The Glassblower(78)

While she walked slowly through the quiet streets, she wondered anxiously what would happen if she had a daughter instead of the son that he wanted so much.





37

Christmas last year had been a dreary occasion, but this year there were a good number of parcels piled up under Marie’s splendid Christmas tree. The three of them had waited for Ruth to arrive before opening any presents. But once she did and they all sat down, they didn’t want to wait any longer. The presents from Peter were the first to be opened.

For a moment nothing could be heard but the rustle of wrapping paper.

“This must be something for the baby,” Ruth said as she unwrapped hers.

Johanna put her parcel down in her lap.

“And what if it is?” she asked, as she thought of the presents that she had chosen for Ruth, all baby clothes. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Peter!” Ruth gave a little cry of pleasure and seemed not to have heard Johanna’s question at all.

“I can’t accept this. Have you suddenly become rich overnight?” She was holding up a small case; lined with red silk, it held a brush, a comb, and a nail buffer. Johanna could see at a glance that they all had real silver handles, finely incised. “I’ve always wanted something like this. However did you know?”

Peter shrugged. “I know my Steinmann girls. And I thought that the others would probably give you enough baby things.”

“Thank you ever so much!” Ruth was beaming. “Just wait till Thomas sees this! The poor lamb was so unhappy; he really had no idea what to give me for Christmas!”

“So what did he get you in the end?” Johanna asked. She knew all too well just how unimaginative Thomas could be.

“A woolen shawl. In brown!” Ruth made a funny face. “Not exactly the color I would have chosen.” She shrugged.

“Peter!” Another cry of pleasure. Marie couldn’t say anything more than that. She was leafing through a thick leather-bound book, and she was spellbound. Reluctantly she closed the cover and held it up so that the others could read the title. A Handbook of Art and Design.

“You could hardly have picked a better present for Marie,” Johanna said, amazed. Peter’s presents were not only expensive but also had been chosen with a great deal of care. It couldn’t have been easy to find that book; she had never seen anything of the sort in the Sonneberg bookshops.

“Your turn!” Peter gave her a gentle nudge.

Johanna’s fingers trembled as she untied the ribbon on her gift. She was suddenly excited. Ruth’s present and Marie’s had been very personal. She couldn’t for the life of her guess what Peter had chosen for her. The shape of the package was no help at all. It was rectangular, and the thought that it might be a penholder or a notebook for the shop suddenly filled her with inexplicable dread. At last the paper fell away.

“An atlas?” She looked up, astonished.

“An atlas?” Ruth echoed. “What’s that?” Johanna held up the book.

“This book has . . . well, it has the whole world between its covers. Look at this: there are maps for every continent. And then more maps for individual countries. And look, it’s even been colored by hand. What a lovely, lovely book!” Realizing it rather too late, she added a hasty “Thank you!”

“I thought you might like an atlas. After all, it seems that Lauscha’s too small to hold you . . .”

Johanna raised her eyebrows. Did she hear a note of mockery in his voice? She looked over at him appraisingly, but the look on his face was guileless.

“And just in case Sonneberg turns out to be too small as well, I should go out into the big wide world?” she asked with a grin.

“I never said that. But if you let people go off roaming, I’ve always found they come back of their own accord.” Though he spoke easily and confidently, he couldn’t disguise the note of longing in his voice.

Johanna smiled back at him. “You didn’t even put in a bookmark to show where the Thuringian Forest is!”

Peter lowered the book in her hands so that he could look her in the eye. “Do you want me to make it that easy for you?” he said hoarsely. “You have to find out for yourself where you really belong.”

Johanna swallowed. Please say something inconsequential now, her eyes pleaded. She didn’t want to end up feeling guilty for having rebuffed him yet again. She wanted to enjoy herself. To be happy. This evening of all evenings.

Peter did as she asked. He clapped his hands. “So, wasn’t I promised a bowl of good strong punch this evening? Or was that just empty chatter?”

Relieved, Johanna stood up and put another log on the fire. She put some water on to boil then added some rum, a stick of cinnamon, and a whole cup of sugar.