The next day, they got right to work in their first class. Drills. Scales. Arpeggios. She might have found it tedious since she did similar exercises on her own, but the director started them working on different keys, transposing on sight, and harmonizing with each other.
The more difficult the assignment, the more her smile grew.
And then right before they were to take a break, Frau Uberdiche entered with a bell. “Attention. I need Eliza to come with me, please.” Eliza stood, a flash of worry crossing her face, but then she hid it, lifted her chin, and moved to leave.
“No, miss. You’ll need your instrument. You have been summoned by the Maestro.”
Everyone in the room seemed to freeze. Eliza’s face went white and then flushed with color.
“Excellent,” she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and then reached for her violin. With head high, she followed Frau Uberdiche out of the room.
“Where is she going?” Freya couldn’t believe that somewhere in their very building, the Maestro waited.
“Frank, follow her,” Gertie called over to him in the row behind them.
A laugh carried across the room. With a grin, Frank kept his seat as she expected he would. “Anyone know what he looks like?”
They all guessed like she and Gertie had done last night. Freya plucked at her strings absentmindedly. “How does he pick someone to listen to?”
Someone a few seats down, who Freya hadn’t met yet, answered. “I don’t know. But Eliza said earlier that she knew she was going to meet with him. Perhaps she knows him or something? Or perhaps her instructor set it up?”
“I thought he was from Germany.” Daphne’s voice was just loud enough for Freya to hear from across the room.
“Oh no. The man is either French or English. I’m almost positive.”
Everyone seemed to know something or think something about the Maestro.
Freya was beginning to see that rumors abounded of who and what the Salzburg Maestro was.
The conductor had been tolerant of the delay, but now he held up his baton. Everyone immediately sat at attention, and Freya smiled. She loved the professionality. So rarely had she played with a group at all and certainly never one this large or this qualified. She lifted her instrument, and at the conductor’s lift of the baton, they played.
To Freya it was exquisite. How wonderful to be able to hear the wind instruments and the percussion as well as strings! She knew the conductor would have comments and replays per section and perhaps some work on dynamics, but Freya had never heard anything so fantastic as the sounds that this group made together.
When Eliza walked back into the room, her face was beaming. She tapped another student on the shoulder, and that person grabbed his cello and hefted that larger instrument out of the room, presumably to talk to the Maestro.
Freya wished Eliza were sitting closer to her. Had Eliza just chosen a student at random? Or did the Maestro request certain musicians? Her thoughts would be consumed by expectation and hope until she met him herself.
But time passed, and she wasn’t called back to meet him. Mercifully, her thoughts were frequently distracted as the students prepared three new pieces together. After three full days of lessons, drills, orchestra practice, and private lessons, they were ready for their first concert.
Freya eyed herself in the mirror, satisfied. They had been required to bring concert attire, formal wear, and many specific pieces. Part of the reason her parents had complained about the program was because of the expense, which, again, Freya found unfair. No one would ever accuse the Winters of being on the brink of poverty and ruin. Nevertheless, she humored their ridiculous concerns over cost, and again, Freya had reminded them that it was no more than they’d pay for a new Season’s gowns, and if she were to achieve a spot in the orchestra, if she were able to then train with the Maestro, she could pay for future gowns herself.
The shimmering length of her dress fell to the floor. Her gloves rose to her elbows. Black was not usually her color, but something about the night of a concert brought out extra pink in her cheeks, so she was pleased with the result.
Gertie, too, wore black. Her dress was less sleek and more puffy, but it suited Gertie. As the two stood together, Freya turned to hug her friend. “Are we really about to play a concert for an audience in Salzburg?”
“Yes, I think we are!”
They met the others out in the hall. Frank held his elbows out, and Freya and Gertie each took one arm. “Who has your instrument?”
Frank tipped his head behind him. “Henry agreed to carry it for me.”
Freya looked back. Henry did not look pleased.
“Well, he lost our bet.” Frank’s smile was mysterious.
Gertie laughed. “Do I want to know what bet this was?”
“Probably not.”
Eliza marched past, her nose in the air.
“Goodness, we’re all unhappy about something this evening, aren’t we?” Gertie clucked.
Freya suspected Eliza’s problems had more to do with Frank’s arms being taken than with anything else.
They made their way to the carriages, instruments in hand. Everything about their evening was favorably etched in Freya’s mind, or at least, she hoped it would be.
Nothing could have prepared her for the moment when she stood to face her first audience. The exhilaration that flowed through her, then the wonder and surprise at the grand applause for their playing . . . she would never forget it. They played better than they ever had in rehearsals. And at one point, the conductor had pointed to her to stand. She’d played the next part of the piece as a solo.
The audience had erupted in applause as soon as she’d finished.
Freya had nothing else to compare their evening to, but as far as she could tell, everything went as beautifully as it possibly could have.
In the carriage on their return to the boarding house, her friends were much quieter than they’d been on the ride to the event. When no one would meet her eyes, Freya suspected she was the cause. “What?”
No one answered.
“What? Why won’t anyone look at me?”
Finally, Frank nudged her with his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us you had the solo?”
“I didn’t know! That was as much a surprise to me as anyone.”
“You played that with no notice?” Gertie’s face paled. “You know what that means?” Gertie looked at everyone else in the carriage.
“That Freya is excellent?” Frank shrugged.
“No. Well, yes, she is excellent. But this means that the conductor could call on any one of us at any time to play like Freya did tonight.”
Daphne nodded. “I’m afraid Gertie is correct. I heard from Eliza that the Maestro requested the solo. He wants to see what kind of musicians we are when surprised like that.”
While everyone else seemed to sink into their own fears, Freya sat taller. The Maestro at least knew who she was; he had singled her out with the honor. Surely, he’d call her back, and she would meet him next.
No one said much after that until Freya said, “Does this mean we’re friends again?”
Gertie reached for her hand. “Yes. We always were.”
Freya nodded. But she wasn’t certain how friendly anyone would be with the musician who rose to the top. Was the loss of friendship worth it? It had to be, for she was determined to play nothing less than her best.
* * *
The next morning, Freya found herself on the train once more, carrying much less with her. She needed only her violin and clothing for two days, and then she would be back with her new friends, ready to continue her training. Already she felt that weeks and weeks had gone by in just those few short days. Her letters home remained unanswered as of yet, but since it took some time to receive a letter, hopefully she would receive news of Mama soon.
As difficult as it had been to leave Salzburg, Freya did look forward to time with her grandmother. The woman was delightfully eccentric and always had delectable food.
This time, there was no trepidation about boarding the train. This time, she knew she had her own compartment, but she had no use for it. Paris would be only one day away and not even a full day at that. And this time, she knew what she needed to do. As soon as she boarded the train, she asked for the conductor in the dining car. She’d worked it all out in her mind, and so she pushed forward, even though the real-life version seemed petrifying. But was this moment not part of her test? Did she not wish to be a professional musician? At the first test of her determination, would she waver? No, she would not.
The cars were different and in a different order this trip. Some were even more fine, with gold-gilded edges on the carvings. And some were less opulent. The seats were worn in places, and the rug beneath her feet showed wear. As she approached the dining car, she stood taller, attempting some courage. The man who greeted her seemed kind enough. “May I help you, miss?”
“Miss Winter.” She held out her hand. “Thank you, yes. I am a student of the Student Salzburg Orchestra.”
“That is very impressive.” He dipped his head to her.
“Thank you. I must travel from my school to visit my grandmother twice monthly, and I wonder if during my travels, you would be looking to pay for a musician to entertain your dining car?” She held her breath. She’d never attempted such a thing, made such an offer to anyone. What would her parents say about selling her talent like this as a common performer? She had no way of knowing. Perhaps they would be pleased. At any rate, she forced herself to pretend to be professional.
He considered her a moment. And she thought he was bound to deny her the opportunity. His eyebrows lowered, and he pressed his lips together.
Freya’s shoulders drooped, preparing herself to step away and hide in her compartment when out of the corner of her eye, the handsome man from her last train ride approached.
Her mouth fell open, and she forgot to close it for so many breaths that her tongue went dry. She desperately tried to wet her lips so that she could speak when needed.
He surprised her further by saying, “I can vouch for her. Your guests will be enchanted.”
“Oh, well, if you say so, sir, we shall give her a go, no?” The conductor turned to her. “Show me your music tonight during the dinner hours, and we shall see.”
“Thank you!” She smiled. And then she turned her smiles to the handsome man. But he simply bowed to her and made his way out of the car.
Where was he going? He’d moved so quickly that he was soon no longer in sight. She wanted to groan in frustration for now she must talk to him, to thank him, to find out why he would vouch for her when he had certainly never heard her play.
But the conductor was peppering her with questions, and together they chose music to play. He was interested in the tone and type of music and in how she presented herself. When at last he seemed satisfied that her performance would not embarrass the fine quality of the Orient Express, she was left to herself. Her feet rushed after the intriguing man of their own accord. But he was nowhere to be seen. She passed two cars with nothing but a line of doors to individual compartments and suspected he was merely inside his own space, enjoying privacy. She kept going until she stepped into a car with a glass ceiling. She lifted her chin, her head back, watching the sky float by above her.
All the seats were taken in the car. So she stood at the entrance, watching the mountains above, especially their snow caps and deep purple hues with a smattering of green on the lower edges. She stood for a few minutes more and then made her way back down the train. She’d walked the entire length of the Orient Express, stopping only at the door to a private car. She felt silly for her almost desperate chase after a man who obviously did not wish to be found at the moment.
She wanted to be close to the dining car for when she would play her violin. Earning some money would help her situation in every way. And the very idea that she could perhaps earn her own living someday seemed at once preposterous and freeing all at the same time.
She entered the dining car; it too was filling up. She asked for a chair at a table near the front where the conductor had decided she would play and ordered her own smaller meal. Suddenly, her nerves took over. With shaking hands, she brought wine up to her lips. After three sips, she commanded herself to be calm.
No command to calm herself ever worked as well as she hoped.
As soon as she finished dinner and the conductor stood up to introduce her, she closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to control her breathing. Why could she stand and play with a grand orchestra in a great hall without a problem, but here, with this small car full of people, she felt her nerves fraying?
“We will now hear from someone with a relatively new face in the world of musicians. She comes to us every two weeks here on the Orient Express as a premier violinist from the Student Salzburg Orchestra. Miss Freya Winter.”
They clapped politely, and Freya stood with her violin and bow already in hand.