The Glassblower(103)

Johanna looked at him in consternation. “And that’s all you have to say about it? I’m trying to find some way to understand her behavior though. And I can only think of one explanation: Thomas must have hit her. And more than once. And Ruth . . .”

That was quite enough. Peter sat up too.

“Now you listen to me,” he said as forcefully as he dared, taking her hand. “You don’t have to worry yourself sick over Ruth day in, day out. Even if you don’t believe it, she’s a grown woman. She knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m not so sure about that. She cries at night when she thinks nobody can hear,” Johanna said, as tears sprung into her own eyes. “Her world must have fallen apart. She was madly in love with him.”

“I never said it was easy for her. But perhaps what she’s going through right now is easier than living with Thomas. Have you ever thought of that?”

A ladybug settled on Johanna’s hand, and she fixed her gaze upon it.

“Johanna,” Peter scolded her gently. “Let’s talk about you for a change.”

“What is there to talk about?” she asked, with a pained expression on her face. “You’re just going to make the same offer again.” She shook the bug off her hand. “I . . . please don’t be angry with me, Peter, but it wouldn’t work.”

But why not? he wanted to ask her. If you want it, it will work!

Instead he said, “You can’t sit at home all day either though. Quite apart from the fact that your savings will all be gone at some point, that’s not who you are. Sitting about doing nothing doesn’t suit you. Marie agrees with me, by the way. We’re worried about you.”

“Marie . . .” Johanna cocked her head. “Do you know that she’s really quite a good glassblower? And I don’t mean her ideas and designs, I’m talking about her craft skills. The last batch of baubles she blew in her forms is practically perfect.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. But why even mention it? First you talk about Ruth, and then about Marie—you’re just trying to change the subject.”

“Oh, tosh,” she answered cheerfully.

There was a faint smile on her lips.

“I can hardly sit down at the bench without her peering over my shoulder. Asking questions and wanting explanations.” Marie’s words came back to Peter. And all of a sudden he thought he knew.

“Johanna, are you planning something?” he asked, with a note of warning in his voice.

She drew up her legs and kneeled opposite him.

“I know what you all think: Johanna’s just sitting at home moping,” she said accusingly. “But that’s not it. In fact I’ve been thinking for quite a while about what to do next. And my plans include Marie,” she added significantly.

Peter looked at her. Could it be that he already knew what this wonderful, impossible, infuriating woman was thinking?

“Marie’s Christmas baubles—you want to sell them,” he said.

She looked at him in astonishment.

So he was right!

“And stubborn as you are, you’re not just going to give them to me so that I can show them to my wholesaler, but you want to find a wholesaler of your own.”

“You really know how to spoil a lady’s fun!” Johanna said, pretending to be angry at him.

“Does Marie know about your plans? After all, they are her baubles.”

“No, I . . . until I’m certain that what I want to do will actually work, I’d rather not tell her anything. I want to go to Sonneberg on my own and . . .”

“Oh no, Johanna Steinmann, you’ll do no such thing,” he replied gruffly. “Not until you’ve talked to Marie and Ruth at least. I can see that you want to prove to us all over again that you can look after yourself. But this isn’t just about you.”





12

That same evening Peter sat down at the table with the three sisters, as he had insisted they do, and Johanna laid out her plan.

Once the initial excitement had died down, the objections followed. Although Marie had long dreamed of the day when she would no longer have to hide the glass she blew, she didn’t have the confidence to take the next step.

“What will people say when they find out that I’ve been sitting at the lamp? What if nobody wants to buy glass blown by a woman?” she asked.

They would have to expect a certain amount of hostility of course, Johanna conceded. Many glassblowers and wholesalers would find it unforgivable that a woman had dared to try her hand at men’s work. So she would have to go in search of a forward-looking wholesaler who didn’t care whether a man or a woman had blown the baubles.