Carefully she took Steven’s letter from her coat pocket, and just as carefully she opened it.
My beloved Ruth!
How I wish I could be with you now, wherever you are. But the best I can manage is to send you my thoughts. And this letter.
Please do not be surprised that there are not more letters for you today. As always at this time of year, there has been a great deal of work, and I have hardly had time for anything else. Nevertheless I have done little else but think of you. Lovesick thoughts, foolish thoughts, happy and unhappy at once. Happy because of you. Unhappy because you are not with me—not yet at least.
Not a day has gone by when I do not yearn for you morning, noon, and night. Sometimes I even wake at night and see your angelic face before me. I hear your voice and the wonderful things you say. Sometimes I long for you so much that it hurts. Is it usual for a man to bare his feelings like this? I don’t know. All I know is that I must.
Two days ago I was finally able to make contact with my adviser in these matters and explain my plan. He is prepared to obtain the necessary documents for you and Wanda. I await only your word. I do not wish to impose on you in any way but should tell you that my adviser would have to begin his preparations no later than the beginning of March if he is to have everything ready by April 15, when my ship, the Boston, sails for Europe.
“The beginning of March!” Ruth said aloud. That meant she would have to send Steven her decision within the next two weeks . . .
What do you say to the order—isn’t it magnificent? The success of your Christmas ornaments truly exceeded all our expectations. Mr. Woolworth can hardly wait to receive the Valentine hearts as well. The Americans seem truly to love the glass artworks from the Thuringian Forest. In my estimation, you will never be short of work from us in the future. It goes without saying that these orders will always go to the Steinmann sisters, even if circumstances change. There are things that can be better organized from here in America—if you understand my meaning. As I have said before, it is all a matter of planning and organization. But even more than that, it is a matter of the heart.
Your heart.
And that is why I await your answer, with fear and anticipation, as soon as you are ready to send it.
Your own loving Steven.
Ruth put the letter down. Her heart ached so much that she had to press both hands to her breast. It was a miracle that a man she hardly knew could stir such deep feelings within her.
“I love you too,” she whispered, and watched four little puffs of breath hang in the cold air for a moment like tiny clouds. Perhaps they would drift all the way across the Atlantic and reach him?
It was even harder going back downhill with the pram than it had been walking up. Ruth had to take care with every step not to slip. Her thin boots were soaked through and gave her no foothold in the snow. She held on tight to the push bar of the pram. Whatever happened—whether she stumbled, slipped, or fell—she would never let go of the pram with Wanda inside. Soon her arms were trembling and she began to sweat inside her heavy clothing.
Ruth breathed a sigh of relief when a cloud passed over the sun. But a moment later she felt oddly ill at ease; where before the world had been bright and warm, it was now gloomy and cold. And it grew darker with every step she took down into the valley. Suddenly she felt that the mountains were about to fall on her.
She only saw him when it was too late to change course—in among the first houses of the village. Her eyes darted all around, like a cornered animal looking about for a bolt hole. In vain. Thomas was standing in the middle of the street as though he had been waiting for her.
“Happy New Year!” he said, taking off his cap awkwardly.
“Happy New Year,” Ruth muttered in reply. Without looking at him, she tried to walk past. As she went she hunched her shoulders unconsciously. Perhaps he would leave her alone.
But just as she was even with him, he grabbed her wrist.
“Ruth! Please stop, let’s talk.”
Thomas didn’t look good. His chin was almost black with stubble and there were blue shadows under his eyes. The stench of beer on his breath was so strong that Ruth felt she could almost see it in the air.
Her husband.
All at once she felt unspeakably sad.
“What do we have to say to one another?” she said, taking her hand wearily from his grasp.
“Isn’t it time to ring out the old and ring in the new?” He forced a smile. “Ruth, come back to me,” he pleaded. “I . . . perhaps I wasn’t always the best husband. But that will change, I promise you. I’ll do better. I won’t drink so much, if that’s what you want. You and me, we were really something! Think of our wedding day . . .” He broke off as though unsure of what he was saying.
Ruth kept quiet. What could she even say? That it had all been a mistake, nothing but a mistake?
“If you like we can go to Sonneberg together and buy you something nice to wear. Or something for Wanda,” he added, glancing briefly down at his daughter.
“These last six months without you, alone in the apartment . . .” He shook his head. “That’s no life! And as for you, living with your sisters . . . that can’t go on forever.”
Ruth struggled for something appropriate to say—to no avail. She had nothing left to say to Thomas Heimer. It was as simple as that. The only thing she felt for him was a kind of pity. No matter how hard he tried, Thomas would never be able to quench her longing. And she could not quench his.
“Not a day has gone by when I do not yearn for you morning, noon, and night. . . . Sometimes I long for you so much that it hurts.”
Encouraged by her silence, Thomas carried on trying. “We’re still young, you and I. We’ve got our whole life before us. Who knows? Perhaps our next child will be a boy? And if not, that’s all the same to me. We’ll manage to make an heir at some point. All we need is patience. That’s what my father says too. Look at us, three boys in a row.”
Ruth could hardly believe her ears. Any pity she had felt was gone in a flash. “You’re talking as though I were nothing but a brood cow! How can you blather on about having a son after all that’s happened? The moment you raised your hand against Wanda you gave up every right as my husband.” She would never forget that night. How he had staggered around the bedroom, drunk. “Not answering back now, Ruth Steinmann, are you?” How she had watched helplessly as he had leaned over the cradle and . . .
“We may still be married on paper, but as far as I’m concerned we divorced a long time ago! You let me past, Thomas Heimer.”
“No, wait! Ruth, I’m begging you. For better or for worse, isn’t that what they say?” He smiled awkwardly. “If we want it to be, the worst could be over now.” He held tight to her sleeve.
“The worst is certainly over for me. Because I have nothing more to do with you,” she replied icily. “Now let me past or I will scream the whole street down.”
“Oh, is that so? Is there no end to your pride?” His voice had lost its wheedling tone as though a switch had been thrown. Now he was shouting at her. “Here I am, pleading like a good-hearted sap for you to come back to me, and you make a fool of me! If you think things can go on like this then you’ve reckoned wrong, Ruth Heimer! There are other means I can use. You can forget your talk of divorce! If you think . . .”
His shouting woke Wanda, whose tiny eyes looked reproachfully at Ruth as her little hands reached out for her.
Ruth felt a surge of cold rage.
“What I think has nothing to do with you,” she interrupted him. “And I will not let you threaten me a moment longer!” She didn’t even try to keep her voice down. She wanted everyone to hear what she had to say. She couldn’t care less if all the neighbors up and down the street stuck their heads out their windows.
“Get out of my way,” she repeated, more vigorously than before. Sh
e was nonetheless surprised when he did as she asked. She had been bracing herself for more insults. She took a step toward him.
“If I can give you some friendly advice, a bath wouldn’t do you any harm. You stink as though you’d drunk a keg dry. But knowing what I do of you and your family, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that’s precisely what you did for New Year’s.”
She gave him one last contemptuous glance, then walked on without turning back.
29
“I’m not sure I understand,” Marie said, frowning. She turned to Peter, who sat beside her on the bench. “You’re suggesting we knock through the wall between our house and yours to make a bigger workshop.”
Johanna rolled her eyes. “We’ve already been over all this. Yes, that’s the idea. Then we would have one big workshop where everybody could work together.”
Ignoring Johanna, Marie went on. “And there would be two lamps in the workshop for three glassblowers: you, me, and Magnus.”
She struggled silently to find some flaw in the plan, but nothing came to mind. Peter’s idea could work! All the same, she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. Had the others really understood that when she said she needed more time for herself, it was a matter of life and death for her, not just crazy talk as Ruth always said?
Peter nodded. “Of course we would have to talk to Magnus first to see if he’s interested in learning to blow glass. And even if he is, we’ll have to see whether he’s got the knack for it. After all, glassblowing’s not in his blood the way it is for us.”
The way it is for us—Marie’s breast swelled with pride.
“Magnus is a good friend of course, but I sometimes wonder just what is in his blood. What’s he been doing ever since he came back? You can hardly call running errands a real job for a man, can you?” Johanna remarked, shaking her head. “Magnus a glassblower? I don’t know. He’s a nice lad, but can we rely on him? I fear we’ll get him trained up and then he’ll be off and away. To be honest, that’s the part of the plan I like least.”
“I don’t like the way you talk about him,” Marie said, her cheeks glowing. “Magnus can’t help it that his father was a drunken sot rather than a glassblower. Why do you think he ran off the way he did? Because he couldn’t stand it any longer! If Joost had been that sort of man then we would probably have done the same. I don’t think he’ll want to leave again. Quite the opposite, he’s happy to be back. And he’s keener on glassblowing than anyone I’ve ever met. But you . . .”
“Don’t get so worked up! Surely I’m allowed to voice my doubts,” Johanna broke in.
“Well, you don’t have to be snippy about it. I would be glad to have Magnus working with us. A third glassblower would be a great help. Without him . . .”
“O-ho, so you’re going to blackmail us now!” Johanna bridled. “If your best friend Magnus . . .”
“Enough!”
Peter’s fist thundered down onto the tabletop. He stood up and went to the window. Then he turned and stared grimly at the two women.
“I’ve had it with all this bickering! One of you jumps up and runs out of the house as though the whole thing had nothing to do with her. Then you two come to me asking for my advice, but instead of putting your heads together you start squabbling like a pair of old women. Perhaps I was a little too quick to suggest we share a workshop. I can’t imagine listening to this kind of quarreling every day. My work is too complicated to allow for that sort of distraction all the time.”
Marie swallowed. It served them right.
“We really didn’t mean it that way,” Johanna said meekly. “We’re just a little worked up. Because of the size of the order and the way Ruth ran off. And—oh, I don’t know!”
“Johanna’s right,” Marie said through gritted teeth. “And you’re right too. If we want to take on this job, then your plan is the only way to make it work.”
Peter sat down at the table with a sigh. “Then let’s get on with it.” He turned to Johanna. “We will need three pairs of hands working at the lamp. Marie desperately needs time to work on new designs. Unless you think this Woolworth is the sort of man who would be happy to buy the same thing every year? If Marie can give him new designs all the time, you’ll be guaranteed a repeat customer.”
Marie’s face brightened. She had enough ideas. For instance she wanted to cast a mold for the icicles that had gone wrong the first time she tried them and . . .
“I also think that we should take Griseldis on,” Peter said. “We can find a few marks somewhere to match what Heimer pays her. Then we’ll have the best silver-bath mixer anywhere in Lauscha.”
Johanna looked at Peter in surprise, as though seeing him for the first time. Then she hugged him. “You have a real business head on your shoulders. What would we do without you? To be honest I was just like Marie at first; all I saw was a whole mountain of problems and questions. We were hardly expecting such a huge order, after all.”
“Well, Johanna Steinmann, sometimes it does no harm to listen to what I have to say. Even if that doesn’t come easily to you.” Peter grinned. “Now let’s get started.” He scratched his head. “I love you all, of course, but I’m not going to leave my patients in the lurch. And I have to show up at the foundry for a few hours from time to time when they’re firing the ovens. So I plan to spend half the day on the Christmas tree order, and the other half making my eyes. As for what becomes of my little glass critters, we’ll just have to see. They bring in a pretty penny, but my heart’s not really in them to the extent that I couldn’t give them up.”
Johanna frowned. “I do have one more question . . .” she said almost timidly.
Peter laughed. “Well go on, I don’t bite! It’s just that from time to time you Steinmann girls need to be told what’s what. All three of you can be stubborn as mules, you know that. So, what is it?”
“If we have only one workshop, where will you consult with your patients about their eyes? They surely don’t want to sit for a fitting in among all our baubles.”
“We’ll wall off a corner of the workshop,” Marie said before Peter could answer. Now that they had a plan in place, she didn’t want to hear of any further obstacles. She wanted to draw, to think up new designs for her globes. “While we’re at it, let’s wall off a little cubbyhole for me as well. Sometimes, I just need to have a little time to myself.” Marie was expecting Johanna to raise some further objection, but none came.
“Here’s one possible answer.” Peter pulled out a pencil and paper from the table drawer and sketched out a plan of the new workshop in a few lines. “The two gas connections will have to stay in front where they are now. That means the other workbenches will have to go here in the middle, which works well because that gives us the most room for painting, silvering, and packing.”
“And for other decoration work,” Marie put in. “I’m thinking that some globes will be wrapped with tinsel wire and others glued with little glass beads and . . .”
“That doesn’t matter now. We’re just talking about how to use the space,” Johanna interrupted impatiently.
Peter gave both of them a warning glance.
“Then we could put in a table for Marie and another one for me, here.” He sketched in two rectangles as he spoke. “You could study and work here, and have all the peace and quiet you need.”
Study in peace and quiet . . . Marie’s eyes gleamed.
“I would need a bookshelf as well, and somewhere to keep my papers,” she said.
“That should be easy,” Johanna said. “If we take the wardrobe from upstairs in Father’s room and use that to help wall off your corner from the workshop, you can keep everything you need in there. That would also give us more storage space upstairs.”
“Storage space!” Marie exclaimed, putting a hand to her mouth. “We haven’t given that a thought. Where in the world are we supposed to store ten thous
and baubles?”
They discussed ideas for hours, and the air in Peter’s workshop was thick with excitement, happiness, and a touch of fear about what the future might bring. They all forgot about lunch until Peter put bread and cheese on the table sometime in the afternoon. When Marie ran next door to fetch some wurst, there was still no sign of Ruth. How could anybody be so childish?
Nobody paid much attention to the food. One or the other of them was constantly reaching with greasy fingers for the pencil and paper to jot down an idea. As the list of tasks grew and grew, the business began to take shape.
Johanna was slicing herself a second piece of bread when she put down the knife and wiped her hands on her apron.
“Actually there’s one more thing we haven’t thought of . . .”
“What would that be?” Peter asked.
He cast her a glance so full of yearning that Marie felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew so well that feeling of being so close to her goal and yet so far away!
“A name. Our business needs a new name! May I?” She pointed to the pencil in Peter’s hand.
He handed it over. “You always do what you want anyway.” He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent, but Marie sensed that this was about much more than a name.
“So here you all are!”
Three heads turned as Ruth appeared in the doorway.
“I was calling for you next door. I could have called till I was blue in the face!”
She picked Wanda up in a practiced grip and put her on one hip while she closed the door behind her with the other.
“I’m so hungry I could eat half a pig! I went right up into the forest, can you imagine?” Before she sat down, she picked up a slice of bread from the basket and took a hearty bite. “What are you doing there?” she asked, pointing to the list in Johanna’s hand.
Marie looked at her sister, speechless. Just that morning, they had been quarreling and now she was acting as though they had never argued at all.
The Glassblower (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 1) Page 39
