The American Lady(125)

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.