Taking a seat on the bench before the piano, she closed her eyelids and did her best to imagine the room. While she couldn’t remember the exact details of it from two decades ago, she could recall the massive gold scrolling on the walls and the cherubs at the top of the walls. There were a lot of gold accents, she remembered that much.
Accepting the invitation to do this private concert had been the right choice.
Before Germany took over Austria, the country was renowned for its musical history and concert halls. But it would most certainly change. More than it already had.
It had been less than two months since theAnschluss.Less than two months since she’d played in this country. But Austria felt different in that short amount of time. The air was different. Sadder. As if a thick fog of fear blanketed Salzburg. Even this concert hall.
Her shoulders curved inward. A darkness far worse than blindness was stretching its fingers into the hearts of men. Her hands shook against the piano keys. Pulling them back, Chaisley made fists then relaxed her fingers a few times.
Drowning in her thoughts of the darkness and what was happening—and whatcouldhappen—wasn’t productive. Not right before a performance. Maybe she couldn’t stop the whole Nazi Party, but she would play her part. And not let the fear threatening to choke her win.Please help me, Lord. To be wise. And not be afraid.
She sat up, straightening her spine and placing her fingers on the piano keys once more.
As she ran through her usual warm-up and practice session, her thoughts bounced all over the place. Focus was getting harder and harder to come by.
Three hours later, it wasn’t much better.
The crowd had gathered at the Marble Hall, and Chaisley had to attend an invitation-only gathering before she performed.
That hadn’t been part of the initial agreement, but apparently it had been another demand.
As she, Mel, and Rick walked into the building, the flurry of voices grew. She braced herself for the coming half hour and pasted on a smile.
Conversations died down as she entered the smaller room for this gathering.
“Our guest of honor has arrived.” A nasally voice spoke in high German from the left of the room. It resonated above what voices were still engaged, and the room silenced.
“It is my privilege to introduce you all to the woman who has amazed me with her incomparable talent at the pianoforte...The greatest pianist the world has ever known... Miss Chaisley Frappier!” A beefy hand tugged at hers and brought her forward two steps.
The owner of the nasal voice must be the patron who’d invited her for this concert. He’d laid the compliments on a little heavy, but she would be grateful for the support.
Applause filled the room, and she curtsied. Then she held up a hand and waited for the room to quiet again. “Thank you for your gracious invitation. It ismyhonor to play for you all this evening.”
Keeping her bearings would be difficult in a room filled with people who moved and meandered. She held her place, and as soon as conversations picked up again, she felt the presence of Mel and Rick move beside her again.
“Three couples are moving toward you.” Mel’s soft whisper gave her a moment’s warning. “We are ten paces from the door behind us.”
“Fräulein Frappier, we are looking forward to your concert.” A woman on her right spoke. “My mother wanted me to be a pianist, but my fingers were not coordinated enough.” Her light laughter was brittle and crackly. This woman smelled of rose water and... tobacco.
The two did not mix well.
Chaisley lifted a handkerchief to her nose that she kept for just this reason. She’d learned when she was young to keep her hankies in a bag with fresh peppermint leaves. The oil would rub off the leaves, and if a smell overwhelmed her, she could breathe in the fresh scent and clear her senses.
“I took lessons as a child”—a male voice on her left entered the conversation—“and my father dreamt of me being the next Beethoven, but I was terrible and my teacher slapped my hands with a ruler.”
Chaisley drew back a bit and lowered her hankie. “Simply because you hit the wrong note?”
“No.” The man guffawed and snuffed like a giant hog going after a corn cob. “Because I didn’t listen to a word he said.”
Several men joined in the harsh laughter. The man continued with horror stories of his teacher.
This was not the kind of crowd she was used to—or maybe it was because she didn’t spend much time conversing with a wealthy audience before a concert. She much preferred listening to the stories from those who stayed afterward.
“... he continually yelled at me to stop banging on the keys, but it was much too fun. So I kept at it.” The storyteller had the men in the crowd rolling with laughter.
It wasn’t that funny.
In fact, it wasn’t humorous at all. Granted, she might have missed the funny part of the story, but she couldn’t bring herself to offer up a fake laugh.
