It would have been quite enough for her to spend the first few weeks simply peering inconspicuously over his shoulder, memorizing names and faces. She was astonished at how skillfully he handled the clients and wondered how she was ever supposed to be able to help in this regard. Whenever the bell over the door rang, she faded into the background as best she could to draw up lists or dust the shelves, only coming forward if Strobel called for her, which he often did. Every time, her heart leapt into her mouth.
“What is the meaning of all this? Have you some reason to creep into hiding like a mouse?” he asked irritably on the third day, when she had once again emerged timidly from behind the counter. “You are my assistant, so kindly behave like one!”
Johanna felt her hackles rise like a hedgehog’s quills, in a mixture of stubbornness, fear, and uncertainty.
“And how exactly does an assistant behave?” she asked almost venomously.
Strobel smiled that baffling smile of his. “She assists.”
He looked at her with condescension in his eyes, but Johanna did not turn away. Instead she tilted her chin and pressed her lips together. She would rather drop dead than ask him what “assisting” was supposed to mean. Instead, the next time the bell rang, she hurried forward to greet the customers with an obsequious “Good morning.” They were merchants from Hamburg, she soon learned. While Strobel shook their hands, she took up a position by the samples table and held the chairs for the men to sit down. She wondered for a moment whether small talk about the weather was also part of an assistant’s duties but decided against it. She didn’t want to appear foolish. When Strobel gestured for it, she fetched the catalog of glassware and put it in front of the older merchant, assuming that he was the senior of the two. She also took care to smile the whole time. That was the hardest part, because it made her feel ridiculous. But the customers seemed to like it, which became clear when they reached the pages showing the gold-rimmed glass bonbon dishes and the older gentleman turned to her and asked her opinion. Johanna wasn’t sure whether this was out of mere politeness or whether he was genuinely interested—or indeed whether she was expected to answer at all. She looked over at Strobel uncertainly, but instead of giving her any kind of sign, he gazed pointedly down at his gnawed fingernails. Had she really expected otherwise?
Rather than shooting venomous glances at her employer, she tried to concentrate on what the customers had just said. “We have certainly had several orders so far for the gold-rimmed dishes; it seems they are very much in demand. However,” she hesitated for a moment. “If I may make a suggestion . . . ?” The younger man had mentioned earlier that during the past Christmas season shoppers had disliked a particular vase that was too ornate for their tastes, and it had simply gathered dust on the shelves. “I would recommend this simpler style here.” She pointed with her pen at a picture in the catalog. “Although very elegant, they are not as . . . ostentatious as the gold-rimmed dishes.” It was all she could do to stop her voice from trembling.
“Miss . . .” The younger man was looking at Johanna with a question in his eyes.
“Johanna,” she said quietly.
“Miss Johanna is right. Given the new taste for plain designs that our clientele have developed, we should steer clear of baroque golden ornamentation,” the younger man suggested. “I believe that simplicity will be en mode this season.”
The older man nodded.
“Good. Then we shall make it three dozen of these simple bonbonnières with lids, undecorated, the tall model on a slim stem,” Strobel said, noting it down on his form. As he turned to the next page in the catalog, he glanced approvingly at Johanna.
She returned his look, her lips curling mockingly at the corners, and hoped that no one could hear how her anxiously hammering heart finally began to slow down.
The next few weeks seemed to fly by. Johanna was soon so settled into her new routine that she could hardly remember a time when she had not lived in Sonneberg and worked for Strobel. She always looked forward to the weekends in Lauscha and to every minute she spent with Marie and Ruth, but she was equally eager to get back to work on Mondays. Every day with Strobel was different. Though she often still felt like an ignorant village girl—which she did her best to hide—she was learning new things every day. Perhaps it was because she put up such a show of confidence that Friedhelm Strobel seemed to assume that she could take any task in her stride. At first Johanna had broken out into a cold sweat every time he threw her in at the deep end the way he had with the Hamburg merchants, but in the weeks that followed her doubts died down. Strobel encouraged her newfound self-confidence, though the way he went about it often made Johanna queasy.