Marrying Mozart by Stephanie Cowell

young university boy. She was followed by Constanze, who sank to the steps and began to sew.
    “How can you hold the needle? It’s so cold!” Aloysia murmured. “And how can you have the patience?”
    “I must do something.” The small face bent over her work.
    “I hope the neighbors don’t see us sitting here.”
    “Why? They’ve heard everything already. Mother has broken two plates and thrown a pile of music at Father. I saved the blue serving bowl and hid it in our wardrobe with the wineglasses.”
    “Don’t squint at the stitches, Stanzi; it will make you look older earlier.”
    “I’m older already,” Sophie said. “Troubles age one, but what can be done? We live in a fallen world. If we were still in the Garden of Eden, there would be no need for money. May I share Mama’s shawl, Aloysia? We’ll be here an hour or two, maybe more, and I’m freezing.”
    “Sit closer. There’s a little coal left in the parlor, but I can’t bear to be there. I thought you were good at making them stop quarreling, Sophie! Can’t you make them?”
    The youngest girl shook her head and wiped her nose. “You go,” she muttered. “Mama melts for you.”
    “I tried, but they didn’t pay any attention to me. I even cried. I won’t go in, though I’ll catch a wretched cold here and won’t be able to sing even if anyone asked me, which they haven’t since Christmas.”
    Sophie said, “It always gets worse in winter. Have you noticed it’s always this time of year it happens? We must just somehow hold out until spring comes and there’s more work. I suppose other people’s parents quarrel also.” She sighed, looking about her as if astounded to be able to see the world so clearly with her spectacles. “Uncle Thorwart doesn’t quarrel with his wife.”
    Aloysia answered sharply, “He doesn’t speak to his wife; he’s had a mistress for years. How can Mother and Father forgive him so easily about setting my hopes up for a Swedish marriage and then dashing them again? He should have known the Baron was already married. Don’t you dare laugh at me, any of you!”
    The shouts arose even louder from the depths of the rooms within, with their father’s defensive, breaking voice, followed by their mother’s accusations. Aloysia pressed her hands over her ears.
    At that moment Josefa came up the steps, her market basket swinging from one hand and an open book in the other. She was always reading, sprawled on the bed, hidden on the roof, finding a better world. Now she read so intensely that she bumped a little into one wall, then glanced at it in disgust. Her face filled with more disgust on seeing her three sisters huddled there and hearing the shouting from within. “Oh saints above,” she cried. “Everyone on the street will be talking about us now; I guess we’ll have no dinner. Why must she always berate Papa? He does the best he can.”
    Constanze clutched the sewing against her dress. “It makes Mama sad having always to make do. Still, I think that man and wife should never turn on each other, even in the worst of times. It’s providing for all of us that does it. If they married us off, they wouldn’t have to feed and clothe us.”
    Sophie stood up. Since Christmas her tiny chest had developed some roundness, but not enough to make her sisters hope she would ever have any real curves, not that she minded in the least. “I refuse to see us as merely mouths to feed,” she said. “We each have our own sacred purpose.”
    Josefa closed her book with a snap. “Marriage? No, thank you, I’ve seen enough of marriage not to want it. This is how it ends up; you hear the quarrels down the street. Ugh! And Mama’s no saint; do open your eyes, Constanze Weber. Papa is what he is, and never promised more. If she wanted wealth, she shouldn’t have married him. But likely he’s the only one who asked her; that’s what Aunt Gretchen said.”
    “That’s not true! Dozens asked her!” Aloysia