Mozart's Sister by Nancy Moser Page A

with her soft arms and gentle words. "Shh, shh, Nannerl. What's upset you so?"
    I'd recaptured my breath but could not share my fear.
    "I'm fine," I said. "I'm sorry. I must have dozed and been
dreaming."
    Mama gave me an unbelieving look and rocked me close. I
could hear her heart beating, beating, like a drum pounding the
rhythm of a dirge. It was an appropriate accompaniment to the fear
that was now a part of my being: This will end. It will all end.
Soon ...
    I closed my eyes and let Mama do what mamas do.

    "But I don't feel sick," Wolfie said. "I want to play."
    Papa bustled about, smoothing his hair in a mirror. He'd told us
he had an errand to do that had something to do with not playing at the benefit concert in London that Papa had arranged with the
cellist Carlo Graziani. It had already been postponed once, from
May seventeenth to the twenty-second-tomorrow-but today
Papa had stormed into our room saying we would not be involved
in the concert due to Wolfie's being ill. He was on his way to post
that fact in the Public Advertiser.

    He rushed out, the door slamming behind him. I turned to
Mama. "I don't understand. Wolfie's not sick."
    Wolfie slumped in a chair, his back curved, his chin to his chest.
"I don't understand either."
    Mama glanced at the door, then back at us. She sat in an armed
chair that had become her favorite and extended her hands to us.
"Children." She took a breath and offered a tined smile. "Your papa
is very wise. He knows what's best for all of us. Yes?"
    "Of course," I said.
    "Right after God comes Papa," Wolfie said.
    Mama stroked our upper arms and nodded. Then she said,
"When we agreed to do the concert with Herr Graziani, we did
not realize that nobody who has leisure or means remains in London
at this time. They are all off to the country. We postponed once, but
there are still no patrons in town." She sighed. "And it does little
good to play before a small audience of ordinary folk. Our livelihood depends on the correct people hearing us "
    "But I want to play!" Wolfie said.
    "And you will, dear one," Mama said. "June fourth is the king's
birthday, and all the nobility will have to be back in town. Your
father has decided to promote a new, better concert for the day after.
On June fifth you will have an audience worthy of your talent and
our hard work." She took our hands and her smile was genuine.
"Would you like to see the copy for the ad your papa wants to
place?"
    We did. Mama rose and retrieved a paper on which there were
many cross-outs. She and Papa had obviously worked hard on this
advertisement. It read: Miss Mozart of eleven and Master Mozart of
seven Year of Age, Prodigies of Nature; taking the opportunity of representing to the Public the greatest Prodigy that Europe or that Hunian Nature
has to boast of Every Body will be astonished to hear a Child of such tender Age playing the Harpsichord in such a Perfection-it surmounts all Fantastic
and Imagination, and it is hard to express which is more astonishing, his
Executing upon the Harpsichord playing at Sight, or his own Composition.

    Wolfie clapped. "Bravo, Papa! Many people will come hear us."
    I nodded, but was not as enthusiastic. Although Papa had mentioned me in the first line-again stating our ages as younger than
we were-I was not mentioned again. The advertisement was all
about Wolfie. He was the draw. I was-in all ways-the accompanist.
    Wolfie took my hands and did a jig, wanting me to join him.
"We get to play! We get to play."
    I shook his hands away. I took up my hat and headed to the
door.
    "Where are you going, Nannerl?" Mama asked.
    "I'm going to wait for Papa."
    It was a lie.
    I went outside and turned left. There was a church in the square
just a block away. It was not Catholic-since the creation of the
Church of England two centuries earlier, Catholic churches had
been changed over, though we had found one at the French
Embassy. But unfortunately, that church was