The Carousel Painter (39 page)

Mr. Feldham wasted little time. Before I settled in the chair, he had his sketch pad open and had begun to draw. His eyes flitted from my face to the sketch pad and back again. He never requested that I sit in any particular position or even that I sit still. Before fifteen minutes had passed, he slid the sketchbook across the table.

“Close enough, or do you want some changes?”

He’d used soft, short strokes, but the likeness was remarkable— except for my eyes. “Are my eyes that wide set?”

He peered at me and then at the picture. “Whaddya think, Lawton?” He shoved the sketch pad toward the detective, who pushed away from the door and picked it up.

Holding it at arm’s length, the detective looked back and forth between me and the paper. “She’s right. Her eyes need to be a little closer together.”

The police artist grunted and grabbed the pad. After one final look, he shrugged and set to work. His adjustments didn’t take long, and once I’d given final approval, Detective Lawton escorted me outside. He hailed a carriage, and once I was inside, he said, “I’ll pay you a visit when I hear back. I don’t expect it will take too long.”

I didn’t know if that was a promise or a threat, but it had an ominous ring. I’d need to complete my plan as soon as possible.

When the police station had disappeared from sight, I signaled the driver. “Fair Oaks,” I said.

His bushy brows dipped low on his forehead. “I thought the detective said The Bottoms.”

“He did. But I want to stop at the home of the Galloways. It’s a new house at the—”

“I know where it is. Just finished building it not long ago. Big enough for ten families,” he muttered.

If Mr. Galloway succumbed to his illness, I wondered if Mrs. Galloway would remain in the huge house. I silently chastised myself for the morose thought and forced it from my mind. Right now I needed to prepare a convincing plea.

I asked the driver to wait. “I shouldn’t be long,” I said.

“You’ll owe me extra.”

I nodded the comment aside and, with a determined stride, marched to the front door. Frances greeted me with a frown. “Mrs. Galloway and Miss Augusta are out for the evening. You weren’t expected, were you?”

“No, but it’s Mr. Galloway I wish to speak to. Is he here?”

Frances glanced over her shoulder. “He’s in his library. I s’pose I could ask him.” She peeked over my shoulder toward the driveway. “Your driver going to wait?”

“Yes. I won’t be long.”

She trotted down the hall. Soon she reappeared and waved me forward. Mrs. Galloway would be aghast to see the maid behave with such informality. But now that I worked at the factory, Frances considered me more an equal than a guest.

“Go on in,” she said.

“Thank you.” I entered and closed the door behind me in case Frances decided to linger in the hallway.

Mr. Galloway stood to greet me and beckoned for me to sit down opposite him. “What brings you to Fair Oaks, Carrington? Something to do with the factory, I’m guessing.”

“Yes. I’m hoping we can strike a bargain.”

“Josef has secured financial investors?”

“Possibly.” While I detailed my plan, Mr. Galloway listened without interruption. “What do you think? Are you agreeable?”

“I don’t know. I fear you’ll live to regret your decision, and I wouldn’t want to be responsible.”

“But the decision is mine to make. I suppose I could seek someone else, but this seems the most expedient method. And I trust you.”

“If you’re certain, I’ll have my lawyer prepare the paper work.”

“I’ll see that the painting is delivered tomorrow. Thank you, Mr. Galloway.”

“It’s I who should be thanking you, Carrington. I believe I’ve struck the better bargain.”

In my heart I wasn’t persuaded he believed what he said, for it could take many years before my carousel painting would equal the value of the factory. Yet thankful he considered it a wise investment, I remained silent. Only time would tell, and I hoped Mr. Galloway would have enough time to discover whether he’d made a wise decision.

Either way, by placing the painting in Mr. Galloway’s possession, I would provide myself with a level of protection.

When we rounded the corner near the factory on Monday morning, Josef stopped midstep. “Mr. Galloway’s carriage.” It was August 18. Josef’s time had expired. “He didn’t waste any time.” Bitterness shaded his comment, but I decided against a response. Instead, I continued onward, and he soon caught up and matched my stride. “I don’t see any other carriages, so he’s come to deal the blow before the new owners arrive.”

“Who can say why he’s here,” I said.

Josef reached for the latch. “We both know why he is here.”

“He’s ill, Josef, and he’s doing the best he can under the circumstances.” “You are right, but that makes it no easier for me.” Head lowered in obvious shame, he yanked open the door.

Mr. Galloway’s warm smile provided a welcome sight. He waved Josef forward. “Come in. Both of you. I have some good news.”

Josef stepped inside, his gait cautious and his shoulders rigid. It was clear he didn’t intend to let down his guard for a moment. After stepping to the side, he waited until I entered. He closed the door, and at Mr. Galloway’s signal we both sat down.

“Well, Josef, I’m pleased to announce that you will become the proud owner of the Collinsford Carousel Factory if you’re willing to agree to a few stipulations.”

Josef’s jaw dropped at the announcement. He stared across the table, disbelief darkening his eyes. “How can this be true?”

“A benefactor has stepped forward to assist you. I am not at liberty to discuss any of the details with you. However, you will be expected to make monthly payments until the loan is paid in full.”

Deep lines creased his forehead. “Who would do such a thing? I have contacted all my friends, and they could not loan the money. This is impossible.”

Mr. Galloway tapped his pen atop the papers. “You wish to refuse the contract?”

“No! But this is a very big surprise. A wonderful surprise. Tell me what I must do.”

Josef’s excitement continued to mount while Mr. Galloway read the terms of the contract. When he’d finished, the older man looked at Josef. “Do you agree?”

“Ja! With a thankful heart I will sign, but still my head wonders who would do this thing for me.”

The men signed the contract, a copy for each, and shook hands. “For now, be thankful that someone cares enough to extend such generosity. Maybe one day your benefactor will realize it is better to come forward and personally speak to you.”

Josef clapped a hand to his heart. “That would be very gut. You will give my thanks to this benefactor?”

“I will be most pleased to do so, Josef. And since I know you have orders to fill, I will leave so that the two of you can begin your workday.”

“Can you believe this, Carrie? I am the owner of this place.” He spread his arms wide and turned in a circle. “God has answered my prayer.”

“And one of mine,” I whispered.

CHAPTER
28

A
fter church on Sunday I decided the day much too beautiful to sit indoors. I had hoped to spend the afternoon in the park with Josef, but he insisted he must first complete the ledgers and prepare the lumber orders. So gathering up my sketchbook and pencil, I established myself on the boardinghouse porch. Across the street two young girls sat chattering on the front steps of their house, providing me an enchanting picture to capture on paper. I sketched a quick outline of their oval faces, flowing hair on one, braids on the other with a hand cupped to hide a whispered secret to her friend.

I’d made little progress when the sound of clopping horses’ hooves gained my attention. I stretched forward and squinted against the afternoon sun. Was that the Galloway carriage? Surely not—Augusta wasn’t one for unexpected visits. And she would be with her family or with Tyson on a Sunday afternoon. Yet it looked like Thomas. Shading my eyes with one hand, I stood and looked down the street again. It
was
the Galloway carriage!

Closing my sketchbook, I stepped to the edge of the porch. The carriage hadn’t even come to a complete stop before Augusta pushed open the door and motioned me forward. “Hurry!”

Augusta’s pinched features and unexpected arrival could mean only one thing: Something had happened to Mr. Galloway. Bunching a handful of skirt in each fist, I raced down the steps. Agitated when I paused at the carriage door, she shouted, “Get in!” I didn’t hesitate to follow her order.

My breath came in short, panting spurts. I wanted to remain calm. I wanted to offer the proper words of condolence and reassurance. Words of comfort that I had never received when my father had died. I wiped my perspiring palms on my skirt and waited to hear the sad news.

“To the park, Thomas!”

I startled at the shouted command. Augusta’s behavior was bizarre in the extreme, but I knew reaction to death could create odd behavior. “The park?” I was careful to maintain a quiet, calm demeanor.

“I want to speak to you in private.” She folded her arms across her waist and pierced me with a cold stare.

This was not the conduct of a grieving daughter. Something was terribly amiss. I decided to dip my toe into the icy waters. “I trust your family is well?” My voice quivered.

“My family is fine.”

I wasn’t sure what created more fear: Augusta’s answer or her behavior. The clipped response closed the door to further conversation. If her father hadn’t died, what on earth could cause such abnormal behavior? I culled my memory for the slightest remembrance of what could create this unexpected animosity. The distance to the nearby park seemed interminable. For the remainder of the ride, Augusta maintained a dagger-filled glare directly above my head.

When we finally entered the park, she ordered Thomas to stop the carriage near a stand of trees. I was thankful she hadn’t opted for the duck pond. I feared the ducks would be forced to swim for their lives while Augusta shoved me into the water.

Hiking her skirts, Augusta marched toward the trees like an opponent preparing for a duel. She wheeled around and faced me. “How dare you betray me!”

Confounded by the outburst, I stared at her like a complete ninny. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. What had happened to my friend? And what was she talking about?

“Well?”

I took a backward step at the high-pitched demand. “I don’t know what you are talking about. How did I supposedly betray you?”

“Don’t you dare feign ignorance, Carrington Brouwer. I know you’ve been seeing Tyson behind my back.” As she clenched her jaw, I saw the veins in her neck protrude like thick, pulsing cords.

Tyson.
How could Augusta possibly think I would ever be interested in Tyson Farnsworth? Yet her anger was genuine. “You know I don’t care a whit about Tyson. I’ve even discouraged your relationship with him.”

“And now I know why! All the time you were telling me he was a selfish cad, you were plotting against me. You wanted him for yourself.”

My stomach lurched at the accusation. “This is ridiculous. I have not nor will I ever be associated with Tyson. And I think I have a right to know how you’ve come to believe this nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense. Mary Flinchbaugh and her mother saw the two of you together here in Collinsford when I was in the Thousand Islands.”

I clenched my fists in an attempt to abate my anger. “It’s not true. I haven’t seen Tyson since before you departed for your summer vacation. If he was in Collinsford during that time, I had no knowledge he was in town.”

“So you’re saying Mary and her mother would simply make up a story to hurt me? Is that what I’m to believe?”

“I don’t think they would intentionally hurt you, but they couldn’t have seen me with Tyson. He may have been in town, but I was not with him. Perhaps he was with another woman, but it wasn’t me.”

“Another woman who looks exactly like you and entered a carriage with him near the carousel factory.”

I wanted to ask what Mary and her mother were doing near the factory but didn’t think that would further my cause. “I can’t force you to believe me. Their allegation is false. The only way to disprove what they’ve said is through Tyson.” I doubted my suggestion would prove helpful. If Tyson had been with another woman, he’d not admit such an indiscretion to Augusta. Still, I had nothing else to offer to counter the accusation, and I felt an urgent need to reinforce my plea of innocence.