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embellished horses, amazed me. With each strike of a mallet, the steel-bladed chisels and gouges cut into the wood, defining or intensifying the features. The workers glanced away from their work only long enough to nod at Mr. Galloway.
    I grasped Mr. Galloway’s sleeve as we approached a giraffe that was nearing completion. “What a magnificent animal. Such beauty.”
    “He’s our first. Josef’s design.” There was a hint of pride in Mr. Galloway’s voice. “Children will beg to ride on that giraffe, but I want to make sure this first one is just right. We need the painting to be as perfect as Josef’s carving.”
    I stretched my neck, hoping to capture a glimpse of the painters at work. “Where do you paint the horses? I don’t see any signs of painting.”
    “Ah, we do all the painting in a large room at the rear of the building. We don’t want wood shavings or dust in the same room where we have wet paint. We’d end up with ruined finishes.” He grasped his watch chain and removed the pocket watch from his vest. “I believe we’re going to have to call our tour to halt, ladies. We can return another day if you’d like, so you can see the rest of the factory.” His lips lifted into a crooked smile, and he wrapped Augusta’s shoulder in a fatherly hug. “I can guess what your answer will be.”
    Augusta laughed along with him. An unexpected pang of jealousy attacked me, and for a moment I wanted to jump between them and share her father’s affection. We’d neared the door when one of the workers called out to Mr. Galloway. He was waving a paper in his hand. He raced toward us and came to an abrupt halt directly in front of us.
    “Josef said to give you this if you stopped by, but nobody told me you were here.”
    “Thank you, Franklin. I’m glad you caught me. We were just leaving.”
    Franklin thrust the folded note at Mr. Galloway. “I doubt you’ll be pleased with the news.” Without further comment, he performed a perfect about-face and marched off.
    I didn’t know which I wanted to do more: remain and tour the paint shop or hear the letter’s mysterious content. I didn’t do either—at least not then.

CHAPTER

4
    W hen we sat down to supper that evening, it appeared as if Mr. and Mrs. Galloway had exchanged personalities. In an animated and convivial manner, Mrs. Galloway entertained us with news of the friends she’d visited in Fair Oaks earlier in the day, while Mr. Galloway remained silent and downcast.
    Once the platters and bowls had circled the table, Mrs. Galloway tapped her finger on the edge of the table. “Did you hear what I said, Howard?”
    He looked up from his plate and blinked his eyes in rapid succession. “I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.” The moment he made the admission, his neck disappeared beneath his shirt collar like a turtle retreating into its shell.
    Given his wife’s usual temperament, I understood the desire to become invisible. But tonight it seemed nothing would annoy Mrs. Galloway. Even in light of her husband’s admission, her spirits soared. “I said that Laura Wentworth has agreed to host our housewarming party if our house isn’t completed in time. Although it would be highly unusual to host a housewarming at someone else’s home, it gives me an excellent option, since the invitations have already gone out.”
    Augusta picked up a roll and broke off a tiny piece. With painstaking care, she buttered the portion. “But won’t the guests go to the wrong house?” She popped the piece of bread into her mouth.
    If my foot would have reached far enough, I would have kicked Augusta beneath the table. The question would likely send Mrs. Galloway into her typical querulous state. I held my breath and waited for the response.
    “We’ve already decided upon a solution. Since their home is only a short distance away, I’ll have Thomas stand at the end of our driveway and direct the guests to the Wentworths’ home.” She placed her open palm