Johanna opened the other letter and unfolded a few sheets of thin notepaper, which all had the green Woolworth diamond as their letterhead. She read through the first lines in haste.
“That can’t be true,” she exclaimed, looking from one sister to the other. “A new order already? How can it be? There must be some mistake.” She began to leaf wildly through the rest of the pages.
As she did so, Ruth pointed to the bottom of the first sheet. “That’s Steven’s handwriting. Johanna, I’m warning you, if you don’t read us what he wrote straightaway then I won’t be answerable for my actions!”
Johanna was busy deciphering the postmark.
“He wrote the letter on December thirteenth,” she answered, frowning.
A moment later, Ruth snatched the letter from her hand and read out the lines that Steven had written.
Dear Ruth, Johanna, and Marie, You will surely be surprised to hear from me so soon. I am afraid I must tell you that we made a mistake in our calculations regarding your Christmas baubles.
“Does that mean that nobody wants to buy them?” Marie broke in, her eyes wide with distress. “Or are they too expensive for the Americans?”
Ruth rolled her eyes. “You’re driving me mad, both of you!” she said, and resumed reading.
Here’s what I have to tell you:
They sold out. Every single one of them. Down to the very last winter scene!
28
Ruth hastily threw another blanket over Wanda’s pram before she pushed it outside, then shut the door behind her without saying good-bye to anyone. She felt for Steven’s letter one last time. Certain that it was in her coat pocket, she pulled her mittens on and headed off, warmly bundled in her woolen jacket, overcoat, and shawl. If she had her way, she wouldn’t be back for a while. She wanted nothing more than to read Steven’s letter in peace.
The damp snow splashed up onto Ruth’s skirt with every step, and she struggled to get the wheels of Wanda’s pram to turn as she walked uphill. Even so, she basked in the warmth of the sun on her shoulders and neck where it shone down between the houses. The thaw was coming.
When Ruth neared the Heimer house, she quickened her pace. The last thing she wanted was to run into Thomas. It was enough to start the new year with one argument.
Only when she had left Lauscha behind did she stop to rest. She picked up a twig and gave it to Wanda to play with. While her daughter gurgled merrily away, Ruth walked onward into the forest. The snow was so thick on the branches that the pines were bent over like little old women. It gleamed almost silver in the sunlight, so bright that Ruth had to squint. She was in no mood to admire the beauty of the winter woods anyway.
“Thirty thousand Christmas baubles by mid-August—I won’t do it!”
She could still hear Marie’s words ringing in her ears.
She and Johanna had stopped their dance of joy as though thunderstruck.
“I won’t go into mass production, do you hear me?” she had yelled at them. “I might just as well be working for Heimer. At least my workday there only lasts ten hours, and after that I’m free to think of new designs.”
“But you could do all that and more if you gave up working for Heimer,” Johanna had replied, pointing to Steven’s letter. “It says here in black and white that you would have an absolutely free hand in designing the baubles! The only condition is that they mustn’t be significantly more expensive than the last batch.”
“You see, they’re already imposing conditions,” Marie had shot back. “And besides, when am I supposed to think up these new designs if I’m sitting at the lamp day and night? Magnus agrees with me,” she had added, as though Griseldis’s son had anything to do with it.
Ruth swallowed hard. She still didn’t understand why Marie had dug in her heels. Instead of being pleased to have a guaranteed buyer for her new designs, instead of being overjoyed at being able to finally stop working for Heimer, all Marie had done was complain. Ruth was getting fed up with all this talk of art and artists. Marie didn’t even realize how selfish she was being. She and Johanna couldn’t blow glass after all, so when Marie got on her high horse about her “artistic development,” she was jeopardizing her sisters’ future. But Marie didn’t seem to care. So much for “the Steinmann girls will show the world what they’re made of”!
Ruth stopped abruptly. Perhaps it had been a mistake to leave right in the middle of the argument. But she simply couldn’t bear all the squabbling, not with Steven’s letter in her pocket. She wanted to hold on to that warm feeling of happiness and protect it. She felt through her overcoat for the letter. It was still there. Good.