5

An Organ and a Broken Wheel

Nannerl woke to a huge thump. She rubbed her eyes and saw that the carriage wasn’t moving, and that everyone but Wolfi and she was outside on their knees, inspecting something. She shook Wolfi awake and hurried out. Papa was scowling. Mama’s lips were tight, her arms crossed. Nannerl looked under the carriage—the back wheel lay in pieces.

“Thank God we’ve got fine weather,” said Sebastian, trying to sound optimistic and looking up at the sky.

Papa consulted the map. “At least we’ve crossed into Bavaria. I’d say we’re two hours outside the town of Wasserburg,” he said. “It’s the next town between here and Munich. Over that hill is a mill. Perhaps they will help us. Sebastian and I will walk over and see what can be done. Wolfi and Nannerl, stay out of your mama’s way.”

While Wolfi begged Mama to help him find his violin in the carriage box, Nannerl searched through the ditch for wild June roses. When she found a few, she spread her cape on the grass and sat on it. She loved the sun on her hair and the way the clouds looked like pieces of wool before spinning. The buzz of bees mingled with the sound of Wolfi’s violin. Nannerl sighed. If only she could really play, too.

Sometimes she’d sneaked Wolfi’s violin to try it out—but Papa had never taught her. Girls didn’t play the violin or the organ. She had asked Papa why. “Nannerl,” he’d said, “you are a very lucky girl to be able to learn the clavier and to sing. That is enough, and you should be grateful. You have no need of the violin or the organ; they are only necessary if one is to have a job as the director of music in a court or church. And those are jobs for men…your job is to find a husband!”

She pulled out a few blades of grass and tore them up. Sometimes Papa just didn’t make sense. Someday, maybe, years and years in the future, she might want a husband. But why should that keep her from learning the violin right now? It would be so much easier to write for an instrument that she could play. But then, she wasn’t really supposed to compose either, except for those tiresome exercises Papa always gave her.

Papa and Sebastian and two men from the mill returned with a wheel. “It looks a little small and the hub is long, but we can try,” said one of the men. Nannerl got up and watched as they cut down a small tree to hold the wheel in place, then fit it on and attached the iron hoop from the other wheel under the carriage box.

“I believe we’re ready to go,” said Papa, wiping sweat and dust from his forehead with a handkerchief. “About time!” He looked at his pocket watch. “We’ve wasted almost an hour on this road. We won’t make it to Munich tonight. We’ll have to stay over in Wasserburg. Children, you and Mama will travel by carriage. Sebastian and I will walk the rest of the way to Wasserburg. We don’t want to add extra weight or that wheel will break.”

Nannerl got in behind Wolfi and Mama. They all waved to Papa and Sebastian, who plodded after them down the dusty road. Nannerl wrote in her diary about the broken wheel, and it didn’t seem long before she looked up and saw the big square church tower above the buildings of the town. They were like Salzburg buildings—high and narrow and pressed together, as if they were rubbing shoulders, looking out over the bridge and the river and the boats.

“Is it Wasserburg?” asked Wolfi, who had been singing and writing music.

“Yes, and thanks to God we’ve made it without another breakdown. The driver will take us straight to the smith to fix our wheel,” answered Mama. “Look, there’s the inn!”

When they reached the blacksmith’s, Wolfi hopped out of the carriage.

“C’mon Nannerl, I’ll race you to the inn!” he said and ran off. Nannerl tried to catch him, but he got there before her. When she walked into the dim front room, out of breath, Wolfi was already asking the innkeeper for a room.

“And just who are you, little man?” asked the innkeeper, laughing.

“I’m Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and this is my sister, Nannerl,” answered Wolfi in his most dignified voice.

“The Mozart children! I’ve read all about you in the papers! And where are your parents?”

“Oh, they’re coming soon,” answered Nannerl. “Maybe we can find a room and surprise Mama.”

“Follow me,” said the innkeeper, and led them up a dusty stairwell to a tiny, hot room. He opened the window. “See, you have a view of the church across the street.”

Nannerl and Wolfi ran to the window and stuck their heads out, looking at the huge church with its massive square tower. Mama and the driver walked slowly up the street toward the inn.

“Mama!” called Wolfi, and they looked up.

“So that’s where you children are!” said Mama. “We thought you had been kidnapped! And you got us a room, all by yourselves!” Nannerl was glad that Mama wasn’t angry. She felt in the pocket of her cape for the diary, and began to finish the entry she had started in the carriage, dated June 9, 1763.

…and then Papa came from the mill with another wheel for the carrij. They—

“You spelled carriage wrong,” said Wolfi, looking over her shoulder. “It’s spelled c - a - r - r - i - a - g - e.”

Nannerl blushed and snapped the book shut. Only Wolfi got spelling and grammar lessons from Papa. “How dare you read my diary? You’re always snooping around in everything that’s mine!” she said. She looked out the window, feeling hot and tired. Two familiar figures walked down the far end of the street.

“Papa! Sebastian!” cried Nannerl. She turned to Mama. “May I run down to meet them?”

“Yes, but don’t trip over the stairs,” Mama warned from the bed where she was resting. But Nannerl was already racing down the stairs with Wolfi at her heels. She wanted to be the first to greet Papa. Maybe he would pick her up, the way he used to when she was little. She ran across the square, dodging bakers and children, dogs and wagons. She noticed Wolfi’s curls flying a few feet in front of her. If only she didn’t have this dress and this corset! They kept getting in the way. Her legs hurt from running so fast. She looked ahead and saw that Wolfi was already in Papa’s arms. She slowed down.

“That was a snail’s journey,” Papa was saying as Nannerl caught up.

“Papa, can you explore the church with us, please, please, please?” begged Wolfi.

“We must see the smith and the cartwright first,” said Papa, putting Wolfi down and taking his hand. “Then we will explore the church.”

Nannerl followed them to the smith’s shop, out of breath. Her dress felt tight and all the layers stuck to her skin. She wished she was home in her room, with Katherl.

Finally, Papa was ready to see the church. The doors creaked as they let themselves in. The dark, musty air felt cool on Nannerl’s skin as they walked slowly down the aisle. They looked up and back to the balcony. The organ! Streams of dusty light came in through the stained glass and fell on the row of huge, gleaming pipes.

“Papa, I’ve never played an organ!” Wolfi was jumping up and down. “Could I play it, please, please, please, Papa?”

The priest walked toward them down the long aisle, twisting his hands and frowning.

“Good afternoon, Father,” said Papa. “We were just looking at your beautiful organ. I am Leopold Mozart, and these are my children, Wolfgang and Nannerl.”

The priest’s frown turned to a smile as he looked at Wolfi. “You are the Wunderkind, Wolfgang Amadeus, from Salzburg?”

“Of course,” said Wolfi. “May I try playing your organ please? I’ve never played an organ before.”

“Certainly,” said the priest, and led them up the creaky back stairs to the balcony. When they reached the organ loft, Papa began to show Wolfi how to use the pedal. Nannerl peered over Papa’s shoulder and watched closely as his foot pressed gently on one of the wooden pieces sticking out from the bottom of the huge instrument. “You put your foot down like this to make the sound,” he started to explain, but Wolfi was already pushing away the stool and trying the keys. The sound thundered into every corner of the great church.

Nannerl studied Wolfi’s hands as they worked the keys and pushed and pulled at the stops. She watched his feet dance over the pedals. Then she closed her eyes and let it all wash over her, like the huge waves she imagined crashed against the shores of the Baltic Sea. Finally she opened her eyes and saw Wolfi’s curls bobbing barely above the second row of keys.

When he stopped playing Nannerl could still feel the vibrations in the banister of the balcony. Papa and the priest crowded around Wolfi in silence, their eyes wide.

Papa finally spoke. “This is indeed a fresh act of God’s grace,” he sputtered, with his hands on Wolfi’s head. “Anyone else would take months of practice to play the organ with such skill.” They all started to talk at once and walked from the organ loft with Wolfi.

Nannerl hung back, staring at the organ. Her fingers ached to reach out and fill the church with music. She brushed one key with her fingertip. She wanted to sit and play for as long as she wished, with no one around to stop her or say it wasn’t proper. She touched another key. Then she had an idea. She fiddled with it for a while, stroking the back of her hand up and down the keys, lightly, so they wouldn’t make a sound. Her heart thumped in her ears.

It was still thumping late that night as she lay in bed beside Wolfi, watching the moonlight fall in pools on the quilt. She had been tossing and turning for hours. The family had gone to bed early, in hopes of getting a good start in the morning if the carriage was ready. Nannerl turned again. Should she follow her plan? She kept hearing two notes. One was sweet as birdsong. The other had something steely about it, an organ sound. The two notes clashed and Nannerl shoved her head under the pillow, not knowing which one to hear. Then the organ sound took over, and she suddenly knew what she had to do.

She quietly got out of bed. That part was easy. She was used to creeping around without waking anyone. She pulled on her dress and cape and tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs, holding Salome Musch tight to her chest.

Bright moonlight lit the quiet street. Nannerl slowly crossed the cobblestones, opened the church door just a crack and slipped inside. Shivers crisscrossed her skin as she climbed the dark balcony steps. Maybe the ghost of St. Paul hid in the corners, shaking a bony finger at her! He would surely disapprove of her sneaking around the church at night like a thief ! What if the priest caught her? Then the huge organ pipes rose high above her and Nannerl forgot about ghosts. She propped Salome Musch on a little shelf of the organ, pushed the stool away as Wolfi had done, and began to play.

After a while it seemed as if she had always done this. It was like eating an apple or threading a needle. The great sound filled her head, spilled out of her ears, and mixed with the moonlight all around her. She forgot about tight corsets and Papa’s squirmy smile and misspelled words. She pulled out all the stops, listened to the music rumble through the church.

Something made her stop. Silence filled her ears, broken suddenly by a creak. She turned and saw the priest at the far end of the church. She wanted to bolt but her feet felt stuck to the floor. Now she would catch it. Surely the priest would tell Papa about her disobedience—and who knows what the punishment would be. She shouldn’t ever have left the moonlit room and the safe sound of Wolfi’s steady breathing.

The priest started walking down the aisle toward her! She forced herself to her feet and ran as fast as she could—down, down, down the steps. She pushed at the door. It wouldn’t budge. She couldn’t let the priest see her! She pushed again, this time throwing her weight against it. She stumbled onto the street and ran across it and up the steps of the inn. She stood outside their room for a minute, her heart pounding, and suddenly she didn’t care about the priest or Papa. The feel of the keys under her fingers and the pedals under her feet had made up for any punishment she would get. She opened the door, took off her dress and cape, and lay down beside Wolfi. Her heart slowed down, and before she knew it, Nannerl was asleep.

Papa frowned as he met them the next day on the steps of the blacksmith shop. “Now they’re fixing the other wheel,” he said irritably. “Who knows what the cost of all this will be, since I must provide for the driver and the horses as long as we are here and until we get to Munich. I must write Herr Hagenauer for more money.”

As they walked back to the inn, the priest walked toward them importantly, holding something in his hand. As he came closer, Nannerl saw that it was Salome Musch. She felt her stomach turn over. How could she have forgotten Salome?

Now the priest would tell everything and she would be found out. Papa would be furious, Mama’s lips would tighten and Wolfi would smirk a little, as if she were some grand joke. She kicked the toe of her shoe into a crack between two cobblestones. She wanted to run away.

“Good morning, Father,” said Papa.

“Good morning, Herr Mozart, Frau Mozart,” said the priest. He turned to Wolfi and smiled, then held the doll out in front of him. Nannerl sucked in her breath and then looked down, clenching a bit of skirt in her fist. “I want to thank you for last night’s concert,” he said to Wolfi with a wink. “It was most splendid. I think you forgot something.” He handed Salome over to Wolfi, who stared at the priest as if he were crazy.

Nannerl let out a long breath of relief. Mama and Papa just smiled and nodded.

“Say thank you, Wolfgang,” whispered Mama, pushing him toward the priest.

“Thank you,” said Wolfi, looking puzzled. Nannerl smiled. She couldn’t believe her luck.

“You are most welcome. Good day,” said the priest, and with a little bow, walked away down the street.

“But I didn’t have Salome Musch yesterday afternoon,” said Wolfi, looking at the doll in his hands. “How could I forget something that wasn’t even there?”

Nannerl felt her heart thumping again. She couldn’t lie. But what could she say to make Wolfi stop asking questions?

“I had Salome. I must have forgotten her on a shelf of the organ. I’m sorry, Wolfi. From now on it should just be you who takes care of Salome—I’m too old for her anyway,” she said, and skipped ahead to the inn.

After lunch, when everyone else was resting in the room out of the noonday heat, Nannerl got out her diary.

June 10, 1763

Dear Diary,

I will never forget the sound of the great organ, how it washed all over me like a thunderstorm while I played. It was worth all the scariness.

And the priest and Wolfi and Mama and Papa will never know—it’s a secret for the moon and me. I think I’ll put an organ part in my symphony—now that I know more about how it works. Papa says we’ll probably be in Wasserburg for another day, for the other wheel to get fixed. He’s very angry.

Love,

Nannerl