Richard took a while to digest what she had said. Then he heaved a deep sigh.
“Well . . . to tell the truth I do have some appointments over the next few days; there are some people who want to look at my work. And now that there are three of us, we’ll need every penny I can earn, won’t we?”
“We will indeed!” Wanda said through her tears.
“But I won’t stay all the way through till Sunday, that’s for sure. I’ll leave as soon as I can. I . . . I miss you so much! Poor Wanda . . . I want to be with you and hold you tight. Forever.”
Which was just what she wanted too. “I love you,” she whispered into the receiver.
“And I love you too,” his voice came back over the crackling line.
The next morning Wanda’s eyes were rimmed red and sore with weeping. Talking to Richard had unleashed the tears all over again. But this time she found that it did her good to cry, that it washed away the pain, and afterward she felt exhausted but healed. It was as though the worst of her grief had been blunted.
Richard would be there for her. His love would heal her pain; she knew that now. As the Tyrolean landscape sped by outside the train window, she thanked whatever fates had smiled upon her last night and allowed a telephone connection. However, she was still dreading having to break the terrible news to Johanna and the others. At least she had had the chance to say good-bye to Marie, difficult though it had been. Wouldn’t the others find it almost impossible to accept their loss? Nevertheless, she had to tell them and the sooner the better. And tell her mother as well. Perhaps she would be able to call New York tonight from Munich.
Richard had said that they would look after Sylvie just as if they were her own father and mother. Father and mother—it sounded strange coming from him. Would every man be so quick to take in the child of strangers? Wanda wondered. How would Harold have reacted? She had no doubt that he would have hesitated, that he would have had a thousand questions. But what had Richard said, in that practical way of his? “Now that there are three of us, we’ll need every penny I can earn, won’t we?” Wanda smiled. She suddenly felt that she could face her future with confidence.
Confidence. Wanda thought for a while about what that word meant. It might be the best name for the tiny, warming flame that she felt deep within her, the flame that had not been there yesterday.
After Wanda had made sure that Sylvie was sleeping peacefully in her bassinet, she shut her own eyes too. The rhythmic rattle of the train along the tracks lulled her into a half sleep. When she awoke a little while later, the first thing she did was look at Sylvie. Everything was all right.
When they arrived in Munich, Wanda hailed a cab to take them to the best hotel in the city. She had just enough money left to pay for one night in a luxurious suite. Her last night away from home, Wanda told herself with relief as she followed the bellhop into the room. She eyed the heavy silk curtains, the vast bed with its royal-blue linens where a whole family could easily have slept, the magnificent Persian carpets on the gleaming parquet flooring. But there was no time to enjoy her surroundings. She unpacked hastily and counted her money. Then she washed Sylvie and fed her. Once the baby was lying happily in the middle of the bed with a light towel over her, Wanda rang for the concierge. She was surprised to see how young the woman was. She explained what she needed, and a few minutes later an older chambermaid appeared at the door. Reassured that she was leaving Sylvie in good hands rather than with a surprised and nervous bellhop, Wanda set out to find the nearest post office. As she walked through the crowded streets, she counted time zones in her head; it was nine o’clock in the morning in New York. If she were lucky, her mother was still sitting at breakfast, having a second cup of coffee.
It was not difficult to get a connection to America, though the clerk did insist on being paid for five minutes in advance, explaining that if he could not put her through she would, of course, get her money back.
Five minutes . . . What could she tell her mother in such a short time? Wanda wondered as the clerk plugged and unplugged cables, threw switches, and tested the connection several times through his headphones. Where should she even begin?
“Miss, your connection.”
Wanda’s hand trembled as she took the receiver. The line crackled and hissed; then she heard, “Hello, Mrs. Steven Miles here.” That cool, familiar voice!
“Mother!” Wanda blinked rapidly so that she did not cry. Five minutes was so little time . . .
“Wanda?” her mother asked incredulously. “Are you already back from Italy? I thought that today was—”
“Mother, I have dreadful news!” Wanda broke in breathlessly. Her heart was in her throat. And before Ruth could say anything, she went on, “Marie is dead. She died after she gave birth to her daughter. I held her hand. She wasn’t alone, do you understand me? She was buried two days ago, it was awful.” She heard her mother take a breath at the other end of the line. Then she heard a soft moaning. Wanda didn’t want to imagine the blow she had dealt her mother with her words.
“Sylvie, that’s her daughter, is well. Marie’s last wish was that I should take her back to Lauscha. That’s what I’m doing now. I’m in Munich . . .”
All at once she didn’t know what else to say.
“Mother?” she whispered when the silence at the other end of the line stretched on and on. “Are you still there?”
“Yes. I . . . pardon me, please, I . . .” There was a sound as though Ruth was blowing her nose, and then she said, “I can’t believe it. It’s . . . did she suffer very much?”
Wanda bit her lip. Should she tell the truth—or . . . ?
“No. She wasn’t in any pain,” she answered. “She had a fever, do you see?”
“Fever . . . Does Johanna know yet . . . ?”
Wanda shook her head. Then she remembered that her mother couldn’t see her. “No. How could I even have told her? It will be a dreadful shock for them when I get home tomorrow with the baby in a bassinet . . .”
“Have I heard you right? You have Marie’s daughter there with you? You’re traveling alone with a newborn baby, such a long way . . . How . . . how did Franco even agree to let you take his daughter away?”
“Franco? I didn’t even see him, but that’s another story. Mother, don’t worry about me, I’ll manage. I’ll call again when I get back to Lauscha. And I’ll write as well!” Wanda felt a surge of love and tenderness. She would have given anything to ease her mother’s pain!
At last Ruth recovered her voice.
“Believe it or not, I had such a . . . strange feeling these last few weeks whenever I thought of Marie. When Johanna told me that she hadn’t been in touch for such a long time . . . My Marie . . . all the same . . . after the birth . . . I can hardly believe that she . . .” she sobbed. “I’m glad that she wasn’t alone when it happened. It must have been such a comfort to her to have you there at her side. I’m proud of you,” she whispered.
“Oh, Mother, the things that happened in Genoa . . . I can’t tell you about them, not yet! But I did everything I could, and I—”
Wanda took a deep breath. This was no time to lose track of her thoughts.
“But there’s one thing I have to tell you now—I promised Marie I would look after her daughter. Richard and I will do that. Sylvie needs me. She’s such a sweet little thing! Marie said she looks like your mother . . . Mother, please understand, I can’t come back to New York, not now!” Wanda held her breath.
“Yes, I . . . understand that,” Ruth said in a hollow voice. The next moment a crackle drowned out her words. “. . . can’t come . . . journey . . .”
How could that happen now, of all times! “What did you say, Mother? The connection . . . Mother, I have to go soon,” Wanda yelled into the receiver.
“I said if you can’t come, then I’ll just have to make the journey myself!”
Wanda co
uldn’t believe her ears. Mother wanted to come to Lauscha—after all these years?
“As soon as we hang up, I’ll call and reserve a cabin on the next ship out. Perhaps . . . Steven will come with me. If not, then I’ll come on my own.” Ruth’s voice was much stronger now, decisive. “We Steinmann girls have to stick together, don’t we?”
34
There was not a soul to be seen on the single platform in the provincial station. So why weren’t they pulling out? Wanda’s gaze fell on the round clock on the platform. Two o’clock already! If this went on, she wouldn’t get back home before nightfall.
Finally the train departed, snorting and shaking. Wanda very nearly felt like climbing out to help push it herself.
They had stopped at least five times since leaving Munich. Every single time the harsh squeal of the brakes had woken Sylvie, who had promptly begun to cry. Wanda found it hard to put her back to sleep. And every single time the smell of burning coal made its way into their compartment, irritating their eyes and noses. Wanda’s handkerchief was already sooty, and she felt as though she’d spent the night in a coal mine.
She watched with relief as the station dwindled away behind them and vanished from view.
At last. She wanted nothing more than to be home.
A little while later the open landscape gave way to forests, which grew gradually thicker. There were no longer any roses and lilies blooming by the side of the tracks; instead, strange grasses nodded their heads gracefully in the wind. Wanda was gazing out the window, lost in thought, when suddenly she was amazed to recognize two huge spruce trees wound around one another.
The Siamese twins!
Richard had pointed out these two trees to her not long after they set out from Coburg! He had told her that their love should be just as deeply rooted as these trees, as closely knit together as their branches. A smile flitted across her face.
What on earth would her mother say about Richard? When she got to know him a little better, surely she would forgive the fact that he was a glassblower . . .
Mother in Lauscha. Wanda still couldn’t quite imagine it. Perhaps Ruth had been so shocked that she just blurted it out without really thinking? Perhaps she had already changed her mind? From the sound of her voice, though, her mind was really made up.
Sylvie began to whimper softly. Wanda put a blanket over her arm and picked up the baby. She gently smoothed the fine hairs at the nape of Sylvie’s neck, which were matted and sweaty.
“Dear, dear Sylvie,” Wanda murmured. “We’ll be home soon, very soon . . .” The little one calmed down and turned her head toward Wanda.
Wanda’s thoughts flitted to her mother—and the way Ruth had spoken to her. As though to a grown-up. Not at all like before. “I’m proud of you,” she had said. It had felt so good to hear those words!
“Poor little baby, you still don’t know anything about your mother, and maybe it’s for the best . . .”
The realization struck Wanda so suddenly that she almost jumped. Wasn’t she in almost exactly the same situation as her mother all those years ago? There she was, traveling halfway across Europe with Marie’s baby in her arms, a de Lucca who was going to grow up in Lauscha. Back then Steven had arranged forged papers for her and for Ruth, while this time it had been Franco’s father. Back then her mother had decided that it would be best if Wanda knew nothing about where she came from. And now it was up to her to make sure that Sylvie never found out what dreadful things her father had been involved in.
Wanda sobbed.
“Everything will be all right, my little princess,” she whispered, her voice nearly choked.
Johanna’s words came back to her as if from nowhere. “Why are you so dead set on repeating the mistakes of the older generation?” And “Wouldn’t it make sense to at least try to do a little better?”
Wanda couldn’t remember quite when or why her aunt had said those words. All that seemed so long ago.
But she would be home soon. With Johanna.
And her mother would be there as well, soon. It had taken a terrible tragedy to bring Ruth back home to where she had been born—what an irony of fate! Wanda shook her head. They would mourn Marie together. All the Steinmann girls. And she was one of them.
All at once she felt the flame called confidence burning brighter inside her. It grew with every mile, growing stronger as the train made its way through the valleys, between the pine forests on the mountainsides.
Everything would be all right.
She would move into her father’s house with Sylvie until the wedding. That way her mother could stay with Johanna. Eva would be happy to have a baby in the house and she could help Wanda with Sylvie—she certainly had enough experience from looking after her own brothers and sisters. A grin flitted across Wanda’s face—the first in a long time. Woe betide Eva and Ruth if they slipped back into their old quarrels! If that ever happened, she would tell them exactly what she thought of them.
It would also be very strange for all concerned when her mother and her father met again for the first time after so many years. All the same Wanda firmly believed that Ruth’s visit would go without a hitch.
The baby girl in her arms squirmed.
She would give Sylvie all the love there was in the world. She would tell her stories every evening about her beautiful and proud mother, the woman who had made the glassblowers of Lauscha quake in their boots! Stories of glitter powder and glass baubles . . . Richard would take Sylvie on his lap so that she could watch him work. Perhaps she had inherited Marie’s talent?
And when the time was right, Wanda would tell Sylvie about her father.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe my warmest thanks to all who shared their knowledge with me, especially the glassblowers of Lauscha, among whom I can name only a few here: Lothar Birth, Michael and Angelika Haberland, Sabine Wagner, Peter Müller-Schloß and Thomas Müller-Litz. Their help was invaluable, and any mistakes that I have made in the descriptions of glasswork techniques are mine and mine alone.
I would also like to thank my friend Gisela for reading the draft of this novel with such care and attention and helping to polish the final version.
The little Tyrolean town of Bozen is now known as Bolzano and is part of Italy. In 1911 Tyrol was still part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © Privat
Petra Durst-Benning lives near Stuttgart, Germany, with her husband, Bertram, and their dog, Eric. Before writing her first novel she worked as an import/export translator and edited a magazine for dog owners. All this changed with the publication of The Silver Thistle, which was set against the background of the peasant uprising in Germany in 1514. Her next dozen books take place in times ranging from the sixteenth century to the nineteenth century, and are set in Germany, France, Russia, and America. They bring tales of historical times, love and family, and happiness and hardship to an ever-growing readership. The American Lady is the second book in The Glassblower Trilogy.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Photo © 2013 Maria Pakucs
Samuel Willcocks is originally from Brighton on the south coast of England, but he now lives with his family in the historic city of Cluj, Transylvania, where he spends as much time in the cafés as he does in the libraries. A keen reader in many genres including science fiction and historical novels, he studied languages and literature in Britain, Berlin, and Philadelphia before winning the German Embassy Award (London) for translation in 2010. He has been a full-time translator from Czech, German, Romanian, and Slovene ever since. When not overindulging in cakes or dictionaries, he can be found at book festivals and other literary events, sharing his enthusiasm for Central European books and writers.
The American Lady (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 2) Page 41