The Glassblower Read Online Free PDF

dining room.
    The aromas of roast pork and vegetables wafted along with her. Across the table Mr. Pyle’s eyes lit with pleasure, and he licked his lips.
    “The pork is fresh, not cured,” Meg told him. “And no one cooks it better than Ilse.”
    “Ach, child, you flatter me.” Ilse blushed as she set the steaming dishes on the table. “I went ahead and carved the roast in the kitchen, Mr. Jordan. This is easier, ya?”
    “Much, thank you.” Father nodded his approval. “And bread rolls?”
    “I am forgetting them.” Coloring nearly as deep a red as the goblets, Ilse scurried from the room.
    Meg bit her lip. The poor woman couldn’t carry everything at once. But she tried. In her next entrance she balanced plates of bread rolls, butter, and fresh apple slices.
    “That is everything until the sweet.” She bobbed a curtsy and scurried from the room.
    “Joseph,” Father said, “do ask the blessing.”
    Mr. Pyle prayed a brief but sincere-sounding message of thanks for the food and company. Father passed the dishes to Mr. Pyle first then Meg, admonishing her about how little she ate.
    “You were out for quite a while today, Margaret. You need to keep up your strength.”
    “This is—” Meg stopped arguing and took another spoonful of stewed carrots.
    “So where were you out to today?” Mr. Pyle asked. “Visiting Miss Thompson?”
    “No, Sarah is ill. I was visiting the school.” She turned to Father. “Now that you have a new glassblower, will I get my windows? I’d like to be able to protect the school from vandals.”
    “Vandals?” Father and Mr. Pyle said together.
    She nodded. “Someone dumped a load of soot in the middle of the floor.”
    “Disgraceful.” Mr. Pyle scowled over a forkful of roasted potatoes glistening with butter. “I’ll send two of my men over to clean it up for you.”
    “That’s very thoughtful of you, Mr. Pyle.” Instantly Meg warmed toward him. “But you needn’t go to such trouble. I can clean it.”
    “Never. It’s no trouble. They’re laborers I keep on all winter, but they haven’t much to do.” He set down his fork with the food untouched. “But do, please, call me Joseph. We are such old friends that we needn’t stand on formality.”
    “Well, um …” Meg glanced toward Father.
    “I think it quite appropriate to use Christian names.” Father gave them each a benevolent grin. “Considering you’ll be married in the spring.”

four
    Meg buried her fingers in the pale pink velvet of Sarah’s wedding dress. The plush fabric reminded her of the furry kittens she had rescued from the rowdy boys and who now lived in the stable, adopted by a motherly feline. And inevitably thoughts of the cats reminded Meg of Colin Grassick.
    She’d seen him twice in the past week. Neither time had they been close enough to so much as exchange polite greetings. The first time she caught sight of him on the far side of the glassworks gate, he’d smiled then avoided her eyes. The second time she lifted her hand and waved. He’d nodded in response but hurried away to the door of the glasshouse.
    “The new glassblower is a fast and skilled worker,” Father had told her. “He’ll get you your windows straightaway.”
    The joy of that knowledge fell under the shadow of her father’s announcement that she would marry Joseph Pyle on April 28, the Saturday after Easter and at least a week before any planting would commence, even if the spring proved to be a warm one. She had sat at the table stunned into silence, her insides feeling punched and unable to accept food. She would rather go to bed without supper for a week, like a recalcitrant child, than comply with her father’s wishes. She had never outright disobeyed him in her life. Reaching her majority at one and twenty changed none of that. He was her father, and she lived in his household. But she couldn’t do it, simply could not marry that man.
    Not when nothing more than the sight of the near stranger, the