The Carousel Painter

by Judith Miller

“I don’t believe that for a minute. Do you, Carrie?”

  “Hmm? What did you say?”

  Augusta gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’re daydreaming again.”

  “No, it’s just that there’s so much to see. I don’t want to miss anything.”

  The room was alive with the sounds of men’s voices, the thuds of mallets striking wood, and the clank of metal clamps being lifted to hold the pieces of wood in place. Men wearing heavy canvas aprons stood at large workbenches fashioned from heavy planks held aloft by thick slanted legs. It appeared the tables had been proportioned at varying heights depending on the size of each man. They were carving on the large chunks of glued-together wood, shaping horses’ heads or bodies. Tails, both carved and horsehair, rested on benches across the room. Heads in varying degrees of completion sat on the floor awaiting the carver’s finishing touches.

  Carving tools of every shape and size hung in individual racks beside each carver’s station. Sunlight danced off the gleaming blades.

  I hurried forward and came alongside Mr. Galloway. “Carving requires many more tools than I expected.”

  He stopped and waved me toward one of the older men. “This is Mr. DiVito, one of our master carvers. “Miss Brouwer was admiring your carving tools, Gus.”

  The older man gave a curt nod. “Is not all I have.” He pointed to a wooden tool chest beneath his bench. “All mine—nearly one hundred. Took me a lot of years to buy them. A workman is only as good as the tools he owns.”

  I nodded and smiled at him. I’d heard my father say the same about his paintbrushes.

  Observing the various stages, from simple pieces of poplar and basswood to beautifully embellished horses, amazed me. With each strike of a mallet, the steel-bladed chisels and gouges cut into the wood, defining or intensifying the features. The workers glanced away from their work only long enough to nod at Mr. Galloway.

  I grasped Mr. Galloway’s sleeve as we approached a giraffe that was nearing completion. “What a magnificent animal. Such beauty.”

  “He’s our first. Josef’s design.” There was a hint of pride in Mr. Galloway’s voice. “Children will beg to ride on that giraffe, but I want to make sure this first one is just right. We need the painting to be as perfect as Josef’s carving.”

  I stretched my neck, hoping to capture a glimpse of the painters at work. “Where do you paint the horses? I don’t see any signs of painting.”

  “Ah, we do all the painting in a large room at the rear of the building. We don’t want wood shavings or dust in the same room where we have wet paint. We’d end up with ruined finishes.” He grasped his watch chain and removed the pocket watch from his vest. “I believe we’re going to have to call our tour to halt, ladies. We can return another day if you’d like, so you can see the rest of the factory.” His lips lifted into a crooked smile, and he wrapped Augusta’s shoulder in a fatherly hug. “I can guess what your answer will be.”

  Augusta laughed along with him. An unexpected pang of jealousy attacked me, and for a moment I wanted to jump between them and share her father’s affection. We’d neared the door when one of the workers called out to Mr. Galloway. He was waving a paper in his hand. He raced toward us and came to an abrupt halt directly in front of us.

  “Josef said to give you this if you stopped by, but nobody told me you were here.”

  “Thank you, Franklin. I’m glad you caught me. We were just leaving.”

  Franklin thrust the folded note at Mr. Galloway. “I doubt you’ll be pleased with the news.” Without further comment, he performed a perfect about-face and marched off.

  I didn’t know which I wanted to do more: remain and tour the paint shop or hear the letter’s mysterious content. I didn’t do either—at least not then.

  CHAPTER

  4

  When we sat down to supper that evening, it appeared as if Mr. and Mrs. Galloway had exchanged personalities. In an animated and convivial manner, Mrs. Galloway entertained us with news of the friends she’d visited in Fair Oaks earlier in the day, while Mr. Galloway remained silent and downcast.

  Once the platters and bowls had circled the table, Mrs. Galloway tapped her finger on the edge of the table. “Did you hear what I said, Howard?”

  He looked up from his plate and blinked his eyes in rapid succession. “I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.” The moment he made the admission, his neck disappeared beneath his shirt collar like a turtle retreating into its shell.

  Given his wife’s usual temperament, I understood the desire to become invisible. But tonight it seemed nothing would annoy Mrs. Galloway. Even in light of her husband’s admission, her spirits soared. “I said that Laura Wentworth has agreed to host our housewarming party if our house isn’t completed in time. Although it would be highly unusual to host a housewarming at someone else’s home, it gives me an excellent option, since the invitations have already gone out.”

  Augusta picked up a roll and broke off a tiny piece. With painstaking care, she buttered the portion. “But won’t the guests go to the wrong house?” She popped the piece of bread into her mouth.

  If my foot would have reached far enough, I would have kicked Augusta beneath the table. The question would likely send Mrs. Galloway into her typical querulous state. I held my breath and waited for the response.

  “We’ve already decided upon a solution. Since their home is only a short distance away, I’ll have Thomas stand at the end of our driveway and direct the guests to the Wentworths’ home.” She placed her open palm across her heart. “Leave it to Laura to come up with a brilliant solution. Isn’t it perfect?”

  I kept my eyes trained on Augusta to make certain she joined in as I bobbed my head. If she showed any sign of disagreement, I would slide down in my chair until I could land a well-placed kick on her shin. Fortunately, Augusta nodded her agreement.

  “A wonderful idea, Mother. Who knows—you and Mrs. Wentworth may set a new precedent for future housewarming parties in Fair Oaks.”

  Mrs. Galloway preened at the possibility. “You may be right, Augusta. What do you think, Howard?”

  “Whatever you decide is fine, my dear.”

  Mrs. Galloway’s lips tightened. “What is wrong with you this evening, Howard? Are you ill? You haven’t touched your supper.”

  “I’m fine.” As if to disprove his wife’s observation, Mr. Galloway took a bite of his green beans.

  “You are not fine. Something is wrong.” She pinned her husband with an impatient stare. “I want to know what is bothering you.”

  Mr. Galloway leaned heavily into his chair. “The day has been difficult. Each time I think I’m making progress with the carousel factory, I’m besieged with another problem.”

  “Such as?” Mrs. Galloway raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

  “We’re behind schedule. I hired an additional carver two months ago thinking my problems would be solved, but since his arrival, our orders have continued to mount. Word has spread, and it seems everyone wants our horses.”

  Mrs. Galloway cut a piece of roasted chicken. “I would think you’d be pleased.”

  “I am, but it creates even more of a backlog. Today I discovered we’d received a shipment of pine. We can’t use soft wood. We’ll lose additional days while we wait on the shipment of basswood.” Mr. Galloway patted the pocket where he’d placed the letter earlier in the afternoon. “Then I received a resignation from my finest painter. He’s returning to Germany to be with his ailing parents.” He sighed. “I understand his need to go home, but . . .”

  Mrs. Galloway brightened, probably pleased that the bad news had nothing to do with her new house in Fair Oaks. “I’m certain you’ll be back on schedule before the end of the week.”

  Mr. Galloway sighed and speared another green bean while Mrs. Galloway prattled on and on about plans for the housewarming party and how happy she’d be once they moved to Fair Oaks. It was as though her husband hadn’t aired his difficulties. When she finally took a bite of
dessert, I seized my opportunity. “I believe I can help you with one of your problems, Mr. Galloway.”

  From the weary look on his face, I could see he’d prefer peace and quiet, but I couldn’t oblige. I might not have another chance to propose my idea—at least not in these surroundings. In order to meet with success, I would need Mrs. Galloway. The fact that I wanted Augusta’s mother as an ally nearly sent me into a fit of giggles, but I pinched my arm until pain replaced any urge to laugh.

  When her husband didn’t respond, Mrs. Galloway scooted forward on her chair. “How could you help solve a business problem?”

  I was being put in my place, and for a moment I wanted to retaliate. But if I was to win this battle, I would need Mrs. Galloway. “I would like you to employ me to paint your carousel horses.”

  Mrs. Galloway held two fingers against her mouth as if contemplating her husband’s response. Her eyes glistened with expectation. In that moment I knew she’d become an unwitting ally.

  “That’s the most ridiculous suggestion I’ve ever heard!” Cheeks flushed, Augusta slapped her linen napkin onto the table.

  I’d expected such a reaction from Mr. Galloway, but not from my friend. Earlier in the afternoon we had spoken of my need to find a job and move elsewhere. She’d even acknowledged her mother wasn’t keen on my presence in their home. Though I hadn’t mentioned working at the carousel factory, Augusta had agreed to help me seek work. Now, with a possibility in the offing, I had witnessed her startling betrayal.

  I flashed a quick look in her direction before turning toward Mr. Galloway. He tipped his head. His tolerant smile made me feel like a little girl who had announced her wish to become a princess. But this wasn’t a fairy tale, and I wasn’t a little girl. I had to convince him that I could provide an excellent solution to at least one of his problems.

  “Before you make up your mind, let me point out that I have excellent skills, and I believe my painting would create an even greater demand for your horses. I know you’ll be pleased with my work.” A weight settled on my chest while I awaited Mr. Galloway’s response.

  “I don’t doubt what you’ve said, but there aren’t any women working in the factory. I don’t believe it would be suitable,” he said.

  “You’re exactly right, Father. It would be more appropriate for Carrington to paint portraits and still lifes. We could help her arrange a showing of her work.”

  “I don’t have any work to exhibit, Augusta. And preparing for an exhibit would take years.” Though I’d exaggerated my timeline, I hoped to elicit a response from Mrs. Galloway. I didn’t have to wait long.

  The older woman shifted in her chair and tapped a fingertip on the table. “Carrington has a valid point regarding an exhibit. As for the portrait idea, perhaps some of our friends might step forward and engage her services, but the income wouldn’t be dependable. From what Carrington has told us, there are many starving artists—even in Paris.”

  The woman was cruel! If I hadn’t needed her help to promote my cause, I would have responded in kind. “Then you agree that your husband should offer me the position?”

  “I don’t generally interfere in Howard’s business decisions, but your suggestion does have merit. It appears that both of you would benefit.”

  “Mother! You can’t be serious. I cannot believe what I’m hearing. Did you hear Father? He said no other women work there.”

  Mrs. Galloway shrugged. “Someone must be first. Isn’t that right, Carrington?”

  “Oui. Yes. And I’m willing to be that person.” I turned to Mr. Galloway. “I hope you’ll listen to your wife and give me an opportunity. You won’t regret hiring me.”

  I could see the indecision in his eyes. “I don’t want to create problems at the factory, but—”

  “Orders need to be completed, Howard. Isn’t that what you said? Carrington can help meet that goal. You don’t have any other qualified painters begging for work, do you?”

  Mrs. Galloway had plowed over Augusta’s objections and taken up my cause with a fervor that could have matched Elizabeth Cady Stanton’s arguing for women’s rights. Mr. Galloway glanced first at his wife and then at his daughter. His brows knit together, and his eyes shone with concern. It was obvious he didn’t want to choose sides.

  I leaned forward, silently imploring Augusta to look at me. “You know I must go to work as soon as possible,” I whispered.

  “I know. Silly me. I had hoped you could live with us, and our friendship would continue to grow.” A haunting ache lingered in her words.

  “Our friendship won’t end because I live somewhere else.” I straightened in my chair and forced a smile. “Besides, you’ll soon be engaged and marry some eligible bachelor. Then what will I do?”

  Augusta shook her head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen in the near future.”

  Mrs. Galloway clucked her tongue. “You’ve received several invitations to attend parties in the coming months. If you’d put Mrs. Higgen-brook’s etiquette and dance classes to use and quit hiding behind the potted plants the minute you arrive at a party, we’d already be fitting you for a wedding gown.”

  Augusta splotched pink from bodice to hairline. “Mother! Do cease such talk.”

  “I’m only saying . . .”

  Mr. Galloway cleared his throat. “It seems we’ve strayed from our initial discussion. From what Augusta has told me about your painting ability, I’m certain you would bring a great talent to the carousel factory. And I can see this as an answer to my dilemma.”

  “Of course you can. I told you—”

  He waved his wife into silence. “However, I do worry about a young woman surrounded by workingmen. They are good men, but at times their language and behavior can be offensive.” Mr. Galloway rubbed his jaw and appeared to ponder the idea. “I doubt they would change because a woman is in the vicinity. If you object, it could create animosity, and they might retaliate or quit.”

  I held my breath and waited for him to continue.

  Finally he dropped his palm atop the table and looked at me. “You’re hired.”

  Two simple words, but they were the ones I needed to hear. The words that would change my future. The words that would give me the ability to live under another roof. I didn’t know who was happier: me or Mrs. Galloway.

  “When can I begin?”

  “Why don’t we wait until Monday. That way Augusta will have a couple more days to visit with you.” He appeared relieved when there was no objection.

  Mrs. Galloway stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “We can make a carriage available so you can locate a place to live. And we’d be pleased to pay your rent for the first few weeks, wouldn’t we, Howard?”

  “Yes, of course. But she could also live here until she’s comfortable living alone in the city. And what if the job doesn’t prove to be what she expects? She’d need to return here. It seems to make more sense to hold off on any move.”

  I held up my hand in protest. “I know I’m going to be very happy working at the factory. You need not worry about me.” I inhaled a quick gulp of air before continuing my argument. “If I could navigate the streets of Paris, I’m certain I can find my way around Collinsford.”

  His nod was barely noticeable, a mere dip of his chin. “You and Augusta can search for your new living accommodations. When you find a place, Thomas can deliver your baggage while you’re at work.”

  “You’re very kind,” I said.

  “In the meantime, the two of you should enjoy yourselves.” He turned toward me. “You’ll wish you had this freedom once you’ve been working for a few weeks.”

  The following morning I donned a navy blue skirt and white blouse. After securing my straw hat in place, I took one final look in the mirror. “Proper attire for seeking an apartment,” I muttered to my reflection before exiting the room.

  One glimpse of Augusta’s soft green day dress and feather-bedecked hat and I questioned my choice of attire. There was no time to change, an
d even if there had been, nothing in my trunks would suit any better. Last year we had walked the streets of Paris clad in our incompatible clothes: Augusta wearing the latest fashion while I walked alongside clothed like a scullery maid. Even though she’d constantly pleaded to purchase clothes for me, I’d accepted only one time. Father had scolded me severely, but he’d gone the next day and purchased fabric for two new skirts.

  Augusta and her mother bid me good morning when I sat down at the breakfast table. Thereafter, except for Mrs. Galloway’s occasional remarks, we ate our breakfast in silence. I suspected Augusta wanted to make sure I knew she was still unhappy with my decision. Once she’d eaten the last bite of her toast and sipped the remains of her tea, I pushed away from the table. “Shall we go?”

  A curt nod was her only response. She remained aloof as we walked to the carriage. Thomas shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he awaited direction, but Augusta stared silently into the distance.

  “Take us to the area surrounding the carousel factory, Thomas. If you see any signs for a boardinghouse in the vicinity, please stop,” I directed.

  He tipped his gardener’s cap. “Yes, miss,” he said before helping us into the carriage.

  During the drive, I did my best to draw Augusta into conversation. With each attempt, she refused to give me any more than a nod or curt response. Finally I scooted forward and clasped her hand. “I know you’re angry. You don’t hide your feelings very well.” I tried to sound cheerful. “Surely you agree that there is no other choice for me.”

  Augusta’s fingers relaxed within my grip, and her angry eyes softened. “I know. But it doesn’t make me happy.”

  The tightness in my stomach gently eased. “The only thing that will change is my address. We will always be dear friends, and if your mother doesn’t object, you can come visit me.”

  “And you can come visit me, as well. I’m going to hold you to your promise to attend the housewarming party. Ronald will be home from college, and he’s bringing his friend Tyson along.”