The Mozart Girl

by Barbara Nickel

  Katherl kneeled again, with her hand outstretched this time, like the actor in the French theater group Nannerl had seen in Vienna.

  “Dearest Nannerl,” she whispered, “I shall write thee always, faithfully, and I shall never, ever, forget thee.”

  Nannerl giggled, but deep in her stomach she felt an ache.

  Three years! How could she live without Katherl for three years! She grabbed the outstretched hand and lifted the older girl to her feet.

  “I’ll miss you,” said Nannerl, hugging her friend and not wanting to let go.

  Wolfi suddenly marched into the room. “Mama’s getting mad at you for staying away so long,” he reported. “She says you should come right away, to iron the clothes. She says we’re leaving tomorrow, not—”

  “—next year,” finished Nannerl, giving Katherl one final hug.

  Wolfi stuck his tongue out at Katherl. “Catch me if you can, but don’t trip over your long dress,” he said, running away.

  Katherl started to run after him, then stopped. Their latest trick in dealing with Wolfi was to ignore him. She and Nannerl stepped into the hall in their most dignified manner. They linked arms and whispered all the way to the front door.

  “Good-bye, dear Nannerl, good-bye,” Katherl said, blowing kisses as she walked backwards and bumped into Sebastian, who was coming in from outside. She blushed.

  “Bye, dearest Katherl,” said Nannerl, blowing a steady stream of kisses to her friend. She felt like crying but she couldn’t, not yet, not in front of Sebastian.

  “Nannerl!” Mama’s voice came out from the kitchen.

  “Bye!” Nannerl said again, waving and watching Katherl lift her long dress and stumble down the stairs.

  Nannerl ran to the kitchen. She watched Katherl step onto the cobblestone street below. The ache was in her throat as she began to press Wolfi’s suit. Three years without Katherl. Two hot tears fell on the cloth and sizzled under the iron as she moved it back and forth, back and forth. Then the violins in her head tuned up and began to play, and she started to feel the rhythm again, the rhythm of the symphony she shared with Katherl.

  4

  Good-bye!

  Nannerl woke up and shivered. She kneeled on her bed to look out the window at the dark morning, and saw mist hovering around the street lamps and the fountain in the square below. The women wouldn’t come to draw water for another few hours. Everyone was still sleeping. Only the grandfather clock in the hall clicked into the silence. Nannerl crept out of bed to check the time—two o’clock. They would be leaving in an hour and a half.

  She tiptoed to the kitchen, feeling the cold floor on her bare feet. She would make breakfast and surprise Mama. She lay out the sticks for the fire, feeling a clutch at the bottom of her stomach when she thought of leaving Salzburg for…for what? All the people and places seemed blank as the morning and the mist. She tried not to think about Katherl as she put out the hard bread and cheese, turned the handle of the coffee grinder, and listened to the crunch of the coffee beans. The violins in her head wouldn’t wake up and play her symphony tune. She heard the click of her mother’s shoes instead.

  “Nannerl, you’ll catch a cold with your bare feet on this floor. Go and change, then wake your brother and come back for breakfast.”

  “But I’m not hungry,” protested Nannerl.

  “You’ll eat your breakfast just the same,” said Mama as she took over the grinding. “I’ll not hear a single growling stomach until Munich.”

  “Yes, Mama,” Nannerl said as she ran to her room. Wolfi was still asleep with his quilt kicked off, curled up like a puppy. Nannerl sat down on his bed and ran her fingers through his curls. “Wake up,” she whispered. “Wolfi, wake up. Hurry and get ready! We’re leaving soon!”

  Wolfi rubbed his eyes. “Bimberl!” he said. “Who will take care of Bimberl?”

  “Oh, Wolfi. Don’t you remember? Herr Hagenauer of course!”

  Nannerl picked up the corset that was lying across her trunk and began to pull it on. She turned her back to Wolfi so that he could lace it up. “Ouch! Not so tight! I’d like to see you wear a corset!”

  “No, thanks,” said Wolfi, picking up Salome Musch from under his quilt and hopping out of bed. Two days ago, Nannerl had given Salome to Wolfi, and now the old doll slept on his bed. “I hope there’s enough room for Salome Musch.”

  Nannerl looked at the tiny cracks around the edges of Salome Musch’s mouth. She remembered the horrible day the doll had gone missing. It had been a week before Bimberl had found her behind some flowers in the backyard garden during a game of lawn bowling. Nannerl reached for the doll. “Maybe I should take care of Salome for a while, just until we’re safely on our way. So she doesn’t get hurt.”

  “Wolfi! Nannerl! Come and get your breakfast, before the coffee gets cold!” called Mama.

  Bimberl met them in the hall and trotted after them to the kitchen with her tongue hanging out.

  “Mama, poor Bimberl is hungry,” said Nannerl as she and Wolfi entered the kitchen.

  “Herr Hagenauer will have food for her, I’m sure,” said Papa. “Now sit down and eat, children. We must depart at precisely three-thirty if we are to arrive in Munich by nightfall.” He inspected his travel schedule. While Mama packed the lunch, Nannerl passed a few tidbits of cheese and bread down to Bimberl.

  After breakfast, Wolfi and Nannerl watched the hired driver load the trunks into the boxes on either side of the carriage. They shivered in their gray travel capes as Papa and Herr Hagenauer went over the final arrangements, talking in low voices about money. She waited until they were finished, trying to get up enough courage to ask Herr Hagenauer about Katherl. “Excuse me, Herr Hagenauer,” said Nannerl. “But do you think my friend Katherl could send letters with yours? She could give them to you at Mass and—”

  “Nannerl,” interrupted Papa, “we musn’t inconvenience Herr Hagenauer.”

  “No problem, my dear girl, no problem at all,” said Herr Hagenauer. “Katherl’s the one with the long dress, yes?”

  “Yes,” said Wolfi, tripping over his own feet in an imitation of Katherl.

  The University Church clock struck the half hour. It was three-thirty. “Come along children, we really must leave now,” said Papa.

  Bimberl began to jump up and down and bark, licking Nannerl and Wolfi’s legs. They got to their knees, kissed her, and stroked her fur. “Good-bye, dear Bimberl,” said Nannerl.

  “Wolfi! Nannerl!” Mama called.

  They walked slowly to the carriage. Bimberl whined and turned in circles. Nannerl tried not to feel the ache as she climbed inside. Then Sebastian closed the door, the driver gave the horses a whip, and they started down the street, away from the square. Nannerl pressed her nose against the window and waved at Bimberl and Herr Hagenauer, at their building with its rows of windows, at the tip of the University Church peeking up from behind. The carriage turned the corner.

  Wolfi snuggled down against Mama’s shoulder and began to sleep. Nannerl sat up straight; she realized that she was clutching Salome Musch so tight that her hands hurt. She looked around, hoping no one would see her holding a doll as if she were a little girl. But everyone was sleeping except Papa, who probably wouldn’t notice anyway.

  Salzburg was turning blue. Good-bye, town square, with your musicians and your marionettes and your people selling sausages! Good-bye, fortress way up high on the hill! The horses clopped over the bridge. Nannerl craned her neck to look back at the mountains, giant black shapes in the blue light. She memorized how the spires of the nunnery and the Franciscan Church poked the sky. Then she leaned back in her seat as the carriage strained up a steep hill. Good-bye, Katherl! Good-bye, Bimberl! Nannerl squeezed Salome Musch until the buildings and cobblestone streets turned to waving fields, the faint pink light of day crept around the edge of the sky, the birds woke up chattering, and the horse
s’ hooves clopped in her dreams.

  5

  An Organ and a Broken Wheel

  Nannerl woke to a huge thump. She rubbed her eyes and saw that the carriage wasn’t moving, and that everyone but Wolfi and she was outside on their knees, inspecting something. She shook Wolfi awake and hurried out. Papa was scowling. Mama’s lips were tight, her arms crossed. Nannerl looked under the carriage—the back wheel lay in pieces.

  “Thank God we’ve got fine weather,” said Sebastian, trying to sound optimistic and looking up at the sky.

  Papa consulted the map. “At least we’ve crossed into Bavaria. I’d say we’re two hours outside the town of Wasserburg,” he said. “It’s the next town between here and Munich. Over that hill is a mill. Perhaps they will help us. Sebastian and I will walk over and see what can be done. Wolfi and Nannerl, stay out of your mama’s way.”

  While Wolfi begged Mama to help him find his violin in the carriage box, Nannerl searched through the ditch for wild June roses. When she found a few, she spread her cape on the grass and sat on it. She loved the sun on her hair and the way the clouds looked like pieces of wool before spinning. The buzz of bees mingled with the sound of Wolfi’s violin. Nannerl sighed. If only she could really play, too.

  Sometimes she’d sneaked Wolfi’s violin to try it out—but Papa had never taught her. Girls didn’t play the violin or the organ. She had asked Papa why. “Nannerl,” he’d said, “you are a very lucky girl to be able to learn the clavier and to sing. That is enough, and you should be grateful. You have no need of the violin or the organ; they are only necessary if one is to have a job as the director of music in a court or church. And those are jobs for men…your job is to find a husband!”

  She pulled out a few blades of grass and tore them up. Sometimes Papa just didn’t make sense. Someday, maybe, years and years in the future, she might want a husband. But why should that keep her from learning the violin right now? It would be so much easier to write for an instrument that she could play. But then, she wasn’t really supposed to compose either, except for those tiresome exercises Papa always gave her.

  Papa and Sebastian and two men from the mill returned with a wheel. “It looks a little small and the hub is long, but we can try,” said one of the men. Nannerl got up and watched as they cut down a small tree to hold the wheel in place, then fit it on and attached the iron hoop from the other wheel under the carriage box.

  “I believe we’re ready to go,” said Papa, wiping sweat and dust from his forehead with a handkerchief. “About time!” He looked at his pocket watch. “We’ve wasted almost an hour on this road. We won’t make it to Munich tonight. We’ll have to stay over in Wasserburg. Children, you and Mama will travel by carriage. Sebastian and I will walk the rest of the way to Wasserburg. We don’t want to add extra weight or that wheel will break.”

  Nannerl got in behind Wolfi and Mama. They all waved to Papa and Sebastian, who plodded after them down the dusty road. Nannerl wrote in her diary about the broken wheel, and it didn’t seem long before she looked up and saw the big square church tower above the buildings of the town. They were like Salzburg buildings—high and narrow and pressed together, as if they were rubbing shoulders, looking out over the bridge and the river and the boats.

  “Is it Wasserburg?” asked Wolfi, who had been singing and writing music.

  “Yes, and thanks to God we’ve made it without another breakdown. The driver will take us straight to the smith to fix our wheel,” answered Mama. “Look, there’s the inn!”

  When they reached the blacksmith’s, Wolfi hopped out of the carriage.

  “C’mon Nannerl, I’ll race you to the inn!” he said and ran off. Nannerl tried to catch him, but he got there before her. When she walked into the dim front room, out of breath, Wolfi was already asking the innkeeper for a room.

  “And just who are you, little man?” asked the innkeeper, laughing.

  “I’m Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and this is my sister, Nannerl,” answered Wolfi in his most dignified voice.

  “The Mozart children! I’ve read all about you in the papers! And where are your parents?”

  “Oh, they’re coming soon,” answered Nannerl. “Maybe we can find a room and surprise Mama.”

  “Follow me,” said the innkeeper, and led them up a dusty stairwell to a tiny, hot room. He opened the window. “See, you have a view of the church across the street.”

  Nannerl and Wolfi ran to the window and stuck their heads out, looking at the huge church with its massive square tower. Mama and the driver walked slowly up the street toward the inn.

  “Mama!” called Wolfi, and they looked up.

  “So that’s where you children are!” said Mama. “We thought you had been kidnapped! And you got us a room, all by yourselves!” Nannerl was glad that Mama wasn’t angry. She felt in the pocket of her cape for the diary, and began to finish the entry she had started in the carriage, dated June 9, 1763.

  …and then Papa came from the mill with another wheel for the carrij. They—

  “You spelled carriage wrong,” said Wolfi, looking over her shoulder. “It’s spelled c - a - r - r - i - a - g - e.”

  Nannerl blushed and snapped the book shut. Only Wolfi got spelling and grammar lessons from Papa. “How dare you read my diary? You’re always snooping around in everything that’s mine!” she said. She looked out the window, feeling hot and tired. Two familiar figures walked down the far end of the street.

  “Papa! Sebastian!” cried Nannerl. She turned to Mama. “May I run down to meet them?”

  “Yes, but don’t trip over the stairs,” Mama warned from the bed where she was resting. But Nannerl was already racing down the stairs with Wolfi at her heels. She wanted to be the first to greet Papa. Maybe he would pick her up, the way he used to when she was little. She ran across the square, dodging bakers and children, dogs and wagons. She noticed Wolfi’s curls flying a few feet in front of her. If only she didn’t have this dress and this corset! They kept getting in the way. Her legs hurt from running so fast. She looked ahead and saw that Wolfi was already in Papa’s arms. She slowed down.

  “That was a snail’s journey,” Papa was saying as Nannerl caught up.

  “Papa, can you explore the church with us, please, please, please?” begged Wolfi.

  “We must see the smith and the cartwright first,” said Papa, putting Wolfi down and taking his hand. “Then we will explore the church.”

  Nannerl followed them to the smith’s shop, out of breath. Her dress felt tight and all the layers stuck to her skin. She wished she was home in her room, with Katherl.

  Finally, Papa was ready to see the church. The doors creaked as they let themselves in. The dark, musty air felt cool on Nannerl’s skin as they walked slowly down the aisle. They looked up and back to the balcony. The organ! Streams of dusty light came in through the stained glass and fell on the row of huge, gleaming pipes.

  “Papa, I’ve never played an organ!” Wolfi was jumping up and down. “Could I play it, please, please, please, Papa?”

  The priest walked toward them down the long aisle, twisting his hands and frowning.

  “Good afternoon, Father,” said Papa. “We were just looking at your beautiful organ. I am Leopold Mozart, and these are my children, Wolfgang and Nannerl.”

  The priest’s frown turned to a smile as he looked at Wolfi. “You are the Wunderkind, Wolfgang Amadeus, from Salzburg?”

  “Of course,” said Wolfi. “May I try playing your organ please? I’ve never played an organ before.”

  “Certainly,” said the priest, and led them up the creaky back stairs to the balcony. When they reached the organ loft, Papa began to show Wolfi how to use the pedal. Nannerl peered over Papa’s shoulder and watched closely as his foot pressed gently on one of the wooden pieces sticking out from the bottom of the huge instrument. “You put your foot down like this to make the s
ound,” he started to explain, but Wolfi was already pushing away the stool and trying the keys. The sound thundered into every corner of the great church.

  Nannerl studied Wolfi’s hands as they worked the keys and pushed and pulled at the stops. She watched his feet dance over the pedals. Then she closed her eyes and let it all wash over her, like the huge waves she imagined crashed against the shores of the Baltic Sea. Finally she opened her eyes and saw Wolfi’s curls bobbing barely above the second row of keys.

  When he stopped playing Nannerl could still feel the vibrations in the banister of the balcony. Papa and the priest crowded around Wolfi in silence, their eyes wide.

  Papa finally spoke. “This is indeed a fresh act of God’s grace,” he sputtered, with his hands on Wolfi’s head. “Anyone else would take months of practice to play the organ with such skill.” They all started to talk at once and walked from the organ loft with Wolfi.

  Nannerl hung back, staring at the organ. Her fingers ached to reach out and fill the church with music. She brushed one key with her fingertip. She wanted to sit and play for as long as she wished, with no one around to stop her or say it wasn’t proper. She touched another key. Then she had an idea. She fiddled with it for a while, stroking the back of her hand up and down the keys, lightly, so they wouldn’t make a sound. Her heart thumped in her ears.

  It was still thumping late that night as she lay in bed beside Wolfi, watching the moonlight fall in pools on the quilt. She had been tossing and turning for hours. The family had gone to bed early, in hopes of getting a good start in the morning if the carriage was ready. Nannerl turned again. Should she follow her plan? She kept hearing two notes. One was sweet as birdsong. The other had something steely about it, an organ sound. The two notes clashed and Nannerl shoved her head under the pillow, not knowing which one to hear. Then the organ sound took over, and she suddenly knew what she had to do.