Mozart's Sister (46 page)

Where there had been many more.

"Do you like children, Fraulein Mozart?"

My heart stopped. I stood and collected the bowl of turnips. "If
you'll excuse me, I'll replenish these."

When I entered the kitchen, Therese looked up. She saw the
bowl. "I could have done that."

"No," I said, spooning more vegetables from the pot on the fire.
"It's fine. I'll do it."

"Are you all right?"

Not at all.

"Are you ill?"

Yes. That was it.

I set the bowl on the table. "Actually, I'm not feeling well. Headache. Yes, a headache. I think I'll go to my room. Would you give
Papa and Herr Berchtold my regrets?"

But when Therese scampered off to share the news, I did not
go to my room. I grabbed my cloak and left the house via the back
door. I walked around to the square. I had to talk to someone.

I had to talk to Franz.

I removed my hand from Franz's arm, needing to express myself
with movement as we walked and talked.

"I cannot believe Papa would do such a thing and be so blatant
about it." I took a seat on the stone edge of a fountain. "A man
who's been twice widowed. A man who has fathered a gaggle of
children. A man who has five children now. A man who is so much
old-"

I stopped that objection. Although Berchtold was at least fifteen
years older than I, Franz was twenty. That could not be an issue.

"What does he do for a living?" Franz asked.

I didn't see how that mattered but answered. "He's the town
administrator at St. Gilgen. He doesn't even live here."

Franz sat beside me. "St. Gilgen is not so far. Your father could
visit."

I sprang from my seat to face him. "So you have me married off
already? So easily?"

Franz moved a pebble with the toe of his shoe. "He must be
financially stable for your father to even consider-"

"I don't care about his money!" A woman filling a pitcher with
water looked up. I returned to my place beside Franz. "Five children. Two dead wives. St. Gilgen." I shook my head vehemently.
"No. It can never be. I won't allow it."

"But perhaps you must."

"Must?"

He pressed his upper arm against mine and risked taking my
hand. We burrowed our hands beneath the folds of my cloak,
wedged in the space between his leg and mine. "You want children."

"Of course, but I don't need ... If God does not will it, then I
am prepared to accept His decision on the matter," I whispered
under my breath. "I have never wished to have just any children.
And to have children by a man who's already fathered so many ..."
I shivered. I was not a prude, and in truth, my objection went
beyond his fatherhood to the simple fact of his manhood. I had not
shared a bedchamber with my parents most of my life without
knowing the essence of such things. Yet to be with a man I did not
love ...

"Then there is the issue of money," he said.

"I deplore the issue of money."

He squeezed my hand. "Your father's original objections to our marriage was my lack of good income."

"But he gave his permission-as long as the archbishop said it
was all right so it's not Papa's-"

"Your Berchtold has money."

"He's not nay Berchtold."

"Didn't you tell me that you and your father have been
struggling lately? Even with the student boarders you've taken in?"

"Yes, but-"

"And doesn't your father want to retire?"

"He should retire. Daily, I see a new layer wearing thin."

"His health is also an issue. Yet how can he retire when he
knows it will leave the two of you with only a pension-which is
less than his salary. If you're having trouble getting by now ..."

I pulled my hand away. "Why are you talking me into this? I
don't want to marry Berchtold. I don't want to marry anyone but
you."

He hesitated and cleared his throat. "But you can't have me."

I stood and faced him again, my cloak swinging with my movement. "You're giving me up? Completely? Just like that?"

"It's been two years, liebchen."

"It can be twenty years and I wouldn't care."

"Oh, yes you would. And so would I" He sighed and ran his
hands up and down his thighs. "You are still young, but I am old.
And meek. And poor. Talk as we might, I am not one to take
change easily, which means I am staying in Salzburg the rest of my
days. You, who have traveled so much, will find a move to St. Gilgen an adventure."

"A torture."

"A new life, in your own home, with your own family."

"His family, not mine."

"You will have children one day. You will be a good mother.
You will survive, Nan. You will thrive."

I shook my head. I would not do either of these things.

Franz stood. "I must go. And so must you" He kissed my cheek
and walked away.

Just like that.

I wanted to call after him. I wanted to run after him. But with the square full of people, I could not. Hang propriety! Hang gossip!
Hang this horrid town!

Perhaps I should leave. It would serve them right.

I walked back to the house and went inside the way I'd left. I
would sneak into my room and feign the headache that had set me
free of the dinner with-

I started as I saw Papa sitting at the kitchen table. "Sneaking in
and out does not become you, Nannerl."

I'd been doing a lot of sneaking lately. Years of sneaking. For
ever since Franz had received a no from the archbishop, my excuse
for seeing him beyond social occasions had been gone. We'd often
met at church.... How hard it was not to hold his hand in public.
Yet if we'd been seen there would have been repercussions. For we
were hiding not only from the wrath of Papa but also from the
wrath of Colloredo. If word got back to him that we were ignoring
his wishes and still seeing each other ... both Papa and Franz would
have paid dearly.

I removed my cloak, my thoughts reeling. "I thought fresh air
would be more advantageous to my headache than lying down."

"A new remedy you've recently adopted?"

I hung my cloak on a peg. "I feel much better."

"You ruined the dinner party, Nannerl. Soon after your departure, respectful of my concern for you, Johann took his leave."

"You should not have been concerned. It was just a headache,
and I'm fine now"

"
Hmm.

I looked around the kitchen, hoping there was something with
which to busy myself, but Therese had already cleaned up. I took
down a hanging pan and wiped some water off its back.

"So," Papa said, "did you like him?"

I nearly dropped the pan. I'd expected him to be more discreet,
to at least pretend it was just a dinner. For him to blatantly reveal his
matchmaking ...

"Johann's going to be a baron one day. So you would be a
baroness."

I hugged the pan to my chest. "I have no desire to be a
baroness."

"But if it is offered you. As a gift ..."

I closed my eyes a moment, hoping this would prove to be a
bad dream.

"He's willing to marry you, Nannerl."

Willing to marry me? I thought of another tack. "He just wants
a mother for his five children. He needs a housekeeper."

"And you want children and your own house."

I showed him my back as I rehung the pot. "I teach plenty of
children. I don't need my own. And I have a house. Here. With
you." But my thoughts sped back to Wolfie's dead child and the
lingering fear that the Mozart line would die.

"He lives in the house where your dear mother was born," Papa
said.

"What?"

"In St. Gilgen. He lives in the house where your mother was
born, where she spent the first four years of her life. If that is not a
sign that God is behind all this ..

I knew the house. It was a nice house. Not the home of a baron,
but nicer than our home here. Perhaps it was a sign. "You're moving
too fast, Papa. Has Herr Berchtold specifically asked-?"

"He has."

I felt my jaw drop. "He barely knows me."

"He's been at the house many times, and at concerts we've
attended. Surely you remember?"

Vaguely. He'd been one of a crowd and had not stood out in my
mind. For one, he'd been married. For another, he was not a handsome man. His nose was even larger than the generous noses of our
own Mozart line; his eyes were even wider set, and his mouth was
oddly shaped, especially when he talked. His voice had a slightly
nasal tone that made him sound as if he suffered perpetually from
congestion. In his favor was the fact that his physique was not repulsive. At least he wasn't fat.

I suddenly realized that my thoughts had entered a place of
rationalization, as if I were truly considering ... I put a hand to my
head, feeling the onset of a real headache. "If that's all this evening,
I am feeling the need to lie down."

He rose from the chair. "No more fresh air?"

I studied his face a moment, wondering how much he knew of
my outing. "No. No more fresh air."

With a hand to my arm, he leaned down and kissed my cheek.
"You've always been the loyal one, dear girl. The one person who
saw the larger picture. Sleep well."

I would not. I could not.

I did not.

Johann Berchtold was a persistent man. After the first dinner
party, he insinuated himself into our lives, in person when in Salzburg and through letters when he returned to St. Gilgen. He did
write a wonderful letter...

Johann's determination, along with Franz's subtle withdrawal,
wore down my defenses as well as my objections. Just as Papa had
mentioned Wolfie's persistence regarding his desire to marry Constanze, the combined efforts of Johann, Franz, and Papa had their
desired effect.

A few months later, when Johann proposed, my defenses had
long been chipped away and were held together by only the thinnest
splinter. My reasons for saying no had shown themselves to be selfcentered. If I married Johann, he would gain a wife, his children
would gain a mother, I would gain security as well as a chance to
bear my own children for the Mozart line, and my father would gain
peace of mind, knowing I would be taken care of after he was gone.
If I said no simply because I did not love the man ... It seemed a
petty reason, all in all.

If anything, it angered me that I'd even been put in such a position. To be forced into marriage for survival's sake had to be against
God's intentions to love one another.

But what if there was no love?

Through our extended travels I'd witnessed countless members
of royalty who'd endured arranged marriages for the sake of king
and country. Although patently unfair, I could understand that
process. It was the price of the crown.

But for us of lesser rank ... sometimes I wished I were really poor, a farmer's daughter working in the field. A washerwoman at
the pump. From my observations these people often managed to
marry for love. Their choice of a mate was limited to those of like
standing-it was rare for them to marry "up"-but when they did
unite, genuine happiness was present. Perhaps because they were
more resigned to their lot and not so concerned about attaining any
improvement in status, they could capture and hold on to a state of
contentment.

As the months passed during Johann's courtship, I too became
resigned to the idea that contentment-of some measure-was the
ultimate goal. And if one had to achieve that state by giving up a
few previously held dreams, or by adjusting one's expectations of
bliss and utter happiness, then so be it. I was no longer a child. I
knew the world was a pragmatic place. Romance lived in the
borderland. Romance was the stuff of fairy tales.

And so, when Johann proposed, I accepted.

May God be with us all.