The workers in Bayol’s atelier labor for many months over the Clement carousel. There are twenty-four animals—four pigs, four horses, four rabbits, four chickens, four cats, four dogs—plus a gondola rocked by gearing under the floor and two spinning tubs. But these pieces are just the beginning: There is also the construction of the mechanism, the engineering of the bellows, the installation of the steam engine, and the building and decorating of the salon room that will house it all. It is forty feet wide with sixteen-foot-high walls, all of which are decorated and covered in gilt-framed mirrors and exquisite murals painted by artists brought in from Paris. Monsieur Bayol sent plans to workers at Château Clement to prepare the foundation, but the true magic must wait until the carousel arrives.
The salon itself will not be fully assembled until arrival, and anyproblems will be worked out on-site. But the carousel must be tested in the factory before it is shipped across the country.
Madame Bayol has prepared a special lunch for the trial day.
“If all goes well, it will be a celebration,” she says, a worried look in her eyes. “If not, we will need the extra sustenance to keep our spirits up. My husband does not deal well with failure.”
Nine men have been chosen to put the carousel together. That is the greatest number of workers that Bayol can spare from the factory; they will accompany the apparatus on its journey by train. After arriving at Château Clement, they must be able to assemble all the pieces, including the engine and the gears, over the course of two or three weeks, a month at most.
Maëlle watches their progress as she works on her carving, priming, and painting. She has excelled at all of these crafts over the last several months, and is now allowed to recarve some of the inside halves of the horses destined for the next carousel—this one for the city of Nîmes.
Still, Maëlle is jealous that she will not be accompanying the Clement carousel to its final home. To travel by train across all of France, through Paris, sounds like the most exciting adventure she can imagine. Besides, there is Léon.
Léon will be going with the carousel. He will be gone for weeks, perhaps a month. She is bereft at the thought.
She looks forward to seeing him every day, to interacting with him. What will work be without him? She is already finding the tasks rote, sometimes even boring.
“You are too anxious. You want things to move too quickly,” says Monsieur Maréchal. “Apprentices work with the master for years, not months, before they work on their own.”
“But I am a better carver than half the apprentices here,” Maëlle declares. “And yet I am still not called an apprentice. Simply an ‘assistant.’ It isn’t fair.”
Monsieur Maréchal smiles. Though his manner is often gruff, hissoft brown eyes are kind. “I admire your ambition, Maëlle. Truly. It is a rare thing in a woman, and I have no doubt that you will be well known one day.”
“I have no desire to be well known,” Maëlle replies. “Simply to carve.”
“Your painting skills are very fine as well,” he says.
“I don’t mind painting,” she says, drawing herself up to her full height and lifting her chin. “But I am acarver. It is a part of me, as surely as my hair is brown.”
Maëlle has written to her brother, Erwann, every week since she arrived, telling him of her progress. He assures her that his poem for her, “The Aspiring Apprentice of Angers,” was prescient, that one day she will surely sculpt her own creations. She carries the letter in her pocket, folded up tight, and rubs it like a talisman whenever her ambitions are frustrated.
One day Maëlle walks into the factory to find Monsieur Maréchal talking with Monsieur Bayol at his desk, their graying heads bent low.
Maëlle keeps her eyes averted and gets to work, but she feels a thrill go through her. One of the apprentices, a teenager named Philippe Boisson, has begun coughing, a terrible hack reminiscent of her brother’s ailment. The other day she saw spots of blood on his handkerchief before he tucked it away.
He is one of the men scheduled to accompany the Clement carousel to Provence.
If Philippe is not able to go, Monsieur Bayol will have no choice but to send Maëlle in his place. She is the only one with the appropriate skills who can be spared from the factory. They have begun their contract with the city of Nîmes; Monsieur Maréchal is needed here, as are all the others.
Maëlle is ashamed to be glad of anyone’s misfortune, but she can barely contain her excitement when the master approaches, his mustache twitching.
“Maëlle, I would like you to accompany thismanègeto Avignon.Léon Morice will act as master of the project, as you know.” He hesitates, as though searching for the right words. “I don’t need to tell you that I will expect you to comport yourself as a lady.”
“I understand,” Maëlle says, chafing at the implication. Madame Bayol has discovered Maëlle arriving late from an errand, flushed and disheveled, on more than one occasion. She has confided her suspicions to her husband. Maëlle wonders whether anyone asks the young men she works with—Luc or Romain or Philippe—why they arrive five minutes late to the factory. If a clandestine kiss, or more, means they are bad men, worthy of disdain.
She wonders why being “a lady” seems to be such a heavy burden.
“There are always minor nicks and scrapes that need to be repaired, and the façade of the salon housing the carousel will need extensive gilding and decorative painting once it is set up,” Monsieur Bayol continues. “The family must be kept happy, so whatever Monsieur and Madame Clement ask for, you are to give them. Are you willing to remain as long as necessary to finish any details?”
“Of course, monsieur,” Maëlle replies. “It will be my honor.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
PRESENT DAY
PROVENCE
Cady
