The Glassblower (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 1)

by Durst-Benning, Petra

“Are you quite sure you don’t want me to take Wanda?”

  Ruth shook her head. “We’re all right, thank you. You have to hold the papers anyway.” She pointed to the sheaf of documents that he had fanned out in his right hand.

  “It’ll all be fine, you’ll see,” he whispered, then turned to face forward again.

  The more Steven assured her of this, the more nervous Ruth became.

  She had had no time to worry about the papers on the journey to Hamburg or during the last two days here. There had been so much to see, to buy, to try on or try out. And everywhere, Steven was at her side, smiling with delight, ready to encourage her to any excess. Coffee and cakes in an English tea shop? Why not? A rocking horse for Wanda, with real horsehide? Of course they had room for that in their luggage. When Ruth complained that her feet ached after going around to so many shops, Steven snapped his fingers and called for a hansom cab. When Ruth climbed in, relieved that she didn’t have to walk all the way back to the hotel on the Alster waterfront, she was quite startled to find that the cab took them not to the hotel but to a stylish beauty salon where Steven booked a pedicure with a dainty, almost doll-like woman. While the woman’s soft hands pampered Ruth’s feet and rubbed in soothing, scented oils, Steven and Wanda went for a walk in a nearby park. When she went to join them later, her heart almost burst with happiness at the sight of the two of them busily feeding the pigeons.

  She loved this man so much that it hurt.

  A smile flitted across Ruth’s face, smoothing away the worry. Those days in Hamburg had been like a glimpse into a kaleidoscope, which revealed new marvels and adventures at every turn. Her fears had simply vanished in the flood of new impressions. And if she did feel a pang of worry or a twinge of regret, Steven made it vanish in the night.

  But now, here on the gangway, there was nothing to distract from the question of what would happen if her papers were found to be forged.

  There was only one passenger left in front of them, an older gentleman who was having his papers checked and cabin assigned.

  Ship’s officers in navy-blue uniforms stood to the left and right of the head of the gangway and greeted every passenger with a friendly “welcome aboard.” Ruth could see a whole army of uniforms behind them. She longed to be aboard—not only because they would wait on her hand and foot but also because that would mean she had made it past the two border policemen, who stood in front of the serried ranks of uniformed ship’s staff. They had stern faces and watchful eyes.

  “Your papers please!”

  With a charming smile, Steven handed the papers to the policeman on the left.

  The man glanced at the two passports and then began to leaf through his thick sheaf of papers to find their names on his list.

  Ruth was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he handed Steven’s passport back to him, stamped several times over. But when he opened her passport, he seemed to find much more to interest him there. He raised his eyebrows and glanced at her curiously.

  Ruth made an effort to gaze straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the wrought-iron decoration of the grand double doors, which had been thrown open wide for the passengers to enter through. How much longer was this man going to spend staring at her documents?

  She felt his eyes on her face again. Should she try to stare him down with a haughty look?

  Just then, Wanda showed the particular talent children have for knowing when their mother’s attention has drifted. Seizing her chance, she took hold of the feathers that were nodding so intriguingly right in front of her nose. With her little hand, Wanda grabbed Ruth’s hat by the brim, and the next moment it flew from the gangway in a high, curving arc.

  “My hat!”

  “The hat!” cried Steven and the border policeman.

  Wanda beamed at the faces turned toward her.

  “Welcome aboard, Baroness von Lausche.”

  The man bowed slightly and handed her the passport. His face had cleared, the frown was gone, his lips were no longer pursed, and he even seemed to smile slightly.

  “And do take care that the little lady doesn’t throw anything else overboard!”

  The passport felt so good in her hand! Ruth gave the man one of her most dazzling smiles.

  “I shall be sure to!”

  Steven had taken two adjoining first-class cabins, and now a young steward who could hardly have been older than Ruth led them there. He unlocked both cabins and promised to have their luggage for the voyage brought up in the next half hour. Steven handed him a banknote and the man bowed as he took it. Then he hurried away, his footsteps swallowed up by the dark blue carpet with the yellow fleur-de-lis motif.

  Wanda was kicking and squirming, and as soon as they were in the cabin, Ruth put her down on the floor.

  “Steven!” She put a hand to her mouth. “This cabin is even bigger than our room at the Hotel Savarin! And it’s beautiful. Look at that: the windows really are round!” She ran across to one of the three portholes and ran her fingers across the curved glass. Her eyes fell on the wall next to it.

  “They’ve even hung an oil painting. Aren’t they afraid we’ll steal it?” She giggled.

  Her eyes gleamed as she gazed around the room, taking it all in. Across from the bed, a small sofa and two dainty armchairs were arranged around a small table—she had read about such suites in the ladies’ magazines Johanna used to bring her—and the whole of the wall behind them was taken up by a built-in wardrobe. Even though Steven had been more than generous when buying her clothes, everything she had with her would fit comfortably into just one section.

  “I would never have dreamed of such luxury. I don’t know what to say.” Ruth sat down on the bed, taken aback. The pale beige silk bedcover was so generously draped that it fell in folds to the floor. Wanda was doing her best to climb up onto the sofa, babbling merrily all the while.

  Steven sat down next to Ruth and took her hand.

  “I’m glad you like it. When I’m traveling with Mr. Woolworth, I seldom get the chance to enjoy first class.” He laughed. “Frank doesn’t set much store by a well-kept room; he’d rather sleep wherever is cheapest.”

  If not even Woolworth traveled in such style . . . All of a sudden Ruth felt scared by the splendor. Could Steven even afford this?

  She shook herself. “Steven, I don’t want you running up bills just on my account. Maybe there are some less expensive cabins elsewhere on the ship. Shouldn’t we at least ask? As long as the ship doesn’t sink and you’re by my side, I really don’t care where we sleep.” She could see out of the corner of her eye that Wanda had managed to clamber up onto the sofa.

  Steven took her chin gently in his right hand. When her eyes were gazing straight into his, he smiled and said firmly, “My love, I don’t want you to worry about anything anymore. Not about money or anything else. You should just be happy and enjoy what life has to offer. Do you remember what I promised you our first night together? I want to make your life a paradise on earth. Please let me do that.”

  She was about to answer him when a movement distracted her. Her mouth curled up in an involuntary smile.

  Sensitive to her every shift in mood, Steven followed her glance and then laughed.

  Wanda had put Ruth’s shawl on. Holding her mother’s handbag on her lap, she sat in the middle of the sofa like a princess.

  “It looks like Wanda’s taken to her new lifestyle like a duck to water!” He waved at Wanda. “But is that surprising? Given her lineage?”

  Ruth groaned. “Don’t remind me! Why on earth did your forger friend do that to us?” Baroness Ruthwicka von Lausche—it was bad enough that the fellow had decided to make her an aristocrat, but the name itself was ridiculous.

  Steven just laughed. “I think Ruthwicka was a wonderful idea. What if he’d made you an Amanda? Or an Ottilie? Either you’d have jumped every time I called you by the new na
me, or you wouldn’t have reacted at all. And I think that being a baroness suits you wonderfully.”

  “Do you think so?” she asked, half reconciled to the idea. She had to admit that it had a certain mystique.

  “I certainly do. You’ll be the talk of the whole ship. Now then!” He stood up and offered Ruth his hand. “I suggest that we go and take our first look around.”

  No sooner had they stepped into the first salon than other passengers drew them into conversation. Wherever they went, there was always someone who wanted to introduce himself and talk for a while. The fact that they would be spending the next two weeks in one another’s company seemed to make people inclined to talk.

  Casting off from the quayside at Hamburg was a tearful occasion, but once it was over, the bell rang for the first dinner seating. When one of the stewards led them to their table, Ruth was momentarily alarmed; she had been expecting a table just for Steven, Wanda, and herself, not this great round table seating eight diners. But a moment later, she felt Steven’s hand on her back, lending her courage and confidence.

  At the beginning of the meal Ruth still felt rather awkward and chose to smile at their fellow passengers rather than take part in conversation. But once Steven had introduced her, their reactions left her no chance to feel insecure. And Wanda’s lovable nature made the whole situation easier. Ruth’s daughter conquered the whole of the Valkyrie with her cherubic smile. Before the evening was over, one waiter brought her extra little treats, an old gentleman at the table knotted his napkin into animal shapes to entertain her, and one of the ladies had picked her up and walked her around for a while. Ruth swelled with pride as she watched complete strangers succumb to her daughter’s charms.

  When dinner was over, they finally had a moment alone. Steven suggested a stroll around the deck before they went to sleep. Ruth agreed—she would have agreed to anything!

  They stopped on the sundeck amidships, a lonely spot lit by two gas lamps. Ruth put Wanda down on one of the deck chairs, which were arranged in neat rows awaiting the passengers who would lie there the next day to drink in the sun. Steven covered her with his jacket.

  Arm in arm they stood at the railing and savored the breeze on their faces.

  “I’ve never seen the sunset so red,” Ruth said, her eyes gleaming as she pointed west.

  “It’s because there’s nothing here to block the sun’s rays. It has room to show its full splendor. And over there, where the sun glows warmest, that’s your new home,” Steven whispered in her hair as the red ball sank slowly but inexorably down into the boundless sea before them.

  “I’m so happy I could cry,” Ruth whispered. And in fact, a few tears spilled down her cheeks.

  Steven pulled her closer.

  “You mustn’t cry; you should be happy. Learn from your daughter’s example!”

  “What about her?” Ruth asked quietly, fighting the tears.

  “She seems to be enjoying her new life with all her heart. It’s an unusual gift that a child has, and it’s one that’s well worth emulating.” Steven laughed quietly. “Anybody watching Wanda today might believe that she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth!”

  Ruth’s gaze wandered lovingly over Wanda’s small body and blonde curls, bright against the dark cloth of Steven’s jacket. No, there had been no silver spoons where she came from. Ruth looked back at Steven, her eyes gleaming with pride.

  “If anything, it was a glass spoon!”

  AFTERWORD

  All the names and characters are my own invention, as is the story I have told.

  It is true, however, that glass Christmas tree decorations were invented in Lauscha, though there is no way to know which family first began to make them. Indeed, it seems clear today that there was no single “inventor” but rather that several different glassblowers simultaneously developed the idea. Researchers believe that the first glass Christmas ornaments were produced by the mid-nineteenth century, rather earlier than in my book. We can also be sure that for many, daily life was much harder than I have described.

  It is true that Frank Winfield Woolworth exported Lauscha baubles to America and that these sold remarkably well in his stores.

  Lauscha remains the glassblowing capital of Germany today.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank everyone whose help shaped this story, but above all Michael Haberland and his family, who create Christmas ornaments in their glassblowing workshop using the old techniques.

  I would also like to thank Dr. Helena Horn of the Museum of Glass Arts in Lauscha, who gave me valuable advice on books to read, both in person and through her catalog 400 Jahre Glas aus Thüringen (400 Years of Thuringian Glass).

  Readers who want to know how the story of the Steinmann sisters progresses can follow their lives in the sequel, The American Lady.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © Privat

  Petra Durst-Benning lives near Stuttgart, Germany, with her husband, Bertram, and their dog, Eric. Before writing her first novel she worked as an import/export translator and edited a magazine for dog owners. All this changed with the publication of The Silver Thistle, which was set against the background of the peasant uprising in Germany in 1514. Her next dozen books take place in times ranging from the sixteenth century to the nineteenth century, and are set in Germany, France, Russia, and America. They bring tales of historical times, love and family, happiness and hardship to an ever-growing readership. The Glassblower is the first part of a trilogy.

  ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

  Photo © 2013 Maria Pakucs

  Samuel Willcocks is originally from Brighton on the south coast of England but now lives with his family in the historic city of Cluj, Transylvania, where he spends as much time in the cafés as he does in the libraries. A keen reader in many genres including science fiction and historical novels, he studied languages and literature in Britain, Berlin, and Philadelphia before winning the German Embassy Award (London) for translation in 2010. He has been a full-time translator from Czech, German, Romanian, and Slovene ever since. When not overindulging in cakes or dictionaries, he can be found at book festivals and other literary events, sharing his enthusiasm for Central European books and writers.