CHAPTER 7

MAX

VIENNA, AUSTRIA

MAY 1938

Chandelier light glowed on the gilded walls of the ballroom as Herr Krause, the conductor, lifted his baton. Then the members of the orchestra filled the chambers and balconies of the Rathaus with the flush of music. The marble columns lining the room vibrated with their song, the German flag fluttering behind them.

The ensemble comprised eighteen players—trumpeters, flutists, a cellist—but Max only had eyes for the woman in the second row, third seat on the left. The violin cradled against the pearl sleeve of her gown, her long skirt almost touching the ground. She, like all the women on the platform, had dressed in her finest attire instead of the black frock she typically wore to perform.

The opera last weekend had been canceled after Bruno Walter left Austria, but no one canceled this dance at the lofty town hall even if a majority of the musicians playing tonight were Jewish.

The Viennese would be hard-pressed to put together an orchestra without Jewish players. An impossibility perhaps. And what was Vienna without music?

Dozens of formally suited men lifted their arms as they prepared to dance; then the beaded gowns of their partners began twirling in unison between the columns, creating their own percussion from the silk and satin in their skirts.

The world seemed to have gone mad right before Max’s eyes. The rioting in Vienna’s streets, fighting with both words and clubs. Yet hidden behind the armor of these golden walls was a respite of beauty and peace. Here, for the night at least, Austrians danced together instead of fought. Celebrated the music that once mended their fractured differences.

Herr Neubacher, Vienna’s newly appointed mayor, swept past Max, dancing with the wife of a philosopher who’d recently returned to Austria, part of the group expelled over the years for supporting National Socialism. In the past month, Nazi supporters by the thousands had flooded back into Austria, marching across the welcome mat that Hitler had laid out for them.

Many aristocrats in this room wanted to fold their identity into the greatest country in the world, even if it meant losing their beloved Austria. The humiliation of the defeat two decades past had flamed their pride, the fire burning hotter within them every passing year. Many who fought and lost that great war as young men saw the opportunity for victory now. An opportunity to show the world that they would no longer cower.

“Max.” His mother stepped in front of him, her blue satin gown glowing in the chandelier light. “Aren’t you going to dance?”

He nodded toward the orchestra. “My partner is currently occupied.”

“As she will be all night. There are many other women who’d like to accompany you.”

“I don’t want to dance with anyone else.”

When his mother glanced back at him, her lips were pressed together in disapproval. She liked Luzi well enough, and she certainly liked Frau Weiss—the two of them had been friends since their days studying at Vienna Conservatory, bonding over their love of composers such as Ludwig van Beethoven and Johannes Brahms. His mother seemed to disregard the growing animosity toward the Jewish people in Vienna. She loved music, and most of the musicians in Vienna happened to be of Jewish descent. The only time she disparaged a musician was when one appeared too lazy to hone his or her craft.

His mother didn’t disapprove of Luzi, but she didn’t want him to make any commitments before he finished school. However, it didn’t seem to him that he would be going to Gymnasium much longer if the new government was going to force him into the Wehrmacht when he turned eighteen.

His father moved up beside them, nodding toward the floor. “We should dance the next one.”

Klara Dornbach gave a brisk nod. “Of course.”

Max stood behind his parents, watching the dancers over his mother’s shoulder. Both his parents stood solemnly, displaying the air of their aristocratic bloodlines. As if they would protect themselves in the future by reminding others of their heritage.

They’d been arguing again before they left the house tonight, his father insisting that Mussolini was still going to defend their country, his mother saying that if the Italians were planning to help, they would have done so months ago.

Both his parents knew well what was expected of them in the old Austria and had tried to impart the importance of these expectations to Max as well. But Hitler, it seemed, didn’t put much stock in the bloodlines of aristocracy, though the man they called Führer was very much focused on the blood pumping through veins if it happened to be Jewish. Max had spent most of his life focused on the future, but the past was all that seemed to define people under this new regime.

The music ended, and a new set of dancers, including his parents, stepped onto the floor. Max’s gaze settled back onto Luzi. If she saw him, she didn’t give any indication, her eyes focused solely on the music stand in front of her. He inched to the front of the crowd, and when the maestro finally rested his wand, Max moved forward to escort Luzi to the refreshments in the next room. She tucked her violin into its case and clasped it shut, protecting the instrument until they began playing again.

“I wish we could dance together,” he said.

She glanced toward the floor, empty now as the dancers poured into the side room. “Not tonight, Max.”

“But at least we can eat.”

Luzi shook her head. “I don’t want any food either.”

“You must be famished.”

When she smoothed her hand over her sleeve, he saw it tremble. “My nerves can’t tolerate it.”

“But your body needs it.”

“Please, Max, don’t make me fight.”

He reached for her trembling hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “I wouldn’t dream of fighting with you, Fräulein.”

Her hand clutched his arm at first, and then it began to relax as he guided her through the crowd, out onto a balcony that wrapped around the grand city hall, overlooking the park below. They both leaned across the balustrade, breathing in the balm of cherry blossoms that sweetened the breeze.

Max smiled at her. When he was with Luzi, all the hostilities in Vienna, all the secrets, seemed to disappear. “You are playing beautifully.”

She shook her head, her dark hair glistening in the golden light that seeped through the open door behind them. “I’m playing like someone who’s forgotten most of the notes.”

“You can pretend, Luzi, but I know full well that you played every note to perfection.”

She sighed. “I don’t know how I played. I was lost in the music.”

“As was I.” He turned around, leaning back against the balustrade so he could see her eyes. “Where are your parents?”

And then he wished he couldn’t see her eyes, at least not the sadness in them before her gaze fell to the tree-lined walk below. “They were uninvited.”

Blood rushed to his face. “What?”

“They received a letter yesterday rescinding their invitation.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood as rigid as the soldiers who’d escorted Hitler into their city. “But they didn’t rescind your invitation?”

“No, they needed someone to play. I almost refused but . . .”

“Your mother?”

“She thinks the music will carry us away from here.”

He clenched his fists, anger erupting inside him. “It’s wrong, Luzi.”

“I know,” she said, her voice small. “But what are we to do?”

“We fight it.”

“Not on our own.” She turned and stepped away from the railing. “I must return to my seat.”

“A few more minutes,” he begged. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” His parents would insist that they leave before the musicians finished playing, at a time deemed fashionable by his father.

She smiled at him. “I’ve no doubt it will be soon.”

And then he heard the melody of flutes inside the hall, followed by two violins playing “Village Swallows from Austria,” a piece written by Josef Strauss to accompany the Viennese waltz.

Luzi stepped forward, her smile gone. “They’ve started without me.”

“It’s too late to join them now,” Max said, reaching for her arm.

She shivered, rubbing her hands together. “Herr Krause will be livid.”

He watched the women inside the ballroom lift the hems of their long dresses, preparing to dance. It was a political waltz for their city, meant to communicate freedom for all.

“Please, Luzi,” he asked again. “Just one dance.”

She closed her eyes, as if listening for the answer in the music.

“We’ll pretend that we’re an empress and emperor,” he said. “Sisi and Franz Joseph.”

“Only part of a dance,” she finally relented. “I must return to my seat before they begin the next song.”

“Part of a dance, then.”

She slowly picked up the hem of her dress, and he took her hand. “Let’s show them how to waltz.”

It seemed to him as if the gates to heaven opened up, joy raining down as the angels themselves sang in his mind. Luzi was in his arms, following his lead as they circled the floor to music that once defined all of them in this room.

If only they could dance all night together.

Dance for a lifetime.

“I feel as if all of Vienna is watching us, Max.”

“Not us.” He grinned down at her. “They only have eyes for you.”

She smiled back at him, radiant. “Sometimes I think you must be blind.”

“No, but I only have eyes for you too.”

The music was coming to a close; he could feel Luzi releasing her hold. He didn’t want this to end, but he guided her toward the orchestra and then reluctantly released her. Herr Krause glared at him, and the moment the music stopped, Luzi found her place.

But no one’s glare could erase Max’s smile. He’d danced with Luzia Weiss, and she had smiled back at him.