The Glassblower(140)

Johanna watched with concern as Marie’s features grew sharper and Joost’s old pants flapped more loosely around her legs. From then on, she made sure always to bring Marie something to eat as she sat at the lamp, but most of the time Marie simply waved her away. “I’m fine,” she would claim, rolling her eyes when Johanna gave her a worried look.

Ruth agreed that Johanna was fussing too much. “Marie was always thinner than either of us. I think it suits her,” she said, shrugging. “Other women spend an age putting blush on their cheeks to try to look as radiant as Marie does naturally.”

Johanna had to admit that Ruth was right; she hadn’t quite noticed before, but over the past year Marie had grown to be a real beauty, which not even her curious costume of men’s pants and a black workbench smock could disguise. Quite the opposite, it gave her a certain exotic charm.



And then they had done it again: at the end of November Ruth and Johanna rode off to Sonneberg to deliver the merchandise to the railway station. Marie couldn’t go because it was a weekday and she had to work for Heimer. Ruth was unusually quiet during the trip, her eyes downcast.

Johanna found the right train and took charge of the loading. After that, they went to find the bank where Steven had sent their payment. The counter clerk looked unimpressed by the sizeable sum he was counting out for them, and Johanna picked up the cash as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Their own money, earned by the work of their own hands.



Christmas was suddenly upon them without any of the three sisters quite knowing where it had come from. On December 18, Ruth got another of the letters that had been arriving at the house ever more frequently, as well as a package from New York, which she opened three days before Christmas Eve—her excuse being that perhaps there was something inside that might spoil. Then she came out of the bedroom, proud as a queen, to show off a midnight-blue suit with a blouse of lilac silk. The ensemble was completed by a pair of dark mauve ankle boots. Neither Johanna nor Marie could believe that a man had chosen all this with such an eye for style and fine judgment of her size. And there was more to admire in Steven’s package; he had sent two colorful silk shawls for Johanna and Marie, and a dress of rose-colored lace for Wanda. Ruth smiled quietly to herself as the others went into raptures over their gifts and praised Steven’s generosity.

The only part of the Christmas holiday itself worthy of mention was Marie’s lavishly decorated Christmas tree; when they saw the many new baubles that hung on it, Johanna and Ruth suddenly knew what Marie had been up to every evening behind closed doors in the workshop after they had filled the Valentine order. Their cries of delight were music to Marie’s ears. For the first time in ages, she was pleased with herself and with what she had made: the glittering stars, the dewdrops that gleamed on the silvered pinecones, the wreaths of cream-colored Christmas roses. The new designs had come to her almost fully formed in her mind, without requiring long hours at her sketchpad first. They had taken shape in glass almost as easily. Perhaps studying her art books was already paying off? She rejoiced inwardly.



When the postman approached their house on New Year’s Day, Ruth was halfway out the door before he could even knock.

Marie looked out the window. “Ruth’s giving the postman a whole stack of letters,” she whispered to Johanna. “Is she worried that half of them might never arrive? She must be writing him several letters at once.”

“You know Ruth. She’s turned letter writing into a kind of religion,” Johanna replied.

Marie scurried from the window before Ruth could spot her there.

“I would dearly love to know what she writes to him all the time. There’s surely not that much to report?”

Johanna shrugged. “Apparently there is for Ruth. I could just as well ask why you bury yourself in those dusty old books all the time. They can hardly be that exciting.”

“They are for me!”

“You see.” Sighing, Johanna stood up. “I should imagine Ruth won’t be in the mood to chat for the next few hours. So I’ll make coffee just for the two of us.”

She was just putting the water on to boil when Ruth came in, letting in a gust of ice-cold air.

“There’s a letter to all three of us,” she said, frowning as she held up a thick brown envelope. There was disappointment written all over her face. “I hope nothing went amiss with our delivery. What if half the baubles broke in their boxes?”

“Don’t tempt fate,” Johanna said. She was beside her in an instant and took the letter from her sister. She slit the envelope open with her fingernail, and two smaller envelopes slid into her hand. “This one’s for you,” she said, handing Ruth a cream envelope, which her sister put into her apron pocket as carefully as if it were an egg.