The Glassblower (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 1)

by Durst-Benning, Petra

  “Thank you for such a warm welcome home,” Johanna answered dryly. “These things very nearly killed me,” she said as she reached into her bag for the presents that she had brought. She didn’t want her sisters to think she had forgotten about them.

  While Marie opened her box of colored chalks with delight, Ruth looked skeptically at the little package that Johanna had brought for her. “Henna,” she read aloud from the label. “What’s this supposed to be?”

  Johanna smiled as she explained.

  “It’s a powder that gives brown hair a wonderful red tint. The lady in the perfumer’s told me that it comes from India. Apparently the women there use it. You put it into a bucket of water and then wash your hair with it.”

  Once the gifts had been admired, Ruth began to get supper ready. Johanna put her feet up and watched her sister work.

  “Oh, it’s good to be home again,” she said, sighing pleasurably. Then she began to tell what had happened that week.

  “Strobel said that although it was very sad of course that Sybille Stein’s husband is at home with a broken leg, he simply can’t allow her to leave the house every half hour to go and look in on him. Lunch has to be on the table when we shut the shop at twelve o’clock sharp.” Quite without her noticing it, Johanna’s voice had taken on a chiding tone.

  “What if Heimer had said a thing like that? You would have spat fire at him,” Ruth said from where she stood by the stove.

  “That’s different,” Johanna said indignantly. “Strobel was quite right to scold her. After all, it’s not as though I could take care of lunch.”

  “And would that really be so bad?” Ruth replied. “Are you too fine for that sort of thing now?”

  “Nonsense! It’s just . . . that isn’t part of my job!”

  “And what is your job exactly?” Ruth asked, standing on tiptoe as she moved around the oven. “Doing the chores, my goodness no!” Then she turned to Johanna and went on. “I’ve had to give old Edel a hand in the kitchen from time to time. I didn’t think that was beneath me.”

  Marie looked up. “But if I remember right, you wouldn’t say a word to Thomas the next day because he hadn’t sprung to your defense about doing the kitchen work.”

  “That was for other reasons,” Ruth spat out, her chin held high.

  Johanna was too tired to carry on the argument, so she turned to Marie. “What are you drawing these days?” she asked.

  “It’s a design for a decorated vase,” Marie replied. “Heimer said this week that we have to change with the times. And the taste these days is for glass that’s painted like porcelain.”

  “So it is,” Johanna said, relieved to have something she could agree with her sister about. “Though Heimer’s wrong if he thinks that he’s ahead of the times. Strobel says that frosted glass is old hat by now. Apparently the glassblowers were making it a hundred years ago—can you believe it? So Strobel says that it’s more of a renaissance.”

  Marie looked blank, and Johanna realized that the word meant nothing to her. Hastily she kept on talking, trying not to sound like a know-it-all. “At any rate, painted glass is very much in fashion. Especially hunting scenes but anything with human figures as well. Sometimes I’m amazed what people spend their hard-earned money on. And I wonder where in the world all the glassware from Lauscha really ends up.” She laughed.

  “Let’s have a look!” she said, moving Marie’s arm aside to get a good look at the drawing. Two doves sat on a branch, their beaks together; beneath them was a curving, twining frame around the word “Inseparable.”

  “That’s really lovely,” Johanna said, impressed. “They look just like real doves!”

  Ruth put down the teapot and sat down at the table.

  “It’s certainly a lovely design. But Madame isn’t considering how hard it will be to paint these fine lines onto glass,” Ruth said, pointing to the feathers.

  Marie let the criticism bounce off her. “Maybe you’ll be doing the silvering or the packing when we get round to making these vases.”

  “Oh, and wouldn’t it suit you perfectly if you were the only one who ever got to paint.”

  Listening to the good-natured squabbling of the other two, Johanna suddenly felt strangely excluded.

  “Thomas invited me to the May dance next week,” Ruth suddenly burst out. Her cheeks flushed as she scooted closer to Johanna. “Just think, we spinsters are finally going to get to see the May dancing! And that’s not all. There’s some other news as well—” She stopped abruptly, as though having second thoughts. “Oh, I’m so excited I can hardly sleep at night!”

  Johanna raised her eyebrows. “It can’t be all that exciting. And you?” she asked, turning to Marie. “Are you going to the dance as well?” She quietly congratulated herself on having bought new blouses for her sisters. They would be just right for the occasion.

  “Of course she’s coming,” Ruth answered. “All three of us must go.” She looked at the door. “I was expecting Peter to stop in. He . . .” She bit her lip. “I don’t know whether I’m supposed to say, but he wants to invite you to the dance. He even asked me what kind of flowers you like.” She giggled. “I can hardly wait to see what bouquet Thomas will give me!”

  Marie smiled and gave Ruth a nudge. “As if it’s the flowers you care about!”

  Johanna looked from one to the other. Something was going on. What were these two making such a big secret of?

  “I’m sorry to say that you mustn’t depend on me to come to the May dance.” When she saw her sisters’ smiles freeze on their lips, she went on to explain about the American businessman, Woolworth, and the importance of his visit.

  “I really am very sorry,” she repeated, though in truth, she didn’t feel she’d miss very much. Of course the May dance would be a fine opportunity to show off her new dress and let Wilhelm Heimer know that she was getting on very well without him. But annoyed as she was with Peter, she didn’t want him asking her to the dance. Besides, this was the first time that Strobel had asked her to do anything out of the ordinary, and she was glad of the chance to repay some of his generosity.

  She began to spread soft cheese with chives onto a thick slice of black bread. After a week of dainty dishes, she always longed for Ruth’s simple home fare on Fridays. She took a hearty bite of bread, savoring the cool, fresh taste of the white cheese on her tongue. After a couple more bites, she realized that the sound of her chewing was the only sound in the room. When she looked up, her eyes met Ruth’s.

  “You’ve certainly changed, Johanna Steinmann!” her sister said icily. “And you don’t need to go kicking me under the table,” she snapped at Marie, then turned back to Johanna.

  “For the first time in ages we’ve got a reason to celebrate, and what do you do? Turn your nose up at it.”

  “But it’s just a perfectly ordinary village dance!” Johanna said, feeling hurt. “None of us would have even thought of going while Father was alive. Don’t you remember? It was quite enough for us to see all the drunken souls lying in the streets still sleeping it off the next morning while we walked to church for the May service. We used to have a good laugh at them!” Her smile faded as she saw Ruth’s stony expression. Johanna sighed.

  “If it wasn’t such an important customer coming to visit . . .” She stopped when she noticed tears in Ruth’s eyes. “Goodness gracious, what’s the matter?”

  Instead of answering, Ruth shook her head stubbornly.

  “She and Thomas are going to announce their engagement at the dance,” Marie told Johanna.

  Blast it, so things were getting serious between those two. She put her hand on Ruth’s arm.

  “Then why didn’t you say so? There was no way I could have known. I . . .” Before she could continue, Ruth shook off her hand.

  “I don’t even want you there. It’s just a perfectly ordinary village dance after
all. And Strobel’s clients are so much more important, aren’t they?” Now she was yelling at Johanna.

  “Besides, just look at yourself!” She pointed at Johanna’s head. “Your hairdo. Your dress. Your shoes. All new! We can’t keep up, of course, oh no. You must have much better friends in Sonneberg, all running around dressed to the nines. What do you care whether or not I get engaged?” Her hand trembled as she poured herself a cup of chamomile tea.

  The room was filled with the gentle calming scent of chamomile, but their argument was bitter. For a moment Johanna thought of the smell of incense in Strobel’s shop. Tears pricked at her eyelids. It was all going wrong. They should be chatting about the engagement and what it would mean for them, but instead they were at one another’s throats for no reason at all.

  “How can you say such silly things? You know perfectly well that the two of you mean more to me than anyone in the world. And that I’ll always want to know what’s going on in your lives. And as for making new friends—do you really think I’m in Sonneberg to have fun? I have to work. Or do you think that Strobel pays me all that money for nothing?”

  Ruth turned away.

  Oh, her sister didn’t want to hear about that, Johanna thought bitterly. No more than she wanted to acknowledge all the presents, though she was always happy enough to have them.

  “You really could have said earlier that Thomas was going to make you his betrothed at the dance. It’s an important step, isn’t it? You can’t have just decided it in passing. If you had given me a bit more time to—”

  “Stop it, both of you. It’s like listening to chickens henpecking each other in the farmyard!” Marie broke in. “Why don’t you just say that you’ll come?” she said, turning to Johanna. “It’s sure to be a wonderful evening for all of us!” Her pleading gaze spoke volumes.

  Johanna forced a smile. “Of course I’ll come! I wouldn’t miss Ruth’s engagement for anything in the world! I’ll think of something to tell Strobel.” Helpless, she clapped her hands. “It’s just . . . why does it have to be that weekend of all weekends?”

  “Because you can’t have a May dance except the first weekend in May,” Ruth answered dryly.

  They had to laugh at that. And then, luckily, the rest of the evening passed without further squabbles.

  That night Johanna lay awake for a long time, listening to her two sisters breathing. Ruth’s recriminations echoed in her mind. Had she really changed? She didn’t think so. Deep down she was still the same old Johanna she had always been. The others simply didn’t want to believe it.

  Johanna rolled over onto her side and plumped up the pillow beneath her cheek. Why did nobody ask her how she really felt? How it felt to spend her nights sleeping in a strange room in a strange house? All on her own with no one to talk to. Neither Ruth nor Peter seemed interested in hearing that if she had changed at all, it was only because Strobel had mocked her for looking like a country bumpkin. And they never acknowledged that she came home faithfully every weekend even though she would have liked to stay in Sonneberg now and again. Instead they made a great fuss about how she was away all week. They only saw what they wanted to see, and she was gradually getting fed up with the way they took offense at every little thing.

  29

  The Heimer brothers were up in the forest with all the other young men from the village, felling a great tall pine tree with much yelling and laughter. The sounds carried down into the village on the warm spring wind, where the women were just as busy preparing for the festivities. Up in the woods, the men took turns swinging the ax at the tree, stopping after every few strokes to pass round the schnapps bottle. Thomas took a hearty swig before handing the bottle to the next man in line. He looked appraisingly around this patch of forest. Ruth was expecting him to come up with some idea or other. He wrinkled his nose. How had she put it? “When I lose my maidenhood, it will have to be somewhere warm, clean, and dry. And romantic!” Though she’d been looking at him with lovestruck eyes as she spoke, he hadn’t been quite sure whether she was pulling his leg. But Ruth had meant every word. His gaze settled on a bench. The ground all around it was covered with a thick growth of moss and relatively few lumpy roots running through it. It was a beautiful spot where villagers and visitors liked to sit and look out at the landscape. Surely that would be romantic enough for her ladyship?

  He furtively reached a hand around to his back. Once the other lads were all on their way downhill with the May-tree, he would put his rucksack with the blanket inside underneath the bench. He’d even thought to bring a couple of candles and some matches—after all, he wanted to see what he was getting.

  He was caught unawares when the bottle came around to him again. The schnapps burned his throat as he tipped it down.

  If it had been up to him, they could have gone right ahead in the warehouse. But if Ruth wanted romantic, then romantic she would have. He knew that many of the village lads would have long ago taken by force what he felt was long overdue. But that wasn’t his style. Wasn’t there an old saying that a horse bears its rider better when you take the trouble to break it in gently? Nobody wanted an old nag that shied in the saddle on every ride because of a bad first experience.

  Thomas made a face. She was a sly little minx, though. Not only had she managed to put him off one more time last week in the warehouse, but she’d even gotten him to promise to marry her. He didn’t know why he let Ruth run rings round him like that, but every man had to take the plunge at some point. And there were worse women to marry than Ruth Steinmann. She was something special for sure. She was like the first prize in the shooting match. He liked the image—both were hard to get, at least in his experience. Every year the village had a competition for all the men who fancied themselves to be marksmen, and every year he was always just a few points short for the grand prize. Well, never mind all that, for soon enough the prettiest girl in Lauscha would be his!

  Somebody dug him in the ribs, interrupting his reverie, and Sebastian put the ax in his hands. He took one more swig of schnapps and then began to peel off the bark from the May-tree with short, shallow swipes of the blade. Ha! Short, shallow strikes! Things would be different tonight, of that he was certain!

  Ruth buttoned up her new blouse with trembling fingers. She was ready at last.

  It had taken her much longer than usual today to bathe, powder her skin, wash her hair, and choose her clothes, but she was delighted with the result. She turned this way and that in front of the mirror, admiring herself and enjoying the way the mother-of-pearl buttons caught the lamplight. Thank heavens Marie and Johanna hadn’t squabbled with her over whose turn it was to have the bathtub and the mirror. Both knew that today was her special day.

  Neither one of them knew, however, about what else was planned for the night ahead. After the dance, which she and Thomas planned to leave at some suitable moment. Ruth passed her tongue over her lips. She could hardly wait to see what Thomas had prepared. Perhaps he had taken a room in one of the guest houses up in Neuhaus?

  The fluttering in her belly intensified and her heart pounded. She forced herself to think about what would happen first, how that night he would finally tell the world he loved her. She could already see the looks on people’s faces—the astonishment, the envy, the surprise!—when Thomas asked for her hand in marriage at the festival. Old Heimer would certainly be in for a shock. As would Eva, who would hardly be too pleased at the news that she’d be getting a sister-in-law. She would no longer be queen bee in the family hive.

  Ruth pulled the door open to let a little more light into the bathroom. She took one last appraising look at herself in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw. Johanna had chosen the blouse well: the light shade of apple green went wonderfully with the red tint that the henna had given her hair. She blew a flirtatious kiss at her image in the mirror and then walked back toward the house, her head held high.

  Wouldn’t Laus
cha have a surprise when the May dance turned into an engagement ball!

  As every year, the May dance took place on the foundry square. The May-tree was placed not in the middle of the square but off to one side so that it wouldn’t get in the way of the masters pulling molten glass the next day. The bare trunk gleamed silvery pale in the hazy evening sunshine. Colored ribbons were wrapped all around the tree, their ends fluttering in the breeze. All the tables and benches were full and the beer flowed freely. The Steinmann girls were the only ones drinking water.

  While Johanna and Marie sat at one end of a long table with Peter, Griseldis Grün, Sarah, and some others from the village, Ruth was squeezed in with Thomas and his brothers. At the head of the table sat Wilhelm Heimer, lording it over them all as head of the family.

  Everybody seemed to be having a wonderful time.

  Almost everybody.

  Ruth looked around in a huff. Everyone at the other tables was already eating, but none of the Heimers had given any sign of wanting to go fetch the grilled sausages and potato salad that the landlord of the Black Eagle was selling behind the May-tree. Weber the baker had set out his stall next to him, and the smell of his leek tarts reminded Ruth that she had hardly had a bite to eat all day. At long last, Peter stood up and fetched food for everyone. But as soon as Ruth saw it in front of her, she couldn’t swallow a thing.

  “Oh, bratwurst! If you don’t want those, I’ll eat them.” Before she knew what was happening Thomas had pulled her plate over and was biting into a sausage with every sign of enjoyment.

  “Maybe there’s something else Ruth wants instead,” said the youngest Heimer brother as he grasped the fly of his pants.

  Ruth shot a furious glance at Michel. Even though coarse language was the order of the day in the Heimer workshop, she still hadn’t gotten used to it. Nor could she laugh at such crude jokes—the way Eva was laughing right now. Most of the jokes were aimed against the womenfolk, and were about breasts or backsides or other more intimate matters.