“Don’t you think you’ve impressed Wilhelm any,” Eva hissed at Marie, sounding for all the world like a jealous wife.
Griseldis and her son were regular visitors. Although Griseldis was skeptical at first, she warmed to the project when she saw how much thought the three sisters had put into the work. Sometimes she sat down at the table and helped them paint, while Magnus packed the baubles and stacked the cardboard boxes once they were full.
Week by week, the pile of boxes grew, climbing ever higher toward the ceiling. Soon there were boxes of baubles all over the house, and it was a nerve-racking business picking a path around them to make sure nothing toppled and fell.
Even with all the enmity they attracted and all the hard work, it was a good time for the Steinmann sisters. Though none of them knew how to put their feelings into words, they were proud to see Joost’s old workshop come back to life and to be working together once more.
The bulk of the work fell to Marie, but she never once complained about putting in twenty hours a day. Instead she sat at Joost’s bench and blew glass as though she’d been doing nothing else her whole life. She was quite carried away by the idea that her baubles soon would be hanging on Christmas trees all across America. Johanna sometimes wondered whether there wasn’t a touch of obsession in Marie’s dedication. When she mentioned this to Peter, he replied dryly, “Is there even any such thing as dedication without obsession?”
For Johanna, too, the work was like stepping into freedom after doing nothing all summer long: she painted, finished, numbered the items, wrote the price tags, packed the baubles, tracked the inventory. Finally, it was her chance to show what she was made of. And she had to admit that there was a kernel of obsession inside her as well.
Ruth went around with a blissful smile on her lips all the time—almost entirely thanks to the letters the postman brought.
21
Hamburg, 30 August 1892
Dearest Ruth,
I hope that my letter finds you in good spirits and in good health? I am sure that there is much work to fill your days, so I almost feel guilty for taking up your valuable time with my letter.
Ruth, you cannot imagine how pleased Frank (Mr. Woolworth) is to be able to have your Christmas decorations in his catalog. Throughout the journey back to Hamburg he talked of little else but how he could hardly wait to see those baubles shining on his shop displays. You should know, most respected Ruth, that Woolworth stores are not like other shops; we do not have our wares stacked up out of reach on shelves behind a counter, but rather, everything is set out where the customers can help themselves. This means that everyone can pick them up, look as closely as they wish, and then choose whatever their heart desires. The customer is king, so Frank always says. My employer is quite sure, as am I, that your Christmas baubles will suit our customers’ tastes exactly.
I am distressed to discover that even in the first paragraph I have already broken my resolution not to take up too much of your time. Ruth, you have made me into quite the chatterbox. There are a thousand things I wish to tell you. But where should I begin? Where should I stop? And yet I confess I find that a written letter is a poor substitute for being able to look into your eyes and listen while you talk in that lively and inimitable way you have. Please permit me to say that since we met, I have not stopped thinking of you. The evening we spent together, and then the walk we took through that incomparable landscape enchanted me. You, Ruth, enchanted me!
I am a man of numbers, a sober-headed chief clerk, and yet I find myself asking Fate what it could mean that we met. I hardly dare hope that you might consider our meeting anything more than a commercial transaction. Though this, too, has its charm—it seldom happens that I find myself negotiating with such a charming partner. Mr. Woolworth, by the way, says that he found the way you did business very “American.” You may be assured that he means that as a compliment.
As I sit in my office and look out the window, I see steamers setting out for the New World every day. In only a few weeks I, too, will set foot aboard one of these oceangoing giants to accompany your Christmas baubles—and the many other glasswares from your home village—to America. But before that time comes, I wish you to know that I am considering a visit to Sonneberg on the 29th of September. Given the quantity of goods that are to be transported to Hamburg on the 30th, it might be a good idea for me to supervise the loading and packing of these wares myself. Most respected Ruth, if you chose to come from Lauscha to Sonneberg, we could be certain that the wares are treated with the due respect. After all, glass is very fragile, is it not?