Freya believed she had done well in her chair-placement audition. Not exceptionally well, to her way of thinking, but precise and hopefully well enough. The panel of three who heard her play were stone-faced until the very end of her etude when one closed his eyes with a small smile. That seemed to be a good sign. She might have felt better about her performance if Eliza’s face hadn’t looked a little too triumphant when she returned from her audition.
The rehearsal was coming to a close after many hours of playing, replaying, and going over smaller sections again and again. Freya wasn’t sure she could perform one more thing. After the last student had returned from their audition and the whole orchestra had had a fifteen-minute break, Frau Uberdiche stood again on the conductor’s platform. The room fell silent.
“We will start by announcing our first-chair violinist. This is our most important chair by tradition. He or she will ensure that the beginning notes are played to keep everyone in tune.” She unfolded a sheaf of paper. “Our first-chair violinist for this week and all our performances over the weekend will be . . . Freya Winter.”
Gertie grinned. “I knew it would be you.”
Everyone clapped. Some faces were sad, but most were encouraging. Freya made her way over to the first-violinist seat. When she got there, Eliza was still sitting. She looked surprised more than anything. But she didn’t move.
Frau Uberdiche raised an eyebrow. “Eliza. You will hear your chair placement in just a moment. If you could please vacate the first violinist spot, then we can get on with placing all the other orchestra members here who are waiting.” She waved a hand to indicate the filled room.
Eliza nodded, and then she stood. Her lip quivered, but she backed away, her music and instrument in hand.
“The second chair goes to Eliza.”
She nodded, then sat back down next to Freya. She put her music back on the stand they would both share and kept her eyes straight ahead.
Once Frau Uberdiche had called out all the new seats, she placed her papers on the stand in front of her and took a moment to look at each student. “Next time I will post the results on Monday. Come in Monday and sit in your appropriate places ready to work.” She nodded. “Finally, let us continue.”
Freya bit back a groan. At the very moment she thought she couldn’t play another note, they were to continue? Determined, she bit the inside of her cheek. Wasn’t this why she’d come, to be pushed further than she ever had before?
They worked through their music, all the while Eliza refusing to look at her. When they were at last dismissed, she turned to Freya and held out a hand. “Congratulations. Enjoy this week in first chair.”
“Thank you.”
“Because it’s not going to happen again.”
Freya’s mouth fell open. All thought left her, and she wanted desperately to say something clever, but nothing came to mind, not one thing, until Eliza had walked out and likely was out of hearing.
“Oh, she’s terrible.” Freya lifted her case. She would just have to practice more and harder, even when she travelled to her grandmother’s, even on the train. Perhaps she could play during the dinner hour for the guests and then practice in her own compartment. She would have to figure something out.
She met up with Gertie, and they moved to take lunch with the other students. They sat family style at smaller tables for all their meals, which Freya had been pleased to discover meant that the food came in serving bowls which were passed around at each table, shared between the table mates.
“Your turn to get the meal.” Henry grinned at Freya when she arrived.
“Oh, right.” Freya went to the serving counter and picked up two large serving bowls. Eliza walked by, bumping her shoulder enough that Freya almost dropped the food.
“Careful now.” Eliza smirked and kept walking.
Freya returned for the water pitcher and the bread, trying to shake off Eliza’s attitude, but her hands trembled. She’d feel better when she told Gertie. They could laugh or make light of it or something. But when she returned to the table, Gertie wasn’t there.
“Where’s Gertie?”
“The Maestro sent for her.”
“During lunch?”
“Yeah, I guess he’s not having enough time to get to everyone, so he’s started using mealtimes.”
“Does the man not eat meals himself?” Tobias put a forkful of potatoes in his mouth.
“I don’t know.” Frank shook his head. “Well of course he eats, just not with us. Maybe he eats later.”
“Have any of the rest of you met with him?” A drop of worry festered in Freya’s chest.
She knew Frank had, but when Henry and Tobias both raised their hands and Daphne as well, Freya started to feel a bit betrayed. By what, she had no idea, but how was it that she was overlooked? Every time? “All of you?”
She attempted to question them about their experience, but when it became clear no one wanted to talk about it, she didn’t press them for details. Well, at least Gertie would tell her everything. But Gertie did not return during lunch or for their classes after.
By the time Freya saw Gertie again, it was nearly time for bed. Freya had spent an hour in the practice rooms, and she was putting her violin away when Gertie plodded into the room.
“You’re back! Finally. What kept you?” Freya stepped forward.
But Gertie looked away and then shrugged. “I don’t know really. We played together, and he asked to hear me, and then we just . . . talked.” She avoided looking at Freya and left to wash up.
Every second she was gone felt like a year of expectation. They had talked? What about? Had she learned any helpful tips? Freya had been nearly boiling over with curiosity, and now Gertie seemed reluctant to share.
Freya crossed her arms. When Gertie came back into the room, Freya couldn’t be held responsible any longer for her expression.
“What?” Gertie moved to the other side of the room, preparing for bed.
“We have been looking forward to working with the Maestro since before we even came here. You finally get to meet him. You spend all of lunch and the afternoon with him, and you’re not saying anything.”
“I . . . um . . . I’m not sure what you want to know.”
“What I want to know? Everything! I want to know every little thing. What does he look like? What did he tell you? Does he like how you play? What were his pointers? Even what he smells like. I’ve been fascinated with the Maestro since I started playing his music over a year ago.”
And then, instead of sitting on her bed and spilling all the details, Gertie shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”
“So that’s how it’s going to be? You’re going to keep all the details to yourself?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but no, I don’t have much else to say about the Maestro.” Her face pinched, and she looked away.
And then Freya’s heart went out to her. She rushed to her side. “Oh no, are you unhappy? Was it a difficult meeting?”
Gertie turned farther away.
“We don’t have to talk about the Maestro, but we can talk about you. Are you well?”
“I’m—I’m well. It’s difficult to meet with the Maestro. Ask anyone. I thought I was good at trills . . . before.” She turned from Freya and fell onto her bed. “Just ignore me. I’ll feel better in the morning.” She looked like she might fall asleep right there, but then she lifted her head. “I wasn’t with him this whole time. I went to a practice room. I had to work on everything he mentioned.”
“Did he . . . did he like anything?”
Gertie sniffed. “Yes. He did.” She put her head back down on her pillow. “Maybe I’ll want to talk more tomorrow.”
Freya had to respect that. She lifted her own covers and slipped in, put her head on her pillow, and tried to find the exhaustion she knew was hovering near her consciousness. But her eyes were wide open. The room felt awkward and unpleasant, and her very blood seemed to pound with curiosity.
Frank had said similar things. Was the Maestro an unpleasant sort of person? Could she trust his guidance when it was her turn?
She nodded her head in the dark to herself. Yes. She could trust him. His compositions were brilliant. At the very least, he was more proficient than she. She rolled over onto her side. Tomorrow, she’d play duets with Gertie. She’d hear the trills herself. And perhaps in a week’s time, her friend would feel more comfortable sharing what weighed her down the most. Frank had said it took a few days for the critiques to sink in, and then they actually helped his playing.
Gertie was currently fifth-chair violin. She seemed to be well respected, and if Freya were to guess, she had a decent chance at working her way up to a spot in the Salzburg Orchestra.
Hours seemed to go by before Freya was able to drift off to sleep. She dreamed of Erich. And when she awoke, the cloud of melancholy still hovered in her room. No train this weekend meant days full of performances, which she loved, but no Erich.
Gertie seemed only marginally improved after a night’s sleep. Freya did not mention the Maestro. They moved about their morning in a veiled silence, which only added to Freya’s own dampened mood.
The week continued with more of the same from Gertie. She’d also taken to talking about her lost love. Every second of every day that used to be filled with laughter and fun conversation was now limited to pining over her lord. Her friend needed a confidence nudge.
Once class was over on Wednesday, they had no more rehearsals, just a weekend full of performances. As soon as they returned to their room, Freya pulled out her violin. “Let’s play.”
“What? We have been playing. All day we play.”
“Right, so now let’s just play something fun.”
Frank’s appearance in the doorway made them both jump. “Yes. I’ve brought mine.” Before they could invite him in, he pulled a chair over, sat with his cello in front of him, and lifted his bow.
Freya played a long chord. “Come on, Gertie. Let’s play all the silly folk-dance tunes we know.”
Gertie watched them for a moment, and then her face softened. “That sounds like fun.”
They began a fast-paced number. Gertie played melody. Frank took much of the bassline and became a sort of percussion, and Freya had fun with the harmonies, playing in and out of the melody, rising and lowering on the scale, jumping with her notes to add a little fun, teasing and dancing on her bow through the song.
Soon, they had a crowd in their doorway. Freya waved them in. To her surprise, they started dancing. A couple paired up and jumped around the corridor in a sort of country waltz. Others formed a square, spreading out into the hall. She inched over to see more out the doorway. Two lines of dancers had formed in the corridor in some kind of reel. Freya laughed. “We’ve created our own ball.”
Gertie smiled. “Excellent.” She kept playing, her own body swaying to the music, and Freya winked at Frank.
They kept going until past the quiet hour, but no one complained. Finally, Freya shook her head, and Gertie moved to sit. Everyone cheered. Frank stood and bowed.
With a laugh, Gertie and Freya joined him. Then Frau Uberdiche stepped in their doorway. “That was lovely, but it’s far past curfew. Off to bed with you.”
Everyone hurried out of their room and cleared the hall until only Frank stood in the doorway. “That was excellent.” He nodded to Freya. “I’m interested in our first talk of orchestra and sharing compositions. Perhaps in London when we all return?”
“Perhaps. Or even here in Salzburg or Paris?” Freya was loathe to return to London. The only thing London held for her was a domineering father and a life devoid of music.
He grinned. “That was the most fun I’ve had playing in ages.” He looked to Gertie. Her returning smile seemed full and without a care. At last. Perhaps their jovial friend had once again found her humor.
“Would both of you enjoy a tour of Salzburg tomorrow? We have most of the morning and early afternoon free.”
Freya looked at Gertie, who smiled. “Oh yes. And Freya hasn’t seen it yet.”
“Excellent. We’ll be ready. The group is leaving right after breakfast.”
With that happy news, Frank bid them good night and then bid the same to the uncharacteristically patient Frau Uberdiche, who was undoubtedly waiting to shoo him back to the men’s side of the boarding house. They could mingle at will until curfew, and as she had reminded them, curfew had come and gone.
This night’s rest would be much better than the last. Even though Freya would be missing Erich this weekend, she was looking forward to seeing Salzburg, a place she’d always dreamed of calling home.