The Carousel Painter Page 10

  The small bathroom proved more of a challenge than I’d expected. As I twisted to remove my work dress, a metal hook on the back of the door scraped across my shoulder, and before I recovered from the stinging pain, I knocked my elbow into the wall and banged my hip into the washbasin. At this rate, I’d arrive at the Galloways’ looking as though I’d received the worst of it in a boxing match.

  “This will have to do,” I muttered, still fastening my skirt on my return to the bedroom. The bathroom acrobatics had left my hair in complete disarray, but I doubted there would be time to do much more than stab a few hairpins into place. As I opened the wardrobe to remove my shawl, I glanced over my shoulder at Mrs. Wilson. I was glad to see that her complexion had returned to its normal hue. “Did you need to speak to me about something in particular?”

  Mrs. Wilson folded her arms across her ample chest. “I’m not one to carry gossip, but—” She glanced toward the window, as though she expected an eavesdropper to be standing on the roof.

  “But what, Mrs. Wilson? Have you heard some disturbing news?”

  My wavy reflection stared back at me in the mirror. The quality of the looking glass was certainly inferior, but the mirror alone couldn’t be blamed for my unkempt appearance. Comb in hand, I pulled the loose strands upward and jabbed them into place with hairpins.

  “I heard a few women talking at the meat market today.” She shook her head and offered me a pitiable look.

  “And?”

  “The men are planning to meet with Mr. Kaestner and demand that you be fired.” She pressed the folds of her apron beneath her thick fingers. “It may be just idle talk, but they don’t like their husbands working with an unmarried woman.”

  My stomach lurched and I clasped a hand to my midsection. Mrs. Wilson had confirmed what I’d heard only a short time ago. Once again I felt the need to defend myself. “The only man I’m around is Mr. Tobarth, and he’s old enough to be my grandfather.” If Mr. Kaestner was threatened with additional walkouts, he’d push Mr. Galloway to dismiss me. The thought was enough to send my stomach from a lurch into a complete flip-flop.

  “I shouldn’t have told you. Now I’ve gone and ruined the rest of your day, haven’t I?”

  I patted her shoulder. No need to tell her I’d already had my day ruined by one of the angry wives. “It’s fine. Better that I know.” At the sound of a carriage, I stepped to the window. “I think that may be Augusta. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  Mrs. Wilson pushed up from the chair, her knees popping like firecrackers. “You sure you don’t want to come back here to spend the night? You could go to church with Mr. Lundgren and me and then go to the zoo with your friends.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. Why don’t we plan on next Sunday? I’ve already promised Augusta.”

  “I know you’ve been here less than a week, but I’m going to miss you this weekend. It’s nice having another woman around the house.”

  Her smile warmed my heart, and my stomach settled a little, too. I was fond of Mrs. Wilson and said so, but I didn’t mention her less-than-stellar cooking. After closing the window, I grabbed the handles of my bag and clattered down the steps. Mrs. Wilson followed close behind. Going down the steps proved much less strenuous for her.

  A knock sounded at the front door as I began my descent to the first floor. I could see a man’s suit jacket through a small portion of the window not covered by Mrs. Wilson’s lace curtains. Likely Thomas, although I’d never seen him in anything other than his old work pants. I yanked open the door.

  “Hello, Carrington.”

  “Tyson? What are you doing here?” My suitcase slipped from my fingers. It bounced against my leg and made an unexpected landing on my big toe. My screeching caused Tyson to take a backward step. If he’d taken one or two more, he’d have fallen backwards off the porch. A sight I would have relished!

  While I hopped on my good foot, Mrs. Wilson hurried into the parlor. Dragging a wooden chair into the hallway, she pointed at the seat. “I’ll remove your shoe and see if you’ve done any damage to your foot.”

  Tyson stepped closer and tapped his watch pocket. “We’re expected back for dinner very shortly.”

  I bent my knee and tucked my foot out of Mrs. Wilson’s reach. “We don’t have time. I’ll check it once I arrive at the Galloways’. I’m certain it’s all right.” I stood and did my best to erase the older woman’s concern. “See?” I stepped down on the foot and forced a smile while I inwardly winced. “I’m perfectly fine, and Mr. Farnsworth will carry my suitcase to the buggy.”

  Though I had no desire to hold Tyson’s arm, it was the only way I could keep from hobbling down the steps to the buggy. We’d made it to the front gate when Mr. Kaestner appeared. His fleeting look of disapproval annoyed me. Granted, I was leaning heavily against Tyson’s arm, but I was injured.

  I stepped into his path to forestall him. “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Tyson Farnsworth. He is a friend of the Galloway family.”

  “And of you, it would seem.” His gaze rested on my proximity to Tyson as he extended his hand. “Josef Kaestner,” he said. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Farnsworth. Please excuse me; I don’t have much time.”

  There was a bite to his words, and I wondered if it was because I was going off to enjoy myself while he worked, or if it was something more. Perhaps the men had already asked for a meeting with him.

  “Come along, Carrington.” Tyson patted my hand in a much too familiar manner. “We don’t want to be late.”

  His possessive mannerisms annoyed me. “Do stop your fawning. I’m holding your arm for support, nothing more. And where is Augusta?”

  Tyson held my waist far too long while assisting me into the carriage, and I would have slapped him had Mrs. Wilson not been watching from the porch. Once he took up the reins and clucked at the horse, I waved and was surprised to see Mr. Kaestner watching from the front window. The curtain dropped back into place when he saw me looking. He appeared most unhappy, and I wondered if I would have a job on Monday morning.

  “Augusta hadn’t finished dressing, and she asked that I come for you. She thought it a great imposition, but I was pleased that Thomas was off on an errand. It gives us time to be alone.”

  “And why would we want to be alone? It’s Augusta who finds you an interesting suitor.”

  “And I find you interesting,” he boldly proclaimed.

  “Mr. Farnsworth! Augusta is my dear friend, and I find your comment highly improper.”

  He winked and tipped his head close. “Do you? Then this must remain our little secret. Promise you won’t tell.”

  His mocking tone confirmed what I already knew. Augusta would believe whatever he told her—she was besotted with him. I was growing increasingly uncomfortable in his presence.

  “Tell me about your new job, Carrington.”

  “I’d rather hear what prompted your hasty departure during your last visit.” I folded my hands in my lap, eager to hear his excuse. “As I recall, you mentioned going home to visit your parents.”

  “Frances confused my message. I told her I was going to visit my parents. Either I failed to properly explain or she misunderstood that I was going to visit them at Long Branch—in New Jersey. Mother loves the shore and is visiting friends.”

  “And you’ve returned so soon?”

  He cocked his head and looked at me from beneath hooded eyes. “You sound as though you don’t believe me.” He placed his palm across his heart while holding the reins in his other hand. “Do tell me I’ve misjudged you before you break my heart.”

  “I don’t know why anything I say should break your heart, Mr. Farnsworth. I will admit that I think your quick recovery and ability to travel to New Jersey quite amazing.”

  “If you give me a chance, I believe you’ll discover I possess a number of astonishing talents.”

  “I’m not interested.” I wanted to tell him that he was no gentleman, but I held myself in check. Tonight I would atte
mpt to broach the subject with Augusta. She needed to open her eyes and see that Tyson Farnsworth wasn’t a man who would make her happy. Not now. Not ever.

  CHAPTER

  10

  That evening at dinner my foot was soaking in a basin of cold water beneath the table. I thought it most inappropriate, but Augusta had insisted. So there I sat, passing a bowl of creamed corn while my toes iced in a pan of frigid water. The idea of a dinner guest with her foot in a basin of water was simply unbelievable—especially at Mrs. Galloway’s proper dining table. I dared not look at the frowning matriarch or I’d break into a fit of giggles.

  “Tell us about your new job in the carousel factory, Carrington. I know Mr. Galloway has been eager to hear how you’ve been faring.” Mrs. Galloway cut a bite of roast chicken and then peered down the table toward her husband. “Haven’t you, Howard?”

  “I would be pleased to hear what Carrington thinks of her work thus far, if she cares to tell us.”

  Mr. Galloway’s words contained a kindness that permitted me an escape, but I feared avoiding the subject might give him cause for concern. Concern that he might discuss with Mr. Kaestner. I didn’t want to do anything to speed that possibility. I still remained hopeful the men at the factory would eventually accept me and there would be no need to report any difficulty to Mr. Galloway.

  With everyone at the table now looking in my direction, I decided to push forward, though I refrained from detailing any problems. “If all goes well, I’ll be learning to dapple the horses next.” Having my foot submerged in ice water made it impossible not to shiver, but I did my best to keep my voice from shaking.

  Mr. Galloway’s brows dipped ever so slightly. “I understand the men have been somewhat reluctant to accept you among their numbers.”

  So Mr. Kaestner had already talked to Mr. Galloway. I should have known he wouldn’t wait. Mr. Kaestner would be the most impatient to be rid of me. After all, he was the one required to work late into the night and on his day of rest.

  “There are some who don’t like a woman working in the factory,” I said.

  Mr. Galloway took a sip of coffee. “So I’ve been told. I believe we’ve had several employees use your employment as the reason for their resignations. We’ll soon need to address the situation.”

  Mrs. Galloway perked to attention and scooted forward on her chair. Apprehension lurked in shadows of her pale gray eyes. “Address it how?” There was a note of urgency in the question.

  “We can’t operate a factory without employees. We seldom have skilled craftsmen apply, so each new worker must be trained. That process takes time, which we don’t have. We’re already behind on our orders.” Mr. Galloway sent a fleeting glance in my direction. “Josef dispatched word that one of our journeyman carvers who specializes in making bodies is unhappy and threatening to quit. Then one of the men who has been working in the roundhouse ever since we opened walked out. Two hours later an apprentice, one of our legmen who’d shown great promise, said he wouldn’t be returning.”

  Tyson snickered. “So you hire legmen? Exactly what does that entail? I might be interested in applying.”

  Mr. Galloway didn’t appear amused by Tyson’s remark. “I doubt you’d qualify. A legman is an apprentice carver who works for many years carving animal legs before he is considered good enough to become a journeyman. When one of them leaves us and goes to work for a competitor, we’ve not only lost a legman, we’ve lost the months or years of training that our journeymen and master carvers have invested in the apprentice. We must find a solution to this dilemma.”

  I shuddered at the news, but before I could say a word, Mrs. Galloway took control of the conversation. “Such as what, Howard? You’re not going to ask Carrington to resign from her position, are you?” She sucked in a deep breath but didn’t wait for his response. “Because if that’s your plan, I’m going to object. Those men shouldn’t dictate who does or doesn’t work in your factory.”

  “Do stop, Mother. I think it would be a grand idea if Carrie resigned. She could move back here. Then we’d be able to attend the spring socials, and she could come with us to the shore this summer.” Augusta clapped her hands. “Wouldn’t that be perfect, Carrie?”

  Mrs. Galloway’s frosty look was an equal for the icy shiver that curled through my body. “I don’t think Carrington should give in to the pressures those men are exhibiting toward her. Women have every right to support themselves if that’s what they elect to do. You need to take a stand on this, Howard.”

  Once again Mrs. Galloway had become both an unsuspecting and unforeseen ally. In spite of any hardship it might pose to her husband’s business, she was going to make certain my job remained intact. She didn’t want me returning to live under her roof. Did Mr. Galloway comprehend the true reason his wife was coming to my defense? Doubtful. He was far too kind to think she’d be motivated by anything other than the cause of women’s rights or a genuine interest in my future welfare.

  “There are business interests at stake that I’m sure Mr. Galloway must consider,” Tyson said, helping himself to another piece of chicken. “He can’t permit his business to fail because of one woman, now can he? If that happened, you and Augusta would be unable to purchase those pretty gowns or expensive jewelry you enjoy.”

  Mrs. Galloway stiffened in her chair. “The carousel factory isn’t my husband’s only business venture. Far from it, Tyson. We have other investments to sustain our income.”

  Tyson swallowed a bite of potatoes. “I didn’t mean any offense. However, I know men don’t like to fail once they invest in a business— at least that’s what my father has told me.”

  “And he’s correct, but I think Josef and I can develop an amicable solution for all concerned,” Mr. Galloway said, turning to look at me. “And I want you to remember that I don’t want you to remain at the factory if you’re unhappy. Our home is always open to you, Carrington.”

  Mrs. Galloway flinched. “She’s not unhappy. She didn’t say one word about being unhappy, did you, Carrington?”

  I wondered which would be the path of least resistance: to return to the Galloways’ or remain at the factory. I wasn’t welcome in either place. I lifted my cold dripping foot from the water and rested it on the side of the basin. “This past week hasn’t been entirely pleasant. And I didn’t know other workers had quit on my account. I realize the men are opposed to my presence, but I’m very hopeful that once they see the contribution I can make to the company, they’ll accept me.” I wasn’t certain the wives could ever be won over to my side, so I didn’t mention them.

  “There you have it!” Mrs. Galloway gave a firm bob of her head. “Carrington will have no problem once you set things aright with the men. You simply must go in there on Monday morning and assert yourself. Women have a right to earn a living in places other than a schoolhouse or dress shop. You must let them know who is in charge.”

  At the moment I longed for a towel and warm stocking more than a fight for women’s rights. My toes were freezing, and I didn’t want to plunge my foot back into that basin of cold water. But if I dripped on Mrs. Galloway’s fine Aubusson carpet, I’d not soon be forgiven. My foot teetered on the edge of the basin as I leaned forward to signal Augusta.

  From that point on, everything seemed to move in slow motion— like thick, cold molasses. The basin tipped over, water sloshed on the carpet, Mrs. Galloway shrieked, Augusta jumped up to help and tipped over her chair, Mr. Galloway rang the metal bell for Frances, and Tyson did absolutely nothing. I, on the other hand, clutched my throat and bit my lip, but I couldn’t stop from laughing.

  Mrs. Galloway pinned me with a deadly stare. I needed to get control before she had me committed to the local mental institution. But the longer she stared, the more I giggled. Even with my hand clapped over my mouth, laughter bubbled through my fingers like a babbling brook. My embarrassment mounted with each chortle, yet I found it impossible to stop. Rounding the table in slow motion—or so it seemed to me—
Augusta clasped her fingers around my arm in a viselike hold and pulled me up.

  “Lean on me, and let’s get out of the room before my mother regains her voice,” she hissed.

  I’m sure we made quite a sight. Me, giggling and hobbling along on my injured bare foot, and dear Augusta, doing her best to brace me up while trying to keep a straight face. We made it into her father’s small library, where she literally pushed me into a chair and commanded me to stay put while she retrieved my stocking. I don’t know where she thought I might go. I wasn’t in any hurry to face her parents, but at least my incessant giggling had ceased. I could hear Mrs. Galloway shouting at Frances. The unhappy matriarch had regained her voice, and I would likely be the next recipient of her wrath.

  Before I could further contemplate Mrs. Galloway’s fury, Augusta reappeared with my stocking dangling from one hand and a towel in the other. I thanked her while I dried my foot and shoved my toes into the tip of the stocking. “I’m very sorry for what happened. Do you think your mother will forgive me? I’ve likely ruined her carpet.”

  “The rug will be fine, and if it’s not, it will give her an excuse to purchase a new one. I’ll explain your impediment when I have her alone for a few minutes.”

  I stopped pulling at my stocking. “My impediment?”

  “The giggling,” Augusta replied. “Mother doesn’t understand that you can’t control it. I’ll explain.”

  “Oh yes. Thank you.” I pointed toward my unshod foot. “My shoe?”

  “I thought it might be best to go without your shoe until morning. I want you to be able to go to the zoo.” She sat down opposite me. “You do think you’ll be able to, don’t you?”

  “I’ll do my best, but you may have to go without me.”