Johannes cleared his throat uncertainly. “If you like, we can go to the museum next. You’ll learn more about Lauscha there than you will anywhere else. And it’s a little warmer in there as well.”
“You’re the guide,” Wanda replied, though by now her feet were beginning to feel like blocks of ice too. Before they could cross the street, they had to stop to let a cart go past, clattering along the bumpy cobblestones with wares piled high in the back. As it passed, one of the horses lifted its tail and deposited a heap of steaming manure in front of Wanda and Johannes.
“Thank you very much!” Johannes called as the wagon went by.
Wanda laughed. “My mother tells me that years ago the women used to walk all the way to Sonneberg and beyond carrying glassware in baskets on their backs. She did that with Marie’s first few globes. But that doesn’t happen anymore, does it?”
“No, these days we just send our boxes to the railway station—in wagons like that—and then they go on by train.” Johannes pointed up at the tips of the fir trees in the forest that climbed the steep hillsides to the left and right of the village. “I bet it’s going to snow, no later than tonight. That white smear across the sky isn’t fog; it’s a sign that the clouds are ready to shed their snow.”
“I do hope you’re right. I can hardly wait to see the village all draped in snow,” Wanda said with delight. Marie had vividly described the contrasts of light and dark when the gray shingled rooftops stood out against the snow.
They had hardly gone ten yards when a huge black dog leapt up behind a garden fence and began to bark furiously at them. Wanda jumped with fright.
“Here now, what are you gowtzing at like that?” Johannes called out. “We won’t go near your heppala!” She could hear the sound of bleating from a low wooden hut at the end of the fence. “They’re all in the linny there, freezing, the poor beasts!”
As always when her family slipped into the village dialect, Wanda didn’t understand a word. She was just about to ask whether the heppala were supposed to be lambs or kid goats when a woman put her head out the cottage window and called out to the dog.
“Good day to you, Karline, how are the children?” Johannes called to her. “She’s one of our painters,” he whispered to Wanda.
“Up in the forest, the little scamps! They’ve left me with all the work!” She held up a paintbrush as she spoke to show what she meant, its tip covered in red paint. “You can tell your mother that the Santa Claus figures are ready.” She scratched her head with the other end of the brush. “And that’s the American girl! Are you . . . on your way up top?” The woman winked at Wanda knowingly.
Wanda smiled back, uncertain what Karline meant.
“No, we’re off to the museum,” Johannes called to the woman over his shoulder. “Our American visitor ought to see everything there is to know about our village and its history.”
“And you’re going to do that by showing her a few old scraps of glass?” The woman laughed and gave Wanda another knowing look. “Well then, have fun.”
“What was all that about? Can you tell me why everyone stares at me like that? Have I grown a wart on my nose during the night?” Wanda asked once they had walked a little farther. “From what you all tell me, the villagers are used to having strangers come to visit by now, aren’t they?” Even as she spoke she could feel more curious glances upon her, this time from two women across the street.
Johannes grinned. “Strangers, yes. But they’re not used to having Thomas Heimer’s daughter come to visit!”
“What?” Wanda stopped in her tracks abruptly. Her head began to spin. “You mean . . . they know that I . . . who my . . .”
Johannes seemed to enjoy her embarrassment. “We’ve got long memories here in Lauscha. Everybody still remembers what went on eighteen years ago. And then when your mother simply up and vanished like that . . . It’s rare indeed that anyone leaves Lauscha for good; we’re a lot of homebodies here. And then seeing as she was a married woman with a child . . .” He nudged Wanda gently in the side. “Don’t look so downcast. They’re just curious to see what you look like, that’s all . . .” He shrugged apologetically.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say!” Wanda had never considered the possibility that everybody here would know all about her.
“Your . . . your father’s very well-liked in the village. And we don’t tend to divorce often, either. And then when a missing child turns up all grown up exactly at the moment when the grandfather is on his deathbed and the inheritance is about to be settled . . . Well, people will quassle. Talk, that is. It’s quite normal for folk to wonder what’s going on. To be honest, even Anna and I thought about it at first . . . But then Mother told us that you didn’t even know about your father until a little while ago. It’s a crazy story!” He whistled softly.