“We can make sure that doesn’t happen,” Strobel said as he climbed down from the ladder. “With the next set of shelves, I’ll check the list and you can inventory what’s there. I’m sure you’ll remember it all much better that way. And you’ll also learn how to climb that ladder.” He chuckled. “The ladies sometimes have trouble with that, so I’m told.”
Johanna shoved the list and pencil into his hands and pulled the ladder toward the next set of shelves. “I don’t get dizzy easily, if that’s what you mean.” As she climbed the rungs, she trembled a little nevertheless. He wasn’t going to try to peer up her skirts, was he? Cautiously, she glanced behind her. Strobel seemed absorbed in his list, although he had an odd smirk on his face. She tried to breathe deeply and evenly. If she were honest with herself, she was really quite high up. She fumbled for the shelf.
“Good. Let’s move on to the porcelain pots.” Strobel’s tone was businesslike once more, which Johanna greatly preferred to the affected tone he so often used. She pulled open a drawer and was surprised to find how heavy it was. When she peered inside, she could see why: the drawer was full to the brim with little porcelain jars. “They’re beautiful!” she said without thinking. The first one she picked up was made of porcelain so thin it was almost transparent. A hunting scene was painted on the lid, and the sides were decorated with vine leaves and ivy. She wished Marie could see it.
“And? How many?” an impatient voice asked from below.
Johanna put down the pot and began her count. “Three of number six-eight-nine, five of number six-nine-zero.” She shut the compartment and opened the next. More pots, these featuring pierced porcelain. “Two number six-nine-one. Four number six-nine-two.”
Once Johanna had gotten used to being up on the tall ladder, the inventory went as quickly as it had when Strobel had been up there.
Once she was done with the jars, Johanna turned, as far as she could, to look down at him. “What if you took on more kinds of porcelain jars? What would the numbering look like?” She knew that the seven hundreds were reserved for glass carafes, since they’d counted them that morning.
Strobel looked up from his list. “You think ahead, I like that . . .” he said absentmindedly. He had that odd little smile on his lips again that Johanna couldn’t quite read. She tried to convince herself that it was a smile of approval. Or was he mocking her? Strobel’s reply interrupted her thoughts.
“If we take on more porcelain pots, then we start again with six-eight-zero but we add another number on the end, starting at zero.” He clapped his hands. “Well, that’s enough for New Year’s Eve. We’ll do the rest on Monday. Then we’ll have to have the full inventory ready for our clients.”
Johanna followed his glance to the clock on the wall. “It can’t be three o’clock already. Time flies when you’re busy.” And when the work is as interesting as this, she thought. She congratulated herself silently as she climbed down from the ladder and untied her apron strings.
“And you’re sure you want to go home? As I have said, you may use your room on the weekends and holidays as well . . . especially now, in the depths of winter,” Strobel called over his shoulder. Just as he did every day, he was putting the inventory lists into the safe. He always carried the key with him on a long chain.
“I have to get back to my sisters,” Johanna said. She was hardly going to spend New Year’s Eve alone in her room. Or did he imagine that she was going to join him for the occasion? She could hardly wait to get back to Lauscha. She had only had the chance to send Ruth and Marie a quick note with one of the messenger women, and by now they would certainly be eager to know how the first few days in Sonneberg had been. And Peter! Wouldn’t he be surprised to hear how well she had done for herself? Besides, if she didn’t get to tell someone about all she’d seen and done, she would burst—she knew that much.
Strobel was just about to shut the heavy safe door when Johanna cleared her throat.
“Yes?” He turned to look at her.
“My wages,” she forced herself to say. She was mortified at having to ask, but she had made up her mind that from now on she would have what was her due.
Strobel laughed. “Good gracious me! I might have clean forgotten that most important detail.” His knees cracked audibly as he squatted down to rummage in the depths of the safe.
Johanna stood there awkwardly and wrung her hands. This was the moment of truth. Although she had made Strobel agree on Monday that she could have her wages weekly rather than just once a month, she hadn’t been bold enough to ask him how much she would be getting. And he hadn’t said anything of his own accord. Now that it was too late, she was angry at herself for having been so shy. If she was in for another disappointment like with Wilhelm Heimer, then she had only herself to blame.