Mozart's Sister (45 page)

It
was
not
a
good
beginning.

Constanze was ... agreeable enough. I tried to like her. I
wanted to like her. But there was something missing, something ...
off. She laughed a bit too loudly, chattered rather than spoke,
appeared unable to discuss anything of higher magnitude than the
weather, and clung to Wolfie's arm as if fearful he would disappear
into the mountain mist. Or perhaps she held on fearing Papa would
bite.

Not that I blamed her. For though Papa was polite, his level of
warmth could also be compared to a facet of our beloved mountains: frosty.

We did our best to entertain them. We showed Constanze the
sights around Salzburg and included her in our music makingwhich was spectacular and reminded me of old times. Wolfie had
brought along new compositions, and we stayed up until the wee
hours performing. I admit Constanze's voice was better than mine,
which is to say, socially passable but not professionally sound.

One afternoon in October, Constanze lay abed with a headache.
I'd planned to use the free time to catch up on some correspondence
that I'd horribly neglected while acting as hostess. But just as I sat at
my desk, Wolfie appeared in the doorway.

"Hello, Horseface. Care for a walk?"

I felt an eyebrow rise. "Just the two of us?"

He looked toward the hall and lowered his voice. "She's
napping.

I put down my quill. We gathered our cloaks and headed out
into the crisp fall air.

Wolfie pulled my hand into the crook of his arm. "So, dear Nan.
Isn't she wonderful?"

I patted his hand. "She's very sweet."

He bumped his shoulder against mine. "She's much more than
that, sister. She's a wildcat."

I glanced in his direction, not sure what he meant.

Wolfie raised and lowered his eyebrows suggestively. "I have
absolutely no complaints. In fact, she continues to surprise-"

"Shh! I don't want to hear this."

He seemed genuinely surprised. But then said, "Oh, I'm sorry.
I'd forgotten that you haven't ..." He stopped walking. "Or have
you and your dear captain... ?"

"No! And he's not my dear captain anymore. You know that."

In the nearly three months since they'd first come to visit, it was
the first question Wolfie had asked about my life. Unfortunately it
was not one I cared to answer.

"So there's no hope?" he asked.

There was always hope. And in the past two years I'd held on to
the dream that God would grant a miracle and the archbishop
would change his mind-or die. I hated to admit that I had thought
of that as a solution to our problem. Franz and I still saw each other
as friends and had tailored our relationship into something that was
bearable-though hardly satisfactory. But what else could we do?

"Nan?"

"I've found a rhythm to life here."

He pulled at a stray strand of my hair. "I want you to be happy,
Nan. Surely there's some other beau here in Salzburg who can take
you away from Papa and give you a life."

I shrugged. "My friends have long ago married."

"Then find someone new You and Papa are constantly entertaining traveling players, so how about one-?"

I shook my head vehemently. "Papa would never approve of
such a life for me. The income would be barely passable, and-"

He tossed his hands in the air. "Papa approve. Papa approve." He
sighed extravagantly.

I understood his objections. "I have no choice, Wolfie. You
know that."

We resumed our walk. "It's because of me, isn't it? Colloredo's
hatred of me, and Papa's disappointment in me, has affected your
life."

I took the coward's way out and shrugged.

He dropped my arm. "They are both eccentric, twisted,
arrogant-"

"Shh!" I checked the other passersby, offering a smile and a nod.
But in spite of my cover, if they'd heard Wolfie's words ... they would be able to guess whom he was talking about. Salzburg was a
small town.

Thankfully, Wolfie lowered his voice. "Why don't you and Franz
leave? Go off and start on your own like I did"

"I have thought about it. Many times."

"And Franz?"

I turned down a quieter side street, just in case Wolfie's voice
rose a second time. "He's a quiet man. Franz avoids confrontation
and complication. Considering the archbishop is his employer ...
he'd need references and-"

"He was my employer too, but now I'm free of him"

"Yet it hasn't been easy for you. Admit that, Wolfie. You have
struggled."

"Money's not everything, Nan."

It was easy for him to make such a declaration when he had
multiple sources of income. As a teacher, Franz's options were far
more limited. As were mine. And if Papa would die, his pension ...
I tried not to think of it. If Wolfie knew how we'd scrimped in
order to entertain him and Constanze the past three months ...
"God's teaching me patience, brother. Something we all could
embrace"

Wolfie shook his head adamantly. "Something I refuse to
embrace." He giggled. "Something I don't have time to embrace."

Oh, to live in such a fantasy world.

Wolfie and Constanze were leaving the next day. I was torn over
hating to see them go-longing for life to return to normal, while
fearing that life would return to normal. Yet working toward their
departure, I helped as I could by packing Wolfie's music.

Papa stood at the table by the window. "Did you make a copy
of this one?" he asked, holding up Wolfie's newest piano sonata
in C.

"Yes, Papa, I got it done this morn-"

"Excuse me?" Constanze stood at the door to the music room,
her hands busy with each other.

"Yes?" Papa asked, a bit gruffly.

She took a step into the room. "I was wondering if I ... if we
might take ... might have ..

"Yes?"

She took a fresh breath. "We were wondering if we might take
with us a few of the tokens, the souvenirs that Wolfie received on
his Grand Tour travels and-"

"Absolutely not!" Papa said.

Constanze took a step back into the arch of the doorway. "Why
not?"

I had been shocked by her question and Papa's answer, but now,
for her to challenge him?

"Because they belong here," he said.

"But we have an apartment," she said. "We have a place for
them. And since Wolfie earned-"

Papa took a step toward the locked display cabinet that held the
gifts from our Grand Tour. "These items are from the trips of the
Mozart family."

Her voice grew small. "I'm a Mozart now too."

My heart nearly stopped.

Papa hesitated just a moment, then said, "Perhaps at a later date.
When you are better established."

My sister-in-law employed her own moment of hesitation.
Then with a quick curtsy, she said, "As you wish" and left the room.

I heard Papa's heavy breathing. "That impudent girl!" he hissed.

"She is his wife."

He turned away, back to the music. "But not a Mozart. Never
a Mozart."

He muttered something more, but I wisely left the room.

My hand dropped and Wolfie's letter floated to the floor.

"Not a Mozart. Never a Mozart."

No chance to ever be a Mozart. Not for dear baby Raimund.

I looked in the direction of the music room, where I could hear
Papa giving a lesson. He should know.

But not yet. Not just yet. I needed a moment to absorb that the
one baby in the Mozart family was dead: We are both very sad about
our poor, bonny, Fat, darling little boy.

Raimund had died soon after Wolfie and Constanze had come
for a visit with us in Salzburg. By the time they returned home their
dear baby boy had been dead three months. Of dysentery.

Although I knew of this tragic actuality of life-that the majority of babies died-I'd foolishly assumed Raimund was God's blessing to our heritage. He was a little boy who would take the music
into the next generation. Nothing would have made Papa happier.

But now ... no baby for Wolfie. And certainly no baby for me.
Just three Mozarts growing ever older.

Old maid. Old maid Nannerl Mozart.

Feeling a sudden shiver, I hugged myself, then shivered again. If
God was not merciful, if the Mozart line wasn't blessed through my
brother, there would be no one to hug a needy spinster in her old
age.

I could think of no crueler fate.

Papa could be as obvious as red paint on a door.

We often had people join us for dinner. That was not unusual.
Even the name of the guest that came to sup with us that November
evening did not raise any concerns: Johann Baptist Berchtold von
Sonnenburg. He'd been a friend of the family for many years and
was the town manager of tiny St. Gilgen, thirty kilometers east. Our
family was familiar with St. Gilgen because it had been Mama's
birthplace. Herr Berchtold had duties that ranged from managerial
to pastoral to legal. He was married and had fathered eight or nine
children-though I wasn't sure how many were still living. My own
dear mama had borne seven with only Wolfie and me left alive....

Which brought back thoughts of baby Raimund.

Setting aside my sadness, and armed with this simple knowledge
of our guest, I found no significance when Papa said Herr Berchtold
was coming to dinner. But as we sat down to table, with Papa grinning as if this man were the emperor himself, I became suspicious. I hadn't seen Papa so delighted and charming in months.

As usual, I played the good hostess. I passed Herr Berchtold the
turnips and innocently asked, "And how is your wife? And the children?"

Papa fumbled his spoon. "Oh. Nannerl. Here we must offer our
condolences. For Herr Berchtold has recently lost his wife-his second wife. She died after the stillbirth of their second child."

Herr Berchtold crossed himself. "May God rest their souls."

Condolences mingled with anger as I suddenly saw a haze of
conspiracy hanging above the dinner. "I'm so sorry," I managed.

"Thank you," Herr Berchtold said. "Jeanette was a jewel among
women." He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "But in spite of my
sorrows, I have been blessed with five living children."