The Glassblower(24)

Johanna found when she took a spoonful of potato salad that it had taken on the fishy taste of the herring. Perhaps if she took some from right at the edge of the platter, lower down the side . . . Before she could do anything about it, she had a whole heap of potato on her spoon.

“Oh yes, old Edel knows what she’s about! Everybody likes her cooking!” Wilhelm Heimer beamed when he saw how much Johanna had on her spoon.

Not knowing what else to do, she swallowed the lot.

“Well then, what’s it like joining our workshop from your house, where you girls used to rule the roost?” he asked, chewing. “Not that there was anything wrong with how Joost used to run his workshop,” he added jovially.

“There’s a lot to get used to, of course,” Johanna answered diplomatically. Heimer looked at her expectantly, so she went on. “We used to blow far fewer shapes. Just pharmacy jars, really.” She hurriedly bit into a slice of bread.

“Oh yes, there’s hardly an outfit in the whole village that does as many different lines as ours. I would never have dreamed just a few years ago that I would have five pairs of hired hands.” Heimer was not far from giving himself a slap on the shoulder.

Johanna made an effort to smile.

“If anybody could do it, you could!” Eva told her father-in-law with a twinkle in her eye. He laughed, and little bits of potato salad leapt about on his tongue.

Disgusted, Johanna turned away. The way Eva piled on the flattery! And then some devilish impulse made her clear her throat and say, “It’s certainly impressive how many different things you do here.”

Wilhelm’s face was as round and happy as a balloon.

“But there are one or two changes you could make to work more efficiently.”

The balloon went pop. The air escaped.

There was a deathly silence over the table. Not even a spoon clinked. Johanna felt the hairs stand up at the nape of her neck. That hadn’t been a good idea, her instinct told her a moment too late.

“What do you mean?” Wilhelm Heimer asked calmly.

Perhaps Johanna should have followed Ruth’s advice at that moment—her sister was gesturing as unobtrusively as she could for Johanna to pipe down. And the look in Eva’s eyes—visible enjoyment at the prospect of someone ending up in Heimer’s bad books—should have warned her as well.

But Johanna was so caught up in her own ideas that she didn’t notice. “Of course it’s only my second day here, but I did notice that we lose a lot of time carrying the finished wares from the painting bench to the packing table. Because the silvering bench is in between, you see. And every time we need new glass stock, it has to come up from the cellar—” She fell silent as she saw Heimer’s face growing redder and redder.

“Let’s make one thing clear, Johanna Steinmann . . .” He had narrowed his eyes so that they almost disappeared behind the puffy lids. “I took the three of you on and gave you work because it was a duty I owed your father. Not everyone would be so high-minded!”

Thomas Heimer was the only one still eating. The others sat there as though rooted to their chairs. Nobody moved.

“But if any one of you thinks that the women will ever get to rule the roost in my house, you can think again!” Heimer slammed his fist down on the table and made the dishes jump. “If you don’t like the way I do things, you can leave!”

“That’s not what Johanna meant,” Eva broke in, her voice as smooth as silk. She stroked Heimer’s arm as though she were calming a savage bull. “She only said that because she’s not as quick about her work as I am, or the Widow Grün. Isn’t that right, Johanna?” she asked, tilting her chin toward her.

The sparkle in Eva’s eyes was more than Johanna could bear. She looked over at Ruth, but found no reassurance there either—rather, a glance of irritation.

“I didn’t mean to criticize anybody,” she said at last. “It just takes a while to get used to new things, that’s all.” She spoke much more demurely than she would have liked. For goodness’ sake, she just wanted to be allowed to speak her mind! If Father had blown up at her like this every time she had made some observation, she would have left home long ago.

Wilhelm Heimer seemed to accept her apology. He grumbled something unintelligible as he took a tail from the herring dish and stuck it into his mouth.



That evening too, the oven went unlit in the Steinmann house. The sisters had been at work for ten hours, and none of them felt like fetching the wood and building a fire.

The mood among them was just as chilly. Neither Ruth nor Marie was ready to forgive Johanna for having put their jobs on the line by speaking out of turn. Too tired to argue, they ate in silence, trading awkward glances every few bites.