I swept the last of the salt into the dustpan and tossed it into the fire. Even in the midst of my own family I was easily forgotten.
“Here, I’ll take that.” Mother took the broom and dustpan from my hands. “Heaven knows where else that old witch got to before we stopped her.” She shook her head. “Salt, pah.”
I shrugged, picked up a damp rag, and wiped down the countertops. “Constanze has her beliefs.” I was overcome by a sudden stab of misgiving. Salt was an old superstition, and I was not usually one to gainsay superstition, but I had just broken faith with my grandmother.
Mind how you choose.
“Well, she’s welcome to them on days when a famous violin master is not here,” Mother said. She nodded to the countertops. “Once you’re finished in here, go find your brother and make sure he’s ready for tonight.”
She left the kitchen, grumbling as she went. “Salt. Honestly.”
As I finished cleaning the kitchen, I tripped over something on the floor. Papa’s violin case. It lay open on the flagstones, empty of its instrument, but littered with a handful of silver Groschen in its place.
It seemed as though I was not the only one to pay a visit to Herr Kassl today.
I shut the case, took the money, and put both away in a safe place.
* * *
For a moment, I considered chasing after Käthe instead of Josef. Ignoring Constanze’s warnings had unsettled me more than I cared to admit, and the guilt scratched at me from within. I frowned. There was something I could not remember, but the more I grasped at it, the more it slipped away. Then I shook my head. No, it was not a time for childish fancies. I set my concerns about my sister aside and went in search of my brother instead.
He was in none of the usual places: his bedroom, the footpaths in the woods, the Goblin Grove. Dusk was falling and Josef was nowhere to be found. I returned from the forest, tearing at my hair in frustration.
A hand reached out to grab my wrist as I made my way up the stairs. “Liesl.”
I jumped. It was Josef, hiding beneath the stairwell. All that was visible was the reflected shine of his eyes, a wolf’s in the dark.
“Sepperl!” I said. “What are you doing?”
I came down around the stairs and crouched before him. The shadows carved Josef’s face into hard planes and angles, sharp cheekbones and pointed chin.
“Liesl,” he said in anguished tones. “I can’t do this.”
Word of the old violin master’s arrival had spread like wildfire throughout the village. Josef would have an enormous audience for his audition tonight. I minded my brother’s fear of strangers.
“Oh, Sepp,” I said. Slowly, gently, as though I were coaxing a baby bird from its nest, I took my brother by the hand and led him down the hall to his room.
His quarters were in complete disarray. Josef’s clothes were strewn about, and someone—perhaps Papa—had brought down a trunk from the attic. His violin case lay open on the bed beside him, the instrument still nestled in its velvet lining. By the looks of it, he hadn’t played it all day.
“I can’t audition for Master Antonius, Liesl. I just can’t.”
I said nothing, only opened my arms to hug him close. My brother felt slight and frail in my arms. We were both small and bird-boned, but I was hale and full of life where my brother was delicate. As a babe he had been taken with scarlatina worse than either Käthe or me, and he had been prone to fevers and agues ever since.
“I’m scared, Liesl,” he whispered.
“Shh,” I soothed, stroking his hair. “You’ll be marvelous.”
“It should be you, Liesl,” he said. “It should you before Master Antonius. Not me.”
“Shush,” I said. “You are the virtuoso. Not me.” It was true. While Papa had taught us all to play the violin, it was Josef whose playing sparkled with brilliance. I was a composer, not a performer.
“Yes, but you are the genius,” he said. “You are the creator; I’m just an interpreter.”
Tears started in my eyes. My brother told me my music was worth something every day of his life, but it still hurt to hear him say it.
“Don’t hide away,” he pleaded. “You deserve to be heard. The world needs to hear your music. You can’t be so selfish as to keep it to yourself.”
Oh but I could, but it was not out of selfishness; it was shame. I was untrained, untaught, untalented. It was easier—safer—to hide behind Josef. My brother could prune my wild imaginings into a beautiful garden, smooth their rough edges, and present a work of art to the world.
“But I wouldn’t keep it to myself,” I said softly. “You would play my music for me.”
That was how it had always been. Josef was my amanuensis; through him I could play the music I heard in my soul. I was the violin, he was the bow. We were the left and right hands of a single fortepianist, meant to be played together and not apart. I wrote the music; Josef played it for the world. This was how it would always be.
He shook his head. “No. No.”
Anger flared through me, anger and frustration and jealousy. Josef could have it all, all we had ever wanted, if he would only take the chance. And he had the chance, something I would never have. Could never have.
Sensing my shift in mood, my brother turned to hug me harder. “Oh, Liesl, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said into my shoulder. “I’m a terrible person. I know I’m being selfish.”