She was also far from stupid. Just now she had given further proof of her ability to cope with the unexpected. She was confident, intelligent, and adaptable—all qualities that were greatly sought after in his line of work.
And not just in the world of work.
He turned half his mind back to the current customer, naming prices for the vases and glass dishes he was looking at—full price for this buyer, no question of a discount. And all the while he felt his excitement growing.
The customer was disappointed at Strobel’s stubbornness and made some disparaging remark. Strobel leafed on through the catalog, chewing at his lip as he did so. He soon tasted blood on his tongue. He had to get rid of this fellow. He could hardly wait to lock up the shop for a while and be alone.
He had always been sorry to see Johanna leave his shop on Fridays, her head held high. More than once he had imagined what might happen if he met her in other circumstances. What an opportunity that would be for him—or for them both! Well, now that Joost Steinmann was dead, his chance had come.
He could hardly wait to take Johanna under his wing. She would learn fast; he was sure of that. Under his instruction, she would be able to develop her talent, and he had no doubt that she would soon play the game better than anyone.
Then he heard a voice in his mind, speaking from somewhere far back in his memory. “Only a fool would poach in his own forest.” It was so unexpected that for a moment Strobel couldn’t recall who had said it. Father! His father had said that, back when . . .
All at once he remembered the old man’s proud patrician face as though it were yesterday. He hadn’t thought about him for an age, or about all that he stood for in Strobel’s life. His good mood vanished in a gust of cold wind.
Why now? Why today? Strobel fumed inwardly. It was as though his father was still seeking to rule his life, even from so far away. Was it the secret envy of a man who begrudged his son even the smallest pleasure in life? Or was it perhaps a warning?
Strobel stopped turning the pages of the catalog.
God knows, this current situation was nothing like what had happened back then . . .
All at once he remembered the old story so vividly that he quite forgot his customer was there. He looked up with a start as the man cleared his throat, loudly and insistently. The buyer was pointing somewhat impatiently to the first page of the catalog.
“I said, I would like three dozen of these dessert dishes, for two marks and thirty pence each. Would you be so good as to note that down?”
8
In the end the decision that had given Johanna such trouble was taken out of her hands. While she had been away, Wilhelm Heimer had come to call on her sisters. Although he had wanted to speak to her, as the eldest, he had settled for Ruth. He had recently begun supplying a new wholesaler, and he had a number of extra commissions to fill and would need help. He told Ruth and Marie that the work would consist of painting patterns, applying the silver wash, and packing the wares. There were bowls, drinking glasses, vases, and glass beads to prepare.
“I didn’t want to say anything at Joost’s funeral; I hadn’t shaken hands on the commission back then,” he added, and then he asked them whether they would come work for him. They could start the very next day, he told them. “Your father would have wanted you to.”
Ruth and Marie were almost bursting with excitement when they told Johanna about Heimer’s offer. All of a sudden working as hired hands wasn’t something to be ashamed of, but a goal to strive for.
Once she heard the news, Johanna never even mentioned that Strobel had offered her a job. If there was work in the village, then it made no sense to go off somewhere else. All the same, she felt a pang of regret the next morning on the way up to Heimer’s workshop when she stopped one of the village women who was headed into town and handed her a note to pass on to Friedhelm Strobel, turning down his offer. Farewell then, Sonneberg. Farewell dark-blue dress, and farewell customers from far and wide.
Instead she found herself standing in Heimer’s workshop a little while later with a rubberized smock around her, listening closely as Widow Grün explained how to work with the silver solvent.
“Look here, you take the goblet by its stem, and then put a couple of drops of silver nitrate into it from this tube.” Griseldis Grün showed her where the bottle of solution hung, and then pointed out the hole at the base of the stem. The goblets were made with double walls, to be silvered on the inside. “Then you put in a few drops of this one as well, that’s the reducing fluid. After that you can dunk the goblet in the hot water. The silver doesn’t take so well unless there’s a bit of heat working on it from the outside, do you see?”