Mozart's Sister (25 page)

I pulled my hand away. "I'll have to ask Mama"

He winked. "Beg her if necessary"

I didn't have to. Mama was as thrilled as I.

It was very satisfying writing to Wolfie to tell him about something wonderful I was doing. And Mama, of course. Although I
wouldn't have minded going to Joseph's Triebenbach estate on my
own-at nineteen I was old enough, after all I was glad Mama got
to go too. While on the carriage ride there she'd been practically
giddy, wondering aloud what amusements the Schiedenhofens
would have planned, and giving me advice as to which dress to wear
first.

"He's not my beau, Mama," I told her.

Her smile was full of conspiracy. "He could be. And perhaps he
will be-after his mother and I are through"

The thought of them plotting ... it's not that I objected to the
end result, for beyond my unrealistic desire to be a great musician, I
did want to marry, but I did not want them embarrassing us with
their scheming.

Triebenbach was just outside Salzburg, but it could have been
worlds away. Even though Salzburg was not a large city, compared
to the silence and serenity of Joseph's family estate, it was blaring and
chaotic. The estate consisted of buildings of yellow and white stucco,
with interesting turrets and red-tiled roofs that were striking against
the fall colors of the hillside. We passed gardens that led to trails through the woods. Snow-topped mountains were its neighbors,
protecting the grounds from the rest of the world. We felt very
blessed.

"I could live here," I said.

Mama chuckled. "I'm sure you could."

I felt my face redden. I had not meant it so literally. Or had I?
Since my time on the mountain-and my disconcerting journey
home-I'd let my thoughts turn toward romance and home and
nonmusical destinies. It was either that or face a constant inner battle
between what was and what could never be.

As the footman opened the door for us, Joseph rushed out of
the house to take our hands and help us down. "Welcome! Welcome!" He kissed both of us on our cheeks. "Come inside. Mother
is waiting."

Frau Schiedenhofen was a short woman who only came up to
her son's shoulders. I could see where Joseph got his curly brown
hair and his plump cheeks-though Frau Schiedenhofen's plumpness extended beyond her face.

The next few minutes were a glimmer of greetings and niceties.
One would have thought our mothers had known each other for
years the way they dipped their heads close as they talked, and took
each other's arms as they walked into the parlor for some coffee and
cake. Surely they weren't conspiring already.

Joseph took my arm. "After we've done our duty and performed the required chitchat, I want to take you outside and show
you our shooting range. Some other guests are coming in two
days, and-"

"Shooting?" I asked.

"Air guns. At a target. Unless, of course, you'd rather go after
live game?"

"Targets are fine," I said.

I looked again toward Mama and Fran Schiedenhofen. But by
the way they smiled and looked in our direction, I wondered if we
were the targets.

Having my own bedchamber was a luxury. Although we'd stayed
at the homes of nobility many times on our travels, I had always
shared a room. Even if more rooms were offered, Papa had never
wanted to press the hospitality of our hosts.

Actually, sharing had not been an imposition. Wolfie and I had
fun staying up too late, talking and giggling out of earshot of Mama
and Papa. It was far better than the one room we were used to sharing at an inn and at home. We were not used to large spaces, and
the luxury of being able to spread out ...

Here at Triebenbach, my room had a bed covered with a yellow
spread, and windows flanked by full-length sashed draperies. There
was a writing desk stocked with paper and quill, a mirrored dressing
table, and a fireplace the servants kept stoked. I felt like a lady in a
manor. Once in bed for the night, I made a point of moving from
far left to far right on my bed. It was silly because, once I was asleep,
what did it matter how much room I had? But I enjoyed the feeling
of spaciousness just the same.

In the morning I looked in the mirror as Katrina, the lady's
maid, stood behind me and fixed my hair. She pulled the sides back
into pinned curls, letting the back hang long. Joseph had said he
liked my hair.... I handed Katrina a tortoiseshell comb.

"Your hair is so much easier to fix than Fraulein Daubrawa's.
This morning she had me come in very early to help her dress for a
special breakfast."

I sought Katrina's eyes in the mirror. "Breakfast? Have I missed
breakfast?"

"Oh no, Fraulein. The breakfast for most of the guests will not
be served for half an hour. This was a special breakfast between
Fraulein Daubrawa and Master Joseph." She lowered her voice and
leaned into my ear confidentially. "I think a match is being made."

I nearly gasped. A match? But Joseph and I were ... were ...

Were what?

Friends.

There was a knock on the door. It was Mama. I expected to see
her looking refreshed and relaxed, but her mouth was drawn, her forehead tight. Before I could even say good morning, Mama's eyes flitted
from mine to Katrina's. "I'll finish up here, Katrina. Thank you."

Katrina handed over the comb and hairpins, gave a little curtsy,
and left. Mama did not take the position behind me but moved to
face me. "He's not available," she said.

I could have played ignorant, but what was the point? "It's that
Anna Daubrawa, isn't it?"

"You heard?"

"Katrina told me they had a special breakfast this morning."

Mama picked up the brush, fingering the shell inlay on the back.
"She's rich, you know"

"Money? This is all for money?"

"It's always for money, Nannerl. You know that."

Unable to sit in the midst of my humiliation, I walked to the
window. "But Joseph's already rich. Certainly he doesn't need
more.

Mama came up behind me, resting her chin on my shoulder.
"Das Geld findet eben immer zuni Gelde." She sighed. "The money
finds the money and the rich get richer. It's a fact of our lives,
Nannerl."

"But we aren't poor."

"But we aren't rich. And no matter how we hold your father
and his abilities in high esteem, he is still just the Vice Kapellmeister."

I turned to face her. "But Wolfie and I have played before kings
and queens. Wolfie is composing-"

Mama shook her head. "It's not necessarily what you've done as
much as what title you possess. Name a member of nobility who's
done anything of consequence. That's why your father's trip to Italy
is so important to all of us. If he can secure a position for Wolfie and
himself, our future will be assured."

"Or if I marry well." I looked down. "If I marry at all."

Mama lifted my chin. "You are a lovely, talented girl. You will
marry and you'll have many children. That will be your blessing."

Or my lot. I moved back to the bench of the dressing table. It
was nearly time for breakfast. "I like Joseph," I said as Mama took
the comb to finish my hair. "I could have married him."

"Suitors will come and go, but one husband ... just one husband is all you need."

I knew what she meant, but down deep I also knew a husband
was not all that I needed.

I must admit after my outing to Triebenbach, I was so consumed
with disappointment at hearing that Joseph had been matched with
another that I did not pay much attention to Papa's and Wolfie's
letters about his opera in Milan. What had previously happened
with his opera in Vienna was happening again. Frankly, all Papa's
talk of conspiracies wore on me. Surely the whole world wasn't
against him. Wolfie. The music.

But then a letter arrived right after Christmas that said the opera,
Mitriadate rc di Ponto-Mithridates, the king of Pontes, was a huge success. It was the first opera of Milan's season, and though generally
those drew weak houses, Wolfie's had not. The performance-with
ballets added in between acts, and with encores-lasted six hours.
Although Papa intimated that Wolfie needed to work on his interpretation of the dramatic aspects of opera in general-perhaps he
was too young to grasp the emotional intricacies of the storyWolfie did enough right to receive the praise: "Viva it maestrino."

I was happy for him. Really I was.

Then why wasn't I out with Mama, spreading the news to all of
Salzburg? Why wasn't I right this minute writing a letter in response,
sharing my joy and congratulating him on his victory?

Perhaps I needed another trip up the mountain. Many trips.

I blamed the sound of snoring for my early rising, but that wasn't
the truth. I got up early and slipped out of the house because of
resentment. Papa and Wolfie were home. And not for the first time.
They'd already been home from their first Italian trip-home for
over four months after being gone fifteen-before taking off for
Italy a second time. Now, after being gone four more months in
Milan, they were home again. And even last night, as we sat around
the fire and heard about their last trip, Papa talked about a third trip
to Italy, perhaps next fall.

"Can we go too?" I'd asked for Mama and me.

"We'll see," Papa said.

Which meant no.

I put on my cloak and slipped out of the house. The December
air was bitter, and I held the hood tightly around my face. The
leather soles of my shoes slipped on the patches of snow that were
barely lit by the first of the day's winter sun. I had the streets to
myself. No one else was foolish enough to venture out on such a
cold morning without good reason.

I had a reason. Whether it was a good one ...

My eyes focused on the street, trying to tiptoe my way through
the snow and ice, when I heard a door open up ahead. It was Frau
Hensler, the baker's wife. She stepped outside and shook the dust
and crumbs from a rug onto the street.

She looked up and saw me. "Grusse Gott, Nannerl. What are
you doing out so early? In the cold?"

Brooding.

I glanced back toward home and offered the core of the truth.
"Papa and Wolfie are home again, and-"

Her eyes brightened. "And you're wanting some special bread
for their first breakfast at home." She opened the door and led me
inside the shop.

The aroma of baking bread elicited feelings of warmth and
home. Good feelings that made my pettiness seem absurd.

She spread the rug in front of the door. "The bread won't be
ready for another ten minutes." Frau Hensler patted a bench, then
held out her hands to take my cloak.

"I'll leave it on," I said.

"As you wish." She took a seat beside me, taking up two-thirds
of the bench with her ample frame. "So. How go the traveling
musicians?"

"They're well."

She waited, clearly expecting more. Although Papa and Wolfie
had regaled us with many stories, my mind was blank.

She patted my arm. "You and your mother have done a fine job
while they've been gone. The whole neighborhood speaks of it. Not
many women have to fend for themselves as you've had to do off
and on these two years-at least not voluntarily."