Alchemy

The quarter sized hole in the window allowed each season to seep into the workshop. Ellie could have easily repaired the glass, but she hadn’t. The glass cracked more each year, though it had yet to break loose from the frame. The frost encouraged the hairline fractures to grow and deepen, cracking like thin ice. Each year couples and new families spent their summer holidays on the island. They rented cabins along the beach, took tours of the lighthouse, and came to Ellie’s workshop. They would leave the island with a sunburn and a glass blown ornament the size of a baseball. A souvenir to hang on baby’s first Christmas tree or explode into a thousand shards after being thrown at the head of a cheating spouse.

           Ellie watched the first couple make their way up the wooded path leading to her workshop. The woman looked unhappily at the man who was talking on a cell phone. Ellie’s fingertip traced the edge of the ever-growing hole carefully gliding over the sharp places. Her fingers were scarred from years of working with glass. Her father started teaching her the craft when she was seven. He helped her build her first frame, guided her hand as she poured her first pane, and taught her to watch for the tiniest imperfections that could destroy the glass. Ellie moved from the window to double check everything was prepared. Beautiful colored sands waited for eager, excited hands. The furnace blazed ready, keeping the inside of the workshop trapped in perpetual summer. As Ellie returned to the window, she saw the second pair, this one consisting of an older couple. They ambled arm in arm up the path stopping now and again to point something out to the other. The man pointed out the glass suncatchers and ornaments lining the path reflecting a rainbow of light. His wife smiled in delight as the breeze shifted the branches changing the pattern of light and color.

           “Hello,” a woman called peering in from the porch.

           “Hello,” Ellie said. “Please come in. I’m Ellie”

“I’m Martha and this is Tom.” The woman nodded to the man following her into the workshop.

“Nice to meet you both. You can have a seat, we’ll get started in a minute.” Ellie saw Tom glance at the hole in the window, but he didn’t ask.

“Whew, it’s warm in here. The island is hot enough as it is, but now it feels like we’re in a broiler,” Tom said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He might be young, but Ellie could see the receding hairline. She wondered if Martha liked bald men. Ellie smiled to herself. Those were the little details that people missed when they were first in love. Her smile slipped. Her fingers began to trace the pattern of the hole in the air. Those little things could become huge if you were lucky, if you were allowed time together to discover them. Ellie swallowed hard, forcing her hand to still. The sound of footsteps on the wooden porch provided a needed distraction. Ellie’s smile returned as she watched the older couple gazing around the workshop, soaking in the array of colors and the numerous glass balls hanging from the raftered ceiling.

Being a glazier was more than just making windowpanes for her neighbors or the lighthouse after the spring storms tried to beat the island back into the sea. Ellie’s father taught her the trade, but Charlie taught her the magic. Ellie and Charlie grew up together on the island. Charlie always finding an excuse to come to the workshop. Ellie’s father spotted what was growing between her and Charlie long before she had. So much time lost, Ellie thought. Charlie showed her the transformation she created when making glass. By taking something solid and grainy, and by adding heat, you could create something so pure you could see through it. Ellie’s father had been a master craftsman, but Charlie had been an alchemist. Ellie forced her attention back to the older couple.

“Come on in,” Ellie said to the couple. “I’m Ellie.”

“Bryce,” the old gentleman said. “This is my wife, Christine.”

“All this glass is beautiful,” Christine said. “I have to admit I was nervous coming here when I read about molten glass.”

“It’s perfectly safe. We have safety glasses and gloves. You will be guiding the rod in the furnace, and we’ll be right there helping you.” Ellie bit her lip realizing she’d used the plural. Sometimes she forgot.

Christine noticed the hole in the window as she and Bryce took their seats. She nudged Bryce who looked at the hole with unconcern.

“Is it safe here?” Christine whispered. Bryce gave her hand a gentle pat.

“Perfectly,” Ellie said. It’s not fall, she thought, the neighbor isn’t drunk, and Charlie isn’t waiting for me to come home. The waiting was all hers now.

Ellie started the class by talking about the process of glass making and doing a demonstration. She poured a single glass pane. Mrs. Edwards would need another one soon enough. Ellie explained how to look for tiny bubbles that meant there was dirt in the sand which could cause an imperfection. Ellie kept the history portion short. Tom kept checking his cell phone, huffing about the heat. Martha grew more irritated with each glance at the phone. Ellie asked them to select two or three colors. She added extra sand to Martha’s as Martha choose just one color, red, Tom’s favorite. Tom chose red and orange. Bryce picked blue, green, and orange, while Christine surprised Ellie by picking yellow and purple.

“These two will create a vibrant ornament,” Ellie said to Christine. “It’s not a combination I see often.”

“Is it wrong?” Christine asked.

“Oh no,” Ellie said. “Just unusual. If you look on the porch in the corner, you’ll see an ornament made with these colors. Your pattern will be unique, but it will give you an idea how it will look.”

Christine went to the porch looking for the glass ball. It was tucked into the corner, tied out of reach of the light that poured into the room. Christine stood on her toes to get a better look.

“Could I take it down? It’s hard to see.”

“No.” The word came out sharp and hard. Ellie could feel all eyes on her. She felt her cheeks warm, her throat tight. Ellie wanted these people out of her workshop. She wanted to be alone, pouring out magic, and swimming in her memories. She took a deep breath. This was her livelihood. Ellie shook herself mentally.

“I apologize, that came out wrong. That ornament is special to me. There is another one out in the garden I can show you.”

“That’s okay, honey,” Christine said, coming back to the table. “I’ll just go with it. It’ll be a surprise.”

Martha and Tom didn’t say anything, but when Ellie turned to get Christine started Ellie heard Tom muttering to Martha. He clearly wanted to leave. Martha shook her head. Ellie breathed a sigh of relief. The incident still might result in a bad review, but at least Ellie wouldn’t have to refund their money. At the end of every season some tourist who already returned to their landlocked life would post some comment about Ellie’s workshop and the hole. A few posts wondered about a hunting accident, but most were some version of how silly it was that someone who made windows didn’t repair her own.

           A hunting accident, if only. That at least would have made some sort of sense. No, the hole that kept growing in splintering fractures had been made carelessly. The only time Ellie wanted to cover it up was in the fall, when the first wisps of crisp night air wafted in and the sound of crunching leaves under foot slipped into the room through the hole.

           Things went smoothly with Christine and Bryce. Christine laughed as she blew on the rod, twisting it with Ellie’s help. Bryce’s eyes grew huge as the ball at the end of the rod expended in the flames, created from his own breath. Bryce and Christine each helped Ellie cut their ball free from the rod.

           Martha and Tom both finished quickly. Martha tried to cajole Tom, but he wasn’t having it. Tom kept backing away from the furnace, causing Ellie to have to step in to keep the ball from falling off the rod. When they were all finished Ellie gave them a card with a pickup time. Tom requested theirs be delivered, but Bryce and Christine said they would pick the ornaments up on their next walk.

           Tom escaped to the outdoors as soon as Ellie had their cabin information. Ellie breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t asked about the hole. Christine and Bryce headed back down the path, arm in arm again, chatting to each other about their experience. Ellie watched Martha linger on the porch until the others were outside. Tom started down the path, cell phone at his ear, looking like he had just climbed out of the sea. Ellie waited. Charlie had taught her about people, how to watch them, how to allow them to open up. Charlie had always been so good with people, knowing how to make them laugh, able to say just the right thing. Ellie hadn’t mastered his skills, but she knew when to stay quiet. She was an expert at silence. Martha stepped back into the workshop her eyes on the rafters, pretending to examine the ornaments, then she turned to the table where the newly made ornaments cooled.

           “I’m sorry about earlier,” Ellie said, trying to nudge Martha along. Ellie wanted to be alone, clean up, and pour out the new panes for the lighthouse. John, who ran the lighthouse, said that six panels were cracking and needed to be replaced before winter. John was never in a hurry until winter, then he was like a squirrel on a sugar high who forgot to collect any nuts until it was too late.

           Martha looked up in surprise. “Oh yes, no I mean, it’s fine.”

           Ellie waited, watching Martha as she continued to stare at the new ornaments then Martha turned and looked at the hole.

           “You really love doing this don’t you?” Martha asked. Ellie felt such relief Martha hadn’t asked the question, it took her a moment to reply.

           “I do. My father taught me the trade,” Ellie paused, getting control of her voice. “When Charlie and I worked together it felt like magic.”

           “He made that for himself,” Martha said, indicating the orange and red ornament Tom had made. “I made mine for him. Now he has two.”

           This wasn’t the first time Ellie had seen this happen. When couples came to her class, Ellie could measure their relationship with the same precision as sand. Ellie could see the flecks of dirt, the impurities, that would cause cracks in later years.

           “I wish I had made one for me,” Martha said.

           “How much longer will you be on the island?” Ellie asked.

           “Until Saturday. If Tom can stand the heat.”

           “If you would like to come back tomorrow, you could make another one.”

           Martha hesitated.

           “No charge,” Ellie said, understanding the pause. “I want my customers to have fun and create something special.”

           “Tom has a Zoom meeting tomorrow, so that would be great. If you’re sure it’s okay.”

           “Yes, of course.”

           “Great,” Martha said smiling. “I’ll be back around ten.”

           Ellie started cleaning the workshop, pausing by the window to watch Martha and Tom walk down the path. Tom reached out to pull Martha close, but she pulled away. Ellie finished up and set out the frames for the lighthouse panels. As she worked summer night sounds slipped in through the hole. Crickets chirped and birds called goodnight to each other. Ellie moved through each part of the process soaking in memory. The sounds faded away from her while memories of laughter, of kisses in the furnace light, and the feeling of being pulled close filled Ellie. Finishing the second panel those sweet remembrances were replaced by darker ones. The ones filled with screaming, tears, and loneliness. Ellie returned to her post at the window, to the hole where a small piece of metal had shattered her life.

           When Martha returned the next day, she was quiet again, the smile gone. Ellie didn’t push her. Martha would talk or she wouldn’t. Martha took a long time to decide what colors she wanted to use. Finally, she decided on green and blue.

           “I know it’s simple,” Martha said. “Ordinary.”

           “All that matters is that you like it and when you blow your ornament the pattern will be unique to you.”

           Martha nodded and took up the rod. Ellie kept to the periphery allowing Martha to create the ornament, only stepping in when Martha asked for help. Ellie guided Martha on how to cut the ornament free from the rod. Martha stood for a long moment looking at her newly created ornament.

           “Why don’t you fix it?” Martha asked. The question for once was unexpected. “You could replace it so effortlessly.”

           Ellie couldn’t speak for a moment, the tears caught in her throat choking her. Usually, Ellie would shrug the question off and change the subject, but something about Martha brought out the truth. “Because if I fix it, I’m afraid I’ll forget.”

           Martha turned to look at Ellie, “It was Charlie, wasn’t it?”

           “Yes,” Ellie whispered. “He was waiting for me in the workshop.” The story spilled out of Ellie, racing the tears. “I was at the lighthouse taking an order. Our neighbor, Mrs. Edwards, got drunk, fought with her husband, and decided to shoot off his gun to scare him. One of the bullets went through the window, through Charlie. He was gone by the time I got back. Mrs. Edwards didn’t know what she had done. She didn’t remember shooting the gun when she sobered up.”

           “I’m so sorry,” Martha said.

            “So am I.”

           “Wouldn’t it be better to fix it? To move on.”

           Ellie shook her head, “Better to watch it change and grow with each season, each year. It’s all I have left.”

           Martha stood for a moment, reaching for words.

           “You still have the magic.”

           When Ellie didn’t reply, Martha left the workshop. Ellie delivered the three ornaments to Martha and Tom’s cabin. Miss Sally who ran the cabins, told Ellie when the couple left the island Sally had found two red ornaments broken in the trash.

A few weeks later Ellie saw a new review come up for her workshop.

           “I highly recommend you check out the glass workshop. Ellie, the owner, creates magic with every twist of the rod. She showed me how to transform something coarse into something beautiful. She helped me, find me. I am forever grateful for the magic and hope she can find it again. For Charlie and for herself.”

Ellie read the review, tears in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the workshop tracing the hole in the window. The next evening, she replaced the splintered window panel with a perfect new piece of glass.