Read Online The Carousel Painter by Judith Miller - Free Book Online
Authors: Judith Miller
Tags: FIC042030
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nodded. “Tell Mrs. Wilson that I’ll stop by the first of the week.”
“Thank you,” I said.
A stitch of guilt assaulted me. Even though I remembered Mr. Galloway’s earlier offer to pay my rent—after all, who could forget such a thing—I had never intended to accept.
When I’d tossed my bait into Mrs. Galloway’s pool of solutions, I had only wanted a place to store Papa’s paintings. But I’d hooked much more. At the moment I didn’t feel particularly proud of myself. If Mama were alive, she’d give me a sound scolding. For the remainder of the meal, I didn’t say a word.
Mrs. Galloway excused us from the table and then announced we would spend the evening going through Augusta’s old clothes. “I know there are many items that she hasn’t worn for more than a year, and you can make good use of them.” She waved Augusta and me toward the staircase. “This way, you won’t need to spend your wages on clothes and such. You’ll want to save as much as possible so that you won’t be dependent upon others for help in the future.”
Mrs. Galloway hadn’t laid a hand on me, yet the sting of her words hit like a sharp slap—the impact so painful I touched outstretched fingers to my cheek. The biting remark had effectively shredded any remnant of my earlier guilt.
The older woman yanked dresses and skirts from a closet—this was the first house I’d ever seen with one of those—and Augusta rifled through a chest of drawers in search of stockings, nightgowns, and unmentionables. While I remained framed in the doorway, clothing flew toward the bed like a volley of badminton birdies.
By the time they’d completed the task, mounds of clothing adorned the bed. I stared at the heaping array. “You can’t possibly have anything left in your closet. Please, put it back. I don’t need all of this.” I took a tentative step into the room and spread my arm in a sweeping gesture. “There isn’t space in my room for all of this.”
“With a bit of organization, I’m sure you can make space.” Mrs. Galloway smiled at me, but there was no warmth behind it. “I know you didn’t have a mother to teach you manners, Carrington, but rebuffing those who offer help isn’t considered proper etiquette.”
My embarrassment was now complete. Flashes of burning anger and humiliation seared me. Beneath my pale skin, heat flooded my cheeks in unrelenting waves. I hoped my eyes reflected the plea for help that lodged in my throat. And that Augusta would notice.
“I’m sure you’re weary after your long day, Mother. I’ll help Carrie fold and pack these things. As I recall, you and Father were invited next door for a visit with Mr. and Mrs. Barton this evening. I’m sure Father would like to spend the evening in your company.”
I couldn’t imagine why Mr. Galloway would ever want to be around his wife, but I was thankful for Augusta’s suggestion—and even more thankful when her mother agreed.
“I’ll send Thomas to retrieve one of the trunks from the cellar, and you two can pack the clothing in there.” After one final inspection of the stacked garments, her cold eyes settled on me. “If nothing else, you’ll be better dressed than any other woman in The Bottoms.”
Once Mrs. Galloway cleared the hallway, I leaned across the mound of nightgowns. “What’s The Bottoms?”
“Ignore my mother. She judges people based upon where they live. That’s why she’s so anxious to move into our new house. She badgered Father until he agreed to build the house in Fair Oaks.”
Poor Mr. Galloway. I could only imagine what he must have endured. “The Bottoms is where I’ll be living—where the factories are located. Am I right?”
“Yes.” Augusta’s eyes dimmed. “Are you sorry you came here?”
“No, of course not. Your father is giving me a wonderful opportunity. I believe I’ll take great satisfaction in painting the carousel animals. And if I’m given an occasional opportunity to paint a
“Thank you,” I said.
A stitch of guilt assaulted me. Even though I remembered Mr. Galloway’s earlier offer to pay my rent—after all, who could forget such a thing—I had never intended to accept.
When I’d tossed my bait into Mrs. Galloway’s pool of solutions, I had only wanted a place to store Papa’s paintings. But I’d hooked much more. At the moment I didn’t feel particularly proud of myself. If Mama were alive, she’d give me a sound scolding. For the remainder of the meal, I didn’t say a word.
Mrs. Galloway excused us from the table and then announced we would spend the evening going through Augusta’s old clothes. “I know there are many items that she hasn’t worn for more than a year, and you can make good use of them.” She waved Augusta and me toward the staircase. “This way, you won’t need to spend your wages on clothes and such. You’ll want to save as much as possible so that you won’t be dependent upon others for help in the future.”
Mrs. Galloway hadn’t laid a hand on me, yet the sting of her words hit like a sharp slap—the impact so painful I touched outstretched fingers to my cheek. The biting remark had effectively shredded any remnant of my earlier guilt.
The older woman yanked dresses and skirts from a closet—this was the first house I’d ever seen with one of those—and Augusta rifled through a chest of drawers in search of stockings, nightgowns, and unmentionables. While I remained framed in the doorway, clothing flew toward the bed like a volley of badminton birdies.
By the time they’d completed the task, mounds of clothing adorned the bed. I stared at the heaping array. “You can’t possibly have anything left in your closet. Please, put it back. I don’t need all of this.” I took a tentative step into the room and spread my arm in a sweeping gesture. “There isn’t space in my room for all of this.”
“With a bit of organization, I’m sure you can make space.” Mrs. Galloway smiled at me, but there was no warmth behind it. “I know you didn’t have a mother to teach you manners, Carrington, but rebuffing those who offer help isn’t considered proper etiquette.”
My embarrassment was now complete. Flashes of burning anger and humiliation seared me. Beneath my pale skin, heat flooded my cheeks in unrelenting waves. I hoped my eyes reflected the plea for help that lodged in my throat. And that Augusta would notice.
“I’m sure you’re weary after your long day, Mother. I’ll help Carrie fold and pack these things. As I recall, you and Father were invited next door for a visit with Mr. and Mrs. Barton this evening. I’m sure Father would like to spend the evening in your company.”
I couldn’t imagine why Mr. Galloway would ever want to be around his wife, but I was thankful for Augusta’s suggestion—and even more thankful when her mother agreed.
“I’ll send Thomas to retrieve one of the trunks from the cellar, and you two can pack the clothing in there.” After one final inspection of the stacked garments, her cold eyes settled on me. “If nothing else, you’ll be better dressed than any other woman in The Bottoms.”
Once Mrs. Galloway cleared the hallway, I leaned across the mound of nightgowns. “What’s The Bottoms?”
“Ignore my mother. She judges people based upon where they live. That’s why she’s so anxious to move into our new house. She badgered Father until he agreed to build the house in Fair Oaks.”
Poor Mr. Galloway. I could only imagine what he must have endured. “The Bottoms is where I’ll be living—where the factories are located. Am I right?”
“Yes.” Augusta’s eyes dimmed. “Are you sorry you came here?”
“No, of course not. Your father is giving me a wonderful opportunity. I believe I’ll take great satisfaction in painting the carousel animals. And if I’m given an occasional opportunity to paint a
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