“What did Peter want?” Ruth burst out before Johanna had even closed the door.
All at once Johanna felt butterflies in her stomach. Strange. She had stood in the doorway just like this, back on that fateful Monday. She pulled herself together before the grief could settle on her shoulders again like a black shawl. They had to talk about their future. There was no getting around it.
“Peter said that he would like to buy Father’s tools and the stock of glass, but unfortunately it’s not what he needs.”
“Maybe one of the other glassblowers will buy up the stock?” Marie asked.
Ruth sighed. “I don’t know . . . It wouldn’t seem right to me to just get rid of it all like that. It makes everything seem so final.”
“But that’s just what I mean!” Marie said, raising her voice. “Now that Father’s gone, we won’t be blowing any more glass.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Whatever will become of us?”
Johanna didn’t know what to say. Ever since Father had died, she had thought a good deal about how they would cope. She had put on a brave face for Peter, but in truth her confidence was as hollow as the glass beads that half the village made and sold.
Without someone in the house to blow the glass, they had nothing to live on. Without someone to blow the glass, they wouldn’t grind the stoppers, paint the labels, or pack the wares. Those few skills that they had were of no use at all.
“Tomorrow I’ll go to Sonneberg to sell the last few things that we have. It’s just some jars and tubes, and it won’t fetch much, but we can live off that for a while. We can’t rely on people bringing us food forever after all.” Johanna looked at Ruth, who seemed to be off in a daydream somewhere, and decided to speak plainly. There was no sense trying to soften the blow. “I’ve looked in every nook and cranny in Father’s room, but it looks like he didn’t put aside any savings. Putting in the gas pipes probably cost him everything he had.” She bit her lip. It was still so hard to believe.
“Maybe the gasworks will give us that money back if we tell them we aren’t using the gas?” Marie asked quietly.
Ruth frowned. That was typical of Marie. “You can’t really believe that! Don’t you remember that their men had to spend three days digging a trench to lay the pipes? That’s where the money went. We can’t just turn up and ask for it back!” She nonetheless cast a glance at Johanna with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
Her older sister shook her head. “They won’t hear of it. No, we’ll just have to use whatever Friedhelm Strobel gives us to get by until something turns up.”
The hope in Ruth’s eyes died away. “If only we had a man about the house to help us! Someone who could take over Father’s bench and lamp.”
“And who would that be?” Johanna laughed bitterly. “The other glassblowers all have their own work to take care of. And anyway—how would we pay him, whoever it was?”
Marie looked as though she wanted to say something, but she kept quiet for fear of being told off again.
“We’ll have to hope that someone takes us on as hired hands. If the Widow Grün can work that way, then so can we,” Johanna said. They could hear in her voice how little she enjoyed the prospect of doing such a thing. Hired hands earned even less than a maid; everyone knew that. They had to work ten hours a day, even more, just to get by.
Her sisters didn’t say a word, but she could hear their skepticism all the same. There were only a few workshops in the village that even took on hired help, and so far none of them had come offering work.
“There’s another way we could get a glassblower into the house . . .” Ruth grinned. “Maybe we should think of marrying! It’s not a bad idea given our current situation, is it?” She sat up straight, as though she were about to grab paper and pencil and draw up a list of candidates.
Johanna and Marie looked at each other, downcast. They didn’t know if their sister was serious.
“And where are you going to conjure up three eligible bachelors?” Marie asked.
Ruth didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm in Marie’s voice. Pursing her lips, she replied, “Well, that is a problem. Father was very fierce with them all. If we don’t get a move on, all the lads in the village will be spoken for, and we’ll end up as old maids. All the other girls have been engaged for ages!” There was an undertow of panic in her voice.
Johanna could hardly believe her ears. “What are you blathering about?”
“I’m not blathering, it’s the truth,” Ruth shot back. “One or two of the men who are getting married caught my eye as well, let me tell you. And there were some good glassblowers among them. But since Father never even let us go down to the foundry square, how could we ever have caught a man’s eye? I daresay they’ve all written us off!”