The Carousel Painter

by Judith Miller

  Josef walked me to the front door. “I still do not like this idea. Promise me you will not let them put you in danger.”

  “I promise,” I whispered. He leaned forward and brushed my cheek with a kiss. “Josef! One of the men might see you.”

  He shrugged. “I do not care what they see. Besides, once we get the papers changed, you will be owner of this company.”

  “We will be owners of this company. Equal partners,” she said. “And we’re going to make it the grandest carousel factory in the world.”

  “But you must come back safe from Cincinnati so we can do that, ja?”

  “Yes.” I glanced toward the street. “I better hurry or we’ll miss the train.”

  Josef grinned. “Would not bother me if you missed the train.”

  “I know,” I said, hurrying out the door.

  Fortunately Mrs. Wilson wasn’t at home when I stopped for my baggage. Though she was aware of my plans to be gone until the following evening, I knew she had mistakenly assumed I would be visiting the Galloways, and I’d done nothing to dispel her conjecture.

  Conversation between the detective and me remained minimal during our ride to the station. I waited at a distance while he purchased our tickets. He suggested we remain in the same coach, but he would sit a few rows behind me. To avoid any possible embarrassment should we be seen or recognized, he’d said.

  I agreed but couldn’t help but tease him. “Afraid someone might tell your wife he saw you with a young woman?”

  He didn’t appear amused. “I was thinking of protecting your reputation rather than my own. My wife understands I might be seen in the company of a woman from time to time, Miss Brouwer.”

  So much for my attempt at levity. I boarded the train and selected a seat in the middle of the car. I didn’t speak to the detective until we arrived in Cincinnati several hours later. Our rooms were on separate floors of the hotel, and arrangements were made to have a late supper and our breakfast delivered to our rooms. The detective was unwilling to take any chance that I might be seen.

  The following morning my heart pounded as we entered Mr. Charleston’s shop through a rear entry. Beads of perspiration dotted the detective’s forehead, and he yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped his face. Detective Lawton’s obvious anxiety did nothing to settle my nerves. “When are they expected?” the detective whispered to Mr. Charleston.

  “Nine o’clock. The note I received said my offer had been accepted.”

  The detective sighed. “I’m thankful for that!”

  A bell jingled in the other room, and Detective Lawton clicked the catch on his pocket watch. “Nine o’clock. Right on time. Leave the door ajar,” he said, careful to keep his voice low.

  I sat on an old wooden chair and scanned the storeroom that Mr. Charleston used for his excess inventory. We were surrounded by a plethora of artwork. Some framed, some not. Some lovely, some quite ugly. I would have enjoyed going through the stacked canvases but dared not make a noise. From my position across the room, I was scrutinizing a beautiful still life when Mr. Charleston returned. His face contorted in either fear or anger while he hissed a message to the detective. Clearly he was worried, but I couldn’t hear what he said.

  I didn’t have to wait long. The detective waved me forward. “I’m afraid we will need to put our plan into motion. I’m going out front and arrest the woman. You’ll need to change clothes with her. I’ll bring her back here shortly.”

  When the woman entered the storage room with Detective Lawton, I gasped. It was like seeing a duplicate of myself. Her reaction mirrored my own. Eyes wide, the woman clutched her throat and stared at me. “What? Am I seeing a doppelganger?” she croaked, her words barely audible.

  The detective shook his head. “She’s no ghost. She’s as alive as you are.”

  I don’t think she believed him, for she proved exceedingly cooperative. Fear shone from her eyes, and she couldn’t do my bidding quickly enough. Thankfully she was wearing a skirt, and her cloak covered her shirtwaist. I offered her my clothing in return, but she refused. Instead, she yanked the muslin cloth from several paintings and covered herself before retreating to a far corner of the room.

  I pointed to her hat. “I’ll need that, as well.”

  She unpinned the chapeau, and I shoved it firmly atop my head. “Where is Tyson?” I asked.

  “In the carriage across the street, but I do not think he will come in.”

  Mr. Charleston was correct. The woman had a raspy southern drawl, and I prayed I wouldn’t have to speak in order to lure Tyson into the shop. Mr. Charleston took charge of the woman while the detective edged along the wall toward the front door. “Do your best. I’ll be watching from here. If anything goes amiss, I’ll be at your side before you can call out.”

  I doubted that, but I didn’t want to think about the possibility of peril. After inhaling a deep breath, I opened the front door and walked to the corner. I hoped the detective could still see me. The carriage was parked where the woman had told me. The minute I appeared, Tyson leaned forward. I motioned for him to come.

  He shook his head. Using my palm and forefinger, I mimicked signing a paper. When he didn’t move from the carriage, I motioned more frantically. Again I pretended to be signing my hand. Surely he understood. Even from a distance I could see he was annoyed. I turned toward the shop and once again waved.

  I could only hope he would consider my performance tempting enough to join me. I glanced over my shoulder. He had jumped down from the carriage and was loping across the street at breakneck speed. If I didn’t hurry, he’d catch me before I could get back inside. And I desperately wanted the detective’s protection.

  My heart pounded in my ears and drowned out all other noise. Had Tyson called to me, I wouldn’t have heard. Arm outstretched and afraid to look back, I grasped the door handle and shoved my way forward. I’d barely cleared the threshold when a hand clutched my wrist. A shrill howl escaped my throat; the detective lunged forward, and the fingers wrapped around my wrist clawed to maintain a hold. I twisted around and broke free.

  Before he said a word, I saw the hesitation in his eyes. Recognition immediately followed. “Carrington!” His eyes darted about the room like an animal seeking escape. “Georgia! Where are you? Why have you betrayed me?”

  “She didn’t betray you, Farnsworth. She had no choice but to cooperate.”

  “Women! You can’t trust any of them.” Tyson spat the words at me.

  I took a step forward. “How dare you speak of trust or betrayal! You stole my paintings and have wreaked havoc upon the Galloways. A family who has shown you nothing but kindness and goodwill.”

  He glowered at me, his lips curled in anger. “Kindness and goodwill? I think not. Mrs. Galloway was seeking a husband for Augusta—one from a socially prominent and wealthy family. And Augusta was no better. She is so enamored by the idea of marriage, she would fawn over any man offering the slightest attention.” He shifted his weight and leaned forward. “It would have served them right had I married her. And if it weren’t for my friendship with Ronald, I would have taken her for my wife.”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Because I haven’t lived up to my father’s standards, he has disowned me. He cut me off—from his money and from the family.” His eyes shone with anger. “Don’t you see, Carrington? Had I married Augusta, both she and her mother would have become the laughingstock of Collinsford. I saved Mrs. Galloway from herself. Stealing her jewelry was a small price to pay when you consider she maintained her place in society.”

  “And why did I deserve to have my paintings stolen?”

  He shrugged one shoulder and tipped his head. “Because art can’t be appreciated when it’s hidden away.”

  Not only was Tyson Farnsworth a thief, he was also a scoundrel of the worst sort. He even lacked the courage to admit his wrongdoing. Instead, he pointed a finger at others. Thankfully, he hadn’t pursued A
ugusta any further. How sad her life would have been if she had married him.

  A short time later, Detective Lawton escorted me to the train station, even though he wouldn’t be accompanying me back home. Tyson and his friend, Georgia, were being detained in Cincinnati, and the detective needed to return to the police station to complete paper work for their transfer to Collinsford. “I’m sorry you must make the journey home alone,” he said.

  “No apology is required. I’m pleased to return knowing the crimes have been solved and the true criminals will pay for their misdeeds.”

  The detective handed my bag to a porter. “I owe you a debt of thanks. There’s no way to repay you for your assistance.”

  “You’ve already repaid me. Have you forgotten? You recovered my paintings,” I said. “It’s Mr. Charleston who ended up with a financial loss.”

  The detective nodded. “I’m thankful for the help he gave me. Yet he had a strong suspicion he was dealing in stolen goods. I think he’s learned an expensive lesson. I doubt he’ll make that same decision again.” He tipped his hat. “Have a good trip home.”

  It was well after bedtime when I’d finished relating the day’s overwhelming events. Had Mrs. Wilson not interrupted quite so often, my explanation would have been completed at least an hour earlier. But I couldn’t fault her. I’d furnished her with more excitement than she’d experienced in her lifetime—at least that’s what she told the three of us.

  When I’d told how Tyson had wrenched my arm during my hasty return to Mr. Charleston’s shop, Josef tensed. He clenched his teeth and growled, “It is probably gut I was not there. I would still be using my fists on him.” We all laughed, but later I told him that his protective words had warmed my heart.

  Once Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Lundgren went off to secure the house for the night, I moved nearer to Josef. “Tomorrow after church, I must go and speak to Augusta. She deserves to hear from me what has happened.”

  “I will go with you,” Josef said. “We both need to speak with Mr. Galloway, as well.” Josef placed a fleeting kiss on my cheek. “All day I prayed for your safety, and God protected you. I am most thankful.” His eyes glistened in the dim light. “Now we must go to bed, or tomorrow we will fall asleep during the preacher’s message. Would not be gut to do such a thing.”

  Josef followed me up the stairs. When we arrived on the second floor, he bid me good-night, and I continued upstairs to my room. It was late, but after I’d prepared for bed, I dropped to my knees and thanked God for the safety He’d provided me. I also thanked Him for the safe return of the two paintings. But mostly I thanked Him for sending Josef into my life: a good man, a man who loved God, a man I could trust.

  When I rose from my knees, my eyes were drawn to the empty space on the wall—the place where my picture had hung. “And thank you for giving me the opportunity to help Josef,” I whispered before I slipped between the fresh sheets and buried my nose in the sweet-smelling pillowcase.

  The following morning I awakened to Mrs. Wilson rapping on my door. “Carrie! Are you awake? You better hurry or you’ll be late for church.”

  I jumped out of bed and prepared in such a rush that I forgot my Bible and had to race back up the two flights of stairs. Then I realized I’d forgotten my reticule and again scurried up the steps. When next I discovered I’d forgotten my gloves, I decided the Lord would forgive the oversight. I lacked the fortitude to manage even one more flight of those wretched stairs.

  Mr. Lundgren and Mrs. Wilson led the way on our walk to church. Since that first day when Mrs. Wilson had ordered Josef to escort me, it had become our accepted pattern, and I held tight to his arm. Rather than focusing on the Lord, I could think of nothing beyond Augusta and the sad news about Tyson I would soon give her. I glanced at Josef. His dark eyes reflected sympathy, and he patted my hand. How had he sensed my anxiety? I once again offered a prayer of thanks that God had sent Josef into my life, but this time it was a silent prayer.

  Throughout the church service, I did my best to listen to the preacher. I had hoped to hear something that would help me when I later approached Augusta. Unfortunately, my mind wandered during the sermon. If the preacher said anything that would have provided guidance, I missed it.

  “Was a gut sermon the preacher gave us, ja?”

  I lifted one shoulder and let it drop. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to admit I hadn’t been listening.

  Josef grinned and touched his forefinger to his head. “Your thoughts, they were on the Galloways instead of the preacher.”

  I nodded. He knew me so well. Rather than turning over my cares to the Lord, my worries had grown to magnificent proportion. Even if Augusta had given up on Tyson as a marital prospect, she’d still be devastated by the news of his criminal behavior. And who could say whether she’d given up on the idea of Tyson and marriage. If she’d found no other love interest, she might still be pining for him. She’d made it clear she remained enamored of him when we met in the park. The thought made me cringe, for I’d be the one to deliver the appalling news.

  “We should return home and eat before going to the Galloways’.

  Otherwise we’ll interrupt their meal,” I said.

  Josef didn’t argue. Although I’m sure he realized I wanted to delay our visit to the Galloway home, my suggestion also contained some merit. Neither of us would want to dine with the family and then present them with unpleasant news.

  When we arrived home, I slipped upstairs to my bedroom while Mrs. Wilson completed preparations for the noonday meal. I opened my Bible and searched for something that would sustain me through my encounter with Augusta. Following Mrs. Wilson’s instruction, I’d been doing my best to make my way entirely through the Bible, but I had skipped over a number of passages where there seemed to be more begats than anything else.

  Josef had told me he’d learned much from the Psalms and Proverbs, and they were near the middle of the Bible. I’d try that first. Inserting my finger between the pages, I opened to Proverbs 27. My gaze dropped to the sixth verse. Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful. I leaned back in the chair. Would Augusta accept the wounds I would impose upon her today? Would she believe they were inflicted to protect her? Would she believe Tyson to be her enemy, or would I forever be assigned that role? Surely she would realize that Tyson was not the man God intended for her.

  When I walked downstairs, Josef was standing outside his bedroom door with his Bible lying open in his hand. His eyes softened with kindness, and he stepped forward. He tapped his forefinger on a Bible verse. “To speak to Augusta is a hard thing. God has given me this passage for you.”

  “From Psalms.”

  He nodded. “Ja. Psalm 121. This you must read.”

  As we hurried from the house to catch the streetcar, Mrs. Wilson bid us farewell with a bravado that made me wonder if she had sensed my apprehension. Josef had suggested a carriage, but I thought the cost too extravagant. He didn’t argue. Obviously he wanted me to remain calm. That’s exactly what I wanted, too.

  Far too soon for my liking, we strode up the wide walkway leading to the expansive porch that bordered the front of the mansion. Silently I murmured the words from the psalm Josef had given me. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. There were some verses in between that I couldn’t recall, but I did remember the one that said, The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. I didn’t believe Augusta was evil, but I might need to be preserved from her wrath.

  A maid I’d never before seen rushed to the door before Josef could strike the brass knocker against the door. Her eyes shone with disapproval. Though no carriages lined the driveway, I wondered if we might be intruding.

  “Would you please tell Miss Augusta that Carrington Brouwer and Josef Kaestner are here to speak with her?”

  “Are you expected?”

  “No, but if you woul
d tell her I have a matter of importance to discuss, I believe she’ll see me.”

  The maid permitted us entry into the foyer and made it clear we should await her return. She made Frances seem like a gentle saint. I glanced about and hoped either Frances or Thomas might appear. A glimpse of either would have lessened my anxiety. The disquieting feelings I’d experienced during my initial arrival at the Galloway home returned with a rush. At least back then I’d known Augusta would be pleased to see me. Now I wondered if any member of the family would welcome my visit. Before I could further contemplate their reaction, the unpleasant maid returned, with Augusta following close on her heels. I struggled to relax my clenched fists. Inhaling a deep breath, I forced myself to smile.

  Her formal greeting was as icy as a frozen pond. “You wish to speak with me?”

  “Yes. I apologize for calling without an appointment, but . . .”

  She sniffed. “I wouldn’t expect you to abide by rules of etiquette.”

  Her comment struck like pellets of sleet, and I instinctively took a backward step. “This is a matter of great importance, Augusta. News I wish to deliver in private.” I glanced toward the maid, who appeared to be enjoying our exchange.

  “Is that why you brought Josef along? Because you want to speak to me alone?” She cloaked her anger with clipped, controlled words.

  Before I could respond, Mr. Galloway entered the foyer. “Look who’s here! Josef! Carrington! Why didn’t you tell us we had company, Augusta?” Her father stepped forward to grasp Josef’s hand. “What brings the two of you to Fair Oaks? Augusta didn’t mention you were going to pay us a visit.”

  Once her father arrived, Augusta’s mood lightened, and she immediately suggested the two of us visit in the music room. Josef motioned for me to go along. “You go and talk. While you are with Augusta, I will speak to Mr. Galloway about the contract.”