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 the 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!”