The Glassblower(148)

“Thank God!” Johanna said. “For a moment I feared the worst.”

“Does he write anything about how the hearts are selling?” Marie asked.

Ruth shook her head. “He’s coming to Sonneberg in May. He wants to look at your new baubles when he comes. Which must mean . . .”

“Ruth! Why don’t you just read what he wrote?” Johanna spat. “The telegram’s addressed to all three of us after all!”

Peter’s patient followed what was going on with lively curiosity; he had not expected the consultation to be so interesting.

Ruth finally read it aloud.



Valentine hearts arrived. Well done. Arriving Sonneberg 14 May. Meet Swan Hotel. Request one sample each design from new collection. To Ruth Heimer, All preparations in place. Schedule tight. Stop.



She looked up. “That’s all. Happy now?” She made a face at Johanna.

“All preparations in place. What does he mean by that?” Marie asked, frowning.

“Mr. Woolworth probably just doesn’t want to miss Ruth for anything,” Peter said, then turned to Ruth and went on. “You must have made quite an impression on the man.”

“The telegram’s not from Woolworth though, it’s from his assistant Steven Miles!” Johanna said, casting a meaningful glance at Peter.

Marie shook her head. “It sounds very odd to me all the same,” she insisted. “What do we care if his schedule’s tight? My word, he should see ours!”

The others laughed.

Ruth gazed into space as though none of this had anything to do with her.

Marie wasn’t ready to change the subject though.

“They want to see new baubles, isn’t that wonderful? It’s a lucky thing I already have some put aside. I’ll be sure to spend more time on my new designs from now on.” She looked triumphantly around the room, but there was no reaction except from Magnus, who nodded his approval.

They soon all went back to work and nobody paid any more attention to Ruth. She walked through the room like a sleepwalker and knelt down where Wanda was sitting on a blanket, playing listlessly with some wooden blocks. Glad of the distraction, she stretched out her little arms to Ruth.

“My angel. My sweet little girl!”

“Mama . . .”

Ruth brushed Wanda’s blonde locks away from her forehead, then held her tight, cheek to cheek.

“It’ll happen soon. Soon.”

Nobody but Wanda heard her whisper.





31

The next few weeks were not easy for Ruth.

She felt so distraught that on some days, her secret threatened to choke her. She longed to be able to tell Johanna and Marie everything, to prepare them for what was to come. She wanted to talk to them about the long journey she was about to undertake, and she wanted their advice on what to bring along and what to leave behind. Instead she had to think it through on her own, figuring out whether Wanda would need her winter coat for the trip on the ocean steamer or whether a jacket would be enough—after all, she could hardly pack everything from the baby wardrobe in her bag.

How she would have loved to share her coming happiness with her sisters. And to weep with them too. But she could do none of that. Ruth knew that emigrating on forged papers, as she planned to do, was some sort of crime. The lonelier she felt, the more deeply she regretted having promised Steven to keep silent, but she would rather have bitten off her tongue than break her promise. When it all became too much for her, she left the room before she could spill the beans.

With every day that she secretly crossed off the calendar, everything felt more final. Suddenly even the most ordinary activity was charged with meaning, and she found herself thinking, This is the last sack of flour I’ll ever bring home from the store in the wheelbarrow or That was the last time I’ll ever buy new shoes for Wanda from Mrs. Huber. When Easter came, she put a bouquet of daffodils in the window, and wondered whether they even had daffodils in New York. The very idea of New York was often too much for her. Ruth instinctively shied away from thinking about the distant city of which she knew so little and what life would be like there. If she had done that, her fear of the future would have overwhelmed her.

When the swallows began to build their nest under the window in the washhouse, Ruth knew that she would already be gone by the time their chicks began to chirrup.

The worst part was when somebody tried to include her in any plans. When Johanna asked her whether she’d like to take the train out to Coburg when summer finally came, Ruth had trouble holding back the tears. At last she managed to summon up a scrap of enthusiasm and muttered, “What a good idea!” At lunch one day she said how much she liked Griseldis’s sour pickles, and the good old soul promised to make a few more jars for the Steinmann sisters that July when gherkins were in season. Ruth felt like a heel. She was going to leave all these dear people, leave them in secret and forever!