The Glassblower (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 1)

by Durst-Benning, Petra

  Johanna followed his glance to the clock on the wall. “It can’t be three o’clock already. Time flies when you’re busy.” And when the work is as interesting as this, she thought. She congratulated herself silently as she climbed down from the ladder and untied her apron strings.

  “And you’re sure you want to go home? As I have said, you may use your room on the weekends and holidays as well . . . especially now, in the depths of winter,” Strobel called over his shoulder. Just as he did every day, he was putting the inventory lists into the safe. He always carried the key with him on a long chain.

  “I have to get back to my sisters,” Johanna said. She was hardly going to spend New Year’s Eve alone in her room. Or did he imagine that she was going to join him for the occasion? She could hardly wait to get back to Lauscha. She had only had the chance to send Ruth and Marie a quick note with one of the messenger women, and by now they would certainly be eager to know how the first few days in Sonneberg had been. And Peter! Wouldn’t he be surprised to hear how well she had done for herself? Besides, if she didn’t get to tell someone about all she’d seen and done, she would burst—she knew that much.

  Strobel was just about to shut the heavy safe door when Johanna cleared her throat.

  “Yes?” He turned to look at her.

  “My wages,” she forced herself to say. She was mortified at having to ask, but she had made up her mind that from now on she would have what was her due.

  Strobel laughed. “Good gracious me! I might have clean forgotten that most important detail.” His knees cracked audibly as he squatted down to rummage in the depths of the safe.

  Johanna stood there awkwardly and wrung her hands. This was the moment of truth. Although she had made Strobel agree on Monday that she could have her wages weekly rather than just once a month, she hadn’t been bold enough to ask him how much she would be getting. And he hadn’t said anything of his own accord. Now that it was too late, she was angry at herself for having been so shy. If she was in for another disappointment like with Wilhelm Heimer, then she had only herself to blame.

  “Here.” Friedhelm Strobel stood up, and put a pile of coins into her hand. “That’s six marks for these first three days. It would have been ten, if the New Year’s holiday had not intervened. Ten marks a week, for forty marks a month as wages.” Seeing that she was dumbstruck, he added, “You’ll get a bit more after you’ve served your probation. Always assuming we still get on.” There was that curious smile again.

  Johanna swallowed. Ten marks a week. Forty marks a month. More after the probation. Nobody at home would believe it! She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from squealing with delight. Strobel mustn’t imagine that she would fall at his feet from sheer gratitude just because she was a country girl. Although she very nearly felt like doing just that.

  “How long am I on probation?” she asked instead.

  Strobel went over to his shop counter and found the calendar for the coming year. “If we agree on half a year, then your probation will be over on the twenty-ninth of June exactly!” He pointed to the date.

  Johanna nodded, feeling stupid. “I wish you a happy New Year,” she said, making sure her voice sounded friendly. She wanted to be absolutely sure that her first week ended on a harmonious note. She put her hand on the door handle, and then turned round once more. Strobel was just turning down the flame in the gas lamps, and she had trouble making out his figure in the darkness. “Thank you for taking me on,” she said quickly, and then vanished.

  Smiling, Strobel watched her go.

  Johanna Steinmann.

  He would never have expected the old year to drop such a gift in his lap. A gift? No, it was a twist of fate.

  Instead of locking up and going back to his own apartment, he sat down on the sofa reserved for clients. He didn’t usually see the room from this angle, but now he ran his eye around the place, feeling the pride of ownership. He had to admit it was impressive: not just planks on frames like most of his competitors had, but fitted shelving of mahogany and rosewood. And no shabby old floorboards squeaking at every step. Instead he had the finest parquet flooring, which he had ordered specially from southern Germany. He found himself thinking of the letter from B. and of all the spiteful thoughts he had had about his beautiful business when he read it. He’d called it a shackle on his freedom, a ball-and-chain around his leg. But no longer! Now that he was well on his way to training Johanna up to be a skilled shop assistant, it was only a matter of time. Perhaps he would even be able to travel for a couple of weeks in the spring, knowing that he’d left his business in good hands? Even if not, he would be able to take B. up on their invitation no later than the coming summer.

  So far Johanna turned out to be a quick learner. He had never expected otherwise. She had a sharp mind and was a hard worker. Everything else—elegance, self-confidence, and a certain worldliness—would come with time, he would make sure of that. Once Johanna had learned what he had to teach her, she would be able to cope with any kind of customer whether arrogant, hesitant, or simply difficult. The fact that she knew no foreign languages would be a problem, but she would surely be able to learn a few words of English and French—enough at least to greet customers.

  Johanna Steinmann.

  She was simply not like the others. He moistened his lips. Perhaps he should train her up to be more than just his shop assistant. Lost in thought, he bit off a little scrap of skin. Johanna Steinmann was a diamond in the rough. Good raw material, perhaps the very best. But that was only the beginning. It was up to him to make of her what he could. He could cut and shape her to perfection. He giggled at the thought, and the sound filled the silent shop. He was a gem cutter, and Johanna was his diamond. The world might think he wanted to make her shine. But any street-corner jeweler could cut rhinestones to a high gleam. Friedhelm Strobel wanted something else; he wanted sharp edges, clean facets.

  If he wanted it, Johanna would be a sweet little something on the side, in between his visits to B.

  But was that what he wanted?

  Like a connoisseur rolling a drop of wine across his tongue, testing the bouquet, he played with the thought, still unsure whether he could stick to whatever decision he made.

  23

  It was so good to be home.

  Johanna found herself thinking of the parable of the Prodigal Son as Ruth brought dish after dish to the table and even conjured a bottle of wine from somewhere. Johanna had no idea when her sister had found time to cook all the food.

  “I don’t want you to go to all this trouble just for me. You may not believe it, but we do have food in Sonneberg as well!”

  “Yes, but you must be hungry after the long walk home, and cold as well. And Peter certainly is!” Ruth squeezed onto the bench next to Marie and held out the bread basket to their guest.

  “I caught a ride most of the way. A slate-maker took me on his cart as far as Steinach. He didn’t ask nearly as much as the railway does for a ticket. And he said that I can ride with him every Friday,” Johanna told them. “But it was a lovely surprise to see you waiting there for me,” she said to Peter, who was sitting next to her. “How did you even know when I would be coming home?”

  He shrugged. “A day’s work in Sonneberg can’t last any longer than it does in Lauscha, can it?” He had actually spent well over an hour standing waiting at the edge of the village, but he kept that to himself.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Johanna said, getting up again to fetch her bag. “I brought you something.”

  “Salted herring!” Ruth clapped her hands, almost snatching the jar from Johanna. “And you only tell us now?” She took her fork and fished a herring out onto her plate, and then another. “It’s almost like old times . . .”

  For a moment her comment hung in the air like an icy breath. There was an awkward silence. It still hurt to think of Joost Steinmann.

  Pe
ter cleared his throat. “So go on and tell us. How have you been doing in Sonneberg?”

  Johanna grinned. She looked from Peter to her sisters. “I’m doing well.” She didn’t know where to start.

  “We want to know everything!” Marie said. “Where do you live? What’s Strobel like? What do you do all day? And and and . . .” She leaned across the table to Johanna.

  Johanna held up both hands to fend off the questions. “All right then, all right. Well, it’s like this: I get up at seven o’clock. Then . . .”

  “You get up at seven o’clock,” Ruth broke in. “And who wakes you up?” She winked at Marie.

  “Nobody! Believe it or not, now that I don’t have anybody to rely on in the mornings, I somehow manage to wake up on my own. Though it’s still dreadfully hard.” She made a face.

  “It almost sounds as though it was my fault that you were always so groggy in the mornings,” Ruth said sharply.

  “Nonsense,” Johanna said, smiling to placate her.

  Marie waved this all away; it was all water under the bridge. “So? What next? What’s your room like?”

  “My room’s small but very pretty. There’s a bed with a real feather duvet. And a window looking out onto the yard, with a table and chair by it. It has wallpaper with a sort of blue-and-white pattern. There’s a mirror as well, and the housekeeper brings me a basin of hot water every morning, which means I can wash in my room.”

  “So there’s a housekeeper,” Ruth declared enviously.

  Johanna decided not to mention the lavender soap for the moment, even if it did smell wonderful. “Her name’s Sybille Stein and she’s everything that Edeltraud isn’t. She’s as skinny as a goat and not much older than I am. She’s a neighbor’s wife. She doesn’t live in the house of course, but she comes round every morning at six o’clock. She makes up the fire in the kitchen, heats the water, and gets breakfast. And while we’re eating she goes off to the stockroom and opens the shutters and lights the lamps so that it’s nice and bright when we get in.”

  “And Strobel? Where does he sleep?”

  “His apartment is up on the second floor, but I’ve never been in there. My room’s right behind the shop, next to the kitchen.”

  “That’s good. I still don’t like the idea that you spend your nights sleeping in a strange man’s house,” Peter said, his eyes blazing.

  Ruth smiled. “Are you jealous? To be honest I wouldn’t like the idea either.”

  “I certainly felt a little odd the first two nights. After all, I’ve never spent the night on my own before. I pricked up my ears at every strange sound,” Johanna admitted. “But really, there’s nothing to it. Every parlor maid and scullery maid has to spend the night in her master’s house as well.” She shrugged. She would never have believed that she could get used to a strange room so quickly, with all its strange sounds and smells.

  “And many a maid has been sent home from work in the family way.”

  “Peter!” Marie turned scarlet. Ruth giggled.

  “But it’s the truth! And better to talk about it out in the open now than regret it later. Joost cosseted you girls for years so that nothing happened to you. It’s no surprise that you know less about life than other women. Johanna, you probably wouldn’t even notice if Strobel had some kind of mischief in mind with you.”

  Johanna shook her head. “Nonsense. How naive do you think we are? If Friedhelm Strobel had any untoward designs upon me, I should certainly notice. But he is as correct and honorable as a man can be.” Johanna didn’t mention that she still felt a little uneasy around him. “Quite apart from which, I have my own key, and I always lock my door at night. Strobel told me to do that himself. He said that some villains broke into his stockroom once. And that he didn’t want me to be in any danger if it happened again.” She looked around at each of them in turn to see how they reacted to the news. Surely that was proof enough of Strobel’s honorable conduct?

  “Anyway,” she went on. “Strobel always reads the newspaper at breakfast and pays me no attention at all. Not that I mind.”

  The others laughed.

  “When the clock strikes half past seven, he folds the newspaper. That’s the sign that we must start the day’s work. The shop has been closed to customers this week, but we’ve been working all day every day despite that.” She began to tell them about stocktaking. “Hand-carved combs and hair clasps made of horn, powder compacts . . .”

  Once Johanna started listing all that was hidden away in the drawers, Ruth’s eyes began to sparkle. “Strobel’s shop sounds like a treasure chest! What I wouldn’t give to be allowed to borrow just one of those lovely things!” Ruth said.

  Johanna decided that as soon as she had saved a bit of money she would buy something for Ruth. Maybe Strobel would give her some kind of discount?

  “You would be amazed if you could see all the lovely painted porcelain and glass,” Johanna said, turning to Marie. “This is the first time I’ve gotten to see what all the other glassblowers spend their days making. Some of it is quite gorgeous!” She sat up straight and squared her shoulders. “But now it’s your turn: What have you all been up to?”

  Ruth and Marie looked at one another.

  “Heimer doesn’t seem to hold it against us that he had such a blazing row with you. Or at least he behaves just the same as he ever did. And the work’s the same as well!” Ruth shrugged. “And apart from that? There’s nothing really to tell.”

  Ruth wouldn’t say a word about Thomas with Peter sitting there. “And how’s Griseldis?” Johanna asked.

  “She’s still sick. She’s certain to miss the money after not working all week.”

  “Widow Grün is well accustomed to getting by on not very much,” Peter said. “When Josef Grün was still alive, there was never any money in the house. He spent it all down at the Black Eagle.”

  “A husband who boozes instead of looking after his family—I don’t think I could live with that,” Ruth replied.

  Peter opened his mouth and then shut it again, biting back whatever he was going to say.

  “If you ask me, your Thomas is hardly moderate in his drinking,” Marie said sharply.

  “That’s different! Working at the lamp just makes him thirsty, he says. How can you compare him to a drunkard?” Ruth almost shrieked.

  “As far as I can see the Heimers are all drunkards,” Marie replied disdainfully. “Father never used to drink so much as a drop of beer while he was working. And in the evenings, he drank half of what the Heimers put away. The way they sometimes stink of beer even first thing in the morning is dreadful!”

  “I don’t think it’s right that Griseldis doesn’t get any wages just because she’s ill. It’s hardly her fault that she’s sick,” Johanna said, changing the subject before her sisters’ squabbling could become a full-blown argument. “It wouldn’t hurt Heimer to pay her at least some of her wages for this week.”

  “What an idea! What good does she do him when she’s ill? None at all. So there’s no need to pay her,” Ruth replied vehemently, as if it were her own money at stake.

  “It could very well be that she didn’t fall ill because her stove was broken, but because of the work,” Johanna replied. “I know that I came home with a headache often enough from the stench of that silver solution.”

  “Just wait. You’ll soon be getting headaches from doing sums all day long,” Peter teased her.

  Marie clapped her hands. “That’s enough, all of you! The old year may not have been the best we’ve ever had, but let’s not spend the last few hours squabbling. That only brings bad luck for the new year!” She pointedly picked up a slice of bread and offered it to Johanna.

  While she spread butter on the bread, Johanna tried desperately to think of some topic of conversation that wasn’t so divisive.

  24

  The first lesson that Johanna learn
ed from Friedhelm Strobel was “Salesmanship is an art!”

  Even on her first day at work in the new year, she had an inkling that there was more to it than just “give the man what he wants.” However, it took some time for her to realize that Strobel was a master in his profession.

  He knew every one of his customers by name, and he knew what kind of business each had and what he would be looking for. He tailored his behavior so perfectly to each of his customers that he knew just the words they wanted to hear, even the tone of voice in which to speak them. For some customers, he described the wares in such extravagantly flowery language that Johanna had to bite the inside of her cheek to stifle a giggle. With others, he hardly mentioned an item’s decorative features, but talked instead about its market appeal and price. When customers knew what they wanted, he let them have all the time in the world picking out the wares, but if a customer was hesitant, he harried him into making a decision. By the end of the process, every customer had ordered exactly what the wholesaler had chosen for him, felt pleased with their choices, and believed they had been given the best possible advice.

  It would have been quite enough for her to spend the first few weeks simply peering inconspicuously over his shoulder, memorizing names and faces. She was astonished at how skillfully he handled the clients and wondered how she was ever supposed to be able to help in this regard. Whenever the bell over the door rang, she faded into the background as best she could to draw up lists or dust the shelves, only coming forward if Strobel called for her, which he often did. Every time, her heart leapt into her mouth.

  “What is the meaning of all this? Have you some reason to creep into hiding like a mouse?” he asked irritably on the third day, when she had once again emerged timidly from behind the counter. “You are my assistant, so kindly behave like one!”

  Johanna felt her hackles rise like a hedgehog’s quills, in a mixture of stubbornness, fear, and uncertainty.