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clad in a yellow silk dress he dearly wished he could afford for Rebecca, but she had a hawkish nose and harsh chin that no amount of money could soften.
“Ist hier Herr Hoffel?”
The girl eyed him incredulously,as though the notion he might have business with her father was unfathomable, then disappeared without speaking.
    He peered around the dining room at the cloth-covered tables, not daring to sit on the finely upholstered chairs. The mantelpiece above the stone fireplace was crowded with porcelain figurines clad in the traditional Bavarian dirndl and lederhosen. A savory smell, fresh roast and
Kartoffeln
cooking for the midday meal, tickled his nose and caused his stomach to rumble. It would be nearly lunchtime when he returned home and he hoped Rebecca might have warmed some of the dumplings from last night’s supper for him.
    A moment later Herr Hoffel burst into the dining room. “Johann!”
    “
Guten Morgen
, Herr Hoffel,” he managed as the older man wiped his hands on his pants, not daring to reciprocate with the same familiarity. Johann set the clock on the table where Herr Hoffel indicated, then stood motionless as the portly innkeeper studied the clock, trying not to cringe as he ran his fat fingers across the glass, smudging the pristine surface.
    Herr Hoffel pulled at his graying beard, not speaking for several minutes. “Hmm,” he said finally, equal parts murmur and snort. Johann held his breath. “It is nice.”
    Johann bristled inwardly at the word.
Nice
described the cheaply made clocks that sat in the department store windows, one the same as the next. His stomach twisted. Was Herr Hoffel being coy, acting unimpressed as a bargaining technique? Johann wished again that he had asked for a deposit up front or even a higher price, but he had not known how dear the parts would be, how long it would take. No, he could not afford to negotiate, to go any lower than what he had asked, and still cover the money they needed for their passage.
    “The face is porcelain,” he offered, but Herr Hoffel’s expressiondid not change. The man was not haggling over the price, Johann realized suddenly. He simply did not have the eye to appreciate the workmanship, the difference between this treasure and the cheaply made clocks produced by the factories for the department stores. To him, it was just another commodity, like the cloths that covered his tables or the meat he purchased from the butcher for that night’s stew.
    “When we spoke last year, you said a hundred marks,” Johann offered, reminding the innkeeper of his promise.
    Herr Hoffel whistled through his teeth, pushing stale air through his pipe-stained mustache.
“Ja, ja,”
he replied, but his tone was more protest than agreement. “I had no idea it would take so long, though.” Neither had he, Johann conceded to himself. He had not known that it would take months to save for the materials, or that the work would be so painstaking. “Business is slow,” Herr Hoffel continued, gesturing around as if to persuade Johann that the empty dining room at mid-morning was indicative of a lack of boarders. “And Frau Hoffel bought these during our last trip to Munich.” He waved in the direction of the mantel, where the row of figurines stared down.
    Anger rose within Johann. Comparing his masterpiece to those trinkets was an insult. He fought the urge to pick up the clock and walk from the inn. “I suppose I could still take it, but I couldn’t afford to pay more than forty for it.”
    Forty. Johann’s stomach dropped. Forty, though more than he otherwise might see in months, would barely get them to Rotterdam. Herr Hoffel rubbed at a mark on the floor with his foot and suddenly it seemed to Johann that all of his dreams were being ground to dust beneath the innkeeper’s boot. His dream for a better life for Rebecca and their child could not possibly come true now.
    Looking out through the thick-paned glass of the front window to the street,