If only he weren’t so insistent!
15
Indeed, Ruth spent all of Saturday hard at work. Instead of scrubbing the floor, however, she learned that they were off to gather wood.
Peter had come knocking early that morning, and they set off. They had hardly buttoned up their jackets before he was handing out the tools: a few saws, large shears for cutting branches, stout twine for binding up the wood, and a half dozen baskets. He had a knapsack with him as well. “Lunch,” he said. “We’ll need it when the sweat begins running down our brows!” Ruth and the others had laughed. Peter and his jokes! The baskets weren’t heavy; the sun was shining down through a thin layer of clouds, and they were almost in a holiday mood as they set out.
Neither Ruth nor her sisters had ever gone out to the forest to gather firewood. Joost Steinmann hadn’t been a master maker, and therefore hadn’t had the right to go gather his own wood, and besides, it was men’s work. Up until then, the Steinmanns had always bought their household wood from Ugly Paul. Not that he was really ugly, but the wood seller was known for the ghastly faces he could make to scare children or just for fun. He went around the village from house to house, his basket of wood stuck fast to his back—nobody had ever seen him without the pack on his shoulders. When they had been little, the girls used to hide behind the wardrobe when Ugly Paul sat down at the kitchen table with their father to settle up the bill for the wood he brought them.
This year, however, Ruth would have happily sat down at the table with the funny old man, all on her own if need be. She quickly learned that gathering firewood was hard work. The little patch of forest where Peter was allowed to gather firewood was on a steep, almost inaccessible slope overgrown with knee-high saplings. Anything would have been better than scrambling around and trying to keep her footing like a mountain goat. Endlessly slipping and sliding, she desperately dug her heels into the earth, scarring the ground with her boots. Before she could even recover her balance, she heard a call of “Timber!” from above, and a branch as thick as her arm landed just a couple of feet away. And then another. And then another.
Ruth clung to the steep slope as tightly as she could. Earlier that morning she had been hit by a branch, and ever since then her elbow hurt every time she stretched her arm. On top of that, she had to put up with Johanna scolding her for not paying attention when they called out. Ha! Ruth knew that they hadn’t called out at all. They had probably been canoodling up there in the trees, rather than thinking to warn her. Johanna didn’t need to make such a show of concern. She hadn’t even climbed down to look at Ruth’s arm.
When no more wood came flying down, Ruth hobbled out cautiously to gather the freshly fallen wood into a single pile.
It was just like Johanna to go up there with Peter! Probably she was having an easy time of it while he did all the work.
“I’m throwing down some more wood!” Ruth called down to Marie, who was a good two hundred yards below. “Did you hear me?” she called again when there was no answer. She waited until Marie answered, then swung the first bundle down the slope. She felt a sharp stab in her elbow and yelped with pain. She watched as Marie crawled uphill to fetch it. It had only gone halfway down the hill again. When Peter had shown her how to swing the bundles out and down, it had looked like child’s play. The only difficulty was in making sure they didn’t get tangled up in the underbrush on the way down. The first few throws had gone smoothly enough, and the wood had landed right at Marie’s feet. All her sister had to do was bend down and gather it into the baskets. It wasn’t long, however, before her arms began to ache and her strength deserted her.
She flung the next lot of wood down, trying not to stretch out her arm all the way as she threw. This time it landed where it was supposed to, but Ruth still felt like crying. It was too much! After all, it wasn’t as though they had been well rested before setting out. They had been at work all week, and had spent the evenings doing laundry or cleaning the house or cooking or doing a thousand other things that had practically taken care of themselves in the old days. They had hardly had time to stop and breathe.
Whenever she wanted to meet Thomas she had to sneak away like a thief in the night. She felt even sorrier for herself when she recalled the way they had squabbled last night. But then she remembered some of the flattering compliments he had paid her. He was the son of one of the richest glassmakers in all of Lauscha, and he thought she was beautiful. Desirable. She looked down at herself. Were her breasts really that much prettier than other women’s? Thomas had said they were. She asked herself in a fit of jealousy how many breasts he had seen. She shut her eyes for a moment and ran her cold hands over her jacket. What would it be like when he ran his fingers over her naked skin? Maybe she should let him next time they met?