The Glassblower(142)

The steeper the path became, the more Ruth’s lungs ached. She was walking fast, which helped to clear her head. By the time she reached the bench on the hill with the view of the valley, she had calmed down somewhat. And that was as it should be. She wanted to read Steven’s letter without that silly argument clouding her mood.

Wanda had fallen asleep. Ruth pulled the blanket all the way up to her nose and pushed the pram into a patch of sunlight. Then she sat down on the bench. The wood felt warm and dry. It was the first time she had been up here since she had left Thomas. Though she had been half expecting to be plagued by bad memories, she experienced nothing of the sort. Even the fact that she had lost her innocence here meant nothing to her now. It was almost as though it had happened in another life. She chased away the last thought of these things and made room in her mind for Steven.

Steven. Her great and distant love.

Ever since he had left, she had asked herself every morning whether she still loved him. And every time, the answer had been a resounding Yes.

Carefully she took Steven’s letter from her coat pocket, and just as carefully she opened it.



My beloved Ruth!

How I wish I could be with you now, wherever you are. But the best I can manage is to send you my thoughts. And this letter.

Please do not be surprised that there are not more letters for you today. As always at this time of year, there has been a great deal of work, and I have hardly had time for anything else. Nevertheless I have done little else but think of you. Lovesick thoughts, foolish thoughts, happy and unhappy at once. Happy because of you. Unhappy because you are not with me—not yet at least.

Not a day has gone by when I do not yearn for you morning, noon, and night. Sometimes I even wake at night and see your angelic face before me. I hear your voice and the wonderful things you say. Sometimes I long for you so much that it hurts. Is it usual for a man to bare his feelings like this? I don’t know. All I know is that I must.

Two days ago I was finally able to make contact with my adviser in these matters and explain my plan. He is prepared to obtain the necessary documents for you and Wanda. I await only your word. I do not wish to impose on you in any way but should tell you that my adviser would have to begin his preparations no later than the beginning of March if he is to have everything ready by April 15, when my ship, the Boston, sails for Europe.



  “The beginning of March!” Ruth said aloud. That meant she would have to send Steven her decision within the next two weeks . . .



What do you say to the order—isn’t it magnificent? The success of your Christmas ornaments truly exceeded all our expectations. Mr. Woolworth can hardly wait to receive the Valentine hearts as well. The Americans seem truly to love the glass artworks from the Thuringian Forest. In my estimation, you will never be short of work from us in the future. It goes without saying that these orders will always go to the Steinmann sisters, even if circumstances change. There are things that can be better organized from here in America—if you understand my meaning. As I have said before, it is all a matter of planning and organization. But even more than that, it is a matter of the heart.

Your heart.

And that is why I await your answer, with fear and anticipation, as soon as you are ready to send it.

Your own loving Steven.



Ruth put the letter down. Her heart ached so much that she had to press both hands to her breast. It was a miracle that a man she hardly knew could stir such deep feelings within her.

“I love you too,” she whispered, and watched four little puffs of breath hang in the cold air for a moment like tiny clouds. Perhaps they would drift all the way across the Atlantic and reach him?



It was even harder going back downhill with the pram than it had been walking up. Ruth had to take care with every step not to slip. Her thin boots were soaked through and gave her no foothold in the snow. She held on tight to the push bar of the pram. Whatever happened—whether she stumbled, slipped, or fell—she would never let go of the pram with Wanda inside. Soon her arms were trembling and she began to sweat inside her heavy clothing.

Ruth breathed a sigh of relief when a cloud passed over the sun. But a moment later she felt oddly ill at ease; where before the world had been bright and warm, it was now gloomy and cold. And it grew darker with every step she took down into the valley. Suddenly she felt that the mountains were about to fall on her.

She only saw him when it was too late to change course—in among the first houses of the village. Her eyes darted all around, like a cornered animal looking about for a bolt hole. In vain. Thomas was standing in the middle of the street as though he had been waiting for her.