Mozart's Sister (54 page)

"What is it?" I asked.

Johann looked at the letter, then at me. "A message from the
archbishop. News from Vienna. And ... and ..."

Vienna? An inner fist grabbed my heart and squeezed. I shook
my head against my biggest fear.

Johann let his arm drop, nodded, and looked directly at me.
"Your brother is dead."

An odd laugh escaped. "No, don't be silly. He can't be dead.
He's only thirty-five."

"He can be. He is dead. And buried. Yesterday, at St. Marx."

Buried already? My mind moved from denial to acceptance.
"What did he die of?"

He presented the letter again. "This doesn't say, but the courier
heard a rumor that in your brother's final days he ranted about poison and-"

"Poison!"

"It was discounted. His limbs swelled horribly in the end and he
had a fever"

I remembered another time, another sickness-also in Viennawhen a six-year-old Wolfie suffered swollen limbs and a fever. The
doctor's diagnosis came back to me. "Rheumatic fever"

"Hnmi?" Johann said.

"It sounds similar to the rheumatic fever he had as a boy. The
doctor had warned there would be recurrences, and it could weaken
his heart"

Johann shrugged. It seemed a cold gesture, and yet, what did it
really matter how my brother had died? Dead was dead. Gone was
gone.

Johann made up for his shrug by pulling me into a hug. "I am
very sorry, Nannerl. Very sorry."

I nodded against his chest.

It took three months for the mountain pass to clear enough to
get from St. Gilgen to Vienna, but I was persistent. I had to go and
see where my brother was buried. Pay my respects. I would not find
resolution until I had played this final chord in our duet.

How disappointed I was that the cemetery contained only communal graves. What a horrid law. I always found much comfort visiting Papa's grave in Salzburg, and little Wolfgang's and Babette's in
St. Gilgen.

After my dismal and unsatisfactory visit to St. Marx, my carriage
stopped in front of the inn. Before the coachman could open the
door, it was opened by my husband. He took my hand and helped
me out. "We were worried about you."

I looked behind him and saw all six of our children spilling out
from the inn's doorway onto the sidewalk. Their faces mirrored their
concern. Two-year-old Jeanette broke away from Maria and ran to
my side, wrapping her tiny arms around my damp cloak. "Mama!"
she said.

I was about to shoo them inside against the rain when I noticed
the rain had stopped. Hints of blue sky peeked through the clouds,
promising a beautiful spring day.

"Back inside, children," Johann said. "Let your mother get out
of her damp clothes."

They fumbled and stumbled into the inn, and Johann led me
upstairs to our room. The children assembled on the beds and window seat while I removed my cloak. They were being unusually
quiet.

"Oooh," I shivered. "It was very chilly out there."

"Did you see your brother?" nine-year-old Karl asked.

Joseph smacked him in the arm. "Uncle Wolfgang is dead. She
didn't go to see him."

Maria sighed heavily and pulled both boys under her arms.
"Shush. Both of you. She'll tell us when she's ready."

When Johann pointed at a chair, the younger Johann relinquished it. I sat and the children gathered close. Jeanette climbed
onto my lap and I relished her warmth. "I went to the cemetery," I began. "But there was no headstone for my brother"

"Whyever not?" Maria asked.

I explained about Emperor Joseph's law.

"That's ridiculous," Johann said. "We don't do that in St.
Gilgen."

"Perhaps that is one advantage to being remote"

I noticed Karl's pout. "So you didn't see him? See anything?"

I flicked the tip of his nose, then put my hand to my temple. "I
see him in here." Then to my heart. "And in here."

Six-year-old Leopoldl tugged on his father's coat. "Can we get
cake now? I'm hungry."

"It's up to your mother," Johann said.

I sighed and released my morning in the cemetery to the past.
"I think I'm hungry too."

The children gathered their coats and rushed toward the door in
a burst of conmiotion, then moved out in the hall and loudly
clomped down the stairs. My husband was next but paused at the
door. "How are you really?"

"I'll be fine. I'm glad I came."

"Good," he said. "Coming?"

"I'll be down in a minute."

He closed the door and the room returned to silence. I let my
body relax against the chair and closed my eyes.

Suddenly, unannounced, I heard Franz's words in lily ears, his
comment made over coffee months before. "You should be very proud
of what you've accomplished."

And I was.

Seven years previously I'd traveled to St. Gilgen to find a household of wild, unkempt, ignorant hellions. Since then they'd been
transformed into good, fine, and vibrant children who were ready
to accept the opportunities life had to offer.

Opportunities they had because of me. Opportunities they
would riot have had if I had not become their mother. I let the
thought complete itself the children were better off because of me.

Although my marriage to Johann had been undertaken as a careful, pragmatic decision, I suddenly realized God's hand had not been
absent in the match. Perhaps Johann and I weren't the great love of each other's lives, but over the years we'd settled into a good place,
a comfortable, compatible place. So what if my own idealistic notion
of romance and true love had not been fed? The fact that my decision to marry this twice-widowed man had allowed his childrenour children-to receive a chance to prosper and find fulfillment,
added meaning to my decision that went far beyond the need for
rosy sunsets and soft kisses.

No, I had not become famous like my brother. No, I had not
pursued my music as much as I would have liked. And no, I had not
married the love of my life. Yet by marrying as I did, I had changed
five children's lives for the better. If I accomplished nothing more
than that, I could be proud.

How comforting to realize God knows what He's doing.

I stood and gathered my damp cloak. My family was waiting.

.,/Can't see anymore.

It doesn't matter.

What do I want to see of this life? Whether my eyes are opened
or closed, I see what I want to see. My memories are vivid-and
perfect. Eyes see flaws that memories can avoid. The advantage of
going blind is that with eyes open or shut, I see them.

Three men and a woman. Waiting for me. "Don't worry,
Nannerl. I've made all the arrangements," Papa says.

"Come join us, Horseface. The music's magnificent here."

I look to Mania, but she doesn't say anything. She's never been
much of a talker. Perhaps the rest of us make her talking unnecessary.
Or too much work. She just smiles and holds out a hand. I understand her meaning, just as I do the others'.

Then there is the third man. He doesn't need to talk either. Our
eyes meet and do the talking for us. His smile makes me smile. And
the way he scuffs his toe against the ground indicates intentions far
more eloquent and fine than any book of lofty sentences. I realize it
is he I long to see the most. For it is he I have waited for the longest.

"Baroness?"

By the tone of the voice it is evident it is not the first time the
speaker has called for my attention. Reluctantly I allow myself to be
yanked away from the others. I will be with them soon enough. As
yet, there is one more thing I have to do....

I open my eyes for his benefit, not mine. I recognize his voice.
It is Herr Masters-my counselor and attorney. At seeing me alive,
I hear his sigh of relief. He rustles papers and I guess their purpose.
"Is that it?" I ask.

"It is. It's complete except for your signature."

I nod. Soon everything will be as it should be-or as good as it
can be, considering. "Read it to me."

He does, and I feel myself relax amid the pain. On the cross
Jesus had said, "It is finished...."

Soon, it will be.

"Get me a pen," I say. I point toward the desk.

Within a few moments, he returns to the bedside. I feel a tray
on my lap. The papers are upon it. "Show me where," I say.

He guides my hand and, once in place, he puts the ink-loaded
pen in my fingers. "Here. Sign here," he says.

It is odd to hear my signature, to hear pen scratch against paper
without seeing it. How appropriate that in this last important act, I
have to rely on my sense of hearing-that sense that has been so
inseparable from my innermost being.

I sign my full name in all its ridiculous glory: Baroness Maria
Anna Walburga Ignatia Berchtold zu Sonnenburg. But then ...
"May I also sign another name?"

"Another-?"

"I wish the name of Mozart to be on this page"

"Ahh. Certainly." For a second time he positions my hand and I
sign Nariiicrl Mozart. I hand him the pen. He takes the paper and
tray away. "That should satisfy all involved," I say.

"Including yourself?"

I lean back against the pillows. "Me, most of all."

The papers cease their rustling and I assume he's put them away.
"I will leave you, then," he says. I hear him step toward the door,
but then his footsteps stop. "Or ... would you like me to stay?"

Although the question can be answered simply and offhandedly,
I realize my reply can have serious ramifications. When one's time
is short, letting any person leave the room can mean death might be
faced alone.

And yet ... I decline his invitation and he leaves me. I hear the
door click shut.

Come what may, there is no one at my side. Mania, Papa, and
Wolfie are gone. Franz, Johann, and even my beloved Jeanette are
dead. I am seventy-eight years old. There is not a single friend who's
lived as long as I. And though I have an occasional visit from illy
son, Leopoldl, and Wolfie's son-my nephew, Wolfgang-and they
treat me with respect, I do not care to call upon such bonds in these
final days.

I have no idea why God has allowed me to live so long-to
outlive all whom I have loved. There are a lot of questions I hope
to ask the Almighty...

Soon.

I am completely alone.

But then the memories flood back as if to remind me that my
last thought is a lie.

I am not alone. And in truth, I have never been alone. Although
my life has not worked out as I may have planned, although I have
enough regrets to fill a bank, there is one thing that has worked out.

I've had people. I've had people who've loved me, cared for me,
and did their best for me. I had people then.

And I have them now

Soon.

Now. All I need to do is take Mama's hand, accept Papa's
arrangements, join my brother, and let the love of my life take me
in his arms.

I close my eyes and, in this final act, willingly surrender to their
invitation.

Fine. Grandioso. Bravissinlo.