The Glassblower (38 page)

32

It was almost nine o’clock on Saturday morning.

Peter should have been sitting at his lamp already. Wanda had picked up the card of sample eye colors from his table the week before and thrown it on the floor. He really had to make a new set since he could hardly offer his patients a pile of glass shards from which to choose their colors. But another five minutes of rest wouldn’t do him any harm, he decided, and he lay back down. He had all day, after all, and he hoped he might have some peace and quiet too.

He could hear the clattering of pots and running water from next door—Marie was probably putting the water on for coffee. Ever since they had taken down the wall between the two workshops, he could hear most of what went on over there: Wanda crying or the sisters arguing, visitors at the door, or Marie cursing like a sailor as she worked on her sketches. If he didn’t make a conscious effort not to listen, he could hear everything. He had also heard Ruth leave early that morning—indeed, it had been more like the middle of the night. At any rate, the birds had not yet begun to sing. Instead of leaving the house quietly with Wanda, she had trotted up and down the stairs countless times, opening and closing every door in the house so that anyone might think there was an army marching through. Unless he was much mistaken, she had even opened his door and looked in. He had wondered what in the world she thought she was looking for, but just pulled the covers up over his head as far as they would go.

He plumped up his pillow and settled his head again. Women!

But Ruth’s noisy departure had been pretty typical of the entire week. He wouldn’t have been able to bear so much commotion in the house every day of the year. Even Marie had called by every half hour or so. “Should I give Ruth this bauble to take with her, or that one?” And “Do you think I should put in some of my sketches on paper as well?” Not that she had ever been happy with his answers. Every single time, she had run off to Magnus right afterward to ask his opinion too.

And all because Woolworth’s agent was coming today. And this despite the fact that they already had the order, signed and sealed, and there were only a few details left to sort out. If even tha
t . . .
Perhaps it was just that Ruth and her American prince wanted another chance to meet. Peter had been more than somewhat surprised when Johanna had told him about all that. Ruth writing letters? On the other hand, what else did she have to do with her time?

The door slammed loudly shut once more, and Peter remembered that Marie had planned to go up to the forest with Magnus this morning. They were going to gather snail shells to use in casting new molds. He made a face. That was another task awaiting him. In an unguarded moment, he had promised Marie that he would sound out old Strupp over a glass of beer or two and try to find out what went into his special mixture for the molds. He knew already that this was doomed to failure—Emanuel Strupp would never get so drunk that he would reveal his secret recipe. So they would just have to go on using their own lesser molds, even though they always eventually shattered.

Snail shells! On a Christmas tree. Peter had to grin. Was that the kind of thing that Americans would like? He would have liked to know where her ideas came from.

Then he heard the patter of feet down the stairs. Johanna, barefoot. Ever since business had taken off in the workshop, she had almost boundless energy. Although sometimes she could have done them all a favor by giving herself and everyone else a little rest. Now for example. Once she started on her chores, it would be the end of his quiet lie-in.

The next moment he heard the smashing of broken glass and a loud cry from Johanna.

He sighed and swung his legs out of the bed. Since it seemed like he would have no peace this morning, he decided to go and look in on Johanna. Now that the Steinmann sisters had robbed him of a quiet start to the weekend, the least they owed him was a cup of coffee.

Peter could see from the stairs that the shards of a glass bowl lay scattered on the kitchen floor. What was odd was that Johanna wasn’t already busy sweeping them up.

She was at the table with her back to the door, sitting bolt upright.

He called “Good morning!” from the doorway just to be sure he didn’t startle her.

She didn’t turn around to face him, didn’t return his greeting, didn’t explain how the accident had happened.

Peter raised his eyebrows. Was this Johanna’s famous morning moodiness?

“Have you looked out the window up toward the meadows yet? The last of the trees have burst into flower, and there are white blossoms wherever you look. It almost looks as though it’s been snowing.”

He sat down across from Johanna, resolved to ignore whatever was bothering her. But one look at her face was enough to shatter that resolve. It was white as chalk. Before he could even ask her what was wrong, she held a sheet of paper out to him. Her hands were trembling.

A letter. He recognized Ruth’s handwriting.

“I just can’t believe it,” Johanna said in a hollow voice. “It can’t be true, can it?”

He read it through three times, then put it aside. He was speechless.

“She can’t really mean it. She wants to give us a shock, that’s all,” Johanna said, blinking as though there were something in her eye. “It’s a stupid joke. She’ll be back this evening. Of course she will!”

Who was she trying to convince? Herself? Ruth wasn’t the kind of woman to play stupid tricks like that. Which was precisely what made the letter so unsettling.

He took Johanna’s hand. “I think we’ll have to get used to the idea that Ruth’s not coming back.”

“Why do you say that?” Johanna asked, withdrawing her hand reproachfully.

“Because that’s how it is,” he said gruffly.

“But she hardly knows this Steven!” she cried out in despair. “How can she follow a total stranger to the other side of the world? To an uncertain future? What if he tires of her tomorrow? And she has a child. And she’s married. It’s madness!”

“Well, I don’t kno
w . . .
is it? What does she really have to lose? Try to put yourself in her shoes.”

Johanna’s features hardened. “I can’t possibly know what goes on in her mind.”

Peter ignored her remark. “What kind of future would she have in Lauscha? She didn’t want to go back to Thomas, not for all the world; she made that clear enough. Was she going to live in this house forever?”

“Would that have been so bad? We’re here too, after all. We could have taken care of her and Wanda.”

“Think about it. Ruth would never have settled for that. She needs something else. Mor
e . . .
how can I even put this? More
sparkle
in her life. And a man who tells her how beautiful she is, a man whose love she can bask in.” Peter didn’t feel entirely comfortable talking about such sensitive topics. Johanna’s mood seemed to brighten a bit, however.

“And you think this Steven’s the man? Don’t you think that he wa
s . . .
after something else?” There was still a trace of skepticism in her voice.

“He wouldn’t have to go to such lengths for
that
,” Peter said decisively, pointing to the letter.

“She never said a word, not the whole time. Did she think she couldn’t trust us?” Johanna’s upper lip was trembling now. “If only she had just told us what she and Steven were planning! After all, we won’t stand in her way.”

“Don’t cry now. That’s not what Ruth would want.” Peter shook her arm gently.

There were hot tears running down Johanna’s face. “I’ll miss her so muc
h . . .
” she sobbed.

“Come here,” he said, and opened his arms. She clung to him like a fledgling seeking the warmth of the nest.

For a while they just sat there, her head on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He could feel her heartbeat and every breath she took. The hair at the nape of her neck was a little damp and clung to her skin. He blew softly onto it, and the strands lifted in the puff of air.

Peter felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed hard.

Damn it all, even if she stayed as stubborn as a mule to the end of her days, he would always love her.

Johanna broke free of his grasp a moment later. She rooted around in the pocket of her apron for a handkerchief, then blew her nose loudly. When she had put it back in her pocket, she looked at Peter, her eyes bright.

“Ruth’s beginning a new life in America. Marie has her ar
t . . .
” She reached for his hand.

Her fingers were still wet with tears when he took hold of them.

“Now we just have each other,” she whispered, and her eyelids fluttered like a butterfly’s wings. “Or are you fed up with me by now?”

Peter couldn’t even shake his head. His heart was full to bursting with love. How long he had waited to hear her say something like this! Why did joy and sorrow always come hand in hand?

Johanna was looking at him. Expectantly, uncertainly.

“You won’t get rid of me so easily; you know that,” he said at last, and managed to smile.

As he spoke, he saw something blaze up in her eyes that he had looked for in vain all these years—a woman’s love.

She curled up in his embrace.

33

Steven had told her that with only five hundred cabin-class passengers and eighteen hundred in steerage, the
Valkyrie
was one of the smaller ocean liners. But when their carriage had stopped in front of the ship during a sightseeing tour of the Hamburg docks the day before, it had looked anything but small to Ruth. No, it was a giant—a giant of gleaming gray metal.

This impression was only reinforced as she followed Steven up the gangway with Wanda on her arm. The people down on the quayside looked so tiny. She couldn’t even see the stern of the ship from where they were standing now, and its gleaming silver flanks seemed to stretch away forever. Ruth had read an article about the ocean liners in one of the magazines that Johanna used to bring home from Sonneberg; in the article, the ships were referred to as “floating cities.” The writer had described the elegant restaurants and ballrooms on board, and noted that a person could lose his way among the endless mirror-lined halls and staircases. When she had read it, Ruth had thought that whoever wrote the article must be vastly exaggerating.

They shuffled forward at a snail’s pace, stopping to wait with almost every step, because the passengers ahead were held up. Steven had told her that it would be evening by the time the last passenger had been assigned a cabin. However, since the line for first class was significantly shorter than those for second and third class, he expected that they would have their cabins that morning.

Though Wanda was rather heavy in her arms, Ruth didn’t mind the wait. On the contrary—she looked all around with boundless curiosity. Ruth drank up every detail like a sponge: the hectic activity on the quayside, the families saying farewell, the elegantly dressed gentlemen and even more elegantly dressed ladies all around them. Hats seemed to be the latest fashion, and there was hardly a woman in line who didn’t have some fantastic creation perched on her head. Ruth put her hand to her head self-consciously and adjusted her own hat, a startling item made of velvet with a thick plume of purple feathers on the side. She pulled it a little farther down over her brow. When Steven had insisted on buying matching hats for all of her outfits, his generosity had been almost too much for her. But now she was glad she looked like the other ladies who were boarding the ship.

Steven turned to her.

“Are you quite sure you don’t want me to take Wanda?”

Ruth shook her head. “We’re all right, thank you. You have to hold the papers anyway.” She pointed to the sheaf of documents that he had fanned out in his right hand.

“It’ll all be fine, you’ll see,” he whispered, then turned to face forward again.

The more Steven assured her of this, the more nervous Ruth became.

She had had no time to worry about the papers on the journey to Hamburg or during the last two days here. There had been so much to see, to buy, to try on or try out. And everywhere, Steven was at her side, smiling with delight, ready to encourage her to any excess. Coffee and cakes in an English tea shop? Why not? A rocking horse for Wanda, with real horsehide? Of course they had room for that in their luggage. When Ruth complained that her feet ached after going around to so many shops, Steven snapped his fingers and called for a hansom cab. When Ruth climbed in, relieved that she didn’t have to walk all the way back to the hotel on the Alster waterfront, she was quite startled to find that the cab took them not to the hotel but to a stylish beauty salon where Steven booked a pedicure with a dainty, almost doll-like woman. While the woman’s soft hands pampered Ruth’s feet and rubbed in soothing, scented oils, Steven and Wanda went for a walk in a nearby park. When she went to join them later, her heart almost burst with happiness at the sight of the two of them busily feeding the pigeons.

She loved this man so much that it hurt.

A smile flitted across Ruth’s face, smoothing away the worry. Those days in Hamburg had been like a glimpse into a kaleidoscope, which revealed new marvels and adventures at every turn. Her fears had simply vanished in the flood of new impressions. And if she did feel a pang of worry or a twinge of regret, Steven made it vanish in the night.

But now, here on the gangway, there was nothing to distract from the question of what would happen if her papers were found to be forged.

There was only one passenger left in front of them, an older gentleman who was having his papers checked and cabin assigned.

Ship’s officers in navy-blue uniforms stood to the left and right of the head of the gangway and greeted every passenger with a friendly “welcome aboard.” Ruth could see a whole army of uniforms behind them. She longed to be aboard—not only because they would wait on her hand and foot but also because that would mean she had made it past the two border policemen, who stood in front of the serried ranks of uniformed ship’s staff. They had stern faces and watchful eyes.

“Your papers please!”

With a charming smile, Steven handed the papers to the policeman on the left.

The man glanced at the two passports and then began to leaf through his thick sheaf of papers to find their names on his list.

Ruth was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he handed Steven’s passport back to him, stamped several times over. But when he opened her passport, he seemed to find much more to interest him there. He raised his eyebrows and glanced at her curiously.

Ruth made an effort to gaze straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the wrought-iron decoration of the grand double doors, which had been thrown open wide for the passengers to enter through. How much longer was this man going to spend staring at her documents?

She felt his eyes on her face again. Should she try to stare him down with a haughty look?

Just then, Wanda showed the particular talent children have for knowing when their mother’s attention has drifted. Seizing her chance, she took hold of the feathers that were nodding so intriguingly right in front of her nose. With her little hand, Wanda grabbed Ruth’s hat by the brim, and the next moment it flew from the gangway in a high, curving arc.

“My hat!”

“The hat!” cried Steven and the border policeman.

Wanda beamed at the faces turned toward her.

“Welcome aboard, Baroness von Lausche.”

The man bowed slightly and handed her the passport. His face had cleared, the frown was gone, his lips were no longer pursed, and he even seemed to smile slightly.

“And do take care that the little lady doesn’t throw anything else overboard!”

The passport felt so good in her hand! Ruth gave the man one of her most dazzling smiles.

“I shall be sure to!”

Steven had taken two adjoining first-class cabins, and now a young steward who could hardly have been older than Ruth led them there. He unlocked both cabins and promised to have their luggage for the voyage brought up in the next half hour. Steven handed him a banknote and the man bowed as he took it. Then he hurried away, his footsteps swallowed up by the dark blue carpet with the yellow fleur-de-lis motif.

Wanda was kicking and squirming, and as soon as they were in the cabin, Ruth put her down on the floor.

“Steven!” She put a hand to her mouth. “This cabin is even bigger than our room at the Hotel Savarin! And it’s beautiful. Look at that: the windows really are round!” She ran across to one of the three portholes and ran her fingers across the curved glass. Her eyes fell on the wall next to it.

“They’ve even hung an oil painting. Aren’t they afraid we’ll steal it?” She giggled.

Her eyes gleamed as she gazed around the room, taking it all in. Across from the bed, a small sofa and two dainty armchairs were arranged around a small table—she had read about such suites in the ladies’ magazines Johanna used to bring her—and the whole of the wall behind them was taken up by a built-in wardrobe. Even though Steven had been more than generous when buying her clothes, everything she had with her would fit comfortably into just one section.

“I would never have dreamed of such luxury. I don’t know what to say.” Ruth sat down on the bed, taken aback. The pale beige silk bedcover was so generously draped that it fell in folds to the floor. Wanda was doing her best to climb up onto the sofa, babbling merrily all the while.

Steven sat down next to Ruth and took her hand.

“I’m glad you like it. When I’m traveling with Mr. Woolworth, I seldom get the chance to enjoy first class.” He laughed. “Frank doesn’t set much store by a well-kept room; he’d rather sleep wherever is cheapest.”

If not even Woolworth traveled in such styl
e . . .
All of a sudden Ruth felt scared by the splendor. Could Steven even afford this?

She shook herself. “Steven, I don’t want you running up bills just on my account. Maybe there are some less expensive cabins elsewhere on the ship. Shouldn’t we at least ask? As long as the ship doesn’t sink and you’re by my side, I really don’t care where we sleep.” She could see out of the corner of her eye that Wanda had managed to clamber up onto the sofa.

Steven took her chin gently in his right hand. When her eyes were gazing straight into his, he smiled and said firmly, “My love, I don’t want you to worry about anything anymore. Not about money or anything else. You should just be happy and enjoy what life has to offer. Do you remember what I promised you our first night together? I want to make your life a paradise on earth. Please let me do that.”

She was about to answer him when a movement distracted her. Her mouth curled up in an involuntary smile.

Sensitive to her every shift in mood, Steven followed her glance and then laughed.

Wanda had put Ruth’s shawl on. Holding her mother’s handbag on her lap, she sat in the middle of the sofa like a princess.

“It looks like Wanda’s taken to her new lifestyle like a duck to water!” He waved at Wanda. “But is that surprising? Given her lineage?”

Ruth groaned. “Don’t remind me! Why on earth did your forger friend do that to us?” Baroness Ruthwicka von Lausche—it was bad enough that the fellow had decided to make her an aristocrat, but the name itself was ridiculous.

Steven just laughed. “I think Ruthwicka was a wonderful idea. What if he’d made you an Amanda? Or an Ottilie? Either you’d have jumped every time I called you by the new name, or you wouldn’t have reacted at all. And I think that being a baroness suits you wonderfully.”

“Do you think so?” she asked, half reconciled to the idea. She had to admit that it had a certain mystique.

“I certainly do. You’ll be the talk of the whole ship. Now then!” He stood up and offered Ruth his hand. “I suggest that we go and take our first look around.”

No sooner had they stepped into the first salon than other passengers drew them into conversation. Wherever they went, there was always someone who wanted to introduce himself and talk for a while. The fact that they would be spending the next two weeks in one another’s company seemed to make people inclined to talk.

Casting off from the quayside at Hamburg was a tearful occasion, but once it was over, the bell rang for the first dinner seating. When one of the stewards led them to their table, Ruth was momentarily alarmed; she had been expecting a table just for Steven, Wanda, and herself, not this great round table seating eight diners. But a moment later, she felt Steven’s hand on her back, lending her courage and confidence.

At the beginning of the meal Ruth still felt rather awkward and chose to smile at their fellow passengers rather than take part in conversation. But once Steven had introduced her, their reactions left her no chance to feel insecure. And Wanda’s lovable nature made the whole situation easier. Ruth’s daughter conquered the whole of the
Valkyrie
with her cherubic smile. Before the evening was over, one waiter brought her extra little treats, an old gentleman at the table knotted his napkin into animal shapes to entertain her, and one of the ladies had picked her up and walked her around for a while. Ruth swelled with pride as she watched complete strangers succumb to her daughter’s charms.

When dinner was over, they finally had a moment alone. Steven suggested a stroll around the deck before they went to sleep. Ruth agreed—she would have agreed to anything!

They stopped on the sundeck amidships, a lonely spot lit by two gas lamps. Ruth put Wanda down on one of the deck chairs, which were arranged in neat rows awaiting the passengers who would lie there the next day to drink in the sun. Steven covered her with his jacket.

Arm in arm they stood at the railing and savored the breeze on their faces.

“I’ve never seen the sunset so red,” Ruth said, her eyes gleaming as she pointed west.

“It’s because there’s nothing here to block the sun’s rays. It has room to show its full splendor. And over there, where the sun glows warmest, that’s your new home,” Steven whispered in her hair as the red ball sank slowly but inexorably down into the boundless sea before them.

“I’m so happy I could cry,” Ruth whispered. And in fact, a few tears spilled down her cheeks.

Steven pulled her closer.

“You mustn’t cry; you should be happy. Learn from your daughter’s example!”

“What about her?” Ruth asked quietly, fighting the tears.

“She seems to be enjoying her new life with all her heart. It’s an unusual gift that a child has, and it’s one that’s well worth emulating.” Steven laughed quietly. “Anybody watching Wanda today might believe that she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth!”

Ruth’s gaze wandered lovingly over Wanda’s small body and blonde curls, bright against the dark cloth of Steven’s jacket. No, there had been no silver spoons where she came from. Ruth looked back at Steven, her eyes gleaming with pride.

“If anything, it was a
glass
spoon!”