Everybody in Lauscha knew all about their neighbors’ comings and goings, and not only because it was a small village where almost everybody was in the same line of work. It was hard to keep anything secret in a place where all the houses were lined up side by side like pearls on a string. The main street twisted and turned as it climbed the mountainside, and there were hardly any side streets at all—the steep forested slopes all around saw to that. This part of Thuringia had changed little over the years, and the houses stood huddled together the way they had for centuries.
“How do you ever expect to see Widow Grün when she’s up at the Heimers’ house working all day?” Ruth answered. “She probably has no time to sit down and gossip.”
Johanna shook her head. “Griseldis always did keep herself to herself, even when Josef Grün was alive. I don’t think he much liked it when she chatted with the neighbors. He was an old soak!”
“Whatever happened to their son?” Ruth asked, between bites of cake. “What was his name, Magnus?”
“I’ve no idea. He just cleared out and left one day. Nobody seems to know where he went, or why. But I was only thirteen when it happened, so . . .” There was a knock at the door, and Johanna fell quiet.
“Not more food,” Ruth groaned.
But it was Peter, who asked Johanna to step outside with him. Marie and Ruth looked at one another meaningfully.
5
Peter shut the door behind them. “And? Is everything all right?”
Johanna shrugged.
“I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you these past two days, but I’ve had a lot of visitors.”
Peter Maienbaum made glass eyes. Some of his customers came from far away. When someone needed a glass eye after an accident, time was of the essence. The longer the delay, the greater the danger that the eye socket would become inflamed or even suppurate once the false eye was in. But if an eye was fitted right away, there was a good chance that the muscles would accept it, perhaps even learn to move it around.
“There’s no need to apologize. After all, you’ve done more than anyone to look after us,” Johanna reassured him.
“That was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.” Peter shuffled his feet, embarrassed. “You see . . . I’d love to buy your father’s tools and his stock of raw glass . . . but the truth is, none of that’s any use to me!”
Johanna tried to smile. “Oh, I know that. You get your stock when they make colored glass down at the foundry. You don’t have any need for our clear and brown glass.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about us. You can’t get rid of us that easily.” Gallows humor. She gave him a light shove. “We won’t starve, that’s for sure—you should see all the food that people have brought round. It’s as though there were ten of us in the house, not just three.”
He looked at her skeptically. “Food’s only the half of it. You need money as well. And work. Even with all the goodwill in the world, I don’t know how you’re going to manage!”
Johanna sighed. “Nor do we. We were just clearing away Father’s things. He’ll have put some money aside for a rainy day, and we can use that for the time being.” So far though they had found nothing of the sort, and she couldn’t imagine where else they might look for it.
“There are still some boxes of finished wares in your workshop. Should I take them to Sonneberg for you?”
“No, I’ll take care of that myself,” Johanna said hastily. “To be honest with you, I’ll be happy to get out of the house for a day. Anyway, what would Friedhelm Strobel say if you showed up with our wares! Even if it’s raining cats and dogs tomorrow, I’ll go to Sonneberg and sell what we have.” She sighed. “I really should have done it last Friday. But it was so soon after Father died.”
“Strobel had better not try any tricks, or he’ll have me to answer to. You tell him that. And”—he put a hand under her chin—“if you have any trouble with anything at all, just come to me for help. Will you promise me that?” he asked, fixing her with his gaze.
She turned away. Something in her fought against the very idea of making such a promise, harmless though it may have been. Instead she said, “We’ll manage somehow.” Although it sounded vague, she didn’t want Peter to feel responsible for them, for her in particular. She squeezed his arm, gave him a friendly nod, and then walked back into the house. For a moment she toyed with the idea of creeping upstairs to bed. All this talking wore her out, and she was tired of having to pretend to be in charge the whole time. Why didn’t the others notice? But then she pulled herself together—she could hardly leave her sisters sitting downstairs on their own.