The Glassblower (6 page)

Standing firm against her attractiveness though he might, he couldn’t keep himself from stopping by the stable to admire the kittens. They had grown in the past two weeks. A pan of milk, so yellow it must have come from a goat, stood in the cool shade by the door, and all the cats wandered over to lap from it in the midst of their play.

One kitten perched on the edge of the trough, leaning precariously over the edge to scoop up water with its rough pink tongue. Colin wondered if the one on the trough was the wee beastie who’d scampered up the tree and nearly caused his first would-be rescuer to tumble into the burn.

Smiling he stroked the silky head with a forefinger. “Good afternoon, you little scamp.”

The cat purred and butted its head against his hand.

“Aye, you remember me then?” Colin smiled at another cat trying to grab his sibling’s long tail. “Have a care with your perches in the future.”

With a pat he turned to be on his way back to the glassworks. From the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of Margaret Jordan framed in the kitchen window. She was watching, her face alight with amusement. He touched his cap in acknowledgment of her presence, and she waved in response.

Colin resumed his walk—for about twenty feet. In those few paces he felt something latch onto the back of his boot. He stopped. He hadn’t noticed any sort of vine or creeper on the path in which he could have caught his foot.

It was the kitten from the trough, tiny paws wrapped around the back of his ankle as though its few ounces could stop him from going away.

“You daft beast.” He stooped and scooped up the kitten.

Purring, it nestled against his neck, warm and soft and smelling of hay. For a moment he considered keeping it. Only for a moment. It wasn’t his cat to take, even if it had decided it wanted his company.

“Let’s take you back.” Resolute he marched back to the stable and deposited the cat among its clan—

The first time. In the next quarter hour he repeated the action three more times. The fourth time, footfalls pattered across the stable yard, and Miss Jordan took the kitten from his hands.

“Let me fetch a basket and some rags so you can take her home with you,” she offered.

“Nay, I cannot have one of your cats.”

“Why not?” Her gaze swept the horde of felines. “Do you think I’m likely to run out of them?”

“Nay, but—” He laughed. “If ‘tis all right, some company would be fine in that great big cottage I have all to myself.”

“Then come back inside and have your tea while I prepare the basket.” She spun on her heel and marched to the house, apparently expecting him to follow.

Colin hesitated. With her holding the cat, nothing stopped him from going. Nothing stopped him from staying, either.

Nothing except good sense.

While Ilse served Mr. Grassick a cup of tea at the kitchen table, Meg fairly skipped up the steps to the linen press for clean rags then back down to the pantry for a covered basket. All the while, the kitten rode on her shoulder, purring and kneading its needlelike claws through the fabric of her dress. Meg rubbed her cheek against the kitten’s soft fur and smiled into those emerald green eyes, so like the glassblower’s.

Not just any glassblower, either. Meg had seen glasses and vases, serving bowls and candlesticks imported from the centuries-old glassworks in Europe, and the craftsmanship was fine. Thus far she had seen little produced in the Salem County works that came close to demonstrating not merely the skill but the artistry Colin Grassick’s goblets exhibited. He possessed a gift, and a yearning in her heart told her to find out what made him so humble in accepting her awe and admiration. If she could persuade him to take his time with the tea, perhaps talk to him about a few other pieces Father intended for him to produce, she could learn what lay in his heart.

The idea returned a song to her lips. Before any notes spilled out, however, Sarah’s warning cut through her joy. He was one of her father’s workers. Father might not—probably wouldn’t—approve of her befriending Colin Grassick. And she was supposed to marry another man.

“I don’t see the harm in being friendly, kitten.” Meg’s spirit rebelled. “Father sent him here to get my approval for the goblets.”

Her actions thus justified, she tucked the kitten into the basket and returned to the kitchen with her now meowing burden.

“She isn’t happy about being confined.” Meg set the basket on the floor beside Colin’s chair. “Perhaps she’s lonely.” He lifted the lid and poked a finger inside.

The mews ceased.

“Ach, she’s a funny one.” Ilse chuckled. “Would you like me to finish with the bread rolls, Miss Meg? They’re ready for the oven.”

“So they are.” Meg glanced at the buns rising near the stove. “I forgot about them. If you stay a few minutes, Mr. Grassick, I’ll send a few home with you.”

“Nay, I have enough to carry with the wee beastie and the glass.” He lifted his teacup. The delicate china looked like a toy in his hand, yet he held it with care. “But I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“Leave the glass here.” Meg slid the trays of rolls into the baking oven. “Unless you need them for matching the others.”

“Nay, I have my drawings. And perhaps these would be safer here.”

“Ya, I can tuck them on the top shelf of the pantry.” Ilse snatched up the crate of glasses and carried it into the storage room off the kitchen.

Meg drew out a chair and joined Colin at the table. “I didn’t notice you at church on Sunday.” She tilted her head to one side. “Dare I ask if you go?”

“Aye, I go.” He gave her a half smile. “I saw you in the front row. I was in the back.”

She was in the family’s private box pew with Father and Joseph, perched on cushions to keep them comfortable in the event the sermon lasted a long time. Colin had just reminded her that he had perched on a narrow bench with the other workers, uncomfortable with the shortest of talks.

It wasn’t right. The Jordan pew was half empty most of the time.

“Did you enjoy the service anyway?” she ventured.

“He is a fine preacher.” Colin set down his cup and pushed it a little away from him. “I missed worshipping at the kirk while aboard ship.”

“Have you always gone to church?” Meg grasped the edge of the table. “That’s what a kirk is, isn’t it, a church?”

“Aye, that it is.” He rose. “I went with my family every Sunday until I ran away from home when I was twelve.”

Meg stared at him. “You ran away from home?”

“I did.” He inclined his head, sending a wave of sunset red hair sliding across his brow.

“Why? I mean—” Meg’s face heated. “Never you mind. It’s none of my concern.”

“I think it is.” His voice held a roughness she hadn’t noticed before now. “You and your father deserve to know the character of the man you employ. I ran off because I wanted to be a Lowland glassmaker instead of a Highland fisherman like my father. The next time I attended the kirk was two years ago when I went to the funeral of my father.”

Raw pain clouded his brilliant eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” Despite knowing how useless the words were, Meg didn’t know what else to say.

She rose and looked into the oven to see if the rolls were browning too quickly or remaining too doughy. She kept her back to him, waiting for him to compose himself, have a moment to say whatever he chose. She wanted to know how his father died, but she had already probed for more than was appropriate.

“He drowned somewhere near the Hebrides.” Colin’s voice was soft once again, calm, as though he had spoken these words many times. “The water was rough, and he shouldn’t have gone out alone, but his wife and bairns needed to eat, and he didn’t have his one son along who was old enough to be of use. If I hadn’t been wasting my silver—” He broke off on a sigh. “Thank you for the tea and the wee beastie. I must be on my way.”

Before Meg could get the oven door closed, he was halfway outside.

But he hesitated on the threshold. “Your windows should be in your school by now, Miss Jordan. I was forgetting to tell you.”

“That’s wonderful.” She straightened from the stove, allowing the door to shut with a metallic clang. “If you wait another two minutes, the rolls will be ready.”

“Thank you, but I must be on my way.”

“Yes, Grassick, you should be,” Father said from behind them.

Meg counted the kittens lounging about in the feeble rays of the late autumn sun. Four. The adult cats rambled elsewhere, hunting or sleeping or keeping the horses company, but the kittens tended to remain near the door except for the one who had taken a fancy to Colin and now one more.

“Where did your brother or sister go?” she asked the felines as though they could answer. They didn’t even look at her.

“Yes, I know you had quite a mole feast this morning, but where is your brother? Or maybe sister?”

A foot scraped on the beaten earth of the stable yard, and a husky laugh rang out. “I think you need to ask in their language,” Sarah said. “A specific series of meows.”

She proceeded to meow in several different tones.

The kittens rose, stretched, and wandered into the stable.

“Maybe it’s your accent,” Meg suggested through her giggles.

“I’m afraid I said something rude.” Sarah grinned after the departing felines. “Have you lost one?”

“I have. He was around this morning, but now he seems to have gone off somewhere, and I’m worried he’s lost.”

“Cats are quite resourceful, you know.” Sarah linked her arm with Meg’s. “But let’s go hunt him down. He shouldn’t be out after dark. Foxes can be a menace.”

“And the owls. The kittens are so tiny still.” Meg adjusted her hat brim so she could look up at her slightly taller friend. “But you came to visit for something more than a kitten hunt.”

“I did. I want to go see the new windows in the school before this fine weather ends. Have you seen them yet?”

“I have. They’re perfect.”

After Father sent Colin back to the glassworks with enough ice in his voice to fill Delaware Bay, Meg had retreated to the school to nurse her humiliated spirit. The windows were far better than Meg suggested, nearly perfectly clear panes set into frames of four squares a window. Light spilled across the hard-packed earth floor, now clear of soot, thanks to Joseph’s workers.

“Now all we need is a stove or grate so we don’t all freeze, and something on which the students can sit.”

“If we have a brazier,” Sarah mused aloud, “the children can make do with blankets and slates on their laps.”

“I’d rather they were comfortable.”

Sarah patted her arm. “You want everyone more comfortable. But you know, the Lord didn’t promise us that we wouldn’t have to suffer a bit from time to time.”

“No.”

Meg thought about the suffering in Colin’s voice, in his eyes when he talked of abandoning his family. If she possessed the power to do so, she would have removed that pain from his spirit. She could only pray for him, even if praying for him made her feel guilty for thinking of him at all. She should be thinking of Joseph and a future with him because her father wanted that life for her. She should be thinking about the children and helping them have better lives.

“I’m afraid they won’t come if they’re uncomfortable.” Meg kicked a stick off the drive and scanned the area for signs of a black-and-white feline. “We don’t need tables and chairs or desks. Simple benches would do.”

“Maybe the church has some extra benches.” Sarah wrinkled her nose as they turned onto the road, and the wind, tunneling through the lining trees, struck them in the face with the odors of the glassworks. “How do you bear it?”

“I don’t notice it most of the time.”

Or she tried not to notice, to think of what Colin would look like, blowpipe to his lips, the other end of the tube glowing with molten glass. Purple glass. Would he think of her as he created the twenty-six goblets for her betrothal party?

“You should see the wedding gift Father is giving me.” This was a way she could talk about Colin and not give away her attraction to a man besides the one she was to marry. “Co—Mr. Grassick brought them by yesterday for my approval. He stayed a bit because one of the kittens took a liking to him, and I fixed up a basket so he could take it home. Then he told me a little bit more about his family, about his father dying and the children—” Her footfalls sped up. “But I was telling you about the goblets. They’re magnificent. When I looked at one with the sun shining through it, I would have thought it was made of an amethyst, the color was so pure and clear. And the workmanship—what’s wrong?”

Sarah had stopped and turned to face Meg. Concern radiated from Sarah’s hazel eyes. “Did you like the glasses because of the artist, or did you like the artist because of the work?”

Meg blinked. “Did I—what do you mean? I’m talking about the fine workmanship. Mr. Grassick is a talented artisan.”

“That’s what everyone is saying.” Sarah nodded, but her face was tight. “And now he’s told you about being all alone here in America and having family back in Scotland.”

“Yes, it’s rather sad. He ran away from home when he was twelve—”

“Shh.” Sarah pressed a gloved forefinger to Meg’s lips. “I’m sure it is very sad. But, Meg, he’s not a lost kitten you can pack up in your pocket and carry home to feed.”