Free The Glassblower by Laurie Alice Eakes

they reached the lane to the Jordan farm at that moment, and Meg looked to the west, where the sun was beginning to drop into the horizon.
    “You should take Sarah straight home. If you walk me up to the house, it’ll be dark before you get back to the glassworks, and you don’t have a lantern.”
    “Wise you are.” Joseph took her hand from his arm and raised it to his lips. “Good evening, my dear.”
    From beyond his bent head, Meg met Sarah’s eyes and read a surprise she hoped wasn’t reflected on her own face. She’d never had her hand kissed before. Other than by her parents, she’d never been kissed before.
    She didn’t think she liked it.
    With an effort she managed not to snatch her fingers free and said something pleasant to Sarah like seeing her at church. Necessary pleasantries over, Meg spun on the flat heel of her slipper and strode up the lane with more haste than dignity or grace.
    “I should like him,” she made herself say aloud. “He cares for me. I should like him. He cares for me. I should …”
    No amount of repetition made the words come true. She should or should not do a lot of things she did or did not do. Even Saint Paul had suffered from this affliction. Yet he had been obedient to God even when He made him do things that would send him to prison.
    “I will marry him.” As she entered the front door of the house, she changed it to a declaration. “I will. I will.
    I—oops.”
    She’d forgotten the cat was in her pocket.
    She took him out to the stable to join his siblings and friends. They were feasting on some scraps of meat from the supper preparations. His tiny nose twitched, and he scrambled out of Meg’s hand and raced across the yard to push his way into the food.
    In her bedchamber she washed her face and wrapped a fresh fichu around her neck, one of white linen with a lace edging. Her eyes remained a bit puffy, but her cheeks no longer bore the marks of her tears. Once she had brushed her hair and replaced a few pins, she was ready to help Ilse with the last of the supper preparations. She wasn’t sure she would ever be ready to meet her father for the talk he said they would have later.
    Yet he hadn’t seemed angry. Shocked, distressed, yes, but not angry. Then again, he might have been exhibiting self-control if Joseph and Colin Grassick were within earshot.
    When she heard the front door open, her heart began to throb in her chest like galloping hooves. Hastily she picked up the pitcher of lemonade that had been cooling in the springhouse and carried it into the dining room to fill the glasses.
    Father entered the room in minutes. Shadows made his eyes appear deep set and dark, and two lines cut grooves on either side of his mouth. But he gave Meg a smile and pulled out her chair.
    “You look like your mother tonight,” he told her. “She was fond of wearing a white collar with lace.”
    Meg glowed at his compliment. “Thank you.”
    “So what do we have for supper tonight?”
    “Ragout with noodles.”
    “Ah, one of my favorite dishes of Ilse’s.”
    They ate in near silence. Despite his claim of the meal being one of his favorites, he ate less than usual, barely managing to finish the plateful Meg served him. Seeing his lack of appetite, Meg lost what was left of hers and sent Ilse back to the kitchen, muttering about wastefulness.
    “Take it to the single workers,” Meg suggested, following her with the dirty dishes.
    “Ach, you know we only have one of those now that Thaddeus has married. It’s to that Scot this’ll go, and deserving he is, working so hard and eating bachelor fare.”
    She carried the coffeepot back into the dining room. “Shall I join you, Father?”
    “Yes, I have a few things to discuss with you.” He folded his hands on the still-pristine tablecloth.
    Meg poured coffee for each of them, though she didn’t want it, and waited for him to speak.
    He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you want to marry Joseph?”
    “It’s too