Judith Miller - The Carousel Painter

J UDITH M ILLER

The Carousel Painter
Copyright 2009
Judith Miller

Cover design by Jennifer Parker.
Cover photograph of carousel horse by Mary Harrsch 2006.
Cover model photography by Mike Habermann.

Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwisewithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

E-book edition created 2010

ISBN 978-1-4412-0476-9

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of
Congress, Washington, DC.

DEDICATED TO

My son, Justin...
for the determination
to achieve your dreams.

Contents

CHAPTER

April 10, 1890
Collinsford, Ohio

I perched on the edge of the brocade settee while Mrs. Galloway stared at me as though shed discovered some new species of life. A curious look. One that made me feel as though I needed to check my appearance in the hallway mirror. Had the identity of Carrington Leigh Brouwer completely vanished on the journey from France? Possibly Id sprouted horns. I considered touching my head to ensure that my suspicions were incorrect, for Id never felt so uncomfortable in my life.

The very thought of stubby protrusions poking out from beneath my unfashionable straw hat caused me to force back a gigglemy compulsive reaction to unpleasant situations. Id giggled at my mothers funeral when I was ten years old. Last month Id done the same thing when they placed my father in his grave. Ive been told its a survival behavior used by many children. But at twenty-one years of age, I was no longer a child, and I doubted such conduct would endear me to this dour-faced woman. Then again, I wasnt certain there was anything that would please Mrs. Galloway. Her lips appeared to be permanently fixed in an upside-down U.

She rang a small brass bell that brought a servant scurrying into the room. The maid didnt look much older than me or any more pleasant than Mrs. Galloway.

Well need tea, Frances. And tell Thomas I need to speak with him.

The girl mumbled before turning on her heel.

Mrs. Galloways thin eyebrows dipped into a scowl. Good help is impossible to find nowadays. Did you find the same to be true in Paris, Miss Brouwer?

I forced myself to smile at the woman. Please call me Carrington or Carrie, if you prefer.

A family name, I assume?

No, from a book my mother read.

Her look of expectancy vanished, and her thin lips tightened into a knot. She must have toyed with the notion that I had descended from people of wealth and distinction. I coughed to hold back a giggle that had risen to the back of my throat. Mrs. Galloway would be horrified to discover how little I knew about my ancestors. And what I did know would make her hair stand on end.

Well, someone should have mentioned to your mother that Carrington sounds like a boys name.

Mrs. Galloways abrupt comment put a halt to my meandering thoughts. I considered telling her my name was quite acceptable for a girl, but before I could respond, a gray-haired man wearing dirty work pants and a frayed shirt appeared in the doorway. It was probably good that the workmans appearance squelched my reply. Otherwise, Mrs. Galloway would think me impudent as well as a descendant of questionable ancestry.

The spry-looking man swiped his palms on his denim trousers. Frances said you wanted to see me. I was out in the

Mrs. Galloway waved the man into an abrupt silence. I assumed he must be Thomas.

The older womans frown deepened, and she pointed toward the front of the house. Go out and get those trunks off the front porch and take them upstairs to the spare bedroom. There isnt enough space in the bedroom for that crate. Youll have to put it elsewhere.

I can put it in the gardening shed if you like. Should be enough room in there.

No! I shouted the response without thinking. Now they were both staring at me as though Id grown horns. Wh-what I mean is, I stammered, that crate contains my paintings. My fathers canvases. I waited, but neither of them appeared to understand. I need to keep the crate indoorswith meout of the weather.

Well, it wont fit in the bedroom, and I cant set it in the middle of the parlor, now can I?

I momentarily considered telling the woman the parlor would do just fine, but such a remark would probably land both the crate and me in the gardening shed. Why hadnt Augusta explained to her mother that I would be arriving with a crate that contained a few of my fathers paintings? Mrs. Galloway was gaping at me as though she expected some sort of response.

If you could place them somewhere in the house, just until I can make other arrangements, I would be most grateful.

Well, theres simply nowhere that I can think of, she said as Frances walked into the room carrying a tea tray. Oh, I know. Push the crate into that space under the stairs, Thomas.

But thats where I keep my belongings, Frances said.

Thomas glanced at Frances and nodded. I supposed it was common for servants to lend support to one another, but since wed never had servants, I couldnt be sure. One thing was certain: Id made no friends since arriving at the white frame house on Marigold Street.

Mrs. Galloways glare stalled any further objection. Under the staircase, Thomas.

Frances shot an angry look in my direction that nudged me to action. I didnt want the paintings shoved into the gardening shed, but intruding on the maids storage space wasnt fair, either. Surely there must be some other...

Mrs. Galloway raised her hand, closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and gave a slight shake of her head. In that moment I decided Mrs. Galloway had a bit of a dramatic flair hidden beneath her ever-present frown.

Ill hear no more, she announced. The crate will be stored beneath the stairs until other arrangements can be made. For your sake, Frances, well hope that is soon.

I thought Mrs. Galloway hoped it would be soon for her own sake, as well. Except for ordering tea, shed done nothing to make me feel welcome. When do you think Augusta will return? I inquired once the servants had disappeared.

Shes off shopping for a new pair of shoes, so theres no telling. However, I do hope it will be soon. I have a Ladies Aid meeting in an hour. As I recall, your letter said you wouldnt arrive until tomorrow or the next day.

I had already apologized for my unexpected appearance at her home. Didnt Mrs. Galloway realize Id had no control over the ships early arrival in port? To me, it had made good sense to catch the first available train to Ohio rather than to rent a room in New York City. To Mrs. Galloway, my early appearance had created an unwelcome interruption. I didnt want to explain that my decision had been based upon the necessity of keeping my expenses to a minimum. Passage on the Gloriana had eaten up most of my scanty funds. Other than the few coins that remained in my reticule and my fathers crated paintings, Id been cast adrift without financial resources. Not that my fathers paintings could be considered a financial resource.