Free The Musician's Daughter by Susanne Dunlap Page B

Even if they had not killed him, the Gypsies would be more likely to understand the value of a fine instrument than some desperate robber, who was probably looking for coins. It gave me some satisfaction to think that Papa had not yet received his bonus, and would have had little beyond the few Kreutzer he carried for daily expenses. I could leave Toby with the tailor for the price of enough sweets and promise of more, find the same driver at the stand, and use some of the precious money my godfather had given me as bribes if necessary.

    The next day started out exactly as I had planned. Toby was happy enough to get away from Mama’s constant prodding and quizzing him about his letters and sums, and I was so determined to follow the course I had laid out for myself that I didn’t even mind his skipping forward and running back, stopping at vegetable stands and peering into shop windows. Despite growing all in a rush recently, Toby was still small. I couldn’t imagine him working twelve hours a day learning a trade. His delicate hands that did such fine work on the miniature wooden toys he carved would soon be rough and calloused. I had seen the boys in Herr Goldschmidt’s workshop. They all had pale, dirty faces and wheezed a little when they spoke. I expected the wood dust settled in their lungs. If they could make it through, though, they would have a craft that would assure them a decent living. The apprenticeship lasted nine long years. Toby would be a man by the time he was finished. No harm in letting him remain a child for a while longer.
    By the time we had walked out Marienhilferstrasse to Haydn’s apartment, thinking about what lay ahead for Toby had thoroughly chastened me. How could I be so unhappy at the prospect of marrying and keeping a house when my young brother would soon be little better than a slave to the exacting Herr Goldschmidt and suffer beatings if he made mistakes?
    These worries were soon overtaken by others. I walked into the parlor of Haydn’s apartment with a great deal of trepidation. Had my notation the day before been correct? I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
    “My dear, my dear, my dear!” Godfather Haydn said. “You are quite as talented as your father. I thought as much. There wasn’t a wrong note to be found anywhere.”
    I was relieved. But now I would have to work even harder to make sure my accuracy wasn’t just the luck of inexperience. We got right to it, and in an hour I had put down the next two movements of the quartet. The maestro thanked me again, gathered up his cloak, and left just as quickly as he had the day before. I collected Toby from the kitchen. We raced back into town, both breathless by the time we stopped at the tailor’s. I gave Herr Machen the instructions for the clothing that Toby would need, mostly practical coats and shirts and breeches with reinforced knees. I used one of the silver Thaler Haydn had given me to pay for the clothes, and asked if he could get the cobbler to stop in. When the tailor left us alone in his stuffy workshop for a moment while he went to get Herr Schober, the cobbler, I took Toby by the shoulders and made him attend to me.
    “There is something I must do, and no one—least of all Mama—must know about it. I have to leave you here. Do you know the way home?”
    “Yes. It’s not far from here, and I’m not a baby, you know.”
    “Tell me.”
    He sighed impatiently. “I head toward the Hofburg.”
    “That’s right. And mind you don’t take shortcuts down any deserted alleys. When the cobbler finishes measuring your feet, you’re to go straight back. I don’t want you being kidnapped and sold to the Gypsies!” I said. “Here is a Kreutzer in case you need it. Tell Mama that I had to run an errand for Kapellmeister Haydn.”
    “She won’t like it,” he said, crossing his arms and frowning.
    “She won’t, but I have to do this. You can either make trouble for me, or you can help me. It’s