The Glassblower(60)

“My son and, eh, dear Ruth . . . Although as a rule I don’t like it when something’s decided without my say-so”—he wagged his finger as an exaggerated caution—“you have my blessing! And that means that I would like to welcome you, Ruth, as a member of our family here and now!” He raised his beer stein toward her.

“You two work well together, as we see every day in the workshop,” he continued. “And although we’re not there yet, after you get married, I wish you every success in another line of work. I’m an old man, and I wouldn’t say no to a grandson or two!”

He basked in the laughter that followed his little speech, while Ruth hoped fervently that she wasn’t blushing.

“You’re getting married? When?” Eva asked in a voice like a pistol shot as soon as they sat down again. She was the only one who hadn’t congratulated them yet.

Ruth held her breath. She was just as curious about Thomas’s answer as all the rest of them. They hadn’t talked about fixing a date for the wedding yet; she hadn’t wanted to push him too hard.

Thomas looked at Ruth as though he’d never even thought about it. At last he said, “We’ll see. Not today anyway.” He laughed at his own joke, but when he saw Ruth frown in dismay he hastily added, “Let’s drink to the prettiest girl in the village. My betrothed, and my bride-to-be, Ruth!” He held her hand up in the air as if she’d just won an arm-wrestling match.

Ruth beamed.

Wilhelm Heimer boomed out, “If only Joost could be here today!” and then her sisters and Peter, too, came over and hugged her.

Eva sat there with an icy look on her face as more and more people came across to the table to congratulate the newly engaged couple.



But soon the news seemed to lose its sparkle, and so did Ruth’s mood. The men became ever more drunk with each hour that passed, their jokes ever more shameless. While Peter danced with Johanna and Marie by turns, it never even crossed Thomas’s mind to invite her for a dance. When she looked at the dance floor, Ruth tried to convince herself she was glad to have nothing to do with it; the planks were so roughly hewn that anybody dancing there had to be careful not to get a splinter in the soles of their feet. As for the music, Ruth wanted to clap her hands over her ears to shut out the monotonous blare of the trumpets. She had thought it would all be so different. And definitely more romantic. She had seen herself in Thomas’s arms, a scented bouquet in her hand. He would make a beautiful speech about how much he loved her. There would be candlelight and violins. But who in this village had a violin? Nobody. She had to laugh at her own naïveté.

“So you’re enjoying yourself at last! I thought I’d never see a smile.” Thomas’s breath stank of beer and the hand he cupped around her chin was unsteady.

“I’m tired. I want to go home,” Ruth yelled in his ear. “Home,” she said again, seeing that he couldn’t hear her.

At last he seemed to catch on, but as he got up, he staggered so wildly that Ruth had to catch hold of him. She drew him aside.

“I think we should put off our little plan for another time!” she yelled in his ear. But when she turned to leave, Thomas grabbed her by the arm.

“A deal’s a deal. Don’t you go thinking you can talk me out of it again,” he slurred. He stumbled and Ruth staggered a little. “You’ll see. I’ve got everything ready. It’ll be so rrromantic!” Cackling, he rolled the r the way the Italian migrant workers on the railroad used to do.

“You’re hurting me,” Ruth said, digging her fingers into his hand to free herself. He couldn’t possibly believe that she was going anywhere with him tonight. Not when he was as drunk as this.

“Maybe you need to treat her right for a moment!” Sebastian called out. “Some women want that sort of thing.”

“I can give it a try.” Instead of letting her go, Thomas put his other arm around Ruth’s waist and began to dance about in the narrow space between the table and the bench.

Ruth realized that he no longer even knew what he was doing.

“Let me go this instant,” she hissed, still trying to avoid making a scene. Thomas stumbled again, this time backward onto the table, almost pulling Ruth down with him.

Ruth felt a surge of panic rising within her.

“Hey, Thomas Heimer,” came a voice from behind her.

It was Peter. He looked down contemptuously at the man sprawled backward on the table.

“Even if you and Ruth are engaged now, that doesn’t give you the right to mistreat her. If she wants to go, you let her go. And you do it right now!” Peter looked as though he meant every word. Thomas released Ruth’s arm.