The Glassblower Read online

  He smiled in return. “There now, was that so bad?”

  “Yes.” She glanced toward the tree and up to where she’d dangled. “Quite dreadful.”

  The man laughed. “Then you’re a braw lass to climb a half-dead tree after a wee kitten.” He glanced at the more subdued but still squirming bag of cats. “You were rescuing them, I presume?”

  “Certainly.” She stiffened. “Did you think I risked my life so I could toss them into the creek?”

  “Nay, lass, nothing so unkind.” His fair skin tinged a fiery red that clashed with his hair. “I’ll be fetching the wee thing down.”

  He swung around and climbed the tree with the agility of a feline. In moments he was reaching his hand toward the kitten. The ungrateful little beast darted away, dug its claws into the trunk, and streaked to the ground.

  Meg snatched it up and hastened for the sack of its relatives. The others protested and writhed, jabbing claws through the sacking and setting up a caterwauling loud enough to be heard across Delaware Bay. She could scarcely hold on to her burden.

  “Allow me.” The stranger appeared beside her, holding out a broad, long-fingered hand with several white scars crisscrossing the back of it. “I’ll take care of the wee thing.”

  “Thank you.” She relinquished the kitten into his hold. The tiny feline nestled into the palm of his hand, and he stroked its soft fur with a forefinger before lifting the burlap bag and tucking the kitten into the mouth.

  “They don’t much like it.” He cradled the bag in the crook of his arm. “I can carry it for you if you don’t have far to go.”

  “No, not far.” Meg lowered her gaze to the toes of her boots and gestured down the road. “It’s no more than half a mile.”

  “Then, if you’ll give me a moment to fetch my bag, I’ll accompany you. I’m heading that way as well.”

  “I’d best not.”

  Father didn’t care so much if she walked the half mile to the school building on her own, but if she returned home in the company of a stranger—a male stranger—Father would likely insist she go nowhere without someone accompanying her. That was never a difficulty when her friend Sarah was well, though once Sarah married, she would be too occupied with her husband to join Meg in her projects, and Meg didn’t want to be thwarted because Father placed restrictions on her movements.

  “I don’t think I should.” She glanced up the track toward the charcoal burners, wondering if she dared cut through the trees to her house. “I can manage.”

  “Perhaps you can, but—ah.” He grinned. “I beg your pardon. I am forgetting my manners.” He set down the bag and removed the small round cap from his head. “My name is Colin Grassick, newly arrived in New Jersey from Edinburgh—Scotland.”

  “How do you do?” She bobbed a curtsy and posed a question so he wouldn’t notice she had no intention of giving him her name—so he could tell no one he had rescued Miss Jordan from a tree. “What brings you so far from home?”

  “My profession.” He indicated the leather bag he carried, which was at least a yard long and clanked metallically. “Your profession?”

  Meg feared she sounded astounded, but he didn’t look like a professional man. He wore simple dark wool breeches and worsted stockings, brogans, and a plain wool jacket. Doctors and lawyers wore finer suits and top hats; light, leather shoes with buckles; and showed snowy shirts with cravats. Maybe they did things differently in Scotland. She hoped so—not that what he did for a living made any difference to her.

  He gave her a gentle smile as though understanding what she was thinking of his appearance. Or maybe she was staring too long.

  “I’m a glassblower,” he told her.

  She gave him an overly bright smile to mask the unreasonable stab of disappointment in her middle. “Then I assume you’re heading for the Jordan glassworks?”

  “Aye, that I am.” His face lit as though the prospect of working in the hot, noisome glassworks made him happy. “Shall I carry the kittens until our paths part?”

  “Thank you.” She nodded then set out along the road, telling herself he wouldn’t find out anything. The glassworks came before the entrance to the farm.

  He fell into step beside her, hefting his bag of tools and the sack of kittens, the latter squalling with every step. He didn’t say anything, and she strove for a conversational gambit. Walking beside a stranger, one doing her a favor, without speaking felt uncomfortable.

  “No one’s mentioned Mr. Jordan hired another glassblower,” she blurted out.

  “I expect no one thought it important to you.” His long legs set a fast pace for her to keep up with. “Ladies don’t usually take an interest in business matters.”

  “Not usually, no.” She pattered along beside him as they stepped beneath the trees. “But we don’t get a lot of newcomers here, especially not ones from Great Britain. Are you meeting Mr. Jordan at the glassworks?”

  “Aye, he told me to come straightaway for the introductions and to get the key to my room.”

  “Room?” Meg couldn’t stop herself from letting out a breathless laugh. “Mr. Grassick, you get a whole cottage if you’re a master glassblower.”

  “Truly?” He slowed and gazed down at her. “I never expected so much.”

  “It’s the only way Fa—Mr. Jordan can lure qualified glassmakers here, providing them with housing big enough for a family.” She peeked at him from beneath her hat brim. “Do you have a family coming?”

  “If all works out here, aye.” He gazed up at the bare branches of the oaks stretching above them, thick enough with the accompanying pines to darken the lane in broad daylight. “My mother and the bairns.”

  “You have children?”

  He hadn’t mentioned a wife, just his mother. “Nay, my younger brothers and sisters.”

  “How young?” Meg’s tone grew excited. “Young enough for school?”

  “Aye. Five of them.”

  “Five pupils for my school.” Meg let out a contented sigh.

  “A school?” He stopped in the middle of the road. “The sort any bairns can attend? I mean—” His face colored.

  Meg smiled. “Yes, a school for all children. At least I will soon.”

  “Seems an odd thing for a young lady to do.” He resumed walking too quickly again.

  “Not for me.” Meg nearly skipped to keep up with him. “Father asked me what gift I would like for Christmas last year, and I told him I wanted to open a school for the children who don’t have the means or time to go to the city for boarding school. There are quite a lot of them, like the boys who had the kittens. So he gave me permission to clean out an old, abandoned cottage and repair it a bit, so I can teach there. It’s taken awhile, but soon the children can at least learn to read and write. Maybe it’ll help them get a trade. We have so much need for skilled craftsmen here in America, but we don’t have many schools out here in the countryside.” She stopped walking at the end of a lane guarded by wooden gates. “This is the glassworks. If you pull that rope by the gate, someone will let you in.”

  “Thank you.” He looked toward the gates but didn’t make any move toward them. “Can you manage the kittens, then?”

  “Yes, I don’t have much farther to go.”

  “I’d be that pleased to carry them to your destination for you.” He didn’t look at her.

  She kept her gaze on the road and building beyond the gates, certain someone stood before the glassworks door returning their regard. Her nose tickled with the strong scent of charcoal from the chimneys sending smoke from the great furnaces into the cloudy sky. She’d love to keep his company a bit longer, love to have more time to learn about his family and why he came all the way to America when the United States and Britain weren’t getting along all that well. But if she let him walk her home, he would know who she was.

  “Thank you, but you’ve done quite enough for me already, and you mustn’t keep Mr. Jordan waiting.”

  “True, but I’d be that honored to ser
ve you.”

  “Serve me?” She laughed. “I feel like I should be doing something wonderful for you. Your coming is such an answer to prayer for me. I can’t open the school until I have glass in the windows. It’s simply too cold.”

  “Does Mr. Jordan not have the window glassmakers already?” He glanced at her, his arched brows drawn together.

  “He has window glassmakers and men who make drinking glasses. But people want more and more glass for their windows, and with the embargo last year, not much is getting imported from England or France.” She wrinkled her nose. “Mr. Jordan says he’d give me the glass, but he needs to fulfill orders from paying customers first.”

  “Aye, ‘tis the way of businessmen.” He handed her the sack of now-quiet kittens. “Someone’s coming to the gate now, so I’d best go in. Perhaps we will meet again.” With a courtly bow, he headed for the gate.

  Meg trotted off before anyone from the glassworks reached the gate and recognized her. Once headed up the drive to the Jordan farm, with majestic oaks and pines keeping her out of sight from the road, she began to skip—for about ten steps. The kittens set up such a commotion she had to slow to a sedate walk. Her heart, however, felt as though it skipped along ahead of her, and she clamped her lips together to stop from singing.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Sarah about meeting Colin Grassick. Besides his being the most interesting man she’d met in too long to remember, he was also another glassmaker who would surely get the window glass done now. And he had brothers and sisters for her school. And she had more kittens for the stable and barns. And—and—

  She skidded to a halt halfway between house and stable. Her heart dropped to the pit of her belly, and she heaved a huge sigh.

  Father wasn’t about to let her make friends with one of the glassblowers, let alone one from Great Britain. He might be willing to hire a Scotsman for his skill, but he’d not let an employee befriend his daughter. He thought it unseemly for a worker to fraternize with his employer. It might give the man notions of slacking off in his duties. So even less would he like the man talking to Miss Meg Jordan.

  Had she been ten years younger, Meg thought she would have stamped her foot in frustration. This was America. Weren’t men all to be equal? And surely Colin Grassick was special. Father must be paying him a great deal to come all this way. A skilled craftsman was far different from just anyone.

  Resuming her walk to the stable, she resolved to talk more with Mr. Grassick.

  three

  She had the bonniest eyes Colin had ever seen. He held the memory of them as he tugged the rope by the gates and a tuneless bell clanged a hundred yards away. They were wide, round eyes of a golden brown hue like the finest amber glass, framed in extraordinary black lashes. He could gaze into those eyes for hours while listening to her sparkling voice.

  If only he knew who she was so he could find her again. He was smiling when a fair-haired man, in shirtsleeves despite the cold October day, pushed open the gate. “Yes?” the man clipped out.

  Until that moment Colin had forgotten to be anxious about beginning work at a new glasshouse in a strange country. Perhaps the Lord had sent the young lady along to distract him from his previous worries that the men might resent his arrival as a craftsman intended to produce the finer pieces Jordan wished to sell.

  Inclining his head in greeting, Colin reminded himself he wasn’t supposed to be anxious about anything. The Lord was supposed to take care of it all.

  Except when His servants forgot to take care of their own, a little voice reminded Colin.

  He swallowed before he could find his voice. “Colin Grassick reporting my arrival to Mr. Jordan.”

  “Grassick, am I ever glad to see you.” The man’s face lit up with a wide grin, and he thrust out a broad, scarred hand. “Thaddeus Dalbow at your service.”

  “My service?” Colin welcomed the man’s firm handshake and warm greeting, but he wasn’t certain how to proceed after such an effusive greeting. “You were expecting me then?”

  He grimaced at such an absurd comment.

  “Expecting your arrival?” Dalbow laughed and pushed the gate wider. “We’ve been praying for it. If you hadn’t come now, we all would be trying to make the glassware for Mr. Jordan’s daughter’s wedding chest, among other fancy things.”

  “You don’t already make the fancy things here?” Colin followed Dalbow into the tree-lined lane leading to the glassworks.

  “Not often.” Dalbow set a brisk pace past the tree line to where the lane opened into a yard stacked with charcoal.

  The sharp scent of smoke and molten glass permeated the air, offensive to some, perfume to Colin.

  “What do you make then?” he asked.

  “Windows mostly. We’ve got a lot of need for windows, especially now that everyone wants just the clear glass.” Dalbow grimaced. “Jordan finally hired an apprentice to do the cutting.”

  Colin understood that the man meant the process of cutting the thinner, clear glass away from the thick, gray, and nearly opaque glass from the center. He’d heard the French were working on a way to avoid that thick center altogether, using a process other than blowing and spinning the glass against a metal plate until it flattened out, but he didn’t know if they were successful and never much liked making windows enough to care.

  “Do you fit the pieces into the frames here then?” Colin glanced around, seeing no evidence of woodworking.

  “No, they go to a carpenter in Salem City.” Dalbow strode up to the door of a long brick building with two chimneys jutting into the sky. “You may wish to take your coat off. It’s hot in here with both furnaces going.”

  “Aye, that it would be.” Colin set down his tools with a clink of metal and took off his coat.

  Removing it would also protect it from any flying sparks. A shirtsleeve he could afford to replace but not an entire coat.

  Dalbow opened the door. Heat and the odors of hot iron and sodium blasted out with strength enough to taste. But the long room, brightly lit from several clear windows and the two great fires, lay quiet save for the crackle of the charcoal in the furnaces, the occasional clank of a metal tool set on one of the iron gratings, and sighing breaths of the two men on their stools engaged in spinning out the sheets of glass for windows.

  “Mr. Jordan?” Thaddeus Dalbow called. “Grassick is finally here.”

  From a desk at one end of the factory, a tall, thin man with hair nearly the same dull gray as the center of the crown glass windows rose. Despite the heat he wore a coat and cravat, and Colin wished he hadn’t removed his outer garment.

  “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” Jordan smiled, drawing out crinkles at the corners of wide, dark brown eyes. “I’d heard you just got here this morning.”

  “Aye, sir.” Colin strode forward as did Jordan, and they met behind one of the men perched on his bench, blowing gently and steadily into a long pipe, while the parison spun into a flat panel. “The ship docked in Philadelphia yesterday, and I found transport here straightaway.”

  “Good. Good.” Jordan shook his hand. “With your country and France at war, I always worry about ships crossing the Atlantic.”

  “Not to mention the limited number of English ships allowed to come here,” Dalbow added.

  “I had to come on an American ship from the West Indies.” Colin shuddered involuntarily. “Two extra weeks at sea was not much to my liking.”

  “That’ll keep him here.” Dalbow laughed.

  “We hope so, if you are as good as my agent in Edinburgh says you are.” Jordan turned back toward his desk. “Let’s talk about your work and your accommodations. But I don’t expect you to get started until tomorrow unless you want to.”

  Colin felt his lungs expanding as though he were about to breathe life into the molten silica. “I’d like to begin, sir.”

  “Good.” Jordan nodded. “A man eager to work. I like that.” He gave Dalbow a pointed glance. “If you please, Thad? I did promise Margar
et she would have her windows before the first snowfall. And we have to fulfill that order for the new town hall before she can have the glass.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dalbow trotted to one of the workbenches.

  Colin’s stomach tightened. Margaret, the young lady’s name. A fine, noble name. The name of a lass of whom Jordan must think highly, likely making her too high for him.

  Not that he should even think in that direction after so short an acquaintance—or at all. “… if you like,” Jordan was saying.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” Colin’s neck heated from more than the fires. “I was distracted.”

  “I said you can work on windows for a day or two to get back into your work, if you like.” Jordan’s tone showed no impatience, but the corners of his mouth tightened.

  Margaret could get her windows faster that way.

  “I would like to, sir. Thank you.”

  “I’ll show you your quarters now.” Jordan moved around his desk and opened a rear door.

  They exited to another yard, this one with small outbuildings filled, Colin presumed, with supplies, the sodium and lime and other elements necessary for making glass. Beyond a wooden fence lay half a dozen cottages: neat, wooden structures with small windows and gardens that would be fine in the summer. Trees shaded the houses, and a petite woman hung laundry outside one of them.

  “I built these so I could bring in skilled craftsmen, and they could bring their families.” Jordan headed in the direction of an end cottage with two floors. “This one is big for a single man, but I understand you have a family.”

  “Aye, that I do.”

  And the cottage into which Jordan led him was twice the size of the croft his family lived in now. “This is fine indeed,” he added.

  Though it was damp and dim, and holland cloth covered the furniture, it looked like a palace to Colin.

  “You have a kitchen,” Jordan explained, shoving open a door into a stone-floored room with a fireplace at one end. “But if you don’t cook, Thad Dalbow’s wife is good at it and happy to earn a few extra pennies making meals for you bachelors.”