The Carousel Painter (13 page)

His fingers tightened around the handle of his fork. “I will go to church before I go to work, Mrs. Wilson. I pray God will understand my problem. Until we can find a good painter, I must step in and complete the work.”

I thought Josef’s crooked smile insincere, but Mrs. Wilson seemed not to notice. “You work far too hard, dear boy. I have been praying that exactly the right person will come in and apply for that position.”

“And the other jobs, too. Before all my men quit,” he added.

I straightened in my chair. “Others have quit?”

He rested his palms on the table and pushed himself away from the table. “Two men in the woodshop—one that carves the rims and one who is learning to measure and cut, to glue and clamp the wood.”

“And that’s
my
fault, too?”

His left shoulder dropped a notch and he shoved his hand into his pocket. “They did not say your name, Miss Brouwer.”

He turned and strode off before I could ask further questions, but the implication had been clear. Whether or not the other workers said my name, Mr. Kaestner blamed me. If this continued, I would lose my job for sure.

I excused myself from the table and went upstairs to pack for my visit with Augusta. Though I couldn’t tell her of my concerns, it would be good to escape for a short time and pretend life wasn’t so difficult. Even if more men quit tomorrow, I wouldn’t be at the supper table to hear Mr. Kaestner’s report. Yet I wondered how much he’d told Mr. Galloway. Was this invitation more than what it seemed? Perhaps the visit had been arranged so that Mr. Galloway could privately tell me I couldn’t return to the factory. My earlier pleasure dissipated, and a heavy lump settled in its place.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I gazed out the window and down the street toward the factory. I could see the glow of light from inside and wondered if anyone other than Mr. Tobarth and Mr. Kaestner had to work late because of me.
Because of me
. Maybe I should resign. That would solve the problem for all the men. Yet they weren’t leaving their jobs for good reason. They were quitting simply because a woman had been hired to work there. Loneliness and rejection plagued my thoughts like unwelcome friends. Right now, it would be easy to walk away, but I shook my head. No. I wouldn’t give in—not yet, anyway.

The following day when the noonday buzzer sounded, the men gathered together for their lunch. All except Mr. Kaestner, who remained in his office, and Mr. Tobarth, who continued to paint while he ate his sandwich. The workers sat in a circle, hunched forward, while they shared both food and conversation. Every once in a while, one of them would steal a look in my direction and just as quickly turn away. Let them think and say whatever they wanted. Wedging my drawing pad on my lap, I pulled out my pencil and sketched a picture of the huddled men. They weren’t going to intimidate me.

During the remainder of the day, I did my best to keep up with the horses that came in from the woodshop. It seemed as if the men had decided they would hurry through every bit of their work to create a large buildup in my area. Either that or they’d been holding back horses for several days and decided to overwhelm me on the final day of the week. Mr. Kaestner would surely think me less capable than the man who’d previously worked in this position. But there was nothing I could do.

When the buzzer sounded, I removed my apron and hung it on the nearby hook. Once the men were on their way, I gathered my belongings and hurried out of the building. Except for Mr. Tobarth and Mr. Kaestner, I’d decided it was best to maintain my distance from the other workers. It seemed some of the wives were unhappy that I was working in the vicinity of their husbands. At least that’s what Mrs. Wilson had heard at the market on Wednesday. I didn’t want to be accused of forcing my friendship upon any of them or stirring up trouble.

I picked up my step, eager to get home, wash up, and change my clothes. Rounding the corner near the end of the block, I jumped backward when a woman and young child stepped into my path. I shifted sideways, but she matched my movement. “Excuse me,” I said. Gathering my skirts, I attempted to sidle around her, but she once again blocked my path.

Her dark eyes glistened with anger. “You need to find work elsewhere. A factory full of men ain’t no place for a woman to be workin’. Not unless she’s lookin’ to steal someone else’s husband.” She hissed the words from between clenched teeth.

I clasped my hand to my bodice and instinctively shook my head. “I’m not searching for a husband. I need the work to support myself.”

Her gaze traveled up and down the length of my body and came to rest at a spot beneath my chin. “There’s proper places for a lady to work, but the factory ain’t one of ’em. Go help in one of the fancy dress shops or work as a maid for some of the rich folks. There’s men who need the factory jobs. Men who’ve got families to feed.”

“I much prefer painting. I’m not much of a seamstress. Besides, there’s currently a vacancy at the factory, and no one has applied for the position.”

“That’s ’cause you’re workin’ there.”

I felt as though I’d been doused by a cold glass of water, and I swallowed the giggle that threatened to erupt. This woman wouldn’t think a fit of giggles funny—not in the least. I inhaled a deep breath. “If a man’s family is hungry, my presence in the workplace should be of little concern.”

“Well, the wives don’t want you in there, neither. You think we like the idea of our men ogling the likes of you all day?” She poked her rough index finger toward my nose. “We know your kind.”

Hiking my skirt, I rushed across the street, eager to escape. When I’d left the Galloway house last Monday morning, I hadn’t thought I’d be excited to return so quickly. I’d been very wrong.

Mrs. Wilson greeted me the minute I walked in the door. “Are you certain you don’t want at least something light to eat? Something to tide you over until supper?”

I assured her I’d be fine, but she followed me up the steps, chattering all the way. By the time we arrived at my room, she was puffing. I didn’t know why she’d followed me up the stairs, and she clearly needed to rest. Her cheeks were bright red. Perspiration lined her forehead and upper lip.

Pointing to the chair across the room, I waved her forward. “Do sit down, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll go to the bathroom and wash up while you catch your breath.” Thankful I’d set out my clothes before leaving for work, I picked up the skirt and shirtwaist.

“That will be fine,” she wheezed. Retrieving Augusta’s invitation from the bedside table, Mrs. Wilson fanned the paper in front of her face. The limp piece of paper flipped and flopped, but couldn’t stir much air. “Would you open a window before you go, dear?”

“Of course.” After raising the window and propping it with a wooden slat, I hastened down the narrow hallway. If I didn’t hurry, Thomas would arrive and I wouldn’t be ready. I didn’t want to keep the Gallo-ways waiting—especially Mrs. Galloway. If supper was ruined, it would be my fault, and I certainly didn’t need anything else added to my list of faults.

The small bathroom proved more of a challenge than I’d expected. As I twisted to remove my work dress, a metal hook on the back of the door scraped across my shoulder, and before I recovered from the stinging pain, I knocked my elbow into the wall and banged my hip into the washbasin. At this rate, I’d arrive at the Galloways’ looking as though I’d received the worst of it in a boxing match.

“This will have to do,” I muttered, still fastening my skirt on my return to the bedroom. The bathroom acrobatics had left my hair in complete disarray, but I doubted there would be time to do much more than stab a few hairpins into place. As I opened the wardrobe to remove my shawl, I glanced over my shoulder at Mrs. Wilson. I was glad to see that her complexion had returned to its normal hue. “Did you need to speak to me about something in particular?”

Mrs. Wilson folded her arms across her ample chest. “I’m not one to carry gossip, but—” She glanced toward the window, as though she expected an eavesdropper to be standing on the roof.

“But
what
, Mrs. Wilson? Have you heard some disturbing news?”

My wavy reflection stared back at me in the mirror. The quality of the looking glass was certainly inferior, but the mirror alone couldn’t be blamed for my unkempt appearance. Comb in hand, I pulled the loose strands upward and jabbed them into place with hairpins.

“I heard a few women talking at the meat market today.” She shook her head and offered me a pitiable look.

“And?”

“The men are planning to meet with Mr. Kaestner and demand that you be fired.” She pressed the folds of her apron beneath her thick fingers. “It may be just idle talk, but they don’t like their husbands working with an unmarried woman.”

My stomach lurched and I clasped a hand to my midsection. Mrs. Wilson had confirmed what I’d heard only a short time ago. Once again I felt the need to defend myself. “The only man I’m around is Mr. Tobarth, and he’s old enough to be my grandfather.” If Mr. Kaestner was threatened with additional walkouts, he’d push Mr. Galloway to dismiss me. The thought was enough to send my stomach from a lurch into a complete flip-flop.

“I shouldn’t have told you. Now I’ve gone and ruined the rest of your day, haven’t I?”

I patted her shoulder. No need to tell her I’d already had my day ruined by one of the angry wives. “It’s fine. Better that I know.” At the sound of a carriage, I stepped to the window. “I think that may be Augusta. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Mrs. Wilson pushed up from the chair, her knees popping like firecrackers. “You sure you don’t want to come back here to spend the night? You could go to church with Mr. Lundgren and me and then go to the zoo with your friends.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. Why don’t we plan on next Sunday? I’ve already promised Augusta.”

“I know you’ve been here less than a week, but I’m going to miss you this weekend. It’s nice having another woman around the house.”

Her smile warmed my heart, and my stomach settled a little, too. I was fond of Mrs. Wilson and said so, but I didn’t mention her less-than-stellar cooking. After closing the window, I grabbed the handles of my bag and clattered down the steps. Mrs. Wilson followed close behind. Going down the steps proved much less strenuous for her.

A knock sounded at the front door as I began my descent to the first floor. I could see a man’s suit jacket through a small portion of the window not covered by Mrs. Wilson’s lace curtains. Likely Thomas, although I’d never seen him in anything other than his old work pants. I yanked open the door.

“Hello, Carrington.”

“Tyson? What are you doing here?” My suitcase slipped from my fingers. It bounced against my leg and made an unexpected landing on my big toe. My screeching caused Tyson to take a backward step. If he’d taken one or two more, he’d have fallen backwards off the porch. A sight I would have relished!

While I hopped on my good foot, Mrs. Wilson hurried into the parlor. Dragging a wooden chair into the hallway, she pointed at the seat. “I’ll remove your shoe and see if you’ve done any damage to your foot.”

Tyson stepped closer and tapped his watch pocket. “We’re expected back for dinner very shortly.”

I bent my knee and tucked my foot out of Mrs. Wilson’s reach. “We don’t have time. I’ll check it once I arrive at the Galloways’. I’m certain it’s all right.” I stood and did my best to erase the older woman’s concern. “See?” I stepped down on the foot and forced a smile while I inwardly winced. “I’m perfectly fine, and Mr. Farnsworth will carry my suitcase to the buggy.”

Though I had no desire to hold Tyson’s arm, it was the only way I could keep from hobbling down the steps to the buggy. We’d made it to the front gate when Mr. Kaestner appeared. His fleeting look of disapproval annoyed me. Granted, I was leaning heavily against Tyson’s arm, but I was injured.

I stepped into his path to forestall him. “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Tyson Farnsworth. He is a friend of the Galloway family.”

“And of
you
, it would seem.” His gaze rested on my proximity to Tyson as he extended his hand. “Josef Kaestner,” he said. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Farnsworth. Please excuse me; I don’t have much time.”

There was a bite to his words, and I wondered if it was because I was going off to enjoy myself while he worked, or if it was something more. Perhaps the men had already asked for a meeting with him.

“Come along, Carrington.” Tyson patted my hand in a much too familiar manner. “We don’t want to be late.”

His possessive mannerisms annoyed me. “Do stop your fawning. I’m holding your arm for support, nothing more. And where is Augusta?”

Tyson held my waist far too long while assisting me into the carriage, and I would have slapped him had Mrs. Wilson not been watching from the porch. Once he took up the reins and clucked at the horse, I waved and was surprised to see Mr. Kaestner watching from the front window. The curtain dropped back into place when he saw me looking. He appeared most unhappy, and I wondered if I would have a job on Monday morning.

“Augusta hadn’t finished dressing, and she asked that I come for you. She thought it a great imposition, but I was pleased that Thomas was off on an errand. It gives us time to be alone.”