The story of Constanze and Wolfgang continues.

Herr Mozart became a regular visitor. He was supposed to make his way to Paris if he couldn’t find a position in Mannheim, but he didn’t seem anxious to leave. Before meeting us, he’d spent most of his time with influential members of the orchestra, like Herr Wendling, whose wife and daughter were stars of the opera, or with Kapellmeister Cannabich.
With innocent candor, Mozart told Papa that he preferred us. “Being with you dear people is just like being home,” he said.
Of course, the attraction was Aloysia. Unlike some of her other beaux, Herr Mozart seemed to admire her talent at least as much as her figure. After an hour of accompanying her, he rose from the klavier as flushed and joyous as if they’d spent the time kissing.
Mozart gave my sister klavier lessons, and she soon was accompanying her singing far more skillfully. He swore to Papa that he would do everything he could to help her career. What’s more, he was as good as his word. Among other important people, he introduced her to Herr Raaff, a famous tenor now living at the Mannheim court. Raaff was past his prime, but he had many important friends.
The vain old tenor was charmed by Aloysia. Immediately he invited Papa, Mozart, and his “Bella Signorina Aloysia” to a party where the guests were a heady mix of successful musicians and wealthy aficionados.
Their evening proved a great triumph. In fact, the next night at the opera, a group of these same party goers wildly applauded Aloysia’s one, small canzonetta. They even called for an encore. This incident was to mark the beginning of my sister’s meteoric rise as a singer, but the immediate effect was to put the reigning prima donna’s nose out of joint and make Aloysia insufferable for days.
When Mozart presented himself at our door, my little sister, Sophie, and I would scamper to open it. We knew, you see, that Aloysia would make him wait. It was a routine torment she inflicted upon all her admirers.
Sophie and I didn’t care how long she took. While he was waiting for his goddess, we had him all to ourselves. He was always obliging; a delightful playmate who showed us cat’s cradles we’d never seen and was a dangerous and incredibly dexterous opponent in games of jacks.
As soon as Aloysia appeared, however, the fun was over. By the time the little man straightened from bowing to the coquette posing in the doorway, lover’s anxiety had entirely extinguished his natural sparkle.
I couldn’t endure being around them then, even though their music was beautiful. I hated the slave who now gazed from Wolfgang’s blue eyes. I hated the gushing Italian compliments he paid. I knew my sister. The more he doted, the more she would despise.
Poor Wolfgang! His tics, and he had a fair number, intensified in the presence of his Idol Mio. His nervous fingers were the worst, often going completely out of control, either drumming on the table top or tying his watch chain into hopeless knots.

~*~

Within a few weeks Aloysia could mimic him perfectly; his busy hands, his submissive bow, his florid Italian. Spiteful Jo was her most appreciative audience. Heaven knows, Mama and Papa, who had begun to dream about a match with the Wunderkind from Salzburg, would not have been amused.
“I think you’re both horrible,” I said, wanting to defend him, but this only sent Jo and Aloysia onto the sofa where they rolled about giggling in a most unladylike fashion.
“Herr Mozart’s really nice,” I insisted. “He’s terribly clever, the best teacher you’ve ever had, Aloysia. I think you’re ungrateful to mock him so.”
Aloysia arched her brows in high scorn. “Since when does anyone care what you think, Stanzi? You sound just like Papa and his tiresome Wolfgang Mozart-knows-music-forward-and-backwards-and-he’s-an-ab-so-lutely-magnificent-klavier-player-the-best-I’ve-ever-heard.”
She sounded just like our sleepy young priest when he slurred the Latin of early Mass. Her violet eyes rolled illustratively towards Jo. “Yes,” Jo chimed in. “Just because he plays baby games with you and Sophie.”
“The very idea that I could fall in love with him!” Aloysia continued. She’d sat up now, affecting hauteur. “Why, he’s a little runt! Like you, Stanzi!”
Nevertheless, Jo and I both knew that Aloysia would continue to relentlessly lead on this newest admirer. It was her nature.