“Well, this is living, isn’t it?” Ruth said, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “You won’t see anything like this in London or Paris. This style of apartment house is a New York invention. I can hardly wait to show you my little kingdom.”
Marie felt vaguely dizzy, but she figured it was from the unaccustomed speed of the elevator.
Ruth and Steven’s apartment was no less luxurious than the imposing lobby downstairs. Long hallways to the left and right led to a multitude of vast rooms, all lavishly outfitted with mahogany furniture, Chinese carpets, and heavy silk curtains. Marie was shown to the guest suite she would occupy, complete with its own bathroom, which was decorated in pastel green from floor to ceiling. There was a brand-new set of a hairbrush, comb, and mirror laid out for her on the dresser and, alongside that, an arsenal of little pots and jars with creams and lotions that made Marie nervous just to look at. She sat down on the enormous bed to test it and then spotted a selection of ladies’ magazines on her bedside table. They had been fanned out so artfully that she could hardly imagine picking one out to read. Goodness gracious—who did Ruth imagine was coming to visit here? An opera diva?
Marie washed her hands and face quickly and left it at that—Ruth had already told her that a maid would unpack all her luggage—then set out in search of her sister.
As she walked soundlessly across the plush carpets that covered the whole length of the hallway, she found herself thinking how Ruth used to polish the stairs in their childhood home, scouring away with the block of beeswax until the wood came to a high shine. After their mother had died so young, the three sisters had divided up the housework and all the jobs in the workshop. Ruth had taken care of the cooking and most of the housework and was rarely to be seen without a cleaning cloth in her hand, or a knife for peeling potatoes. She had never complained about all the hard work, but even as a young girl she had dreamt of meeting a prince someday who would carry her off to his castle. Johanna and Marie had thought this was all empty talk and daydreaming. Marie smiled at the memory. Whoever would have thought that Ruth’s castle would be here on Fifth Avenue in New York?
Marie peered cautiously through the next door on the right. It appeared to be another parlor, this one decked out in shades of red, but just like the three other rooms she had looked into, this one was dark and deserted. She was relieved to hear the rattle of dishes from somewhere next door, and she thought she could smell coffee too. Ruth’s drawing room at last! But when Marie opened the next door, she found herself in a tiny kitchen where a red-cheeked cook was watching over several pots simmering away on the stove.
“Hello, my name is Lou-Ann. Can I help you?” she asked, heaving a large pot from the stove as she spoke and setting it down to cool on the marble kitchen counter. Without missing a beat, she went over to a window and opened it to let the smell of soup out of the room. Then she opened the oven and took out the tray of cookies that Marie had smelled from next door. Soup and broth, coffee and cookies—the smells seemed so comforting to Marie that she suddenly wanted nothing more than to sit down right there with Lou-Ann with a cookie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other.
But Ruth was waiting impatiently for her at the end of the corridor with tea and cakes.
“There you are! I thought you must be so bone-tired you’d fallen asleep. Don’t worry, you can go to bed soon enough. Steven promised to come home from work early today so that we can take an early supper. He can hardly wait to see you!”
“I’m looking forward to seeing him—your Steven is such a fine fellow,” Marie replied. “The last time I saw him was when we inaugurated the new warehouse in Sonneberg.”
Unlike Ruth, Steven had come to Thuringia every year in the early days, back when he was still working for Frank Woolworth. Once he began working for his father’s firm again, however, he didn’t come as often. Whenever he did, he made sure to look in on Ruth’s sisters, even if their business relationship didn’t strictly call for it. Steinmann-Maienbaum still made Christmas decorations for Woolworth’s stores as well as for Miles Enterprises, the Miles family’s wholesale business.
“But most of all I’m looking forward to seeing Wanda! I can hardly believe that little scrap of a girl has grown into a young woman by now. Where’s she hiding?”
Ruth sighed. “Heaven only knows where the girl is. She’s not at work; that much is certain. Her boss . . . oh, forget about it. Why don’t you tell me what you think of the apartment?” She swept her arm all around.