Mozart's Sister (52 page)

Leopoldl was a cheery toddler. A busy toddler. If only he would
have let me hold him for more than a few seconds at a time. I hoped
his hesitance was due to his age and not the fact he did not know
me. He spoke a few words I could understand-and many that I
couldn't. He loved playing with his toy horses and would sing to
music. Leopoldl often sat on Papa's knee at the keyboard, and Papa
would let him explore the keys-but he would not let him pound.
Papa was already teaching him to treat the keys with the respect they
deserved.

During the evening of the first day I was home I had the most pleasant surprise. Franz stopped by for his daily visit. At the sight of
him, Leopoldl raced across the room and Franz scooped him up in his
arms, kissing his cheeks and making him giggle. The happy scene made
my heart ache for the lack of such scenes in my St. Gilgen household.

Only after the baby was settled onto his hip did Franz look in
my direction. He removed his hat and bowed with flourish. "Welcome, Nan. How we have longed for your company."

We exchanged kisses to our cheeks. His were flushed with pleasure and health. I feared for my own appearance. Life had been hard
of late....

"Kiss your mother's hand, little Leo."

At Franz's direction, I held out my hand and Leopoldl gave it a
slobbery kiss.

"He's going to be a lady's man," Franz said. "A blue-eyed
charmer."

"Like his uncle Franz?" I asked.

Franz's eyes met mine, then looked back to the baby. "I'm afraid I
have neither the time, the inclination, nor the capability of spirit for
such things. A heart once given ... that's all I have within me."

I didn't know what to say. I'd wanted Franz to find someone to
love, but I also reveled in the news he was still single. Oh, the sins
of a greedy heart.

The bells for Ave Maria sounded outside, and at their ringing
my dear baby closed his eyes, bowed his head, and placed his hands
in the position of prayer. Franz did the same, and the momentary
sight of their two bowed heads, just inches away from each-

"Amen," Franz said, looking up.

"Am-m," Leopoldl said.

Franz gave him a hug. "You are such a good boy." He let him
down, and Leopoldl tried to run out of the room but ended up in
the arms of his nursemaid.

"Bedtime, young master."

"No!" Leopoldl's head shook with a vehemence that made his
curls bounce and swing.

"He seems to have learned that word well," I said.

"Very well indeed" came Papa's voice from the hall. He stood
in his dressing gown and slippers.

"Should you be out of bed?" I asked.

His next words were said to me, but his eyes were locked on my
son. As was his smile. "I have no choice. For who else can get this
little munchkin into bed but his grandpapa?" With arms extended,
he took a step toward the boy, who squealed and ran behind Franz's
legs.

"Oh no you don't, little one," Franz said, plucking him up and
placing him in Papa's arms. Leopoldl immediately strained for Franz
to save him, his eyes and whiny voice doing a good job of melting
my defenses. I was all for letting him stay up.

But Papa and Franz obviously had the process perfected. Franz
picked up his hat. "I must go or you-know-who will never succumb
to b-e-d."

"Uhh-uhh!" Leopoldl said.

Franz kissed his fingers and blew the boy a final kiss. "Tomorrow, little one. I'll come earlier tomorrow and we'll play with your
blocks." With a bow Franz said, "I'll see myself out."

When I turned around, Papa had already taken Leopoldl to his
room. At the sounds of their laughter, I hung back in the hall and
peeked around the doorframe. With the groan of old muscles, Papa
climbed into my son's small bed and pretended to curl up to sleep.
Leopoldl said, "No, Gampa! Mine!" and pushed at him, easing my
father out of the bed while climbing in himself.

"I have you now!" Papa said, tucking the covers around the boy.
He pointed to his cheek. "Kiss."

Leopoldl complied, his tiny arms wrapping around my father's
neck.

"Good night, dear boy."

"Ni-ni."

Papa came into the hall carrying the candle. He adjusted the
door so it would remain ajar.

"He loves you very much," I whispered.

"As I do him." Papa put a hand to his chest, his breathing heavy.
"Now help this old boy back to his bed, will you, daughter?"

I tucked my father in, checked on my son once more, and made
my way to my old bedchamber. The silence that encased me there
was like a heavenly cloud. Yet as I got ready for bed, my mind focused on the memory of another sound, just as heavenly.

The sound of loving laughter. Oh, how I'd missed it.

I stayed with Papa and Leopoldl two months, and though Papa
was ill, I enjoyed my visit immensely. It didn't take but a day for my
son to get used to me, and soon he was running into my arms just
as he did with Papa and Franz. I even taught him to find middle C
on the keyboard by rewarding him with bites of a biscuit. Every
time he'd get it right we'd laugh and clap, and he'd snap the bite in
his mouth, then grin, revealing two rows of lovely baby teeth.

It nearly killed me leaving him behind. Papa too. But I'd
received word that I was needed at home. The children were running wild without me, and by the tone of Johann's letter, I knew
my stay in Salzburg had strained him. And a strained Johann was not
a pretty sight. Or experience. A crudely written Conic horde, Mamma
from Maria at the bottom ofJohann's letter was like a plea across the
mountains. For certainly in my absence, she was taking the brunt of
my responsibility. I had to save her. And save them from themselves.

I thought about taking Leopoldl with me. Although the basic
conditions in St. Gilgen had not changed, with Maria's slow mieta-
morphosis into a capable helper, I probably could have handled him
along with the others. Yet I knew if I removed him from my father's
house, Papa would suffer. The joy the baby brought him was
immeasurable. Removing that joy-along with my own comforting
presence-might cause Papa to give up his fight against the illnesses
that plagued him.

The first time I'd left my son, I'd done it for his sake. This second time, I did it for the sake of my father.

Oh, the burdens of conscience.

Monica did a quick curtsy. "Ma'am? There's a messenger at the
door."

I looked up from my desk. "Is it the post? I'm not done with
the letter to my father as yet."

"No, Frau Berchtold. It's not the postman. It's another."

I ran a hand over my hair and rose to greet him in the entrance
hall. He was a small man, his clothes dusty.

"I'm Frau Berchtold," I said.

He handed me a letter. "I was told to give this to you, and only
you. In person," he said. "Captain d'Ippold sent me."

I let go of the letter as if it were hot. No. No. No.

The man retrieved it for me. "Ma'am? He said I should wait for
a reply."

I had no choice but to read it right there, right then. But I
sensed what it would say. Why else would Franz send a special messenger?

Little Karl ran into the room. "Mama, I'm hun-"

Monica shushed him and pulled him under her arm.

My hands shook as I broke the seal.

Your father died this morning at six.

I am so sorry, dear Nan. I am with Leopoldl. Please come.

Yours,

Franz

My legs buckled and I sank to the floor.

"Mama!"

I was helped to a chair, but I knew it would collapse under the
weight of my heart.

"Karl, go get your mama some water." Monica's hands fluttered
around me like butterflies wanting to light. "What is it, ma'am?"

I shook my head. I could not say the words. I gathered a breath
and looked at the messenger. "Tell Captain d'Ippold I'm coming." I
stood. "I'm coming."

The carriage jostled along the mountain road, and I let the
movement take me captive. Left, forward, a jar to the right. Center
again. There was no need to try to maintain balance anymore. Not
when the core of my balance was gone forever.

"I really wish you'd talk to me, Nannerl," Johann said from his
seat across from me.

I made no move to answer through words or even a shake of my head. That this man who rarely had time for any conversation
wanted to chat was absurd. You reap what you sow. Silence you gave
me; Igive you silence in return.

In truth, my motives were not so clearly defined. Although in
some pocket of my existence I found satisfaction in the fact that I
was the one shunning my husband's attempts to connect, it was not
the main reason for my refusal to speak.

I did not speak because there were no words. No words in
German, French, Italian, English, Latin, or even in prayer that could
express the utter ache that gripped my entire being.

Papa ...

Suddenly, without warning, the grip eased enough for inc to
grab a breath and let out a wretched wail that enveloped the
carriage.

Appalled, Johann sat back against his seat, obviously willing to
leave me alone.

Which I was. Completely and utterly.

Men.

What did I care about the will, and debts to be paid, and who
got Papa's blue satin suit? Papa died on May twenty-eighth, in the
year of our Lord 1787, and was buried at St. Sebastian's on May
twenty-ninth before Johann and I could even get there. But we had
a lovely memorial service for him on May thirty-first at nine o'clock
in the morning, and at noon the will was read. During all those days
the house was busy with officials taking an inventory, collecting a
list of debts, as well as friends expressing their condolences.

I shook hands, accepted hugs, and responded with all the right
words, while what I really wanted to do was curl up in my old room
and-

I had a better idea. I left the officials, Johann, and Franz arguing
over money and possessions, and slipped into my father's room. I
cracked the door and stood in the afternoon light. The bed had
been stripped of its covers, but there was still an indentation in the
mattress indicating my father's favorite place to sleep. On the bedside table were his glasses, a pewter goblet, a pocket watch he'd gotten
long ago in London, and a candle. Across the room was the old
wardrobe. I pulled open the double doors and ran my hands over
the sleeves of the waistcoats. Here was the gray one he'd worn at
our wedding. Stuffed toward the back was a red-and-gold suit he'd
had made in Paris on our Grand Tour. I pulled it out and noted the
smaller size. Papa had gained weight in his old age. I lovingly
returned it to its place. The next piece of clothing that gained my
attention was his dressing gown. The heavy green brocade was worn
at the elbows and cuffs. How many times had I seen him in this
gown?