The Glassblower Read Online Free PDF Page B

new glassblower, made her heart skip a beat or two.
    “If you’re going to cry all over my dress,” Sarah said in a light tone, “I won’t let you help me with the embroidery.”
    “I’m not crying.” Meg blinked rapidly and dislodged a tear from her lashes. “Or not much.”
    “Don’t you like the color?” Sarah’s porcelain-perfect face glowed with amusement. “Perhaps I should be getting married in red to match my hair?”
    Meg laughed. “You’d look a fright. This pink is perfect and so soft.”
    “So expensive.” Sarah knit her brows as she bent toward the minute stitches of silver embroidery around the square neckline. “It came all the way from Paris. Daddy does spoil me.”
    Mr. Thompson could afford to spoil Sarah. He owned a large farm, as well as a lumber mill near the coast and most of the charcoal burners.
    “He loves having a girl after four boys,” Meg said with complete truth, “and he wants your wedding to stand out.”
    “I know.” The crease between Sarah’s auburn brows grew deeper. “It’s just so ostentatious when most girls get married in their Sunday best. But don’t think I’m ungrateful.” Her head shot up, and she grinned. “I’ll just have to have several parties to have an excuse to wear it.”
    “That’s right, and you’ll be going to Philadelphia with Peter several times a year.”
    “Then maybe Daddy should have brought me more fabric.” Sarah giggled.
    Meg smiled, but this special gown for Sarah’s wedding to Peter Strawn no longer made her as happy as her friend. Side by side with Sarah, she set aside the sleeve she was hemming with nearly invisible stitches. “I need a rest, or I’ll strain my eyes. Do you want me to make us some tea or coffee?”
    “Coffee would be lovely if you have some of those cookies of Ilse’s.” Sarah knotted her thread. “But I’ll come with you. You’re right about straining our eyes. It’s awfully gray today.”
    “It’s been gray for a week.” Meg led the way from the dining room, where they had spread the gown across the table, to the kitchen.
    Ilse stood at the worktable grating sugar from a fat, conical loaf. Cinnamon permeated the kitchen air, and Meg and Sarah sighed with pleasure.
    “You are like my children.” Ilse laughed. “You want coffee and cookies, I know. I have just taken them from the oven and am now grating the sugar for your coffee. Miss Meg, you run out to the springhouse and fetch the cream, but take your cloak. It’s raining.” She turned to Sarah. “You should not have come out in this weather with you being sick so recently.”
    “It wasn’t raining when I left.” Sarah looked as chagrined as a scolded child. “I’ll just have to stay until it stops.”
    “You certainly can’t take your dress out in the rain.” Meg snatched her cloak off a hook.
    A blast of icy wind hit her the instant she opened the door. Her nostrils flared, picking up the sharpness of snow amid the faint odor of charcoal from the glassworks. Cold moisture struck her face and pinged off a metal bucket by the door.
    “Sleet,” she called out and slammed the door.
    She dashed through the half frozen rain, grabbed a pitcher of cream from the springhouse, and ran back. Her feet and hands were numb by the time she slipped into the warmth of the kitchen.
    “You might need to stay all night.” Meg set the cream on the table. “It’s awful out there.”
    “Maybe I should go home now.” Sarah stood by the door to the dining room, her posture stiff. “I could leave my dress here so it doesn’t get ruined.”
    “Of course you can leave it here. I’ll put it in one of the spare rooms, but—” Sarah narrowed her eyes at her friend. “What’s wrong?”
    “It is my fault.” Ilse twisted her hands in her apron. “I didn’t know you didn’t tell Miss Sarah that you were getting married.”
    “Oh.” Meg pressed her cold hands to her now hot cheeks. “I thought—I didn’t think—Sarah, please don’t