After they finished dinner, Steven produced the documents again. They decided that the suppliers should be named as “the Steinmann family,” and then they worked through the contract point by point. When he quoted a quantity for delivery, Ruth felt dizzy for a moment.
“You really want three hundred of each of the baubles I brought?”
He nodded. “Can you deliver in those quantities? Or is it a problem if we order so much?”
“No!” she replied hastily. She couldn’t actually say whether it was a problem; her brain was still racing to add up the numbers. “So . . . given that I brought twenty different styles today, that means our contract is for . . . six thousand globes?”
Steven nodded absentmindedly as he ran his pen down the page to the next line.
“We usually ask wholesalers to deliver to the harbor in Hamburg. However, in your case I suggest that Mr. Woolworth and I take responsibility for transport from Sonneberg to Hamburg. This will affect the price we pay you, of course.”
Ruth bit her lip. “Of course. That goes without saying.” In fact she didn’t even know how she was going to get six thousand baubles as far as Sonneberg, but she would be hanged if she had to arrange transport all the way across Germany. Wouldn’t Johanna be surprised when she saw that Ruth really had thought of all the details?
“Delivery would be no later than the thirtieth of September. That’s the date by which all the globes have to be in Sonneberg, ready and waiting to be transported onward. If they’re not, then the wares won’t get to us in time for the Christmas sales.” His gaze was level and businesslike now; it was as though they had never even mentioned personal matters. “You realize that would make the whole shipment worthless, of course?”
Ruth nodded uneasily. Six weeks? Could they manage that? How many nights were there in six weeks? And how many globes could Marie blow in a night? While Ruth’s brain was spinning, Steven went on. “The last possible loading date for cargo from Hamburg to New York is the second of October. Then we have to add another six weeks for delivery and distribution in America, which means that Christmas tree decorations will reach the shops in mid-November.”
Ruth sighed. “Christmas in New York. And Marie’s baubles, right there in the middle of it all. I can hardly even imagine it.” New York. The name itself sent a frisson through her. There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask him. About New York, about his employer and his family.
But Steven was not to be distracted. “You have to be able to imagine it. If there is one thing that Mr. Woolworth really can’t abide, it’s breach of contract. So please allow me to ask you one last question. An important question. Can you and your sisters really fulfill this order?”
There was a note of concern in his voice, but she couldn’t tell whether it was personal or simply professional. Ruth had to pull herself together to concentrate on his question. Her gaze was steady as she answered him.
“We can meet it and more. Our globes will be in Sonneberg, ready and waiting for collection on September thirtieth. Even if I have to sit down at the lamp and blow them myself!”
He smiled. “Would it be too much if I said that I expected nothing less of you?”
Ruth had the feeling that she was blossoming before his very eyes, like a flower that finally had water.
“Nonetheless, if there are any difficulties, then you can always try reaching me in the Hamburg office.”
“Hamburg? I thought you were from New York?” How far is it to Hamburg? Ruth wondered. Not as far as to New York, that much was certain.
“Mr. Woolworth wants to be quite sure that none of his Christmas wares get lost on the quayside in Hamburg and that they all end up on the right ship. Which means that I’m staying in Europe until everything’s loaded and under way,” Steven explained cheerfully.
They worked through all the other points fairly rapidly until they got to the issue that Ruth had racked her brains over even as she hatched her plan: the matter of payment.
“Before we start to talk figures, I want to make you the following offer,” Steven began. “We’ll pay you the same price we would pay a wholesaler for items of this kind. Less—let’s say—ten percent for the delivery costs to Hamburg, which we shall be taking over.” He looked at her questioningly.
Ruth’s first impulse was to nod in agreement. What he said made sense. But then she realized something; the wholesaler Steven was talking about could only be Friedhelm Strobel. And he sold the globes that Karl Flein blew. Wasn’t that what Johanna had said? Steven had already put pen to paper to fill in the blank when Ruth reached across the table and tapped him gently on the arm.
He looked up and clearly noticed her unhappy expression.
“I haven’t even named a price that you could quibble with!”
Ruth managed to smile. “I don’t wish to quibble. And I certainly don’t wish to be brazen. Heaven only knows, maybe I’m talking my way into trouble here. It’s just that . . .” Embarrassed, she tucked back a strand of hair, and a daisy she had missed earlier fell onto the table in front of her.
“What is it?” Steven asked, his eyebrows raised.
Ruth flicked the faded little flower across the tablecloth between finger and thumb. Well, no use dithering! She looked Steven in the eye. “Marie’s baubles are a lot prettier than any of the others you buy. Marie’s globes are painted, with whole winter landscapes. And many of them are silvered. That’s a lot of extra work, let me tell you. Then there are the baubles that she blows into forms that she cast specially. The nuts for instance. And the pinecones. And—”
Steven raised his hands in surrender. “Stop! You’ve convinced me. Marie’s baubles are a great deal more work to make, that’s true.”
At last they agreed on a price. Woolworth would pay one mark twenty pence for every dozen baubles, which came to six hundred marks for six thousand globes. Six hundred marks! She and Johanna and Marie all would have had to work for Heimer for more than a year to make that much, Ruth told herself jubilantly. Of course they would have to pay for materials and the gas they used, but even so there would be a tidy sum left over
The dining room was long empty by now, and the waiter was hovering so obtrusively over their table that Steven took a golden watch from his pocket.
“Good gracious me! After ten already. Time simply flew by in your company!” He looked at her with concern in his eyes. “How thoughtless of me to keep you here for so long. Is there even a train back to Lauscha at this hour?”
Ruth laughed. “Have you forgotten, Mr. . . . Miles, that we’re countryfolk out here?” She would far rather have called him Steven. “The last train left a while ago. At this hour, the only way to get back is on foot.”
“I cannot allow you to walk such a distance in the dark. We’ll get you a room here in the hotel.” He was already waving the waiter over. “If that’s all right with you?”
Before Ruth could say anything, he was already giving orders. She thought of Wanda and hoped that she was all right, but even as the thought formed in her mind, she was already looking forward to sleeping in a hotel for the first time in her life.
A few minutes later, she held a wooden ball in her hand with two keys dangling from it. Steven explained that one of them was for her room and the other was for the front door of the hotel.
She giggled. “And when I think that at noon today I was sneaking in through the service entrance. I still can’t quite believe that Mr. Woolworth didn’t throw me out on my ear!”
“I have the feeling that they want to throw us out of here now though,” Steven said, nodding toward the waiter, who was putting the gas lamps out one by one and looking over at them quite obviously as he did so.
“What a shame,” Ruth heard herself say. “I would have liked to spend a little longer talking. Given that you know all about me by now, and I know hardly a thing about you . . .” She fell silent, embarra
ssed. What on earth had gotten into her?
Steven Miles seemed to hesitate. He looked from her to the waiter and then back again. “Let’s leave this pit of vipers before that one starts to spit venom at us,” he said and held out his hand.
It was the first time in her life that a man had helped her up from a chair. Feeling thoroughly pampered, she briskly stood up.
After she had collected her basket from the reception desk, they stood on the stairway that led up to the guest rooms, looking at one another. It was an awkward moment.
“I . . .” Ruth began hesitantly.
“I’d like . . .” Steven said at the very same time.
They both laughed and the moment passed.
“I don’t quite know how to say this without . . . giving you the wrong impression.” Steven smoothed his moustache with finger and thumb.
“Yes?” she croaked. Her knees felt suddenly weak, and she knew that it was not because of the long day she’d had.
“Oh, please forget that I spoke,” she heard Steven say, to her disappointment. He waved the thought away.
“I wanted to ask you whether we might not continue our conversation in your room, or perhaps in mine. But goodness knows that’s not a suggestion one can make to a lady—not even with the purest of intentions. Please forgive me for even having thought of it.”
Before Ruth could answer, he had taken her basket over his shoulder.
“But I can at least take you as far as your room.”
As they climbed the narrow stairs, Ruth didn’t know whether to be disappointed or pleased.
They reached her room before she had a chance to think of some way to spend more time with Steven. She turned toward him one last time and gave him a wry grin. “Thank you—for everything. And do please thank Mr. Woolworth on my behalf, from the bottom of my heart. He has no idea what this order means for me and my sisters.”
“I shall do that,” Steven assured her. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
She could feel his breath in her hair.
Ruth swallowed hard. “I still don’t know anything about you except your name, and who you work for.”
For a tantalizing moment, she thought that he would kiss her.
But Steven simply stroked her hair gently.
“That will change. Sooner than you think, perhaps.” His eyes locked onto hers. “You won’t get rid of me so easily. I promise you that.”
The room was surprisingly chilly, in all likelihood because hardly any sun came through the tiny window. Ruth sat down on the bed and found herself looking at the pillow, which had been hanging on the line in the garden at noon. The white linen began to shimmer in front of her eyes, and a thought buzzed round and round in her head.
I’ve met my Polish prince.
He’s an American.
18
Steven. The globe order. Wanda. The strange smell of the room. Ruth slept fitfully, waking up again and again at the mercy of her confused thoughts—questions to which she had no answers, feelings that scared her.
She was happy when at last it started to get light. She opened the door a crack and listened for any noise out in the hall, but everything was quiet—she seemed to be the only one awake.
After she washed, she stood in front of the mirror that hung over the washbasin and began to unbraid her hair. It was a good thing she had remembered to bring her brush and comb. The old familiar routine of brushing her hair calmed her down, and her fingers were steady as she worked on one lock at a time until her hair hung down to her waist in a shimmering flood. After she had loosely plaited it and put it up in a figure-eight bun, she got dressed. Then she turned to and fro in front of the mirror, looking at herself appraisingly. She was pleased with what she saw. She had hung her dress up by the open window to air and now it looked smooth and fresh and smelled good too.
Just as she was preparing to leave, the church bells began to chime. Ruth counted one, two, three, four, five. Was it really only five o’clock? She strained to hear the next set of bells, and it, too, only chimed five times.
Ruth frowned. If she went downstairs now, she certainly wouldn’t run into Steven.
She sat down on the bed and waited.
At seven o’clock sharp she picked up her basket and bag and left the room.
Please God, let me see him one more time!
A moment later, she saw him standing down below on the stairs. Ruth was shocked to feel her heart turn a somersault in her chest.
Woolworth was standing next to him, and they were peering at a stack of papers. Steven was so absorbed in the documents that he seemed not even to hear it when the hotelier greeted them with a cheerful “Good morning.”
Ruth kneeled down slowly and undid the lacings on her shoe, then tied them up again as slowly as she could. Perhaps . . . if she waited a little longer, Woolworth might go in for breakfast and . . .
Just then, Steven looked up.
Ruth hurried to stand up straight and smiled at him uncertainly. What if he had no time for even a few words?
But then he was hurrying up the stairs toward her.
“Ruth! How fortunate that you’re still here! It’s a real stroke of luck. I was worried I might have missed you. The doorman didn’t know for sure, and you weren’t at breakfast . . .” He was babbling away like a brook.
“Have you already had breakfast?” Ruth asked.
“Of course. Mr. Woolworth is an early bird, as we Americans say. Well then . . .” Steven cleared his throat. “I’m not sure how to put this . . . perhaps it won’t suit you at all . . .” He ran his hands through his hair and a little spike stuck up out of place.
Ruth had to stifle a giggle. “Yes?”
“It’s like this: Mr. Woolworth has a couple of meetings this morning for which my presence is not strictly required. So he has been good enough to give me some time off today. And so I thought, if you would like, I might see you home? I mean, since it was my fault that you were stranded here last night.”
Instead of heading off toward the railway station, Ruth decided to take the road that led to Steinach and then onward to Lauscha. Steven followed her as though he had never even heard of the railway between Sonneberg and Lauscha.
Four hours! Maybe even four and a half if they walked slowly, Ruth told herself happily as the last houses of Sonneberg disappeared behind them. She never would have even dared to dream that Steven would be coming along with her; she had to fight the urge to pinch herself. Ever since she had left Lauscha, Fortune seemed to be smiling upon her.
The sky shone that day as though newly scrubbed clean. There was not a cloud anywhere, not even the tiniest dab of white on the distant horizon. The pine forests on the slopes alongside the road were almost black against the brightness of the sky, and the birds were singing in the treetops. A cuckoo called from somewhere, cuck-oo, cuck-oo, tireless, yearning.
The scent of wild thyme hung in the air. Later, when the air had warmed a bit and the sun reached the edge of the forest, they would smell the heady and sensual perfume of the dog rose too.
Even the rushing Steinach brook was quiet, the water seeming to caress the stony bed rather than scour it clean. Instead of sending up the spray and droplets that usually cooled her on her walk, the stream merely babbled softly.
It would be a hot day; that much was certain.
Ruth tucked back a loose strand of hair from her forehead. She didn’t care if she had to walk over burning coals this morning . . .
They didn’t talk a great deal, at least not at first, though Ruth struggled to think of topics of conversation. Nothing came to mind. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Was he bored by her company? Was the path too steep? Perhaps she shouldn’t have let him insist on carrying her basket? She cast a sidewise glance in his direction and then burst out laughing.
“What’s got into you, Steven? You
look like the cat that got the cream!”
“That’s how I feel!” he replied. “What could be better than walking through such a wonderful landscape with you on a day like this?” He grinned boyishly. “To tell the truth, I could just hug the whole world! Don’t try to tell me you feel any different.”
“If you hug the whole world, what’s left over for me?” Ruth asked mischievously.
He stopped for a moment. “Perhaps . . . could I take your hand?” he said hesitantly. When she didn’t answer at once, he continued. “The path is fairly rocky here. You might stumble.”
“That would be very kind of you.” Her hand trembled as she reached out and took his.
It was as though their hands were made for each other. Her hand lay snugly in his the way the glass Marie blew fit inside its form. From time to time he ran his thumb across the back of her hand, without knowing he did so. Tenderly, warmly.
For a while they talked about this and that and nothing at all. Steven asked how she had slept in the hotel, in a strange bed. Whether the little village they could see up ahead had a name. What the white stars blossoming in such profusion at the forest’s edge were called.
“They’re white aster, nothing special!” Ruth laughed. “When we were girls Marie and I plucked them by the armful. Then we’d sit on the bench behind the house and make chaplets for our hair.” She looked at him. “We used to dance together too. We were so happy back then. Happy the way only children can be. In a few years’ time I’ll be making chaplets like that for Wanda.”
Steven stopped. “Why do I hear such pain in your voice?”
Ruth stopped as well. “Do you?”
Their eyes locked on each other.
“I want you to be happy, Ruth.” His voice was hoarse.
Can it be that I love this man? The question struck Ruth like a thunderbolt.
“Why?” she whispered. “You don’t even know me.”
“Why? Because we Americans are inveterate optimists!” Steven said, grinning shyly. He put out a hand and gently lifted her chin. “And because there’s nothing that makes a woman more beautiful than to see her smile!”
The Glassblower (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 1) Page 32