Papa comes home early from the glasshouse. His head is wrapped in cloth, and two of his workers carry him inside. Doctor Fenton arrives on their heels. There is a terrible, frightening commotion as Frau Heinzelmann and I rush to help.
The men order me quickly out of the way, and though I retreat a few steps, I linger close enough to watch and listen. They place Papa on the sofa where the doctor attends to his wounds.
There has been a terrible accident at the glasshouse. One of Papa’s dog-boys tripped while holding a hot piece of glass. It flew into Papa’s face and he was badly injured.
Frau Heinzelmann rouses Mama, and for the first time in over a week she is dressed and out of bed. She and I weep uncontrollably as Doctor Fenton removes the cloth, then cleans and bandages Papa’s face. He tells Mama that Papa may lose his right eye, but it is too early to say for certain. Papa will be home for several weeks—perhaps months—while he heals.
Frau Heinzelmann is in a tizzy. She bustles about getting fresh bed linens ready, scrubbing down the bedroom, boiling water for cabbage soup.
That same evening, with Papa tucked into bed, resting, a letter carrier arrives with a telegram for Mama.
She opens it carefully. Before she has finished reading, the paper flutters to the floor. More tears flow down her already red and salt-stained cheeks. She turns to me and says softly, “Pack a bag, little bird. We must head back to Boston. Aunt Cordelia has died of pneumonia.”