The American Lady (30 page)

22

The thaw set in from one day to the next. First the snow in the streets melted, then it slipped down off the rooftops, then the trees on the mountain slopes all around began to show their branches. By the end of March the landscape was shaggy and patchy like a dog shedding his winter coat, and Wanda had to get used to seeing colors other than white. Rivulets and streams ran down the slopes wherever she looked; the meadows down in the valley became quagmires, and the water in the streets pooled into great puddles. It was no easier to walk the streets than it had been when the snow was knee-deep. Everyone got wet feet one way or another, but they never complained as they went about their business—rather they seemed to welcome the melt. After all, it meant that the landscape was finally struggling free from its cocoon of snow and that spring was near.

Though Wanda’s head was brimming over with plans and ideas, she noticed that everyone around her was growing restless. Suddenly everybody was on the move: a neighbor set off for Neuhaus to fetch two piglets from his brother-in-law. Anna and Johannes were planning a trip to Coburg—without asking Wanda if she wanted to come along. Lugiana, the Italian maid, sang Roman songs from morning till night and cast longing glances at Magnus, who didn’t notice a thing.

Wanda felt the same restless urges—among other symptoms, she wanted to kiss Richard whenever the chance arose. She was more than a little scared by the strength of her physical desire for him, and she was glad that Richard kept a cool head when it seemed she might lose control of herself.

Lauscha woke up from hibernation with regard to business matters too. A great many more wagons were slipping through the last of the snow now than in months gone by, and visitors were seen among the old familiar faces. Richard’s patron, the gallery owner Gotthilf Täuber, came to visit and bought everything Richard had made. After that Richard grew even more dedicated to his work than before; whenever Wanda came by his workshop, he was either hard at work on a piece or studying the most recent catalog that Täuber had brought.

There was a new sense of purpose in the Steinmann-Maienbaum house as well: Johanna sent off gold-edged letters to all their customers, inviting them to a show of the new collection in the spring. Wanda was impressed all over again by her aunt’s flair for business.

But nothing could compare to how Wanda felt about the new mood in her father’s house. Karl-Heinz Brauninger had begun to contract with the Heimer workshop. He had already bought a whole series of artistic pieces, and he had told them he was interested in more.

By curious chance, the seeds for these new and promising developments had been sown back at carnival time when Wanda and Richard hadn’t missed a single dance or party or costume parade. Wanda had never seen anything like the weird and wonderful costumes and colorful grotesque masks people wore for Mardi Gras in the Thuringian Forest. She loved every minute of it and got swept up in the locals’ good cheer. And then it was all over on Ash Wednesday.
How fine it would be if there were only some way to bottle some of this festive spirit for the rest of the year,
she had thought, her head buzzing. Bottl
e . . .
Wasn’t Lauscha a glassblowing village? She got the idea for a series of glass pieces called
Carnival
on the spot. As Wanda had expected, her father was deeply skeptical about her suggestion, arguing that the kind of detail she was describing took far too much time to create. Eventually, however, he gave in, and the result was a series of bowls and drinking glasses in various sizes. There was also a centerpiece and a set of glass napkin rings, which were Wanda’s idea. The whole series was blown from transparent glass and then decorated with thousands upon thousands of bright colorful flecks like confetti. In the end even Thomas had to admit that it had been worth the effort: every piece sparkled with good cheer, awakening visions of elegant banquet tables, tinkling glasses, and merry diners drinking to one another’s health. Karl-Heinz Brauninger was also delighted with the result and offered a higher price than Wanda had been planning to ask. They’d gotten off to a good start—now she had to keep the ball rolling!

“Please, Aunt Johanna, let’s not call New York until next week! If you like we can go to the post office in Sonneberg first thing on Monday, but not today,” Wanda pleaded urgently, glancing nervously at Johanna across the kitchen table.

Everybody else was already toiling away in the workshop, and Wanda would usually be on her way up the hill to the Heimer house by this time, but she had asked Johanna to talk with her for a moment.

Johanna shook her head. “I really don’t see what you hope to gain by that. There are only four weeks until you’re supposed to leave. You know that you’re very welcome here, despit
e . . .
despite everything. But if you really do intend to stay in Lauscha for longer than planned, you have to at least ask your parents’ permission! Or don’t you think they have any say in the matter?” Johanna frowned angrily. “Quite apart from which, you’re making things very difficult for me too.” She sighed. “Every time your mother writes or calls, she asks me to take better care of you, instead of letting you run off to your father every day.”

“But I’ve written to her to explain why
I—
”

Johanna waved the interruption away. “And then there’s the question of your affection
s . . .
I really ought not to let you see Richard every day. Even if you do swear your most solemn oath that the two of you are behaving appropriately.”

“Oh, Aunt Johanna!” Wanda felt a pang of guilt. “I know that I’m not making things easy for you. But Richard is such an honorable soul that you really needn’t worry about m
y . . .
about my innocence. And as for my fathe
r . . .
” She threw up her hands helplessly. “Please try to see things my way. For the first time in my life I feel that I’m doing something really useful! I know that Mother only wants what’s best for me, but can I help it that I’m just not the sort of girl who enjoys a life of cocktail receptions and tennis games? I do so much like to see how things can really get better when you put your mind to it! I’m sure that
you
understand that. You and Mother and Marie—you never let anything change your mind. You each followed your own path!”

Even as she uttered the words, Wanda realized that it had been a mistake to mention Marie.

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 wel
l . . .
” 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 chil
d . . .
” 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 glitter
s . . .
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 what 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 glas
s . . .
”

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.

“Tha
t . . .
” 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 fee
l . . .
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 fel
t . . .
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.