by Susan Ross
“Yes, of course, such a sweet girl.” Nana Klein inspected Charlie through thick lenses.
“There’s something in German that she needs translated. Some sort of diary from a great-aunt,” Mrs. Klein explained.
“It was from my nana’s older sister, Charlotte—but everyone called her Lottie.” Charlie carefully lifted the worn leather notebook from her backpack.
“Of course I can assist!” Nana Klein waved one thin arm as she supported herself above the walker. “Don’t worry, my angel granddaughter here told me all about your auntie’s diary, poor girl!” She grasped Amy’s arm and leaned closer to Charlie: “You know, I lost my parents too in the Shoah—and all four brothers, may they rest in peace.” Nana Klein pulled an embroidered handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse and blew her nose.
Charlie shivered and took a deep breath. “I was named after her, but we don’t really know what happened to Lottie once she disappeared.”
Nana Klein motioned for Amy and Charlie to sit beside her on the couch, while Mrs. Klein went to make the girls some tea.
“Now we shall see what we can find out about this relative, your great-aunt Lottie.” Nana Klein smoothed the front of her blouse and with one shaky hand took the green notebook and opened it to the first page. “Aha! The old script, no wonder a young person couldn’t read it.”
Nana Klein’s white head bobbed slowly as she turned the pages. The girls looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Charlie sat on her fingers, trying not to fidget.
After carefully closing the notebook, Nana Klein inched closer to Charlie and lightly touched her knee. “Your auntie was a great music lover, am I right?”
“Yes. Lottie played the violin,” Charlie responded.
“Is it a diary, Nana? What does it say?” Amy asked.
“My darlings,” Nana Klein replied. “You know how you girls have your rock-and-roll music and rapping, in concerts and on television? All that noise, oy!”
“What?” Charlie and Hannah stared at each other.
“Rock music! The type my granddaughter here listens to all the time, too loud, so it’s going to ruin her ears?”
“Nana, what does that have to do with Lottie’s notebook?” Amy asked.
“Well, in Europe, before the war, we had our popular music, too—opera and symphonies. Why, when I was a young girl, I had a little book just like this one.” Nana Klein clapped her hands together. “My goodness, I had almost forgotten.”
“But what is it?” Charlie asked. “What does the notebook say?”
“It’s a music journal,” Nana Klein replied simply. “Your relative, here is her given name, as you said, Charlotte—she went to the symphony, to the opera, and she wrote down all the music that she saw and heard. This is Mozart’s The Magic Flute—oh, she liked that one, she saw it three times!”
“You’re kidding!” Hannah exclaimed. “A music journal was her most prized possession?”
“Oh yes, I can imagine it,” Nana Klein replied. “In those days, the opera singers, they were like rock stars, like gods to us. Look, she saw the famous tenor, Wilhelm Anton Volkmann. I watched him perform, too—he was so dramatic! So exciting! All my friends were wild for him, I can assure you.”
Nana Klein picked up the journal and flipped through the pages. “You see how each symphony is noted, each opera, and where she sat—although mostly, your great-aunt watched and listened from the standing section. The opera was beastly expensive, so I used to do the same. We stood at the back, and it cost very little. I was young and strong then, like you!”
Nana Klein began to cough. Charlie looked at her wrinkled hands and white hair, and wondered what color it was when she was younger.
“What’s this column?” Charlie pointed to a list on the right side of each page.
“Those are the names of her family and friends, the ones she went to hear the music with—here you can see Mutti—that’s ‘Mother,’ and on the next line, a gentleman named Nathan Kulka.”
“We haven’t figured out who he is yet,” Charlie said. “Maybe a cousin.”
“Over here, I see a name that is repeated.” Nana Klein slowly traced one bony finger along the edge of the notebook. “I need more light, please.” The girls jumped up and together pulled a large lamp closer. “Ah,” said Nana Klein, “much better. Yes, here is the name—Johann—Johann Schmidt. He appears several times at the end of the journal. The last entry, the final symphony—she attended with her Mr. Schmidt.”
“I wonder who he was,” Charlie said.
“Perhaps a young man…or a family friend? He doesn’t sound Jewish! How old was she when she wrote this journal?” Nana Klein asked.
“She was a teenager,” Charlie replied.
“So, a young man, then,” Nana Klein said with a knowing smile. “Apparently the two young people went to a concert together—and then the book ends.” Nana Klein removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
“Nothing else?” Amy bent forward.
“Nein, nothing.” Nana Klein shrugged. “Nineteen thirty-eight was the year of Kristallnacht—the terrifying ‘Night of Broken Glass,’ when Jews were attacked and synagogues destroyed. After the Nazis invaded Austria, many other countries followed. It was the end of life as we knew it.” She turned away and cleared her throat.
Charlie reached over and gently hugged Nana Klein’s stooped shoulders. “Thank you for reading Lottie’s journal for me. I am very, very sorry about your family.”
Nana Klein folded her hands over her heart. “I live on for them in my old age. On Yom Kippur I light a yahrzeit candle for my dear brothers.” She looked lovingly at Amy, who returned her soft smile. “And I see them in my granddaughter’s beautiful eyes.”
Dear Nana Rose,
I hope you like the enclosed photo; it’s me playing the violin in the school orchestra last year. If I work hard enough, I think I have a chance of being concertmaster this year. Someday, I hope that I might be able to play as well as Lottie! Thank you for sending me her music journal. I want to talk to you about it when we see you next weekend, and I promise to always keep it in a safe place.
Lots of love, xox,
Charlie
PS—Did Lottie have a boyfriend?
PPS—Can you tell me who Nathan Kulka was?
Charlie twisted her hair into a ponytail on top of her head. She stood in front of the mirror, holding her violin at right angles to her body. Turning sideways, she analyzed her posture, then arched her back and stood even straighter. She began warming up with an easy scale and then moved on to more challenging pieces. At first, every note was in time with the metronome. But when Charlie tried to practice pizzicato…snap! A string broke loose on the second pluck. It dangled over the side of the violin like a fishing line.
“Oh no!” Charlie exclaimed.
“What’s wrong—what happened?” Jake hollered from his bedroom.
“Nothing! I’m fine!” Charlie kicked the floor with her heel.
It was pointless to continue—Mr. Fernandez would have to replace the string at school. Charlie bit her lip and pulled the rubber band from her hair, letting her strawberry curls fall over her shoulders. The broken string suddenly seemed like a bad omen. How much of a shot did she really have at concertmaster this year? Yes, she loved being in the orchestra. She was a strong player, and she’d been practicing a lot. But was she honestly ready? Her intonation wasn’t flawless, her vibrato was only so-so, and her sight reading still needed work.
Tommy Lee could sight-read anything, even with his eyes half shut. Or maybe he was playing every single piece by heart? Was that possible?
Charlie sat on the bed and picked up the red project binder. Now the pages seemed as empty as her chances of being concertmaster. Lottie’s diary was nothing more than a music journal. The Ellis Island search confirmed that Nana Rose had come to the United States, but Ch
arlie already knew that. She was no closer to actually finding Lottie.
“Time for pancakes!” Charlie looked up to see Dad standing at her bedroom door. Charlie and Dad always made chocolate pancakes together on Saturday mornings; it had been a tradition between them ever since she was little.
“I’m really tired, Daddy; can’t you make them without me?”
“Are you kidding? You’re the only one who knows exactly how many chocolate chips to add.” Dad sat down at the edge of the bed and rubbed the bald spot in his speckled hair. His crystal-blue eyes searched hers with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Charlie mumbled.
Jake poked his head in. “Charlie’s just upset because orchestra auditions are coming up soon. I don’t know why she’s freaking out and making such a big deal about it, though. Seventh graders almost never make concertmaster.”
“What do you know about any of this?” Charlie shot back. “The only instrument you’ve ever tried is the harmonica!”
“Yeah, but I heard it from a girl who plays bass.” Jake grinned like he knew the girl pretty well.
“Oh, you mean the blond girl with the braids who’s always picking you up in her car?” Charlie raised one eyebrow.
“Uh…maybe?” Jake’s face got a little red as he pretended to cough.
“Listen, Jake—I think Mom needs you downstairs,” Dad said. “She said something about fudge donuts.”
Jake shook his head. “Okay, I can take a hint. And a bribe. But Dad, please do this whole family a favor and tell Charlie she needs to relax.”
Dad waited until they could hear Jake’s footsteps on the stairs before speaking again.
“Is Jake right? Are you worried about your audition?”
“No, I’m fine,” Charlie began. “Except that Devin McCarthy’s in seventh grade, and I bet he’ll make first chair for cellos, but I probably won’t even be in the first section for violins, and I’m sure Tommy Lee will be showing Mr. Fernandez all his impressive skills at his audition, and…”
“And?” Dad said gently.
Charlie simply shrugged.
Dad glanced at the red binder sitting on her bed. “How is your research project going? Tell me what you’ve learned so far about Nana’s sister.”
Charlie pulled forward, hugging her knees. “That’s another problem, Dad. Nana Rose sent me Lottie’s notebook, and I thought it would tell me something new about her, but it turned out there was nothing in it except a list of concerts she went to with different people. I checked Ellis Island, and I found Nana Rose, her mom, and some other names…but nothing that seems to be leading anywhere.” Charlie slid off the bed and returned with a tissue to dab her nose.
“One way or the other, Charlie, I’m sure your teacher will appreciate all your diligence and hard work.” Dad patted her shoulder.
“That’s not the point, though—not really,” Charlie replied. “I mean, yeah, I want a good grade, but mostly, I want to find out something important about Lottie. Something solid.” There was a long silence while she stared at the crumpled tissue. “Dad, all those people—our family in the photo album, the children, even babies—they died because…just because they were Jewish. Nana Rose was only a little girl when her father was killed, and she could have been killed, too.” Charlie’s eyes were suddenly full.
“Yes.” Dad took Charlie’s hand. “That’s true.”
“Nana Rose has lived her whole life not knowing what actually happened to her sister! I want to find Lottie. Not just for school, but for Nana and our family. But the thing is, what if I can’t? What if Jake was right that I won’t find anything because—well, what if it’s because…”
“Because she died in the Holocaust like the others?” Dad asked softly.
Charlie nodded; her eyes were streaming now, and she could barely swallow. After another silence, she said, “I want to be the best at violin, Dad. I want Nana Rose to be as proud of me as she was of her sister. But I’m not even a sure thing for concertmaster at school. Lottie played with the Vienna Philharmonic when she was barely older than I am!”
“Come over here.” Dad pulled Charlie into his warm arms. “Your nana could not be more proud of her beautiful, talented granddaughter; she loves you just as you are. And listen to me—you don’t have to rush your life, Charlie; all the good stuff will come in its own time, when you’re ready for each and every challenge.”
Charlie swallowed hard and silently nodded. When she looked up at Dad’s face, she was shocked to see that the corners of his eyes were damp, too.
The following Wednesday morning, Charlie woke up with the opening theme from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, “Ta-ta-ta-dum, ta-ta-ta-dum,” stuck in her head. She hummed the first few bars while she got dressed, packed her backpack, grabbed her violin—and waited for the bus to school.
Orchestra class was first period on Wednesdays, and today was the final group rehearsal before auditions. Not every kid liked starting the day with music class, but Charlie couldn’t help but happily swing her violin case on her way past the math and science wing before heading to the rehearsal room below the auditorium. Hillmont Middle School was a modern steel-and-glass building, but Charlie liked the way the orchestra room somehow seemed old, with its low acoustic tile ceilings and wooden cubbies teeming with instruments. The air was always tinged with the scent of rosin, a pungent pine.
To Charlie, the rehearsal space was as cozy as her family room at home. The chairs and metal stands nearly touched each other, and countless piles of sheet music covered every available surface. In the background before rehearsals began, there was always the low buzz of instruments being tuned. Whenever Mr. Fernandez eventually raised his baton, Charlie felt a calm sense of focus wash over her. She loved watching him conduct from the podium, guiding the tempo and dynamics with his baton, facial expressions, and gestures—especially when he opened his arms wider and wider for the music to build to the top of a crescendo.
The orchestra was like a puzzle—fitting melody with harmony, keeping bows in sync. It was as much about teamwork as Jake’s basketball team passing the ball back and forth down the court, with the players carefully positioning themselves in order to score.
Charlie found a spot in the middle of the first violin section and briefly eyed the chair closest to the podium—the concertmaster’s seat.
As if on cue, Tommy Lee immediately plunked down in front of Charlie and yawned as he took out his instrument and began to tune. Tommy was tall and had spiked black hair so full that it nearly blocked Charlie’s view. She had to lean sideways to see around him.
All of a sudden, she noticed a girl with a French braid and wire-rimmed glasses working with Mr. Fernandez in the viola section. Charlie did a double take. For a split second, she thought the girl was Sarah. But it was only a sixth grader who’d recently moved from Texas. She was having so much trouble with her fingering that Mr. Fernandez had to place extra blue stickers on the neck of her instrument. He patiently showed her again and again where to press each finger. When she finally got it right, Mr. Fernandez seemed even more excited than the girl, Charlie thought.
Charlie glanced around the rest of the room, hoping to find someone to exchange smiles with as she tuned her violin, but nobody looked her way.
It was getting late, and Mr. Fernandez stepped onto the podium, but a few seats remained empty. Devin was still nowhere in sight. Where was he? How could he miss the final rehearsal before auditions—was he that sure of himself? A short, freckled boy Charlie knew vaguely from gym class arrived and took the seat beside her. He grunted hello and quietly stuck his gum under the chair before bending forward to tighten his bow.
Then the new girl from Texas dropped her viola with a loud thud, and a second later, everyone looked up when Devin finally walked into the room, headed straight for the front, and without a word, took the open chair at first stand as if he knew he
belonged there.
Mr. Fernandez coughed loudly and knocked his foot against the podium. “Okay, people…are we ready at last? Let’s start with Eine kleine Nachtmusik.” He raised his baton and hesitated. “Pay close attention, the opening section’s a little tricky. There are a couple of quick shifts at the beginning.”
Charlie planted her feet, back straight, bow ready—she’d practiced that part last night for twenty minutes at least.
Mr. Fernandez lowered his baton and scratched his ear. “Actually…perhaps we could have one of the violins demonstrate first?” He glanced at Tommy, who raised his chin and started to rise from his chair.
“Ms. Roth?” Mr. Fernandez turned his gaze past Tommy and gestured. “Would you please stand up and show us? Start with the third measure.”
Charlie sprang to her feet, accidentally knocking the back of Tommy’s chair with a sharp jolt. But then she stood tall, arched her back, and played with smooth shifts, hitting nearly every note with a clear, true sound.
“Excellent! You’ve been practicing, and it shows.” Mr. Fernandez applauded. “And that’s precisely what everyone else needs to do. Go home tonight and practice this section at least five times until it sounds easy—exactly the way Charlie played it.”
Charlie tried hard to stifle the smile bursting from her lips. She could see Tommy’s shoulders stiffen in reaction to Mr. Fernandez’s praise. When he stood at the end of rehearsal, he didn’t speak a word to anyone and packed up his violin quickly.
“Auditions are on Friday morning starting at eleven a.m.,” Ms. Patel reminded them. “You already have your assigned time slots during lunch period. Please be prompt.”
“And don’t forget, everyone—how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice! Practice! Practice!” Mr. Fernandez chuckled to himself as Ms. Patel clapped cheerfully, and the students filed out of the room.
Charlie was walking through the door when Devin caught up from behind. “Nice work,” he mumbled.
Was Devin being sarcastic? Charlie couldn’t tell.
