by Eric Flint
"Yeah, a little. I really wanted to sing the duet version of it with Master Andrea like we did last year." She laid a hand on her swollen abdomen. "But junior here kind of got in the way."
Marla had sung the first performance of the lament back in December of 1633 in Grantville. It had been arranged for the instruments that were available, which weren't many. She still remembered Maestro Carissimi muttering about barbaric villages beyond the bounds of civilization when he discovered there was no orchestra available. So, for the first anniversary of the battle, when he was asked to have the work performed for the first time in Magdeburg, the maestro had gleefully re-orchestrated the music to take full advantage of Magdeburg's orchestra. He had also, after discussing it with Marla and Master Andrea both, re-scored the vocal part to be a duet. It had been Marla's first opportunity to sing with someone of Andrea's calibre and it thrilled her. She had been looking forward so much to singing it again this year. Sigh.
"So, how is the orchestra going to do the cannon shots for the overture?"
Marla laughed. "They've got several shotguns loaded with blanks, and they're firing them into a fifty gallon oil drum with one end cut out." Mary's eyebrows climbed. "I don't know if it sounds like a cannon, but it makes a big sound. They only got to rehearse it once, so Franz is a little nervous about that."
"Since the cannon blasts aren't exactly timed to the music," Mary mused, "if one of them doesn't quite hit the mark, no one would know."
"That's what I told him."
"From the looks of the programme, Franz must be ready to start exploring the symphonic works." Mary raised her eyebrows.
"You mean he hasn't told you yet?" Marla was surprised.
"No." Mary smiled. "But then, he has had a lot on his mind lately,"
Marla laughed again. "He decided recently that he wants to work through the symphonies of Beethoven, do one, maybe two a year. And Marcus has miniature study scores for each of them, so we don't even have to have them transcribed from recordings. Some of Marcus' students are copying out the first symphony score and parts now."
"Surely he'll do more than that?"
"Oh sure, both down-time and up-time. But Beethoven's first symphony will be the first one they do."
Mary started to say something else, but at that moment Franz emerged from the side door. The applause began.
***
Marla sank back into the seat of the carriage. Her feet hurt. Her feet hurt clear up to her hips. Or she assumed it was her feet that were hurting-her lips quirked-she hadn't had a good look at them in weeks. She rested her hand on her abdomen, and giggled for a moment. Dressed in a forest green gown, her belly looked like an overly ripe Black Diamond watermelon. Then she wished she hadn't thought that, because watermelon sounded really good, and she knew what her chances were of getting any in October in Germany. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
Between her feet aching and junior deciding to perform gymnastics in time to the music, Marla had been somewhat distracted from the concert.
The Beethoven piece, one of his minor ones, had been chosen more for the theme of the work rather than its artistic merits. It had sounded well, though.
And Master Andrea more than did justice to Maestro Giacomo's work. That one Marla had definitely heard.
The climax of the evening was the 1812 Overture. It had definitely been received well, ersatz cannon and all. Marla giggled as she remembered seeing the audience jump in time with her baby as the shotguns had roared.
Afterward had been the obligatory round of conversations with the patrons, guildsmen and burghers and their wives. That's when her feet had really started hurting. Franz had hurried through that as quickly as he could, asking their friend Isaac to go call their rented carriage to the door much sooner than she thought he would.
The carriage rocked as Franz climbed in, having finally closed off the conversations and made his farewells. He reached over and took her hand. "Tired?"
"No." Marla snorted. "My eyes are dusty and I'm just cleaning them." She opened said eyes in time to watch him laugh.
The carriage-another mark of Franz's concern for her well being-only took a few minutes to move through the streets to their house. Her husband handed her down with great care, then reached up to pay the driver. He helped her up the steps and opened the door as the carriage rattled off.
Marla sighed. Home again. She was ready to get the dress off, throw her shoes into a closet and get into a comfortable bed gown. Another month to go. She wasn't sure she could make it.
Franz closed the door behind them. She felt him come up behind her and place his hands on her shoulders. "Shall I take your coat?"
"Please."
***
Franz reached to put Marla's coat away, then heard a strangled gasp. Without a thought, he dropped the coat and spun. In the light of the little lantern on the side table, he could see a look of sheer panic on his wife's face. His instinctive step to her splashed.
Splashed?
He looked down, and realized Marla was standing in a puddle. His immediate reaction was relief, followed by biting his lip to keep from laughing, believing that she'd had an accident.
But then Franz realized he didn't smell the acrid smell of urine. His panic returned, redoubled. He reached to her as she clutched at his arm, long pianist's fingers sinking deep into cloth and flesh.
"God." A whispered prayer, then louder and frantic. "Franz… my water broke! The baby's coming!"
"What?"
Marla's voice cracked. "The baby's coming! It's too early!"
Franz was on the verge of gibbering, but one look at the fear on Marla's face told him he couldn't. Drawing on the strength that had let him face down Rupert Heydrich, his nemesis, over a year ago, Franz gathered Marla into his arms.
"Shh, shh," he repeated over and over, hand stroking her hair as she hiccupped. After a few moments, he held her out at arms' length. Good. She was calmer now. There was still a wild light to her eyes, but she wasn't about to go to pieces.
"It is not going to be here this minute, love. Let me help you to the bed and out of that dress, and I'll send for the midwife."
He watched as Marla visibly grasped for composure. She nodded, and led the way to the bedroom.
Magdeburg, October 8, 1635
There was a knock at the door. Franz rose, stiff from sitting all night. He opened the door to find Mary Simpson standing in the light of the dawn. With her were Lady Beth Haygood and his good friend Isaac Fremdling.
"May we come in?" Mary asked.
Franz stood to one side, waving them in as he yawned.
They all found seats in the small parlor, except Isaac, who leaned against a wall.
"How is she?" Lady Beth's face was worried.
"I do not know." Franz's voice was weary. "Her water broke after we got home, and I sent for the midwife immediately. She and her helper came at once."
"Who did you get?"
"Greta…" Franz searched for the name.
"Oh, I know her." Lady Beth smiled and patted Franz on the arm. "She's good. She's been to Jena and learned quite a bit. There's been a bit of tension between her and some of the other midwives, because of her insistence on cleanliness now."
"I tried to stay with them," Franz continued, "but when the labor started hard, the midwife ordered me out. She said they didn't have time to tend to me as well as Marla."
"When was that?"
"I do not know. Some time after midnight, I think."
"So," Mary said, "she's been in labor about nine hours, maybe, and in hard labor maybe three or four?"
Franz gave a tired nod of affirmation.
"Well, that's not all that long. Especially for a first child."
"Oh, my, no," Lady Beth smiled. "I was almost twenty-four hours with my first, and there was another woman in the OB ward at the same time who'd been there twelve hours when I got there and still didn't have her kid until after I did."
Franz's expression must
have changed, because Mary rushed to say, "But that's not always the case. Marla's probably going to have an easier time of it. She's tall enough that you don't realize how wide her hips are. She really ought to have it soon."
At that moment, there was a yell from the bedroom.
"Oh, good, they've had her start pushing," Lady Beth said.
***
Others had dropped by from time to time during the morning. It seemed everyone they knew wanted to know how things were progressing, but none stayed more than a few moments other than Mary, Lady Beth and Isaac.
A few of the callers brought food and drink. Franz was able to eat some bread and butter when he was encouraged to, but the one sip of coffee he took caused his stomach to roil and he put the cup down. The beer likewise turned his stomach. Only cautious sips of water seemed acceptable.
Shortly before noon the screaming stopped. Franz raised his head from where he had nearly dozed off in exhaustion. He looked at the others. He didn't know what expression was on his face, but Mary reached over and took his hand.
It seemed an eternity before the midwife appeared, still in what the up-timers would call her uniform: hair under a white hood, white gown over her clothes. She was wiping her hands with a small towel as she came through the door. She folded it away, but Franz's stomach lurched as he caught a glimpse of blood on it. The next thing he knew, he was on his feet.
"How… how…"
The midwife's expression never brightened. Within his soul, Franz began to moan.
"I am sorry, Herr Sylwester. We did everything we knew to do, but we could not save your daughter."
Franz wavered, and Isaac was at his side instantly, grasping his arm to steady him.
"What… what are you saying… that my child…"
The sympathy on the midwife's face was almost more than Franz could stand.
"Your child was stillborn, Herr Sylwester. I am so sorry."
Franz just stared at her numbly.
"How is Marla?" Mary asked, coming up on Franz's other side.
"Physically, she is exhausted, yes. Very tired. But she will recover. I am worried, though. She made us wrap the baby and give it to her. This is not good. She must let go. The more she waits, the harder it will be."
The moan in Franz's soul began to climb his throat and force its way out. Isaac pulled him around so they were face to face.
"Franz…" he felt Isaac shaking him gently.
"Franz…" Isaac caught his gaze.
"Franz, remember… 'The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away
…'"
"'Blessed be the Name of the Lord,'" Franz whispered. He stared into Isaac's eyes, the man who was the closest thing to a brother he would ever have, and saw the reflection of his own grief. He saw, too, the love that Isaac bore for them both. That allowed him to straighten in Isaac's grasp.
"Franz, your wife needs you."
"Marla."
"Yes, Franz, Marla needs you. Go to her."
Isaac released him. Franz turned to the bedroom. The midwife stood aside, touching his arm as he passed.
Franz stopped inside the door. Marla had been cleaned and dressed in a fresh gown, and the bed linen had been changed. She sat up at the head of the bed, humming to the bundle in her arms.
Marla was exhausted. Even for her, her face was pale; her eyes were so dark she looked bruised. Her hair was limp and lanky from sweat. But at that moment, she was so beautiful to Franz it almost tore his heart out.
The midwife's assistant murmured an apology as she brushed by him with the bundle of soiled linen. Marla looked up to see him. The smile that crossed her face pierced him
"Franz, you're here. Come see our daughter!" She bent her head down once more and sang wordlessly.
Step by slow step, Franz crossed to the bed. He forced a small smile to his face as Marla looked up at him.
"See… isn't she beautiful?"
Franz swallowed, and whispered, "Yes… yes, she is." He swallowed again, bent over and said in a normal tone, "May I hold her, please?"
"Okay, but be gentle."
Marla very carefully transferred the bundle to Franz. He straightened, and pulled a fold of the blanket away from where it draped over part of the baby's face. God in Heaven, she was beautiful. Fuzz of black hair, perfect round little face, perfect little fingers peeking out from under the blanket. He watched closely, hoping there had been an error, but there was no movement; no fluttering of eyes, no twitching of features. No breath of life.
Hope died.
Franz felt his arms beginning to shake. He turned away from the bed and pressed his lips against the little forehead.
"Go with God, Alison Wilhelmina," he whispered. The midwife had quietly come up. He let her take Alison.
"Franz?" from behind him. Steeling himself, he turned, sat beside his wife on the bed, taking her hands in his.
"Did you see her, Franz? Did you see Alison? Isn't she beautiful?"
Her eyes searched his.
"Yes, love."
"Franz?"
Deep breath.
"Marla, Alison is with the angels."
He watched as the black dawn of desolation overtook the light in her eyes, grieving as it died. He watched as the awareness pierced her heart, as the cold fact of death became a stone in her soul. He watched as her face crumpled. He watched as she whispered brokenly, "Oh, Franz," and her mouth opened to wail and keen, though nothing came out.
He heard keening, nonetheless, as Marla turned to him, hands clutching at his shirt-keening from her soul and his. As his arms enfolded her, he wondered if it would ever stop.
Franz held his wife. Tears mingled as they mourned together behind the shroud of her long black hair.
Magdeburg, October 11, 1635
Susan Garrett stood on the doorstep, shivering. The cool weather outside was a perfect match for the state of her soul.
The door opened enough for Franz to peer out. His face brightened and the door swung open. "Aunt Susan! Come in."
Susan carried her bag in and set it to one side. She waited for Franz to finish closing the door, then threw her arms around him in a crushing embrace. His arms returned it. They stood together for a long moment, two kindred mourning souls drawing comfort from each other.
After a long moment, she pushed away to arms' length and looked up at him.
"You look horrible, Franz." And he did, too-haggard, hair unkempt, eyes so dark they looked bruised. He also looked bewildered.
"We did not expect you so soon."
"I started packing as soon as the first telegram came. Mrs. Simpson sent it, telling me that Marla's water had broken. When I got the second telegram, I started trying to make travel arrangements. I finally managed to get on a train, and here I am."
Susan looked around. "Where's Marla?"
"Asleep."
Franz was wavering where he stood, obviously exhausted. Susan led him to the chairs, and sat with him.
"Am I in time for the funeral?"
Franz shook his head.
"No, it was yesterday. We could not wait any longer."
Susan felt a pang, but understood that even in the cool of October, without embalming, a body, even that of a new-born infant, had to be buried soon. Still, she would have liked to have seen the baby. With a deep breath, she set that aside. "So, since I missed it, tell me what happened."
Slowly, halting often, Franz began to describe the events after his world came crashing down in ruins. "Mrs. Simpson took charge of everything. She saw to it that the invitations went out… "
"Invitations? You send invitations to a funeral?" Susan had heard the Germans did such things, but until now she hadn't really believed it. She was astounded.
"Indeed. Mary talked to me and managed to make sense of what I said. She drafted everyone in sight whose hand was legible to prepare and deliver the invitations."
"So who was invited?"
"The Simpsons, Lady Beth Haygood and her husband, many of the Grantvillers
in Magdeburg, Masters Schutz, Carissimi, Abati and Zenti, of course. The orchestra. Gunther Achterhof and a couple of the people from the Committee of Correspondence in Magdeburg. I tried to tell Mary it was too many, but she wanted to make sure that everyone who wanted to come had the opportunity. I'm not sure they were all there, but a lot of them came."
Susan shook her head, still having trouble with the idea of sending invitations to a funeral, for heaven's sake! Every time she thought she was used to the way the Germans did things, something new would pop up. There was a long moment of quiet.
"So, where is she buried?"
"Since neither Marla nor I are Lutheran, I felt it was best to not try to find a space in one of the Lutheran church cemeteries. There is a new city cemetery, created after the sack of the town, that is open to everyone. We found a space there. A beautiful place, really, at the top of a slight rise near a tree. It will be long before the space is needed again-perhaps not until after Marla and I are gone-so we will be able to visit it for long and long."
"The… space is needed… "
Susan was perplexed. Surely Franz didn't mean what she thought she heard. Franz looked at her, and his mouth quirked wryly.
"Aunt Susan, you must not think of our cemeteries like yours, with the nice neat rows of graves, each with its elaborately engraved memorial stone. The land is only used for a time. After some years, if the space is needed, the old bones are dug up and placed in an ossuary, allowing the burial of someone new."
Horrorstruck, Susan's hand flew to her mouth. Surely he didn't mean that… that Alison's little body could be… would be.. . desecrated like that.
Franz smiled sadly, and took her other hand in both of his. "It is the custom, you see. But where we laid her, it will not happen for a long time."
"Does…" Susan spoke past the thickness in her throat, "does no one stay buried?"
"Only the very rich, who can afford to build grand memorials that will cover their graves." Franz coughed. "Such we are not."
"We'll see about that," Susan muttered, thinking to herself.
Another quiet moment.
"The wood crafter who built Alison's cradle also built her coffin," Franz murmured. "It was so small… she was so small. I could have carried it in one hand."
