Young Writers Society

"What do you suppose the rabbit is outside for?" Angella asked, her small hands clutching her dearest violin and bow. She was far more comfortable speaking German and continued using the language without realizing. Her bright blue eyes looked past her yellow fluff of a cat, watching the flurries fly around the window and she instinctively tucked her elbows into her sides from the thought of being outside in the cold. "It is snowing an awful lot!"

The man took a deep breath, looking out the very window behind them that Angella and her cat were admiring. "Only the bravest of rabbits dare travel through such a blizzard, for the great golden dragon detests the winter snow," he explained in the voice of a dramatic storyteller, and Angella smiled at the idea of Butterblume being referred to as a dragon. "Now is the critter's chance to find his edible treasure before the beast is released and threatens him in the chase once again!"

Laughing, Angella looked to her ferocious dragon on the windowsill, who curled up quietly with head rested on his paws. "I hope the rabbit gets all the food he can carry!"

"He is far too clever to let a little snow slow him down," the piano man said. "Now, let's serenade our little beast and play through your piece one last time."

"Christoph, for heaven’s sake, there is mud everywhere!" 

The English words scratched like nails to Angella's ears, the shrill voice of her stepmother sounding from the doorway. She wore a maroon dress with intricate lace designs and frills, and her pale curls were pinned in a fancy up-do beneath her small headdress. Her eyes were small and narrow as they glared at her subject down her tiny pointed nose, a natural arrogance in the way she carried herself.  Despite having called out her husband, Sofia was glaring at young Angella like a weed in her noble garden. 

“Hello, my dearest rose,” her father said in practiced English, meeting his wife halfway and holding out his hand. She didn’t look at him until he stood between her and Angella, finally plastering a sweet smile on her face and putting her dainty hand in his. Christoph bowed and kissed her fingertips with a natural grace. “I was drawn to the beautiful music upon my arrival.”

“As a matter of fact, he is,” Oskar said with his chin held high. Angella clapped and cheered excitedly in her chair as Oskar continued, “I wanted you to be the first to know. It turns out he will be home a little earlier than planned, God willing. On another note, I wanted to clarify your schedule for the day.” Oskar pulled out a small notebook from his coat pocket and flipped to a bookmarked page. “My lady duchess scheduled for a English seamstress to take your measurements some time ago. The seamstress arrived in town yesterday, so the duchess has arranged for her to come over this afternoon. Your riding lessons will unfortunately be canceled as a result.”

Angella nodded, somewhat disappointed. She wasn’t a very good horse rider and didn’t mind all that much to see them canceled. However, when the alternative was to spend a tailoring session with her stepmother, horse riding seemed far more enjoyable an activity.

“Rest easy, my lady,” Oskar said with a comforting smile. “She wants you to look your best, is all. I will be there with you — er, as much as I am able,” he added quickly, a blush appearing on his cheeks. “O-on second thought, perhaps… Mia! Mia, my dear, how do you feel about accompanying the little lady to her tailor meeting?”

Angella’s maid jumped at being addressed. Typically, staff went unnoticed — at least, they were supposed to go unnoticed. Mia turned on the spot, her black ponytail whipping around with her, and she bowed lowly to Oskar as she answered nervously. “I-I can most certainly accompany her, my lord.”

As she put the violin back in her case, the pianist was shuffling his music around for his own solo pieces. She looked at the six pages of piano music laid out in front of him. She couldn’t imagine playing six pages of music in one go, but it looked awfully fun. “Klaviermann?” she said, standing up with her violin in hand.

“Yes, meine Lilie?” he asked, turning slightly to smile at her.

She stopped, not sure what was preventing her from asking her question. She had many, and yet she had none. She wasn’t sure how she felt. All Angella knew was that she didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to go to lunch with her stepmother. Playing with Klaviermann for the next several hours sounded like the best thing in the world.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he put a hand on her arm, his thumb gently swaying across her sleeve. “My dearest little lily,” he said softly.

It was enough for tears to spring to her eyes. She rubbed them, trying her hardest not to let them fall. There was a rustle of paper before she felt his arms wrap around her gently. She wasn’t sure what happened next, but a few minutes later, she ended up curled into his lap with tears streaming down her face. He was singing to her, a gentle tune she had heard before about a lily in a field of roses. It eased her heart enough for her to breathe easy, her ear pressed to his chest and listening to the mesmerizing pulse beneath his shirt and vest.

“You are loved,” he whispered into her hair. “You are never alone as long as there are people who love you. There is strength in love.”

“The girl does not get a say in the matter,” Sofia snapped. “Leave, Angella—”

“Step down from your high horse, duchess!” Oskar roared. An unsettling tension quieted the air, Oskar glaring directly at the duchess’ narrow eyes. His face looked uncharacteristically angry, his face turning red and his free hand clenched into fists. He took a deep breath and removed his hat, bowing to the duchess. “Excuse my rudeness, my lady, but I will not tolerate you bullying my little lady with your unreasonable requests. If you insist on poisoning this household with your cruel antics, rest assured I will do everything I can to ensure your every request is denied or unfulfilled.”

"Little lady?"

Angella jumped, not having heard her door open. Oskar helped himself into her room, closing the door behind him. He was dressed up even nicer than usual, wearing a black tailcoat with his matching trousers and a maroon vest underneath. His white shirt filled in his suit with frills peeking out at every nook of his coat. He wore a black top hat so his blonde locks curled out from underneath with a large pale lily on the maroon ribbon around the brim.

"Mia said you were still in here," Oskar said, his voice loud and energetic. He closed the distance a bit and paused, then meandered to the fireplace. He rubbed his hands together. "So much snow! Pretty to look at, chilly to the bone." Oskar glanced in Angella’s direction to see her mouth twitched for a smile, but it disappeared just as quick. “I considered perhaps to put on something even warmer for the party, like perhaps my bathrobe — you know the one with the duck sewn on the front pocket—and tango with the duchess—” Angella smiled at the image of him dancing in his bathrobe with her eternally cranky stepmother. “—or perhaps the chef could cook up a link of sausages, and I could dangle that around my neck, though Butter would probably be my best friend for the rest of the night.”

Angella giggled aloud this time, her hand covering her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle the laughter. Butterblume’s head perked up irritably at the noise.

Oskar grinned as he walked away from the fireplace this time, still talking. “Then again, I do not think the guests would appreciate the smell. Besides, I would very much like to smell my best for when your father arrives, and who knows how long the smell of sausage would last.”

There was a pause, Angella listening to the sound of Oskar’s heels walking from rug to hardwood to rug again. “But I do know your father loves music.” They finally stopped behind her, and she heard him tap his fingers gently on something he was holding. She turned slightly — just enough — to see Oskar carrying her violin case. “Perhaps if you keep playing, he will find his way home sooner than you think.”

"Good evening, my lady," said a large-nosed old man. Angella greeted him with a small curtsy, but she was almost distracted by how large the man was in general, with a huge graying mustache to match. "Count Vincent of Rosenberg."

"Rosenberg?" Angella said, her bring drawing a connection to her studies. "That is located nearby, is it not?"

"Oho, indeed!" he said with a jolly laugh. "We're practically neighbors! Your English is very good, might I add."

"Thank you, sir," she said kindly. "It is a challenge, but I am practicing.”

"She is a very sharp student," Oskar said, and Angella was grateful that he took over the conversation. His free hand grasped his jacket as he spoke. "She excels in mathematics, reading and writing -- both German and English -- as well as art and music -- namely violin."

Angella gave him a look, a little uncomfortable at being defined by such a generous list of talents. She would never have listed all of those as excelling subjects in her books, but it certainly impressed Count Vincent, who actually applauded her. "How impressive! You know, I have a son who plays the piano," he said. "Perhaps you two shall meet one day and play together!"

"She is a music prodigy, I assure you," Oskar said with a smile. "She can keep up with your son. He has been playing for... ten years now?"

"Indeed," Vincent said with a nod. "Boy's so much older now, it's hard to accept. He turns sixteen in a couple months."

"Sixteen," Oskar said with equal amount of awe. "I believe I saw him when he was twelve. I remember him wandering the garden, humming some tune or another, and walked right into a tree." The two of them laughed at this story. "Boy is always lost in his own world -- must be a good one! Better than mine, I say. I don't run into trees anymore, so I suppose my world is boring." The two of them laughed as Oskar shared this memory of whoever this boy was. When they caught their breaths, he asked, "Does he help you all with the property then?

"He is, but he insists on becoming a professional pianist," Vincent somewhat grumbled, scratching his belly. "I keep telling him it's a hard life to live, but he just will not give up. He has his mother's gift and my stubbornness," he added, then laughed, shaking his head.

Oskar laughed with him. "With two older brothers, it makes sense he wants to make a path for himself, but..."

Angella's focus died, her eyes wandering around the ballroom instead and all the bodies crammed into it.

It was good that Angella was invested in her music as the parting of the sea took place in their very ballroom, people stepping aside for one particular person. With chin held high and his dark curls glistening abnormally in the chandelier light, his military uniform stood out amidst the surrounding formalwear. His ice blue eyes glowed with pride at the violinist before him, his lips parting slightly. Oskar was not far behind him, having met him at his arrival when a servant told him as much. Sofia, however, was quick to appear by his side and begin talking, but he put a hand up to stop her, eyes glued to the musicians.

Time went on with varying degrees of awe and anxiety, footsteps faint in the distance presumably belonging to staff. When Angella and Klaviermann reached the end of their piece, the final movement of the entire series, the entire ballroom erupted into a storm of applause.
And Angella heard none of it.

All the noise quickly died away from her mind as all her senses focused on the figure before her. Tears sprang to her eyes, her hands gripping her violin tightly. She didn’t see the Klaviermann gently peel her fingers away and take the instrument for her, but she knew her opportunity when she felt it. She bolted to her father and jumped into his open arms, crying into his shoulder. His clothing was still cold from the outside, and his hair felt moist from the snow, but she didn’t care about any of that. Her father was back where he belonged, holding her close as if nothing could separate them.
Bang!

Her father clutched her tightly, but not in the hug they had just been exchanging. The crowd gasped and shrieked at what sounded like a gunshot from outside. Everyone looked around anxiously for the source. The duke immediately turned to Oskar and shouted, “Get everyone to the cellar! No one is safe—”

“Then I need you to come with me, my lord,” Oskar said hurriedly, despite Angella being thrust into his arms. “Your safety is my top priority—”

“Her safety is your top priority.” He turned away and started signaling to his guards.

Walking along the cleared pathways of the garden was the daughter of Lilienthal, now eighteen years of age and so much more the beauty of her mother. Her once light blonde hair faded to a lighter gold down to her mid back, half of it tied with a red flower accessory. Her nose was still sharp, but her face had defined its delicate features to resemble that of a china doll. Accompanying her, arms interlocked, was her best friend of recent years, Gretchen of Weissberg. She had the darker brown curls in contrast to Angella’s hair, but her eyes were of a deep sea blue that would be easy to get lost in if she could sit still long enough to gaze. Her laughter was contagious and melodic, never failing to lighten Angella’s heart. Even now, she doubled over into Angella’s arm as they fought fits of laughter over Gretchen’s story.

“I kid you not,” she managed to breathe, wiping her teary eye carefully with her free hand, “he was so distraught when the waiter revealed his dinner and nothing was on the tray! His mouth fell open, and you—” She broke down into laughter again at the memory of her brother. “You could see his—his eyes calculating what could possibly have happened to his dinner.”

“Did he ever figure it out?” Angella asked, smiling broadly.

Gretchen nodded, taking a few breaths and fanning herself with her hand. “Yes, of course, he eventually did. He turned to me as soon as the thought occurred to him, and I just broke into laughter. And Father laughed with me, too!” she added, and the girls endured another fit of giggles. “I snuck into the kitchen and just hid the meal in a cupboard. The chef caught me, but he went with it anyway!”

Gretchen started to as well, but she looked at Angella as they proceeded to dress. "So what happened?" she asked bluntly. "Something is on your mind, and you're not saying it."

Angella froze for a minute at the mention of rehearsal earlier, her eyes slowly meeting Gretchen's gaze. She shrugged. "I don't... know--"

"Angella," she pushed, her eyes serious now, and took her hands. Angella noted Gretchen’s fingertips were stark cold compared to her own sweaty palms, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious. "I'm here for you if you need someone to talk to. You always are for me, and I want you to know I’ll support you, too…. There was something you once told me, back when I had lost my… sister.”

Angella’s eyebrows scrunched upward, and she squeezed Gretchen’s fingers. Her sister Marjorie had died in childbirth, leaving Gretchen’s little niece and newborn nephew with only their father. Gretchen’s family had a hard time maintaining contact with her brother-in-law and still only managed to see them for a couple Christmases and out of convenience otherwise.

“I thought the life I knew was over,” Gretchen said quietly, “that I’d be my parents’ ‘next project,’ stuck with an arranged marriage with someone I didn’t know or care about, and how lonely I would be without a sister to whom I could write letters, someone to rely on or support in turn…” Her voice fell off into silence, clearly still distraught about the loss of her sister four years ago. “You gave me hope,” she continued. “I remember I visited you a couple weeks after the funeral, and I was as depressed as ever. But you took me outside to your family’s beautiful garden, showed me those precious lilies you care for every year, and told me, ‘You’ll never grow if you don’t pull out the weeds.’”

Angella tilted her head, frowning. “I don’t…” Then realization hit her, and she smiled. “I don’t think that’s what I said. I’m fairly certain I was talking about the lilies—”

“Stop being modest, I got the message,” she said with a quick shake of her head, and Angella merely laughed at her ridiculous accusation. Gretchen suddenly hugged her tightly as if to reassure herself that she wasn’t actually alone, but Angella felt like she was sending her calmness through osmosis. Her best friend’s hugs never failed to make her feel more at ease. “If you don’t let go of your fears, they’ll grow out of control.”

“The children love you, m’lady!”

Angella jumped, startled by the stranger in her ear. He was leaning rather close, shouting at her above the noise — which she actually appreciated as it was hard to hear the soft-spoken. He was a charming man several years her senior with chocolate brown eyes that matched the dark waves on his head. He wore a black scarf around his neck and a long brown Ulster coat, the elbow-length cape swinging about his arms. Two steins of beer were in his hands as he grinned widely down at her. He gave a short bow. “Happy spring, m’lady!” he said.

“And you as well, my good sir,” she said with a nod.

He held out a stein to her, and she took it graciously, though she wasn’t sure she should be drinking another whole beer at this point. With a chink of their steins, he led the two of them into a long swig of their beverages. Angella’s eyes drifted back to the band, figuring her new companion would go off to his friends or family, so she was understandably surprised to hear his voice in her ear again — fortunately, her right ear. “Do you dance?”

She looked at him, not sure she registered the question right, so he repeated it again with a smile. Angella shook her head. “No, I don’t. I just love music,” she replied with her raised voice.

“Ah, a lover of music!” he said with a smile. Angella immediately figured he wasn’t from the capital as most everyone here knew about her violin. He was most likely a visitor from a neighboring district, less likely a foreigner as Lilienthal was a small state with small parties. He’d have no reason being here unless it was of sentimental value. “Classical or parlor?”

She laughed, and he joined in at the sight of her merriment. “I enjoy it all! I would live the life if I could.”

“Indeed,” he said, or at least she assumed. It was soft enough that she simply filled in that blank. He took another drink of his beer as their conversation died away.