The American Lady (The Glassblower Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  “I’m very pleased with your work, Mr. Sojorno,” the tall man said. “You have been a great help to us, preparing the way like this. Not every warehouse supervisor would be so . . . cooperative. My father and I assume we may rely on your help in the future as well.”

  Cooperative—who is he trying to kid? Sojorno thought. They had him over a barrel and they damn well knew it! Sure, they paid him well for what he did, but what good would that money do him behind bars? He wiped the sweat from his brow and said a quick prayer to Santa Lucia to ask that he never end up in jail. Then he looked around nervously.

  “Part of the shipment was already a little . . . well, let’s say it had . . . suffered from the journey,” Sojorno whispered. “I worry about what might have happened if there hadn’t been enough air.”

  Franco de Lucca frowned deeply. “Well, shipping certain kinds of goods over such a distance is a tricky business, we all know that. And . . . special shipments like these need constant temperatures and good airflow. But please don’t worry, Mr. Sojorno. Our man in Genoa is a master of his craft. As long as nobody interferes with the crates on the crossing, there’s plenty of air inside.”

  The other man nodded. He found Franco de Lucca’s words reassuring. “When can we expect the next delivery?”

  “First thing next week,” de Lucca answered, leafing through his pocket diary.

  “So soon? I thought that signore would go back to Genoa first—”

  “I do not pay you to think, Mr. Sojorno! If you have any trouble with this, you must let me know,” de Lucca interrupted. He fixed his ice-blue eyes on Sojorno until the man began to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. Like a dog submitting to the pack leader, he hunched his shoulders and made himself look as small as he could. He simply shook his head in response.

  De Lucca’s gaze became a little easier to bear. “I knew that we could rely on you,” he said, and even smiled.

  Why does the dear Lord hand out his gifts so unfairly? Sojorno wondered. The mere fact that the other man had smiled at him made him feel like one of the chosen few. The young aristocrat had everything that he did not, everything that he wished for; he had a physique that made Roman sculpture look clumsy, olive-brown skin that bristled with manly stubble even at this early hour, and eyes that could glow like hot stones—or glitter cold as ice, as they had just now. Finally, there was a tenderness and sensitivity in the shape of his mouth and chin that could make women swoon. Madonna mia!

  “I will be in New York all summer. Since we have so many shipments arriving, my father felt it could do no harm to have one of us here looking after things in person,” the young de Lucca said as he put his diary away.

  Sojorno found it hard to take his eyes off the other man. Franco de Lucca didn’t owe him any explanations. The fact that he gave them all the same was a special sign of favor.

  “Would I be right to assume that the next few shipments will also be, ah, special deliveries?” He put a touch of sarcasm into his voice as he used de Lucca’s words, but a moment later, he felt a hard hand press his Adam’s apple against his windpipe.

  “Just so we understand one another, Sojorno—we ship Italian red wine. Nothing more!”

  2

  Marie spent the first two days aboard the ship in her cabin. Not because she was suffering from seasickness like so many of the other passengers, but rather because she spent hours at a time reading the English dictionary that Sawatzky had given her. She went to the dining room at mealtimes but left before the last guests had put down their flatware. She justified her solitary habits by telling herself that if she worked hard at learning the vocabulary, then at least she would be able to understand a little of what was being said around her when she reached New York. Even though she was also—or, mostly—making this journey to meet new people, right at the moment she didn’t feel like it. In fact, she didn’t feel like doing anything much, and she had to admit that she deeply regretted her decision to go visit her sister Ruth in America. What am I doing here? she wondered as she hurried through the narrow corridors below decks, her head down. She would much rather be sitting at her lamp, blowing glass. Or trying to at least . . .

  Back in early April she had mentioned that she might like to travel to America one day. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she realized that she had set an avalanche in motion that she could not stop. Rather than objecting—as she had expected them to—Johanna and Peter had said it was a wonderful idea. She deserved a reward for all her hard work, and a change would do her good. Marie had protested, asking who would do all her work, but Johanna had just waved a hand dismissively; they could get by without her for a while, especially if she traveled during the summer when there was less work. It would be quite enough if she came back in the fall, since they didn’t need to have the new catalog ready until the following February. When Marie had tried to say that the journey would cost too much, Peter just frowned and asked whether she planned to take her savings to the grave. Besides which, he added, she would be staying with Ruth and wouldn’t need to spend anything on room and board.

  And so Marie had had no choice but to get used to the idea of leaving Lauscha for a while. Magnus had kept quiet, as he usually did. He may have been silently hoping that Marie would ask him to come along, but if so he hid his disappointment well when she did no such thing.

  If Marie were honest with herself, the idea of getting away from his dogged devotion for a bit was at least as tempting as sightseeing in New York and the thrills of the big city. And so she set out on her own to the county hall in Sonneberg to apply for her passport.

  But now that she was all on her own in the narrow little cabin, Marie couldn’t understand how she could have been so mean. She felt as though she had turned around and suddenly discovered that her shadow was missing.

  She tucked her dictionary under her arm and went off to one of the second-class passenger lounges. She picked out a sofa in the far corner of the room and sat down, her face to the wall. Perhaps she’d feel a little less homesick here.

  She was just learning how to say, “Excuse me, sir, but I’ve lost my way,” when she heard the rustle of linen and felt a jolt through the sofa cushions as someone sat down next to her.

  What kind of ruffian would just take a seat without asking . . . ?

  Marie looked up, irritated, and found herself looking into a beaming round face.

  A plump white hand reached out to shake hers.

  “Do excuse my manners—I haven’t even introduced myself! My name’s Georgina Schatzmann, but you can call me Georgie—everybody does. I’m on my way to my sister’s wedding, and unless I’m quite wrong, you and I are the only ladies on board traveling on our own. So I thought it would be nice if we got to know one another a little better. I’ve been keeping my eyes open for you”—she giggled—“and now I’ve found you, haven’t I?”

  Sadly so! thought Marie. She was just trying to think of a polite but firm way to give this woman the brush-off when Georgie prattled on.

  “You’ll probably think me very forward, but I’ve been all aflutter about the trip, you know! The crossing, the wedding, New York—I feel I might burst from all the excitement!”

  When Marie looked at her neighbor’s roly-poly features, she decided this wasn’t at all unlikely; Georgina Schatzmann’s eyes were practically popping out of her face and her eyelids were indeed aflutter. Her cheeks were shot through with a network of fine veins and they rose and fell as Georgie chewed on her prominent lower lip. Her teeth were off-white. All in all, it was a tragicomic sight.

  “I’m Marie Steinmann, and I’m on my way to visit my own sister. Although she’s been married for quite a long time now,” she heard herself reply.

  “Well whoever would believe it! Steinmann and Schatzmann—we’ve even got the same name, almost!” Georgie shook her head. “That must mean something . . .”

  What it means is
that I’ll never learn English on this crossing!

  From that moment on Georgina Schatzmann clung to her like a lapdog who had found a new mistress. At mealtimes she waited in front of Marie’s cabin so that Marie had no choice but to go into the dining room with her, and between meals Georgie managed to track Marie down again and again in one or another of the lounges. On the third day, Marie simply gave in to her persistence; if she couldn’t have a bit of peace and quiet, then she would make the best of the company she had. Since it turned out that Georgie was a teacher by profession, she asked whether she would be willing to help her learn vocabulary. “Of course,” Georgie replied.

  Georgie was good at thinking up funny images to help Marie remember the difficult words, and soon her knowledge of English was coming along by leaps and bounds. The language barrier had been her biggest worry before the trip, but it seemed that she might have a knack for speaking English. At least that’s what Georgie said.

  Marie was flattered by the compliment and soon they began to talk of more personal matters. When Georgie found out that Marie was a glassblower and that she made Christmas baubles, her excitement knew no bounds.

  “Steinmann glass—I should have realized right away! We have your baubles hanging on our tree every year! I love your pinecones and the little nuts, but my mother prefers the larger figures, like Santa Claus and the angels. So we always argue a little about which piece to hang where.” She laughed her cheerful laugh and her eyes grew even rounder. “Every year we go into Nuremberg, right after the first Sunday of Advent, and we go to the big department store by city hall and see what’s new from the Steinmann line. And of course we buy a few pieces every time. But tell me, how in the world do you get all those lovely ideas?”

  Marie smiled. “Most of the time the ideas just fall right in my lap,” she admitted. “All I have to do is go for a walk in the woods or along the banks of the Lauscha—that’s a creek near our house—and then I’ll see a flower and notice that the blossom has a particular shape and there you have it, I already want to capture it in glass.”

  “The way you say that . . .” Georgie’s eyes shone with admiration. “It’s as though you’re a magician.”

  Marie gave a thin smile. “But I lost my magic powers long ago.”

  When she saw Georgie frown, she added hastily, “But that’s enough about home! Why don’t you show me the clothes you bought for the trip to the big city?”

  She didn’t want to talk about glassblowing, indeed she couldn’t talk about it. She didn’t even want to think of the last few weeks at her workbench, when she had felt like a mere beginner again. She had sat there looking at the rod of raw glass in her hand as though it were something from another universe. All her movements had felt clumsy and unnatural, and she hadn’t created any new shapes. She had blown a few standard globes just to have something to do but had felt the panic rise inside her until she fled from the room. Unable to bring herself to tell the others that she couldn’t bear her own shortcomings a moment longer, she simply said that the soup from supper the night before had given her indigestion.

  She feigned interest as Georgie showed off her new dresses. Try as she might, however, she couldn’t find anything to like about the shapeless, mouse-gray tent of a garment that Georgie wanted to wear for her sister’s wedding. She had an idea and looked into her handbag, then fetched out a necklace of glass beads that she had made herself. She held it up to the neckline.

  “Just look at that! The cloth seems to shine all of a sudden with your beads next to it. That’s magic!” Georgie said, reaching out and touching the necklace, awestruck.

  “No, it’s just glass,” Marie replied, smiling. “It’s for you. A present!”

  Georgie flung her arms around Marie gratefully.

  Then Marie asked why Georgie was making the trip, rather than either of the two older brothers she had already heard about, or even Georgie’s parents.

  Georgie grinned. “Mother certainly wanted to . . . but Father decided that the ironmongery business wouldn’t last a day without him. And Mother didn’t want to send my brothers. She was probably afraid that if she asked them afterward what America was like they’d just grunt ‘very nice’ and leave it at that. By sending me, she can be sure I’ll spend a week telling her all about everything.”

  “A week? Will that be long enough?” Marie raised her eyebrow skeptically.

  Georgie didn’t take offense at the joke but spluttered with laughter. Marie was surprised to find herself thinking that Georgie was actually a lot of fun.

  “It sounds like your family is very nice,” she said.

  “Oh, they are,” Georgina replied. “All the same I’m happy to be away from them for a while. They give me such sorrowful looks just because I haven’t a husband in sight! Is it my fault that the dear Lord made me broad in the beam?” She lifted her plump little fists and let them fall on her wide thighs. “If I were as slim and pretty as you are, I’d have been married long ago as well,” she sighed.

  “But I’m not married,” Marie protested.

  “Aren’t you? I thought that you and Magnus . . .”

  “Well yes, we live together, but we’re not married. I know that must sound strange, and I suppose it is,” she added, seeing the confusion on Georgie’s face. “But somehow we never got around to marrying. I . . . never felt the need to marry Magnus.”

  Georgie looked even more startled. “I’ve never heard of such a thing! Your neighbors must have a thing or two to say about that, don’t they? Well, if I had a man who wanted to—I’d say yes before he could count to three! But who knows, maybe I’ll find someone in America who loves me.” She shut her eyes for a moment, and for that moment her face was calm and still. “Do you know what I’m looking forward to most? For once I won’t be fat Georgina Schatzmann, who can’t get a man. I’ll walk along the streets of New York, and I’ll be just a woman out having fun! A woman like any other.”

  Marie looked at her new friend thoughtfully. Georgie knew exactly what she wanted from her journey. If only she could say the same.

  Soon the voyage was almost over. “I will bet the whole of New York Harbor will be covered in fog,” Georgie had said on the evening before they docked, but in fact the morning of June 15 was as clear as if someone had polished the sky with a soft, clean cloth. They were already out on deck together before breakfast, each with a blanket around her shoulders against the morning chill. They were surprised to find a good number of passengers up there before them—everybody wanted to be first to catch sight of the big city.

  Marie felt strange. All of a sudden she wished the crossing would last a little longer. When the first dark silhouettes began to show on the horizon, she was glad to have Georgie at her side, beaming as always.

  “. . . just a woman out having fun.”

  Could I do the same myself?

  People stood shoulder-to-shoulder down on the steerage deck as well. The immigrants had been herded together like livestock down in the belly of the ship for twelve days—with no fresh air and not enough food—and their new country was coming closer, moment by moment. They were headed for a new beginning and for an ending as well. They would say farewell, and they would arrive. Anticipation thrummed in the cold morning air.

  All of a sudden there was a stir in the crowd.

  “There she is! There she is!”

  “Look over to the left there, everybody!”

  “Quick, come over here or you’ll miss her!”

  They responded with excited cries and waving hands, fingers all pointing the same way, as though toward someone they all knew well, someone they wanted to greet. Inside of a minute they had all rushed over to the railing on the left side.

  “It’s Lady Liberty! Look at her raising her golden torch to greet us!” Georgie dug her elbow into Marie’s ribs in excitement, never once taking her eyes off the most famous statue in the world. H
er outline shone in the morning air, the spikes of her crown dark against the bright sky. Her own eyes were turned back to the Old World as she stood there with her torch of freedom raised to light the way to the New World.

  When Marie didn’t react, Georgie turned to face her. “What is it? Why are you crying?”

  Marie shook her head. She didn’t know whether she could speak if she tried.

  “You stop that right now, you moping minnie! Or I’ll start as well,” Georgie threatened, only half in jest. She poked Marie in the ribs several times. “Enjoy this moment! We don’t get a greeting like this every day, you know!”

  “Oh, I know,” Marie sniffed. “I feel I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

  Georgie put an arm around Marie’s shoulders. She grinned impishly. “Just you wait. This is only the beginning!”

  3

  Just a few steps from where New York made—and lost—its money was the Brooklyn Bar. The clientele was mostly bankers and brokers in their shirtsleeves. Sometimes one of them would invite his secretary to join him, but there were generally few female customers. The bar’s owner, Mickey Johnson, set great store by the fact. “Where can a man have a few drinks in peace and quiet these days? There’s nowhere safe from women, I’m tellin’ ya!” he often lamented. If he saw a woman come through the doors he usually gave her a frosty welcome indeed.

  Whether they’d made money that day or lost it, in the evening the customers crowded about Mickey’s counter in such numbers that the beer pumps never rested for a moment. Full glasses were simply passed back through the crowd as the barmaid could never have kept up on her own. And whether it had been a good day or bad, Mickey’s bar was always astonishingly loud. Huge quantities of alcohol were consumed and the tobacco smoke was thicker than the morning mist on the Hudson River. A chance passerby, who was drawn in by the crowds and chose to drop in for a beer, would never have been able to guess what kind of day it had been on the New York Stock Exchange. Mickey himself boasted that he could tell just from the smell of the men’s sweat; good cheer and excitement smelled quite different from dogged determination, and different again from panic and fear.