The Glassblower (7 page)

“No, but I can be kind to him.”

“While betrothed to another man?”

“It’s not official yet.”

“It’s what your father wants for you.”

“But not what I want.” Meg heaved a sigh. “Let’s go look at the school and try to find the kitten.”

“Yes, I’m forgetting how short the daylight is now.” Sarah resumed walking.

At intervals one or the other of them called to the kitten, though Meg expected it would be in a field or the woods, hunting or trying to, rather than along the road. When they passed the glassworks, she didn’t so much as glance in that direction. She wouldn’t see him anyway. Father had told her Colin worked longer hours than any of the men. He also helped out the others and never complained.

“If he works out, he’ll be worth every penny it cost me to get him here.” Father had laughed at that, his annoyance at finding her chatting cozily with the glassblower diminishing. “I wish it was pennies it cost me instead of a whole lot of dollars.”

She mustn’t interfere with her father’s making a profit from his business. She must be a good daughter. She’d promised to be a good daughter before Momma died. Promised in letters. To be a good daughter, she must do what she was told.

“You’re frowning,” Sarah said.

“I’m worrying about the kitten. He’s so small.”

They left the cover of trees and entered the broad intersection of road, charcoal burners lane, and creek. Meg’s gaze strayed to the lightning-struck tree, and she caught a flash of movement in the branches.

“That little imp.” Picking up her skirt, she raced for the tree. She wasn’t mistaken. Twenty feet above the rushing waters of the stream perched a black-and-white kitten.

“I thought the one he took home was the one he rescued, but who can tell them apart?” She began to kilt up her skirt.

“Meg!” Sarah gasped. “Your ankles are showing.”

Meg stared down at her stockings, visible above the ribbons tying her blue kid slippers around her ankles. “I forgot. I was wearing boots last time.”

“Last time?” Sarah poked Meg in the ribs. “What are you forgetting to tell me?”

“I climbed the tree to rescue a kitten. In the end, he got himself down.”

“And probably will this time, too. Now tell me what you meant about the last time you climbed the tree.”

As they continued their walk to the school, Meg confessed the entire scene to her friend.

“I can’t believe you kept that to yourself.” Sarah laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes. “It was too bad of you to climb a tree with your skirt pulled up, even with boots on, but to end up hanging there like an apple—oh my, the picture.”

“It was more embarrassing to have a stranger see me like that.”

They rounded the curve in the road that led straight to the school building. Meg stopped talking to smile, anticipating Sarah’s exclamation of delight when she saw the slanting afternoon sunlight glinting off the panes of glass in the new windows.

Both of them exclaimed, but it wasn’t in pleasure. Sunlight glinted off glass, lots of glass. What looked like acres of glass strewed around the little building.

Every windowpane had been smashed.

Meg started to cry. She’d waited for months to get glass in the frames for her school, and now they lay in fragments on the ground. Gazing at the glittering shards, she felt as though her heart lay mixed in the shining horde.

“Who would do this?” Sarah slipped her arms around Meg and hugged her tightly. “It’s simply terrible. Who wouldn’t want a school?”

“I thought the soot was bad.” Meg sniffled against Sarah’s cloak. “But that wasn’t expensive to clean up. This”—she straightened and waved her arm in the air—”will take forever to replace, if Father will replace it. Do you have a handkerchief?”

“Of course.” Sarah produced a square of linen with a tatted edge.

Meg took it and wiped her eyes—and kept wiping. The tears wouldn’t stop.

“How will I ever be able to open a school if it doesn’t have windows?” She burst out sobbing again. “It’s not as though I’m doing this for myself. I want to serve the Lord through helping the children around here learn to read and write and some history and … how can this happen?”

“Meg. Meg, calm yourself.” Sarah patted Meg’s back then wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “We’ll work out something. I mean, if your father was willing to put windows in once, surely he will be willing again.”

“It took months to get these.”

“Yes, but now he has a new glassblower. You got them within two weeks of Mr. Grassick arriving.”

“I know. It’s just that he’s already doing work for me, making these—goblets—” Meg’s voice caught in her throat.

Meg felt sick. Without another word, she turned on her heel and began trudging back toward home. She’d found a way to put off her wedding by convincing Father that she needed glasses enough for a betrothal party. He’d agreed, realizing it would be an opportunity to show off Colin’s skill to the county and get orders for their own sets of glassware. Although she intended to use the glasses for such a party, and although they would be fine advertisement for Colin’s skill, Meg knew they were an excuse to put off the announcement of the marriage. She wasn’t being truly deceitful—or didn’t think of it as such at the time. Now, however, she worried that her action was wrong and she was being punished for not being honest with her father.

“What should I do?” Meg spoke to the Lord, but said it aloud.

“Ask your father for more windows. Surely he won’t blame you for this.”

“No, he won’t blame me. It’s simply that—” Meg paused in the center of the road and stared at the clear blue sky. “We need to stop at the glassworks on our way back.”

“You want to walk up to the gate and ring for admission?” Sarah sounded shocked and justifiably so. Although Meg had visited the glassworks many times to take Father dinner, she had never invited Sarah to go inside the stockade around the factory.

“Yes, we must go now.” Meg set out at a trot.

Sarah skipped to catch up with Meg. “Can’t this wait?”

“No, I have to talk to Father before—before any more work is done on the goblets.”

“Why?”

“Because—” Meg looked down. A tiny creature whizzed past her.

“The kitten.” She dove after it, catching it before it disappeared beneath a clump of shrubbery.

“Wanderer.” She tucked him—or her—under her chin.

A purr twice the size of the cat rumbled from beneath a coating of thick fur.

“He’s lovely.” Sarah stroked the small head between the pointed black ears. “And he likes you.”

“One of the cats took a liking to Mr. Grassick. Just wouldn’t let him leave.”

“Maybe Peter will let me have a cat. They’re so useful in the kitchen and pantry.”

“Father won’t let me have one in the house, but they’re happy in the stable. Except this one. He seems to like to wander off and get himself into trouble.”

“Looking for you?” Sarah smiled. “And he’s making you look happier, too.”

“He makes me feel better.”

But the sight of the glassworks gates brought the nausea clutching at her middle again. No help for it though. If she wanted to make up for her trick in postponing the official announcement of her betrothal, she must face up to what she’d done, sacrifice what she wanted with the delayed wedding plans for the sake of providing windows for her school. Telling Father in front of his workers would be far easier than telling him in private.

“It’s rather smelly in there,” Meg pointed out. “If you’d rather go home, I understand.”

“I’ll come with you. I admit I’m curious.”

“They may not let us in.” Meg tugged on the bell rope.

A
clang
rang across the yard. Mr. Weber, wearing a leather apron over his clothes, poked his head out of the factory door. Meg waved to him. Even from the distance to the gate, Meg saw his eyes widen. He nodded and vanished back inside the building.

A moment later Father strode into the yard. “Is something wrong, Margaret?”

“No. I mean, yes.” Meg put the kitten into the pocket of her cloak. “May I come in and talk to you?”

“It can’t wait until I return home tonight?” Meg shook her head.

“This is no place for a young lady.” Father frowned. His gaze fell on Sarah, and he smoothed out his brow. “I beg your pardon, Sarah. How are you doing?”

“Well, thank you.” Sarah smiled. “But, if you please, Mr. Jordan, will you allow us to come in? I admit I’m fascinated by the idea of glass.”

“All right, but only from the doorway.” Father unlatched the gate and pushed it open. “It’s not safe inside. We have apprentices running around with molten glass and men working on pieces. It’s quite—Margaret, you’ve been crying.”

Meg dabbed at her streaked face with the edge of her cloak. “Yes, sir.”

“What happened?” He took her arm with one hand and held out the other to Sarah.

“Someone broke my windows. The ones for the school.” Fresh tears stung her eyes.

Father’s hand tightened on her arm for a second. “How—dare—anyone?” He ground the words through his teeth. “You didn’t see anyone about? It was all right yesterday.”

“It was perfect yesterday.” One tear rolled down Meg’s cheek. “I was so pleased. At last I could keep my promise to Momma.”

“We didn’t see anyone or anything.” Sarah answered his question. “Maybe those rough boys from the charcoal burners.”

“I helped them get rid of their cats,” Meg protested. “And they’ll benefit from the school. Why would they harm it?”

“Maybe they don’t want the school.” Sarah spoke her suggestion with hesitancy.

“No one will make them come.” Meg found herself scowling at the still-open door, caught movement from beyond the threshold, and smoothed out her face.

Not until they stepped into the heat and smell did she think of what were surely her red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks for everyone there to see. For one man in particular to see.

She glanced around, seeking him out. If not for his red hair, she would have missed him on the other side of one of the great furnaces. He was knocking pieces of excess glass off the bottom of a finished work that appeared to be some sort of serving dish like a soup tureen. The glass shone like amber in the firelight.

“Beautiful,” Sarah murmured.

Meg started, rather shocked that Sarah would make such a comment about a man. Then, face flushing, she realized her friend meant the glassware—not Colin.

“Shall we go to your desk, Father?” Meg turned her back on him in pursuit of her father’s corner of the factory.

“Yes, just have a care. There’s cullet all over the floor.” Father picked his way over the flagstones strewed with chunks of glass that had been cut or broken from pieces.

Those shards would be reheated with batches of silica to make more glass. They wasted as little as possible.

Father’s desk resided below a broad window formed of eight panes of glass. The afternoon sun blazed through the nearly clear windows and across an open ledger. He slammed that shut and indicated that Meg and Sarah should take the two chairs across from him.

“I’m not in the habit of entertaining ladies here.” Father glared at someone behind Meg.

She tilted her head to adjust her hat and saw a young apprentice scurrying away.

“Yes.” Father’s smile was tight. “It’s to keep the men’s attention on their work, not pretty girls. Distraction can be dangerous when you’re handling molten glass.”

“It’s wonderful to watch though.” Sarah was gazing around, wide-eyed and openmouthed. “I had no idea that’s how you make windows. No wonder they’re so expensive.”

“And now that you’ve mentioned windows,” Father said, “you didn’t need to come in here to ask me for more.”

“I know. That is—” Meg took a deep breath. “I didn’t come in here to ask for more windows. I mean, yes, I would like them and would like to make whoever smashed the other ones pay for them. But I have to tell you something else.”

Father and Sarah both stared at her, faces puzzled. Father raised one hand to gesture for someone behind Meg to wait. Meg forced herself not to look.

“Go ahead,” Father said.

Meg gulped. “Father, you can tell Mr. Grassick he needn’t make so many glasses. Not because—because I don’t want them.” She spoke the last words in a rush. “I do. They’re the most beautiful glasses I’ve ever seen. But I know they take a long time to make and that I planned not to announce the betrothal until they were done. But if he doesn’t make so many, maybe he can make new windows instead.” Out of breath she sagged in her chair, as though she had just set down a heavy burden.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat. In front of her, Sarah’s face had gone blank, and Father frowned, but not as though he were angry. He looked—sad.

When no one spoke, Meg added, “So I had to come here straightaway to prevent any unnecessary work.”

“I appreciate your honesty, daughter.” Father stepped away from the desk. “Will you excuse me a moment?”

“Of course.” Meg gathered her cloak around her, felt something sharp prick her hand, and remembered the kitten in her pocket. “Would you like us to leave now?”

“No, no, I’d rather you stay for a few minutes.” Father walked around Meg. “Thank you for finishing that bowl, Grassick. I believe Mrs. Beckett will be pleased with it. Let’s take it out back for packing.”

Their footfalls rang on the stone floor then died amid the hiss of fires and tinkle of glass falling onto hard surfaces.

“You really don’t want to marry Joseph badly, do you?” Sarah whispered.

“You know I don’t.”

Sarah shook her head. “But I didn’t know you would go to such lengths to avoid it.”

“I went too far, and now I’ve been punished by maybe not being able to have my school open after all.”

“Punished by whom? I mean, who knows what your plan was?”

“No one except the Lord.”

“God doesn’t work that way.” Sarah drew her nearly straight brows together. “At least I don’t think He does.”

“I’m supposed to marry Joseph because it’s what my father wants for me, and I’m trying to avoid it. So why should I get what I want?”

“Because you thought the Lord wanted you to open the school for the sake of other children?” Sarah suggested.