4

Good-bye!

Nannerl woke up and shivered. She kneeled on her bed to look out the window at the dark morning, and saw mist hovering around the street lamps and the fountain in the square below. The women wouldn’t come to draw water for another few hours. Everyone was still sleeping. Only the grandfather clock in the hall clicked into the silence. Nannerl crept out of bed to check the time—two o’clock. They would be leaving in an hour and a half.

She tiptoed to the kitchen, feeling the cold floor on her bare feet. She would make breakfast and surprise Mama. She lay out the sticks for the fire, feeling a clutch at the bottom of her stomach when she thought of leaving Salzburg for…for what? All the people and places seemed blank as the morning and the mist. She tried not to think about Katherl as she put out the hard bread and cheese, turned the handle of the coffee grinder, and listened to the crunch of the coffee beans. The violins in her head wouldn’t wake up and play her symphony tune. She heard the click of her mother’s shoes instead.

“Nannerl, you’ll catch a cold with your bare feet on this floor. Go and change, then wake your brother and come back for breakfast.”

“But I’m not hungry,” protested Nannerl.

“You’ll eat your breakfast just the same,” said Mama as she took over the grinding. “I’ll not hear a single growling stomach until Munich.”

“Yes, Mama,” Nannerl said as she ran to her room. Wolfi was still asleep with his quilt kicked off, curled up like a puppy. Nannerl sat down on his bed and ran her fingers through his curls. “Wake up,” she whispered. “Wolfi, wake up. Hurry and get ready! We’re leaving soon!”

Wolfi rubbed his eyes. “Bimberl!” he said. “Who will take care of Bimberl?”

“Oh, Wolfi. Don’t you remember? Herr Hagenauer of course!”

Nannerl picked up the corset that was lying across her trunk and began to pull it on. She turned her back to Wolfi so that he could lace it up. “Ouch! Not so tight! I’d like to see you wear a corset!”

“No, thanks,” said Wolfi, picking up Salome Musch from under his quilt and hopping out of bed. Two days ago, Nannerl had given Salome to Wolfi, and now the old doll slept on his bed. “I hope there’s enough room for Salome Musch.”

Nannerl looked at the tiny cracks around the edges of Salome Musch’s mouth. She remembered the horrible day the doll had gone missing. It had been a week before Bimberl had found her behind some flowers in the backyard garden during a game of lawn bowling. Nannerl reached for the doll. “Maybe I should take care of Salome for a while, just until we’re safely on our way. So she doesn’t get hurt.”

“Wolfi! Nannerl! Come and get your breakfast, before the coffee gets cold!” called Mama.

Bimberl met them in the hall and trotted after them to the kitchen with her tongue hanging out.

“Mama, poor Bimberl is hungry,” said Nannerl as she and Wolfi entered the kitchen.

“Herr Hagenauer will have food for her, I’m sure,” said Papa. “Now sit down and eat, children. We must depart at precisely three-thirty if we are to arrive in Munich by nightfall.” He inspected his travel schedule. While Mama packed the lunch, Nannerl passed a few tidbits of cheese and bread down to Bimberl.

After breakfast, Wolfi and Nannerl watched the hired driver load the trunks into the boxes on either side of the carriage. They shivered in their gray travel capes as Papa and Herr Hagenauer went over the final arrangements, talking in low voices about money. She waited until they were finished, trying to get up enough courage to ask Herr Hagenauer about Katherl. “Excuse me, Herr Hagenauer,” said Nannerl. “But do you think my friend Katherl could send letters with yours? She could give them to you at Mass and—”

“Nannerl,” interrupted Papa, “we musn’t inconvenience Herr Hagenauer.”

“No problem, my dear girl, no problem at all,” said Herr Hagenauer. “Katherl’s the one with the long dress, yes?”

“Yes,” said Wolfi, tripping over his own feet in an imitation of Katherl.

The University Church clock struck the half hour. It was three-thirty. “Come along children, we really must leave now,” said Papa.

Bimberl began to jump up and down and bark, licking Nannerl and Wolfi’s legs. They got to their knees, kissed her, and stroked her fur. “Good-bye, dear Bimberl,” said Nannerl.

“Wolfi! Nannerl!” Mama called.

They walked slowly to the carriage. Bimberl whined and turned in circles. Nannerl tried not to feel the ache as she climbed inside. Then Sebastian closed the door, the driver gave the horses a whip, and they started down the street, away from the square. Nannerl pressed her nose against the window and waved at Bimberl and Herr Hagenauer, at their building with its rows of windows, at the tip of the University Church peeking up from behind. The carriage turned the corner.

Wolfi snuggled down against Mama’s shoulder and began to sleep. Nannerl sat up straight; she realized that she was clutching Salome Musch so tight that her hands hurt. She looked around, hoping no one would see her holding a doll as if she were a little girl. But everyone was sleeping except Papa, who probably wouldn’t notice anyway.

Salzburg was turning blue. Good-bye, town square, with your musicians and your marionettes and your people selling sausages! Good-bye, fortress way up high on the hill! The horses clopped over the bridge. Nannerl craned her neck to look back at the mountains, giant black shapes in the blue light. She memorized how the spires of the nunnery and the Franciscan Church poked the sky. Then she leaned back in her seat as the carriage strained up a steep hill. Good-bye, Katherl! Good-bye, Bimberl! Nannerl squeezed Salome Musch until the buildings and cobblestone streets turned to waving fields, the faint pink light of day crept around the edge of the sky, the birds woke up chattering, and the horses’ hooves clopped in her dreams.