The American Lady (38 page)

34

There was not a soul to be seen on the single platform in the provincial station. So why weren’t they pulling out? Wanda’s gaze fell on the round clock on the platform. Two o’clock already! If this went on, she wouldn’t get back home before nightfall.

Finally the train departed, snorting and shaking. Wanda very nearly felt like climbing out to help push it herself.

They had stopped at least five times since leaving Munich. Every single time the harsh squeal of the brakes had woken Sylvie, who had promptly begun to cry. Wanda found it hard to put her back to sleep. And every single time the smell of burning coal made its way into their compartment, irritating their eyes and noses. Wanda’s handkerchief was already sooty, and she felt as though she’d spent the night in a coal mine.

She watched with relief as the station dwindled away behind them and vanished from view.

At last. She wanted nothing more than to be home.

A little while later the open landscape gave way to forests, which grew gradually thicker. There were no longer any roses and lilies blooming by the side of the tracks; instead, strange grasses nodded their heads gracefully in the wind. Wanda was gazing out the window, lost in thought, when suddenly she was amazed to recognize two huge spruce trees wound around one another.

The Siamese twins!

Richard had pointed out these two trees to her not long after they set out from Coburg! He had told her that their love should be just as deeply rooted as these trees, as closely knit together as their branches. A smile flitted across her face.

What on earth would her mother say about Richard? When she got to know him a little better, surely she would forgive the fact that he was a glassblowe
r . . .

Mother in Lauscha. Wanda still couldn’t quite imagine it. Perhaps Ruth had been so shocked that she just blurted it out without really thinking? Perhaps she had already changed her mind? From the sound of her voice, though, her mind was really made up.

Sylvie began to whimper softly. Wanda put a blanket over her arm and picked up the baby. She gently smoothed the fine hairs at the nape of Sylvie’s neck, which were matted and sweaty.

“Dear, dear Sylvie,” Wanda murmured. “We’ll be home soon, very soo
n . . .
” The little one calmed down and turned her head toward Wanda.

Wanda’s thoughts flitted to her mother—and the way Ruth had spoken to her. As though to a grown-up. Not at all like before. “I’m proud of you,” she had said. It had felt so good to hear those words!

“Poor little baby, you still don’t know anything about your mother, and maybe it’s for the bes
t . . .
”

The realization struck Wanda so suddenly that she almost jumped. Wasn’t she in almost exactly the same situation as her mother all those years ago? There she was, traveling halfway across Europe with Marie’s baby in her arms, a de Lucca who was going to grow up in Lauscha. Back then Steven had arranged forged papers for her and for Ruth, while this time it had been Franco’s father. Back then her mother had decided that it would be best if Wanda knew nothing about where she came from. And now it was up to
her
to make sure that Sylvie never found out what dreadful things her father had been involved in.

Wanda sobbed.

“Everything will be all right, my little princess,” she whispered, her voice nearly choked.

Johanna’s words came back to her as if from nowhere.
“Why are you so dead set on repeating the mistakes of the older generation?”
And
“Wouldn’t it make sense to at least try to do a little better?”

Wanda couldn’t remember quite when or why her aunt had said those words. All that seemed so long ago.

But she would be home soon. With Johanna.

And her mother would be there as well, soon. It had taken a terrible tragedy to bring Ruth back home to where she had been born—what an irony of fate! Wanda shook her head. They would mourn Marie together. All the Steinmann girls. And she was one of them.

All at once she felt the flame called confidence burning brighter inside her. It grew with every mile, growing stronger as the train made its way through the valleys, between the pine forests on the mountainsides.

Everything would be all right.

She would move into her father’s house with Sylvie until the wedding. That way her mother could stay with Johanna. Eva would be happy to have a baby in the house and she could help Wanda with Sylvie—she certainly had enough experience from looking after her own brothers and sisters. A grin flitted across Wanda’s face—the first in a long time. Woe betide Eva and Ruth if they slipped back into their old quarrels! If that ever happened, she would tell them exactly what she thought of them.

It would also be very strange for all concerned when her mother and her father met again for the first time after so many years. All the same Wanda firmly believed that Ruth’s visit would go without a hitch.

The baby girl in her arms squirmed.

She would give Sylvie all the love there was in the world. She would tell her stories every evening about her beautiful and proud mother, the woman who had made the glassblowers of Lauscha quake in their boots! Stories of glitter powder and glass bauble
s . . .
Richard would take Sylvie on his lap so that she could watch him work. Perhaps she had inherited Marie’s talent?

And when the time was right, Wanda would tell Sylvie about her father.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I owe my warmest thanks to all who shared their knowledge with me, especially the glassblowers of Lauscha, among whom I can name only a few here: Lothar Birth, Michael and Angelika Haberland, Sabine Wagner, Peter Müller-Schloß and Thomas Müller-Litz. Their help was invaluable, and any mistakes that I have made in the descriptions of glasswork techniques are mine and mine alone.

I would also like to thank my friend Gisela for reading the draft of this novel with such care and attention and helping to polish the final version.

The little Tyrolean town of Bozen is now known as Bolzano and is part of Italy. In 1911 Tyrol was still part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © Privat

Petra Durst-Benning lives near Stuttgart, Germany, with her husband, Bertram, and their dog, Eric. Before writing her first novel she worked as an import/export translator and edited a magazine for dog owners. All this changed with the publication of
The Silver Thistle
, which was set against the background of the peasant uprising in Germany in 1514. Her next dozen books take place in times ranging from the sixteenth century to the nineteenth century, and are set in Germany, France, Russia, and America. They bring tales of historical times, love and family, and happiness and hardship to an ever-growing readership.
The American Lady
is the second book in
The Glassblower Trilogy
.

ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

Photo © 2013 Maria Pakucs

Samuel Willcocks is originally from Brighton on the south coast of England, but he now lives with his family in the historic city of Cluj, Transylvania, where he spends as much time in the cafés as he does in the libraries. A keen reader in many genres including science fiction and historical novels, he studied languages and literature in Britain, Berlin, and Philadelphia before winning the German Embassy Award (London) for translation in 2010. He has been a full-time translator from Czech, German, Romanian, and Slovene ever since. When not overindulging in cakes or dictionaries, he can be found at book festivals and other literary events, sharing his enthusiasm for Central European books and writers.