The American Lady(77)

She drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders but stayed on the platform so that she could see the train pulling in.

Wanda! Little Wanda was coming back—Johanna still couldn’t quite believe it. The only thing that would have made her happier would have been if Ruth were coming as well.

In the first few years after Ruth left, Johanna had missed her sister dreadfully. “Why don’t you come and visit?” she had asked again and again in her letters. “Don’t you miss Thuringia at all?” Of course she missed the old country, Ruth wrote in reply. But she had been traveling on forged papers, and it was impossible to come back. And later? Ruth had come up with all sorts of reasons not to undertake the journey. Johanna had eventually stopped asking, but she missed her sister dearly. Although they wrote letters, that wasn’t the same.

As the cold crept up Johanna’s legs, she began pacing up and down the platform. Then she remembered that she must have a pair of gloves somewhere in her coat pockets, left over from last winter. She put them on and the cold became a little easier to bear. And a good thing too, since Wanda’s train was obviously delayed—it was now ten past two. But her excitement grew with every minute she waited. And besides, when did she ever have time to let her thoughts wander like this? It was good to have a few minutes to herself, even if it was an unfamiliar feeling. Johanna sighed happily and plunged back into the past.

It was odd, but she had always been able to talk to Ruth more easily than to Marie. Maybe it was because the age difference was less? Ruth had been nine years old and she had been eleven when their mother died, and they had taken care of seven-year-old Marie as well as they knew how. Ten years later, when their father had died and left them penniless, she and Ruth had been the ones to take charge. Or at least so they had imagined—in the end it was Marie who had gotten them back on their feet by teaching herself to blow glass. Even today Johanna was ashamed to remember how she had wallowed in self-pity while Ruth had marched off to Sonneberg with a few Christmas baubles in her basket to find a wholesaler. After her dreadful experience with Friedhelm Strobel, her employer at the time, she simply hadn’t been herself. What luck that Marie had grabbed the opportunity when it came and . . . Johanna felt a pang in her heart as she remembered that Marie had now left the family business too. The worst part was the way she left! Couldn’t she at least have come back to Lauscha to say good-bye? To tidy up loose ends, to collect some of her things, to explain?

And then there was Magnus.

Johanna heaved a sigh.

He and Marie had lived together for years like man and wife, and all of a sudden she didn’t even think him worthy of a decent good-bye! She had sent no explanation and not a word of apology.

It wasn’t as though Johanna saw Magnus as a brother. They had never had very much to say to one another, in good times or in bad. But that hardly meant that she didn’t care about his feelings. Johanna felt desperately sorry for the poor man, who was obviously most upset. He had only heard about Marie’s wedding from the telegram that she sent to them all as a family, and he didn’t deserve such treatment.

Johanna put her hand to her brow and tucked back a lock of hair. She didn’t want to think of Marie today. This was a happy day.

She stopped in front of one of the station windows and sneaked a look at her reflection. She was happy enough with what she saw. She still had the figure of a young woman, and her thick braid of heavy chestnut-brown hair had the same rich glow that had made all the other girls envy the Steinmann sisters when they were young. Though she now had a strand or two of gray at each temple—and no more than that—Peter insisted the gray made her look “distinguished.” Peter! As though she could trust a word he said in the matter . . . Johanna smiled. Whenever she complained to him that she found new wrinkles on her forehead every day, he just looked at her, baffled, and declared that she looked as lovely as ever. Well, that certainly wasn’t true, but Johanna was nonetheless quite pleased with her looks. She glanced once more at her reflection. She had wanted to change into something more cheerful for Wanda’s arrival, but their French visitor had put an end to that idea. In fact she always felt most comfortable in this dark-blue outfit, the one she called her “work clothes.” She grinned. Ruth would probably fall over backward in shock if she knew that Johanna was still wearing exactly the same styles she had twenty years ago. But fashion was the last thing she needed in the workshop. What was most important was making a good impression with the clients.

Someone cleared his throat next to her, tearing her away from her thoughts.