The American Lady(96)

There were loud steps on the stairs. Whoever was coming was panting and short of breath. Wanda suddenly found the thought of meeting another member of this family almost unbearable.

“I don’t want to impose any longer. You must have plenty to do in the workshop . . .” She didn’t wait for Heimer to reply but turned to go. Too late. A shadowy figure appeared in the hallway and a harsh female voice spoke up.

“Wilhelm’s being quite impossible today, again! I’ve only got one pair of hands. I can’t spend all my time at his beck and call! Michel’s called for me three times already this morning as it is . . .”

Eva stopped in the doorway, rooted to the spot. Her eyes darted from Thomas to Wanda and back again.

“I thought I heard something!” She folded her arms in front of her, came closer, and looked at Wanda with a beady eye. “Well look at this, it’s the American girl . . .”

“Hello, Eva.” Wanda managed a thin smile despite the unfriendly stare. She wasn’t going to let this haggard old woman get the best of her. Eva was as old as her mother but seemed worlds away from the provocative temptress in Ruth’s tales. And what was she cooking in that pot?

Eva went to the stove and took the lid off. A cloud of steam shot up, accompanied by an odd smell. She took out something small and bony that Wanda could have sworn was a squirrel.

“I’ll see myself out,” Wanda gasped out as she tried not to breathe through her nose.

“Oh no you won’t!” Thomas Heimer sat up straight. “You’ll drink a cup of coffee with us now that you’re here. Otherwise people will say we never offer our guests anything! Eva, put the kettle on. And bring some bread and something to go with it.”



Now that she’d lost her chance to beat a hasty retreat, Wanda had no choice but to sit back down at the table with her father. Eva glowered as she thumped cups and plates down on the table, and Wanda tried to make conversation.

She mentioned how excited she was about all the snow. Was it going to stay like this all the way through till spring, she asked, although she knew the answer already.

Thomas Heimer asked how her journey had been and what she thought of Lauscha, then listened to Wanda’s answers without any real interest while he drank his coffee. He seemed determined for her to notice how little he cared.

“Johannes took me to meet a few glassblowers so that I could see for myself how many different wares are made in Lauscha.” She laughed, embarrassed. “To tell the truth I liked the marbles best of all. So many colors in one tiny piece of glass!”

“Old Marbles Moritz knows his work,” was all Heimer said.

“And what’s going on in your workshop?” Wanda asked. As she spoke she realized that the question really mattered to her. Perhaps if Thomas Heimer started to talk about his work, he might prove to be a little more like the man she had imagined he would be. So far the man sitting across the table had shown no signs of being the talented glassblower Marie had described with such admiration. Nor did he seem at all like the charming rogue her mother had talked about. Instead Thomas Heimer seemed fragile.

“Next to nothing, if you really want to know,” Eva said, joining in the conversation for the first time. “We’re just about keeping the wolf from the door, but not for much longer! If you and your mother think you can get your hands on anything worth having, she was wrong to send you here. She . . .”

“Eva, shut yer mouth! That’s not why Wanda came,” Heimer snapped at her.

Aha, what was going on here? Wanda looked at Heimer, and just for a moment their eyes met.

“You’ll have heard by now that Michel’s not much use any longer,” Heimer said, nodding vaguely toward the hallway. “He has to lie down most of the time. Has what they call phantom pain. And Father hasn’t left his bed for weeks now. Back in summer he still insisted on spending an hour or two in the workshop every day.”

Was she expected to reply? Wanda decided the best thing to do was lend an open ear. She had just drunk the last sip of coffee when Eva snatched her cup away from her.

“Don’t you pretend you miss having Wilhelm there while you work,” she spat over her shoulder from where she stood at the sink. “We haven’t had any decent orders for three months—that’s the trouble!”

“But how can that be? The Heimer workshop was always famous for its wares, wasn’t it? Marie told me that you’re one of the best in the whole village.” Wanda saw Thomas Heimer’s eyes light up briefly. Maybe she had improved his day a little with her visit after all.

A moment later, though, Heimer’s eyes clouded over with sadness again. “What’s the use now that nobody wants glass anymore? There are porcelain works springing up everywhere like mushrooms after rain—and they make vases and bowls and knickknacks so cheaply there’s no way we can compete.”