The Carousel Painter Read online

  Mr. Tobarth rocked back on his heels and laughed. “You one of those folks that’s all tied up in worryin’ ’bout rules, huh?”

  “The Bible says you’re supposed to rest on the Sabbath.” I knew that was true. My mama had told me.

  “You’re right about that.” He tapped his finger on his narrow chest. “But it’s what’s in here that’s important. To my way of thinkin’, folks worry too much ’bout the wrong things.”

  I didn’t want to argue the rights and wrongs of what people thought about others or the judgments they imposed. And I certainly didn’t want to argue about the contents of the Bible. I didn’t know enough to hold my own in a debate.

  “You gonna keep going to church?” he asked.

  “When I’m at the boardinghouse, I will. But sometimes—as I’ll do today, for instance—I go to visit friends after work on Saturdays and don’t return home until late Sunday evening.”

  He flashed me a lopsided grin. “Over to the Galloways, I’m guessin’.”

  I turned my focus to the floor, surprised his comment had caused a feeling of shame to ball up and settle in the hollow of my stomach. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Ain’t no use tryin’ to hide anythin’ around this place. Everyone knows you and the Galloway gal are friends. Might as well be proud of the fact.” He tucked the paint can close to the rack. “Mostly they’re just jealous they don’t have the same advantage.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t have been hired had it not been for my friendship with Augusta. However, my association with the Galloway family had unearthed its own ever-growing mound of problems—the primary one being Augusta’s insistent invitations to visit her nearly every weekend.

  Yet I should be grateful. Where would I be without the Galloways and their help? I mentally checked off the many things they had done for me. The job, the clothing, the paid-up rent, the storage of my father’s paintings. Yes, where would I be without the Galloways and their help! Occasional visits at their home were nothing compared to the generosity I’d received.

  Mr. Tobarth stood up and lifted his brush to shade the ears of his horse with dark umber. “Josef says you got some of your paintings stored here at the factory. I’d like to see some of your work if you’re of a mind to show ’em to me one of these days.”

  There truly wasn’t anything that wasn’t known by everyone in the factory. They even knew about the paintings. “They aren’t my work, Mr. Tobarth. They’re the remaining works my father completed before his death.”

  “So he was one of them famous European-type artists that made lots of money for paintin’ bowls of fruit?”

  I chuckled at the question. “He wasn’t very famous, and he didn’t make much money at all. But his work was admired by all of the other artists. They said he’d be famous one day. Unfortunately, death put an end to his work.”

  His eyes softened. “Death has a way of doing that.” He held the paintbrush to his side and stood back to view the shading he’d completed. “But when you know you’ll see the people you love in heaven, it helps ease the pain.” When I didn’t respond, he glanced over his shoulder, his bushy eyebrows curved at a cockeyed angle. “Don’t ya think?”

  “But what if you don’t think you’ll see them in heaven? What if someone you love isn’t there? And what if they go to heaven and I don’t?”

  Concern extinguished the customary glint from his eyes. “You sure got a lot of what-if questions. I’m not sure I’m the one to answer all of ’em, but I’ll give it a try—at lunchtime. You bring your pail over here, and I’ll tell you how you can be sure ’bout where you’re going when you die.” He stepped forward and deepened the shading on the inside of the horse’s left ear. “Right now I need to concentrate on finishing up some of these horses.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said. For some reason, his offer had produced an inexplicable feeling of joy. I didn’t know if it was because Mr. Tobarth had spoken to me as though we were friends or if it was because I might receive some additional assurance I’d see Mama and Papa when I died.

  She’d done it again! Tyson was sitting on the front porch of Mrs. Wilson’s boardinghouse when I approached after work. Augusta was nowhere in sight. “Where is Augusta?” I asked, walking past him.

  “Good afternoon to you, too, Miss Brouwer.” I ignored his sarcasm and continued inside. Tyson followed close on my heels. “How long before you’re ready? Augusta said you got off work at six o’clock on Saturdays. It’s already seven.”

  “I don’t control the amount of work that must be completed in a given day. And if I’m asked to finish something before leaving, I must do so.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Some of us work for a living.”

  He slapped his palm against his chest. “Oh, you’ve wounded me, Miss Brouwer. I doubt I’ll ever recover from your cruel words.”

  I waved aside his attempt at comedic drama. “Augusta? Is she—”

  “Anxiously awaiting your arrival. I told her it didn’t take both of us to call for you. She seems to have difficulty getting anywhere on time.”

  “That must be a recently acquired bad habit. I don’t recall her ever being late when she lived in Paris.” I rested my foot on the bottom step of the staircase. “I’ll be down momentarily. You can wait in the parlor or on the porch. Whichever you wish.”

  “I’d prefer to come upstairs and help you.” He winked and rubbed his palms together.

  I had considered Tyson’s past behavior offensive, but he obviously needed to understand that I would no longer tolerate his ill-mannered advances. I leaned across the banister determined I would no longer mince words with him. “I find you one of the most boorish men I’ve ever encountered. You are coarse in both word and deed, and if it weren’t for Augusta, I wouldn’t give you the time of day. If your crude behavior doesn’t cease, I shall speak to both Augusta and her father.” His head jerked back. I silently applauded myself, pleased I’d attained the desired impact.

  He made a quick recovery and took a step closer. “I’ve had far more practice at these games of cat and mouse than you, dear Carrington. I suggest you be careful.”

  I did my best to ignore his ominous tone. “I’m not playing a game. I’m giving you a warning. Stop your offensive behavior, or I’ll speak to Augusta.”

  “I must warn you, I am quite effective where Augusta is concerned.”

  I stood there blinking, my heart gone eerily still. “If you’d cease your advances, this wouldn’t need to become a contest.”

  He winked—bold as you please—as if I’d never mentioned his behavior, as if my threat meant nothing, as if he held the trump card. I squared my shoulders and marched upstairs. If he tried to follow, I’d push him down the steps without a second thought.

  While I washed up and changed my dress, I considered penning a note and sending my regrets to Augusta. I knew she’d be either angry or hurt—probably both. It didn’t take long to push aside the idea and return downstairs. My traveling case had been sitting by the front door since I’d left for work early that morning. Tyson had found more than sufficient time to annoy me, yet he still hadn’t loaded my bag.

  “You are a picture to behold,” Tyson said, his voice smooth and soft.

  “And you are a boorish cad.” I grabbed the handles of my traveling case and started for the door. When we stepped onto the porch, Tyson reached to take it from me. I swirled around in protest and pulled the bag close to my skirt. “I can carry it myself.”

  “You are quite haughty, aren’t you?” He took two long strides to the porch steps and then glanced back at me. “ ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’ ” He grinned, mocking me with his eyes. “Proverbs sixteen, verse eighteen.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I am somewhat surprised by your ability to quote Scripture.” I hastened to the carriage, lifted my bag, and slung it inside. “And the fact that you would do so in this situation grieves and offends me. Tell me, Tyson, if I am filled with pride,
how do you label your own sin?”

  “Me?” He tipped his head close to my ear. “I don’t worry about the sin aspect. I worry only about the conquest.”

  I did my utmost to sit as far away from him as possible. He seemed to find my behavior amusing. How could Augusta think this shallow, loathsome man appealing? During our carriage ride, he did his best to engage me in conversation while I did my best to ignore him. Thankful to see Augusta waiting on the porch when we arrived, I grabbed my bag and stepped down from the carriage without a backward glance.

  “You should always wait for the gentleman to assist you,” Augusta whispered when I leaned forward to accept her embrace.

  “What gentleman? And why are you dressed in that fancy gown?”

  She tipped her head to the side and giggled. “Tyson, of course. You should have waited for him to help you down.”

  “I’ve grown accustomed to fending for myself over these past weeks. Besides, I’m perfectly capable of getting in and out of a carriage without help. Shall I take my bag upstairs?” I gestured toward her dress. “And you still haven’t told me why you’re wearing that elegant gown.” The dress was beautiful. Fashioned of pale mauve duchess satin and bearing the latest fashionable huge velvet sleeves adorned with lace, the gown would likely be the envy of many a young lady.

  “Come along. We need to hurry and get you dressed. I’ll have Frances help with your hair. You did bring one of the evening dresses, didn’t you? We’re going to a party.”

  A mental image of the party gowns that vied for far too much space in my wardrobe danced before me. “No. Your note said nothing about a party. You and Tyson go on. I’ll stay here and rest. I’ll find a good book in your father’s library. Besides, I’m tired after working all day.”

  Augusta planted her fists on her hips. “Don’t you even think of refusing. We’ll find something in my closet that will be perfect. Come along.” Like an obedient child, I followed her up the stairs and into the room I’d occupied during my first days in Collinsford. “Wait here. I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.”

  I eyed the bed with longing. If only I could change into my nightgown and slip between the cool sheets to rest and rejuvenate my aching muscles. I dropped to the side of the bed, the soft mattress beckoning me once again to enjoy its comfort. I removed my shoes, lifted my legs onto the bed, and eased my back against the plump pillows. A sigh escaped my lips, and I closed my eyes. An intoxicating scent offering a promise of spring drifted through the window and carried me back to my early years in New Hampshire. Daddy had planted lilac bushes along one side of the house because they were Mama’s favorite. Each spring I’d pick bouquets for her. And each spring Mama would tell me lilacs were God’s promise of another wonderful springtime. I always agreed.

  But the lilacs wouldn’t bloom for at least another four or five weeks. Spring had a way of teasing with sunny days and budding flowers, but winter hadn’t quite released its hold. The biting wind of the previous morning had been proof of that. The very thought caused me to shiver. I pulled the soft blanket across my shoulders and promised myself I wouldn’t go to sleep.

  “Carrie!”

  Startled, I lurched forward. If I hadn’t grabbed the bedpost, I would have landed on the floor. My heart pounded with turbulent ferocity, and I clasped a palm to my chest. “Why are you shouting?” I yelled. I couldn’t help myself. Augusta had nearly frightened the life out of me. Her eyes widened, and for a moment I thought she was going to cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but I’m right here where you left me.”

  “But you were asleep.”

  I didn’t know what difference it made if I slept on the bed or if I sat in a chair with my eyes wide open while I waited. It obviously mattered to Augusta. She stood in front of me, satin and lace flowing over her arms in myriad colors.

  “I’ve brought these for you to try. Frances is coming with some more.”

  “I don’t want to try on all of these gowns.” I pointed to a charcoal gray offering. “That one will do.” Besides, it would match my best shoes. I was thankful my toe no longer pained me. Otherwise, the pointed shoes would have pinched. And I didn’t think Augusta would permit my ugly work shoes with a formal gown. The very thought was enough to make me giggle.

  “I think this one is better,” Augusta said. “And what is so funny?”

  “Just a fleeting thought,” I replied while Augusta tugged a gown from between Frances’s arms and held it against my waist.

  One look in the mirror and I gasped. The color was a shade that could only be described as somewhere between fuchsia and purple. It reminded me of a petunia. Even the sleeves drooped like the edges of the trumpet-shaped bloom. I didn’t intend to arrive at the party resembling a drooping fuchsia flower.

  “No. The gray. I insist.” Crossing my arms over my waist, I began tapping my foot, determined this skirmish would not be lost. “Frances can return the other gowns to your room, and you can help me change.”

  Augusta didn’t argue. I don’t know if it was the resolve in my voice or my firm military stance, but she piled the gowns into Frances’s arms and sent her down the hall. Augusta helped me with my dress, then Frances returned and arranged my hair in a tea-cake coiffure. She draped far too many curls across my forehead, but when I raked my fingers through the fringe, her lips tightened into a knot. There was little doubt I’d offended her, but I didn’t intend to go out in public with those drooping tresses hanging in my eyes. They reminded me of the thick trim that decorated Mrs. Galloway’s frightful table coverings.

  “A bit too curly, don’t you think?” When Augusta and I locked gazes in the mirror, I arched my eyebrows.

  “It’s perfect. We don’t have time to straighten it. Besides, curls are in fashion.” She selected two aigrettes and shoved them into the curls. “Perfect.”

  In my estimation the coiffure was far from perfect, but I thanked Frances for her help. She frowned in return. Apparently my words didn’t ring true. Then again, it may have been my exercise in finger-combing that had offended her.

  Before there was time to further consider her behavior, Augusta grasped my hand and pulled me toward the bedroom door. It was when we stopped to gather our wraps from the nearby chair that we heard Mrs. Galloway’s screams.

  CHAPTER

  14

  While we raced down the hallway, I pushed the curls off my forehead, thankful I could finally see where I was going. Had anyone observed Augusta yanking on my hand while we hurtled toward her mother’s room, we would have been declared completely mad. Augusta rushed to her mother’s side, but I skidded to a dead halt just inside the door. To say Mrs. Galloway’s appearance was startling would be an understatement. How her facial features could contort into such an unattractive assemblage was beyond my comprehension.

  Augusta clutched her mother by the shoulders and begged to know what was wrong. Mrs. Galloway gasped great gulps of air and waved her arms toward the dressing table. Clasping a hand to her heart, she exhaled several indistinguishable sounds before screeching, “My necklace is missing! My diamond and sapphire necklace. The one your father gave me for our anniversary.”

  She collapsed into Augusta’s arms and continued her zealous weeping while I stood frozen in place, my mouth gaping like an open door. I didn’t know what to say or do. The woman appeared inconsolable. I decided her flair for the dramatic had once again taken over. Augusta was having little effect, so hoping to lend aid, I stepped forward and reached to open one of the drawers in the mahogany jewelry box.

  Mrs. Galloway shifted toward me with the speed of a cat pouncing on prey. “Don’t touch a thing!” she shrieked.

  Hand trembling, I jumped back. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . . I only hoped to help. I thought perhaps you had placed your necklace in a different drawer when you last put it away.” I stifled the gurgling onset of a hysterical giggle.

  “Do you think I would keep a valuable necklace in a simple jewelry box? The necklace was in my
husband’s safe.” She tapped a velvet case sitting on her dressing table. “In this box. The necklace is gone,” she hissed.

  I edged toward the door. “Would you like me to fetch Mr. Galloway?”

  “Yes. You do that,” she said between sobs.

  Relieved to be away from the frenzied woman, I rushed down the stairs toward Mr. Galloway’s library—and directly into the arms of Tyson Farnsworth. I silently chastised myself for not watching where I was going.

  “To what do I owe this privilege?” He held me close, the warmth of his breath causing me to lean backward.

  “Let me go. I must speak to Mr. Galloway at once.” I yanked away, but not before his fingers traveled down my back in a bold and frightful manner.

  The thought of slapping his face flitted through my mind, but such a reaction would only add to the current havoc taking place in Mrs. Galloway’s room. The woman couldn’t handle another problem at the moment—nor could Augusta. Tyson followed behind me. I didn’t know why. Either he was checking to see if I’d told him the truth or he planned to offer his assistance. Knowing Tyson, I didn’t think it was the latter.

  After I located Mr. Galloway in the rear garden talking to Thomas, I relayed the details. He motioned me to follow while he continued to ask questions. Tyson remained close on my heels, and I watched while Mr. Galloway examined the safe in his library for any evidence of foul play.

  “I know I opened the safe to place the deed inside only an hour or so before retrieving the jewelry box. I thought I’d locked it, but it’s possible I could be mistaken.” He rubbed his forehead and stared at the floor. “I simply can’t be certain,” he mumbled. “Why don’t the two of you wait in the parlor while I go up and speak to my wife.”

  I wanted to oppose Mr. Galloway’s suggestion. But any objection would call for an explanation and further turmoil, so I followed behind the older man until we reached the parlor. The moment Mr. Galloway was out of sight, Tyson lunged toward me. His teeth gleamed like porcelain daggers. I needed a plan. A plan that would put some distance and several large objects between us. After a glance over my shoulder, I swiveled around and dashed to the other side of the settee. I felt like Little Red Riding Hood with the wolf poised and anxious to devour his prey.