The American Lady (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 2)

by Petra Durst-Benning

  Thomas Heimer had insisted on coming to see them off at Paul Marzen’s house, where they were loading their luggage onto Paul’s horse cart for the trip to Coburg. He shook Wanda’s hand over and over again and then handed her a packet of food that Eva had packed for their journey. Although she could smell the unappetizing scents of Heimer home cooking through the waxed paper, Wanda was so touched by the gesture she could have cried. And then Thomas turned to Johanna and said, “Whoever would have thought we’d be here together, both of us worried silly?”

  At that, Wanda couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. Her only consolation was that while she was away Thomas would be kept busy with a large order from Brauninger; an American collector had come to see the dealer and had ordered several dozen vases, each of which involved using a different technique. “A cross section of everything Thuringian glassblowers can do!”—so Brauninger had declared. That was just the thing for Father, Wanda decided happily. At first Thomas hadn’t believed it and had accused Wanda of making a bad joke, but then he had set to work with a vengeance. He was so carried away by the task that Wanda hardly recognized him; he seemed to have become a young man again overnight.

  Wanda wanted to set about finding more clients when she got back. Secretly of course she was hoping she could make new contacts for the Heimer workshop in Venice as well.

  It was so hard to say good-bye to Lauscha!

  “Hey, Wanda, are you planning to stay here after all?” Richard asked, reaching out to her impatiently.

  Wanda sighed and then let him pull her up onto the hard wooden bench of the cart.

  “It’s only for two weeks,” Richard whispered in her ear when he saw how miserable she looked. She nodded.

  They were off.

  When they arrived at the railway station in Coburg, their train had already pulled up to the platform. As soon as Richard spotted it, he began to run, worried that they wouldn’t be able to board. Wanda giggled and pointed out that the stokers were still shoveling coal into the tender up front—the train wouldn’t be leaving quite yet!

  The train was to take them from Coburg via Nuremberg to Munich, where they would spend the night in a boarding house near the station. The next day they would cross the Austrian border to Bozen, and there they would part ways.

  Although Wanda had bought her own ticket at the Lauscha station, Richard’s had been issued in Weimar—Gotthilf Täuber had sent it to him along with his reservation for a pensione in Venice and a ticket for the art fair. At the sight of the Weimar-issued ticket, the conductor raised his bushy eyebrows and looked long and hard, paying no attention to the murmuring queue of passengers that was forming behind Richard and Wanda. When he finally let them board, they found that they were in luck; the compartment was only half full so they were able to sit down and have a free bench across from them. Wanda put some of her luggage there, even though it ought to have traveled in the luggage compartment. She had a whole suitcase full of things for Marie’s baby and presents for Marie herself. Richard had brought his own suitcase into the compartment as well, which looked pitiful next to Wanda’s elegant luggage. Richard seemed to notice the discrepancy, and he draped his jacket over the case as though to hide it.

  It was a bright sunny day, and the spring air blew in through the train windows as a pleasant breeze. The whole world seemed to be in bloom outside. Wherever they looked, they saw the gleaming white of apple and cherry blossoms.

  At first Wanda took Richard’s hand and savored the idea that this journey was a dream come true for her. Even two weeks ago she would never have believed it could happen. But with every curve of the tracks, reality became more wonderful than any dream. There was something new to look at every few minutes, and Wanda simply couldn’t sit still. She waved her hands in excitement, pointing first at dark forests, then at orchards stretching up the hillsides, then at the little villages with their red-tiled rooftops—she hadn’t seen slate since they left Thuringia. They also passed several lakes where the water gleamed a rich dark-sapphire blue.

  It took Wanda some time to notice that Richard did not share her excitement but was instead staring ahead, lost in thought. When she asked him what the matter was, he said, “Did you notice how it was only my ticket the conductor checked? He didn’t even ask the other passengers to show theirs.”

  At first Wanda didn’t understand what Richard was driving at. She had long forgotten their little delay in boarding.

  “It’s typical, though!” Richard went on. “People think they can treat us hillbillies any way they like. If that’s the way it’s going to be, then I’ve already had enough!”

  And with every mile they traveled away from Lauscha, he grew more and more taciturn. Wanda knew that Richard’s bad mood had nothing to do with her, that he was simply feeling nervous. Secretly she was even a little amused that her own dear Richard had lost his self-assurance as soon as he left Lauscha behind . . . She decided to leave him alone, however, and instead buried herself in the guidebook on Italy that she had bought a few days before from Marie’s friend Alois Sawatzky.

  Richard didn’t relax until that afternoon, but then he was happy to talk. And by the time their train reached Munich toward evening, he was almost his old self again.

  The boarding house by the Munich railway station was modest but well kept. Once Wanda and Richard had taken their luggage up to their rooms, Richard would have been quite content to stay in and order the dish of the day in the dining room—a lentil soup with sausages—but Wanda rolled her eyes. The sun was still shining golden outside and the streets were still full of people out enjoying life. So she persuaded Richard to come out with her and take a walk along the famous Maximilianstrasse, which she had heard about even in New York. The shops were all closed at this hour, but they could still enjoy window-shopping. Wanda put her hand on Richard’s arm, then laughed as she spotted their reflection in a shopwindow. All they needed was a walking stick for him and a parasol for her and they would look like an old married couple. It was only when the streetlamps came on and their feet began aching from walking that they finally decided they’d had enough.

  Instead of going back to their boarding house to eat, they ended up at a restaurant in the Schwabing district where two fiddlers were playing lively tunes. Richard kept glancing curiously over at the other diners as though they were from another planet. He pointed discreetly at the man at the next table, who was wearing a black tailcoat and a fiery red scarf, and then at another man whose scalp was shaved completely bald but who had a great bushy beard down to his chest. Then he pointed to two young women who were kissing one another on the lips in front of the whole restaurant. Soon Richard was so embarrassed that he didn’t know where to look next.

  Wanda felt right at home however. The atmosphere reminded her of the many evenings she had spent with Marie and Pandora in Greenwich Village.

  “They’re artists,” she whispered to Richard, then told him that he had best get used to such eccentric characters since there would be droves of them in Venice. When she saw one of the diners being served a plate of spaghetti, she suggested that they order the same thing—they were headed for Italy after all!

  “Women kissing, men whose hair has slipped down to their beards, spaghetti here in Bavaria—well, why not!” Richard commented dryly. At that Wanda kissed him on the lips.

  As the evening wore on, the mood among the customers grew ever more cheerful. The music was so loud that it was hard to engage in conversation, but Wanda and Richard were content simply to gaze into one another’s eyes and sway gently in time with the melody.

  At last the musicians sat down with a jug of wine and it became a little quieter—aside from the heated political arguments at some of the other tables.

  Wanda and Richard could talk now, and as always their conversation roamed far and wide. There was so much they had to say to one another!

  Wanda eventually told him about th
e evening when Marie had let slip that Steven wasn’t her real father.

  “All through my childhood I somehow felt that I . . . that I didn’t quite belong. Neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat, do you understand? And that’s only changed recently, in these past few weeks. Now I know that Steven is part of my life just as much as Thomas. It feels as though I’m gradually finding my feet in the world.” She looked at Richard, who was listening intently, absorbing all she said.

  Wanda went on. “Part of me will always be American, but I’m more and more of a glassblower’s daughter with every passing day! It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Suddenly all the doubts and anxiety she used to feel in the old days were back, so close at hand that Wanda shivered. How many times had she started a new project full of hope, only to see it fail miserably later! She took a generous gulp of wine.

  Richard looked at her thoughtfully. “Everything was so much simpler for me. I’ve known ever since I was little that I’m the son of a glassblower. My father was one of the best. My parents made it quite plain to me from the start that they expected me to follow in his footsteps. Or rather, that they expected me to do even more. It’s just a shame that they’re not here to see their wish come true. Father wouldn’t like the idea of my going off to Murano, mind you, but apart from that . . .” He reached across the table and took Wanda’s hand. “They would be proud to see me marry Heimer’s daughter!”

  She didn’t quite understand what he meant by that remark at first, but then she realized that in Richard’s eyes that was what she was, first and foremost—a glassblower’s daughter. He couldn’t see the contradiction that had split her childhood in two, or didn’t want to see it. For him, she wasn’t the little rich girl from Fifth Avenue with a head full of whimsical dreams that needed getting rid of. Richard saw her as a woman who knew how to get things done and who would stand at his side as he made his way in the world. A warm wave of happiness washed over her.

  Her eyes sparkled with love as she lifted her glass and drank to their future together.

  “And I’m proud to marry a glassblower. How does the saying go? Marry a glassblower and your cup will never run dry!” Marie had told her that once, or something of the sort.

  Richard frowned quizzically. “I think the saying is a little bit different, but I like your version too!”

  27

  The second day of the journey was just as wonderful as the first. With every mile, the landscape became more and more like the pictures in the books that Johanna used to send to her in America: there were the snowcapped peaks of the Alps, the deep-blue sky with its white cotton-candy clouds, the light-brown cows with their great dark eyes. Waterfalls along the side of the train tracks splashed down the steep mountainsides to the left and right. Wanda felt that the closer they came to Brenner Pass, the closer they came to Heaven itself, and she was overjoyed. Their fellow passengers were amused to hear Wanda break out into new raptures every five minutes or so.

  Richard had his own way of appreciating the magnificent landscape outside. He glanced out the window, then down at his sketchpad, then back again. Later he told Wanda that he hadn’t expected the journey itself to be such a source of inspiration. She told him that since it was, they should plan to travel regularly in their future life together.

  The other passengers had already decided they must be newlyweds, and smiled at them indulgently or wistfully. To be so young, and so much in love . . .

  The hotel in Bozen was more elegant than the boarding house the night before and had a much grander dining room where almost all the tables were taken. This time, it was Richard who insisted that they go and explore the town. Once they had found their rooms and freshened up a little, they walked hand in hand through the narrow streets. It was a warm evening, and it seemed that everyone in Bozen wanted to spend it out on the street: children were playing, women in aprons were sitting together scrubbing vegetables, and men were chatting animatedly on street corners, the smoke from their cigarettes wafting through the air. Wanda and Richard sometimes found it hard to make their way through the crush. Though winter had only just ended in Lauscha, it already felt like early summer here.

  “This is just how I imagined the south would be!” Wanda pointed to a long row of flowerpots bursting with bloodred geraniums, and a black cat sitting in front of them grooming himself. “The smell of summer in the air and the deep-blue sea!”

  Richard laughed. “I can’t see the sea from here.”

  “Spoilsport!” Wanda nudged him in the side. “You have no imagination.”

  A moment later they came upon a piazza, and whatever answer Richard might have been about to give died on his lips. In front of them was the most beautiful fountain either of them had ever seen. Within a broad sandstone basin, countless cherubs cavorted in various poses, each holding a cornucopia from which the water poured out.

  “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Wanda asked, amazed. She put a hand in front of her mouth. “That must be hundreds of years old, don’t you think?”

  “I think it must be from the Renaissance,” Richard answered. He sounded just as impressed.

  When they got closer, they saw that coins filled the bottom of the basin.

  “It’s a custom here. You throw a coin into the fountain, shut your eyes, and make a wish. Then the wish comes true. Drat it all, I must have some small change somewhere . . .” Wanda said, and began scrabbling around in her purse.

  Richard took her hand and drew her toward him. “My wish came true long ago,” he murmured and kissed the palm of her hand.

  Later they ate roast squab with garlic potatoes in a little trattoria. They drank a Chianti wine that warmed them from the inside. They laughed, they talked, they touched hands across the table, and every movement meant more than it ever had before; every twinkle in their eyes was a message meant for the other alone; every gesture was a secret that shut out the rest of the world.

  He is my man, Wanda thought all the while, almost bursting with pride and happiness.

  They left the trattoria with the last of the other customers, and then, finally, they were standing in front of their rooms, each with a key in hand. When Richard kissed Wanda good-night, she clung to him with all her strength. Don’t leave! She didn’t want to be alone—she wanted to be with him, to feel him with her as never before.

  The air between them was almost sparking with desire. It would be so simple to spend the next few hours together! But they had made a promise back home in Lauscha. And besides, they had to leave early the next morning; Richard’s train to Venice and Wanda’s train to Milan both left shortly after seven. They ought to get a few hours’ sleep. More embraces and more kisses followed, and then Wanda and Richard parted, their hearts heavy.

  Wanda sat in her camisole at the old-fashioned dressing table that took up almost the whole wall in her little room and stared forlornly at her image in the mirror. She couldn’t summon the will to open her suitcase and look for her nightgown. Even though Richard was just on the other side of the wall, she missed him already!

  Ever since he had told her how he felt on New Year’s Eve, so suddenly and with so much certainty, they hadn’t been apart for even a day. His trust in her, his good humor and tender caresses—how empty the days to come would be! Lost in thought, she ran her hand over her bosom but felt nothing. When Richard touched her there she shivered all over. When would she be back in his arms again—and happy? Richard . . .

  Perhaps her longing would not be so bad tomorrow when she could look forward to seeing Marie again, but tonight, the idea of being without him for even a day or two was more than Wanda could bear.

  She stood up so suddenly that the shellacked stool tipped over backward. She cringed, knowing that a noise like that at such a late hour would annoy the other guests. Then she went to the glass doors that led out onto the balcony and opened them. Just to get a breath of fresh air. To gather her thoughts.


  Just that.

  She wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Richard standing on the balcony next door. All the same her eyes widened when she saw what he was doing.

  “You’re smoking?” She pointed at the glowing cigarette in his hand, astonished. He was one of the very few glassblowers in Lauscha who did not smoke. Whenever one of his friends offered him a cigarette in the tavern or on the street, he replied that he didn’t care for tobacco.

  Now he grinned wryly. “You won’t go telling anyone, will you?” He took one last puff, then threw it to the floor and ground it out with his foot.

  Wanda nodded and said nothing.

  For a moment they stood there, silent, each leaning against the balcony railing, staring fixedly out at the houses opposite. There was a sharp smell in the air, perhaps rising to their balcony from the hotel kitchen. The tension between Wanda and Richard grew and grew.

  Wanda swallowed. Then she said slowly, “I won’t tell anyone.” Her heart was hammering like crazy. A moment later she heard herself say, “I’ll keep your secret if you’ll keep mine.”

  After that everything happened quite naturally. Without even thinking about it she opened the door for Richard. Tonight she wanted to be his woman. She’d never wanted anything so much.

  When they were facing one another, she lifted her arms and pulled her camisole over her head. It fluttered to the floor and lay there. Then she reached behind her back. It took her a moment to open the hooks on her brassiere, her hands were trembling so, but it soon lay beside the camisole. Then she took off her panties. Unhurried and unashamed. The tension was thrilling, these moments of waiting so sweet!

  She knew that she was beautiful. Ever since she had grown into womanhood a few years ago, men had looked at her admiringly—and women enviously. She knew the reason why. But she had never felt so beautiful as she did now, the first time Richard saw her naked.