Clara and Mr. Tiffany Read Free

except Agnes Northrop looked up in unison, like birds alerted to some potential danger, poised to fly. With her customary mien of a prima donna, Agnes remained seated on her stool as though exempt, barely turning toward Mr. Tiffany. Since she was his first female glass artist, she fancied herself a favorite.
    “Good afternoon, ladies. You’re doing beautiful work.” He turned one iris to face Agnes. “Have I ever told you how important it is to have beauty in our lives?”
    “Not less than a hundred times,” Agnes said, studying the painting she was enlarging.
    “Why, I don’t believe you, Miss Northrop.” His tone of mock disbelief revealed his playful side, which I loved. Addressing the new girls, he said, “I want to welcome you to Tiffany Glass and Decorating Company and introduce you to Mr. Belknap, the artistic director who will consult with Mrs. Driscoll in my absence. She has chosen you with great care because you will be involved in a stupendous undertaking.”
    Here it comes. One of his declamations. The peacock spreading his tail feathers.
    “The World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago commemorates Christopher Columbus’s discovery of the New World in 1492, four hundred years ago, though it won’t actually open until next year. This fair will be the greatest event in the history of our country since the Civil War, and you will be my contributing partners.”
    Pure bluster. He didn’t need this to set the girls at awe. His art itself would do that. His comparison of the fair, an event likely to be wonderful, with an event so devastating and tragic was insensitive to the gravity of the war. Sometimes his inflated style tripped him up.
    “The American exhibits will show that the New World has taken its rightful place among older nations, so we want to demonstrate to the Old World what we’ve accomplished here in terms of the arts and culture and industry.”
    I clamped shut my jaw. Cornelia was Prussian, Mary was Irish, and Wilhelmina was Swedish. Others were just one generation removed from the Old World. They certainly didn’t grasp the significance of our Civil War.
    Wilhelmina raised her hand to her shoulder and wiggled her fingers. She towered over Mr. Tiffany by a foot.
    “Excuse me, sir, but flamingoes eat with their beaks upside down. Even girls from the Old World know that if they’ve ever opened a book.”
    Mary jabbed an elbow into her ribs. “Mind your mouth,” she whispered. “It’s Himself that’s speakin’.”
    Now Agnes stood up, her stiff posture elegantly commanding despite her small stature. I felt as if the politeness of the whole studio rested with me, and judgment might be leveled against me for hiring such a brazen girl. Mr. Belknap cast an amused glance at Mr. Tiffany, waiting for his response. I held my breath, but was amused along with him. It must have been a new experience for Mr. Tiffany to have to justify himself to a seventeen-year-old immigrant, but he stood unflinching before this formidable Amazon.
    “What is your name?”
    “Wilhelmina A. Wilhelmson, sir.”
    “Granted, Miss Wilhelmson, flamingoes don’t eat this way. You’re smart to see that. But they are tamed this way. The woman is offering the bird a rock, not food.”
    “It looks like a bun.”
    “If the bird tries to peck at the woman’s hand, he hurts his beak on the rock, so he stops.”
    “Then you should call it
Taming the Flamingoes,
” Wilhelmina declared.
    Mr. Tiffany lifted his shoulders. “Maybe I will,” he said, a gentleman from sole to crown. “Take it as a fantasy of a happy land where things that please the eye do not have to make sense. Just being beautiful is enough. Art for art’s sake, we say, because beauty blesses humanity with a better life.”
    He couldn’t get the
s
’s right in
art’s sake
, which made me think Wilhelmina had upset him, but he went right on. How bravely he struggled against his lisp. I prayed that Wilhelmina wouldn’t snicker.
    “The window