Mozart's Sister

NANNERL MOZART, AGE 34, 1785

NANCY MOSER

TO MY HUSBAND, MARK.
THE LOVE OF MY LIFE.
and
TO ALL WHO LIVE IN THIS AMAZING AGE OF OPPORTUNITY.
WASTE NO CHANCE TO CARRY OUT YOUR GOD-GIVEN PURPOSE.
Too MANY HAVE NOT HAD THE LUXURY OF CHOICE. . . .

NANCY MOSER is the bestselling author of eighteen novels,
including Crossroads, the Christy-award winning Time Lottery, and
the SISTER CIRCLE series coauthored with Campus Crusade
cofounder, Vonette Bright.

Nancy has been married more than thirty years. She and her
husband have three twenty-something children and live in the Midwest. She loves history, has traveled extensively in Europe, and has
performed in various theaters, symphonies, and choirs.

To learn more about Nancy and her books, visit her Web site at
www. nancymoser. com.

rother was dead and I couldn't find his bodv.
G~Wy b

I walked among the bleak mounds of the cemetery, pulling my
cape close with one hand while clasping the hood tightly around my
head with the other. It was too cold to be beyond the city gates of
Vienna in this awful place, yet it was fitting that I was here under
such conditions. To search a graveyard on a sunny day seemed
wrong. Perhaps if I'd known where he lay and was bringing him a
fresh spray of flowers, the sun would have been an appropriate prop.
But not knowing his exact resting place, and fearing that I'd never
know ... cold air and skies that threatened rain were essential ingredients to my inner gloom. Mirroring my regret. Sustaining my sorrow. Sostenuto. Espressivo. An elegy for the dead.

I smiled at the terminology. My memory of the musical terms
would have made our father proud. How many times had he drilled
my brother and me about such things?

I walked on. There were no trees here. No tombstones. St. Marx
wasn't a normal cemetery, where statues of angels and cherubs made
the dead less dead. It was devoid of beauty. Yet I did not turn back
but kept walking, hoping to discover some detail about my brother's
final fate.

It was incomprehensible that the two most important men in
my life were dead. Father and brother. Two musical impresarios,
gone. It wasn't fair they'd left me such a musical legacy when there was nothing I could do to make it endure.