The Glassblower(89)
“I don’t know what’s wrong with Marie,” Ruth declared as she watched Johanna grind the coffee beans. “I almost feel we’re not welcome here. Hmm . . . that smell. I could happily die with that smell in my nostrils.”
“I brought you a bag of coffee last time I came. Is it all gone?” asked Johanna.
“Long gone. It’s been three weeks since then. And I have to have my little treats, don’t I? Eh, don’t I, Wanda?”
She jogged the baby up and down on her knee. Then she added in a deliberately casual tone, “Oh by the way . . . I’ll be coming along with you to Sonneberg tomorrow!”
“Tomorrow? That doesn’t really suit me very well,” Johanna responded, frowning. “Strobel’s coming back tomorrow, so I have to be in the shop right on time. And I can’t leave early since he always wants an update on all that happened in his absence.”
“All I ever hear is Strobel this and Strobel that! Isn’t this the second time this year he’s taken one of his trips?” Why didn’t Johanna ask what she wanted to do in Sonneberg? Nobody in this house seemed to care what she had to say.
“The third time,” Johanna corrected her dryly. “But as far as I’m concerned, he can take as many trips as he likes, and for as long as he likes.”
“Ha, I can well understand that. You probably have a high old time when he’s not there.”
“Not at all. Some days there’s so much work to get through that I’m in a flat spin by noon. But tell me: Why do you want to go to Sonneberg tomorrow?”
At last! Ruth gave a secretive smile. “I have a little idea. Actually I wasn’t planning to tell you, but . . . well, why not! You’re my sisters after all.”
She looked indulgently at Marie, who had joined them at the table. Then she fetched one of Johanna’s magazines from her bag next to her chair. It was called the Arbor and its subtitle proclaimed it to be a journal for the entertainment and edification of ladies. Johanna only ever leafed through it, but Ruth read every line of every page, looked intently at every picture, and absorbed every scrap of information like a sponge.
Ruth turned to the page she wanted and pointed to a picture of a little baby swaddled in fine lace and lying on a bearskin.
The others looked at it uncomprehendingly.
“The newest scion of the Russian Imperial house,” Johanna read the caption under the photograph. “I don’t understand. What’s that got to do with your trip to Sonneberg?” Johanna asked.
Ruth rolled her eyes. “Sometimes you can be rather slow on the uptake. Isn’t it obvious: I want to have a photograph taken of Wanda! Like the tsar’s baby. On a bearskin. After all she’s at least as pretty as the little girl in the picture.”
“A photograph of Wanda?” Johanna’s skepticism was written all over her face. “What does Thomas have to say about it?”
“Thomas!” Ruth waved her hand dismissively. “He doesn’t need to know everything. Once the picture’s ready, I’m sure he’ll like it.”
She probably wouldn’t even tell him why she wanted to go to Sonneberg but instead claim that she had to go to the doctor. In all likelihood, she would never show him the picture. Even more likely, he would beat her black and blue if he ever found out what “fripperies” she was wasting their hard-earned money on. Money that she had scraped together, penny by penny, from the housekeeping fund. But her sisters didn’t need to know any of that.
“A photograph like this is a lasting memory, we’ll have it forever,” she said. “Wanda can hang it up on her wall when she’s older.”
“Isn’t that terribly expensive? Wouldn’t you like me to just draw you another portrait of Wanda? That would be free, after all,” Marie offered.
“I don’t know. I’ve heard of newlyweds being photographed, but a baby?” Johanna shook her head. “Isn’t it all a bit too much? And don’t go telling me it’s the way the tsar’s family does it!”
“Don’t you want Wanda to have anything nice?” Ruth spat out. “If that’s the case, then I might just as well have stayed with the Heimers, where I can listen to Eva making spiteful remarks.” Ruth felt herself choking up. She had been feeling very weepy lately. To stop herself from bursting into tears, she went on the attack again. “If Father were alive now, at least he’d love his grandchild! He didn’t find fault all the time like you do!”
“Not so fast,” Johanna replied. “You know very well that we would do anything for your daughter. But that doesn’t mean that we’re not allowed to voice our doubts when we have them, does it?”