The Glassblower (35 page)

26

Steven hastily paid for their drinks and hurried out after Ruth. He caught up with her in front of the café and insisted on going with her to the station.

Ruth wanted to sit down somewhere and burst into tears. The bag holding the money hung casually from her right arm, and she didn’t even consider the possibility of purse snatchers. All she wanted to do was get away from the pain of meeting Steven. What had she really hoped would happen today? She was too exhausted to answer her own question.

“Stop, Ruth! I beg you!”

He was just as miserable as she was. All his confidence seemed to have deserted him, and the pain in her heart only deepened when she saw his shoulders drooping. Ruth walked on and Steven marched silently beside her. Their hands touched again and again. It was terrible and beautiful all at once.

The railway station was only two blocks away. Ruth took a deep breath, mustering her strength.

Only one more street and then two last turns. Ruth’s heart was beating so loudly that it hammered in her ears.

Dear God, help me to do the right thing.

They walked together toward the great wrought-iron gate of the station. Ruth stopped.

“I can’t.”

She turned to him. “I can’t just leave you like this.”

The next moment she was clinging to his chest.

“Steven!”

“Ruth,” he answered hoarsely and took her in his arms.

A few minutes later, they were running through the streets hand in hand as though the devil himself were at their heels, while the townspeople looked on in astonishment. Ruth suppressed the waves of shame and doubt and the pangs of guilt that threatened to overwhelm her. She even ignored the knowing look that the doorman at the Swan Hotel gave them. She had made her decision; she would be with Steven.

It was like putting down a heavy load. The clothes she wore were like chains that she could not remove fast enough. She undressed without shame, her movements sure. She did not have to look down at her bodice as she unhooked it. Nor could she have even if she had needed to. She only had eyes for Steven.

They were like flowers unfurling their blossoms in a perfumed garden. There was no need to touch; the invisible bond that united them was closer than any physical contact could ever be.

When at last they stood across from each other, entirely naked, Ruth took the pins from her hair. It fell down over her shoulders and settled there like a silken scarf. Then she shook her head proudly so that it hung behind her.

As they went to one another, Ruth drank in every detail of Steven’s body. She stared at his manhood as though mesmerized, and a tremor of desire ran through her whole body. He was as beautiful as the Greek statues in the art book that Peter had given Marie. Back then, in another life.

“I’ve never seen a man naked,” she whispered.

Steven laughed. “How can that be?” Slowly he reached his hand out toward her, and ran his fingertips down the valley between her breasts.

Ruth smiled in embarrassment. “It was always dark.”
And it always happened very fast,
she thought. She waved a hand as though to drive off a troublesome insect. She didn’t want to speak of that anymore. She didn’t want to think of it.

Steven’s eyes warmed her like two glowing fires as he led her to the bed.

When their naked flesh touched, desire flared in them both. His lips were strong, his kisses commanding, and Ruth thought she could taste a hint of cocoa on his tongue. She opened her mouth hungrily. More. More of this.

The feather pillow plumped up on each side of her head, getting in the way. She grabbed it and threw it off the bed. She wanted to cling closer to Steven, but he held her back.

He ran his fingers reverently over her breasts, then lowered his head. Ruth heard herself moan as his tongue playfully circled her right nipple. He raised his head and looked at her questioningly, but she just sank her fingers deeper into his arm.

While his lips caressed her left breast, his hands roamed up and down her body. Ruth felt her skin beginning to glow red hot under his touch. She thrust herself toward him once more.

But again Steven held her down, gently but forcefully.

“Easy does it,” he whispered in English. “Easy and slowly.”

He kissed her. Kisses light as feathers on her mouth, her eyes. In the middle of her forehead and on her hairline; his touch was so tender, his kisses were everywher
e . . .

Suddenly his hand was on her mound of Venus. He did not stop stroking her, but his fingers moved down to the soft skin of her inner thigh. Ruth opened her legs gladly, impatiently. It felt wonderful to be stroked like that. His finger trailed across her labia as though quite by chance, and Ruth twitched like a kicking pony. She heard herself moan. It was a strange, full-throated sound.

Then Steven’s hand began circling, circling. Hot waves seized hold of her, each stronger than the last. She screamed quietly. His fingers became bolder, burrowing into her flesh, and his lips insistently claimed her mouth.

Ruth clung to him. She didn’t want to miss a moment of this bliss, the happiness that until that moment she had only ever dreamed of. What was happening here bore no resemblance to what Thomas had done to her, often against her will.

She was nevertheless unprepared for how readily her body responded when Steven finally entered her. He did not stop stroking her but instead kept time, his fingers like music on her skin, as he thrust deeply into her. Tears sprang to her eyes, hot tears of joy that she was glad to shed.

“I love you,” Steven whispered hoarsely into her ear. Ruth didn’t need to know any English to understand him.

“I love you too,” she replied in German, her legs wrapped around his.

For the first time in her life, Ruth crossed the threshold to true love. Her body and her soul were as one with Steven.

Ruth stayed with him all night. She knew that Johanna and Marie would be worried. And that Wanda would be missing her. But she couldn’t make herself care.

They had only this one night.

When they were not making love, they drifted off to sleep, her head on his chest, his arm around her protectively. It was only a light doze, however, for each was too aware of the other’s presence to sleep soundly.

Clinging to one another, they watched the dawn light appear in the window. Ruth listened to Steven’s heartbeat and wished she could stay forever in this hour between night and day.

“I love you.” His voice was hoarse.

A hot wave of happiness washed over her.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

“Could you see yourself coming to New York with me?”

His question was like a bolt from the blue. Her stomach twisted and cramped.

“I can’t bear the thought of having to leave you in just a few hours. I’ve never had these feelings for anyone else! I was lost the moment I first saw you in Frank’s room.”

Steven sat up in bed and shifted around until he was kneeling. He took her hand.

“Ruth! You are the only woman for me. I want always to be here for you. I want to see your smile every morning. And at night, I want to fetch you the stars from the sky.”

Ruth tried to concentrate on just one thing and to ignore everything else he was saying.

“And would you accept another man’s child?”

“Did he ever show any interest in the child? Wanda is
your
daughter. Your angel. That’s all that matters, as far as I’m concerned. I want to offer you both a home where you will have all the love you deserve, and everything else too.”

“It’s a beautiful dream.” Ruth swallowed hard.

“No, it’s not a dream.” Steven’s eyes were shining. “If you want it, it can all come true—and so much more as well! Love can move mountains, didn’t you know that? Of course something like this needs careful thought and planning. Most importantly, I would have to get papers for you and Wanda.”

“Papers?” she asked, as though everything else had long been settled.

“For the crossing, and for entry to America. I’ve already been asking around. The fact that you’re married complicates matters somewhat. If my information on the laws here is right, you would actually need your husband’s permission to emigrate.”

Ruth sat up so fast that her head bumped the wooden headboard.

“He’ll never do that! If he ever knew that I love another ma
n . . .
” Her eyes were wide with fear. “He must never find out. Never, do you understand?” she cried out. The thought that Thomas might do something to hurt Steven was too horrifying to contemplate.

“Calm down, my darling. Nobody need ever know anything if you don’t want them to.” Steven picked up his shirt from the floor and put it around Ruth’s trembling shoulders. “There is another way,” he said slowly and deliberately.

Ruth was becoming more and more confused with every sentence he spoke.

“What are you talking about?” she asked against her own will. These were just daydreams, she mustn’t start to believe in them.

“I know somebody in New York who could create papers for you and Wanda under another name. Meaning that during the journey you would be somebody else, do you understand? Nobody would ask you about your husband—you’d be free! Free to be at my side. Free to live in New York, where w
e . . .
”

“And my sisters?” Ruth interrupted softly.

The gleam in Steven’s eyes died away.

“It will be difficult for you, I know, but you mustn’t tell them anything. The danger that one of them might give you away is too great. Especially if Marie says something in the workshop.”

“Marie wouldn’t say anything. She can’t stand Thomas.”

“She might not intend to, but even a word out of place could put our plan in danger. Which is why it would be best to leave them behind and then let them discover the truth.”

There were tears burning in Ruth’s eyes as she freed herself from his embrace.

“
Leave them behind?
These are my sisters we’re talking about! And Peter. My family, do you understand? Steven, I love you so much that it hurts. But what you’re asking me to d
o . . .
I’m not sure that I can.” She put a hand to her brow. “You want me to vanish like a thief in the night. To leave my family forever—I can’t bear the thought. But I also can’t bear the prospect of having to live even one more day without you!” Her misery grew with every word she spoke. “Tell me, what should I do?”

Steven took her in his arms again and rocked her back and forth.

“I know that it’s a lot to ask of you. You don’t need to decide today. But it would mean a great deal to me if I knew that you were considering my suggestion while we’re apart.”

“When will we see one another again?” she choked out, her voice thick with tears as she clung to him. “Do you really have to go?” she asked, against her better judgment.

Steven gently prized open her fingers where they were clamped around his arm. He took her hand in his and kissed the palm.

“I’ll be returning to Thuringia in mid-May. Until then, we can write to each other every week, every day! I promise you that as soon as I have the letter telling me your decision, I will do all that has to be done. When I come back to Europe in the spring, I could have all the papers for you and for Wanda with me. You’ll see, the winter will just fly by. Before we know it, spring will be here. And we can begin our future together.”

“I haven’t said yes yet,” Ruth told him, frowning.

“I know.” He kissed her mouth and drew her close. “But I will pray every day that you do.”

27

“Have you gone quite mad? How could you say yes to the American without asking me first?”

Marie took the contract for the Valentine gifts and shoved it back into Ruth’s hand. Then she began leafing deliberately through one of her new books, as though Ruth’s concerns had nothing to do with her.

“Now you’re insulting me; that’s just like you!” Ruth replied. “You’re the one who’s always going on about your skills as a glassblower. But instead of thanking me for getting you another order, you stab me in the back. This order is our big chance, don’t you understand?” She waved the sheet of paper in Marie’s face.

“Our chance for what? For us to end up looking like fools?” Marie retorted without looking up from her book.

Johanna stepped between her sisters.

“Now calm down, both of you. Whatever we have to say to one another, there’s no need to shout, is there?”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Marie said mockingly. “You’re not the one being asked to blow one thousand glass hearts in the next seven weeks.”

She slammed her book shut and thumped it down on the tabletop.

“There’s no way to make a heart by free-blowing. Which means I’ll have to make a mold for it first. And not just one—I’ll need at least a dozen to blow a thousand hearts because my plaster forms don’t last as long as Strupp’s.” She looked accusingly from Johanna to Ruth. “Unless either of you has a special recipe?”

The only answer was an uncomfortable silence.

“If we had a mold from Strupp, then things would be different. But he can’t make us one at such short notice,” Marie threw in.

Not even Johanna knew what to do. She felt utterly overwhelmed by the new development. She and Marie had been awake half the night, worrying about Ruth and fearing the worst. When their sister finally came home, she offered not a word of explanation but simply handed them this sheet of paper. This was the last thing Johanna had expected.

She had been preparing for Ruth to return lovesick and distraught in floods of tears, so she had been racking her brains as to how best to comfort her sister. But by the look of it, Ruth didn’t need a word of comfort. She looked calm and collected and seemed not to feel the slightest pang of guilt for having stayed away all night. She didn’t say a word about Steven or what it had been like to see him again.

“I have to admit I never thought that the mold might be a problem. When I saw the heart, I thought it looked a lot simpler than your more elaborate baubles,” Ruth said. “We could at least ask Emanuel Strupp whether he’d make us a form. The worst he can do is say no.” Ruth turned to Johanna and gave her a nudge. “Are you even listening? You’re not usually one to hold back from giving advice. This is about how we earn our living after all!”

Johanna looked up.

“It’s strange. We never wanted anything more than to be able to stand on our own feet. To depend on nobody. Not on Wilhelm Heimer, and not on Thomas. And not on the wholesalers in Sonneberg either,” she said, looking first at Ruth, then at Marie. “But now that it looks as though we could really do it, we’re suddenly afraid. Instead of thinking how best to fill the order, we’re squabbling. Maybe the others are right when they say that women can’t rule their own roost?”

The other two looked stubbornly at the kitchen table and at the object that lay in the middle of it—the subject of the whole argument—the heart of glass.

Reluctantly, Marie reached out and picked it up. She turned it this way and that in her hands.

“
Who
says that women can’t run a business?” she asked.

Johanna shrugged.

“I don’t know. But supposedly there are people who say that sort of thing.”

“They’re wrong,” Marie said, her face stern. “Even if I have to cast a dozen forms, we’re filling the order. We Steinmann girls will show the world what we’re made of!”

She put the heart down and reached her hands out to Johanna and Ruth.

But instead of joining hands with her sisters as they always had in the past to show their common purpose, Ruth jumped up and ran from the room.

Frowning, Marie watched her go.

“What’s wrong with her? Why is she crying when everything’s all right again?”

The weeks that followed passed in the same rhythm as those that had gone before; Marie went to work for Heimer by day, then sat down at the lamp in the evening—often without even stopping to eat supper. Johanna and Ruth did the packing, eight glass hearts to a box. Although she was blowing into a mold, the same shape over and over again, the work made great demands on Marie, and when at last she would turn off the gas tap just before midnight, she was trembling with exhaustion.

Johanna watched with concern as Marie’s features grew sharper and Joost’s old pants flapped more loosely around her legs. From then on, she made sure always to bring Marie something to eat as she sat at the lamp, but most of the time Marie simply waved her away. “I’m fine,” she would claim, rolling her eyes when Johanna gave her a worried look.

Ruth agreed that Johanna was fussing too much. “Marie was always thinner than either of us. I think it suits her,” she said, shrugging. “Other women spend an age putting blush on their cheeks to try to look as radiant as Marie does naturally.”

Johanna had to admit that Ruth was right; she hadn’t quite noticed before, but over the past year Marie had grown to be a real beauty, which not even her curious costume of men’s pants and a black workbench smock could disguise. Quite the opposite, it gave her a certain exotic charm.

And then they had done it again: at the end of November Ruth and Johanna rode off to Sonneberg to deliver the merchandise to the railway station. Marie couldn’t go because it was a weekday and she had to work for Heimer. Ruth was unusually quiet during the trip, her eyes downcast.

Johanna found the right train and took charge of the loading. After that, they went to find the bank where Steven had sent their payment. The counter clerk looked unimpressed by the sizeable sum he was counting out for them, and Johanna picked up the cash as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Their own money, earned by the work of their own hands.

Christmas was suddenly upon them without any of the three sisters quite knowing where it had come from. On December 18, Ruth got another of the letters that had been arriving at the house ever more frequently, as well as a package from New York, which she opened three days before Christmas Eve—her excuse being that perhaps there was something inside that might spoil. Then she came out of the bedroom, proud as a queen, to show off a midnight-blue suit with a blouse of lilac silk. The ensemble was completed by a pair of dark mauve ankle boots. Neither Johanna nor Marie could believe that a man had chosen all this with such an eye for style and fine judgment of her size. And there was more to admire in Steven’s package; he had sent two colorful silk shawls for Johanna and Marie, and a dress of rose-colored lace for Wanda. Ruth smiled quietly to herself as the others went into raptures over their gifts and praised Steven’s generosity.

The only part of the Christmas holiday itself worthy of mention was Marie’s lavishly decorated Christmas tree; when they saw the many new baubles that hung on it, Johanna and Ruth suddenly knew what Marie had been up to every evening behind closed doors in the workshop after they had filled the Valentine order. Their cries of delight were music to Marie’s ears. For the first time in ages, she was pleased with herself and with what she had made: the glittering stars, the dewdrops that gleamed on the silvered pinecones, the wreaths of cream-colored Christmas roses. The new designs had come to her almost fully formed in her mind, without requiring long hours at her sketchpad first. They had taken shape in glass almost as easily. Perhaps studying her art books was already paying off? She rejoiced inwardly.

When the postman approached their house on New Year’s Day, Ruth was halfway out the door before he could even knock.

Marie looked out the window. “Ruth’s giving the postman a whole stack of letters,” she whispered to Johanna. “Is she worried that half of them might never arrive? She must be writing him several letters at once.”

“You know Ruth. She’s turned letter writing into a kind of religion,” Johanna replied.

Marie scurried from the window before Ruth could spot her there.

“I would dearly love to know what she writes to him all the time. There’s surely not that much to report?”

Johanna shrugged. “Apparently there is for Ruth. I could just as well ask why you bury yourself in those dusty old books all the time. They can hardly be that exciting.”

“They are for me!”

“You see.” Sighing, Johanna stood up. “I should imagine Ruth won’t be in the mood to chat for the next few hours. So I’ll make coffee just for the two of us.”

She was just putting the water on to boil when Ruth came in, letting in a gust of ice-cold air.

“There’s a letter to all three of us,” she said, frowning as she held up a thick brown envelope. There was disappointment written all over her face. “I hope nothing went amiss with our delivery. What if half the baubles broke in their boxes?”

“Don’t tempt fate,” Johanna said. She was beside her in an instant and took the letter from her sister. She slit the envelope open with her fingernail, and two smaller envelopes slid into her hand. “This one’s for you,” she said, handing Ruth a cream envelope, which her sister put into her apron pocket as carefully as if it were an egg.

Johanna opened the other letter and unfolded a few sheets of thin notepaper, which all had the green Woolworth diamond as their letterhead. She read through the first lines in haste.

“That can’t be true,” she exclaimed, looking from one sister to the other. “A new order already? How can it be? There must be some mistake.” She began to leaf wildly through the rest of the pages.

As she did so, Ruth pointed to the bottom of the first sheet. “That’s Steven’s handwriting. Johanna, I’m warning you, if you don’t read us what he wrote straightaway then I won’t be answerable for my actions!”

Johanna was busy deciphering the postmark.

“He wrote the letter on December thirteenth,” she answered, frowning.

A moment later, Ruth snatched the letter from her hand and read out the lines that Steven had written.