The Carousel Painter

by Judith Miller

  “You will be the very first person to know.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Miss Brouwer.”

  “I must admit that being suspected of a crime brings out the worst in me.” I took a side step around the detective. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m expected inside.”

  Hurrying, I made my way up the stairs to Augusta’s room, which had the look of a baggage room at the railroad station. Trunks lined the walls and flowed out into the hallway. “I’m surprised your mother would entertain on the evening prior to your departure for the summer,” I said.

  “The servants are the ones who suffer, not Mother.” Augusta leaned close to the mirror and pinched her cheeks. “I always appear too pale, don’t you think?”

  “I never thought so, though you may be a bit pale this evening.” I closed the distance between us and picked up the hairbrush. “Has the detective made any further progress in locating your mother’s jewelry?” I drew the brush through her hair in long, steady strokes while watching her reflection in the mirror. To me, Detective Lawton had claimed to be making no progress, but who knew what he’d reported to the Galloway family. He might be closing in on his suspect, and if it was me, I wanted to know! When Augusta didn’t respond, I tugged on a strand of hair.

  “Ouch! Do be careful, that hurts.” She touched her fingers to her head as though she’d been mortally wounded. “The last I heard, there was nothing to report. Tyson mentioned he thought you could very well be the most likely suspect, but I didn’t hesitate to tell him such an idea was utter nonsense.” Obviously embarrassed to relate the information, she turned her gaze away from the mirror. “The detective told my father he’d continue to work on finding the jewelry, but I don’t think Father holds out much hope the thief will ever be found.”

  Fearful she would change the subject, I decided to avoid any mention of Tyson’s accusation. “And the detective?”

  She shrugged. “He still thinks there’s hope—but he’s probably afraid to say otherwise. His job could be in jeopardy if he isn’t successful solving crimes, don’t you think?”

  “Possibly,” I muttered. Twirling a strand of hair around my finger, I pinned it atop her head.

  When I’d completed fashioning Augusta’s hair, she looked at me in the mirror. “I’m going to miss you terribly. If you’d agree, I know I could convince Father to bring you along on one of his weekend visits.”

  I shook my head. “We’ve already had this discussion. I’ll see you when you return in September. Until then, you’ll have Tyson to keep you company.”

  “That’s not the same. Besides, he won’t be with me all of the time. He has business that requires his attention from time to time.”

  I wondered what kind of business. From what I’d learned, avoiding work was the only business that occupied Tyson’s time.

  “Enough of this gloomy talk. Let’s go and enjoy ourselves with the others.”

  Augusta tugged on my hand and drew me toward the door. The sound of music drifted down from the ballroom on the upper floor. Mrs. Galloway had insisted upon a floating dance floor, the kind with layers of ribbed wooden slats that created pockets of air beneath the topmost layer. Dancing on air—that’s how I’d heard the floors described. And of course Mrs. Galloway wanted a dance floor that would outshine any other in Fair Oaks. For now, it did. But soon another dowager would outdo her. Then Augusta’s mother would need to purchase something else to make her feel important and accepted. I marveled that Mr. Galloway gave in to his wife’s outlandish demands.

  Tyson and Ronald were waiting inside the door leading into the ballroom. Tyson quickly swept Augusta into his arms and across the dance floor. I wasn’t certain if Ronald truly wanted to dance with me, or if he felt obligated because we’d been left standing alone, but I accepted his offer.

  “How are things faring with the young lady who has won your heart?” I asked. “Will I meet her this evening?”

  “No. I haven’t gained the courage to speak to Mother. She’s hoping I’ll become enamored with the Wentworths’ daughter, Kathryn.”

  “I’ve met her. She seems a lovely young woman, but if you’re not interested, why not tell your mother?”

  He chuckled. “You’ve been around my mother long enough to know she doesn’t take such matters lightly. I’m hoping Kathryn will gather some gumption before I do.” He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “She’s in love with a young man who lives in Cincinnati. She met him while she was attending finishing school.”

  “So each of you is waiting on the other to soften the blow.” I giggled. “I do think it would be the gentlemanly thing if you would take the lead.”

  “Being a woman, I’m sure you do. However, Mrs. Wentworth isn’t nearly as formidable as my own dear mother. I believe Kathryn will have the easier time of it if she deals the first blow.”

  Shortly before the dance ended, I mentioned Detective Lawton’s presence and plied Ronald with several questions. Unfortunately, he didn’t tell me any more than I’d already learned—which was very little indeed. When the music stopped, I turned to see Tyson and Augusta standing near us.

  Tyson winked at me and took a sideward step. “What do you say we exchange partners, Ronald?”

  I couldn’t believe Tyson’s cheeky behavior. What if someone had seen him wink at me? They might assume I’d been flirting with him. The very thought sent an icy finger crawling down my spine. The moment the music began, he pulled me much too close. In my attempt to push him away, I stumbled on his foot.

  He smirked. “Careful or we’ll land on the floor. If you want to lie down beside me, I can think of more comfortable places.”

  I wanted to slap his face. But such action would create a scene that would require explanation. And no matter what I said, Augusta didn’t want to hear the truth. It seemed nobody wanted to hear the truth about Tyson Farnsworth.

  CHAPTER

  22

  July 4, 1890

  The weeks since Augusta’s departure had passed with surprising speed. I hadn’t missed the weekend parties at Fair Oaks in the least. Truth be told, I had welcomed the respite. And Josef had stepped forward to fill any void created by Augusta’s summertime absence.

  My growing friendship with Josef seemed natural; we lived in the same boardinghouse, worked in the same factory, and shared a love of carousels. And with the recent challenges of creating the newly designed animals, we’d even begun discussing the designs after supper each evening. I’d developed a genuine appreciation for Josef’s talent, and he constantly expressed admiration for my ideas and work, as well.

  While Mrs. Wilson was preparing for the Independence Day festivities, Josef and I were revising our latest design for a leopard. We had somehow moved from the concept of individual design to working in concert to create the perfectly designed carousel animal.

  Mrs. Wilson bustled into the dining room, wiping her hands down the front of her apron. “You two need to put away your work. We need to leave in less than an hour or we won’t arrive at the park in time for the mayor’s speech. Remember, the streetcars will be crowded today.”

  I pushed away from the table, not convinced missing the mayor’s speech would be such a terrible thing. However, I didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Wilson. She’d been looking forward to the celebration for several weeks and was determined to arrive on time. Two hours ago she’d sent Mr. Lundgren in search of the ideal spot for our picnic. He’d been instructed to find a place with ample shade and close enough to the podium to hear the speeches and see the entertainment that would follow. He’d left the house with a final warning that he’d be required to protect the space from any two-legged intruders who might arrive late and attempt to infringe upon the secured area.

  I wasn’t certain public land could be staked out in such a manner, but Mrs. Wilson appeared to know exactly how to claim a private space for our picnic. It had been many years since I’d attended an Independence Day celebration, and my own feelings of patriotism had beg
un to surface during the past weeks. Not since the year before my father and I departed for France had I participated in any meaningful July Fourth celebration. There had been a small gathering of American artists living in France, but those celebrations had primarily consisted of men drinking wine while they discussed their latest paintings. I picked up the drawings and stacked them on the dining room table. Today I would celebrate this country’s independence in proper American fashion.

  I excused myself and, after a visit to my bedroom for a quick change of attire, returned downstairs. Josef and Mrs. Wilson stood on the front porch. The older woman was staring at the screen door as though peering inside would make me appear. To think she was antsy was an understatement. The moment I stepped outdoors, she grasped my arm and tugged me toward the steps.

  “Grab the picnic basket, Josef!” she called over her shoulder while propelling me forward. “We don’t want to miss the next streetcar. It’s sure to be full.”

  When we arrived at the stop, Mrs. Wilson’s breath was coming in short gasps. She clasped a hand to her chest, and I was thankful to see the streetcar moving toward us. We should have left earlier so that the poor woman wouldn’t have had to rush. I silently chastised myself for taking time to change my skirt and shirtwaist. If Mrs. Wilson fainted or suffered heat exhaustion, it would be due to my vain behavior.

  The moment we stepped up into the streetcar, I motioned for Mrs. Wilson to take one of the few remaining seats. She patted the seat, and I dropped down beside her. Josef stood in front of us, the picnic basket lodged between his feet.

  She pulled out her fan and flapped it with enough vigor that I no longer worried she would faint. When her complexion returned to its normal color, I leaned closer. “Are you feeling better?”

  “I’m fine, dear. No need to worry yourself on my account.” She waved to several of the ladies sitting near the rear of the car before tipping her head close to my ear. “They’ll be surprised when they discover we have a picnic spot saved for us.”

  Once the car clanged our arrival and came to a stop, Mrs. Wilson waited until Myrtle Cutsinger plodded down the narrow aisle. The heavy-hipped woman leaned forward only far enough to gain a view out the window. “Looks like all the shady spots are spoken for. We’ll be toasted to a crisp out in that sun.” She tapped Mrs. Wilson’s arm with her umbrella. “We should have arrived earlier, Minnie.”

  “It’s always good to plan ahead for these holidays.” Mrs. Wilson pushed up from her seat and waved us forward with a wide grin.

  Mr. Lundgren was sitting on one of two large quilts spread beneath a large elm tree. We would have an excellent view of the stage as long as folks didn’t take up residence in front of us. And if anyone tried that tack, Mrs. Wilson would probably shoo them away. While we laid out our food, the band gathered in the pavilion and prepared for the concert.

  An occasional toot or squawk could be heard while musicians warmed up their instruments, but once the conductor signaled, all turned quiet. Then in a magnificent burst of sound, a John Philip Sousa march filled the summer afternoon air. With cymbals clanging and drums beating a clipped cadence, the band continued to play several more patriotic numbers that brought the crowd to its feet. The final march brought the mayor to a makeshift stage that fronted the pavilion. Festive red, white, and blue bunting draped the empty space beneath the platform, providing excellent concealment for the children playing hide-and-seek.

  The mayor lumbered up the two steps onto the platform and glanced over his shoulder, no doubt expecting the musicians to step down and permit him the benefit of their shaded pavilion. But they remained perched on their chairs with their attention fixed upon the band conductor. The mayor appeared sorely disappointed.

  Folks continued visiting and eating their picnic lunches while he shouted out his plans for the coming year if they would only reelect him to office. His wife and children stood in front of the podium and did their best to arouse applause each time he hesitated and nodded in their direction. When even the mayor’s children tired of his speech and took shelter in the shade beneath the platform, he finally signaled to the band conductor.

  As cheers emanated from the crowd, the mayor waved his hat overhead as though the cheering were for him.

  Mr. Lundgren leaned against the tree trunk with a glass of lemonade and chuckled. “That man would win more votes if he’d just keep his mouth shut.”

  “Ja. He does enjoy hearing himself talk, that’s for sure.” Josef sat with his legs bent close to his chest and looked toward the pond not far in the distance.

  I followed his gaze and jumped to my feet. “We should go and feed the ducks our scraps of bread. Come, Josef.”

  Slowly unfolding his legs, he gathered the leftover bits and pieces into a cloth napkin and rose to his feet. He patted his stomach. “I think I ate too much. Now I wish for sleep.”

  “You ate too much because Carrie prepared most of it last evening,” the older woman remarked with a grin. “But she has been giving me some helpful tips, and one day soon, I hope to match her abilities in the kitchen.” She didn’t wait for a response before turning to ask Mr. Lundgren a question.

  Mrs. Wilson accepted her inabilities in the kitchen as readily as she accepted the shortcomings in others. “We’re all just people trying to get along in this world. God gives us different talents. Some can cook, some can sew, some can grow flowers, and some can paint pictures. That’s what makes this world a special place.” She’d made the comment to me many weeks ago while attempting to roll out a tough piecrust.

  In somewhat the same way, I attempted to make each of the carousel animals unique and special—they were alike and yet very different. Perhaps that desire came from God, too, I thought while strolling at Josef’s side.

  “It has been nice these last weeks to have you always at the boardinghouse,” he said.

  I giggled. “You mean rather than rushing off to spend time with Augusta each Saturday evening and Sunday?”

  “Ja. I understand she is your friend and you enjoy her company, but it is nicer for me when you are here.”

  His compliment embraced me with an inviting warmth that I could neither ignore nor explain. My heart fluttered in quickstep when he grasped my hand and helped me settle on a bench near the edge of the pond.

  “You have enjoyed this time without going to visit the Galloways?” His eyes filled with expectation.

  Sunshine danced on his hair and cast shades of umber and bronze among the chocolate strands. “Yes, I have enjoyed my time with you very much.”

  Though my heartbeat had slowed to a more normal rhythm, I’d suddenly acquired a strange sense of shyness. Each day we shared time together. Why had I suddenly developed such awkward feelings here at the park?

  After tossing a handful of breadcrumbs toward several ducks that waddled up from the water’s edge, he sat down beside me. Resting his elbows across his thighs, he glanced over his shoulder and met my eyes. “I have a fondness for you, Carrie.”

  The words had been spoken with ease, yet each one pierced my heart like an arrow hitting its mark. “You do?” I whispered.

  He chuckled. “You cannot tell this already?”

  I was uncertain how a proper lady should respond but decided I would be truthful rather than coy. I doubted Augusta would agree. “I have been hoping that was true.”

  “And you are feeling the same way?” His brows arched high on his forehead.

  “Yes, I’m feeling the same way.”

  He leaned back against the wooden slats of the bench with a broad smile splitting his face. “Is gut we feel the same, ja?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Very good.”

  Josef maintained a proper distance during the afternoon, but once the sun had set, he moved close by my side. We watched the fireworks burst overhead and gasped with delight at each explosion. After a particularly large display had illuminated the sky and darkness once again prevailed, Josef pulled me close. The shimmer of moonlight outlined his features.
Slowly he lowered his head and covered my lips with a tender kiss. His touch set off an explosion inside my head that rivaled the evening’s fireworks. I whispered his name, and once again he took my lips captive, until another explosion lit the sky.

  Gently, I pushed against his chest. “People will see us.”

  Leaning close, he motioned toward several embracing couples. “They are busy with each other. About us, they do not care.”

  A blast cracked the silence and was soon followed by several more loud explosions that signaled the final display of the evening. I jumped to my feet. “We’d better find Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Lundgren and get in line for the streetcar.”

  He clasped my hand and pulled me to a halt. “I did not mean to frighten you, Carrie. You don’t need to run off.”

  “I’m n-not frightened.” I couldn’t hide the tremble in my voice any more than I could hide the fear in my heart. I longed for Josef’s affection, yet he didn’t know of the accusations against me. And until the detective gave up on finding Mrs. Galloway’s jewelry or apprehended the culprit, I couldn’t share the tale with Josef—and I couldn’t chance losing my heart to him, either.

  We walked side by side, and once again he leaned close. “I will not rush you, but I want for you to know my feelings. I don’t want Mr. Galloway’s son or some other man to steal your heart when I am not looking.”

  “That won’t happen, Josef. I promise.”

  “Gut. I am glad to hear this.”

  Mrs. Wilson bustled toward us with Mr. Lundgren following at a close pace. She waved her arm in a giant semicircle. “If we hurry, we’ll be able to get a seat on the next streetcar.”

  Josef took the picnic basket from Mr. Lundgren with his left hand and clapped the older man on the shoulder with his right. “She hurries to get us here, and now she can’t wait to rush us home.”