The Glassblower (17 page)

“I don’t want to be spoiled. I want my school.” Meg wiped her gloved fingers over her cheeks. “Please, Father, what can be done?”

“I don’t know.” A muscle twitched at the corner of Jordan’s jaw. “I don’t know.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll have to—uh—assess the damage. Joseph, do take her home. Grassick, you have an order to fill.”

“Aye, sir.” Colin waited until Meg and Pyle left the glassworks before returning his attention to Jordan. “Sir, I’ll work through the dinnertime if you’ll allow me to do that assessing for you.”

“Hmm, well, you may need to come back after supper, too.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll get that order fulfilled on time.”
And remake the goldfinch bottle, though not for its original purpose, the Lord willing
. “Every night, sir, I’ll work late if necessary.”

“All right then, go.” Jordan swept an arm toward the door then pivoted on his heel and shuffled to the desk like a man twenty years his senior.

Colin pulled his coat and hat from hooks by the door, donned them, then set out across the hard-packed snow in the yard. Ice had formed in the ruts from wagon wheels and sleigh runners, so he kept to the deeper snow. The countryside lay in silence save for his footfalls crunching and an occasional branch cracking beneath its burden of white. When he reached the crossroad, he thought he heard children’s laughter. Children who wouldn’t have their school now, thanks to—

He stopped himself from drawing a conclusion without proof. Just because he didn’t like a man, just because that man used his money and influence to gain the lady Colin loved didn’t grant him license to make unfounded accusations against him.

“If I found the proof, Lord, I could change Meg’s mind.”

He rounded the corner and saw the school, half crushed like a child’s kicked-in sand castle.

Feeling as though the tree had landed on him, Colin made his inspection then returned the way he had come. He didn’t stop at the glassworks. He continued down the road to the Jordans’ lane. Around the back he encountered Ilse Weber collecting logs.

“I’ll get those for you.” Colin relieved her of the burden.

Ilse opened the kitchen door to warmth and the smell of baking apples. “
Danke
, Colin, but you should be working.”

“Aye, but I need to speak to Miss Jordan first.” He set the logs in the wood box by the stove and smiled at her. “Please.”

“Ah, you, you flirt with those eyes, and I’m a married woman.”

“No such thing. I’m begging like a stray cur. ‘Tis verra important I speak with Miss Jordan.”

“I sent her to her room with a cup of chamomile tea. She’s upset, she is.”

“Please fetch her. She’s going to be more—” Colin broke off at the sound of light footfalls on the steps.

A moment later Meg pushed through the kitchen door. “Colin, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you, Meg.” Ignoring Ilse’s gasp, he closed the distance between him and Meg and took both of her hands in his. “You cannot marry Joseph Pyle.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her hands writhed in his, but she made no move to pull away. “How can you say something so outrageous? Of course I can marry him. I have no choice but to marry him.”

“Aye, that you do. Furthermore, you must make the choice not to marry him.”

“And be responsible for you losing your position and your family suffering?” She drew her hands away now and clasped them on her elbows. “The destruction of the school is God’s way of telling me I was wrong to think that’s what He wanted me to do—teach, that is. I’m supposed to marry Joseph as my father wishes. Now, please leave.”

“Please hear me out.” Colin kept his hands outstretched in a supplicant’s pose. “Meg—”

“She said to leave, Colin.” Ilse glided up beside him and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “For your own sake if nothing else, you must get back to the glassworks.”

“Aye, I must.” Colin met and held Meg’s gaze. “But let me have my say, first. Please.”

Meg sighed. “All right. Speak, then be gone.”

“Thank you.” Although for most of his life, he’d spoken nothing but English, except on his brief journeys home, his thoughts suddenly began to form in Gaelic. He struggled to unscramble the languages and spoke with care. “I cannot believe that ‘tis God’s will for you to marry Joseph Pyle when I have reason to believe the destruction of your school was nay accident and he is responsible.”

Meg felt as though someone pulled the kitchen floor out from beneath her feet. In a moment she would land in the root cellar or wake from a nightmare. Air refused to reach her lungs, and she swayed.

Colin caught hold of her shoulders and held her steady. “You’re all right, lass. I’m here. Nay harm will come to you.”

“No.” She gave her head a violent shake. “You can’t be right. I prayed last night—” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Last night I told Joseph to go away, then I prayed for God to show me what He wanted. I always do what I want, I’m so selfish, and—”

“You’re the last person who anyone would call selfish.” His fingertips brushed across her cheek, and she realized she was crying.

“Ya,” Ilse said, “she’s kindness itself.”

“No, no.” Meg made herself open her eyes and look into Colin’s. “Listen to me. Last night I prayed for God to show me what He wants for me. Joseph said I couldn’t keep the school, and I came close to saying I wouldn’t marry him because he won’t allow me to have my kittens or my school or my knitting.” She spoke fast to get all the words out. “I prayed for God to show me what He wants and—and the school is destroyed today. Surely this means God wants me to marry Joseph and save you and Father and everything else and serve the Lord as Joseph’s wife.”

“Not if the tree was destroyed on purpose.” Colin’s hold on her shoulders tightened. “Meg, it was cut with an ax. I ken the marks. No snow or wind blew that tree over.”

“Then God used some mischief maker.” Meg stepped away from him and turned her face toward the windows so she could think clearly. “Joseph wouldn’t be so cruel.”

“Someone made me burn my hand.” Colin’s voice grew soft. “Joseph Pyle was near the glassworks at the time. Someone smashed a piece of work I was making for you. Joseph Pyle—”

“No, you mustn’t say these things about him. He’s going to be your master soon.”

“And the tree—”

“You need to leave.” Meg stepped around him, heading for the door.

“Ya, Colin, you’d best be gone,” Ilse added.

“Nay, I will not leave until you hear me out, Margaret Jordan.” He followed her to the door and laid his hand against her cheek, gently turning her face toward his. “Please, for your sake. I found a glove in the schoolyard. Did you notice he wasn’t wearing gloves today in spite of the cold? His hands were red from it, but only one glove stuck out of his coat pocket.”

The scene in the glassworks flashed through her mind, Joseph taking her hand to place on his arm. Then she remembered Joseph bowing over her hand when he left her at the house. No gloves. Red hands. A supple leather mitt protruding from one coat pocket.

“But what—what does this mean?” she whispered.

“Colin?”

She held out her hands, needing something solid to cling to, as her world that seemed so certain—unhappy but certain—an hour ago crumbled beneath her. Colin took her hands then released them and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in the rough wool of his coat, inhaling his scent of wood smoke and the freshness of the winter day.

He crooned to her, words that weren’t English yet comforting in their sibilant melody. “God has a plan for you, lass,” he said, switching to English. “I can’t accept He will use a deliberately cut tree to reveal it to you.”

“But—”

“Miss Meg,” Ilse broke in. “Your father—”

The back door sprang open. Meg jumped away from Colin, her face flaming. “Father, I—”

“What are you doing here, Grassick?” Father’s dark amber eyes blazed.

Meg pressed her hand to her lips. “Father, please, don’t misunderstand—”

“Hush, lass, I can explain.” Colin took her hand in his. “I came to warn your daughter of Joseph Pyle’s treachery.”

“I beg your pardon?” Father enunciated each word with care. “Ilse, what sort of carrying-on are you allowing behind my back and in my own house? I hold you responsible.”

“He was comforting me.” Meg tugged on Father’s sleeve. “Please, listen to what Colin has to say. It’s—distressing.”

“What I find distressing,” Father said, “is finding my daughter being embraced by one of my employees. Now get yourself back to work, Grassick, or you can go pack your things and leave.”

“No,” Meg protested.

“Nay, sir.” Colin stood his ground, a full head taller than Father and far broader in the shoulders. Solid. Dependable.

Noble.

Meg’s heart cried out for a life beside this man.

“You may dismiss me if you wish, sir,” Colin said, “but my conscience would never stop pricking me if I left to save my own skin and risked Meg’s.”

“She is Miss Jordan to you, Grassick.” Father planted his hands on his hips. “You’ve been warned once too often.”

“Aye, sir.” Colin sighed. “And the matter stands. I will not risk her future with a man who destroys property, when it could be people one day.”

Meg shivered and wanted the warmth of Colin’s arm around her again.

Father scowled. “You make a grave accusation, Grassick. The consequences could be serious.”

“Aye, I ken the risk, but the truth speaks for itself.” Colin reached past Father and opened the door. “Will you come with me, sir, Miss Jordan? I’ll show you the evidence.”

Father hesitated, and Meg held her breath. Then Father nodded. “Because I think you’re a good man, I’ll let you have your say in full. Margaret—”

Meg was already racing to find her cloak and pattens. She joined the men in the stable yard, where Father was harnessing the horses to the sleigh. With three passengers, they sat close together like a family. If only …

Surely God didn’t want her married to a man who could be dangerous at the worst and destroyed things important to others in order to get his own way at the least.

The sleigh runners hissed over the snow, and the horses’ hooves crunched through the icy crust. The air lay so still, smoke from the glassworks and charcoal burners soared straight into the sky, white columns against the pale blue. Meg clasped her arms across her middle and willed the sleigh to go faster while her stomach churned with the anticipation of seeing her school in ruins.

“All those beautiful windows you made,” she murmured.

“The building can be repaired, lass.” Colin smiled down at her.

Meg knew she should say she didn’t want to restore the building, that she must marry Joseph and be done with the school. It had brought nothing but trouble and expense. She should have known from the day she found the smashed windows she wasn’t supposed to carry on her work. Yet her heart ached at the prospect of giving up her school or the cats or her newfound pleasure in knitting. Her insides quaked at the notion of marrying a man who treated others with such disregard and things with respect.

Her lower lip began to hurt, and she realized she held it clamped between her teeth. She made herself stop, but her jaw felt as rigid as the trunk of the oak beside her school. The trunk of the oak that used to stand beside her school.

The sleigh swept around the curve in the road, and the sight of the school sprang into view. Meg covered her eyes, unable to see the caved-in roof, the sagging wall.

“Did you see anything unusual here, Margaret?” Father asked.

“No, sir.” Meg gulped. “I saw the tree down and ran back to the glassworks. It’s—horrible.”

“Aye, hinnie, ‘tis a pathetic sight.” Colin touched her cheek.

Father glared at him. “You haven’t proven anything to us yet.”

“I will.” Colin sprang from the sleigh and held out a hand to Meg.

She took it and stepped to the snowy ground. They stood, hands still clasped, while Father secured the horses. She avoided Colin’s eyes but welcomed the strength of his hand.

“Let’s see this proof.” Father tramped through the snow, his footfalls sounding like an ax cutting through wood.

As an ax had cut through the tree trunk. Meg stood between Father and Colin and stared at the slashes in the trunk, not all the way through, just enough to weaken the oak.

“I could not clear the higher branches of their snow.” Colin spoke in a low voice as though afraid someone would overhear. “They were too thin to hold my weight. But I thought what I did would be enough to protect the building.”

“It would have been without this.” Father gestured to the split trunk. “Maybe a branch or two would have taken off a couple of shingles but not this destruction.”

His face appeared gray in the brilliant light of sun on snow.

“But this is no proof that Joseph did this,” Father added. “Anyone wanting to make mischief could have. Think of those broken windows.”

“Aye, but who would have wanted to smash windows?” Colin asked. “Have you or your daughter the enemies?”

“No, but Joseph hasn’t any cause either.”

“He does.” Meg felt ill. “I made it clear to him that I thought the school more important than he is. I didn’t like him telling me I could only arrange fetes for the church and things like that when I’m his wife. I was willful about it.” She swallowed. “Like I’m willful about everything.”

“You’ve been indulged.” Father squeezed her shoulder. “But don’t blame yourself for this. We don’t have proof one way or another.”

“Except for that.” Colin pointed to something nearly the color of the bark snagged on a knot protruding from the side of the trunk.

Meg leaned forward to get a better look. So soft and supple it molded itself to the tree, the glove hung torn and dirty, a mute testimony to its owner. A match to the glove in Joseph’s pocket.

“I’m thinking he doesn’t know where he lost it,” Colin said. “But he’ll come here to look eventually.”

“He should have come here first,” Meg whispered. “We’d never have known.”

“He might have intended to.” Father stepped away from the tree. “He wouldn’t expect you to come here and find the disaster so early if at all until the snow melts.”