The Glassblower (10 page)

It also meant the opening of her school. She must think about that. Her school and a room full of children needing to learn.

She concentrated on packing until Peter, as he promised, arrived to walk over to the glassworks. The air was clear but cold, and frost still clung to the grass. It kept their steps brisk, and they reached the factory before they had time to exchange more than pleasantries.

Father stood just outside the door, speaking with Joseph. Meg’s heart plummeted, her excitement over the possibility of seeing Colin for a moment or two evaporating like the frost beneath the sun’s feeble rays. Nonetheless, she managed a polite greeting and explained the purpose of the visit.

“I really need to be on my way.” Father looked regretful. “We can’t keep the horses waiting in this cold, and they’ll be harnessed up by now.”

Even as he spoke, the rumble of carriage wheels and hooves resounded from the road.

“They’re here now,” Father added.

“But it’s a fine sale.” Joseph laughed. “Sales are money, Jordan. And we all need to make money.”

The corners of Father’s mouth tightened, but he softened them to smile at Meg. “The designs are on a shelf behind my desk, Margaret. Why don’t you take Peter in and show him. Call Grassick or Dalbow for assistance if you need any.” He hesitated then added, “And fetch Mrs. Dalbow, so there’s another female with you.”

“I’ll do that.” Meg kissed his cheek. “Have a good journey, Father.”

She walked off with an even, dignified stride until she was out of sight, then she dashed through the yard, past the outbuildings and along the walkway to the Dalbow cottage.

Martha Dalbow was a petite, pretty young woman Meg had known all her life. Her father had been a laborer on the Pyle farm, and Meg and Martha played together as children until Meg went to school in Burgen County in the northern part of the state. Now they exchanged smiles and waves at church, but Martha married a glassblower and wasn’t invited to the same houses as Meg.

Greeting her childhood friend, Meg experienced a spurt of rebellion and decided to be friendlier with Martha in the future, especially now that Sarah would live farther away.

“So you’re going to get married, too.” Martha trotted alongside Meg on their way back to the glassworks, her golden curls bobbing with every bouncy step. “I always thought you’d be first.”

“It’s not certain.” Meg figured if she said it enough it would be so. “I haven’t said yes.”

“Then I’ll save my congratulations.”

They reached the group of men standing near the door. Father had gone, and Peter and Joseph were engaged in a discussion about the price of shipping goods out of the country. Peter broke off as soon as Meg and Martha arrived, but Joseph took several minutes to finish expounding on tariffs before acknowledging Meg’s arrival. He said nothing to Martha. He offered Meg his arm, leaving Martha to follow.

Meg declined the offer and preceded him inside, her hand on Martha’s elbow to bring her along.

The heat enveloped her like an extra cloak. Although the desk lay to her left, her gaze shot to the right almost of its own volition, seeking, finding, resting on Colin in his corner. He was working with a piece of glass the consistency of thickened caramel, applying tongs and a cutter to stretch and twist the hot, shimmering mass. Meg’s heart suddenly felt the same as that hot glass—malleable, twisted, compressed. She heard voices around her but couldn’t comprehend what they said.

“Margaret.” Joseph’s tone sharpened, and he grasped her arm.

She started. “I–I’m sorry.” She swung toward Father’s desk. “I’m fascinated by the process of making glass.”

And the man making it
.

Martha nodded and smiled but said nothing until they all tried to make sense of the diagrams drawn on wide sheets of paper.

“I’ll fetch one of the men,” she whispered, then she darted off.

Meg watched Martha’s progress through the factory, around the furnaces, and past the benches of the blowers. She paused by her husband, who shook his head, then she walked around him and out of sight. Meg tensed, waiting for Martha to reappear, waiting for Colin to appear. Waiting, anticipating, hoping—

“Margaret.” Joseph’s sharp tone returned Meg to the men beside her.

She blinked up at him. “Did you say something to me?”

Joseph and Peter gave her questioning glances.

“I was woolgathering.” Meg turned her back on the workroom. “Peter, I think this design is a glass globe for a wall sconce. See the crimped edges at the top?” She traced a wavy line along the upper edge of a design. “Of course, it’s a little too round, so—maybe …” Her voice trailed off.

She hadn’t heard his footfalls above the clang and clatter of equipment and roar of the furnaces, but she sensed him, caught the scent of smoke and the tang of the silica.

“‘Tis a vase.” Colin’s hand joined hers on the sketch. “See how the bottom is rounded? A sconce would be straight to fit into the holder.”

“How silly of me.” She felt breathless, too warm in her heavy cloak and wool dress. “I don’t think Peter—Mr. Strawn—wants vases, do you, Peter? You mentioned sconces or maybe glasses. Glasses would take longer, since you’d need several, so maybe—” She snapped her teeth together.

She was talking too much.

“Let Grassick help Peter.” Joseph’s voice was as cold and brittle and sharp as an icicle. “I will walk you home.”

“No.” Meg stepped away from the desk, away from Colin, and away from Joseph. “I’ll go to Martha’s house until Peter is ready to help carry my things to Sarah’s.”

“If you like.” Joseph’s eyes gleamed pale blue. “I’ll see you at church on Sunday.” He stalked to the front door of the glassworks.

Meg caught sight of Martha talking to her husband again and waved her over.

They exited out the back door. As Meg turned to pull the heavy panel closed behind her, she caught Colin’s eyes upon her and smiled, and her stomach fluttered.

She closed her eyes for a moment to gain her composure, and when she opened them again, Colin stood with his back to her. Her belly settled, and she trotted off behind Martha, an apology on her lips.

“I don’t need to stay, since you probably have work to do, Martha. I can walk home on my own.”

“But I’d like you to stay.” Martha lowered her eyes. “I’m learning how to knit and would love to show someone what I’m making Thad.”

“And I’d love to see it.”

More time than Meg anticipated passed with Martha. She found herself settling into the cozy kitchen with its herbs hanging from the ceiling and heavy pot simmering over the fire, sending the wonderful aroma of venison throughout the cottage. The entire home seemed to embrace Meg with its plain but comfortable furnishings and embroidered samplers of Bible verses decorating the whitewashed walls. Martha showed Meg everything, her face glowing.

“Will you teach me to knit?” Meg asked. “It’s so useful.”

“But it’s not very ladylike, is it?”

“Neither is fishing, but I do that, too.”

Martha laughed. “I heard.” She tilted her head and glanced at Meg from the corner of one blue eye. “Colin is a wonderful man.”

“Yes.” Meg fingered the scarf Martha was knitting, admiring the smoothness of the stitches. “And talented.”

“And works for your father.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

But Meg knew it did. It mattered to her father. It mattered to Colin. It should matter to her.

“I’d better be on my way.” She stood abruptly. “I want to visit you again. You can teach me to knit, and if I get any girls in my school, I can teach them. Where do I find the needles and yarn?”

Information in hand, Meg returned to the glassworks. Peter seemed to be occupying his time watching the work at hand. Meg wanted to stay but knew she shouldn’t. If she were wise, she would leave the glassworks and not return.

She didn’t think she was wise—only prudent enough to not mention Colin’s name to Peter, to Sarah, to God in her prayers. She tried not to think about him. Like not thinking about her upcoming betrothal, she hoped a lack of thought would make it go away, whatever it was, the tightening inside her whenever she saw him. It was a feeling like she would burst into tears if she couldn’t see him and song when she did.

Except she didn’t see him. With Father gone, she couldn’t even contrive an excuse for visiting the glassworks. Staying with the Thompsons, she couldn’t get over to the Dalbow cottage and perhaps encounter him there unless she came up with a good excuse.

The idea came to her while she and Sarah unpacked linens in Sarah’s new home. The stacks of sheets, pillowcases, and towels had been stored in wooden crates lined with muslin and sprinkled with lavender, as Sarah had finished embroidering her and Peter’s initials on them. Fatigued from a restless night, Meg sat on an unopened crate and suddenly knew how to solve her problem of seating for the students she hoped to have at her school.

“Packing crates!” She leaped to her feet. “We’ll use packing crates for benches.”

“That’s a good idea.” Sarah tucked an armful of sheets in the linen press. “You’re welcome to take these, but it won’t be enough.”

“I hope it won’t be enough. But Father has acres of them at the glassworks. I’m sure he won’t care if I take a few for seats. Shall we go see?”

“Now?” Sarah shook her head. “Your father isn’t home or there.”

“No one will be there. It’s Saturday afternoon, and they stop work early to let the furnaces cool for cleaning.”

Not waiting for Sarah to agree, Meg ran down the steps to the entryway and snatched her cloak off a stand by the door. “I’ll just run up and look at what’s available and see if they’re the right size.”

“No, don’t go alone. The walk will be good.” Sarah started down the steps. “If I breathe any more lavender, I’ll get a headache.”

Cloaks tucked around them against the bite of the early December wind, they strolled along the road. Wood smoke from cooking fires scented the air, and a handful of snowflakes danced around them.

“If it snows,” Meg grumbled, “everything in the school will get wet without the windows.”

“It won’t snow yet. There’s sunshine over there.” Sarah gestured to the west.

Sunlight glowed around the edges of the clouds like a promise. Meg hugged herself and increased her pace. Sometimes Colin worked extra hours. Maybe today …

Although a curl of smoke drifted lazily into the brightening sky from one of the two chimneys at the glassworks, the building was empty, the fires banked in the furnaces.

“They must have just left.” Meg closed the door then paused, frowning at it. “But I can’t believe they left without locking it.”

“Maybe they’ll be right back.” Sarah tugged on Meg’s arm. “We shouldn’t be inside without anyone here.”

“No, but it’s awfully messy. They usually clean up at the end of the day.” Though not liking the glassworks left open and unkempt, Meg allowed Sarah to lead her around the building to the shed where packing crates rose in stacks higher than their heads.

“I think these will work.” Sarah used her hands to measure one crate. “They’re high enough for children.”

“And they’re sturdy, since they have to hold glass. Oh, here’s someone.” Meg glanced over her shoulder, hoping, then suppressing a sigh of disappointment.

Thaddeus Dalbow, not Colin, strode into the yard. “Miss Meg, Miss Sarah, may I be of assistance?”

“I want to look at packing crates.” Meg glanced toward the factory building. “Are you the one working late today?” She tried to sound casual. “I thought it was only Mr. Grassick who worked extra hours.”

Sarah’s breath hissed through her teeth, and Meg realized she’d given herself away just saying his name.

“It is.” Thad shoved a lock of unruly hair away from his face. “But there was an accident.”

Colin knew he should be at church and not working, however charitable the work. He heard his mother’s admonitions about the need for worship and teaching ringing with nearly every breath he took. But at church he saw Meg, and seeing Meg had begun to hurt as much as did his left hand.

“You understand, do You not, Lord?” As he often did, he prayed while he worked alone.

Today’s project took him to Meg’s school, a building that appeared to have been an old cottage no one used any longer. Instead of Mr. Jordan having to hire a carpenter to fit the new glass panes into the wooden frames, Colin had offered to do the work. With the glass finished, he decided to risk someone disapproving of him working on a Sunday and set the windows back into the school for Meg’s next visit.

“When else would I be having the daylight?” Colin thought something must be wrong if he was trying to justify his actions to the Lord. If he needed to justify them, they couldn’t be right.

That knowledge didn’t stop him from lifting the first pane of glass from its nest of straw and sliding it into the frame. Around him a few birds chirped and the air smelled clean. He caught a hint of water with the wind blowing from the direction of the nearby bay, and his heart ached with the wish to see his family. He had abandoned them fifteen years ago with scarcely a backward glance, yet now that his father’s death had brought them together again, he didn’t want to be apart from them.

“So you should stop thinking of the master’s daughter, my lad.”

Think of Meg he did—too often. He’d ruined a perfectly good candlestick when she walked into the glassworks on Wednesday morning, as bright and effervescent as the morning itself. The excuse to go near her came as a gift, a blessing, and he exerted every bit of willpower he possessed not to run through the factory to her side.

And Joseph Pyle, that man to whom she would be wed too soon, stood near her, too, glaring at Colin as though he intended to shrivel him like last year’s apples.

“She can never be yours, lad,” Colin cautioned himself over the first pane of glass.

He had no business even considering more than a polite exchange of words with her for however long he remained in Salem County. She was his master’s daughter, and he had a family who needed him more than Meg Jordan needed anything.

“Keep your mind on your work and the Lord,” he admonished himself.