Free The Carousel Painter by Judith Miller Page A

scoundrel. I glared in return and decided it was time to attack.
    “What brings you to Collinsford, Tyson? I thought you and Ronald were still attending college classes.”
    Now it was his turn to glare at me. I offered what I hoped was a sweet yet somewhat smug smile in return while Augusta sat between us, oblivious to the silent exchanges swirling around her.
    “My classes ended a full week earlier. I was going to go home, but my parents are presently traveling. Ronald convinced me I should come to Collinsford and he’ll join up with me as soon as he can.” Tyson bent closer to Augusta. “He did write and tell your parents I was coming, didn’t he?”
    Augusta’s fingers tightened around Tyson’s hand, and several drops of water dribbled from the tea towel. “No need for concern. My parents will be delighted you’ve arrived early. Mother was extremely pleased you’d be here for the housewarming.”
    “Does your early arrival mean you’ll depart soon after the housewarming?” I asked.
    Augusta pinched my arm with agonizing intensity. If I hadn’t clamped my bottom lip between my teeth, I would have squealed in pain. The most I could do was force her fingers from my arm and attempt to maintain a snippet of restraint and demure composure.
    He lifted his shoulders into a straight line. “I haven’t decided when I’m going to leave. What about you, Miss Brouwer? Any plans for the future?”
    “None that I care to discuss at present.” I pointed to the dripping cloth. “Looks like the ice needs to be replaced.”
    My comment wasn’t well received, but I didn’t care. I had successfully avoided Tyson’s interrogation.

    Last evening, before Mr. and Mrs. Galloway returned home from their visit with the neighbors, I had retreated to my bedroom. In retrospect, it was a cowardly act. Yet I knew I couldn’t bear Mrs. Galloway’s scrutiny. While Augusta hadn’t held me responsible for her bruises, I wasn’t certain Mrs. Galloway would be so generous—especially if the bruising hadn’t disappeared in time for the housewarming.
    When I arrived at the breakfast table, Mrs. Galloway offered a terse greeting. I cringed when Augusta entered the room. The bruise had darkened and some of the swelling still remained. She looked like she’d been on the losing side of a tavern brawl.
    Mrs. Galloway reached across to examine her eye. “You need to dust additional powder on your cheek. And take care to choose a hat with a full brim that will drop across your forehead.”
    I lowered my eyes and pretended to examine the pattern of the tablecloth. By tomorrow I’d be moved out. I knew the timing would please Augusta’s mother even more than me. I uttered a silent thank-you when Mr. Galloway entered the dining room.
    “I knocked on Tyson’s door. Seems he’s not feeling well and asked to be excused from church services.”
    A likely story. I didn’t believe for a minute that Tyson was sick. However, both Augusta and her mother were overwrought with concern. I expected one or both of them to rush upstairs, sit by his bedside, and offer to hold his hand. Ridiculous. He had been perfectly fine last night. The chameleon wanted to sleep late and avoid the Sunday sermon. I would have preferred avoiding church, too, but not for the same reason.
    I swallowed a forkful of scrambled eggs and envisioned my introduction to the Galloways’ acquaintances: Hello, this is Augusta’s friend Carrington Brouwer, who recently returned from France. Carrington is the one responsible for those nasty bruises on Augusta’s face. She pushed our dear Augusta down a flight of stairs last night. My appetite disappeared.
    I continued to chase pieces of egg around my plate until Mrs. Galloway announced we must finish up and be on our way. After I helped Augusta pat another layer of powder on her swollen cheek and choose a hat that I hoped would mask the bruise, we descended the stairs—with me in the lead. Whenever approaching a flight of