Johanna was fuming as she climbed up onto the slate-maker’s cart. She handed over the money for the ride, and the horse trotted off. How dare Peter always try to make decisions on her behalf? The way he behaved anyone might think they were married!
But as they rode along through the cold, her anger vanished even more quickly than it had come. He just wanted to take care of her. And that was nothing to complain about, was it? But his worries were unfounded; she knew how to deal with Strobel. Despite what she’d said to Peter, it was quite clear that he had given her the book deliberately. After all his talk on Christmas Eve! Perhaps it was his idea of a joke? If so, there was one thing he hadn’t counted on. She would be hanged if she ever even mentioned it to him. As for opening new worlds, what an idea!
That was quite enough brooding over Peter. There was something else that needed all her concentration. She carefully shifted the bag next to her, making sure it was upright. It held six of Marie’s Christmas baubles and a bulky object wrapped carefully in woolen blankets. She wanted to show them to Strobel as soon as he got back. She was quite sure that his American client Mr. Woolworth would like these globes. And perhaps he wouldn’t be the only one? Without telling Marie, she had packed away six of the best pieces into her bag. Now Johanna wondered how best to broach the topic. Should she claim that she’d been given the globes by a glassblower who didn’t want his name mentioned? That sounded unlikely even to her. Mr. Woolworth certainly wouldn’t care whether the baubles were blown by a man or a woman. What did the Americans care about Lauscha’s traditions?
Her hand felt for the other object. In for a penny, in for a mark, she told herself, smiling. As well as the Christmas baubles, she wanted to show Strobel the bouquet of glass roses that Ruth had received as a wedding gift.
It had taken a good deal of persuasion, but at last Ruth had agreed to let her have them for a week. Of course Johanna could have gone to Swiss Karl and suggested that he blow another bouquet for her to show to Friedhelm Strobel. But she had decided against it. Wouldn’t Karl Flein be surprised if Johanna managed to win him a new commission?
39
By the time Strobel finally returned from his trip, Johanna had begun to have doubts. What if he didn’t like the baubles? Perhaps the best thing was to test the waters with the glass roses first.
So Marie’s baubles stayed packed away, waiting for their moment, while Strobel turned the bouquet of roses around in his hands. Then he put the bouquet into cardboard boxes of different sizes, to see whether it could be easily packed for shipping. Johanna knew that this was the main drawback of the roses; she had practically sweated blood to get them from Lauscha to Sonneberg in one piece.
Without a word, Strobel swiftly sketched a picture in his notebook. Johanna smiled to herself. When he had finished, he looked up at her. “Who did you say made the bouquet?”
“Swiss Karl Flein.”
“And he doesn’t know that you’ve brought the flowers here?”
Johanna didn’t let her exasperation show. She had already told him that Flein knew nothing of the matter. She kept her voice level as she said, “This is one of a kind. But I’m quite sure that Swiss Karl would be willing to make more of them for the right price. I should imagine that some of our customers would be very pleased with a fine piece of work like this, especially the ones in the big cities.”
He nodded silently. “You may be right . . .” Then he looked at her sharply. “There is a problem, however . . .”
Johanna held her breath. She didn’t like Strobel’s tone. She knew him too well; it was just the tone he used when he was about to browbeat some poor glassblower into agreeing to a desperately low price for his wares. She was therefore all the more surprised when he turned away from her and said, “I’ve reconsidered. I don’t have any use for roses like this. The packaging would be far too much trouble.” He put a finger to his lips and frowned irritably. “Besides . . . now that I really look at them, I find them rather kitschy. Tasteless. Not elegant. Take them away!”
Johanna felt as though she’d been hit with a brick. She fumbled for the bouquet, wishing she could think of a clever retort.
“Whatever you say,” she croaked as she wrapped the bouquet back up in its blankets and put it back into the bag with Marie’s baubles. She would be hanged if she was going to let him sneer at those as well.
Perhaps Strobel had just had a bad day. Perhaps he really didn’t like the roses.
But . . . Johanna frowned. She could have sworn that at first he had been struggling not to let his excitement show.