The Glassblower

by Laurie Alice Eakes

  “I haven’t told anyone, even Sarah, and I probably shouldn’t say anything to you.” She peeked at him from beneath those extraordinary lashes. “I like talking to you. You listen to me and don’t treat me like I’m a child who should run along and play.”

  “You should, you ken. Perhaps not play but run along.”

  “That’s common sense, but my heart says otherwise. I mean—” She pressed her free hand to her cheek. “By my heart, I mean the feeling I get inside when I see others in need, not my heart in how a lady feels for a—should I stop up my mouth?”

  “Aye, probably so.” Chuckling, Colin made the mistake of looking at her mouth, those pretty lips that always seemed to curve in a smile. His mouth went dry.

  She laughed, too. “I talk too much. You do understand what I’m saying, do you not?”

  “I understand.” Realizing that he held the caulking knife and was doing nothing with it, he set back to work.

  He couldn’t avoid looking at her, though. The windowpane reflected her lovely face.

  “You want to make me a charity,” he made himself say. “Take me in and pamper me like one of your kittens, or teach me American history like the charcoal burners’ children.”

  His words hurt her. He read it in the way her face stilled and her body tensed.

  “Your father’s already doing plenty for me, Miss Jordan.” He gentled his tone. “I have no need of your help.”

  “What if I could get your family here faster? Would that help you to—to feel worthy of the Lord’s love and forgiveness?”

  “You’re a kind lady, Margaret Jordan.”

  So kind, so pretty, so giving, he feared he was more than half in love with her.

  “But I have to do this myself. ‘Tis the only way I can make up for letting them down.”

  “You can never make up for letting them down, Colin.” She placed a bit of emphasis on his Christian name, an emphasis of her defiance of convention, like talking to him at all was. “We can’t make up for any of our mistakes, no matter what we do. That’s what God’s forgiveness is all about.”

  “I have to try.” He finished with the pane but couldn’t place the next one with her standing between him and the frame. “I’ve been given so much. A runaway lad of twelve years should not have found a place in the Edinburgh glassworks, but I did. They needed assistants to carry the molten glass to the glassblowers, and I was quick. I fell in love with the craft and persuaded the master glassblower to teach me.” He faced her instead of her reflection. “I have the gift for it. I have to use it to make up for what learning of that gift stole from my family. You ken? I have to do it.”

  “I don’t agree with you, but I understand. I was away at school when my mother died. I didn’t want to be there, but Father wouldn’t let me come home. That’s partly why this school is so important to me. If it works out, children won’t have to leave home to get an education. And children from families without the means to pay for boarding school will have an equal opportunity.”

  “You’re a fine lass.” Colin stooped to retrieve another pane of glass. “Thaddeus Dalbow warned me to stay away from you if I wish to keep my employment.”

  “Thaddeus Dalbow tried to kiss me when he was eighteen and I sixteen.” She laughed. “We were friends before that, and he got some notions. Father sent him packing with a flea in his ear.”

  “But your father doesn’t like you being too friendly with the workers,” Colin said, still selecting glass from the box on the ground.

  “No, but—” She sighed. “He doesn’t think it good to possibly play favorites. On the other hand, he is already showing you favoritism, and besides that, Ilse Weber is our housekeeper. She raised me after Momma died. I never talk to her husband because I never see him, but I have few secrets from her, and I’m sure she tells him.”

  “It makes no difference.” He rose, holding the glass between them like a shield, while a wild notion formed in his brain, a spark of hope ignited in his heart. “Will you be asking your father if he cares if you talk to me when we meet up?”

  “I—could.” She looked dubious.

  “If you’re thinking he’d say no, then get yourself home now. But if ‘tis otherwise, I—” He met her eyes, hoping his look conveyed what he dared not say.

  Her heightened color suggested she knew exactly what he was saying—she brought sunshine and warmth into his life, and he cared for her more than he should.

  “I’m staying to help you finish.” She took the glass from his hands. “It’s my school. Now show me how to fit this into the frame.”

  He showed her. With her assistance the work sped by. With time together their conversation grew lighter. As he had the day she stopped to fish with him, he talked to her more in the next hour than he had talked to anyone in the past week. Talking felt like a gift. Listening to her lively way of speaking, gathering the words in his memory felt like treasures he could take out and appreciate in the long hours after work ended for the day and he returned to his empty cottage.

  When the work was finished, however, no excuses remained for either of them to stay. Besides, clouds were blowing in from the east, bringing the scent of rain on a chilling breeze.

  “We’d best be on our way.” He picked up the box the glass had been in and turned to the road without taking a step in that direction.

  “I know. I don’t want to get my dress soaked in the rain.” A stronger gust of wind caught the frill at the bottom of her skirt, and she flattened her hands against the fabric to hold it in place. “Do you have enough provisions to make yourself a fine Sunday dinner?”

  “Martha Dalbow sees to my meals. She’s a fair good cook.”

  “That’s good then. I worried you weren’t eating well.”

  “You cannot be worrying about me, Miss—Meg.” She wrinkled her nose. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Nay, I have no doubt few people can make you do anything you do not wish to do.”

  “I expect I’m spoiled.”

  A blast of wind bearing moisture slammed into their faces.

  “We’d better run.” Instead of heading to the road, though, she darted around the end of the building. “Leave that box in here.” She produced a key from her reticule and unlocked the door. “You can go faster.”

  “Aye and the straw won’t get wet.” He dropped the container inside the building, waited for her to lock the door, then left for the road, being careful to measure his longer strides to her shorter ones.

  “I knew the fine weather this morning lasted longer than we deserved in December.” She sounded breathless but refused to slow down.

  They rounded the curve to the intersection. Already the burn roared louder than when he’d passed it earlier, testimony of rain upstream. Above them the tree branches creaked and groaned, and the lightning-struck tree where he’d first seen her leaned more precariously over the water.

  And a bundle of black-and-white fur clung to one of the whipping branches.

  “The foolish beastie!” Colin shouted above the wind. “He’ll be blown down.”

  “I don’t know how something so small can travel so far. It must be like us walking twenty miles and climbing a mountain.” She stopped, and her hat blew off her head. Wind caught her hair and sent her curls flying out like banners. She shoved her hair behind her ears. “We can’t just leave him there.”

  “We should, but, nay, we cannot.” Not liking the idea of climbing the unstable tree, Colin began to remove his coat.

  “Wait, let’s call him first.” She laid her hand on his arm then did not remove it when she began to call, “Here, kitty-kitty.”

  The cat didn’t move.

  “He’s too frightened.” Colin removed his arm from her restraining grasp, feeling coldness where her hand had rested. “I’ll fetch him. You run along home.”

  “But what if you fall?”

  “I hear a horse. Perhaps ‘tis someone who will take you up in a carriage.”

  “I should go up. I’m
lighter.”

  “Do not dare.” He caught the edge of her cloak and found himself holding nothing more than wool.

  Meg had slipped out of the garment and darted forward.

  “Stubborn braw female,” Colin grumbled and sprinted after her.

  As Meg set foot on the lowest branch, the kitten leaped from its perch and onto Meg’s shoulder. From there it soared to the ground. Colin dove to grab the creature. It slipped past his hands and into the road—right under the hooves of the trotting horse.

  ten

  Meg screamed and darted for the road. Her flying skirt tangled in her legs, sending her tumbling to the ground. Gravel stung her hands and knees, and the horse’s flailing hooves filled her vision.

  “I got you.” Colin lifted her aside, as though she weighed no more than the kitten, then he lunged past her and bumped his shoulder against the horse’s massive flank.

  The animal whinnied and leaped aside. The rider shouted a protest.

  Dodging another thrashing hoof, Colin snatched up the kitten, then he turned to offer Meg a hand. “Are you all right then, lass?” His fingers were warm, hard, and strong around hers. A firm, reassuring hand with strength enough in the arm to lift her with a gentle tug.

  Meg clung to him, swaying a bit and gazing into his face with awe. “You saved my silly kitten.”

  “And probably crippled my horse.” Joseph Pyle stalked toward them, his face red, his blue eyes flashing. “What nonsense were you about, man?”

  “Saving the wee beastie for the lady.” Colin gave Joseph a gentle smile, though a muscle in his jaw flexed. “Your horse nigh trampled the silly creature.”

  “And there are ten more where those came from, but there are few finer horses between here and Charleston.”

  “I would not ken about the horses,” Colin said. “But I do ken that Miss Jordan has a fondness for this mite.”

  “And I have a fondness for—why are you touching her?” If possible, Joseph’s face darkened further, making his eyes appear to lose all color in contrast.

  Meg met those pale eyes without flinching and gripped Colin’s hand more tightly. “I tripped on my skirt and fell, and now he’s making sure I’m steady.”

  And she loved the excuse to hold his hand again.

  “Release him.” Joseph’s words sounded like the bark of an angry dog. “You demean yourself, Margaret.”

  “I will in a moment.” She still felt off balance, lightheaded—more from Joseph’s words than the fall and close call with the kitten. “A strong hand for support is welcome.”

  She glanced at Joseph’s long, elegant hand clad in a buttery leather glove.

  “You may take my arm.” He held out the appendage. “I’ll walk you home. Grassick, take my horse to my farm.”

  Meg didn’t move. Every fiber in her being rebelled at taking orders from Joseph and against him for giving Colin directives like he was a groom.

  Colin didn’t stir either, other than to shift his gaze from Joseph to her.

  “Have you two lost your hearing?” Joseph demanded.

  “I heard you perfectly well, Joseph.” Meg worked to keep her tone even.

  “Then stop making a fool of yourself and come home before this storm breaks.”

  “You’d best go, lass.” Colin squeezed her fingers and released her hand. “And perhaps take this kitten into the house so he can’t wander so far afield.” He placed the trembling feline in her hands.

  “Thank you. That will have to wait until I’m home again.” She cradled the cat against her throat and gave Colin one more glance. She wanted to speak to him, tell him things about herself and God and hopes and anything that came to mind. Nothing seemed possible, even appropriate, in front of Joseph.

  “I’m ready to go,” she said to Joseph.

  “Finally.” He held out the reins. “Grassick, I said to take my horse.”

  Colin still didn’t move.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Joseph’s voice went up half an octave.

  “Naught is wrong with me, Mr. Pyle.” Colin looked at the gelding, whose back was nearly the height of Colin’s chin. “‘Tis just that I have no knowledge about how to handle a horse.”

  “You don’t know how to handle a horse?” Joseph’s surprise seemed genuine. “What sort of man doesn’t know how to handle a horse?”

  “Joseph,” Meg breathed out in protest.

  Colin shrugged. “The kind who’s never owned one, perhaps. The kind who goes from fishing to glassmaking and has no need of one.”

  “Huh.” Joseph shook his head. “Then just go about your business. Margaret, come with me.”

  Because she knew it was what her father would want her to do, Meg nodded to Colin with a silent “thank you,” took Joseph’s arm, and let him lead her on the one side and his mount on the other.

  “What were you doing with him?” Joseph demanded before they were quite out of Colin’s earshot.

  “He was working on replacing the windows in the school. I stopped to talk to him.”

  Rain began to fall in big, heavy drops. Joseph increased their pace. “He shouldn’t be working on a Sunday.”

  “He volunteered to replace the windows. He isn’t getting paid. I think the Lord will accept charitable work on a Sunday.”

  “Charitable work that gets him in the good graces of the owner’s daughter.”

  Meg slanted a look at Joseph, wondering if he was jealous, then chastised herself for such a vain thought. “He is trying to please the people who sponsored his coming here to find a better life, Joseph. His dedication to his work is commendable, and Father and I are both happy with him.”

  “A little too happy,” Joseph grumbled. “You were holding his hand.”

  “I told you—”

  “It isn’t proper,” Joseph interrupted. “You’re going to marry me.”

  Not if she could find a way to avoid it.

  “You shouldn’t encourage his kind.”

  “His—kind?” Meg released her grip on Joseph’s arm. “What do you mean by that?”

  “A man without property or prospects.”

  “I think his prospects are rather good. He has skill and talent and—”

  “Not a roof to call his own, let alone hundreds of acres, as I have.” The rain grew heavier, and Joseph walked faster still. “But enough of him. I am assured you won’t spend any more time with him.”

  She had given him no such reassurance and didn’t intend to.

  “I’m pleased I saw you today, even though we didn’t have our dinner as usual.”

  Meg pulled up her hood for protection but said nothing.

  “I know I agreed to hold off making our betrothal official until after the first of the year,” Joseph said.

  The abrupt change of subject threw Meg off balance, and she stammered out a response. “Ye–es, I have a number of things I need to think about between now and then.”

  “Frivolous things, from all I can see.” Joseph’s tone grew indulgent. “Your friend’s wedding and Christmas.”

  “And my school.”

  “Oh, that.” He dismissed her hard work with a wave of one hand. “You’ll lose interest in that once you start thinking about a wedding and all the things we’ll need to furnish our home properly. I want it fine enough to entertain the governor.”

  Why not the president?

  Meg refrained from asking such a flippant question.

  “I can afford the best, you know,” Joseph continued. “And you have exhibited fine taste in these matters.”

  “Thank you.” Meg caught sight of the lane to her house and nearly broke into a run.

  “But I’ve decided that the delay to our betrothal is unacceptable,” Joseph said.

  Meg tripped on the smooth road.

  “When your father returns from Philadelphia on Tuesday, I intend to tell him that we will announce our betrothal at Sarah and Peter’s wedding.”

  “You will do no such thing.” Despite the rain Meg stopped in t
he middle of the road, placed her free hand on her hip, and glared at him. “Sarah and Peter’s wedding is their special day. You will not try to steal attention by making such an announcement.”

  “When else will we have so many people assembled?” Joseph raised one brow, more bemused than angry. “It’s when I want it done.”

  “It’s not when I want it announced.” Meg took a deep breath. “If you say anything at the wedding celebration, I will—will—I’ll denounce you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Joseph said through his teeth. “If I say it’s so, you will go along with me.”

  “I won’t.” Meg took a step backward. Her heart raced, and breathing seemed difficult. “You can’t make me.”

  She didn’t care if she sounded childish. She felt like a child—a child frightened of the dark, when she was a woman afraid of the man not a yard away from her.

  “In truth I don’t ever want our betrothal announced.” Turning on her heel, she gathered up her skirt and broke into a trot.

  “Margaret, stop this nonsense.” Joseph’s feet pounded in the forming mud, the horse’s hooves clomping along with him.

  She kept going.

  He grabbed her arm, spun her toward him. “Don’t you ever run away from me again. I have paid for your father’s permission to court you.”

  “But not to treat me roughly.” She tried to pull free.

  Paid for? She would think about the meaning of his remark later.

  “I want to go home. I’m cold and wet.”

  “You should have thought of that before you started flirting with that glassblower.”

  “I wasn’t—” No, she would not defend herself or her friendship with Colin. “Let go of me, Joseph.”

  “I will when I deliver you to the Thompsons’ front door.” He gripped her arm, not quite hard enough to hurt but harder than she liked, too hard for her to get free without a struggle.

  She couldn’t struggle against him, but she needed to get away. She made herself go still. Around her, the rain drummed so hard it sounded like footfalls racing toward them.

  It was footfalls. They pounded harder than the rain. Meg twisted around and saw Colin dash up to them, grasp Joseph’s wrist, and break his hold.