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Authors: Susanne Dunlap
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told him he must take some measures to secure our future, get the prince to grant him an annuity, or a widow’s jointure for me. Otherwise we would be helpless without him. We must get you married. Your dowry is our only hope.”
I forced myself not to sound as cross as I felt. She could not know everything I did. “My godfather has every intention of being as helpful as he is able. And I don’t think that getting me married would solve our difficulties. Anyway, I went to visit Uncle Theobald.” I took hold of her hands. “I did not see him, but I saw enough to believe he will not take kindly to being asked for money. He’s a very great man now.”
A little of the fire of shrewdness she always possessed lit my mother’s eyes. “All the more reason for him to help us. He is still my brother. What’s necessary is simply that we find someone suitable for you. Greta has asked the matchmaker to come to visit me. I expect her tomorrow morning.”
“But, Mama—”
“Greta said you’d been willful while I have been ill. It’s unbecoming.” She reached out her hand to stroke the side of my face. She smiled, softening the reproach in her words. “You must return to your needlework and be a good girl. No man wants a wife who cannot keep house and is disobedient.”
I knew my mother did not mean what she said unkindly. We were her principal concern in life, and she’d never done anything to harm us. But I seethed at Greta’s treachery. How could she tell my mother such tales! If it were not for me, we might be unable to continue as we were, even for a little while. I was about to inform Mama of everything, of Haydn’s agreement to hire me as an assistant so that we could still receive our money from the prince, when Greta walked in.
“Herr Goldschmidt sent his lad with this.”
She handed Mama a piece of paper, folded but not sealed. Mama opened it and read. “Thank you, Greta,” Mama said, nodding in a way that sent the cook reluctantly out of the room. “You see, Liebchen, all is arranged. You must not take it too badly. I only did it because I knew it was for the best.” She gave the paper to me.
I read it through three times before I allowed myself to believe what it said. Mama had sold him my viola! “How could you?” I asked. “The viola belonged to me!”
“It was your father’s, and he wanted Toby to have this apprenticeship. Herr Goldschmidt must be paid, or your brother will have no future. We owned nothing else of enough value.”
I tried to pull away, but she grabbed my hand and held onto it with strength that surprised me. “It is for the best. The viola will not help you get a husband. And we must all make sacrifices.” She squeezed my hand before letting it go and resting both of hers on her bulging belly. She looked down with a soft smile. The infant inside seemed to sense her attention and shifted beneath her hands. When she looked up again, there was just a hint of happy tears in her eyes.
Mama was right. It was selfish of me to stand in the way of Toby’s advancement. Toby, who would need a lucrative trade if he ever hoped to marry and have a family of his own. Toby, who was still so young I could not imagine him living somewhere else, let alone working long hours each day.
Yet I knew I would never quite forgive her for it. Because no matter what she said, practical as it was and effective at solving our most immediate difficulties, it proved to me that she did not understand how I felt about playing the viola. She had never understood that, and therefore she could have no knowledge of who I truly was. Only Papa knew how important it was to me to make music, and Papa was gone.
Although at first I felt only anger, I soon realized that her actions, insensitive as they were, freed me in a way. I need no longer feel guilty about pursuing my own plans, no matter how much they interfered with what ever schemes she concocted for me.
“Yes, of course, Mama,” I forced myself to
I forced myself not to sound as cross as I felt. She could not know everything I did. “My godfather has every intention of being as helpful as he is able. And I don’t think that getting me married would solve our difficulties. Anyway, I went to visit Uncle Theobald.” I took hold of her hands. “I did not see him, but I saw enough to believe he will not take kindly to being asked for money. He’s a very great man now.”
A little of the fire of shrewdness she always possessed lit my mother’s eyes. “All the more reason for him to help us. He is still my brother. What’s necessary is simply that we find someone suitable for you. Greta has asked the matchmaker to come to visit me. I expect her tomorrow morning.”
“But, Mama—”
“Greta said you’d been willful while I have been ill. It’s unbecoming.” She reached out her hand to stroke the side of my face. She smiled, softening the reproach in her words. “You must return to your needlework and be a good girl. No man wants a wife who cannot keep house and is disobedient.”
I knew my mother did not mean what she said unkindly. We were her principal concern in life, and she’d never done anything to harm us. But I seethed at Greta’s treachery. How could she tell my mother such tales! If it were not for me, we might be unable to continue as we were, even for a little while. I was about to inform Mama of everything, of Haydn’s agreement to hire me as an assistant so that we could still receive our money from the prince, when Greta walked in.
“Herr Goldschmidt sent his lad with this.”
She handed Mama a piece of paper, folded but not sealed. Mama opened it and read. “Thank you, Greta,” Mama said, nodding in a way that sent the cook reluctantly out of the room. “You see, Liebchen, all is arranged. You must not take it too badly. I only did it because I knew it was for the best.” She gave the paper to me.
I read it through three times before I allowed myself to believe what it said. Mama had sold him my viola! “How could you?” I asked. “The viola belonged to me!”
“It was your father’s, and he wanted Toby to have this apprenticeship. Herr Goldschmidt must be paid, or your brother will have no future. We owned nothing else of enough value.”
I tried to pull away, but she grabbed my hand and held onto it with strength that surprised me. “It is for the best. The viola will not help you get a husband. And we must all make sacrifices.” She squeezed my hand before letting it go and resting both of hers on her bulging belly. She looked down with a soft smile. The infant inside seemed to sense her attention and shifted beneath her hands. When she looked up again, there was just a hint of happy tears in her eyes.
Mama was right. It was selfish of me to stand in the way of Toby’s advancement. Toby, who would need a lucrative trade if he ever hoped to marry and have a family of his own. Toby, who was still so young I could not imagine him living somewhere else, let alone working long hours each day.
Yet I knew I would never quite forgive her for it. Because no matter what she said, practical as it was and effective at solving our most immediate difficulties, it proved to me that she did not understand how I felt about playing the viola. She had never understood that, and therefore she could have no knowledge of who I truly was. Only Papa knew how important it was to me to make music, and Papa was gone.
Although at first I felt only anger, I soon realized that her actions, insensitive as they were, freed me in a way. I need no longer feel guilty about pursuing my own plans, no matter how much they interfered with what ever schemes she concocted for me.
“Yes, of course, Mama,” I forced myself to
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