The Carousel Painter

by Judith Miller

  Remembering the verses from Proverbs, I silently followed Augusta to the music room.

  Lips tight and shoulders rigid, she sat opposite me. “Well? What do you wish to tell me?”

  My words flowed with surprising ease and tenderness. I relayed all that had occurred: Tyson’s thievery, the lookalike he’d used as a decoy, his capture in Cincinnati, and his lack of remorse for those he’d injured. “I know you cared for Tyson, and it’s difficult for you to hear these things. I only hope you know that it causes me great pain to bring you this news.” I reached forward and prayed she would accept my hand in friendship. Though it seemed an eternity, only a few seconds passed before she leaned forward and grasped my fingers.

  “I didn’t want to believe Tyson was a scoundrel, but deep in my heart I knew he didn’t truly love me. I became angry when I knew he’d never commit to me. When Mary Flinchbaugh told me she’d seen the two of you together, I thought it impossible. But I wanted to blame someone else for his lack of affection. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Her apology washed over me with a cleansing relief. “There is nothing to forgive. I told you that day in the park that I was still your friend. That has never changed—not for me.”

  “You’ve changed, Carrie. You’re not the same person who came to Collinsford. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s been a change. What is it?”

  “Thanks to Josef and Mrs. Wilson, I’ve been reading the Bible, and I’ve discovered there is much more to being a Christian than attending church on Sunday. It’s a very difficult thing to live as a Christian. I’m trying my best, but I certainly don’t have the attributes of the martyrs I’ve read about.”

  Augusta tipped her head, and her lips curved in a half smile. “I think what you experienced with Tyson might qualify you for martyrdom.” We embraced, and then Augusta spoke of her father’s illness. “We’ve not yet sold the house, but we’re going to move next month—to Colorado. We’re told the climate may help restore Father’s health, although there’s no promise from the doctors. Mother is beside herself with worry.”

  “Will Ronald relocate, as well?” I wondered if he’d gathered the courage to tell his parents about the young woman who had captured his heart.

  “No. He’s met a young woman and plans to live near her home in Boston. He’s secured a position with a bank. I don’t think Mother approves. The woman’s family isn’t on the social register, but Ronald says he’s going to marry for love.”

  “Good for Ronald. I hope that he’ll be happy with his new position and the young lady proves to be a good match.”

  Josef tapped on the doorframe. Mr. Galloway stood behind him. “We can join you?” I nodded and motioned him forward. “Mr. Galloway says he will change the contract so that the factory will belong to us as equal partners.”

  Mr. Galloway sat down on the brocade sofa. “And I’d like to exchange paintings with you.”

  “Exchange paintings? Whatever do you mean?”

  “Josef explained that you own two other paintings that your father completed before his death. I’d prefer to return the carousel painting to you, and I’ll choose one of the others as collateral for your loan. That painting of you on a carousel horse should be hanging on your wall, not mine.”

  Mr. Galloway’s generosity amazed me. “You are too kind,” I whispered.

  “A person can never be too kind,” he said. “Besides, there is great pleasure when I see the results of my kindness. It gives me immense joy—perhaps even more joy than that of the recipient.”

  Not caring what anyone would think, I rushed forward and embraced him. “I don’t think that’s true in this case.” I stepped back and placed my palm on my heart. “In the short time since we’ve met, you have shown me great kindness. Where would I be without my job at the factory?

  And now, your willingness to return my painting . . .” My voice cracked with emotion, but this time it was not an urge to giggle. Instead, I forced back tears: tears of joy and tears of thanks. Although I was grateful for the things he’d done for me, mostly I was thankful I’d been given the opportunity to observe him living a godly life. Mr. Galloway transcended mere talk and exhibited his faith through example. Even when faced with a bleak medical diagnosis, he’d continued to treat others with love and benevolence.

  As Josef and I prepared to depart, I hugged Augusta and promised one more visit to Fair Oaks before her family left for Colorado.

  “And you must send us an invitation to your wedding. I promise to return and be your bridesmaid at the ceremony.” Augusta grinned at me. She’d spoken loud enough for all to hear.

  I didn’t fail to note Josef’s look of surprise, but he remained silent until we were waiting for the streetcar. “So this wedding of ours, when will it take place, Miss Brouwer?” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “I didn’t . . . There isn’t . . . She only meant . . .”

  Josef tilted his head back and laughed. “To Augusta, you said you want to marry me, ja?”

  My cheeks blazed with embarrassment. “I told her someday . . .”

  In broad daylight, in front of the strangers who stood waiting for the streetcar, Josef boldly pulled me into an embrace and kissed me. When he lifted his head, he smiled and said, “For sure we will marry someday. Someday very soon.”

  THANKS TO . . .

  . . . My editor, Sharon Asmus, for her generous spirit and excellent eye for detail.

  . . . My acquisitions editor, Charlene Patterson, for encouraging me to step out of my comfort zone and write this story in the first person.

  . . . The entire staff of Bethany House Publishers, for their devotion to making each book they publish the best—it is a privilege to work with all of you.

  . . . Rae Proefrock, Trustee, Herschell Carrousel Factory Museum in North Tonawanda, New York, for a tour of the factory, a behind-the-scenes look at repairs and painting of carousel animals, sharing her painting expertise, and reading my manuscript for technical accuracy.

  . . . Jerry Reinhardt, Director, C. W. Parker Carousel Museum, Leavenworth, Kansas, for sharing his carving and painting expertise.

  . . . Mary Greb-Hall for her ongoing encouragement and expertise.

  . . . Lori Seilstad, Michelle Cox, and Kim Vogel Sawyer for their honest critiques.

  . . . Mary Kay Woodford, my sister, my prayer warrior, my friend.

  . . . My husband, Jim, my constant encourager, supporter, and advocate, and the love of my life.

  . . . And, above all, thanks and praise to our Lord Jesus Christ for this miraculous opportunity to live my dream and share the wonder of His love through story.

  JUDITH MILLER is an award-winning author whose avid research and love for history are reflected in her novels, many of which have appeared on the CBA bestseller lists. Judy and her husband make their home in Topeka, Kansas.