The Glassblower(112)

Ruth glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and instantly forgot what she had been trying to say. She had never seen such a handsome man in her life!

The two men talked to one another for a moment and then went to the table.

A moment later, the famous Mr. Woolworth was holding a glass globe, one painted with an ice-crystal pattern. Though the room was quite dark, the globe picked up what light there was and seemed to sparkle and glow. He turned again to his companion, and they exchanged a few words in English. He picked up a second globe, then a third. When he next spoke, his voice was oddly hoarse.

Though Ruth couldn’t understand a word, she could tell that the man was interested. She unclenched her hands on the chair a little. Just when she had plucked up the courage to take another look at the handsome assistant, he turned to her. Their eyes met over the sparkle of Marie’s globe.

“How on earth did you get into this room?” he asked in perfect German. “And what do you want?”

Ruth felt herself flush. “I would rather not answer your first question, since it would get someone into trouble.” She lifted her hands apologetically and tried to smile. “But I will gladly tell you what I want. I’ve come from Lauscha to offer you these Christmas baubles for sale.” Ruth blew a strand of hair from her face.

The man frowned but seemed satisfied with her answer. He and Woolworth exchanged a few more remarks.

Dear Lord, thank you!

Woolworth asked his assistant a question, pointing at Ruth as he did so. When she heard something that sounded like Loosha, she nodded.

He reached for more baubles, showing this one to his assistant, holding that one up in the last bit of light from the setting sun.

Ruth didn’t dare look over at the second man again. Instead she took the opportunity to get a good look at Woolworth. No, she couldn’t agree with what the photographer had said; it was only at first glance that Woolworth looked like any other middle-aged man. What set him apart from other men was not his clothing or his haircut but the way he moved, nimble and forceful all at once. And his eyes, which never stayed focused on one thing for more than a moment but took in the whole room. Ruth had the feeling that this man never missed even the smallest detail.

Standing there in her sweat-soaked dress, with her hair coming undone, she began to feel even more awkward. She tried to unstick the sweaty strands from her face without being too obvious about it. Her eyes had just wandered involuntarily back to Woolworth’s companion when Woolworth himself turned to her, holding a silvered glass nut in his hand. He frowned and asked something in English.

“Mr. Woolworth would like to know why you are not represented through one of the wholesalers,” the younger man translated. “After all, it’s not standard practice for sellers to sneak into our hotel room.” An amused smile played across his lips.

“Well, you see . . .” She bit her lip. The explanations she had so carefully prepared were gone in a puff of wind. There was nothing left for it but to tell the truth. “There are three of us. We’re sisters. Johanna, Marie, and myself. Oh, and my name’s Ruth,” she added. “Our parents are dead and we must fend for ourselves. Which is why Marie . . . she’s the youngest”—Ruth swallowed nervously—“Marie blew these globes. She’s very gifted. But it’s not, umm, standard practice for women to sit down at the lamp. That’s the workbench where the—”

 “I know what the lamp is,” Woolworth’s assistant interrupted her, smiling.

Ruth felt herself blush again. Was he mocking her?

“No woman has ever dared blow glass before. It’s strictly a man’s job in Lauscha, but Marie does it,” she said proudly. “None of the wholesalers want to take our wares because glass is men’s work.”

As the assistant translated everything she had said, Ruth held her breath. What would Woolworth say? He evidently liked the baubles. But would he have the same prejudices against a woman blowing glass?

A loud burst of laughter broke in on her doubts and fears.

Woolworth clapped a hand on Ruth’s shoulder while speaking to her in English. She looked to the younger man for a translation.

“Mr. Woolworth says that he likes the idea that a woman made these baubles. He likes it a great deal!” the assistant said, smiling. “And he also likes the way you took the bull by the horns. He says that’s something he would have done as a young man.”

“Really?” Ruth’s eyes widened. “You’re not . . . pulling my leg?”

Both men laughed.

Ruth stood there and felt silly. While the men talked, she began to pack the baubles back into their basket. What came next?