The Carousel Painter (16 page)

“Sit down, Carrie,” he said.

This time I didn’t bother to wipe the dust before I plopped onto the chair. I wondered if Josef noticed.

“Josef and I have been discussing the men who have recently resigned from their jobs. I wanted to discover the reason.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” My voice cracked as I spoke.

Mr. Galloway’s sorrowful smile answered my question. “Not because it’s you, Carrie, but because you are a woman. Some of the men are superstitious about women in the workplace. Some say they are uncomfortable having a woman around—they must watch every word they say. Others believe men are entitled to factory jobs because they have families to support.” He leaned against the desk and tented his fingers beneath his chin. “Those who are married tell me their wives are unhappy that a woman is working in their midst. And some are opposed simply because they believe the other men will be angry if they don’t join the opposition.”

“Do you want me to resign, or do you plan to fire me?”

“Neither. I’m not sure Josef agrees with my decision, but I’m not yet ready to succumb. I’m going to advertise in Philadelphia and New York. If we’re fortunate, we may locate a few experienced men. And who can say, if those men who quit don’t find work, they may come back and ask to be rehired.” Mr. Galloway tapped the drawing on Josef’s desk. “After I talked with the men, Josef and I had a good look at your drawings.”

Mr. Kaestner’s gaze remained fastened upon the pages. He didn’t appear pleased, but I was eager for a change of subject and decided to brave the storm.

“What do you think of them?” I ventured.

He shrugged and dropped into a chair beside the desk. “They are not bad drawings, but they need changes before they will work for us. A carver’s eye is needed for the best carousel animals.”

My thoughts whirled.
Not bad drawings? Not bad? What would it take
to impress this man?
I curled my fingers into fists and dug my fingernails into my palms. I needed to remain calm. “I didn’t realize you were an art critic, Mr. Kaestner,” I said in a measured voice.

He tipped his head to the side and squinted his right eye as if picturing me in the sights of his rifle. “I am the art critic when it comes to carousel animals in this factory.” He looked up at Mr. Galloway. “Unless it is someone else you are wanting to take over this duty.”

“No, of course not. You’re the expert, Josef. I brought these to you for your opinion because I thought Carrie’s unique animals might give us an advantage over other carousel factories.” Mr. Galloway’s apologetic tone surprised me.

A lock of Josef’s thick brown hair fell across his forehead, and he swiped it away with an agitated grunt. While keeping his eyes on Mr. Galloway, Josef flicked his index finger and gently pushed the drawings a few inches away—as though secretly attempting to distance himself from my efforts. But I knew exactly what he was doing.

Why was he so unwilling to receive fresh ideas? Did he fear I’d usurp his position? Surely he knew that wouldn’t happen. I had no idea how to carve, and I possessed no interest in learning.

“Right now we don’t need more advantage, because we cannot keep up with our current orders. We will fall further behind if we design new animals. There is not time to perfect the designs or draw the templates we would need. The carvers, they would not be able to create with the same speed and skill, and the painting techniques would need time to be decided and perfected. These things, they differ with each new animal. Making changes now is a bad idea.”

Mr. Galloway cupped his chin and nodded. “You’re right. This isn’t the time. But I don’t think we should completely disregard the idea of adding these animals once we’re caught up with our orders. I like what Carrie has done.”

For the first time in many months, I experienced that warm feeling I used to get when Papa praised my artwork. “Thank you for your confidence in me, Mr. Galloway.” I flashed a smile and decided the time might be right to request a move from the sanding room. With men quitting, surely my talents could be put to better use. And once the men realized I could make a valuable contribution to the factory, they’d be more likely to accept me. “Since we’re so far behind on the painting, Mr. Galloway, perhaps one of the apprentices could sand the horses and I could help with more of the painting. I believe I’ve already acquired the necessary skills to sand and apply primer.”

“I do believe Carrie is right. There’s no sense wasting her talent with sanding and priming. Let’s get her to work on some of the more technical painting so that we can complete the current orders.” Mr. Galloway patted Josef on the shoulder. “I’m relying on you, Josef. With you at the helm and Carrie’s talent, I know we’re going to make our carousel factory the best in the country.”

Mr. Galloway’s plaudits were appreciated, but Josef’s leg was bouncing up and down. He’d apparently developed the nervous habit of jiggling his leg to help him overcome worrisome situations—not nearly as embarrassing as my tendency to erupt into fits of laughter. And it was becoming increasingly clear that Mr. Kaestner considered my presence in his factory a worrisome and irritating burden.

Though I thought his attitude less than gracious, I did feel a smidgen of sympathy—mostly because I’d experienced similar difficulties. Well, maybe not similar, but at least I’d been forced into some circumstances I didn’t like. “I agree. I think Mr. Kaestner is going to lead the factory toward immense prosperity.”

Josef placed his palms on the desk and pushed himself up from the chair. Wariness shadowed his eyes as he walked Mr. Galloway to the door. I, too, stepped toward the exit, but Josef motioned me to remain, saying, “We need to discuss the changes in your work duties.”

I didn’t miss the edge in his voice but was thankful I’d soon be doing something other than sanding. Josef stepped out of the room with Mr. Galloway. I hoped the men would begin to respect me once they saw I was qualified to paint the horses or perhaps one of the beautiful scenes that decorated the crown of the carousel.

Josef’s gait was slow and determined when he returned to the office a few moments later. He gathered my drawings and bounced the edges on top of the stained wooden desk. I wanted to hurdle across the expanse and retrieve them, but I maintained my distance and kept my attention fixed upon the drawings—prepared to leap into action should they slip from his hands. They didn’t.

Using two fingers, Mr. Kaestner drew open the lower desk drawer and dropped the pages inside. I could no longer contain myself and leaned forward when he pushed the drawer back into place.

He looked up and met my eyes. “They will be safe in the desk, Miss Brouwer.”

“I’d prefer to keep them with me. I can put them with my sketch pad in the other room.”

“They will not do us much good in there, ja? If I am to fix your drawings into workable designs, I’ll need them available when I find some time for the extra work.”

I shrunk back. His emphasis upon the added duties had come through loud and clear. “I’ll be glad to help in any way possible,” I offered.

“Enough you have done already, Miss Brouwer.” He stood and strode out of the room. I hurried behind him, still wiping away the flecks of primer that speckled my face and hair. I managed to hold my head high even though several of the men in the carving shop glared at me as we passed by. Soon they’d understand my employment had more to do with my talent than the fact that I was acquainted with the factory owner’s daughter.

He waved me onward. “I’ll tell Mr. Tobarth he can show you how to stipple the horses, but first I must stop at the roundhouse.”

I remained close on his heels and followed him inside the circular room where numerous men were busy assembling the crown of a carousel. I took up a position beside the stack of sandbags used to add rider weight to the beautiful carousel horses during the testing process. Mr. Tobarth had explained that each new carousel must be assembled and operated with the added weight before it could be declared fit for shipment to the new owner.

The shipping crates were assembled in a small room off the roundhouse, and from the frenzied hammering and shouts, I guessed the men had fallen behind schedule. An older man with a drooping mustache that matched his downturned eyes stopped as he neared me. “This is all your fault. Why don’t you get out of here and go find yerself a husband! If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be short of help.” Each venomous word struck home, and I longed to run from the room.

“Get those crates moved to the other side of the room,” Josef shouted as he approached. He waved me forward. “Come along.”

When we arrived in the paint room, Josef pointed to the far wall. “Stay there while I speak to Mr. Tobarth.”

I would have preferred to be present for the conversation between the two men, but I didn’t press the point. Standing in the appointed spot, I watched the animated conversation. Mr. Tobarth pointed first in one direction and then another. Like molten wax, the supervisor’s facial expressions transformed in slow motion. Josef, however, remained unflappable. Throughout the conversation, his arms remained folded across his chest, his legs positioned in a firm military stance.

Finally, Mr. Kaestner signaled for me to join them. Pasting on what I hoped was a smile, I trod the distance while the two men stared at me. Discomfort inched up my spine.

The smile didn’t evoke a response from either of them. Neither appeared happy. Josef was the first to make a move. He dropped his arms from their folded position and pointed to a row of horses. “Mr. Tobarth says he wants you to learn the fancy painting.”

I could barely believe what I’d heard. “No stippling?” I asked, just to be certain I hadn’t misunderstood.

Mr. Tobarth shook his head. “Gus can take care of the stippling, and we can use solid-colored horses while we’re runnin’ behind. Right now, I need help with the finish work. You said you know how to paint, so I say we let you prove it.” He glanced toward Mr. Kaestner. “I hope my trust in you ain’t been misplaced, Miss Brouwer.”

So that’s why they’d been arguing. Mr. Kaestner wanted to keep me on the dappling or solid painting, while Mr. Tobarth wanted me doing finish work. The thought that I would be painting detail work was the best news I’d had since I’d been hired. “I believe you’ll be pleased with the decision, Mr. Tobarth.”

Josef turned and walked away, but not before shooting me a you’d-better-be-right look that curbed my enthusiasm.

Mr. Tobarth pointed toward a box of paintbrushes. “You can use those brushes,” he said. “And don’t let Josef get you down. He never likes to lose a battle—’specially when he thinks he’s right.” He walked me toward a beautiful brown horse with tan dappling. “You can get started on this fine fellow.” He patted the horse on the rump. “You’re gonna have to do above average work to impress Josef, so don’t rush. He don’t approve shoddy workmanship, and neither do I.”

“What happens if my work is found lacking?” I didn’t expect such a thing to happen but thought it best to know the consequences in advance.

“You’ll have to request a sand-down. Then you’ll start over. If the animal’s features are weakened too much during the sand-down, you’ll have to toss it in the heap.”

“Heap?”

Mr. Tobarth pointed to a small pile of wood stacked in the far corner. “Takes too much of a carver’s time to try to recapture what once was perfection. Takes less time to just start over. ’Course you’ll make no friends among the carvers if they discover one of their horses in that heap. And believe me, they keep an eye on that woodpile.”

The thought of ruining any of the animals stirred my fears. The men already disliked me. How would they behave if I ruined one of their horses? I walked around the animal, contemplating exactly what I wanted to do and what colors would be best. The face of a court jester had been carved behind the cantle, and I knew I would have great fun painting him. I ran my hand along the smooth wood, my fingers dipping into the intricately carved crevices that created the horse’s flowing mane. A garland of perfect roses and leaves draped downward across the body in perfect symmetry. “Who carved this horse?”

“Mr. Kaestner—one of his new designs. You’ll need two to three days for each color to dry and harden. Paint as much as possible on each horse before movin’ to the next one in the rack. You can use as many colors as you like, but be sure one color is dry before you touch it with another. If not, the colors will bleed and you’ll have a mess.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I dared not ruin this one. Tilting my shoulders back, I glanced down the row of horses. Given the number of horses that awaited paint, I’d probably end up working on a horse from every one of the carvers. Gathering my courage, I donned my apron, picked up a paintbrush, and gave a firm nod. First, I’d need to decide exactly what colors I wanted to use and where I wanted to begin. I walked around the horse and considered my choices. I’d begin with the center of the roses and use the same color on the jester’s hat—or perhaps I should begin by shading the nostrils and eyes. Tapping the wooden tip of the paintbrush against my cheek, I considered several options for the blanket and saddle. They would need to contrast perfectly, and I’d need to layer the shading, which would take several different colors.

Startled by a loud gravelly sound, I dropped the paintbrush and swiveled around to see Mr. Tobarth watching me. He cleared his throat again and pointed to the horse. “I said you shouldn’t rush, Miss Brouwer, but I didn’t mean you could spend the remainder of the day decidin’ on your colors and technique. The woodworkers have given you beautifully carved outlines. I’d think with your artist trainin’, you could add the paint without so much thought.”

“Yes, of course.” I could feel the heat rising into my cheeks. “I think I’m going to begin with the roses.”

“Don’t think—just paint.”

By the end of the day, several of my horses had been moved to the drying rack. They would require a great deal more work before they would be ready for the final sealants. Still, I was pleased with what I’d done and thought my technique as good as any I’d seen on the other horses. Of course, Mr. Tobarth could boast that he’d done more than double the amount of my work. But he’d been doing this much longer. One day I’d be able to keep up with him. And one day I’d set myself apart and use my creativity rather than simply paint what the carvers had designed.