The American Lady (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 2)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  “I have everything I need,” Wanda answered huffily. For all she cared, her mother could give all her possessions away to charity—what need would she have here for a ball gown or pearl-encrusted strappy sandals? “Mother only had a suitcase when she left here, and she never even told you she was going. And Marie left everything behind when she went to live with Franco in Genoa. It seems I’m the only one who has to do what everyone says.”

  She thrust out her lower lip petulantly. What if she just stayed here?

  “Oh, Wanda . . . Why are you so dead set on repeating the mistakes of the older generation?” Johanna sighed, looking tired all of a sudden. “Wouldn’t it make sense to at least try to do a little better?”

  “Why didn’t you tell your mother that we’re getting married?” Richard asked, frowning. “I’m sure that would have changed her mind.”

  “Married?” Wanda squealed. “We’ve never even talked about that . . .”

  “Why are you blinking like a startled deer? It was clear from the very first that we’d stay together. Which means it’s just as clear that we’ll get married one day. Actually I wanted to wait until . . . well, until I had more to offer you.” He waved his hand vaguely about the room. “But if we have to, then I’ll go up to your father this very evening and ask for your hand in marriage. Whether it happens sooner or later—what difference does it make?” He shrugged as though everything were decided. “Would the future Mrs. Stämme like to give her bridegroom a kiss?” He reached out to Wanda with a twinkle in his eye.

  Mrs. Stämme . . . She was extremely tempted to snuggle up in his arms and enjoy the warm glow that his words had kindled within her. Instead she shrank back. She knew her heart should be beating wildly, but she felt a surge of anger.

  “Actually I had pictured a proposal of marriage a bit differently . . .” she said in a haughty tone.

  He could spend hours talking about a new glasswork technique or telling her everything that Gotthilf Täuber had said on his last visit, but he hadn’t bothered using more than a few words to address something as important as their wedding! And he hadn’t even asked her. Besides, Wanda didn’t believe that her mother would be at all keen if she told her she wanted to marry. Quite the opposite: she would probably do all she could to stop her daughter from marrying a glassblower! Wanda said as much to Richard.

  For a moment they were both silent. Finally, hesitantly, Richard began to speak.

  “I can see that your parents might have objections to . . . well, to me. I’m not too sure of myself either. So . . . I mean . . .” He ran his hand through his hair, and it stuck out in all directions. “I’m sure that I love you, of course, but everything else . . .” He waved his hand helplessly. “Perhaps the reason I’m rushing at it like a bull at a gate is that otherwise I feel my head will explode. What can a man like me offer a girl like you? The question haunts me in the middle of the night, first thing in the morning, even when I’m at work. It’s like a great dark monster and I can hardly fight it off. A . . . clever girl like you, with all your book learning and worldliness. A New York lady, staying here in Lauscha for the rest of her life—”

  “But I . . .” Wanda interrupted him, but Richard carried on. “Of course you like it here now, when everything’s new to you. But there’ll be another winter next year, that’s for sure. And then another after that. How are you going to cope with the fact that sometimes Lauscha is completely cut off by snow? Will you be so bored you start to hate me? And how will you like life in a glass workshop day in and day out? Do I even dare do that to you?” He sighed. “Sometimes the monster’s stronger than I am, and then I think we’ll never be together. But now that I’ve told you that’s what I want, I’m so relieved! Wanda, love—we can make it work! I know that we can, and I’ll do everything I can to make you happy!”

  There was a note of stubborn certainty in his voice that didn’t agree at all with the doubt in his eyes. Wanda had never seen him look so vulnerable. Her heart was brimming over with love for this man, who always did what he had to do and said what he had to say, no matter what. She took his hand and looked at him earnestly.

  “I’m a little scared by all that too. But it’s just as you say—we have to fight the black monster. Doubt is a dragon, but we can slay it! Doesn’t love conquer all?” she said.

  He blinked skeptically. “Was that a yes or a no?”

  Wanda grinned. “It was a yes, you big dumb ox! Yes, yes, yes!”

  This time she let him take her in his arms. He picked her up and swung her around the room as if she were as light as a feather, whooping with joy. “She’s going to marry me! Hurrah!”

  Wanda laughed happily. She kissed Richard on the lips, on his ears, on the back of his neck under the fringe of hair.

  He eventually let go of her gently and raised his brows as he looked her straight in the eyes.

  “There’s just one little problem—apart from the fact that we have to get your parents to agree. An organizational problem. Nothing we can’t sort out.” He went to the cupboard and came back with a letter in his hand. “From Täuber,” he said. “We can’t get married until June at the earliest. In the second and third weeks of May—”

  “We haven’t even started talking about the date,” Wanda interrupted. She might have said yes but that didn’t mean she had no say in the matter! And they still had to talk about her trip to New York.

  “I’ll be in Venice. Do you remember the art fair that I told you about? This is my invitation. Gotthilf Täuber wants to introduce me to some of the glassworkers there. And he’ll pay for my trip too. He says I can use the chance to learn as much as I can from the Italians and—”

  “You’re leaving?” Wanda’s voice was faint. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now,” Richard replied. “Anyway, it’s only for two weeks. Täuber says I should . . .”

  “Two weeks! We have even less time than I thought, then!” Wanda grumbled. If she ended up having to go back to New York, then she would have left Lauscha by the time he got back. And what if he fell in love with a beautiful Italian girl on his trip? Just the way Marie had fallen in love with her handsome Italian? Then she’d be left all on her own in New York and . . .

  She flung herself into Richard’s arms and held him tight. “Please don’t go!”

  Her fear of losing Richard was suddenly stronger than anything in the world. Perhaps she should ignore what her parents wanted and stay in Lauscha?

  For a moment the only sound was the monotonous drip-drip-drip of snow melting into the brimming rainwater barrel behind the house.

  “Why don’t you just come with me to Italy?” Richard suddenly murmured into Wanda’s hair. “The art fair might be useful for the Heimer workshop as well. They say a lot of business gets done there. That’s the other reason I want to go—though I’d never say as much to Täuber. But I’d like to have more than just one customer, do you see what I mean?”

  Wanda nodded, still leaning her head on his chest. She knew just what he meant. She worried that so far she had only managed to interest Karl-Heinz Brauninger in her father’s wares. Finding more buyers was right at the top of her list. But how should she go about it? That had always been the question.

  “The two of us in Venice . . .” Wanda heaved a heartfelt sigh. But before she could fall too much in love with the images this conjured up, she pushed herself away from him. “But there’s no way in the world that Aunt Johanna would allow that! Not any more than my parents would!” She didn’t say whether she meant Ruth and Steven, or Ruth and Thomas Heimer.

  Richard gnawed at his lip. “And I can understand them too. We’re not married yet, or things would look different of course . . .”

  The image of gondolas in the pale glittering sunlight was fading away when another thought struck Wanda. “How far is Venice from Genoa, though?”

  Richard shrugged. “I have no
idea. Why?”

  “Do you have an atlas where we could look it up?” Wanda asked, though she knew that he didn’t.

  “An atlas—me? Where would I get something like that? But your aunt has one, Anna brought it over one time. We wanted to see how far it is to the Bavarian Forest and the Black Forest, there are a lot of glassblowers down there as well. We would have liked to visit . . .” He waved the idea away. “You get ideas like that on the long winter evenings. But tell me, why do you ask?”

  Wanda fought back the twinge of envy she had felt at Richard’s words.

  “Well, if I remember right, then Marie will give birth sometime in May. And I’m wondering . . . what if I used the time I have left to go visit her? Nobody can object to that, can they? I’m family after all.”

  In fact, Johanna objected a great deal, as did Ruth and Steven. Even Thomas Heimer scowled more than he usually did when Wanda told him her plan. They all said the same thing: that it was not proper for an unmarried girl of her age to travel with a man, even if they would part company as soon as they’d crossed the Italian border. Wanda thought it best not even to mention that she planned to follow Richard to Venice once she’d been to see Marie. Even she felt rather alarmed at the thought of catching the train from Genoa to Venice all on her own. Nor did they mention anything about getting married. Wanda had persuaded Richard that this was not the time to say anything. Wanda was quite sure that her parents would be even more worried about their daughter’s virtue if they knew that she and Richard were planning a wedding. So instead she repeated that she was almost frantic with worry for Marie. It was some comfort to think that that wasn’t even a lie.

  The calls flew back and forth between the post office in Sonneberg and Ruth’s apartment in New York. Since she couldn’t make any headway with her mother, Wanda even called Steven at his office. As soon as she heard his voice, she burst into tears. Then she told him at length how sorry she was to have hurt him with her childish behavior before she left New York. Steven did his best to calm her down. At last he managed to bring her around to why she had really called, and she asked whether he could put in a good word for her. There was nothing she wanted so much, she said, as to see Marie again. Steven answered that he understood that Wanda was worried about her aunt, of course, but he wasn’t really sure that he would be acting in her best interests if he let her take this trip.

  Whereupon Wanda burst into floods of tears again.

  A few days later the postman came to the Steinmann-Maienbaum workshop with a telegram for Wanda. When he didn’t find her there, he cursed under his breath and then climbed the hill all the way to the Heimer workshop.

  Wanda’s hands trembled as she took the telegram from him. She held her breath as she opened it. She scanned the lines quickly and only then did she let herself breathe out.

  Her cry of joy rang through the whole house.

  Despite their reservations, Ruth and Steven had given their permission for Wanda to go to Italy “for Marie’s sake.” They had also sent her a money order for a considerable sum.

  25

  “The doctor says that your backache could be early contractions,” Patrizia said, smoothing the covers down over Marie. Then she tucked them in at the sides of the bed so tightly that Marie could hardly move. Although Patrizia had pulled the curtains closed, it was still bright in the room and very warm.

  Marie blinked in shock. Early contractions?

  “What does that mean?” She looked over at her mother-in-law and then at the doctor, who was standing a discreet distance away from the bed. She was worried. The doctor had examined her by palpating her stomach and then her back through her nightgown—the whole thing hadn’t lasted more than two minutes. Then he had rattled away at Patrizia in Italian from under his mustache, speaking so fast that Marie couldn’t follow him. The only word she caught was complicazione.

  “What kind of complications is he talking about?” Marie asked when Patrizia didn’t reply.

  “He isn’t; you must have misunderstood,” Patrizia answered. She didn’t mention that the doctor was concerned because of Marie’s age. “But Dottore di Tempesta recommends strict bed rest from now on. Otherwise there’s a danger that the child may be born prematurely.”

  “But I—”

  “No buts!” Patrizia interrupted sternly and then nodded to the doctor that his consultation was over.

  Marie watched helplessly as the man snapped his medical bag shut and turned to leave the room. She still had so many questions! The baby was due at the end of May. But what if it came earlier? Would there be problems? And wouldn’t it be best to have a doctor present for the birth? After all, he had mentioned complications.

  Although Franco’s mother had become a little more approachable in the last few weeks, she still refused to accommodate any such request. “The women of the de Lucca family have given birth without help for centuries. If a birth was difficult we brought in a midwife, but that’s all.” Marie was tired of hearing this little speech every time she mentioned her concerns. Patrizia clearly thought that Marie was lily-livered. All the same she had finally given in to her pleas and called the doctor for a consultation, though not before Marie had sworn on her mother’s grave that she wouldn’t say anything “silly” while he was there. Marie was so grateful that at that moment she would have sworn anything at all. Now, however, she was so worried that something might be wrong that a promise meant nothing. She tore the sheets away and sat up in bed.

  “Dottore, uno momento!” she cried out when the doctor was already halfway out the door.

  Patrizia cast her a warning glance.

  The doctor turned around. “Si . . . ?”

  “Is my child well?” Marie asked softly.

  He hesitated, just for a moment. Then he nodded energetically and vanished into the dark hallway outside.

  Marie watched him go. Thank God!

  That was all she had wanted to know. Only that.

  “Was that really necessary?” Patrizia asked when she came back into the room. “Hadn’t we agreed that you would keep quiet?” She put a pitcher of milk and a glass on the bedside table.

  The sight of it made Marie feel queasy. “You know that milk makes me feel sick these days. I would much rather have a cool glass of lemonade.” She sighed. “And I’d like to go for a walk. It’s so stuffy in here you could cut the air with a knife. If the heat’s this bad already, I hate to think how hot it gets in the summer.”

  Patrizia pretended not to have heard that last remark. “Milk never did anybody any harm. It would do the bambino good for you to drink it. After all, you’ll have to make your own milk starting in a couple of weeks.” She held the half-full glass out to Marie, urging her to drink.

  Marie forced herself to take a sip and tried to fight back the nausea. In the end she needed to stay on Patrizia’s good side if things were not to get any worse in this prison.

  “Is there any news?” Marie asked. Patrizia raised her eyebrows and she realized she must have a milk mustache. She wiped her mouth hastily with the back of her hand.

  Patrizia shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I spend every day waiting for the lawyer to call and tell us whether he’s managed to make any progress. But so far . . . nothing.” Her voice failed her. She took a starched handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at invisible drops of sweat on her brow. When she was able to speak again, there was a note of bitterness in her voice. “That man has been taking fat legal fees from us for decades now, but heaven forbid we should ask him to actually go to court!”

  “I don’t understand! How can they put Franco in jail when there’s no proof at all that he had anything to do with it?” Marie was genuinely upset. As long as Franco was a prisoner in New York, she was a prisoner here in the palazzo. She had felt a surge of hope when Patrizia told her that the family had sent one of the best lawyers in Italy to America, but that hope was long g
one now. Either this lawyer couldn’t make any headway against the American legal system, or there was more evidence against Franco than the testimony of one bribe taker.

  Or . . . perhaps both were the case.

  “If Franco doesn’t come back soon . . .” Marie whispered, her voice choked with tears. Even though she was lying down again her back began to ache. She moaned softly.

  Patrizia was following her own train of thought.

  “He’ll be back for the birth of his child,” she said. She saw the doubt on Marie’s face and gave her hand a squeeze. “We just have to stick together. Una famiglia, si? As I always say.”

  Marie didn’t answer.

  Patrizia whispered, “We should pray. For our beloved son, for your husband.”

  26

  After fourteen days of hectic preparation for the journey, the moment had finally come. Richard and Wanda bid their farewells to Lauscha as everyone who was staying behind showered them with words of advice, best wishes for the journey, and even a tear or two. Johannes gazed at his cousin with undisguised envy, having taken her aside earlier to admit that he had always wanted to travel abroad. Anna simply shook Wanda’s hand and muttered something about having a lot of work to do, then turned and fled without saying good-bye to Richard at all.

  It showed plainly on Johanna’s face that she still wasn’t convinced about the propriety of letting them travel together, but she forced a smile all the same. Peter hugged Wanda, then Richard, then stuffed some money into Richard’s pocket and told them both to drink a glass of Bavarian beer on him that evening. “Just the one, though!” he chuckled, wagging his finger.