Sarah looked up. She looked slowly down the length of table at the mounting heaps of wares, then shrugged. Although she didn’t seem resistant to the idea, she didn’t agree either.
Ruth was beginning to get fed up with how slowly Sarah worked. “If we don’t hurry up we’ll have to pile the next lot of finished wares on the floor.” Then she began to sort the pieces without bothering with what Sarah would say. She didn’t want Heimer thinking she was daft.
Sarah went on working at the labels. “If I got myself into a tizzy every time the table filled up . . .” She puffed out her cheeks, and then exhaled a long breath.
An hour later the table was almost empty, and Ruth calmed down. But an hour after that, the wares were piling up again so fast that they could hardly keep up. There was something to be said for Sarah’s air of indifference, Ruth decided, the way she kept calm even when the table was a mess. She herself practically panicked when she saw Marie approaching with a whole tray of vases. “The two of us can’t manage all this,” she muttered. And the boxes that were already full had to be cleared away somewhere. Maybe she should start by—
Just then, a tall, fat woman appeared in the doorway. “Lunch is ready!” she called in a deep voice, then turned and stomped off.
Ruth had never been happier to go to lunch.
“Be our guest, and let this food to us be blessed.” Wilhelm Heimer looked around the table. “Starting today, there are going to be three more mouths to feed, but no one will have to go hungry. Old Edel has taken care of that, eh?” This was directed at Edeltraud, the housekeeper, who just nodded, a sour look on her face. “Right then, dig in and don’t hold back!”
The three sisters looked at one another. They didn’t dare to do as Heimer said. Were they really supposed to eat from the serving dish like pigs from a trough?
The deaf old housekeeper had brought in a great platter of food and set it in the middle of the table. Everyone had a spoon set in front of them, but there were no plates. There was nothing wrong with the meal as such, the potato salad looked tasty enough and there were plenty of spicy little sausages piled on top. Ruth tried to ignore the rumbling of her stomach. The others were already digging in, and she could even hear the sausages burst as teeth bit into them. Surely they weren’t going to put a sausage back into the dish with the end bitten off? Ruth wondered. Then she saw Michel, the youngest son, licking the grease off his fingers before reaching for the next sausage. Maybe she should just eat a slice of bread for the moment.
“What’s the matter? Shy? Don’t put on airs!” Wilhelm boomed, digging his elbow playfully into Johanna’s side.
Ruth watched as her sister reached her spoon daintily into the dish, took a little of the food, and lifted it to her mouth. She pulled herself together. It was going to be a long day, and she had to eat something after all. She picked up her spoon, wiped it inconspicuously to be sure it was clean, and helped herself from the dish. There was a clank of metal as her spoon hit another. Ruth looked up—straight into the green eyes of Thomas Heimer.
“Spooning already, are we?” he said, grinning, and grabbed her hand. “Or were you just trying to rap me over the knuckles?”
“I . . .” Ruth felt herself blushing furiously. She didn’t know what to say to a joke like that. Her hand burned as though she had held it in the fire.
“Don’t hold back if you’re hungry!” Thomas said, looking right at her. “We Heimers are used to taking what we want!” When he finally let go of her hand, it felt as though a thousand tiny ants were crawling over it.
There was laughter around the table. Ruth tried to smile as well, but her jaw muscles cramped. She peered around at the others, who were all busy eating or chatting or drinking down their beer, paying no attention to her. Though Thomas was shoveling food into his mouth, Ruth could feel him looking over at her from time to time. Slowly she raised her eyes, and met his gaze. She was right! All of a sudden a flock of birds seemed to flutter through her breast, beating their wings against her heart.
Her mouth was as dry as dust, and when she tried to lick her lips she found that her tongue almost stuck to them. Why did she suddenly feel that licking her lips was not a ladylike thing to do? She pulled herself together and put her spoon into the dish again, wondering as she did so whether she would be able to swallow even a morsel of potato.
Thomas was still watching her. “You learn fast, Ruth Steinmann,” he said with a grin.
Thomas Heimer!
She had already noticed him that morning. Unlike his brothers, who took after their father and were running a little to fat, Thomas was tall and rangy. He was also the only one who had opened his mouth to utter a greeting. He wasn’t like the rest of them, she had thought then. His smooth, healthy skin emphasized his even features and strong chin. And those eyes! She had never seen a man with dark-green eyes before.
She took a slice of bread and tore it in two, her fingers moist. Then she handed him half. As their eyes met again, sparks flew.
“Some things are easy to learn to like!” she said, wondering as she spoke whether that husky voice was really hers. She watched eagerly as he bit into the bread. Then she did the same, almost greedily.
Who would have thought that this new job would turn out to be so exciting!
9
As Marie dipped the brush into the pot—whose stained and smeared label bore the word “Ultramarine”—and pulled it back out again, the paint looked surprisingly lackluster, showing no sign yet of the depths of color that would emerge once she’d painted it onto the silvered vase. She began to trace the lines and curves around the lip of the vase the way Eva had showed her, her brush gliding easily along. She trailed the very tip of the brush across the smooth glass, as gentle as a breeze. This was nothing like the painting she had done for the pharmacy jars, which required writing out chemical names such as “Phenethyl Alcohol” or “Glycerin” or “Ether.” Father had always insisted that the letters had to be bolt upright, so Marie had doubted at first whether she would be able to master these curves and swirls. But she had no sooner taken the horsehair brush in hand and traced the first lines than her doubts vanished. She could do this!
“Well anyway, Pa said that if there was going to be another baby he’d give it away at birth. Ma didn’t even know whether she was pregnant yet, and she burst into tears and . . .”
Marie frowned a little. Eva had been gabbing away ever since they sat down at the workbench that morning. Marie was glad that Sebastian’s wife was friendly, but now she just wished that the woman would keep her mouth shut for a minute or two.
“And then Ma said that she would do whatever it took to make sure she didn’t have another brat, but . . .”
She had no shame at all about revealing even the most intimate family secrets! Marie looked around in alarm, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to Eva’s chatter. Johanna and the Widow Grün were busy unrolling some kind of glittering thread from a thick reel and snipping it into equal lengths, and the Heimer brothers were bent low over their lamps and could hardly hear anything anyway. Ruth didn’t seem to have noticed Eva, or indeed anything around her. She looked . . . lost in thought. Was the work here becoming too much for her?
“There we go!” Eva flicked the paintbrush across the glass in a great flourish that seemed to come all the way from her wrist, linking the last swirls back into the start of the pattern. She didn’t much seem to care that her lines swooped up and down all over the place. She beamed at Marie. “Now we put on the green leaves and white flowers.” She pointed to two jars of paint that sat unopened. “Before you change paint you have to clean the brush thoroughly. My father-in-law’s an angel really, but if he sees you treating the tools carelessly he can be the very devil. Wilhelm!”
Marie followed Eva’s glance; from the look in that woman’s eyes, Marie would almost have thought she was in love. Wilhelm Heimer was standing in the doorway, lea
fing through a sheaf of crumpled notepaper and cursing a blue streak as he did so. As soon as he looked up and saw Eva, however, his face softened.
“My Ma always says that if you can find what you’re looking for straightaway, then you don’t have enough to do!” Eva called over to him, grinning.
Marie could hardly agree that Heimer was an angel. Just then, he looked furious. Hoping that his bad mood had nothing to do with them, she turned hastily back to her work. Whenever Father had been ill-tempered, the best thing had been just to leave him alone. None of the sisters would ever have dreamed of teasing him the way Eva teased her father-in-law.
Painting the leaves onto the stem was a quick job. Marie didn’t like this mossy-green color as much as the ultramarine, which was a lovely blue the color of a bright clear sky. But once she got around to painting the white flowers, she began to enjoy the work again. They were a simple five-petal design, the kind of flower that a child might paint, but the white paint was so translucent that if she laid it on just a little thinner, it looked as though a shadow were falling on the blossom. Perhaps she could try making them a little bit longer—just a tiny bit of course. Yes, didn’t the flowers look more elegant that way? She recalled the wild lilies that blossomed up at the edge of the forest in late summer. Their petals turned outward just a touch, as though they were inviting the passing bees to stop and sip. Marie traced that same shape with her brush as she painted the next flower.
“Well then?” A booming voice called out behind her, and something soft and warm pressed up against her back. Wilhelm Heimer was standing so close behind her that his belly was touching her. She was so taken aback that the brush twitched in her hand, smearing the petal that she had just been painting. She quickly covered it with her hand to hide the mistake.
Heimer beamed down at Eva without even glancing at Marie’s work. “Has my favorite daughter-in-law been showing our new girl what painting’s all about?”
Was Heimer talking just to her, or to both of them? Marie nodded, just in case.
“Favorite daughter-in-law!” Eva laughed. “You’ve only got one, so why even call me that?” She turned around coquettishly. “Did you hear that, Sebastian? It seems your father is still pleased with your choice of bride. What do you say?”
Sebastian grunted something, though Marie couldn’t quite hear what.
Wilhelm shook his head. “You young lads are very sparing with your words! When I think of the sweet nothings I used to whisper into your mother’s ear, God rest her soul!”
“And how do you know that Sebastian doesn’t do that?” Thomas Heimer asked over his shoulder. “At night, when you’re asleep? They make enough noise in their room . . .”
The others laughed, and Eva gave her father-in-law a playful nudge. “See what you’ve started?” she said, feigning anger. Her eyes gleamed with amusement.
Marie held her paintbrush poised like a stylus over a slate. She didn’t know what to make of such talk. She felt queasy just listening to it. Surely nobody expected her to say anything? She decided the best thing would be to just carry on with her work, but she hesitated when she realized that there were only three painted vases on Eva’s side of the bench and seven on hers. Without even trying, she was working much faster than Eva.
Before she knew it, Heimer had picked up one of her vases and turned it round and round, frowning thoughtfully.
“I . . . I painted the flowers so that the petals are a little longer,” she said timidly.
Eva leaned over and picked up another vase. The smile was gone from her face now. “That’s not how I showed you to do it.” There was an edge to her voice, with no trace of the girlish charm from earlier.
Heimer put the vase back down in front of Marie.
“I can show her again . . .” Eva began, visibly put out, but Heimer raised a hand to silence her. He smiled. “That’s all right, little Evie! Every painter has her own style, and the customers know that too.” Heimer turned to leave and clapped a hand on each woman’s shoulder. “As long as you don’t start painting ladybugs instead of the flowers they ordered, I don’t mind a little artistic freedom from either of you.”
Marie exhaled, relieved. She had been holding her breath without knowing it. Artistic freedom . . . There was a humming in her ears. Eva was right: Wilhelm Heimer was an angel really, if a rather big-bellied one. Glad not to have been given a dressing-down on her first day, she picked up the next vase and began to paint.
Eva followed suit, but not without first shooting Marie a look that was much less friendly than before.
10
By the time the three sisters got home that evening, it was almost dark outside. Ruth felt faint at the thought of having to lay a fire at this hour. “There’s still a bit of bread. And the meat loaf that one of the neighbors brought . . . I don’t even remember who. We can eat it cold.” If one of her sisters wanted a hot meal, then she could fire up the oven herself.
The others just nodded. “As long as we each have a plate to ourselves . . .” Johanna said.
Ruth and Marie giggled.
“Can you believe such a thing? In one of the richest houses in the village?” Ruth shook her head as she pulled three plates from the cupboard and put three glasses on the table. “They must have enough money, so it can’t be about that, can it?” she said in bemusement.
Johanna shook her head. “I think old Edel just doesn’t make the effort. And the Heimers aren’t used to having it any different.” As she began to slice the bread, she remembered that Joost had always done that. She had to stop herself thinking such things. “Did you see her fingernails? Oof! And the potato salad platter was all sticky on the underside,” she added.
“That’s horrible! I didn’t even notice!” Ruth replied, putting a little meat loaf on everyone’s plate.
“I’m not the least bit surprised . . .” Johanna said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. “You were only looking at one thing . . .”
Ruth frowned. “You busybody! I don’t know what you mean!”
“Who was talking just the other days about getting married? About having someone to look after her?” Johanna cocked her head. “If I recall correctly, it was you, wasn’t it?”
“And what if I did?” Ruth snapped at her. As always, nothing got past Johanna. “Thomas wouldn’t be the worst choice of husband, you have to admit that. It’s amazing as it is that only one of the three brothers is married.” She held her breath, annoyed at herself for wanting Johanna’s approval.
Her sister took a hearty bite of bread before speaking.
“I’ll grant you he’s not a grumble-guts like the other two,” she said, chewing. “And he certainly has a fine singing voice.” She shook her head. “But I have to say I’m surprised he still feels like singing with all that work to be done.”
“I like it that he sings a little song here and there. And I like the way everyone sings along,” Ruth said, almost defiantly. Then she laughed.
“I felt a bit silly at first. When was the last time we girls sang together? It must have been in school. And the others know all the words. But we’ll learn them too.”
Ruth waved a hand. “Tell me though: What do you think of Thomas?”
Johanna rolled her eyes. “What can I say? I hardly had time to look at him.”
“Well, don’t trouble yourself to look at him from now on,” Ruth said firmly. “I spotted him first. Those dark-green eyes of his . . . Have you ever seen a boy with such lovely eyes?” she said dreamily.
“I didn’t notice. What I did notice though was the way the work piled up on your table,” Johanna answered dryly. “If you really want my advice, forget about Thomas for the time being. After all, if old Heimer isn’t happy with our work . . .” She let the rest of the sentence speak for itself.
“I don’t plan to fling myself at him, if that’s what you mean,” Ruth said pointedly. She sighed.
“With all the work we have, there’s hardly time for a few words. I tell you, I broke a sweat this morning at the packing table! Not everyone’s lucky enough to be put to work painting flowers.”
Marie didn’t react. It was as though she hadn’t even heard what Ruth had said. She hadn’t even taken a bite of bread, but was sketching patterns in her meat loaf with the point of her knife.
Johanna elbowed her. “You’re sitting there staring into space as though you’ve had a vision of the Virgin Mary! What’s wrong with you? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for Michel!”
“What nonsense! Nothing’s wrong with me!” Marie replied, picking up her bread and lifting it to her mouth. But then she paused before taking a bite, and her eyes lit up.
“I’ve been thinking about something. If we were to paint the plants twining up the length of the vase rather than round and round, they would look so different . . .”
The other two stared at her, and Ruth rolled her eyes. “Our princess is dreaming again.”
“Is it any wonder?” Johanna said. “If I spent the whole day sitting next to such a chatterbox, I would daydream as well just to get away. That Eva could talk your ears off!”
Ruth leaned forward over the table. “You know, I’m surprised Sebastian married her, given that she’s all the way from Steinach. And the old man’s so fond of her!”
“You’re right!” Johanna chimed in. “He values the glassblowing trade so highly, you’d think he’d rather have someone from the village in his house. What’s that saying? Marry a glassblower’s daughter and your cup will never run dry.”
They laughed.
“It hasn’t happened yet, but it could!” Ruth remarked airily, winking at Johanna as she did so.
After they had eaten, nobody felt like doing the dishes or getting breakfast ready for the next morning or fetching the wood. They decided to go to bed so they would be well rested for the next day. But sleep wouldn’t come. Each of them had too much to think about.
The Glassblower (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 1) Page 6
