The Carousel Painter (42 page)
O
n the way to work in the morning Josef and I had agreed we would walk to the park after supper. Though summer was still upon us, it wouldn’t be long until there would be a chill in the morning and evening breezes. Living near Lake Erie meant long cold winters with a great deal of snow; at least that’s what Augusta had told me. And recently both Mrs. Wilson and Josef had confirmed that fact. Already there were fewer hours of daylight, and I wanted to take advantage of the beautiful day.
Sitting on the front porch, Mrs. Wilson waved to Josef and me when we arrived home from work. “Supper’s ready and waiting,” she said.
Pleasure surged through me—an exciting sense of anticipation. Usually, Mrs. Wilson didn’t have supper prepared until at least a half hour after our arrival. Josef and I could eat a quick supper and be on our way to the park. We would have even more time to enjoy the summer evening. I wondered if Josef had told her of our plans. However, I quickly dismissed that idea. We hadn’t decided to visit the park until after we’d left the house. Before I could mention my delight, she leaned forward and pushed herself up from the chair.
“I wanted to get supper finished early. Mr. Lundgren promised to move some things up to the attic.” She beamed at Josef. “I think he’s going to need your help. I hope you don’t mind.”
My spirits plunged, for I knew how Josef would respond. He wouldn’t refuse the boardinghouse owner’s request. Shifting from one foot to the other, he gave me a sideways glance. “Carrie and I, we were going to the park this evening. Could this wait until another time for me to help?”
Mrs. Wilson’s shoulders drooped, and she slowly shook her head. Motioning toward the interior of the house, she said, “Ralph took off work an hour early today, and the two of us managed to move most everything into the hall before you came home.”
Josef and I stepped to the door and peered through the screen. They’d left only a narrow path between the trunks, boxes, and crates. Mrs. Wilson offered an apologetic smile. “That’s Mr. Wilson’s old chair and a few of his other things that I want to pack away.”
I eyed the belongings lining the walls and concluded there was a lot more than a few of Mr. Wilson’s personal effects. Where had all of it come from? “This is all yours?” I couldn’t contain my wonder.
She tipped her head to the side and gave me a sheepish look. “Not exactly. There’s some folks who belong to the church, and they needed a place to store their household goods for a time. They’re going off to look for work elsewhere, and I said I’d help out. Once they find work, they’ll return for their things, but they thought it would be a while. I can’t leave all of this sitting around.”
I wondered why the older woman hadn’t insisted the owners lug their belongings to the attic before leaving town. She hadn’t even thought about the imposition upon Josef. She was always prepared to help others and assumed the same of everyone else.
“Let’s eat and then we will see how long this will take,” Josef said. “There still may be time to visit the park if we work quickly.”
I didn’t reply. I knew Josef was already weary from a long day at work. After moving trunks and furniture up two flights of stairs and then into the attic, he’d be exhausted. Silently the two of us followed Mrs. Wilson into the house. After taking only a few minutes to wash up, we each hurried downstairs. I was surprised to see Mr. Lundgren had nearly finished his supper by the time we entered the dining room.
He pushed back from the table and stood. “I got home early, so I’m gonna go ahead and get started, Josef. There’s lots of smaller crates I can take upstairs while you’re eatin’ supper. You take your time.”
Planting a hand on each side of his waist, Josef arched his back. “Do not lift anything too heavy or your back, you will hurt.”
Mr. Lundgren grinned. “I’ll do my best.”
After a hasty prayer of thanks for our food, Josef downed his supper in record time. Mrs. Wilson fretted that he would develop digestive ailments, but I thought the tough meat and underbaked rolls would likely cause more stomach problems than his hasty consumption. Of course I wouldn’t say such a thing, but the thought stuck in my mind.
Although I offered to help with some of the smaller boxes, the men shooed me away. “Sit on the porch and draw me some new carousel animals,” Josef suggested. He winked, and my stomach catapulted into riotous motion. I could feel the heat rising up my neck and rushed outside before he could see my cheeks turn crimson. “You forgot your sketch pad,” he called after me.
“I’ll get it after you’ve taken your first load upstairs.” I sat down on the porch and waited until I heard the men climbing the stairs. Each upward step was accompanied by a grunt from Mr. Lundgren, and I wondered if he would survive the many trips that would be required to clear the hallway.
Once they’d begun their work in earnest, I returned inside and gathered my sketch pad and pencils. Josef had suggested I draw him a new carousel animal, and I’d been considering one of the dragons I’d seen in a book that my mother had read to me when I was a child. In the past the Collinsford Carousel Factory had used authentic replicas of animals in their carousels. Never before had I presented the idea of a fictitious creature, but an entire carousel of make-believe animals might be fun. I wondered what Josef would think of such an idea. Picking up my pencil, I drew careful strokes until the form of a dragon took shape before me. I smiled at the whimsical eyes and mouth I’d given him but decided he needed something more. I held the sketchbook at a distance and studied the animal.
“Carrie!”
Dropping the sketchbook to the porch, I jumped to my feet. Josef’s frantic tone was a sure sign something had gone wrong. My insides churned as I hurried inside.
Josef stood on the first landing, his face ashen. “Come quick.” He pointed up the stairs. “Your painting, it is missing!” I could see the panic in his eyes.
The churning ceased, and my stomach plummeted. I’d completely forgotten that the narrow stairway leading to the attic was located in my bedroom, which Mr. Lundgren and Josef had been required to enter in order to carry Mrs. Wilson’s items to storage.
He continued to wave me forward. “Come! You will see for yourself.” I remained at the bottom of the stairs. “I
know
it is missing, Josef.”
His features twisted into a jumble of confusion. “But you said nothing to me? The detective, he knows about this?”
“Come downstairs, Josef. We need to talk.” Although I hadn’t planned to speak of the painting unless absolutely necessary, the time had arrived—far too soon. Foolishly I’d thought I could hide the part I’d played in purchasing the factory. Now I hoped Josef could push aside his pride and accept what I’d done as a gift from my heart.
He followed me into the parlor, and we sat side by side on Mrs. Wilson’s upholstered divan while I tentatively explained the whereabouts of the painting. His features changed from a look of surprise to one of utter disbelief. He cupped his palms on his cheeks and shook his head. “Nein, nein.” He repeated the words over and over. It appeared the revelation had created greater distress than I had imagined. “This, you should not have done, Carrie. We will change the papers. Mr. Galloway will return the painting to you. I will beg him.”
I grasped one hand and tugged it away from his cheek. Holding tight, I said, “Don’t you have faith that we can make the factory a success?”
“Ja, of course, but not this way. Is not gut.”
“Mr. Galloway promised he would return the painting to me when you have repaid the selling price for the factory.”
“He is a sick man. After he dies, then what will happen? You think his wife will give you back the painting?” Once again he shook his head. “She will learn the value and never return your inheritance. You have made a great mistake.”
The heat in the parlor now seemed stifling, and I reached for Josef’s hand. “Come outside.” I pulled him along behind me, and we sat down on the front steps. “Let me explain how this will work. Mr. Galloway added a codicil to his will that stipulates the painting must be returned to me. The lawyer assured me this addition to Mr. Galloway’s will, along with our contract, will protect my ownership in the painting.”
“I am sorry, but I worry this will go wrong for you.”
I leaned closer and placed my hand atop Josef’s. “The family can’t sell it. Unless the factory fails and the payments are not made, the painting will be returned to me one day. I have been reading in the Bible about trusting God.”
“It is not God I am worrying with—it is the Galloways. I know Mr. Galloway to be a man of his word, but even with
my
contract, you see what happened.”
“Your contract provided an escape for him, Josef. The contract I signed does not. Don’t you see that Mr. Galloway wanted you to have the factory? Even if he should die, this is the one way he could make it happen without a risk to his family.”
Josef stood and jammed his fists into his pockets. “Maybe he has no risk, but you have taken a serious gamble with your beautiful painting. It is all you had left to remember your father.”
“That’s not true. I remember him every time I paint a carousel horse, Josef.” I tipped my head and smiled up at him. “I won’t deny that the painting is very dear to me—but not as dear as you. We are building a future with the factory. And who can say for sure? I may yet regain possession of my other canvases.”
He gave a firm nod. “But even if your other pictures are not returned, your painting on the carousel horse will one day be returned to hang on your wall. This I promise to you.”
I had no doubt he would regain the carousel painting for me, but I hoped it would hang on a wall in our own home and not in Mrs. Wilson’s boardinghouse. Of course I would never be so bold as to say such a thing, but when he looked into my eyes and thanked me for my faith in him, I believe he knew the longing in my heart.
I had hoped to hear more from him, but Mr. Lundgren meandered onto the porch with a box of knickknacks under his arm. “You ’bout ready to take that trunk up, Josef?”
“I’ll be along in a moment,” Josef said.
He waited until Mr. Lundgren returned inside, and then he turned to me. “I am not so gut with words, but this I want to say.”
I held my breath and waited.
“I have told you before of my feelings for you. Today I feel such love in my heart for you.” Bright pink splotched his cheekbones as he clasped my hand in his. “I know we do not know each other for long enough to speak of such a thing, but I want to say that it is my wish to one day make you my wife.” The anticipation in his eyes begged a response.
“One day I would be honored to be your wife.”
Josef jumped to his feet and let out a whoop. The moment I stood, he swept me into his arms and twirled me around the front porch. “You have made me a happy man this day.”
“Mrs. McDougal is watching us. You should put me down,” I whispered.
He set me down and cupped his hands to his mouth. “One day she is going to marry me, Mrs. McDougal.”
The old woman looked away and pretended she hadn’t been watching, but Josef wouldn’t be deterred. “Did you hear me, Mrs. McDougal?”
With a dismissive wave, she called, “People get married all the time.”
“Not like this—this time is different,” he said. “This time it will be
us
.”
September 5, 1890
A
ll morning I’d been fretting about the trip to Cincinnati. What would people think if they saw me departing on a train with a strange man? Not that many people in Collinsford knew me, but there was always the possibility that someone who had attended one of the Galloway parties would be making a trip to Cincinnati. The very thought of such a happenstance caused me to shudder. What would I say if one of those very proper ladies should approach me?
“Not makin’ much progress.” Mr. Tobarth was looking at the huge jumper I’d been working on all day.
I couldn’t offer any argument. “My mind is elsewhere today.”
“Well, you better get it back, ’cause we got a lot of work that’s needin’ to be finished before Monday mornin’.”