The Glassblower (27 page)

11

Marie had often wished she could live inside one of her baubles. Life would be so much simpler there. No hard corners and edges to knock up against. No beginning and no ending. Instead, the light shining through and all the colors of the rainbow playing across the round walls. A paradise of glass.

She had never longed for it so much as in that moment—though her reasons were different now. These days, she wished she could spirit herself away because life outside had become so intolerable, a nightmare that she could only rarely escape.

Her weekly lessons with Peter were an exception, which is why she could hardly wait for eight o’clock.

“I know that it makes me the worst person on earth, but I can’t help i
t . . .
I really feel put upon.”

Instead of blowing glass and talking about designs as she usually did, Marie began pouring her heart out. She felt guilty and helpless, and her feelings were written all over her face.

“Ever since Ruth and Wanda moved in with us, there’s not a quiet corner anywhere in the house. There’s always someone fussing about the place. And I had grown so used to living on my own.”

Peter put a glass of water in front of her. “And there’s still no sign of those two making peace?”

Marie waved a hand. “None at all! Thomas comes over every couple of days, but Ruth won’t even let him in the house. They have words in the doorway—never loud enough that we can hear what they’re saying—then off he stomps. He either looks as though he’s about to burst into tears or he flies into such a rage that he calls her all sorts of names. Johanna and I still have no idea why Ruth suddenly turned up at our house in the middle of the night three days ago. She won’t say a word about it.” She frowned. “He even asked me once whether Wanda is all right. I still don’t know what to make of that. And I have to stay in the Heimers’ good graces. If the old fellow throws me out, then we’re all three of us out of a job. It’s a good thing Johanna saved up a littl
e . . .
”

“That’s the last thing you need to worry about,” Peter answered. “Wilhelm Heimer knows very well that he’s not going to find a better painter or a faster worker than you. He even boasts of your skills down at the tavern.”

“Really? He’s never said a kind word to me. He always looks at me as though he can’t wait to get rid of me. As he sees it, the Steinmann sisters have been nothing but trouble to him. All the sam
e . . .
” She waved a hand. “Somehow I get along with the old fellow. And Thomas isn’t my problem.”

“So what
is
your problem?” Peter asked patiently.

Marie heaved a deep sigh before she answered. “If you must know, it’s Johanna.”

Peter frowned.

Should she really tell him? Or would Peter just take Johanna’s side? Marie decided at least to try.

“The trouble is that Johanna has nothing to do. Ruth’s busy with Wanda all day long, combing her hair, giving her a bath, crocheting a new dress. I think it’s all a bit much. But at least the two of them leave me alone. When Wanda’s not playing with my paints, that is,” she added. “But Johanna? She runs around the house like a caged animal. She’s so bored that she’s already tidied up my desk and sorted all my papers—though if you ask me she actually just made a mess of everything—and I can hardly sit down at the bench without her peering over my shoulder. Asking questions and wanting explanations. She’s driving me mad!” Marie threw her hands up helplessly.

“I understand what you’re saying, but how can I help?” Peter asked, looking at her in resignation. “I’ve asked Johanna at least three times to come and work for me. I could pay, of course. But she won’t hear of it.” He pointed to a stack of cardboard boxes with blue, red, and green glass gleaming inside.

“I’ll grant you that packing these animals of mine isn’t half as exciting as working in a big shop. But at least she would have something to do.” There was no mistaking the frustration in his voice.

“Oh, Peter! Here I am, telling you my tale of woe, and you have troubles enough of your own.” She gave him a nudge.

“Do you remember our conversation earlier this year? When I said that some miracle might bring Johanna back to Lauscha?” He laughed a bitter, joyless laugh. “Now she’s here indeed, but she’s further away from me than ever. At best, I’m her big brother. At worst, I’m a
man
so she can’t trust me. The way she looks at me sometimes—as though she’s worried I’ll lay a hand on her.” He shook his head sadly. “After what that swine did to her, I can understand her reservations. Is she ever going to feel like a normal woman again?”

Neither of them spoke for a while. Then Marie said quietly, “Can’t you talk to Johanna, even so? If she doesn’t have something to do soon, she’ll drive me up the wall. And who knows? Maybe once you two are working together side by sid
e . . .
” She tried to sound encouraging.

Peter laughed. “Yes, yes, and this year Christmas will come at Easter!” Then he became serious once more.

“All right then. I’ll talk to her again, though I’ll feel pretty stupid doing so. But I suppose it hardly matters if she turns me down one more time.”

Peter didn’t need to wait long for his chance. Johanna stuck her head in his doorway the very next day.

“I’ve made buttermilk—shall I bring you a glass? It’s ice-cold, good, and refreshing,” she called over the hissing of the gas flame.

Peter would rather have had a beer, but he agreed all the same. He turned off the gas and they walked out behind Peter’s house and sat down. For a few minutes they talked of this and that, then Johanna lay back in the grass. She drew up the hem of her dress as far as her knees and sighed aloud.

“Oh, the sun feels good! For the first time in my life I can sunbathe just as long as I like. Ruth says I’ll end up with skin like a farmer’s wife, but she spends half her days herself sitting on the bench in front of the house and soaking up the sun.”

Peter had to fight hard to resist the urge to reach out and wipe away the milk moustache on her upper lip. If possible, Johanna had become even more beautiful in the past year. He admired the way her hair gleamed, falling in gentle waves over her shoulders and arms in her sleeveless dress.

He was so lost in thought that he almost missed the opening that her remark gave him.

“Does that mean the two of you spend your days lazing in the sunshine?” he asked, grinning.

Johanna sat up.

“You’re quite right. I can’t go on idling my days away.”

Peter was delighted.

“It’s just that I don’t know what to do with myself.” Johanna went on. “Ruth still won’t say a word about what happened. She’s dug her heels in though, and I’m beginning to think she’ll never make peace with Thomas. And the two of them are married!”

“To be honest, I don’t really feel like talking about Ruth,” Peter said somewhat irritably. “But while we’re on the subject, she’s not the first woman to run away from her husband, and she won’t be the last.”

Johanna looked at him in consternation. “And that’s all you have to say about it? I’m trying to find some way to understand her behavior though. And I can only think of one explanation: Thomas must have hit her. And more than once. And Rut
h . . .
”

That was quite enough. Peter sat up too.

“Now you listen to me,” he said as forcefully as he dared, taking her hand. “You don’t have to worry yourself sick over Ruth day in, day out. Even if you don’t believe it, she’s a grown woman. She knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m not so sure about that. She cries at night when she thinks nobody can hear,” Johanna said, as tears sprung into her own eyes. “Her world must have fallen apart. She was madly in love with him.”

“I never said it was easy for her. But perhaps what she’s going through right now is easier than living with Thomas. Have you ever thought of that?”

A ladybug settled on Johanna’s hand, and she fixed her gaze upon it.

“Johanna,” Peter scolded her gently. “Let’s talk about you for a change.”

“What is there to talk about?” she asked, with a pained expression on her face. “You’re just going to make the same offer again.” She shook the bug off her hand. “
I . . .
please don’t be angry with me, Peter, but it wouldn’t work.”

But why not?
he wanted to ask her.
If you want it, it will work!

Instead he said, “You can’t sit at home all day either though. Quite apart from the fact that your savings will all be gone at some point, that’s not who you are. Sitting about doing nothing doesn’t suit you. Marie agrees with me, by the way. We’re worried about you.”

“Mari
e . . .
” Johanna cocked her head. “Do you know that she’s really quite a good glassblower? And I don’t mean her ideas and designs, I’m talking about her craft skills. The last batch of baubles she blew in her forms is practically perfect.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. But why even mention it? First you talk about Ruth, and then about Marie—you’re just trying to change the subject.”

“Oh, tosh,” she answered cheerfully.

There was a faint smile on her lips.

“I can hardly sit down at the bench without her peering over my shoulder. Asking questions and wanting explanations.”
Marie’s words came back to Peter. And all of a sudden he thought he knew.

“Johanna, are you planning something?” he asked, with a note of warning in his voice.

She drew up her legs and kneeled opposite him.

“I know what you all think: Johanna’s just sitting at home moping,” she said accusingly. “But that’s not it. In fact I’ve been thinking for quite a while about what to do next. And my plans
include
Marie,” she added significantly.

Peter looked at her. Could it be that he already knew what this wonderful, impossible, infuriating woman was thinking?

“Marie’s Christmas baubles—you want to sell them,” he said.

She looked at him in astonishment.

So he was right!

“And stubborn as you are, you’re not just going to give them to me so that I can show them to my wholesaler, but you want to find a wholesaler of your own.”

“You really know how to spoil a lady’s fun!” Johanna said, pretending to be angry at him.

“Does Marie know about your plans? After all, they are her baubles.”

“No,
I . . .
until I’m certain that what I want to do will actually work, I’d rather not tell her anything. I want to go to Sonneberg on my own an
d . . .
”

“Oh no, Johanna Steinmann, you’ll do no such thing,” he replied gruffly. “Not until you’ve talked to Marie and Ruth at least. I can see that you want to prove to us all over again that you can look after yourself. But this isn’t just about you.”

12

That same evening Peter sat down at the table with the three sisters, as he had insisted they do, and Johanna laid out her plan.

Once the initial excitement had died down, the objections followed. Although Marie had long dreamed of the day when she would no longer have to hide the glass she blew, she didn’t have the confidence to take the next step.

“What will people say when they find out that
I’ve
been sitting at the lamp? What if nobody wants to buy glass blown by a woman?” she asked.

They would have to expect a certain amount of hostility of course, Johanna conceded. Many glassblowers and wholesalers would find it unforgivable that a woman had dared to try her hand at men’s work. So she would have to go in search of a forward-looking wholesaler who didn’t care whether a man or a woman had blown the baubles.

Ruth’s objections were rather more practical. “If you actually manage to find a wholesaler for Marie’s globes, when is she going to fill his orders?”

“At night of course,” Marie answered. “That’s the way I’ve always done it. Or what do you think?” she said, turning to Peter. All he did was nod heavily in agreement, whereupon she made a face at him.

“You’ll have to do it that way at first,” Johanna conceded. “But if more orders come in—and I’m counting on it that they will—then you’ll have to stop working for Heimer.”

Two pairs of eyes stared at her in horror while Peter sat back, watching without saying a word, just as he had from the start. Johanna shot him a glance, unsure whether she was glad that he was staying out of it or whether she would have preferred his support after all.

Ruth was the first to recover.

“I could help with the painting,” she offered. “I know that nobody can paint as well as you can,” she said to Marie with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, “but I could manage your ice crystals and winter landscapes. And I can pack the globes of course. We’ve still got a whole pile of cardboard boxes left over from before. The globes must be about the same size as the pharmacy bottles, don’t you think?”

“Slow down,” Marie said. “What Johanna is suggesting here would mean opening our own glassworks. I don’t know
. . .
three women, running a business. Can something like that even work?”

“Why not?” Ruth replied. “It would mean that we were working for ourselves. We wouldn’t have to answer to anybody else.”

Peter cleared his throat. “When are you thinking of going to Sonneberg?”

Johanna looked at him in surprise. “Perhaps next week? Or the week after? I haven’t really thought about it.”

“But you ought to, if your plans aren’t going to run aground. Or have you forgotten that the American, Mr. Woolworth, is coming to Sonneberg in August? He’s arriving in two weeks.”

“Woolworth? What’s he got to do with my plan? He only visit
s . . .
”

Peter laughed. “Oh no he doesn’t! It looks like Strobel’s only getting a small slice of the pie this year. Almost every wholesaler in Sonneberg has had a letter from Woolworth announcing his arrival. They’re talking about nothing else in town right now. Everybody’s wondering what special deals they can offer the man, and they’re all hoping for nice fat order books by the time he leaves.”

It took Johanna a moment to digest the news.

“That means I’ll have to go to Sonneberg as soon as possible. Once Woolworth’s in town, nobody will have any time for me. I’ll have to get to them before the American does. And then”—she gave them all a grin—“our wholesaler, whoever it is, can show Marie’s baubles to dear old Woolworth when he comes!”

“In that case, you should go this week. Shall I come along with you? I could help you carry the samples and then wait for you with Wanda while you visit their shops,” Ruth put in.

Johanna’s grin faded. A wave of nausea passed over her at the thought of Sonneberg. All the same she said, “No, I think I’d rather go on my own. I don’t think Wanda would like it in town in this heat.”

“Magnus could go with you,” Marie suggested. “He has the time, and I know he’d be happy t
o . . .
”

“Magnus! What’s Magnus got to do with it?” Peter asked, frowning. “If anybody goes with Johanna, then I will.”

Johanna looked from face to face, irritated.

“Are you quite finished? I don’t need anybody to go with me,” she said, rather more loudly than she had meant to. “I’ve been going to Sonneberg on my own since I was seventeen years old. And I’ll do it again. I don’t need a nanny.” She swallowed. “I’ll set off first thing in the morning—even if it’s raining cats and dogs. If it would make you feel better, I’ll take the train; then I’ll be in town in next to no time.”

The other three looked at one another. There was nothing they could say to that.

“But I’ll decide which globes you take along,” Marie said. “I’d best go choose which ones are fit to be seen.”

“And I’ll find that crate of cardboard boxes. Then we can pack up the best bits this evening.” They left the room arm in arm. Shortly thereafter there was the sound of footsteps and furniture being moved up in Joost’s old room.

As Johanna poured a glass of water for herself and for Peter, she said quietly, “Thank you.”

“What for?”

Johanna wasn’t quite sure what she meant. All she knew was that there was not a man in the world she was fonder of. Perhaps she even loved Peter. In her way. “For not trying to talk me out of this.” And then, because she couldn’t help it, she added, “Given that you’d much rather have me come and work for you.”

“Well,” he replied, “life doesn’t always work out the way we’d like it to.” He sighed, deep in thought. “It looks as though I’ll just have to get used to the idea of eventually marrying a businesswoman.” He shrugged expressively, comical and resigned all at once.

“Peter!” Johanna gasped. “I can’t believe my ears. Do you never give up?”

He just looked at her. “No, not where we’re concerned. I never give up.”

The next morning Ruth made breakfast and then went upstairs to wake Johanna. All of a sudden the memory of old times was so strong that for a moment she believed she would hear Joost clattering around in the washhouse. What would he make of their plans? She stopped for a moment at the dormer window and looked out into the cloudless sky. He would approve, she decided, then walked into the bedroom.

“Time to get up! Today’s the big day!” As Ruth swept open the faded curtain, Johanna mumbled, “I’m already awake.” But Ruth, not entirely convinced, shook her sister’s shoulder just to be sure.

“Train’s leaving in half an hour. Don’t you dare go back to sleep!” How had her sister ever managed in Sonneberg, she wondered, not for the first time. Then she glanced into the little room next door, where Wanda was sleeping peacefully in Marie’s old cot. With any luck she would stay that way until Johanna was safely out of the house.

By the time she went back downstairs, Marie had already finished her coffee. She was standing at the sink, washing out her cup.

“I’m so nervous! I probably won’t manage to paint a single flower stalk today, everything will turn out zigzags.”

“Don’t let anyone notice. Otherwise Thomas will come round again wanting to know what’s going on. He doesn’t like it one bit that I can get by without him,” Ruth answered, pouring a cup of coffee for herself. “There’s no need for him to know what we’re up to yet.”
“Not answering back now, Ruth Steinmann, are you?”
She could hardly wait to see his silly face once they had their contract in the bag. She savored a mouthful of coffee.

“You’re right,” Marie agreed. “It’s probably nothing more than a pipe dream anyway.” But her face was flushed with excitement and her eyes gleamed with expectation.

Ruth had no patience even for Wanda that day, and Marie felt the hours drag by in the Heimer workshop. They could think of nothing but Johanna and how she was getting on. How many wholesalers would she have to visit before she found one who liked Marie’s baubles? Would she really get an order? Or would none of them want to buy from a woman? When the sun began to sink in the sky, a glowing red globe, they wondered when they could expect Johanna back. Was it a good or a bad sign that she was away for so long?

Peter joined them after his workday was over; he too was impatient. He suggested going to meet Johanna at the station, but Ruth and Marie were against the idea. What if one of the neighbors saw them all waiting for Johanna? It would only lead to prying questions. So Peter was reduced to pacing up and down in front of the door like a prison warden. Ruth and Marie left him to it.

It was almost eight o’clock when they finally heard him say, “She’s coming!” They all rushed outside.

Johanna was as white as a sheet. She didn’t wave her hand, or laugh, or call out “
We’ve got a contract
!
” From the look on her face and her heavy gait, there could only be one explanation.

It had all gone terribly wrong.

They didn’t dare look at each other. They were rooted to the spot as they watched Johanna approach. Neighbors passing by on the street watched the scene in surprise.

“Johanna, what’s the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” Ruth cried out at last.

Johanna walked past them into the house, her shoulders drooping. Her dress was clinging to her back where the sweat had run down between her shoulder blades. She sat down at the table.

“I feel like I have.” Her voice was as frail as an old woman’s, and her eyes wandered aimlessly around the room.

Was it the heat? Or had Sonneberg reawakened painful memories of the rape? Had it all been too much for her?

Ruth and Peter exchanged worried glances while Marie put a glass of water in front of her sister.

Peter sat down on the bench next to her and put an arm protectively around her shoulders.

“It’s all right now. You’re back home with us.” He held the water glass up for her.

Nobody knew what to say. It was so quiet that all they heard was the sound of Johanna drinking.

“I went to visit every wholesaler. I knocked on every door, every single one. They wouldn’t even listen to what I had to say,” she began at last.

Fat tears ran down her face.

“I felt like I had the plague and leprosy all at once. But in fact it was worse than that.”

The others looked at each other.

Ruth felt the disappointment knotting painfully in the pit of her stomach.

“What are you talking about, for God’s sake?” Peter asked, shaking her gently. “Did Woolworth come earlier than planned, or what happened? Why did nobody have time for you?”

Johanna shook her head. “At first I didn’t understand what was going on,” she said tearfully. “After the first shopkeeper was so rude to me I thought, he’s just having a bad day, I’ll try the next fellow. When the next one looked me up and down and said he had no time, I didn’t think anything of that either. But the
n . . .
” She put both hands to her face and sobbed at the top of her voice. “I’ve never felt so horrid in all my life. I mea
n . . .
except whe
n . . .
but no
w . . .
” Her words were lost in a fit of sobbing.

The others waited helplessly for her to calm down.

“When I asked the woma
n . . .
in the perfumer’s, she wouldn’t tell m
e . . .
I still had no idea what was going on,” Johanna said at last in a tearful voice.

Ruth was growing angry on top of the disappointment. “So what is going on? Would you please be so good as to actually
explain
to us?”

Marie kicked her under the table.

“Strobel told the whole town that I stole from him and that’s why he kicked me out.” Johanna’s face was devoid of expression. “Everybody thinks I’m a thief.
That’s
what’s going on!” The hysteria in her voice gathered strength. Her laugh cut through the silence as the others sat there in shock. “I’m done with Sonneberg. Once and for all. Even the dogs wouldn’t give me the time of day there!”