The Glassblower (32 page)

22

It was Sunday evening in the fifth week of the six they had to complete the baubles. Marie had sensed for the first time that the glances thrown their way at church that morning had been a little less hostile. Perhaps Lauscha was gradually getting used to the idea that a woman could blow glass. As she raised her voice with all the others in a hymn, she felt that she could finally sing with an open heart once more. When they left church, Thomas was waiting as usual and tried to take Ruth aside. All she did was look him up and down and then leave him standing there. With Peter next to her and all the parishioners around, Thomas did not dare drag Ruth away by the arm or make a scene. The painful moment passed.

Once they got home, they no longer had a spare minute. As so often recently, the mood was tense: the long hours of work side by side had begun to eat away at their patience and good cheer. Hardly a day passed without some quarrel. Wanda had just begun teething, and her constant crying only heightened the tension. The situation had grown especially bad that Sunday. While Wanda shrieked and wept, Ruth gave her sage tea and smiled blissfully. She seemed to have not a care in the world.

Marie glanced up from the lamp several times, looking askance at the other two. She could feel a tension in her cheekbones. Quiet! All she wanted was a little quiet.

When Wanda could not be soothed either by tea or kind words, Ruth said, “She probably doesn’t like the smell of the Epsom salts.” She looked reproachfully at Marie as she spoke, as though her sister had invented the technique expressly to upset Wanda. Some of the Christmas baubles were dipped into a mixture of British gum and Epsom salts and then put out in a cool place to dry. The effect was marvelous; the salts formed crystals as the solution dried and looked like a fine layer of ice covering the glass. Mr. Woolworth had been especially taken by these globes.

“Then pick it up and put it somewhere else! Nobody’s forcing you to sit down with Wanda right by the dipping pail,” Marie grumbled in reply.

When Ruth took the baby upstairs for her lunchtime nap, Marie and Johanna breathed a sigh of relief.

“I couldn’t have put up with that for much longer. How is anyone supposed to concentrate on work with all that crying?” Marie said, reaching for a rod of glass and warming it in the flame.

“That’s what it’s like with a baby in the house. Don’t believe you cried any less. And Father still managed to get his work done.”

“Father! I’m not Father!” As the glass began to glow orange-red, Marie took the rod from the flame, carefully set the cool end to her lips, and blew life into the glass. Although by now she had blown thousands of globes, it was always a special moment for her when the rod began to swell and take on a new shape. For a moment she forgot all about Wanda’s crying and concentrated on her breath and on turning the globe around on its stem. Once it was exactly the same size as all the others, she took the rod from her lips. She used the tongs to expertly bring the globe’s tail back in on itself to form a little loop for hanging on the tree. Then she gave the whole thing one last critical look and put it aside. She smiled.

“
Watch the merry man dance, my dear, see him grin from ear to ea
r
. . .
” Ruth’s voice reached them, bright and clear from upstairs.

Marie rolled her eyes.

“No sooner does the little one stop crying than Ruth starts making a racket. She’s so cheerful it’s quite disgusting. There must be something amazing in those letters she carries about and reads at every possible moment. How else can you explain the fact that she goes around smiling all the time?”

“You’re being oversensitive,” Johanna said, shaking her head in disapproval. “Just be glad she’s feeling happy. After all she’s been through.”

“I’m fed up with it,” Marie burst out. “I can’t take any more of being told to spare someone this or consider her feelings about that. Everybody in this house gets special treatment but me. Neither of you care that I’m doing most of the work for this order. I’ve had no more than four hours’ sleep a night for weeks on end. But nobody considers my feelings! After all,
I
haven’t had anything
horrible
happen to me.” Marie knew that she was being unfair but there was nothing she could do to stop the words tumbling out.

Ruth had come quietly into the room.

“What are you bleating away about down here? You sound like an old goat.” She walked over to Marie and made to put her hand on her arm, but her sister brushed it away sharply.

“The best thing you could do is come and sit by me,” Johanna said, beckoning Ruth over. “And keep quiet. Our little artist is disturbed by all this chatter.”

Marie shot them a venomous glance. It was just like Johanna to take Ruth’s side!

“I would be very grateful if I could work in peace for just a little while. It’s quite enough that Eva spends all day every day chattering in my ear.”

“I hope you’re not seriously comparing me to that silly cow,” Ruth snapped back.

“Old goat, silly cow—I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but we are in fact in a workshop here, not a farmyard!” Marie was trembling with rage. It wasn’t like her to get so angry. She had always been the quiet one among the three sisters, the one who always gave way first whenever there was a disagreement. Perhaps it was lack of sleep that made her pick the fight this time.

Ruth seemed dumbstruck. And then Marie threw in one more jab.

“Or maybe it’s these ‘mysterious’ letters you’re getting that suggest this sort of comparison? Maybe some
silly ass
wrote them?” She smirked as she put her hands up to her head and waggled them about like donkey’s ears.

Ruth was round the table so fast that it wobbled as she ran past.

“Yo
u . . .
”

The sound of glass chiming should have warned them both. But Marie was worked up, and Ruth was in a blind rage. She grabbed her sister’s arm.

“You take that back. Right now!” she spat at Marie.

“I will not,” Marie shouted, snatching her arm away. Habit made her careful not to knock into the gas pipe, but she never thought of the pail of gum-and-salts solution that Ruth had picked up and put behind her earlier.

“Careful!” shouted Johanna.

The pail tipped over.

Speechless with horror, the three women watched the liquid spill out over a pile of boxes.

Johanna was the first to collect her wits. She ran into the kitchen and came back with two dishcloths. She tried in vain to stem the tide of liquid, but it had already soaked through the thin cardboard of the boxes, leaving a layer of ice crystals behind as it dribbled over three hundred Christmas baubles packed and waiting for transport.

“I’m cold.” Ruth rubbed her hands together and then wrapped them in the folds of her skirt. Her eyes were red with weeping, and there was reproach written all across her face.

Johanna’s eyes were also red. She slowly got to her feet.

“So am I. I’ll shut that window now. There’s no point in trying to air out the room. Nobody’s ever died from a bad smell, but we may very well freeze to death!”

After the accident, they had flung open all the windows, but instead of the stinking cloud of fumes leaving the house, the cold autumn mist had crept in. Johanna rubbed her brow and groaned.

“I feel as though my skull might burst from the stink! And my bones hurt as well.”

“What next?” Ruth’s question was hardly more than a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Johanna confessed. “That’s two hundred and fifty globes completely unusable, at least another hundred splashed, a whole pail of salts solution tipped over—and that costs money as well—and the floorboards are soaked. Then there’s the smel
l . . .
” She shook her head. “If it weren’t all so terrible, I might even find it funny.” She swallowed hard. She wanted to run upstairs the way Marie had done and hide away in a corner. But how would that have helped?

“More than three hundred globes, ruined! And so close to the end of the commission. I don’t know whether to cry or grind my teeth. How on earth are we going to make up for the lost work? We were already falling behind,” Johanna said.

There was desperation in Ruth’s eyes as well. “If we can’t fill the orde
r . . .
then we’re sunk. We’ll never get another.”

“It hasn’t come to that yet,” Johanna said with more conviction than she felt. “In the worst case, we’ll only be short by five hundred. Ruth!” she said, grabbing hold of her sister’s arm. “Please don’t cry!” But her own eyes were prickling as well.

“Steven Miles will think I’m nothing but an unreliable flibbertigibbet. And Mr. Woolworth will regret ever having signed a contract with us. I can still hear what Steven said: ‘
If there is one thing that Mr. Woolworth really can’t abide, it’s breach of contract
.’” Ruth covered her face with her hands and let out a loud sob.

“Please calm down. All is not lost.”

Ruth shot a hate-filled glance at the stairs.

“And it’s all her fault! She’s to blame for the whole miserable business. If she hadn’t knocked over that pai
l . . .
”

“Not so fast there. As I remember, you had something to do with it as well,” Johanna said. “You made a dreadful scene when all she did was tease you a bit. You’re not usually so sensitive. And the way you make such a song and dance about keeping your letters secret. If this Steven is only writing about the contract as you claim, then why can’t we read them too? The way you’re carrying on, anyone would think there was something else going on between you and Mr. Miles.” It was not the first time the thought had crossed Johanna’s mind, but until that moment, she had always thought it far too unlikely to bring up. But as soon as she saw Ruth glance sullenly away, it didn’t seem so unlikely after all.

“Oh no,” Johanna groaned. “You’ve fallen in love with that American. Ruth, please tell me it’s not true!” Johanna had an overwhelming urge to get up and walk away as though the whole conversation had never taken place.

“I don’t know whether I’ve fallen in love with him,” Ruth said, suddenly embarrassed. “Sometimes I think I have,” she added, just as naturally as if they talked about it every day. “But then I think I can’t possibly have! I mean, I’ve only even met the man once.”

For a moment Johanna felt a twinge of hope. Love at first sight—that was just for fairy tales. Even a child knew that.

“Back when I was in love with Thomas, I felt as though there were a thousand ants marching through my belly. All he had to do was look at me, and I flushed hot and cold. Ha! I can hardly believe there was a time when I couldn’t wait for him to kiss me. That changed soon enough.” Ruth laughed bitterly.

“But it’s different with Steven.” Her voice became soft. “I feel we have a real connection even though we’ve hardly touched. And he’s so polite and responsive that I sometimes think he can read my mind. For instance he told the waiter to open the window before I could even mention that I wanted some fresh air. And then he ordered a coffee for me after the meal. He had no way of knowing what a coffee fiend I am.” Ruth’s eyes shone. “And his letters! He writes so wonderfully that I feel I already know him. I only hope I’m not making a fool of myself with all the nonsense I scribble down. You know quite well that I was never much for reading and writing.”

With every sentence she spoke, Johanna’s heart sank further. Her sister had it bad, worse than Ruth even realized herself. Although Johanna had the feeling that she should say something to put the whole matter in perspective, nothing came to mind. “
Even though we’ve hardly touche
d
”
—
well, at least the worst had not yet happened.

Quite without warning, Ruth reached across the table and took Johanna’s hand.

“I’m so happy I can finally talk about it all. Perhaps I should have told you ages ago. Bu
t . . .
” She shrugged. “It’s all so personal, somehow.” She smiled that blissful smile again. “Perhaps Steven wouldn’t even want me talking about him like this. A matter of trust, do you understand?”

Johanna nodded, saying nothing, and Ruth seemed content with that.

“He’s such a good listener. I would never have thought you could actually talk to a man the way we talked. He’s a bit like Peter, in fact, just not s
o . . .
matter-of-fact. He—” She broke off. “Oh, I really can’t explain. At any rate, I’ve never felt so safe and happy with anyone.” She sighed. “With Thomas I was never sure whether he really meant any of his compliments, because they were only ever about one thing. But I believe every word from Steven. Althoug
h . . .
” Ruth laughed, embarrassed, and her cheeks flushed pink. “I do wonder what a businessman and man of the world like him sees in me.”

Johanna couldn’t sit and listen in silence any longer.

“You and your daydreams,” she said, interrupting her sister. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were in raptures over Thomas just the same way, and look what came of that. Just stop and think for a moment. You’re married, and you have a child. You live here in the Thuringian Forest, while this man lives in New York. There are worlds between you. Even if he did have some feelings for yo
u . . .
what could possibly come of it?” Johanna felt a growing urge to grab Ruth by the shoulders and give her a good hard shake.