The Glassblower(108)

No sooner had she finished putting up her hair than she was assailed by more doubts: Wasn’t this hairstyle a bit too old-fashioned? The American must be used to women who were the height of style. She gently teased out a few strands, making sure not to ruin what she had just achieved and skeptically turned her head to the left and right. Yes, that was better, but now it looked rather too playful. She wound the strands around her finger until they curled gently. Much better. Glancing coquettishly at herself in the mirror, she decided she was still very pretty. And there was no point trying to compete with high-society ladies. She would just have to make the best of what she had.

With a practiced motion, she pulled her dress on over her head without putting even a hair out of place. She would have liked to wear her wedding dress, but that would have been impossible in the August heat. So she had settled for her second-best dress: the color was nothing impressive—a dull brown—but it was a well-cut garment with plenty of fabric and especially luxuriant skirts. The brown complemented her skin nicely. As she was putting on a necklace that Marie had recently made her from glass beads and silver wire, she suddenly had an idea. She ran out to the back of the house, picked a bunch of daisies, then hurried back into the washhouse and twined some of them into her hair. She pinned a final posy onto the shoulder of her dress. At last she was happy with how she looked.

When she went back into the house, Marie was about to leave for work.

“The basket with the baubles is out in the hallway. I put the biggest pieces on top, just make sure nothing gets cracked.”

“And? Did she notice anything?”

“Johanna?” Marie shook her head. “Either she was pretending to be asleep when I went into the room to fetch the basket or she really was asleep. She didn’t make a sound at any rate.”

Ruth breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I wouldn’t want to explain all this to her.” She turned to go into the kitchen and drink a quick cup of coffee.

Marie caught her sleeve. “Are you sure you’ll manage? I mean, you haven’t been to Sonneberg much.”

“Why can’t you trust me just a little?” Ruth asked, upset. “I’m no less intelligent than Johanna, am I? As long as I catch the slate-maker on his cart, I can be in town in no time. And if not . . .” She shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to walk; I do know the way.”

“But then the American will be out visiting the wholesalers by the time you get there,” Marie protested. “And how will you find him then? Even if you cross paths somewhere in town, it’s not as though you can just stop him on the street and introduce yourself.”

Ruth gnawed at her lip. “That’s the only thing that worries me,” she admitted. “I’ve even wondered whether I should try to find out which hotel he’s staying at.”

“And then?”

“Don’t play the fool,” Ruth said, shaking her head disapprovingly. “Then I could wait for him there.”

“That’s certainly one way to do it,” Marie conceded. “But what if he doesn’t speak German?”

“Marie!” Ruth cried. “We talked about all that at length last night. He must know German. How else would he even get by? I can’t imagine that every wholesaler in town speaks English.” She turned abruptly and went into the kitchen. “And now I don’t want to hear another word about it. The more I think of it, the more nervous I get.”





14

When Marie left, Ruth went upstairs. She lifted Wanda from her cot, hastily changed her diaper, and then took her into the next room. Carefully she put Wanda down next to Johanna in bed, whereupon her daughter looked at her wide-eyed. Ruth hoped that she wouldn’t start to cry.

“What’s all this?” Johanna said ungraciously.

“You’ll have to take care of Wanda today. I’m going out, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I might even be gone for the night.” As she spoke Ruth realized that she hadn’t considered that possibility until now. But it wasn’t all that unlikely, given that she might have to wait some time for Mr. Woolworth . . .

Johanna sat up in bed and took Wanda onto her lap.

“You’re going out? Overnight, perhaps?” There was a note of curiosity in her voice. “Are you meeting Thomas?”

Ruth gave a noncommittal shrug. Johanna could believe whatever she liked. She tried to estimate what a night in a hotel might cost, and what she would have to take with her. She felt sick at the thought that she might have to take a room somewhere. Could a woman alone even do such a thing? And it must cost a fortune! Her palms were damp with trepidation as she took a fresh nightshirt from the wardrobe; she could pack her hairbrush and a few other things down in the washhouse. Then she went back to Johanna’s bed.