The Glassblower (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 1)

by Durst-Benning, Petra

  “Oh no,” Johanna groaned. “You’ve fallen in love with that American. Ruth, please tell me it’s not true!” Johanna had an overwhelming urge to get up and walk away as though the whole conversation had never taken place.

  “I don’t know whether I’ve fallen in love with him,” Ruth said, suddenly embarrassed. “Sometimes I think I have,” she added, just as naturally as if they talked about it every day. “But then I think I can’t possibly have! I mean, I’ve only even met the man once.”

  For a moment Johanna felt a twinge of hope. Love at first sight—that was just for fairy tales. Even a child knew that.

  “Back when I was in love with Thomas, I felt as though there were a thousand ants marching through my belly. All he had to do was look at me, and I flushed hot and cold. Ha! I can hardly believe there was a time when I couldn’t wait for him to kiss me. That changed soon enough.” Ruth laughed bitterly.

  “But it’s different with Steven.” Her voice became soft. “I feel we have a real connection even though we’ve hardly touched. And he’s so polite and responsive that I sometimes think he can read my mind. For instance he told the waiter to open the window before I could even mention that I wanted some fresh air. And then he ordered a coffee for me after the meal. He had no way of knowing what a coffee fiend I am.” Ruth’s eyes shone. “And his letters! He writes so wonderfully that I feel I already know him. I only hope I’m not making a fool of myself with all the nonsense I scribble down. You know quite well that I was never much for reading and writing.”

  With every sentence she spoke, Johanna’s heart sank further. Her sister had it bad, worse than Ruth even realized herself. Although Johanna had the feeling that she should say something to put the whole matter in perspective, nothing came to mind. “Even though we’ve hardly touched”—well, at least the worst had not yet happened.

  Quite without warning, Ruth reached across the table and took Johanna’s hand.

  “I’m so happy I can finally talk about it all. Perhaps I should have told you ages ago. But . . .” She shrugged. “It’s all so personal, somehow.” She smiled that blissful smile again. “Perhaps Steven wouldn’t even want me talking about him like this. A matter of trust, do you understand?”

  Johanna nodded, saying nothing, and Ruth seemed content with that.

  “He’s such a good listener. I would never have thought you could actually talk to a man the way we talked. He’s a bit like Peter, in fact, just not so . . . matter-of-fact. He—” She broke off. “Oh, I really can’t explain. At any rate, I’ve never felt so safe and happy with anyone.” She sighed. “With Thomas I was never sure whether he really meant any of his compliments, because they were only ever about one thing. But I believe every word from Steven. Although . . .” Ruth laughed, embarrassed, and her cheeks flushed pink. “I do wonder what a businessman and man of the world like him sees in me.”

  Johanna couldn’t sit and listen in silence any longer.

  “You and your daydreams,” she said, interrupting her sister. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were in raptures over Thomas just the same way, and look what came of that. Just stop and think for a moment. You’re married, and you have a child. You live here in the Thuringian Forest, while this man lives in New York. There are worlds between you. Even if he did have some feelings for you . . . what could possibly come of it?” Johanna felt a growing urge to grab Ruth by the shoulders and give her a good hard shake.

  “I don’t know,” Ruth cried miserably. “And I don’t even want to think about it. All I know is that I can hardly wait to see him again when he comes to collect our wares from Sonneberg. That’s why nothing must go wrong with this order! I can’t stand the thought.”

  “I’m glad we’re agreed on that much at least,” Johanna said dryly.

  “If Steven weren’t coming to Sonneberg, I would go to Hamburg to be with him!”

  “You in Hamburg? Don’t make me laugh! You have to pluck up your nerve just to go as far as Sonneberg.” Johanna scoffed.

  “You’re horrid! You’re just like Marie; she doesn’t want me to be happy either.” For a moment it looked as though Ruth might burst into tears again, but then she shook her head. “Perhaps that’s the only way you know how to talk. Because neither of you knows what true love is like.” She shut her eyes. “True love is much stronger than us mortals. It stops us from being scared of what tomorrow may bring.”

  Romantic twaddle! Ruth had obviously spent far too much time reading the Arbor. Johanna had no desire to continue the conversation, so she shoved her chair back and stood up. It was already late.

  It was cold in the kitchen, and the house still stank of Epsom salts. She would have to go to Peter tomorrow and confess that they had no hope of filling the order without his help. Perhaps she would also have to have a good long talk with their resident artist to make her sit back down at the lamp. The last thing Johanna needed just then was to watch Ruth fluttering her eyelids and listen to her soppy talk.

  Though Johanna was bone tired, she knew that she wouldn’t get to sleep easily—not after Ruth’s news.

  23

  At eight o’clock sharp on the morning of September 29, two draft horses pulling a wagon stopped outside the Steinmann house, snorting and shaking their manes. They belonged to a farmer from a nearby village who made a little extra money carrying cargo for the glassmakers of Lauscha. He looked around dubiously as he opened the tailboard for loading. He had never picked up anything from here before. But if he had any doubts as to whether it was the right place, they were answered the very next moment when the three sisters came out of the house, each balancing a stack of cardboard boxes in their arms. Peter and Magnus both insisted on being allowed to help load the wagon, so the farmer stood aside and watched, filling his pipe as they worked.

  More and more boxes vanished into the belly of the wagon. By the time the last box had been loaded, the cargo was piled up almost six feet high. The young women watched hawkeyed as the farmer and Magnus lashed down the boxes with rope. At last everything was safely stowed.

  “Done!” Johanna heaved a loud sigh. “We’ll be able to move around the house again without glass chiming at every step.”

  “It looks like any old shipment of ordinary glassware, doesn’t it?” Somehow Marie still couldn’t believe that this huge mound of buff-colored boxes had actually been packed in their house.

  “Very true. From the outside, there’s nothing to suggest all the glitter and sparkle inside,” Johanna replied.

  Ruth, who had been staring into the dusty kitchen window, turned around.

  “It’s just as well. No one needs to know what we’re transporting here. We’d just end up getting robbed on the road,” she muttered, then turned again and looked at her dim reflection. She sighed fretfully as she tugged a lock of hair back into place, tucked another behind her ear and ran her finger along her eyebrows.

  Johanna and Marie exchanged knowing glances. Ruth had spent more time in front of the mirror that morning than anywhere else. Even Wanda had been left to her own devices for once, lying in her pram and grumbling away.

  “You take good care of the papers, now,” Johanna told Ruth, not for the first time that day. “The lists give all the details they’ll need on how many of each design are in the delivery. The authorities in Hamburg won’t be able to draw up export papers if they don’t have the right information. Once when I was working for Strobel, we—”

  “Johanna, I know all that. You take good care of Wanda for me,” Ruth said, her eyes shining like well-polished slate. “Don’t worry. I know what I have to do.”

  Johanna snorted. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said, then added softly, “Just don’t go doing anything foolish when you and Steven . . .”

  “Johanna, please don’t start that again,” Ruth murmured. She turned abruptly and blew a kiss at her daughter, who was watching the scene with a look of skeptic
ism on her face. “Until tonight, little Wanda! If you’re good, Mama will bring you back a present.”

  She was halfway up to the wagon seat when she suddenly climbed back down.

  “What’s the trouble now? Women!” the farmer grumbled. He had a whole day’s work on the farm waiting for him when he got back from Sonneberg.

  Ruth hugged Marie. “You see, we really did it. The Steinmann girls will show the world what we’re made of.”

  Marie hugged her back. “Have a nice time in Sonneberg.”

  At last the wagon lurched into motion, its wheels creaking. Wanda began to cry. Johanna rocked the pram from side to side without taking her eyes off the wagon. Peter came to join her, and she did not protest when he put his arm around her shoulders.

  Marie stood a little off to one side. The time had come. Thousands upon thousands of silvered pinecones, nuts, painted globes, and mirrored globes were setting off on their long journey to America. Everything that had been at the very center of her existence for the past few months was now gone forever, vanished from her life. She had wanted to go with the cargo as far as Sonneberg, but Ruth wouldn’t hear of it and had insisted quite vehemently on going on her own. They had almost had another row over it. But then Johanna had taken Marie aside and told her in a few carefully chosen words what was on Ruth’s mind.

  “Let her meet this Steven one more time. Perhaps she’ll realize then that she’s just chasing rainbows. We can stay home with Peter and enjoy our day off,” she added. But Marie waved the offer away. If she wasn’t going to go to Sonneberg, then she just wanted some peace and quiet.

  “It’s an odd feeling—to know that the whole hustle and bustle is over, just like that,” Johanna said, smiling.

  Peter sighed. “That’s just like you. Instead of celebrating, you stand out here feeling gloomy,” he said, grinning reproachfully. “I think you should come over to my place. Or had you forgotten your promise that you would come and help me for a change?”

  Before Johanna could say a word, he had taken hold of Wanda’s pram and was pushing it toward his house. “What is it, are you planning to put down roots?” he called over his shoulder to Johanna, without turning round.

  Johanna looked at Marie.

  Marie nodded encouragingly to her sister. That left her and Magnus. He looked down and dug into the hard earth with the toe of his right shoe.

  Marie shivered. She had forgotten to put on a jacket that morning in all the excitement, and the first frosts had begun a few days ago. It wouldn’t be long now before the trees shed their colorful leaves. Unlike most people, Marie was looking forward to seeing the trees and branches bare. When their silhouettes showed sharp against the pale winter light, there was nothing to distract her from the fine filigree patterns the branches made.

  She hugged herself tight. “What do you think—could there be a way to capture the seasons of the year on Christmas baubles?”

  “All four seasons, on a ball?” Magnus was taken aback.

  “A set of four globes, one for every season.” Even as she spoke the globes began to take shape in Marie’s mind. She would paint the globe for spring with yellow primroses. Summer—perhaps that could be a sun? No, because then there would be two globes painted yellow. So spring would have to be lily of the valley instead. Fall would be colorful leaves of course, in every shade of the forest. As for winter—well, that was obvious enough.

  “Why didn’t I think of it before?” She was so angry she stamped her foot.

  “What’s the problem?” Magnus asked. “Just paint that design for the next order.”

  “If there is one! We still don’t know for sure whether anyone in America wants to buy them.”

  “You talk almost as much doom and gloom as my mother. I wouldn’t have expected it of an artist like you.”

  Marie blushed. To change the subject, she asked, “How is Griseldis? I would have thought she’d move heaven and earth to be here with us this morning. I mean, since you both gave up all your evenings the last few weeks to help us out.”

  Magnus made a wry face. “Old Heimer has more work for her. He’s insisted that she spend today cleaning the warehouse, because there are fresh supplies arriving early Monday morning.”

  “Today? On a Saturday?”

  He nodded sourly. “I wish she at least got another mark in wages for all the extra work she puts in. But the old fellow just works her fingers to the bone.”

  “Do you mean to say she doesn’t even get paid for the extra hours?” Marie frowned. Griseldis was always the last to leave the Heimer workshop in the evening. Ever since Edeltraud had died, hardly a day passed when Wilhelm Heimer didn’t find some extra job for her. For some reason, he never asked that of Marie, or Sarah-the-snail.

  Magnus laughed bitterly. “That’s just what I mean to say. And even so, my mother feels she ought to get down on her knees and thank the old tyrant every day for letting her work for him.”

  Marie felt she had to say something in Griseldis’s defense.

  “Your mother is a good soul, and she’s always ready to help. She helped us too. When I think of the way she came to our aid when Father died . . . Never mind these last few weeks!”

  “But that was a matter of honor. Which is why my mother was so surprised when Johanna insisted on paying us for those few hours we put in. We can certainly use the money, but we would have helped you even without any pay.”

  Magnus was at least as kindhearted as his mother, Marie realized. It was a touching thought.

  “Without those ‘few hours’ as you call them, we would never have gotten the whole shipment finished.”

  He waved her thanks away. “It’s damned cold for the end of September. We’ll have another hard winter ahead. What do you say—would you like a hot cup of tea? I could make us some, and Mother made an apple pie yesterday.”

  Marie hesitated for no more than a moment. “Why not? Perhaps I’d better get used to the idea that I don’t have to work every waking moment from now on.”

  They were already halfway to Griseldis’s house when Marie stopped in her tracks.

  “What is it? Have you changed your mind?”

  Marie bit her lip.

  “Actually I’m still a bit upset that I didn’t go to Sonneberg. It would have been a good opportunity to take a stroll round town.”

  “You mean stroll around town and spend some of your hard-earned money in the Sonneberg shops?” Magnus grinned.

  Marie shook her head. “We haven’t been paid a penny yet. Though for what I have in mind, I would happily spend all my savings. Well, perhaps another time . . .” Her voice gave away nothing of the longing she felt.

  Magnus hopped from one foot to the other. Without looking at Marie he finally asked, “If you really would like to go to Sonneberg—well then, why don’t we go? We could always walk if you don’t want to spend the money for a train ticket. And who knows? If we’re lucky, someone might stop and give us a ride some of the way.” Magnus grew more enthusiastic with every word.

  Marie, however, was torn. Was Magnus the right person to help her do what she was planning?

  “I don’t know. I would have to tell Johanna first. We had agreed that I would look after Wanda for half the day.”

  “I’ll tell Johanna if you like. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you taking a little trip,” Magnus said. “Should I go talk to her?”

  Marie took hold of his sleeve. “Hold on! There’s another thing: What if we happen to run into Ruth? She’ll end up thinking I don’t trust her to deliver the wares, and that would be very awkward.”

  “Sonneberg’s not so small that you’re always bumping into people around every corner,” Magnus answered, sounding disappointed. “If you don’t want to go with me, let’s just forget it.”

  “That’s not it,” Marie said hurriedly. She laughed, embarrassed. “But there’s one more
thing . . . Just have a look at me . . . I can’t go into town like this.” She pointed at her legs.

  One day she had started wearing Joost’s old pants around the house; they didn’t get in the way of the gas pipe the way her skirts always did. She soon realized that pants were fundamentally more practical than women’s clothing and that she could slip them on in seconds and then have time for more important things. Ruth and Johanna had almost screamed the house down when they saw her wearing Joost’s old rags, but Marie had nonetheless stuck to her new habit.

  “Now that I think about it, I don’t have anything fit to wear,” she added.

  Magnus crossed his arms. The corners of his mouth rose into a mocking grin.

  “Marie Steinmann, can it be that you’ve lost your nerve?”

  24

  They had hardly been walking for half an hour when a wagon stopped and let them ride for a few pence. It was not even eleven o’clock when they arrived in Sonneberg. On the way there, Magnus had suggested all sorts of things they might do in town. When Marie finally mustered the courage to tell him what it was that she wanted to do, Magnus hadn’t even batted an eye.

  And so they marched out of the marketplace and headed straight for a little side alley. Marie could already read the shop sign from a long way off. “Books Old and New,” it read, and underneath in smaller letters, “Books Bought and Sold, Alois Sawatzky.” Her heart pounded.

  “What if he doesn’t have anything like what I’m looking for?” she whispered.