tucked into his vest pocket, and I couldn’t be sure if he was assuming a gentlemanly posture or if his stomach still ached. He frowned in my direction, but I pretended not to notice.

  Ronald extended his hand when I reached the final step. “You look absolutely lovely, Carrie.”

  “Isn’t that the dress you wore to the concert earlier in the month, Augusta?” Tyson peered at my gown and then looked at Augusta for confirmation.

  “No! I wore a deep gold silk with embroidered flowers on the bodice.” Augusta’s brow puckered. “You said it was the most beautiful gown you’d ever seen.”