The American Lady (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 2)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  And indeed Johanna’s face darkened.

  “Don’t even mention Marie! I’ve got a bone to pick with her, never mind that she’s pregnant!” she snorted. “Heaven knows I’m not expecting her to write at any great length, but is it too much to ask that she drops us a line every now and again just to let us know that she’s well?”

  Wanda said nothing. She had no explanation for Marie’s behavior. Her aunt hadn’t replied to any of her last three letters, not even to the one telling her all about the Carnival series and what a success it had been—she would have thought that surely would have interested her.

  “Perhaps she’s not well . . .” Wanda muttered, shifting back and forth uncomfortably on the bench. She didn’t have time to talk about Marie, not now.

  “Don’t say such things!” Johanna gasped and her eyes glazed over. “Sometimes I can’t even sleep at night, I’m so worried about her. I imagine her lying in an Italian hospital somewhere, and I find myself wondering whether she’s lost the child . . .” She sighed. Anger had given way to despair. “She must be terribly unhappy in that palazzo.”

  Wanda reached across the table and took Johanna’s hand. “I can’t believe such a thing could have happened—she would have told us by now! Marie knows what she wants, that’s all. It’s much more likely that being pregnant has given her a new burst of creativity and she works every hour God gives her. Then in the evenings she’s too tired to write.”

  Johanna looked skeptical.

  Wanda leapt to her feet and hugged her aunt. “Don’t worry! I’m sure Marie is happy and healthy! And I’ll call Mother on Monday, I promise you I will.”

  Before Johanna could open her mouth to protest, Wanda was in the hallway, putting on her coat and scarf, and she was soon on her way up the hill.

  Her heart was beating fast, though she couldn’t have said whether this was because she was walking quickly or because she was bubbling over with excitement. Though there was no way that Johanna could have known, today was a special day—Thomas and Richard would be working together for the first time. It had taken all her powers of persuasion to make it happen. At first Thomas had flat-out refused even to consider working with another glassblower. “It’s bound to fail,” he said gloomily, adding, “just look what happened when they tried to set up a crafts cooperative! They spent all their time arguing about their plans and designs and were never able to agree on anything!” It was only when Richard himself came calling that Thomas had finally agreed to give it a try; Richard pointed out that by working together they could try their hand at much more elaborate pieces. And Richard had chosen a particularly daring and difficult project.

  I do hope it all works out, Wanda thought nervously. She wasn’t even halfway up the hill when she let out a sudden cry of dismay; water was seeping into her shoes, soaking her stockings. She lifted the hem of her skirt but it was too late, that too was dripping wet.

  “Well, young lady, weren’t watching where you were going? You’ve probably never seen a thaw like this in America.”

  Wanda turned around and recognized the apothecary’s wife.

  “Not in New York, that’s for sure,” she sighed, looking down at her ruined shoes. “And it had to happen today, when Richard and my father are expecting the supplies I ordered from your husband! I can’t even go back home and change into a dry pair of shoes. I do hope that everything’s arrived by now?” She couldn’t help the note of impatience that crept into her voice—they had been expecting the silver leaf last week, along with all the other chemicals whose names she could never remember.

  “The delivery man brought your order yesterday,” the woman said. “All the same you mustn’t ignore wet feet. You’re no good to your father if you get ill, you know,” she scolded gently as the two of them went on up the hill together.

  “You should tell him that!” Wanda said, grinning. “He says that I’m more of a nuisance than a help. Only yesterday he told me that I was worse than having a herd of cattle charge through the shop!” she admitted. By now she was used to the things Thomas Heimer said and she didn’t take them much to heart.

  The apothecary’s wife clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “That silly man. He should be glad to have you! Glad!”

  Wanda just laughed.

  23

  There wasn’t a sound in the workshop aside from the humming of Thomas’s gas lamp. He was heating part of a hollow glass rod in the flame.

  “Little bit more,” Richard muttered, standing next to Thomas, ready to apply the aventurine, which glittered just like real gold. Then he called out, “Stop! That’s enough.”

  When Thomas held the vase out to him, Richard sprinkled the grains of golden aventurine over the heated portion of the rod. Thomas rotated it slowly this way and that at Richard’s command and the grains sparkled in the light. Then Thomas put the end of the rod back into the flame and closed it up. He put the hollow end to his lips and blew.

  Wanda watched, spellbound, as the slender glass rod swelled up and became a thick-walled bubble. Just as she feared that the glass would burst, Thomas stopped blowing and turned the bubble with a pair of large tongs. Then he warmed the closed end and attached a stem at the bottom. As soon as it was firmly attached, he turned the piece around again, held the open end to the flame, and picked up a set of pliers. He worked his way deftly around the rim, crimping and curving, and gradually the vase took shape.

  Eva had been passing through the workshop on her way to the kitchen and hadn’t really intended to stop. But now she tiptoed up to the workbench. When she saw what the men were doing, she grabbed Wanda’s sleeve as though she had never before seen glass being blown.

  “That’s it!” Thomas said. He put the vase back into the flame and picked up the tongs, working at the crimps in the lip, teasing them out and giving them shape. The aventurine began to split apart, stretching itself out along hairbreadth cracks.

  Great God in Heaven, let everything work out well! Wanda prayed silently, holding her breath, while the aventurine glowed brighter in spots. In some places, it looked just like real gold.

  Thomas’s brow was beaded with sweat. He put down the tongs and waved the vase gently from side to side to cool it. For the first time since sitting down at the bench, he looked up. “We did it!”

  Wanda finally allowed herself to breathe again.

  “Thank God!” Eva called out. “At least we didn’t spend all that money for nothing.” She snorted and left the workshop.

  “So what do you think? Not bad for a first try, is it?” The pride in Thomas’s voice was unmistakable.

  Wanda had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could speak.

  “It’s absolutely beautiful!” she said decisively. “The way it glitters . . . just like a thousand dewdrops on a white lily, catching the morning sun!” She looked from Richard to her father, her eyes shining.

  She had known it would work! She had known right from the start that the two of them could do good work together once they set their minds to it.

  Richard picked up the vase and held it up to the faint light of the oil lantern, squinting. “The balance of glass to quartz could be better. Next time I’ll try to get the grains to sink in a little bit deeper. I wanted to do that right away, but I was worried they wouldn’t go into the furrows. That would have spoiled everything.”

  “Oh, you’re always finding fault!” Wanda scolded him.

  Thomas, however, nodded. “It was a risk.” He gnawed his lower lip. “And you’re sure we put the acid on now? Isn’t the vase lovely enough as it is?”

  Richard laughed. “Have you lost your nerve? Come on now, let’s experiment! That’s the whole point of the exercise! Why else did we buy the stuff? It cost a pretty penny after all!”

  “Now you two wait a moment!” Wanda grabbed her notebook and shoved her way between them. “Before you start the etching, I’d like to know wha
t you were both feeling just now.” She held her pencil ready and looked from one to the other. These notes would be important when the time came to describe the new series to Karl-Heinz Brauninger. It had been easy enough with the Carnival series, since she could describe her own thoughts and feelings in that case. But this was different.

  The two men stared at her. Richard scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “You really should ask the fellow who blew the glass . . .”

  Thomas snorted stubbornly. “If you really want to know, I felt my bladder almost bursting. I had to pee the whole time.”

  They both laughed. Then Thomas went outside.

  Wanda watched him go. She felt as though someone had just poured a bucket of cold water over her head.

  “That . . .” She was at a loss for words for a moment. Just when she thought she had got used to his rough ways, he came out with something like this. She swallowed hard and started again. “That beast!”

  Richard muttered something along the lines of “don’t take it all so seriously” and “we’ll do the etching tomorrow,” then kissed Wanda hastily on the lips and left.

  She stared miserably at the vase as she waited for Thomas to come back inside.

  “You’re still here then,” Thomas said as he came in. “I thought you’d be off with Richard.”

  “And I thought we were going to work together. It seems I was wrong, though!” she answered bitterly.

  Thomas groaned and folded his arms. “What do you want now then? You can really drive a fellow out of his wits. Just like your mother!” he snapped.

  “And you can’t do anything but grumble!” Wanda shouted, jumping to her feet. He was her father—how could he be so hurtful? She walked right up to him until her face was just a few inches from his. “Was I asking so much of you? I only wanted you to tell me your feelings!” To her horror she realized that she was crying. She turned away before Thomas could see her tears.

  For a moment there was silence. Thomas sat down at his workbench again.

  “How I feel . . . nobody’s ever asked me that before,” he said at last. He stared down at the wooden worktop, blackened by years of flame. The furrow between his deep-set eyes was even more pronounced than usual. “Ever since I can remember, I’ve sat in this workshop, at this bench. Every day. Earlier, when there were three of us and Father brought in the orders, we worked from morning till night—whether we were blowing a thousand bowls or hundreds of perfume bottles. Sometimes I thought I would go mad if I ever had to blow one more blessed bowl. Always the same thing, over and over again. I had my own ideas; I was never short of those—I filled a whole sketchbook of ideas over time—but nobody ever cared.”

  He looked up, but Wanda was still turned away from him, staring out the window.

  “Father didn’t want to hear any of that. He didn’t even look at my designs, just said I shouldn’t go wasting time when we could hardly keep up with the work anyway. The other lads in the village never got that: sooner or later they got to make their own things, not like my brothers and me. And then Marie came along with her sketches, and the old man was all smiles and praise!” Thomas sounded as though he still couldn’t believe it. “I almost burst from envy, let me tell you. But did anyone care?” He laughed mirthlessly. “Ah well, those funny ideas of hers didn’t impress him for long; the old stubbornness came back soon enough. We put up with all that but Marie didn’t. She went out and made something of herself! Not like us.”

  Wanda found it hard to listen. She had never seen her father like this. She didn’t dare turn around for fear that he would stop talking. At the same time she felt a bit queasy when she heard Marie’s name. If only I knew that there was really nothing to worry about, she thought.

  “And when Sebastian left, Michel and I had to do the work of three. And even then nobody asked me how I felt when I could finally get up from my bench after working for fourteen hours straight! After Michel had his accident, I was all on my own, but there was work to be done if we were to put bread on the table. If I’ve learned one thing in all these years, it’s that it’s best not to think about things too deeply. Don’t dwell on the past. Just do what has to be done.”

  He got up from his stool, walked over to join Wanda at the window, and looked out as well. She suddenly felt that they were much closer—and not just because he was standing next to her.

  “And then you come along and ask a question like that,” he said softly.

  “Times change. Believe it or not, sometimes they change for the better,” she murmured hoarsely.

  “It felt . . . beautiful,” he said, so softly that for a moment Wanda thought she was imagining it. Her heart began to hammer wildly. Go on. Please go on.

  “I’d almost forgotten how glass can stretch that way. But today—today I felt it again. That glass has no limits, really. It’s just us, the glassblowers, who have limits.” He laughed awkwardly. “What rubbish I’m talking!”

  “No!” Wanda cried out. She turned to him and said, “I was so worried the glass would burst!”

  He smiled, almost tenderly. “That’s the whole trick of it, you see. Knowing when enough is enough.” He stroked her arm clumsily and left the workshop.

  24

  “She hasn’t been in touch with your mother either,” Johanna said to Wanda as soon as they left the post office. She shook her head. “I just don’t understand it! Never mind that we haven’t had any new designs from her for months now, but she must know that we’re worried about her.”

  Johanna stopped dead in the street.

  “And that Franco’s no better, if you ask me! It’s no way to behave. What is it, are you even listening to me?” She plucked at Wanda’s sleeve as she walked on.

  “What were you saying?” Wanda gave a start. She tried to blink away the tears in her eyes.

  “Look at you!” Johanna exclaimed. “What are you crying about?” She put her arm around Wanda’s shoulders tenderly, though, which drew some of the sting from her words.

  Wanda burst into tears. “How can she do this to me? Mother’s so cruel!”

  She had chosen her words so carefully when she told her mother that she wanted to stay in Lauscha forever. She had lain awake at nights pondering how to break the news and anticipating her mother’s reaction, but what she heard first was the crackle on the line and silence from Ruth’s end. She had been ready for almost anything but silence. After a few moments, Ruth began stammering helplessly. Wanda had never heard her mother like this, though Ruth recovered herself after a couple of minutes. And when she did, there was no use pleading. Ruth was implacable: Wanda could stay for another four weeks, but after that she had to come straight back to New York. After all, she could hardly stay on and be a burden to Johanna any longer!

  When she said that, Wanda had turned her back on Johanna, who was standing next to her, and dropped her voice to say that Thomas Heimer would have no objection if she moved in with him. Ruth answered icily that it would not come to that. If Wanda was really thinking of staying on and living in Thuringia—and Ruth objected strongly to the idea—then at least they would make the necessary arrangements. And they would make them from New York—after calm reflection—and with Wanda there to discuss the matter.

  It was probably just a cheap trick to get her to come back home, Wanda thought. Mother very likely believed that once Wanda was back there, her fascination with Lauscha would vanish like smoke up the chimney. But she was wrong. All right, maybe she had once been a bit of a scatterbrain. But this time nothing and nobody could change her mind! The thought comforted her somewhat.

  “And just when things have begun going so well,” she sniffled, then had to leap aside to avoid being knocked down by a wagon.

  “If you fall under those wheels, it won’t matter how things are going,” Johanna answered. Then she led Wanda into the nearest café, quite unprompted. She ordered them a cup of coffee a
nd a slice of tart each.

  “Come on, give us a smile! As I understand it, your mother isn’t entirely against the idea of your living in Thuringia. But this kind of thing needs planning, I agree with Ruth there. For instance what about this Harold, who your mother says is your fiancé? Doesn’t he have a right to know what you intend to do with your life?” There was no mistaking the note of reproach in Johanna’s voice.

  “Harold!” Wanda said scornfully. “There was never anything official, that engagement of ours was more like a private joke. Do you know I’ve only had two letters from him since he was appointed bank manager? Out of sight, out of mind—you say that in Germany too, don’t you?” She sighed. “But you’re right about one thing. It’s about what I intend to do with my life! I don’t owe Harold any apology and Mother shouldn’t imagine that she can make me feel guilty about him.”

  Johanna drew a deep breath as if she were about to deliver a strong response, but Wanda watched her fall silent when she saw the waitress coming over. The scent of freshly roasted coffee beans rose up to them and after the first sip Wanda decided that Johanna was right to call coffee the elixir of life. She already felt a little better . . .

  Johanna looked up from her tart. “If I can come back to our conversation . . . Whether or not it was an official engagement, I do feel that you should tell him the truth straight out. Or do you want to just wriggle out of things, the way Marie did with poor Magnus?”

  No, she didn’t want to do that, Wanda admitted silently. She always felt sad when she saw Magnus suffering in silence, with that look in his eyes that said he still didn’t understand how the love of his life could simply vanish like that. Not that she believed Harold would suffer the same way—he seemed to have adjusted quite nicely to life without her. All the same, she was ready to make a clean break. But that didn’t mean she had to go back to America, did it?

  “And then there are financial considerations. Even banal details like handling your own household budget need thinking about, you know. Please don’t misunderstand me, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Johanna said. “But you won’t be able to live out of a suitcase forever. And you must have things back home that you miss.”