Where were all the families sitting by the fireside, painting globes together? Where were the glassblowers’ lamps twinkling through the windows like glowworms to light up the long dark evenings? And where were the marbles men who made every child’s favorite toy?
By the time they left the drawing school, it had begun to snow. Thick velvety snowflakes settled onto Wanda’s hair, shoulders, and arms.
“It’s snowing, it’s snowing, it’s snowing!” She danced with joy right there in the street.
Johannes had buried both of his hands deep in his pants pockets, and he grinned awkwardly. “Don’t make such a fuss now, people are watching!”
“So what? This is the first snow I’ve seen in Germany! I’ll never forget today as long as I live!” Wanda replied, sighing happily.
“The snow’s late this year. But once everything’s covered in white it will stay that way till spring, so you don’t need to stand here in the street forever,” Johannes said insistently. He suddenly seemed to be in a hurry to get back home.
Wanda grabbed her cousin by the sleeve. “Wait a moment . . . how can I even say this . . . ? There’s something else I must do. Who knows when we’ll get another chance . . .”
“If you think I’m going to go up the hill with you to the Heimer house, you’re mistaken!” Johannes said, his face unreadable. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me up there. Mother wouldn’t like it one bit.”
“That’s not what I want,” Wanda reassured him. “But there is something I’d like to do now.”
10
“Oh dear, I do believe little Wanda is in love!” Marie chuckled. “Listen to this . . .” She ran her finger under the lines as she read aloud.
I’m so happy that Johannes finally agreed to my suggestion and took me along to meet some of his friends. To see how people live, and how they work in their own homes—that was always my dearest wish! And now I have seen real life in Lauscha. What an afternoon it was! Dear Marie, you can’t imagine how kind they all were! Wherever we went, they offered me a cup of coffee. One of them—Hans Marbach—even poured me a glass of his herbal schnapps!!! The glassblowers of Lauscha really are the most wonderfully friendly people. Even the children were clinging to my skirts and wanting to show me what they had just been working on and painting.
Then we went to visit Richard Stämme in his workshop. Before we knocked at the door I joked to Johannes that I couldn’t drink another cup of coffee, not with all the goodwill in the world, but Johannes simply said that Richard was not going to offer me any. Probably another old fellow like Moritz the marble-maker, I thought to myself—you know who I mean, the poor soul who can hardly see a thing but still makes the most wonderful marbles. He even gave me one as a present, with all the colors of the rainbow inside. And he let me sit down at his bench and try my hand at . . .
“Marie, mia cara—it’s all very nice of course that Wanda tells you everything in such detail, but do I have to listen to it all?” Franco said, waving his hand impatiently. “Quite apart from which—how does any of that tell you that Wanda is in love? She hasn’t said a word about it yet.”
“The giveaway comes a little later, hold on . . .” Marie leafed through the pages hectically. “Where is it now . . . ?”
Franco sighed. “I did promise Father that I would have these papers ready by tomorrow.” He pointed regretfully at the stack of official-looking documents on his desk. “The ship will be setting sail in three days, and it’s not going to wait for our wares.”
“If I’m boring you, I can leave.” Marie gathered up the pages of Wanda’s letter and set off slowly for the door, waiting for him to say something.
In vain. Franco was back at his ledgers again.
Marie turned to face him, her hand on the doorknob. “I thought now that the wine harvest is done, you would have more time for me!”
“Mia cara . . .”
Marie felt a lump in her throat as she walked toward the orangery. There was always a pile of paperwork to be done! There was always a constant stream of visitors, vintners, customers, all with some request to make! There was always something more important than her. More important than the studies they had planned.
How they had dreamt of that in the first weeks, when Franco’s workday never seemed to end. They looked forward longingly to evenings spent together at the round walnut table in the library—Franco immersed in a book about wine-growing techniques and Marie looking through a thick volume about the history of art in Genoa. She had spent a whole day wandering the town before she finally found what she had been looking for in an antiquarian book dealer’s shop. Franco had been as happy as a child when she came home and presented him with a book about the old grape varieties and how they could be improved.