The Glassblower(134)

Ruth, however, felt increasingly frazzled and disappointed. Her stomach was giving her trouble again. While the farmer began to untie the lines that held the cardboard boxes in place, Ruth spotted a sign that pointed to the public lavatory. After deliberating for a moment, she mumbled something about having an upset stomach, pointed vaguely toward the main entrance, and dashed off.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” she called over her shoulder to the farmer.

This time Ruth managed to ease her bowels. When she was washing up and looked into the mirror, she was shocked at what she saw. Her face was dreadfully drawn and tense. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection.

“What a silly cow you are,” she scolded herself. “No man would ever get so worked up.” By the time she left the lavatory she had calmed down a little.

And then she saw him.

Steven!

He was standing there with a black notebook in his hand, counting the cardboard boxes as the farmer unloaded them and stacked them up. Ruth wondered how he had managed to find the right wagon amid all the confusion.

Her heart was in her throat. How should she greet him? She hoped she would be able to speak at all.

But before she could utter a word, Steven looked up. “Ruth!” he exclaimed. Beaming, he lowered the documents in his hands and came toward her.

“How are you? The driver told me that you have an upset stomach. I do hope it’s nothing serious?”

Of course he had to spot her as she came out of the lavatory. Ruth felt her cheeks grow hot. “No, nothing, just a little chill,” she murmured in embarrassment.

“You look a little pale still, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

His eyes. So full of concern for her, so . . . Ruth had to fight the impulse to fling her arms around his neck.

“I’m sure I do. I wasn’t expecting all this excitement.” She waved her hand in a gesture that took in the whole station.

“That’s why I’m here,” Steven said, seizing her hand and pressing it briefly. “I’ll take care of everything. Marie’s baubles will leave Sonneberg in one piece, and they’ll arrive in New York unharmed.”

His smile and the certainty he radiated could have calmed a herd of stampeding horses. Ruth had trouble keeping her happiness in check.

“Here are the inventories. Just as you asked, we’ve listed every design individually. And the codes on the cardboard boxes are all explained here.” She pointed to the top of the first sheet.

How good he smelled. His face was just a few inches from hers as they bent over the papers together. There were blue shadows under his eyes.

“You look worn out,” Ruth heard herself whisper. She had to resist the impulse to reach out and stroke his cheek until the fatigue vanished.

Steven looked up. “The thought of seeing you again robbed me of my sleep,” he whispered back, not taking his eyes off her. Then he reached out and took the lists from her hand as though forcing himself to get back to business.

“Well then! Let’s make sure we get this show on the road! The sooner the better. When we’re done here, I’d like to invite you for a cup of hot cocoa. Are we agreed?”

Ruth nodded. She would have agreed to anything.

From that moment on, she didn’t have to worry about a thing. Steven beckoned, and three laborers came over. Steven gave one of them a sheaf of papers, and the men began to load the cardboard boxes into several enormous wooden crates. Then the crates were taken away on a handcart. Steven pressed a few coins into the hand of the man who had taken the papers and suddenly it was over. The whole thing took less than a quarter of an hour.

Ruth was almost sorry it had all happened so fast. She would have been quite happy watching Steven for a while longer.



Steven insisted on taking care of business first. They had hardly taken their seats in the café before Steven started counting out the banknotes for Ruth, as discreetly as he could. Six hundred marks. When he was done, she put the fat wad of notes in her bag with trembling fingers. Six hundred marks—the reward for six weeks of hard work, missed sleep, arguments, and tears. She had never had so much money in her life.

With the smell of hot chocolate hanging over the table, her fears that they might not have anything to say to one another vanished into thin air.



The hours flew by as never before. One cup of cocoa became two, and then three. If anybody had asked Ruth afterward what they talked about she would hardly have been able to say. And yet it was almost as if not a day had passed since their last meeting, so easily did they pick up the threads of conversation. Though the talk itself was lively, they were also communicating at another level—for instance when Steven took a handkerchief from his breast pocket before Ruth had even wrinkled her nose to sneeze. The rage in his eyes when she told him about Thomas and the scenes he made in front of their house every night. The gleam in Ruth’s eyes when Steven told her about the Christmas decorations that were about to go up in every Woolworth’s store in America. Her delight when he told her every detail of Thanksgiving and its traditions.