The Kingdom of Back(25)
THE NIGHT FLOWER
The emperor and empress, pleased with us, showered us with gifts. Empress Maria Theresa gave Woferl a dark lilac outfit once worn by a young archduke, lined in gold braids and buttons and cuffs, a beautiful justaucorps over a matching waistcoat. I received a violet taffeta dress embroidered with ripe flowers and soft silver blossoms, adorned with snow-colored lace. Then came gifts of snuffboxes, four of them, along with three hundred ducats, almost a full year of Papa’s salary in the archbishop’s orchestra.
It was more than my father expected. I knew this because he hummed as he packed the gifts away in our luggage, the edges of his eyes crinkled with the possibility of what our future prospects might hold. Mama squeezed my shoulders and gave Woferl and me proud smiles. A year’s salary earned in the span of a day. Papa could buy his new coat. Mama could have a new porcelain set. We could keep respectable company, occupy our space at dinner parties with our heads held high.
When Papa told Woferl and me that we had both done well, Woferl only snorted. “The emperor has no ear for music,” he said. “Papa, he didn’t even hear the string on my violin that was out of tune. He said instead that I play very accurately.”
Papa threw his head back and laughed. “Well, he certainly knows talent when he hears it,” he said, winking. His eyes settled on me. Everything in me brightened at the approval in them. “Isn’t that right, Nannerl? The emperor said you were truly blessed by God.”
Even better than our royal gifts were the frequent mentions of our names on the streets, scattered in conversations, all murmuring about Herr Mozart and his remarkable children. We heard it from every corner as we prepared for our trip home. The gossip kept Papa in high spirits all the way back, despite the snow we encountered.
By the time we arrived home, invitations had poured in. News of our performance in Vienna had already spread throughout Salzburg and beyond. All the nobility of Austria and Germany wanted to keep up with the latest trend, and we were it.
Papa made the arrangements with a resolute face.
“You will exhaust the children,” Mama said to him one evening as she looked over the schedule he had laid out for us.
“The children will not be worth watching forever,” he said. “This is only the beginning, Anna. There is no time to waste. We need to play for the royal courts, for all Europe.” He turned then to look at me and Woferl. “You love the performances, at any rate. Isn’t that true?”
I nodded, because it was true. Beside me, my brother clapped his hands at the thought of traveling beyond Austria’s borders.
My father smiled at Woferl’s reaction. “Miracles from God,” he said. “And so long as they can, it is their duty to perform God’s work.”
Woferl brightened like a star, drinking in Papa’s words hungrily. Miracles from God. I took the words and folded them away carefully, letting the weight of them sit in my chest, savoring the memory of my father’s pleased expression turned in my direction.
This was my worth. Without it, I was simply a child. With it, I would be what Hyacinth promised.
Immortal.
* * *
Several weeks passed. I started to think that perhaps Hyacinth wouldn’t return after all—that there was no task in store to repay him for his help. A part of me was relieved. Another part of me missed him, yearned for the wild song of his voice.
Finally, my wait ended on a cold night in late April. A flurry of snow blanketed our windowsills. Woferl slept soundly beside me, but the cold kept me awake. I rubbed at my toes to warm them, letting my eyes wander around our room before settling on the slit beneath our door. Every night, I half expected to see the light of fireflies again, like we’d seen that night when Hyacinth had first appeared.
“I wonder if it feels like winter in the Kingdom of Back too,” Woferl murmured. I looked down at him, surprised to see him awake. He blinked sleep from his eyes and snuggled closer to me.
“I’m sure it does,” I whispered. “Now, hush.” The late hour and the chilly air had turned me grumpy.
Woferl didn’t seem to care. He sighed and folded his arms over our blanket, then turned his eyes up to the ceiling. “I bet winter in the Kingdom of Back is different from winter in our world, isn’t it?” he said. “I bet it doesn’t feel as cold, and the snow looks prettier.”
“Woferl, please.” I frowned at him. “Do you want Papa to scold you tomorrow for practicing poorly? Go back to sleep.”
“You’re not sleeping.” Woferl grinned. “You always get to make up the stories about the kingdom. This time I’ll make it up, and you can listen.”
I sighed. There would be no quieting him. “Very well, indulge me. Tell me something we don’t know yet about the Kingdom of Back.”
Woferl cleared his throat, then furrowed his brow in concentration. I watched him without saying a word. It was the same expression he made when he performed for an audience. I wondered suddenly if he saw the kingdom as I did, as sheets of music in his mind, an entire world laid out in neat measures and round notes on paper. I wondered if he heard what I heard whenever he played, if we had access to the same secret world.
“In the Kingdom of Back,” he began, “the snow layers the forest in white, like frosting on the cakes at the bakery. And the ocean never freezes over. Its water feels warm even in the winter.”