Mozart's Sister (49 page)

"Where's London?"

I tried to contain my shock. "In England."

Her face remained blank.

"Northwest of here." I pointed out the window

She nodded. "Oh."

We'd tackle geography some other day.... I pushed down
middle C. "This is where we begin. C. All the keys have a name.
The white keys are named A through G, then it starts over again." I
began playing a C scale.

"I know some of my alphabet," she said proudly. "I know to R
pretty good but get mixed up toward the end."

My hopes for a musical partner crumbled.

The boys ran past the window, and Maria jumped from her seat
to see their ruckus. "They're chasing the chickens. They'll get them
mad and they won't lay. Can I go?"

I merely nodded. Go. Leave me alone.

The front door slammed, and Maria's voice joined those of her
brothers. Little Karl screamed and a chicken squawked. I didn't
move but remained in the presence of my savior.

Then I silently prayed to my other Savior. Save me, Lord. Please
save me.

I sat down to play Wolfie's newest concerto that Papa had sent
me. But with the first chord, I cringed. I checked my fingers. Yes,
they were hitting the right notes. The problem was not the pianist
but the piano.

Soon after coming to St. Gilgen, I was horrified to realize my
pianoforte did not react well to our damp house on the lake. It
quickly fell out of tune and the keys often stuck. And worse, there
was no one in the area who could fix it. Papa said he'd send someone from Salzburg, but since the archbishop's instruments needed to
be tuned three times a week-Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday for
performances-and since the mountain roads to St. Gilgen were
impassable most of the year due to rain or snow, and since it took
six hours to get to this hamlet by foot or carriage (meaning the tuner
would have to stay overnight), and since mine was the only piano in
the area ...

It didn't help my mood when Papa seemed to abandon me by
going to visit Wolfie in Vienna for months on end. I heard tales of
Wolfie having his own pianoforte hand-carried from house to house
almost nightly in order to perform. He'd even had it fitted with a
special bass pedal. Wolfie was doing quite well and was the toast of
the town. Papa went on and on about their lovely apartment with
its elaborate furnishings, the lavish dinners, his delight in his new grandchild, Karl, who was nearly eight months old, and of course
his high praise of Wolfie's music.

All this while here I sat, a prisoner in St. Gilgen, with my one
solace, my one retreat ruined by the idiosyncrasies of my very own
home. Yes, I envied Wolfie his instrument, but I also envied his
music. When I'd lived in Salzburg, I'd often heard Papa mourn not
having the opportunity to hear Wolfie play. Now I felt the even
greater loss of not hearing music of any sort. I had been banished to
a silent oblivion.

Silent of music, that is. There was always plenty of noise assailing
my ears. The children did not embrace silence. Ever. And as far as
sitting them down to try to work on their education? They had
trouble concentrating for more than a few seconds at a time. Perhaps
they'd never been required to do so?

How could I-who'd been brought up memorizing intricate
compositions from an early age-relate to children far past that age
who had trouble remembering the very simplest school lesson they'd
been taught the day before?

There was an even bigger issue at stake. How could one love
what one did not particularly like?

I closed the lid on the piano's keyboard. I was tired of challenges,
of struggles, of being dissatisfied. I wanted to go home.

And I had. Four times Johann and I had returned to Salzburg
for a visit. Sometimes Papa had been there, sometimes he hadn't. In
fact, two times we'd returned to Salzburg only to find Papa had
extended his visit in Vienna. Each time when I locked up the empty
house on Hannibalplatz to return to St. Gilgen, I worried that
Wolfie was winning Papa over, luring him to stay in Vienna. Why
else would Papa risk losing his job at his age? All my pleading for
him to return to Salzburg produced little effect. Not that I could
blame him.

I heard the glass lady outside and ran to the door hoping for a
letter or a parcel from Papa. She stopped, lowered the long handles
of the cart, and stood erect, arching her back. "Nothing, Frau
Berchtold. He weren't there this week neither. You got something
for me to take to him?"

I ignored the package of fish I'd wrapped. There was no reason
to send it now "Nothing," I said.

The woman lifted the handles and started to walk away, shaking
her head. "I sure wish your father would get back. This current
arrangement ain't doing me a bit o' good."

I agreed with her completely.

The post brought better news. A letter from Vienna said that
Papa planned to be home in mid-May, which was the following
week. Unfortunately, the desire to see me had not been the draw.
Apparently the archbishop had given him an ultimatum to return or
his salary would be stopped (Papa had received six weeks' leave but
had been gone fourteen). Leave it to money to be the propelling
force for Papa's actions.

Whatever the reason, my plan was to be there when he
returned. But to justify one more trip to Salzburg would be difficult.
Johann was a busy man. And once in Salzburg, assured that Papa
would be there, I wanted to stay at least a week.

I ventured downstairs into no man's land-or certainly no
woman's-my husband's chancellery offices. He'd made it very clear
he was never to be disturbed. On Tuesdays he often heard cases
regarding breaches of law (he'd had an especially scandalous case of
fornication last week where I'd heard the people arguing all the way
upstairs). Who knew what he'd been asked to handle this week?
Swearing, poaching, working on Sundays? I was just glad the more
serious cases were sent to a Salzburg court. I did not want my husband having to deal with murders or witchcraft.

I tentatively made my way into the front office. The clerk, Rolf,
looked up. The way his eyebrows rose revealed his surprise and discomfort. "Frau Berchtold?"

"I need to speak to my husband."

Rolf glanced toward the main meeting room beyond the doorway. "He's getting ready for a hearing."

I mustered as much authority as I was owed-which was minimal. "It's important."

After the slightest hesitation, he pushed away from the desk and
went into the meeting room, closing the door behind him. I heard
their voices. A few moments later, Johann came out, his brow furrowed. "Really, Nannerl. You know this is not appropriate."

I took his hand and led him into an office that archived the
paper work of the region. "I am sorry to disturb you, but I have just
received word that Papa is returning next week, and I want to be
there when he gets back, and-"

"We've already been to Salzburg twice thinking he was going to
return. A total waste of time. Your father's rudeness ..." He shook
his head. We'd had arguments about this before. "We were also there
in September and at Christmas. I have an important job to do here,
Nannerl. I cannot simply leave on a whim to visit your fath-"

"You're going to be a father again yourself," I said.

I had not meant to blurt it out like that and, in fact, had not
even considered making it a reason to visit Salzburg now. But once
it came out, I immediately saw the advantage.

I waited for Johann to take me in his arms.

He did not.

"Did you hear-?"

"I heard. There will be another mouth to feed"

I felt tears threaten but held them in. Johann did not respond
well to tears.

"How far along?"

"About four months," I said. It was my closest determination.
Just recently I'd seen a change in my body and had felt the oddest
fluttering inside like a butterfly flapping its wings from within. I
remembered Mama telling me about such signs. "I want Papa to
know as soon as possible. Nothing will make liii,i happier"

"He will certainly be pleased. As will the archbishop"

I could have cared a fig about the archbishop, yet indirectly, he
was Johann's boss.

With a sigh Johann said, "I suppose we can go."

I ventured to bring up an alternative I knew would not be taken
easily. "I could go alone," I said. "Since you're so busy."

He seemed to consider it a moment, then said, "I cannot have you traversing those mountain roads in your condition, alone. I will
have to go with you."

"But the children... ?" I really did not want the children to go
this time. "I would prefer to tell Papa the news in a more ... more
tranquil setting."

Johann studied me. Then he said, "We'll have the children go
stay with my brother."

A journey with one husband, no children, and one baby growing inside me. It would have to do.

The point was, I was going home.

Going home was easier said than done. The weather had been
rainy and we got stuck on one of the mountain passes, with the
carriage collapsing into the mud four times. Some farmers pulled us
out, but the six-hour trip turned to nine. Yet even with that we got
to Hannibalplatz before Papa. Our shoes and clothes were muddy,
and I had to lay them over chairs so they could dry and be brushed
off in the morning. Dear Therese made us some soup and coffee
before we fell into bed.

Since there was no way for us to know exactly when Papa
would arrive, I didn't want to stray far from the house. Luckily,
Johann did not feel this need and spent our free days out and about
Salzburg doing ... whatever. I was glad for the solitude. A few
friends heard I was home, and I quickly recaptured a bit of the
camaraderie I'd sorely missed.

Yet there was one particular person I really wanted to see.
Unfortunately, it was not proper for me to go to him....

Blessedly, I didn't have to. On our second day home, an hour
after Johann had disappeared into the streets of Salzburg, Franz
d'Ippold came to visit. It was the first time we'd seen each other
since I'd left in the carriage heading to my wedding day, since he'd
given me the note I would always cherish.

He bowed in the opened door. "Welcome home, Nan. Frau
Berchtold."

"Nan," I said, offering him a curtsy. Our eyes met. "To you,
always Nan."

I felt such a connection with him, as if more than air filled the
space between us, as if something tangible swelled and danced and
vibrated there.

He looked past me toward the entry hall. "Has your father
returned from Vienna?"

"Not yet. We expect him any day."

"Is your husband here?"

"He's gone out."

The boundaries had been set. Franz could not come inside.
"Perhaps we could walk?" he suggested.

"That would be lovely"

I found my shawl and joined him outside. He helped me adjust
it over my shoulders, and we took up the route we'd taken dozens
of times before. He asked about St. Gilgen, and I started to tell him
a rosy version of my life there.