The Glassblower

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  Only Colin’s kiss had pleased her about the wedding, but she mustn’t think about that, let alone admit it to the older woman.

  “I’m excited,” Meg said. “I’m going over to the school to see if I can make tables out of the crates so I can have a bit of a party for the children there next Monday.”

  “Ya, that would be kind of you.” Ilse smiled. “My children are looking forward to the school.”

  “That pleases me. No eggs. Just some toasted bread.”

  Meg wolfed down her breakfast and hastened into pattens, warm cloak, hat, and gloves. She would have to walk slowly, and a brisk wind warned her she would be chilled by the time she reached the school. But she didn’t care. She was working for the Lord now, not herself.

  Despite the cumbersome iron rings on the bottom of the pattens, she trotted along the road, following the ruts of sleigh runners and heavy wagons. Her heart twisted a bit as she passed the glassworks with its twin curls of smoke spiraling into the gray white sky. She employed all her willpower not to stop and pull the bell for admission. She couldn’t see Colin again unless something changed.

  “It can, Lord. I know it can with Your help.”

  Though she had no idea how.

  She reached the crossroad, where chunks of ice flowed in the stream. A glance at the lightning-struck tree assured her no kitten clung to the branches. Only another hundred yards to her school.

  She rounded the corner and stopped, her heart freezing in her chest.

  Yesterday an aging oak spread its snow-laden branches over the roof of the school. Today that same tree lay with its branches inside the roof of the school.

  Half the roof and one wall were completely destroyed.

  fourteen

  The goldfinch perfume bottle lay in fragments atop Colin’s workbench. He found it the moment he walked into the glassworks on Monday. Considering he left it in the lehr to cool Saturday evening, the ornament could not have broken on its own.

  “Aye, and I suspect I ken who ‘twas.” He let his gaze travel the length of the glasshouse to where Joseph Pyle stood talking with Isaac Jordan.

  The men’s faces appeared grim. Gray tinged Jordan’s complexion, and he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Pyle leaned forward, making his height advantage over Jordan appear far greater, rather as though he were a bird of prey.

  Another image of the man flashed into Colin’s mind—Pyle standing behind Meg, his hands clenched, his eyes colder than the snow blanketing the countryside, while he challenged Colin’s presence in the kitchen.

  The cat had merely been an excuse. Colin could have warmed the creature in his own house and returned it to the stable without disturbing Meg. The need to see her, to receive one of her smiles, to hear her voice flared inside him, and he allowed his feet to carry him to her door.

  The sight of her, the hint of apple blossoms mingling with fresh coffee and spices, the brush of her fingers against his added up like treasures, and he stored them in his heart in case she married Pyle.

  But she couldn’t marry him. Colin understood, empathized with Pyle’s wish to marry Meg and have her near him. Colin didn’t approve of how Pyle went about compelling her to wed him. At the same time, Jordan had made the debt, had agreed to the bargain. Surely a father who loved his daughter as Jordan loved Meg would never ally her to an unworthy man. Pyle would take care of Meg, cherish her, give her the kind of life Colin could scarcely imagine living, let alone bestow upon a wife. He had to convince himself she was better off with Joseph Pyle in the end so he could let her go. His conscience demanded it. He couldn’t let his family down again. She couldn’t see her father suffer.

  The broken perfume bottle changed all Colin’s careful thinking. A man who deliberately smashed a piece of work lacked kindness. Worse, he possessed a streak of meanness that might not stop with cruelty to a glass ornament.

  “What happened?”

  Colin startled at Thad’s voice close behind him, knocking several shards of the finch bottle onto the floor.

  “Somebody smashed it.” Colin shoved the other pieces onto the stone to be swept up for cullet later. “I left it in the lehr.”

  “Who would do something like that?” Thad glanced from the fragments to the head of the room.

  “Who can get into the glassworks?” Colin asked.

  “Any of us with keys. That’s you, me, Weber, and the senior apprentice. And Jordan, of course.”

  “And who was here first this morning?”

  “Jordan and Pyle. But if you’re thinking someone snuck in here and broke your piece—” Thad shrugged. “I hate to say it, but anyone could bribe someone to open the glassworks. Weber and I wouldn’t do it, but the apprentices might wish a little income.”

  “Or someone welcome in Jordan’s house could take his key,” Colin mused aloud.

  “Colin?” Thad lowered his voice. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’d say ‘tis a warning.” Colin picked up his pipe and called over an assistant. “Just the green glass, Louis.”

  “You’re not working on more goblets today?” Louis asked.

  “Nay, nor will I be. I’ll be making the medicine bottles.”

  “Yes, sir.” The lad darted off with Colin’s pipe to fetch the molten glass.

  Thad fixed Colin with a crease set between his brows. “A warning for what?”

  “To stay away from Meg—Miss Jordan.” Colin slid onto his bench to wait for his pipe.

  “No, Jordan would never do something like that. He’d just dismiss you. I warned you about that.”

  “Aye, so you did. So Jordan did.” Colin returned his gaze to the two men by the desk. “But I did not say ‘twas a warning from himself.”

  “Pyle?” Thad snatched up his own pipe. “Why would he be in a position to threaten you over Miss Jordan?”

  “I should not say. ‘Tis only speculation.” Colin turned to take the pipe from the assistant.

  A glowing mass of molten glass clung to the end of the metal tube. With the pipe balanced on the grating before the bench, Colin inhaled deeply through his nose, set the end of the instrument to his lips, and began to blow in a slow, steady stream of air. A bubble formed in the glass. Colin turned his pipe. The glass shifted, began to form. All that mattered was the glass, the object he created, his work.

  The glass would free him from the guilt of abandoning his family. It gave him the means to change their lives. He must not dwell on the pain of giving up Meg for the glass. Surely God would honor his sacrifice.

  The glass began to cool, began to turn viscous. Colin removed his tongs from the set of tools at his side and commenced manipulating the caramelized silica into the flat, wide shape of a bottle to hold laudanum to ease pain or an elixir to soothe a sore throat.

  The glassworks receded into a background hum of voices, hiss of fire, chink of cooled glass, the music of his life. Peace flowed through him like air through his pipe. All that mattered was the glass, the nearly completed bottle. Part of his mind knew he heard the gate bell ring. On the far side of the furnace from the door, he felt no draft if someone opened it. He focused on the forming mass of green before him, the tongs in his hand, the twist of his wrist—

  The door flew open. “Father!” Meg charged into the glassworks, hair tumbling down her back, hat askew. “Father, the school is destroyed!”

  Colin dropped his pipe and the nearly finished medicine bottle. The metal pipe hit the grate then the floor with a resounding clang and clatter like a bell losing its clapper. The eyes of the three people in the front of the factory swung his way. No one moved. No one spoke. Leaving the pipe and useless lump of green glass, Colin slid off his bench and stalked to the front of the glassworks.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Pyle took a step toward him. “This is none of your concern. Get back to work.”

  “But ‘tis my concern, sir.” Colin bowed his head. “I was at the school yesterday after church, and all was well.”

 
“I saw you.” Meg still breathed too quickly, and color flamed along her cheekbones. “You were removing snow from the tree branches. But it didn’t do any good. The tree has fallen into the building.”

  “Impossible,” Jordan snapped. “That’s a sturdy tree.”

  “It’s a very old tree.” Pyle yawned behind his rather red hand. “Apparently having a hulking brute like you in its branches wore it out.” He snorted as though amused by his insulting words.

  “‘Tis possible.” Colin remained calm on the outside, while his innards roiled. “But unlikely.”

  “I’d say it’s unlikely.” Jordan rubbed his temples. “The wind was blowing last night, but not that strongly.”

  “What does it matter how it happened?” Tears spilled down Meg’s cheeks.

  Colin clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from pulling her head against his shoulder.

  “I don’t have my school now,” she sobbed.

  “Such a shame,” Pyle murmured. “After all that work.” He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “Come along, m’dear. I’ll walk you home and let Mrs. Weber spoil you.” He started to pull a glove from his coat pocket, then he tucked it back again.

  “I don’t want to be spoiled. I want my school.” Meg wiped her gloved fingers over her cheeks. “Please, Father, what can be done?”

  “I don’t know.” A muscle twitched at the corner of Jordan’s jaw. “I don’t know.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll have to—uh—assess the damage. Joseph, do take her home. Grassick, you have an order to fill.”

  “Aye, sir.” Colin waited until Meg and Pyle left the glassworks before returning his attention to Jordan. “Sir, I’ll work through the dinnertime if you’ll allow me to do that assessing for you.”

  “Hmm, well, you may need to come back after supper, too.”

  “Aye, sir, I’ll get that order fulfilled on time.” And remake the goldfinch bottle, though not for its original purpose, the Lord willing. “Every night, sir, I’ll work late if necessary.”

  “All right then, go.” Jordan swept an arm toward the door then pivoted on his heel and shuffled to the desk like a man twenty years his senior.

  Colin pulled his coat and hat from hooks by the door, donned them, then set out across the hard-packed snow in the yard. Ice had formed in the ruts from wagon wheels and sleigh runners, so he kept to the deeper snow. The countryside lay in silence save for his footfalls crunching and an occasional branch cracking beneath its burden of white. When he reached the crossroad, he thought he heard children’s laughter. Children who wouldn’t have their school now, thanks to—

  He stopped himself from drawing a conclusion without proof. Just because he didn’t like a man, just because that man used his money and influence to gain the lady Colin loved didn’t grant him license to make unfounded accusations against him.

  “If I found the proof, Lord, I could change Meg’s mind.”

  He rounded the corner and saw the school, half crushed like a child’s kicked-in sand castle.

  Feeling as though the tree had landed on him, Colin made his inspection then returned the way he had come. He didn’t stop at the glassworks. He continued down the road to the Jordans’ lane. Around the back he encountered Ilse Weber collecting logs.

  “I’ll get those for you.” Colin relieved her of the burden.

  Ilse opened the kitchen door to warmth and the smell of baking apples. “Danke, Colin, but you should be working.”

  “Aye, but I need to speak to Miss Jordan first.” He set the logs in the wood box by the stove and smiled at her. “Please.”

  “Ah, you, you flirt with those eyes, and I’m a married woman.”

  “No such thing. I’m begging like a stray cur. ‘Tis verra important I speak with Miss Jordan.”

  “I sent her to her room with a cup of chamomile tea. She’s upset, she is.”

  “Please fetch her. She’s going to be more—” Colin broke off at the sound of light footfalls on the steps.

  A moment later Meg pushed through the kitchen door. “Colin, what are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to see you, Meg.” Ignoring Ilse’s gasp, he closed the distance between him and Meg and took both of her hands in his. “You cannot marry Joseph Pyle.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her hands writhed in his, but she made no move to pull away. “How can you say something so outrageous? Of course I can marry him. I have no choice but to marry him.”

  “Aye, that you do. Furthermore, you must make the choice not to marry him.”

  “And be responsible for you losing your position and your family suffering?” She drew her hands away now and clasped them on her elbows. “The destruction of the school is God’s way of telling me I was wrong to think that’s what He wanted me to do—teach, that is. I’m supposed to marry Joseph as my father wishes. Now, please leave.”

  “Please hear me out.” Colin kept his hands outstretched in a supplicant’s pose. “Meg—”

  “She said to leave, Colin.” Ilse glided up beside him and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “For your own sake if nothing else, you must get back to the glassworks.”

  “Aye, I must.” Colin met and held Meg’s gaze. “But let me have my say, first. Please.”

  Meg sighed. “All right. Speak, then be gone.”

  “Thank you.” Although for most of his life, he’d spoken nothing but English, except on his brief journeys home, his thoughts suddenly began to form in Gaelic. He struggled to unscramble the languages and spoke with care. “I cannot believe that ‘tis God’s will for you to marry Joseph Pyle when I have reason to believe the destruction of your school was nay accident and he is responsible.”

  fifteen

  Meg felt as though someone pulled the kitchen floor out from beneath her feet. In a moment she would land in the root cellar or wake from a nightmare. Air refused to reach her lungs, and she swayed.

  Colin caught hold of her shoulders and held her steady. “You’re all right, lass. I’m here. Nay harm will come to you.”

  “No.” She gave her head a violent shake. “You can’t be right. I prayed last night—” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Last night I told Joseph to go away, then I prayed for God to show me what He wanted. I always do what I want, I’m so selfish, and—”

  “You’re the last person who anyone would call selfish.” His fingertips brushed across her cheek, and she realized she was crying.

  “Ya,” Ilse said, “she’s kindness itself.”

  “No, no.” Meg made herself open her eyes and look into Colin’s. “Listen to me. Last night I prayed for God to show me what He wants for me. Joseph said I couldn’t keep the school, and I came close to saying I wouldn’t marry him because he won’t allow me to have my kittens or my school or my knitting.” She spoke fast to get all the words out. “I prayed for God to show me what He wants and—and the school is destroyed today. Surely this means God wants me to marry Joseph and save you and Father and everything else and serve the Lord as Joseph’s wife.”

  “Not if the tree was destroyed on purpose.” Colin’s hold on her shoulders tightened. “Meg, it was cut with an ax. I ken the marks. No snow or wind blew that tree over.”

  “Then God used some mischief maker.” Meg stepped away from him and turned her face toward the windows so she could think clearly. “Joseph wouldn’t be so cruel.”

  “Someone made me burn my hand.” Colin’s voice grew soft. “Joseph Pyle was near the glassworks at the time. Someone smashed a piece of work I was making for you. Joseph Pyle—”

  “No, you mustn’t say these things about him. He’s going to be your master soon.”

  “And the tree—”

  “You need to leave.” Meg stepped around him, heading for the door.

  “Ya, Colin, you’d best be gone,” Ilse added.

  “Nay, I will not leave until you hear me out, Margaret Jordan.” He followed her to the door and laid his hand against her cheek, gently turning her face toward his. “Please,
for your sake. I found a glove in the schoolyard. Did you notice he wasn’t wearing gloves today in spite of the cold? His hands were red from it, but only one glove stuck out of his coat pocket.”

  The scene in the glassworks flashed through her mind, Joseph taking her hand to place on his arm. Then she remembered Joseph bowing over her hand when he left her at the house. No gloves. Red hands. A supple leather mitt protruding from one coat pocket.

  “But what—what does this mean?” she whispered.

  “Colin?”

  She held out her hands, needing something solid to cling to, as her world that seemed so certain—unhappy but certain—an hour ago crumbled beneath her. Colin took her hands then released them and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in the rough wool of his coat, inhaling his scent of wood smoke and the freshness of the winter day.

  He crooned to her, words that weren’t English yet comforting in their sibilant melody. “God has a plan for you, lass,” he said, switching to English. “I can’t accept He will use a deliberately cut tree to reveal it to you.”

  “But—”

  “Miss Meg,” Ilse broke in. “Your father—”

  The back door sprang open. Meg jumped away from Colin, her face flaming. “Father, I—”

  “What are you doing here, Grassick?” Father’s dark amber eyes blazed.

  Meg pressed her hand to her lips. “Father, please, don’t misunderstand—”

  “Hush, lass, I can explain.” Colin took her hand in his. “I came to warn your daughter of Joseph Pyle’s treachery.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Father enunciated each word with care. “Ilse, what sort of carrying-on are you allowing behind my back and in my own house? I hold you responsible.”

  “He was comforting me.” Meg tugged on Father’s sleeve. “Please, listen to what Colin has to say. It’s—distressing.”

  “What I find distressing,” Father said, “is finding my daughter being embraced by one of my employees. Now get yourself back to work, Grassick, or you can go pack your things and leave.”