The Glassblower (9 page)

“Whose worms are those?” she asked, tilting her head to one side so a curl bobbed against her cheek.

Colin clenched his fingers against a wish to tuck the errant strand behind her ear.

The boys ducked their heads and scuffed their clogs in the dirt.

“I was doing a wee bit of fishing,” Colin managed. “While I was bringing in my catch, these lads decided to have a bit of fun with me.”

“First cats, now worms.” She clucked her tongue. “I don’t think they should get away with it. What shall we make them do, Mr. Grassick?”

“We was just playin’,” the youngest one cried. “We would have brought ‘em back.”

“But you all threw them at him and struck me.” She shook her head. A limp worm dangled from the brim of her felt hat like a broken plume. “Mr. Grassick, what do you think?”

“I think they’ll need to be in the front row of the school when it opens,” Colin said.

Meg looked delighted. Expressions of horror crossed the boys’ faces.

“An excellent notion.” Meg nodded. “The first Monday in January, boys. Be there, or I’ll send Mr. Grassick to collect you. Now run along, and don’t go stealing things or harming living creatures.”

“And I’ll take that bucket back.” Colin collected the bucket as the youngest one dropped it and fled.

“They don’t have a mother, I learned,” Meg said. “And their father is busy all the time with the charcoal burner. If I can make them come to school, it will give them something to do an hour or two a day and maybe keep them out of trouble.”

“Aye, they’re not bad bairns. They simply need a bit of supervision.” Pail in one hand, Colin stepped close enough to her to pluck the worm from her hat. “The color does not suit you.”

She made a face, laughed, then lifted her chin and looked directly into his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Aye. That is, you’re welcome.” He swallowed. “You’re not squeamish about the creepy crawly things then?”

“No, I grew up fishing with my father in these waters before he decided to reopen the glassworks and got too busy.” She smiled. “I don’t clean them though. E–ew.”

“I only have the one pole, but I’m willing to share.” He clasped both hands on the handle of the bucket. “If you think ‘twould be all right to join me.”

“It’s all right. I’m on my way back from the church. I was trying to see if they have any extra benches I can use for the school. They don’t, so now I’m not promised to anyone.” She sighed and muttered, “Yet.”

That word
yet
reminded Colin to merely enjoy her company and think no more of it than a pleasant time with a pretty lass. If he told himself that enough, he might believe it. For the moment he couldn’t stop his heart from leaping like a salmon.

“Then, by all means, join me, madam.” He offered her his arm.

She took it, and they returned to the pool.

“Who told you about this place?” she asked. “Or did you find it on your own?”

“Thad told me.” He retrieved his pole, untangled the line, and hooked a worm. “You may have the first cast. Do you need any help?”

“I should go all missish and say yes.” She took the pole and sent the baited hook arcing into the water with scarcely a ripple. “But I’d be fibbing.”

“Apparently so.” He stooped to gather wet grasses to keep his catch cool and damp, though the misty day would do much of that. Beside him Meg stood motionless except for occasionally moving the tip of the pole.

“You’re very good at this.” He straightened and gazed down on the crown of her hat, over which curled a pink feather. “How old were you when you last fished?”

“A clever way of asking my age, since you know the glassworks have been open for five years.” She leaned a little forward. “I was sixteen.”

“I had no intention of being that calculating. My apologies for being so bold.”

“None necessary. Hmm.” She gave her line a little tug. “Everyone in the county knows I’m practically on the shelf. Finicky Meg—ah yes, I have a bite.”

With calm and skill she reeled in the fish, took one look at the whiskered orange beast, and made a noise of disgust.

“Catfish.” She shuddered. “Not something to my liking, but go ahead and keep it. Some people love them.”

“Aye, I’ll take them all to Martha Dalbow. She can feed them to her pig if she doesn’t want them.”

“And save the inner bits for your cat.” She handed him the pole, allowing him to remove the fish from the hook and rebait it. “How is the wee beastie?”

The sound of the Scots expression on her lips sent his insides quivering. “Fat and spoiled.” He cast. “How is your wanderer?”

“Still up to his tricks. I expect I’ll be teaching my class one day, and he’ll be yowling in the tree outside the windows.”

“Some creatures don’t have enough sense to stay home where they’re loved and safe.” He fixed his gaze on the pond.

It lay as still as a mirror, reflecting trees, the gray sky, and their figures side by side on the bank, quiet, comfortable, companionable. It was a vision he would happily keep in his head. In his heart.

“How did the son of a Highland fisherman become a Lowland glassblower?”

Her question yanked him back to the way things really were—him in no position to think about her as anything more than his master’s daughter.

“I found a piece of glass on the shore one day.” He focused on the past, his father’s face as he told him he didn’t want to go to sea day after day. “Somehow it managed not to break on the rocks. Probably washed up from a ship. I do not ken. It was only a bowl, but the color was a clear amber like your eyes.” He kept his gaze away from her face so he could not see her reaction to his offhand compliment. “The curve of the bowl was so fine I wanted to ken how ‘twas done. I asked the minister, he being a learned man from Edinburgh. He told me about the glassblowers, and I had to see for myself. So I sold the bowl to a
sassenach
—an Englishman—visiting the Highlands for the grouse hunting, and I left.”

“Did you know you were an artist before then?” Her voice was soft, as though she didn’t want the birds in the treetops to hear her.

He snorted. “I am nay artist, Miss Jordan. I am a craftsman.”

“You’re an artist.” Her reflection told him she’d tilted her face toward him. “I know the difference between the two.”

“Ah well. Perhaps I have a bit of a gift.” He ducked his head, warm with pleasure at her compliment. “I did a bit of drawing with sticks in the dirt, but we didn’t have the silver for paper and pencils.”

“Do you think your father truly begrudged your seeking a profession that better suited your skills and God-given gifts?”

“Nay, he was not that sort. But I could have sent the money home to help with the bairns. I was a selfish youth who cost them all too much.”

“Oh Colin.” She laid her hand on his arm.

In the same instant, the tip of his pole swooped toward the water. His foot slid on the grassy bank. With a weight on the hook and thrown off balance, Colin toppled toward the pond.

“Let go,” Meg cried.

Contrary to her words, she caught hold—of him. Her arms encircled his waist and, slight as it was, her weight helped him regain his balance and find solid footing.

Colin landed another fish he didn’t recognize, something bluish and full of fight, but far enough up on the bank he risked setting down the pole without worrying the catch would flop back into the water and pull Thad’s equipment after it.

“I couldn’t let go of Thad’s fishing pole,” Colin said in an even tone. “He may not have another.”

“No—no, you couldn’t.” Meg released him and moved away, out of his sight, away from a reflection in the pool.

Colin faced her. She held her hand to her lips, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Lass, what’s the trouble?” He raised one hand but stopped short of touching her.

She shook her head, and an odd choking noise came from her throat.

“Lass, are you—” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”

She nodded, and the mirth burst from her. “I am so sorry.” She took a shuddering breath. “But you admit we looked a bit silly.”

“Aye, well, I never was verra good at the dancing.”

They laughed. They fished together; they talked of growing up in places far different from each other yet sharing a common thread of learning of a faith in God.

“I abandoned mine in the city,” Colin admitted. “But I turned my heart back to the Lord after my father died.”

“Then good came of it.” Meg frowned at the darkening sky. “I fail in my willfulness. I just want things the way I want them.”

Colin smiled into her eyes, knowing they must go soon, knowing this was an interlude they would likely never share again. “Aye, I ken what you mean. I wish things were different.”

“They will be.” Meg clasped her hands in front of her. “If ever I wanted things to be the way I want them, it’s more afternoons like this—for us.”

If only she knew why her father insisted she marry Joseph, Meg thought she could persuade him not to go through with the wedding plans. Father said he wanted her to marry because she needed to be settled with a home of her own. Yet now he told her she mustn’t call off the inevitable announcement of the betrothal for his sake. For her sake, she must learn what was wrong. If she could hold off the wedding announcement that long.

Briefly she considered telling Joseph outright that she found her interests lay elsewhere. The risk to Colin stopped her. So she prayed for things to change and worked harder to get her school ready to start the first Monday of the New Year.

Seating was still a problem she hadn’t solved. The minister promised to give her some slates and chalk someone had donated to the church, but other than that, he couldn’t help her with furnishings. And the windows were still missing glass.

“It seems like it won’t open after all,” she told Sarah one afternoon.

Sarah’s mother was pinning up the hem of a merino traveling dress in which Sarah would accompany her new husband for a week in New York, meeting his family. The deep green complemented Sarah’s rich red brown hair and drew out the color in her cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful.” Meg poured enthusiasm into her friend’s new wardrobe and set worries about her own marriage and school aside. “Peter will fall even more in love with you than he already is.”

Sarah laughed and blushed. Her hazel eyes grew dreamy.

With the wedding less than three weeks away, she thought of little else than her husband-to-be and her home. Meg rejoiced for her friend, while feeling a twinge of loneliness cutting inside her. Sarah would never have the same freedom to run about with Meg as she enjoyed now. Yet Sarah wanted the change because she’d met the man she loved and wanted to spend her life with.

Later, when Peter arrived for dinner, Meg watched him and Sarah exchange glances and knew she had spoken the complete truth when she told Sarah she couldn’t wed a man until she found one who looked at her that way. Joseph didn’t gaze at her with love. She hadn’t yet put a name to the emotion in his glances, but it wasn’t devotion.

Quiet, she accepted Peter’s offer to walk her home rather than Sarah’s invitation to spend the night. Father was leaving for Philadelphia the following day, and she wanted to ensure his bags were packed to his satisfaction.

“I’ll return tomorrow.” Meg kissed Sarah’s cheek and headed out for the short walk down the road to home.

Once out of earshot of the house, Peter brought up the subject of glass. “It’s a little late, I know, but I thought I could order some fine pieces for our new house. I was thinking candlesticks or glass globes for the wall sconces. Maybe for Christmas?”

“I don’t know, but come by the glassworks early in the morning if you can and discuss it with Father before he leaves for the city.” She smiled as a thought struck her. “I could go with you to help pick out some ideas.”

“I’d like that.” Peter heaved a sigh of relief. “I want everything perfect for Sarah.”

“She doesn’t need perfection, Peter.” Meg smiled up at the young man she’d known for many years. He was tall and slim, and his dark hair and eyes were an attractive contrast to Sarah’s vivid coloring.

“She would like a kitten, too,” Meg added.

Peter laughed. “I’d rather give her glass baubles, but if she wants a cat, she can have one.”

“Good. She can pick one out when you return from New York. I found three more abandoned near my school, so that makes nine I’ve rescued in the past month.”

They reached the Jordans’ house. Peter bade her good night with the promise to see her in the morning then strode off down the drive, whistling.

Meg fairly skipped to the door.

With the prospect of even catching a glimpse of Colin the next day, she was too excited to sleep well or eat much breakfast.

“You’re not sickening, are you?” Ilse asked. “No, just excited.”

“Ah, the friend’s wedding.” Ilse nodded and carried the oatmeal porridge away.

“I’m going over to the glassworks to help Mr. Strawn pick out a gift for Sarah.”

“And that’s put you off your food?” Ilse gave her a narrow-eyed look.

“I’d better finish packing.” Meg bolted up the steps to her bedchamber.

For the week Father would be in Philadelphia to conduct business, something to do with the glassworks, Meg would stay with Sarah’s family. They were happy to have her help with the wedding so close. Too close. Signaling the nearness of Christmas and then the first of the year and the end of her own freedom.