The Carousel Painter
Page 21
“Is it wrong to want perfection? When you carve, you strive for perfection. Does that make you proud, or does it make you an excellent craftsman?”
His brow furrowed slightly. He appeared to be considering what I’d said. I waited, wanting to give him as much time as necessary to weigh my response.
“You are right. A man—or a woman—needs to do the best work possible. This, the Bible tells us, ja?”
Why was he asking me? He possessed Bible knowledge. I was a veritable newcomer to daily Bible reading and prayer. But I nodded. Jesus surely approved of hard work and diligence. He’d certainly exhibited those qualities to a greater degree than any mortal.
“Then what I have done, you can see. But construction and carving I know, so you do not get the final word.” He looked deep into my eyes. “You agree?”
Either way, I wouldn’t have complete control, so I might as well agree. At least I would see what he’d accomplished thus far. “I agree. Where are the drawings?”
“I will get them. They are in my room.” He glanced toward the sky. “The sun is going down. We will look at them on the dining room table.”
I followed him indoors and sat down at the table. I should have known my presence there would evoke questions from Mrs. Wilson. She peeked around the corner from the kitchen. “We’ve already eaten supper, Carrie. Have you forgotten so soon?”
I giggled at the question. “No. I’m waiting for Josef to bring some drawings downstairs.”
That was all it took for Mr. Lundgren to join in the conversation. Soon they were both seated with their folded hands resting on the table. Josef’s gaze settled on me as he came to an abrupt halt in the doorway.
“We all are going to look?”
I shrugged. “I believe so.”
His smile radiated warmth, and in one fleeting moment, I decided he was the kind of man who would make a good husband. I touched a hand to my cheek and could feel heat emanate like a smoldering fire. What brought that idea to mind? Certainly he was a fine and talented man. Mr. Tobarth had convinced me of that shortly after I’d arrived at the factory. But I hadn’t spent my life dreaming of love and marriage. Why was I thinking about Josef Kaestner in such a manner? I silently warned myself to erase such thoughts. Papa said marriage could smother dreams, and I wasn’t prepared to extinguish mine.
“Your cheeks are flushed, Carrie. Are you feeling unwell?” Mrs. Wilson’s brow knit in concern.
As though on cue, both of the men turned and stared. The fire reignited, and I could feel beads of perspiration prickling my scalp; soon they’d trickle down my forehead and cheeks.
I picked up a piece of paper and fanned with ferocity. “I’m fine— just a little warm.”
Josef reached across and touched my hand. “Be careful! That is one of the sketches.”
Startled, I released the piece of paper and watched it flutter to the table. Mrs. Wilson retrieved the sheet and gave it an admiring glance before pushing it toward Mr. Lundgren. “Look, Henry. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I stretched my neck to gain a view and had to agree that Josef’s changes appeared excellent. Mrs. Wilson slid the paper across the table. I nodded in agreement and smiled. “It is excellent.”
“Is sometimes gut to let another person have control, ja?”
“Sometimes,” I said, my voice as thin as the piece of paper. I wasn’t about to totally commit to the concept. Who knew what he would do with my drawings if I agreed.
His chest puffed a hairsbreadth. If I hadn’t been watching for his reaction, I would never have noticed. Did he think I was releasing all control over my drawings to him? I couldn’t let that happen. Scooting to the edge of my chair, I said, “It is also good to continue contributing to your work once it’s begun.”
“Ja. And we will begin with this one as soon as our orders for the current carousel have been completed next week.” He withdrew a drawing and handed it to me. “I have already enlarged it. What do you think?”
The magnificent lion I’d drawn looked back at me with gleaming eyes, his mouth open wide to reveal the huge teeth and powerful jaws from my original sketch. Visions of Daniel in a lion-filled den surrounded by the ferocious creatures suddenly appeared before me. I clutched the paper tight between my fingers and swallowed hard.
“Do not press so hard. Your fingers will make a hole in the paper.” Josef’s voice was warm and gentle. “You like it?”
“It is beautiful, but I wonder if we should do one of the other animals first. Perhaps the zebra.”
“Zebra? Nein.” Josef shook his head. “This is the one Mr. Galloway wants first.”
“It will be grand. I’m sure of it,” I said, nodding my approval.
I told myself that by the time the lion was carved and painted, my problems with Tyson, the necklace, and Detective Lawton should be resolved. Then the lion wouldn’t matter. Or would it? Would the image of a lion forever be a reminder of Daniel’s faithfulness, and would it compel me to follow his example? I should never have sketched that lion!
At noon on Tuesday I took my lunch outdoors and settled in my regular place beneath the tree. At first I thought I might be fortunate two days in a row. The women hadn’t appeared on Monday, and they weren’t present when I first walked outside. But I’d barely begun to eat when a group appeared. It was the same women who’d approached me the first day. They stood across the street staring at me, and my discomfort increased with each bite of food.
I gulped down the final bite of my jam sandwich and shoved the apple back into my lunch pail. I’d eat it later. Going back to work early would be more enjoyable than enduring angry stares. I picked up my sketch pad, but before I’d gathered all my belongings, the women and two children crossed the street and marched in my direction.
My pulse quickened. I glanced toward the rear entrance to the building and attempted to gauge the distance. Could I outrun them? The thought disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and panic seized me in a stranglehold. My breathing turned shallow; my heartbeat reverberating in my ears like a pounding drum.
The woman who had spoken to me on the first day approached while the others remained near the street. “Why you still work here?”
My mouth felt as dry as dust. Though I tried, not one word escaped my lips. The woman appeared to take my silence as a challenge and grabbed my arm. Before I could offer resistance, she yanked me over to where the other women stood near the edge of the street. One of the children clung to her mother’s skirt and peered at me with downcast lips and widened eyes. The other, a young boy of two or three, hunkered down to pet a stray cat.
Fear clutched me in a terrifying embrace. I wanted to scream for help but couldn’t form a sound. Instead, I remained firmly planted, unable to move a muscle or speak a word while the women hurled questions and insults. Their eyes were filled with undeniable hatred. Unable to bear their looks, I tore my gaze from the old woman and focused on the little boy gently stroking the cat.
He seemed unaware of the tumult that swirled above him like a gathering thunderstorm. Without warning, the cat lunged forward and raced into the street. Arms outstretched, the boy ran after the furry animal and into the path of a lumber wagon. The women’s angry shouts hung on the afternoon breeze as I broke through their ranks and sped toward the boy. Grabbing him around the waist, I hoisted him from the ground and pulled him close to my chest.
My skirts caught between my legs, and we fell to the street. I heard the rip of fabric as I frantically rolled to my side, barely escaping the wagon wheels. The boy shrieked in my ear as I hugged him close. “You’re all right,” I wheezed.
“Kitty,” he cried, wrestling to free himself.
I couldn’t be certain, but he appeared to be unscathed. Before I could check him for wounds, the women and wagon driver surrounded me. Once assured neither the boy nor I had come to any harm, the driver shook his head. “You ain’t much of a mother, lettin’ the boy run out in the street like that.” He jerked around and headed o
ff to his wagon.
The boy’s mother gathered him into her arms and fluctuated between kissing his tear-stained cheeks and rebuking his bad behavior. The child appeared totally confused.
The old woman grasped my arm and spoke to me. I couldn’t understand a word she said, but her eyes had softened, and the words were gently spoken. One of the other women stepped near. “She is thanking you for to save the boy’s life.” She pointed to the boy. “Her grandson.”
I nodded to the old woman. “You are welcome.”
The women began talking among themselves, and finally the one who had taken on the role of interpreter turned to me. “We want to say we are sorry for the way we treat you, but we worry our men will—” She pointed to her eye. “They see you are pretty. They will think you make better wife than us.” When I didn’t immediately respond, she grasped my hand. “We worry when women come to work in factory. Is not a good thing if our husbands are around other women all day long.”
“Your husbands aren’t working near me. I work in the paint shop and rarely see them. I give you my word, I have no interest in any of them. Please believe me.”
The older woman waited while the interpretation was given and then gave a firm nod and spoke to the other woman.
“Grandmother Nina says that since you have saved the boy’s life and you give us your word, we will trust you. She will speak to the other women and say to stay away.”
“Tell her I said thank you very much. I won’t betray her trust.” I’d barely completed my thank-you when the old woman grasped my shoulders and planted a kiss on each of my cheeks. Then she spit on the ground beside us.
I flinched and attempted a sideways step, but she held fast to my shoulders. She pointed at my lips and then toward the ground. “You!” she commanded.
Stunned, I looked at the other woman. “She wants me to spit?”
“It will seal your pact,” she said. Though I was aghast at the thought, I didn’t want to do anything that might shatter our tenuous agreement. Closing my eyes, I puckered my lips and spit.
CHAPTER
20
As Josef predicted, the carousel we’d been working on had been completed and was prepared for shipment on Saturday morning. “Now I can begin the lion,” he announced with great excitement at supper that evening. I think he expected to see me exhibit more fervor, but it was Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Lundgren who became his primary enthusiasts.
“I can only imagine how thrilled you must be to think of painting the lion, Carrie.” Mrs. Wilson turned toward Josef. “She does get to paint it, doesn’t she?”
“Ja, of course. Unless she wants Mr. Tobarth to assist her.” His reply was muffled by a mouthful of creamed peas.
“I prefer to paint it myself, but I won’t hesitate to ask Mr. Tobarth for his advice.” I glanced toward the grandfather clock sitting in the far corner of the hall—a wedding gift from Mr. Wilson’s mother. That’s what Mrs. Wilson had told me during my first week at the boardinghouse. Removing the napkin from my lap, I placed it on the table and pushed away. “If I’m going to be ready in time for the concert, I’d better go upstairs.”
Josef’s eyes crinkled with his broad smile. “Ja, you want to look as gut as the man who walks beside you.”
Mrs. Wilson giggled and waved her napkin at Josef. “She’s going to look beautiful. No one at the concert will give you a second glance once they get a look at Carrington in her finery.”
“With that I will not argue,” he said.
Keeping my gaze fastened to the tips of my shoes, I hurried toward the stairs before they could see my embarrassment. Other than the community picnic, this evening would be my first formal outing with Josef. Though Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Lundgren would also be in attendance, they’d mentioned several times that they would be sitting with the older folks close to the bandstand. “They’re mostly hard of hearing,” Mrs. Wilson had said.
I smiled as I remembered Josef’s invitation last Wednesday. He’d fumbled for the proper words and taken a backward step, as if additional space were needed to buffet my response. When I had immediately agreed, his jaw dropped and his mouth opened wide enough to capture a swarm of gnats. I had been required to clear my throat several times before he finally acknowledged I’d spoken.
He had expected to hear that I’d be spending another weekend with the Galloways, but he didn’t tell me that until the following day. I didn’t divulge that the Galloway family would be visiting friends at the New Jersey shore—all except Mr. Galloway. Nor did I divulge that I’d been invited to go along.
At Augusta’s insistence, Mr. Galloway had granted permission for me to miss several days of work, but I had declined. I thought the idea of seeking a special favor improper. Her father had appeared relieved. I’m certain he’d been worried how he could justify my absence to Josef or any of the other workers should they inquire. When I’d discovered Tyson Farnsworth was going with the family, I was thankful I would be in Collinsford.
I selected one of the simple dresses Augusta had given me, one that I particularly liked in a pale rose shade. Instead of frills or ruffles, the dress had been styled with an elegant simplicity that I thought understated and particularly flattering. This wasn’t a concert where the women wore fancy dresses or gowns like those I’d seen at the Galloways’ home. And I didn’t want to stand out in the crowd. The wives of the factory workers now tolerated the fact that I worked in the factory, but it didn’t mean they liked me.
I tied a black ribbon around my neck and placed two small flowered combs in my hair. Those, too, had belonged to Augusta. She discarded her clothing and accessories as frequently as petals dropped from flowers, and her mother encouraged the practice. Another glance in the mirror and I decided my appearance would have to do. We would be late if I continued restyling my hair.
Why was I fussing so, I wondered as I rushed toward the stairs. Josef saw me every day, and most of the time I was wearing a paint-spattered canvas apron with my hair in complete disarray. I didn’t worry over my appearance at the factory, so why now? Why did I want to impress him this evening? Because you care for him. The words were so clear that I spun around to see who had spoken them. No one was there, and I silently chided myself for such silliness.
Josef was waiting in the foyer when I descended the stairs. The evening sunlight shone through the front door and danced on his still-damp hair. His suit was the plain dark blue one that he wore to church each Sunday. The moment I neared the bottom step, he held out a small bouquet to me.
“Thank you.” I wondered if I would have to hold the stems for the entire concert. Spying Mrs. Wilson’s vase in the parlor, I said, “Why don’t I tuck one of these flowers in my hair and place the rest in water so they won’t die? That way, I can enjoy them in my room for several days.”
Josef concurred. “They will be better in the water. I should have thought . . .”
“No, please. I’m delighted with the flowers. They are perfect.”
He followed my gaze to the vase and hurried to retrieve it from the other room. “I will fill this with water, and then we will go.”
In a few minutes we were on our way. Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Lundgren had departed some time ago—to be certain they could sit up front with their friends. The park wasn’t far, and by the time we arrived, the members of the orchestra were warming up their instruments. “I’m glad I didn’t cause us to be late.”
“Being late for concert is not so bad. Not like being late for church.”
I nodded, remembering how Josef disliked being late for Sunday services. With a smile that spread from ear to ear, Mrs. Wilson waved her limp handkerchief overhead. She and Mr. Lundgren had secured seats in the second row, where they had an excellent view of the band shell. From that position, they wouldn’t miss a thing.
Josef stood beneath a large oak tree and looked toward the benches surrounding the front of the stage. “Would you like me to see if there are any seats, or would you rather remain here in the shade?”
“Right here is fine.”
I held two corners of the blanket; together we spread it beneath the heavy branches of the ancient tree. Josef extended his hand to assist me to the ground and then dropped down at my side.
“Not so fancy as the parties you attend at the Galloways’, ja?”
“No,” I agreed. “But this is very nice. I’m pleased to be here with you.”
“For sure, you are?”
I giggled at his surprised look. “For sure, I am.”
The conductor took center stage, welcomed the crowd, and announced the concert would now begin. From where we sat, I saw him turn his back to the audience, lift his baton high in the air, and with an air of authority, signal the musicians to begin. I had expected a makeshift group with little time to practice and little musical ability. I was mistaken.
When I scooted back to lean against the trunk of the oak, Josef signaled me to wait. He removed his suit jacket and placed it behind my back. “Your dress, it might get dirty or rip on the bark of the tree,” he said. “I would not want to be the cause of your beautiful dress being spoiled.”
Though I’m sure he wondered about my expensive clothing, Josef never inquired. I didn’t know if Mrs. Wilson had explained the gowns were Augusta’s castoffs. If she hadn’t, he’d surely assumed by now that I’d been the beneficiary of my friend’s outdated clothing.
The crowd remained seated and attentive until the intermission. When the musicians returned and began playing, the children were first to begin dancing on the covered wooden platform that surrounded the outer perimeter of the bandstand. Soon others joined them. I could feel Josef watching me, and my stomach tumbled with anticipation.
He lightly touched my arm. With his eyebrows arched high on his forehead like two question marks, he tipped his head toward the platform. “You like to dance, ja?”