The American Lady (17 page)

“Pardon me if I’m a little slow this morning, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Susanna’s knowing remarks were beginning to get on Marie’s nerves. The woman always seemed to have to let the whole world know how smart she was.

“Apart from having had a bad dream that left me feeling a little queasy, I’m perfectly all right. My hormones are certainly all in order,” she said, and rolled over onto her stomach to show that the conversation was over.

“I see what it is now,” Pandora said, groaning. “Oh no! Is it true? Marie, tell us—are you reall
y . . .
pregnant?”

4

Harold took his watch from his pocket for the umpteenth time and toyed with its gold chain. His heart gave a little leap of joy, as always, when he opened the lid and heard that satisfying click. As a little boy he had longed to have a pocket watch and now he had one—gilded, at that! He brushed away an imaginary wisp of lint from the watch glass and shut the lid. He would never indulge in this newfangled habit of wearing his watch on his wrist, the way some of his colleagues did!

He frowned and looked over at the door.

Where was Wanda? They were supposed to meet at eight o’clock, and now it was twenty past.
I should have insisted on picking her up at home,
he thought irritably. At least then he wouldn’t have had to worry about whether she was all right.

The waiter in tails who had been hovering near Harold’s table ever since he sat down took a step closer.

“Perhaps
monsieur
would like to choose a wine first? Or should I bring the menu?”

“No, thank you. I’m still waiting for someone.”

“May I bring
monsieur
an aperitif?”

“No,” Harold replied irritably. He hoped this restaurant wouldn’t turn out to be the wrong choice—he wanted the setting to be just right, tonight of all nights. His right hand wandered involuntarily to the breast pocket of his jacket. The little leather case felt cool and smooth to the touch.

The waiter hesitated a moment longer, then stepped back and waited three paces away from Harold’s table, his hands clasped behind his back.

Harold took a sip of his glass of water.

They could have met at Mickey’s Brooklyn Bar, of course. Or at one of the Italian restaurants they both liked. But Harold wanted more than just beer or spaghetti on this occasion, and a fancy French restaurant seemed just the thing.

Besides, he knew that he wouldn’t be confronted with German grilled wurst and potato dumplings here. He would hear no German conversation and no German songs. There were no German flags hanging on the wall and although the waiter was rather insistent, at least he wasn’t wearing German folk costume. Thank goodness!

Harold kept an eye on the door as he tried to count up how many German clubs and patriotic societies Wanda had visited over the past three weeks. She had gone to the Black Forest Brotherhood, the Mecklenburg Ladies’ League, the Hamburg Harmony Choir, and even to the Banat Swabian Society. And every time, she had given him a detailed account of each little clan’s customs—in glowing terms. She told him all about the sense of community that bound them together. About the patriotism that shone through in every word and every action. She still didn’t know which of the clubs she actually wanted to join. She liked the North Germans’ songs best, but the Bavarians had the best food, and the Swabians had the most impressive rituals and ceremonies. At the moment, Wanda was most inclined to join the Banat Swabian Society. When Harold had arrived to take her out for a walk last weekend, he had found her bent over her needlework, embroidering a sentimental slogan about the waters of the Danube and the lush green fields along its banks. She showed him her work proudly, although frankly, she had made quite a mess even though she was barely past the first word. Her mother was visibly annoyed by the whole thing, but what influence had Ruth Miles ever had over her daughter’s flights of fancy?

Harold smiled. Wanda! It was really something to watch her launch herself into her latest project, every single time.

Ever since Marie had left, she had been consumed by the idea of rediscovering her German roots. Wanda’s obsessions reminded him of some of his Wall Street colleagues, who were never happy with their profits and always wondered what would have happened if they had invested just a little more money, held onto their stocks just a little longer. Some of them couldn’t get such thoughts out of their heads and turned into virtual monomaniacs. Harold had long ago decided that although he enjoyed his job he never wanted to turn into one of them.

The latest bee in Wanda’s bonnet had given him one thing to be grateful for: there was no more talk of her finding a job. Rather she spent her days browsing in German shops and reading books about Germany. Whenever they met, she wanted to tell him all about what she had been reading, in German of course. The fact that he only spoke a phrase or two didn’t stop her at all. She offered to teach him German if he liked—it was her mother tongue after all, she said! Harold had refused as gracefully as he could.

He turned the glass of water around and around in his hands. He was looking forward to what might come next. If Wanda turned out to be just as enthusiastic about preparing for the wedding, and then keeping house afterward, there wouldn’t be much left of his salary at the end of every month despite his recent raise. Well never mind that! It was high time Wanda found her “mission in life”—she’d been looking for one for as long as he’d known her.

A quarter of an hour later he finally spotted Wanda’s distinctive blonde bob through the restaurant’s full-length glass doors as she got out of a cab. She was wearing a simple black outfit that showed the lines of her trim figure to full advantage.

“Harry, you simply cannot imagine what I’ve just heard!”

Before Harold could even rise to pull out her chair, she had plunked down into her seat.

Her appearance had not gone unnoticed by the other guests. Wanda’s effervescent manner made all heads turn as the diners looked up from their duck à l’orange, their truffled potatoes, and lobster bisque. The conversation at the next table suddenly seemed far more intriguing than whatever was on their plates.

“Do you have to make such a fuss?” Harold asked, fighting the wave of annoyance that washed over him. This was
his
evening.
He
wanted to be the one to set the tone!

“Just imagine: Marie’s gotten married!” Wanda blurted out.

“Married?” he squawked. Then he cleared his throat and began again, dropping his voice. “Who has she married? And how do you know?” What a stupid question! She had married Franco, of course.

“That was exactly how I reacted when Mother told me that Marie and Franco had just up and married,” Wanda said and passed a hand across her brow. Then she told him about the telephone call her mother had gotten from Johanna. Apparently Marie had decided that all she needed to do was send a telegram to Lauscha. There had been no further explanation, nor even any promise that she and her new husband would come and visit the family anytime soon. All she told them was that she planned to live and work in Genoa from then on.

As though Genoa were just next door! Harold thought that Marie had behaved scandalously.

“She’ll be living in a real palace with a view of the sea. Mother’s eyes almost popped out of her head when Johanna told her that part.”

Wanda smiled and took the glass of water that the waiter had placed reverently on the table.

Harold watched her as she gulped down the water. That was typical Wanda, he thought fondly, then remembered why he had wanted to meet like this.

“So Marie has followed her heart in the en
d . . .
” That wasn’t such a bad way to begin, in fact.

“Yes, but she did it at the worst imaginable moment!” Wanda laughed, quite oblivious to his lovey-dovey tones. “Apparently they’re right in the middle of preparing the new catalog back home in Lauscha—and the big question is how they’ll ever get it ready by February without Marie to help. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, my cousin Anna has just sprained her ankle so badly that she can’t even walk, never mind work the bellows treadle. If I understand right, she not just one of the glassblowers, she also runs all the errands for the day-to-day business in the workshop. My mother tells me that Aunt Johanna is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Marie’s decision to move to Genoa is a catastrophe.” Her cheeks were aglow with excitement.

“Wanda! Can you please forget your German relatives for a moment?” Harold leaned across the table insistently and took her hand. “I have some news to
o . . .
good news!” He paused for effect. “You are sitting across the table, my dear, from a newly appointed bank manager.”

“Harold!” Wanda squealed with delight. “I’m so happy for you!” She was already at his side of the table and leaning down to kiss him. “Congratulations! I’m quite sure they couldn’t have picked anybody better for such an important job.”

“There’s a catch, thoug
h . . .
I have to take over a branch down in New Mexico. I know, I know, it’s a long way from New York. But I’ve asked around and apparently Albuquerque is a very nice city. They’ve got their own theater, lots of shops, and a well-tended park.” He laughed. “I promise that you won’t even miss New York. And it’s only for two years. Mr. Robinson—he’s in charge of deciding where managers are posted—he tells me that there’s a good chance I’l
l . . .
”

“Harol
d . . .
”

He reached for Wanda’s hand again and stroked it. “I know; it’s all rather sudden. I hadn’t expected myself that I woul
d—
”

“Harold!” she interrupted him again, this time more insistently. “
I . . .
can’
t . . .
come to New Mexico with you.”

He smiled. All of a sudden Wanda was showing herself to be the well-brought-up, levelheaded girl he knew and loved. At least her Aunt Marie’s scandalous habits hadn’t rubbed off on her!

“Of course you can,” he said softly as she stared at him, perplexed. He decided not to leave her hanging any longer. In one smooth motion he took the little leather case from his pocket and flipped it open with his finger. Then he turned the case so that Wanda could see the diamond ring in its cushion of dark-blue velvet. “But you’ll come as my wife. Which is why I’m asking you, here and now—Wanda, will you marry me?”

She looked down at the ring, then up at him. As though she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

Harold felt a wave of remorse. He knew how it could feel to wait an age for something and then finally get what you wanted; sometimes the joy at the achievement was mixed with a tinge of sourness, like milk left to stand too long.

He fumbled for words to set things right. This wasn’t how he had imagined this moment.

If Ruth Miles had had any say in the matter he would have proposed to Wanda last year. But he had wanted to do everything right, damn it all! He hadn’t wanted to ask Steven Miles for his daughter’s hand in marriage when he was just a poor nobody himself—now at least he had a solid job title.

But why was Wanda behaving so oddly? She ought to be smiling again—she’d had time to get over the initial shock by now. He had expected her to spring to her feet and dance a waltz with him on the spot. Or at least order champagne. Or talk him into buying drinks for the whole restaurant—he had even put extra money in his wallet just to be on the safe side. That would have been his beloved Wanda! But he didn’t recognize the girl who sat across from him now, her eyes wide and her chest quivering as though she’d just been shaken.

“Harold,” she said for the third time. She took her hand away and passed it across her brow as though trying to clear her thoughts. “
I . . .
” She smiled helplessly.

He gave her an encouraging look, all the while fighting the dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach that something terrible was about to happen.

“There’s no way to say this gently.” Wanda heaved a desolate sigh. “I can’t marry you,” she blurted out. “I have to go to Lauscha. I have a job to do there—my family needs me now.”

5

Wanda was far from pleased to hear that her mother had chosen Yvonne Schwarzenberg and her daughter Wilma to chaperone her on her journey. Yvonne was the best friend of Monique Desmoines, who had broken off all contact with the Miles family after the debacle with the pigs’ feet at Dittmer’s. Although Ruth had initially been most annoyed about how Wanda had lost the job, she had been squarely on her daughter’s side. “Monique acts like the uncrowned queen of New York!” she said angrily and then told Wanda, “It’s just a shame you only managed to spoil
one
party for that snooty bitch.”

Nonetheless, Ruth had picked up the telephone as soon as she heard that the Schwarzenbergs would soon be setting off to Hamburg to spend the winter there with Wilma’s fiancé, a rubber wholesaler who had strong ties to Indonesia. Ruth found out the name of the ship and the date it would sail, and then she took the plunge. Would Yvonne be so kind as to take Wanda under her wing, just during the crossing? The answer was a hesitant yes, whereupon Ruth called the shipping line next thing and asked whether there was still a cabin free on the
Germania
, preferably on the same deck as Mrs. Schwarzenberg and her daughter. When she heard that there was indeed, Ruth finally agreed to Wanda’s departure. She had been worn down by weeks of pleading.

“I won’t stand in your way,” Ruth declared and then sighed, adding, “Back when I left Lauscha it was a completely different situation of course, but to be hones
t . . .
I wouldn’t have let anyone or anything stop me then.” She shrugged, almost defiantly. “And who knows? Perhaps you really will be able to make them forget their current troubles over in Lauscha.”

So Wanda dutifully held back from making fun of the Schwarzenbergs—despite the fact that Wilma was such a gray little mouse and terribly dull. She had come to Pandora’s dance classes once or twice but spent most of the time in the changing room, terrified of being asked to dance for the group. Pandora had to drag her into the studio by the hair. And then she just stood there, as stiff as a stuffed giraffe.

But if she had to, she could even put up with eight days of listening to Yvonne Schwarzenberg hold forth on what made a man a good match. Rubber—the very idea!

By now they had heard back from Johanna, in writing, that Wanda was quite welcome to visit. Wanda had read the letter over and over again until the pages were tattered, and she knew it practically by heart.

We are very much looking forward to having Wanda with us. I can hardly wait to see with my own eyes what a fine young lady that little blonde baby of yours has grown up to be. But I do have to add a word of warning: given the state of affairs here just at the moment, neither Peter nor I will have much time to show Wanda the old country. Of course I’ll take her to Coburg one day and Sonneberg (that goes without saying). But we’ll have to wait until spring for anything more adventurous. I’ll be so relieved when we finally have our samples catalog off to press!

Then Johanna had spent a few lines lamenting that there were still no viable designs from Genoa and that Magnus was so brokenhearted that he had practically forgotten how to blow glass and wasted valuable rods making items that they would have to sell as seconds.

Magnus still hasn’t got over losing Marie. He’s suffering like a dog, and I feel guilty every time I remember doubting that he really loved our sister!

Johanna had found out in a recent telephone call from the Sonneberg post office that her niece knew the truth about her father by now, but to Wanda’s great disappointment Johanna hadn’t written a word about Thomas Heimer.

Wanda would set sail on October 15, which meant that she only had two weeks to pick out her wardrobe, buy presents for all of the Thuringian relatives, and go out to dinner with Harold one last time. They exchanged promises throughout the meal, caught between laughter and tears. Although Harold had been very upset when Wanda had turned down his proposal for some unspecified length of time, she sensed that once he had gotten over the shock, he was actually a little relieved not to have to take up his demanding new job with a wife in tow. Alas, he could not come to the farewell party that her parents were hosting, since he would be setting out for Albuquerque two days beforehand.

And then everything was packed, and all the farewells were spoken.

On the morning of October 15, Wanda stood on the steps that led into the belly of the liner with a small valise in her hand—the rest of her luggage had already been stowed the previous day—and waved to her parents. She suddenly felt a lump in her throat. The people down there on the docks blurred together into little colored dots, and Wanda had trouble picking out her parents in the crowd.

Good-bye, New York!

Millions of people came here to make a new life.

Her mother had come here and found happiness.

Marie had come here and found happiness.

And now she, Wanda, was turning her back on the “capital of the world,” as Steven called it.

It was a strange feeling to leave the city where she had grown up so that she could go back to the country where she had been born.

On the gangway she handed her papers over to a steward, her hands trembling. As he checked that all her documentation was complete and correctly filled in, she felt a growing urge to turn around and run back to her parents. What if the whole trip was a huge mistake?

“Welcome aboard!” The steward smiled as he handed her papers back.

Too late. There was no turning back now. And surely only cowards had second thoughts like this! All the same the thought of having a couple of familiar faces on board was tremendously comforting—even if they were just Yvonne and Wilma Schwarzenberg.

Apart from the Schwarzenbergs there were five other passengers at the table: an old married couple from Kentucky who bred horses and whose name Wanda didn’t catch; Sorell and Solveig Lindström, two sisters in their midthirties traveling to Northern Germany to collect an inheritance; and Mr. Vaughan, a railway engineer.

The first course at lunch was beef broth with julienned vegetables, during which Sorell and Solveig regaled their traveling companions with an account of the letters their long-lost rich uncle had written them before his demise. The second course was poached salmon with parsley potatoes, accompanied by Mr. Vaughan’s thoughts about a new type of railway engine that would apparently be faster and more comfortable than the current model. At that the Kentucky couple retorted that no technology in the world would ever replace horses. As the dessert was served, Wilma and her mother looked as though they were about to burst with their own news—how could an inheritance or technological advances compare to a rich husband? But before Wilma could even say the word “rubber,” Solveig Lindström turned to Wanda.

“Pardon my curiosity, but what brings you to undertake an ocean crossing?”

Wanda put down her sorbet spoon. She had been expecting the question and had already prepared an answer some days ago.

“I’m on my way to Thuringia, where my mother’s sister owns a large glass workshop. They’ve run into some trouble ever since several key members of the staff had to take time off work. I’m on my way to lend a hand in their time of need.” She smiled around the table. “I only hope that I can be of some help to my family.”

“You’re their guardian angel! Now who would have thought it!” Solveig said.

Sorell nodded, impressed. “Just imagine: we had something much the same happen back home! There was a bakery that was a whisker away from having to shut down when the owner fell ill with a lung infection. Hardly surprising when you think he’d spent his whole life inhaling flour. But his brother and sister-in-law came all the way from Missouri to take over the bakery while Charles Klutzky got over his infection.” Sorell nodded emphatically. “They worked day and night to make sure that all the customers got their bread fresh every morning.”

“When you live in the country, you’re even more dependent on your family for help,” the horse breeder added. “One of our neighbors down south lost his wife to childbed fever, poor man, and was left with four little ones and the newborn. If his wife’s only sister hadn’t dropped everything and come to his aid, he’d never have coped. The work on the farm, the children, keeping hous
e . . .
Marjorie was just a young slip of a thing when she came to the farm but from the very first moment she set to work as though she’d never done anything else.”

The engineer nodded. “People never know what they can do until they find they have to. I know of a similar case. Some friends of my parent
s . . .
”

As they got up from the table, the gentleman from Kentucky clapped a hand on Wanda’s shoulder. “If you don’t mind, we’ll drink to your health this evening.”

“Oh indeed, we ought to recognize it when young people show themselves so willing to help,” his wife chipped in, glancing at Wilma as she spoke. “Most young ladies seem to be seeking only to satisfy their own pleasure these day
s . . .
” Wilma had finally gotten the chance to share the news of her engagement after all.

Wanda nodded softly, doing her best to look selfless.

She almost felt her shoulders drooping under the weight of her new responsibilities—not that she disliked the feeling. Quite the opposite.

Instead of going off to explore the ship, Wanda lay down on her bed and went over the table talk in her head.

Mrs. Kentucky had declared that the most important thing was to radiate confidence and keep her family’s spirits up to help them through their troubles. She had to bring light and sunshine where all hope seemed gone. That was at least as important as the work itself. Solveig Lindström had nodded in agreement.

Wanda heaved a sigh. She would do her best!

She had already realized while her mother and Aunt Johanna talked on the telephone that her aunt was at her wit’s end. Was that any surprise, though?

Even if it meant poring over the accounts books from morning till night, she would take some of the weight off Johanna’s shoulders. Granted, she had never learned anything more advanced than basic bookkeeping at the young ladies’ academy—the kind of thing the girls would need to manage a house later on—but she could learn how the business worked. Somebody would show her what had to be done, and once she’d gotten used to it, she would surely be able to satisfy everyone.

Wanda sat up and walked over to the porthole. She stared out, trying to recognize something, anything. But fine droplets of fog clung to the window and drenched everything in featureless gray.

Well, she didn’t want to fritter the journey away in romantic reveries anyway. She turned away abruptly.

She would take care of Anna as well, who was probably angry at herself for having sprained her ankle while out dancing. The obvious question was why Anna had gone dancing at a time like this. But people sprained their ankle in all sorts of places, didn’t they? Wanda decided that if Anna blamed herself, she would talk her out of it.

She would spread good cheer wherever she went—if nothing else, she was sure of that.

Then she frowned. Why was it that total strangers like the couple from Kentucky or the Lindström sisters had more faith in her than her own mother?

“For heaven’s sake don’t poke your nose in where you’re not needed. Just take a moment to look and see how Johanna and Peter do things. And don’t expect special treatment,” her mother had said, before adding that the best thing would be for Wanda to do what she was asked and no more than that.

Wanda felt a pang of bitterness. Did Mother feel she had to be ashamed of her? After she’d spent a lifetime already telling Wanda how a young lady should behave and what was appropriate?

Wanda clenched her fists in a most unladylike manner.

Damn it all, she would behave just as she had been told, and more than that, she would show them all what else she was capable of!