The Glassblower (8 page)

Meg didn’t have a chance to respond. Father returned at that moment with Colin and Joseph accompanying him. Colin met Meg’s glance for a heartbeat, gave her a half smile, then spun on his heel and paced to the back of the factory. Father and Joseph approached the desk.

“Good day, ladies.” Joseph bowed.

Sunlight drew out the gold in his hair, spinning it around his head like a halo. He was indeed handsome, probably better looking than Colin.

“Isaac”—Joseph nodded to Father—”has asked me if I’ll accompany you ladies home.”

And he was nice. She should really want to spend her life with such a good man.

“Thank you.” Meg rose, cupping the now squirming kitten in her hand. “Father?” She gave him a questioning glance.

He returned it with a gentle smile. “Grassick has offered to work extra hours to make the windows for your school and to finish the goblets.”

“He—but—” Meg swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.

“We’ll talk this evening.” Father shook Joseph’s hand. “Thank you and hurry right back. I want to show you the new windows made with the flint glass. So much clearer, if a bit expensive to produce.”

“Maybe not if there’s less waste and less need for framing.” Joseph laughed. “But we won’t bore the ladies with this talk of business matters.”

Meg wasn’t bored. On the contrary, she was intrigued. She didn’t think she should be asking to know more at that moment. She’d received a reprieve.

With a bob of a curtsy to Father, she led the way outside. What had been a pleasant autumn day earlier felt chilly after the heat of the glassworks. She gathered her cloak around her. At the movement her pocket meowed.

“Do you always carry cats in your pocket?” Joseph asked.

Sarah laughed. “You know our Meg. She’s always rescuing something.”

“Indeed. It’s one of the lovable things about her.” Joseph held out an arm for each lady. “I’m so pleased she’s going to rescue me from a lonely life. And rescue my house from neglect.”

“Does Peter feel like you’re rescuing him?” Meg asked, blushing over the praise while, she had to admit to herself, pleased by it.

“More like he’s rescuing me.” Sarah’s husky chuckle mingled with the rising wind in the trees. “I won’t have to share the kitchen with my mother when I’ve a mind to bake.”

“Meg won’t ever have to set foot in the kitchen.” To Meg, Joseph’s shoulders seemed to straighten and his chin rose a notch as he made this declaration.

She frowned over his pride.

“I have a cook, as well as a housekeeper,” he announced.

“But I like to bake,” she protested. “My sugar buns are even better than Ilse’s, and she taught me to make them.”

The instant the words were out of her mouth, she wished she’d bitten her tongue instead of speaking them. She was criticizing Joseph for being boastful—then boasting herself.

“At least she says they are,” Meg murmured.

“They are.” Sarah toed a pinecone out of her path. “You’ll be denying yourself a treat if you don’t let her bake now and again, Joseph.”

“Well, of course if she wants to.” Joseph pressed Meg’s hand against his side for a moment too long. “I know how Margaret likes to have her own way.”

“I want to be obedient,” Meg said then added, “to God.”

Sarah gave out an unladylike snort she hastily covered with a cough.

Fortunately they reached the lane to the Jordan farm at that moment, and Meg looked to the west, where the sun was beginning to drop into the horizon.

“You should take Sarah straight home. If you walk me up to the house, it’ll be dark before you get back to the glassworks, and you don’t have a lantern.”

“Wise you are.” Joseph took her hand from his arm and raised it to his lips. “Good evening, my dear.”

From beyond his bent head, Meg met Sarah’s eyes and read a surprise she hoped wasn’t reflected on her own face. She’d never had her hand kissed before. Other than by her parents, she’d never been kissed before.

She didn’t think she liked it.

With an effort she managed not to snatch her fingers free and said something pleasant to Sarah like seeing her at church. Necessary pleasantries over, Meg spun on the flat heel of her slipper and strode up the lane with more haste than dignity or grace.

“I should like him,” she made herself say aloud. “He cares for me. I should like him. He cares for me. I should …”

No amount of repetition made the words come true. She should or should not do a lot of things she did or did not do. Even Saint Paul had suffered from this affliction. Yet he had been obedient to God even when He made him do things that would send him to prison.

“I will marry him.” As she entered the front door of the house, she changed it to a declaration. “I will. I will.

I—oops.”

She’d forgotten the cat was in her pocket.

She took him out to the stable to join his siblings and friends. They were feasting on some scraps of meat from the supper preparations. His tiny nose twitched, and he scrambled out of Meg’s hand and raced across the yard to push his way into the food.

In her bedchamber she washed her face and wrapped a fresh fichu around her neck, one of white linen with a lace edging. Her eyes remained a bit puffy, but her cheeks no longer bore the marks of her tears. Once she had brushed her hair and replaced a few pins, she was ready to help Ilse with the last of the supper preparations. She wasn’t sure she would ever be ready to meet her father for the talk he said they would have later.

Yet he hadn’t seemed angry. Shocked, distressed, yes, but not angry. Then again, he might have been exhibiting self-control if Joseph and Colin Grassick were within earshot.

When she heard the front door open, her heart began to throb in her chest like galloping hooves. Hastily she picked up the pitcher of lemonade that had been cooling in the springhouse and carried it into the dining room to fill the glasses.

Father entered the room in minutes. Shadows made his eyes appear deep set and dark, and two lines cut grooves on either side of his mouth. But he gave Meg a smile and pulled out her chair.

“You look like your mother tonight,” he told her. “She was fond of wearing a white collar with lace.”

Meg glowed at his compliment. “Thank you.”

“So what do we have for supper tonight?”

“Ragout with noodles.”

“Ah, one of my favorite dishes of Ilse’s.”

They ate in near silence. Despite his claim of the meal being one of his favorites, he ate less than usual, barely managing to finish the plateful Meg served him. Seeing his lack of appetite, Meg lost what was left of hers and sent Ilse back to the kitchen, muttering about wastefulness.

“Take it to the single workers,” Meg suggested, following her with the dirty dishes.

“Ach, you know we only have one of those now that Thaddeus has married. It’s to that Scot this’ll go, and deserving he is, working so hard and eating bachelor fare.”

She carried the coffeepot back into the dining room. “Shall I join you, Father?”

“Yes, I have a few things to discuss with you.” He folded his hands on the still-pristine tablecloth.

Meg poured coffee for each of them, though she didn’t want it, and waited for him to speak.

He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you want to marry Joseph?”

“It’s too silly.” She pressed her hands against her warm cheeks. “It makes sense to me, but when I say it out loud, it sounds—childish.”

“To me, Margaret, you are a child.”

“I’m not, though. I’m an old maid nearly. You’ve said so yourself.”

“Yes, well, just try to say it.”

“I’d like to say it’s only because I don’t love him, which is true, but I know you and Momma didn’t love one another either and grew to over time.”

“Marriages were arranged more often in those days than they are now.”

Then why had he arranged hers?

Meg tamped down the spirit of rebellion.

“Go on.” Father’s face showed no expression. “If it’s not only that you don’t love him, what else is it?”

“He’s not my choice.” Meg blurted out the words before she lost her courage.

Father said nothing for several minutes, long minutes in which a log fell in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks spiraling up the chimney and making her jump. Tedious minutes in which she had to clasp her hands together tightly enough to make her knuckles white to prevent herself from drumming her nails on the table.

“And what sort of man would you choose?” Father asked abruptly.

“I don’t know.” An image of emerald green eyes flashed through her mind, and she amended, “Joseph seems unfriendly.”

Except for that kiss on her hand. That was too friendly.

Although she had spoken little to Colin Grassick, Meg felt closer to him after those conversations than she did to Joseph, whom she’d known all her life. Colin spoke of things in his heart. Joseph spoke of—things. Things like his big house. Things like having a cook and a housekeeper.

“He cares too much about his possessions.” She spoke on a wave of inspiration.

“Ah.” Father gave her his half smile. “But all those possessions will allow you to carry on your charitable work. You can start a whole farm for wayward cats. And provide every child in the county with chapter books.”

“If he lets me,” she muttered.

“Hmm. Well, yes.” Father drummed his fingers on the table. He gazed toward the curtained windows for another minute then he turned to Meg and covered one of her hands with his. “I can’t go back on my word to Joseph about your marrying him. I made a promise to your mother, too, but I broke it. And now—Joseph has agreed to postpone the announcement of the wedding until after the New Year.”

Meg’s eyes stung. Father had broken a promise to Momma? It seemed unbelievable.

“And the wedding?”

“That’s still in the spring. The twenty-eighth day of April.” Father’s lips flattened. “Don’t ask me to postpone that, too. Please, for my sake, this wedding must take place.”

The vacant windows of the schoolhouse seemed to glower at Colin as he passed, accusing him of shirking his promise to replace the glass. Given the opportunity, he would be back at the glasshouse working on the panes. But this Saturday afternoon Mr. Jordan insisted he take time off. The great furnaces needed to cool so the pits beneath the fire grates could be cleaned of ashes. So Colin took Thad’s offer of the use of his fishing equipment and headed for a pool in the creek the junior glassblower recommended was a fine place.

“You catch them and my wife will cook them,” Thad offered.

The pool lay just beyond the school, and Colin couldn’t stop himself from hoping Miss Jordan would find a reason to visit her building or go for a walk with her friend Sarah Thompson or call on any number of people along the road in his direction, including the church. She probably wouldn’t see him tucked amid the dense growth of trees along the water, but he would hear her coming. He found himself turning to peer through the branches every time he caught the sound of a foot scraping on the hard-packed earth of the lane. Fortunately for the sake of his line and pole, few people traversed the stretch of road in the middle of the afternoon, even on a Saturday. Too few, since none proved to be Meg Jordan with her light, quick tread and bouncing curls.

Twice Colin found himself starting to pray she would come along, but he stopped before fully forming the words. He should be praying to forget about her. No one had told him not to speak to her, even after Mr. Jordan had been displeased to find them chatting in his kitchen and ordered Colin back to the glassworks. But Colin knew wanting to be near her was wrong. He must think about his work, about his family, about earning a future for them that would make up for what he had caused them to lose.

Yet every time he saw her, his heart lifted. A glance, a smile, a nod from her made him forget the emptiness he had made of his life. To Meg Jordan, who he was and what he’d done didn’t seem to matter. He told her the truth about his father, and she still looked at him as though—

She looked at him as though she liked him, and that was wrong. She was marrying another man. Even if the announcement of the betrothal hadn’t been made official yet, Colin reminded himself of the truth with each amethyst goblet he produced.

He also knew another truth: Meg Jordan didn’t want to marry Joseph Pyle. Since her father obviously loved her, Colin couldn’t work out why the man was so insistent that she wed Mr. Pyle. Pure greed? The Pyle fortune was well known in the county, Colin had learned in his four weeks in America. Yet Jordan was a kind and generous man. Marrying off his daughter to a man she didn’t care for simply out of a desire to have her marry wealth didn’t seem to fit the situation.

A tug on his line stopped Colin from pursuing that thread of consideration further. With pulling on the fish’s part, and persistence on his, and enough splashing to mimic a flailing swimmer, Colin landed a fish with a greenish back and silvery sides. He didn’t recognize it and wasn’t certain it was edible but decided to keep it. Catch in hand, he turned to place it in the basket he’d brought for the purpose and discovered his bucket of bait had disappeared.

Movement through the trees and a muffled giggle hinted at the cause of the disappearance. Throwing the fish into the creel, he shoved through the foliage in time to see five boys charging toward the road. A bucket banged against the leg of the smallest of them. All held their hands to their mouths.

Chuckling, Colin lunged after them. “Halt right there, lads,” he called to them.

To his surprise they stopped and faced him. He kept going. In another two yards he intended to stop and lecture them on stealing. He wanted to be close to them, close enough to look down at even the tallest of them.

One boy moved, scooping something from the bucket. Long, brown objects sailed toward Colin. He ducked to avoid an onslaught of worms, and someone behind him screamed.

Colin straightened and turned in time to see Meg Jordan pluck a worm from the shoulder of her cloak and throw it back at the boys.

“How did you miss something the size of Mr. Grassick, children?” She was laughing. Her eyes sparkled.

Colin thought the sun had come out and the temperature had risen to summertime. Tongue-tied, he glanced from her to the boys, who seemed equally struck mute.