Ruth was almost sorry it had all happened so fast. She would have been quite happy watching Steven for a while longer.
Steven insisted on taking care of business first. They had hardly taken their seats in the café before Steven started counting out the banknotes for Ruth, as discreetly as he could. Six hundred marks. When he was done, she put the fat wad of notes in her bag with trembling fingers. Six hundred marks—the reward for six weeks of hard work, missed sleep, arguments, and tears. She had never had so much money in her life.
With the smell of hot chocolate hanging over the table, her fears that they might not have anything to say to one another vanished into thin air.
The hours flew by as never before. One cup of cocoa became two, and then three. If anybody had asked Ruth afterward what they talked about she would hardly have been able to say. And yet it was almost as if not a day had passed since their last meeting, so easily did they pick up the threads of conversation. Though the talk itself was lively, they were also communicating at another level—for instance when Steven took a handkerchief from his breast pocket before Ruth had even wrinkled her nose to sneeze. The rage in his eyes when she told him about Thomas and the scenes he made in front of their house every night. The gleam in Ruth’s eyes when Steven told her about the Christmas decorations that were about to go up in every Woolworth’s store in America. Her delight when he told her every detail of Thanksgiving and its traditions.
“My mouth’s already watering!” she said, laughing. “I can practically smell the turkey and the stuffing!”
“Have you ever thought what it would be like to leave Lauscha?”
Steven’s question took her breath away.
“Leave Lauscha?” She put a hand to her throat. She felt like she was choking.
All afternoon, she had somehow managed to forget the circumstances of their meeting, forget that the clock was ticking away as they laughed and gazed into one another’s eyes. But his question brought it all back. As though she needed another reminder, the oak-cased grandfather clock at the end of the room struck six. The café would close at seven.
“How could I ever leave Lauscha?”
“It seems to me that the real question is how you could stay. What future do you have here?” Steven asked quietly. “After all you tell me about Thomas Heimer, I worry for your safety. That man isn’t going to leave you alone. What if he’s lying in wait for you or your daughter one day when there’s nobody nearby?”
“He’s not interested in Wanda,” Ruth said, dismissing the idea.
Steven looked skeptical. “There’s no shortage of tragedies that occurred because someone thought if I can’t have her, then nobody will . . .”
Ruth raised her hands in despair. “Why are you frightening me like this? I’m married to him. I know that Thomas will never set me free—he’s too proud for that—but that doesn’t mean he’s going to kill me.” Tears sprang to her eyes. There was no future left for her anywhere; she had thrown it away long ago.
“Ruth, Ruth . . .” Steven whispered. He stroked her head gently. “Don’t cry. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”
How could that be? Steven had his life to lead, and she had hers. She sniffled as she told him so.
“Have you forgotten that I’m an American?” he answered with a roguish grin that didn’t really suit her mood. “We Americans aren’t so quick to knuckle under when things aren’t going as we’d like. If we don’t like the way things are, we change them. And I get the feeling that you can change things too.” He lifted her chin.
Ruth wiped the last tears from her eyes.
“How many women would have spent their life alongside a husband who beat them rather than take the brave steps that you did and leave him?” Steven asked. When she didn’t answer straightaway, he added, “Do you know any other woman who would have dared go to Mr. Woolworth’s room looking for him? You began taking your fate into your own hands long ago.”
“When you look at it like that, I suppose I did,” she said, smiling a little. “Crying won’t help matters, my father always used to say, you have to do something too.”
She didn’t quite know what they were talking about. What did he want her to say? Where was he going with this?
“Oh, Steven,” she sighed. “Perhaps there might be some point in our talking like this if things were different. But as it is, even the kindest twist of fate wouldn’t be enough to give me what I wish for most—which is to turn back the clock to before I was married.”
“That’s not what you really want,” he said. “For one thing you wouldn’t have your wonderful daughter”—he nodded at the photo of Wanda that Ruth had shown him—“and for another thing we would never have met.”
“Well, that’s true too,” Ruth laughed. “You have a gift for finding the silver lining in any cloud.”
He joined in her laughter.
“Wait, I have something for you.” He bent down under the table for his briefcase then put a glass object in front of Ruth. It was shaped like a heart.
“A heart of glass?” She lifted it carefully and nestled it in the middle of her palm. It felt cool and soft. She held it up to the light.
“How beautiful.” Her own heart suddenly felt even heavier. “Glass can break so easily . . .”
“I knew that you would see the hidden implication straightaway. Mr. Woolworth found this heart in a department store in England recently. He actually wanted to find a glassblower who could make us something like it last time we came. But unfortunately—or perhaps I should say thank heavens—we forgot the sample in our Hamburg office. What do you think? Could this be an order for you?”
So it was a sample, not a present. Ruth put the heart back down on the table. She shrugged.
“Marie can certainly manage it. What size order were you thinking?” If she had to die of a broken heart, she didn’t want to starve to death as she did so, she thought with a touch of dark humor.
“One thousand items.”
Ruth whistled softly. “That’s quite a number! When would they have to be ready?” She held her breath. Would he come to Sonneberg to collect this order as well?
“By the end of November. The shipment will be traveling on one of the slower freighters, so the crossing will last four whole weeks. The hearts would arrive in New York at the beginning of January.”
“That’s hardly seven weeks away,” Ruth said, biting her lip. Did that mean that Steven would be in Hamburg all that time?
“I’m afraid I can’t extend the deadline. The hearts have to be in every Woolworth branch in America before the fourteenth of February. That’s when Americans celebrate Saint Valentine’s Day, the patron saint of lovers. Everybody who’s in love buys a little present for their beloved, like this heart here, for instance. We put out special tables full of merchandise in all the stores for the occasion.”
“What a lovely custom! Women who get a heart like this as a present could wear it on a velvet ribbon round their neck. Or hang it in the window on a thread, so that they think of their sweetheart whenever they look out the window.” How Ruth would have loved to be one of those women. But before she could let herself feel saddened by that thought, she began to do the arithmetic.
“If we buy the glass stock straightaway and then make one hundred fifty pieces a week . . .” Why was she even bothering to calculate it, since she had no choice but to take on the order? She looked up and held out her hand to Steven. “It’s a deal! Mr. Woolworth will have his hearts by the end of November.”
Steven took her hand. But instead of shaking on the deal, he kissed it.
“Ruth.”
He spoke her name as an endearment, dark and soft. Her fingers tingled. His lips were so warm on her flesh, his moustache tickled . . .
“If you will allow it, I will give you not just a heart of glass but a heart that beats wildly at the thought of yo
u.”
“Steven, please don’t say these things,” Ruth whispered, gently withdrawing her hand. She was in agony. “I thought of you every day, I dreamed of you every night,” she confessed miserably. “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say such a thing, even though I know it’s wrong. To know that you feel as I do, to know that it was more than just business for you when we met . . .” She stopped uncertainly. Was she making a fool of herself with this confession?
“But that’s not all.” She looked down at the floor. She could not look him in the eye and say what had to be said. “I wanted to hear those words so much, but they hurt me like red-hot needles. Because they promise me something that can never be.” She stood up before Steven could help her to her feet. It hurt so much! “I have to go now. If I don’t hurry, I’ll miss the last train home.”
26
Steven hastily paid for their drinks and hurried out after Ruth. He caught up with her in front of the café and insisted on going with her to the station.
Ruth wanted to sit down somewhere and burst into tears. The bag holding the money hung casually from her right arm, and she didn’t even consider the possibility of purse snatchers. All she wanted to do was get away from the pain of meeting Steven. What had she really hoped would happen today? She was too exhausted to answer her own question.
“Stop, Ruth! I beg you!”
He was just as miserable as she was. All his confidence seemed to have deserted him, and the pain in her heart only deepened when she saw his shoulders drooping. Ruth walked on and Steven marched silently beside her. Their hands touched again and again. It was terrible and beautiful all at once.
The railway station was only two blocks away. Ruth took a deep breath, mustering her strength.
Only one more street and then two last turns. Ruth’s heart was beating so loudly that it hammered in her ears.
Dear God, help me to do the right thing.
They walked together toward the great wrought-iron gate of the station. Ruth stopped.
“I can’t.”
She turned to him. “I can’t just leave you like this.”
The next moment she was clinging to his chest.
“Steven!”
“Ruth,” he answered hoarsely and took her in his arms.
A few minutes later, they were running through the streets hand in hand as though the devil himself were at their heels, while the townspeople looked on in astonishment. Ruth suppressed the waves of shame and doubt and the pangs of guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. She even ignored the knowing look that the doorman at the Swan Hotel gave them. She had made her decision; she would be with Steven.
It was like putting down a heavy load. The clothes she wore were like chains that she could not remove fast enough. She undressed without shame, her movements sure. She did not have to look down at her bodice as she unhooked it. Nor could she have even if she had needed to. She only had eyes for Steven.
They were like flowers unfurling their blossoms in a perfumed garden. There was no need to touch; the invisible bond that united them was closer than any physical contact could ever be.
When at last they stood across from each other, entirely naked, Ruth took the pins from her hair. It fell down over her shoulders and settled there like a silken scarf. Then she shook her head proudly so that it hung behind her.
As they went to one another, Ruth drank in every detail of Steven’s body. She stared at his manhood as though mesmerized, and a tremor of desire ran through her whole body. He was as beautiful as the Greek statues in the art book that Peter had given Marie. Back then, in another life.
“I’ve never seen a man naked,” she whispered.
Steven laughed. “How can that be?” Slowly he reached his hand out toward her, and ran his fingertips down the valley between her breasts.
Ruth smiled in embarrassment. “It was always dark.” And it always happened very fast, she thought. She waved a hand as though to drive off a troublesome insect. She didn’t want to speak of that anymore. She didn’t want to think of it.
Steven’s eyes warmed her like two glowing fires as he led her to the bed.
When their naked flesh touched, desire flared in them both. His lips were strong, his kisses commanding, and Ruth thought she could taste a hint of cocoa on his tongue. She opened her mouth hungrily. More. More of this.
The feather pillow plumped up on each side of her head, getting in the way. She grabbed it and threw it off the bed. She wanted to cling closer to Steven, but he held her back.
He ran his fingers reverently over her breasts, then lowered his head. Ruth heard herself moan as his tongue playfully circled her right nipple. He raised his head and looked at her questioningly, but she just sank her fingers deeper into his arm.
While his lips caressed her left breast, his hands roamed up and down her body. Ruth felt her skin beginning to glow red hot under his touch. She thrust herself toward him once more.
But again Steven held her down, gently but forcefully.
“Easy does it,” he whispered in English. “Easy and slowly.”
He kissed her. Kisses light as feathers on her mouth, her eyes. In the middle of her forehead and on her hairline; his touch was so tender, his kisses were everywhere . . .
Suddenly his hand was on her mound of Venus. He did not stop stroking her, but his fingers moved down to the soft skin of her inner thigh. Ruth opened her legs gladly, impatiently. It felt wonderful to be stroked like that. His finger trailed across her labia as though quite by chance, and Ruth twitched like a kicking pony. She heard herself moan. It was a strange, full-throated sound.
Then Steven’s hand began circling, circling. Hot waves seized hold of her, each stronger than the last. She screamed quietly. His fingers became bolder, burrowing into her flesh, and his lips insistently claimed her mouth.
Ruth clung to him. She didn’t want to miss a moment of this bliss, the happiness that until that moment she had only ever dreamed of. What was happening here bore no resemblance to what Thomas had done to her, often against her will.
She was nevertheless unprepared for how readily her body responded when Steven finally entered her. He did not stop stroking her but instead kept time, his fingers like music on her skin, as he thrust deeply into her. Tears sprang to her eyes, hot tears of joy that she was glad to shed.
“I love you,” Steven whispered hoarsely into her ear. Ruth didn’t need to know any English to understand him.
“I love you too,” she replied in German, her legs wrapped around his.
For the first time in her life, Ruth crossed the threshold to true love. Her body and her soul were as one with Steven.
Ruth stayed with him all night. She knew that Johanna and Marie would be worried. And that Wanda would be missing her. But she couldn’t make herself care.
They had only this one night.
When they were not making love, they drifted off to sleep, her head on his chest, his arm around her protectively. It was only a light doze, however, for each was too aware of the other’s presence to sleep soundly.
Clinging to one another, they watched the dawn light appear in the window. Ruth listened to Steven’s heartbeat and wished she could stay forever in this hour between night and day.
“I love you.” His voice was hoarse.
A hot wave of happiness washed over her.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
“Could you see yourself coming to New York with me?”
His question was like a bolt from the blue. Her stomach twisted and cramped.
“I can’t bear the thought of having to leave you in just a few hours. I’ve never had these feelings for anyone else! I was lost the moment I first saw you in Frank’s room.”
Steven sat up in bed and shifted around until he was kneeling. He took her hand.
“Ruth! You are the
only woman for me. I want always to be here for you. I want to see your smile every morning. And at night, I want to fetch you the stars from the sky.”
Ruth tried to concentrate on just one thing and to ignore everything else he was saying.
“And would you accept another man’s child?”
“Did he ever show any interest in the child? Wanda is your daughter. Your angel. That’s all that matters, as far as I’m concerned. I want to offer you both a home where you will have all the love you deserve, and everything else too.”
“It’s a beautiful dream.” Ruth swallowed hard.
“No, it’s not a dream.” Steven’s eyes were shining. “If you want it, it can all come true—and so much more as well! Love can move mountains, didn’t you know that? Of course something like this needs careful thought and planning. Most importantly, I would have to get papers for you and Wanda.”
“Papers?” she asked, as though everything else had long been settled.
“For the crossing, and for entry to America. I’ve already been asking around. The fact that you’re married complicates matters somewhat. If my information on the laws here is right, you would actually need your husband’s permission to emigrate.”
Ruth sat up so fast that her head bumped the wooden headboard.
“He’ll never do that! If he ever knew that I love another man . . .” Her eyes were wide with fear. “He must never find out. Never, do you understand?” she cried out. The thought that Thomas might do something to hurt Steven was too horrifying to contemplate.
“Calm down, my darling. Nobody need ever know anything if you don’t want them to.” Steven picked up his shirt from the floor and put it around Ruth’s trembling shoulders. “There is another way,” he said slowly and deliberately.
Ruth was becoming more and more confused with every sentence he spoke.
“What are you talking about?” she asked against her own will. These were just daydreams, she mustn’t start to believe in them.
The Glassblower (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 1) Page 37
