The Glassblower(76)
“I thought your present would speak for itself?”
Johanna glowered at Strobel. The slate-maker was setting off earlier than usual today. If she missed him because Strobel was being so self-important . . .
He smiled in that curious way he had. “You are right; there is no need for more words. Only that my book is certain to be a revelation for you.”
Strobel was in good spirits as he locked the shop after Johanna had left. He still had more than two hours before the coach he had ordered would come to pick him up. Enough time to look back on the year that was just coming to a close. He poured himself another glass of champagne and drank to his own health. He had every cause for celebration; his business was flourishing more than ever and he could travel to B. whenever he liked, knowing that the shop was in Johanna’s capable hands.
He drank some more champagne and smiled. Yes, ever since Johanna had joined him, his life had changed very much for the better. He congratulated himself once more on his wise decision not to mix business with pleasure. Not that he found her any less enticing than before. But it was enough to toy with her a little. Which is why he had given her the memoirs of the Marquis de Sade as a Christmas present. He giggled. He could hardly wait to hear what she thought of it. But that was all the interest he had in her as a person. And a good thing too—as he knew better than anyone.
The old proverb put it so well. Best to work up an appetite at home and then sate it elsewhere. Or was it the other way around? Whichever it was, he would save up his appetites for his visits to B. He could hardly wait to see the progress on the renovation work; after all, he had put a great deal of money into it. To judge by the plans he had received in the mail a few weeks before, the dilapidated old house had been turned into a real gem of a building. Yes, the right setting would make his visits to B. even more enjoyable . . . if such a thing were even possible!
The fir tree that Marie had ordered from Ugly Paul filled the whole room with its glittering light on Christmas Eve. Marie had distributed the forty-eight globes evenly all around the tree, placed the candles between them, and then sprinkled the rest of the powdered glass over the branches like snowflakes. The result was overwhelming. The scent of the beeswax candles that hung in the air added to the magic.
“It’s simply magnificent. I’ve never seen anything so lovely in my life!” Johanna said with tears in her eyes. She went to Marie and put her arms around her.
“But I really ought to give you a good telling off!” she added. “When I think of everything that could have gone wrong . . .”
She turned to Peter, who was also admiring Marie’s creations. “Go on, say something!”
“I’m still speechless. You could knock me down with a feather,” Peter said, smiling. “There’s only one thing about the whole story that makes me unhappy—the fact that you didn’t come to me for help. Sitting down at the lamp like that without serving an apprenticeship! So much could have gone wrong, I must agree with Johanna there.”
“But you see, that’s precisely why I kept quiet. Because I knew that you’d find fault with my plans,” Marie answered bitterly. “I could have guessed that you’d be like all the other men. You don’t like the idea of a woman daring to work with that sacred flame of yours!”
Peter made a face. “I’ve never seen you so worked up. But you’re wrong—I would never have stopped you from sitting down at the lamp. Why would I? Why shouldn’t women blow glass? And if you’re so dead keen to do it, I could at least have given you a lesson or two.”
Marie gritted her teeth and conceded his point. “Next time I’ll come straight to you if there’s something I’m unsure about,” she promised solemnly.
“Next time?” Peter asked.
“Next time?” Johanna echoed. “Do you really plan to blow more glass?”
Marie laughed. “I do indeed. This was just the beginning!”
They had gathered in the seldom-used parlor on the second floor to celebrate the occasion. Everybody was wearing their Sunday best, which in the Heimer family meant that they were all wearing black as though in mourning. Ruth, who was wearing an emerald-green dress that Johanna had bought her, felt like a bird of paradise that had strayed into a flock of crows. For a moment she didn’t want to go in. Nobody thought to air the room out beforehand, so it smelled old and dusty. The smell brought back memories and she felt strange. She had entered this room for the first time exactly one year ago, when Wilhelm had asked her to wrap the Christmas presents for Eva and the others. How she had envied Eva that powder compact! And how disappointed she and her sisters had been when the old man had given them nothing but a bowl of apples.