The American Lady(84)

Unwillingly Marie hauled out her sketchpad with the first drafts of the designs. Every fiber of her being bristled at the idea of going back to old work when there were so many new possibilities to be discovered.

At first she had been very pleased with her idea of making Christmas baubles in the shape of good-luck charms. She was quite sure that people would like hanging shooting stars, horseshoes, or four-leaf clovers on their Christmas tree to bring good luck for the new year. But when she looked at the design for the shooting star now, she felt a twinge of skepticism—would old Strupp even be able to make a mold for such a complex design? And would Peter and the others be able to blow into it? Given the way Magnus moaned on whenever he had to blow one of the Santa Claus designs, she thought not.

Magnus . . . she wondered how he was doing. Marie still felt guilty whenever she thought of him. But she couldn’t turn around and go back to him for that reason alone.

Lost in thought, Marie stroked her belly. If she was counting right, she was now in her third month, so the baby would be born sometime in May. She was going to have a child. It was a strange idea.

She still hadn’t told her family back home about the pregnancy. She sensed that she mustn’t overburden Johanna and the others with too much news at once. And after all, what was there to tell? She didn’t feel ill and she wasn’t suffering from mood swings the way some women did. She was perhaps a little more quarrelsome than usual, but otherwise, she had never felt so healthy in her life. Indeed she even suspected that the pregnancy was to thank for the boundless creativity that simply seemed to gush out of her these days.

No, her sisters could hear about the baby early next year, she decided.

Marie snapped her sketchpad shut.

Perhaps she should take a little time to think about the new designs in peace and quiet. A few days’ delay wouldn’t make much difference in the long run. The molds for the charm series would never be ready in time for the new catalog in February either way.

But she had no sooner sat down to her colored shards once more than she had another attack of guilt.

Even if she couldn’t send Johanna some decent designs, she should write her a letter. A letter to her, and one to Wanda. And perhaps one to Magnus as well.





8

I’m finally here in Genoa. Dear Wanda, you can’t imagine what a shock this city was for me. I thought I would find a romantic little fishing village, and then dear Franco led me through streets that were no less lively than New York! The harbor alone is enormous—Franco says it’s the biggest in all Italy—and it lies in a cove surrounded by cliffs on all sides. Then the city climbs up the cliffs above it. The count’s palazzo is halfway up, and when I sit up in bed in the morning, I can look out my window and see the sea. Can you imagine? The first time I went for a walk through Genoa I felt I was wandering through a museum of Renaissance art—there are marble palaces everywhere, and then churches, public fountains, and monasteries! I wouldn’t be surprised if the art of sculpture had been invented here. The Italians call this city La Superba—Genoa the Proud. Franco says that art and life go hand in hand in Genoa—so I’ve ended up in just the right place, haven’t I? I miss you all dreadfully, of course, but I figure there are worse places to wash up on the wilder shores of love . . .

I found it very hard to leave Monte Verità, though by now I’m glad that I have a little more calm and order in my life. Yesterday when we walked across the square at Piazza Banchi, I was quite light-headed from the magnificence all around us, and I wished that Pandora or Sherlain could be here—especially Pandora. I can just imagine how she would go dancing through the streets like a Renaissance angel. Oh, I miss her too! Her, and the other women from Monte Verità. Their laughter and their lust for life. Just as I miss your laugh.

As expected, Franco’s parents are not exactly thrilled to have a complete stranger as a daughter-in-law. Patrizia especially is most put out that Franco went and found a wife all by himself—she strikes me as a woman who likes to have the final say in matters. But I try to live my own life despite her.

As he promised, Franco has set me up with a workshop where I work away quite happily—much to my mother-in-law’s disapproval. But we’ll get used to one another in time so to be honest, I try not to think about it too much. Even though we live together under one roof, we don’t have much to do with one another; I sit in my workshop all day (with a view of orange trees, believe it or not!), and Franco and his father sit in their dusty old office where they have dozens of visitors every day. I would never have thought that so many people were involved in the wine trade. You really ought to see how respectfully they approach Franco and the old count! It seems that a noble title really means something here.