"And where does Franz fit into this gallery of musicians?" she asked. She had her guesses, but she wanted to hear what Marla said.
A small, dreamy smile appeared on Marla's face for a moment, then she took another sip of coffee before responding. "Musically, Franz is a work of salvage at the moment. His left hand was crushed by a rival violinist who was jealous of his skill."
Mary flinched a little. "That almost sounds like something out of the Pittsburgh docks and the mob."
"Oh, yes," Marla said. "That was my first thought also. However, you know as well as anyone that musicians, like actors, are typically passionate people. Sometimes that passion takes a wrong turn. Anyway, Dr. Nichols wasn't able to offer any hope of surgical repair, but with some therapy Franz has regained enough use to hold an Italian style bow with his left hand. He's now in the process of learning to play again, only with reversed hands: the right doing the fingering and the left the bowing. He's frustrated at this stage . . . he knows what to do, but the muscles are still in early training and don't just automatically do what he wants them to do. But Isaac says that Franz was the best player in Mainz before the attack, and that he should regain that same level in short order."
"And personally?"
"Personally . . ." Marla drew the word out. "He's a passionate soul, with an incredible gentleness. He has very high standards for himself. And . . ." another long, drawn-out word, then a rush to "I love him."
"A love he obviously returns." Mary chuckled, recalling the scene when Marla sent him out to find out what had happened with her precious piano. "So, if it's not prying, do you intend to marry?"
"Franz won't hear of it until he can play in public again. He says he will not ask me until he can prove he can support us."
"I take it he's somewhat strong-willed?"
Marla burst out laughing. It took a moment for her to regain her composure. "That would be somewhat like calling water wet," she at length replied. "It's probably a good thing, too, as more than one of my friends have hinted that I'm a bit that way myself."
Mary smiled. "Actually, Franz did say much the same about you."
Marla laughed again. "I've always suspected it would take a strong will to both stand up to me and put up with me. Franz is the first man, up-time or down, that has managed to do that and interested me at the same time. My Aunt Susan says I'm obsessed at times. That's probably true, but it's usually about something musical, which as far as I'm concerned is worth being obsessed about."
The two women shared a look of understanding. Obsession about music was indeed a mindset they both understood very well. It boded well for their relationship.
Franz again knocked on the door to the Simpsons' house. He was a little taken aback when it was opened by Mrs. Simpson herself.
"Come in, Franz, come in. We've been having a lovely talk while we waited for you."
"Um, thank you." He stepped in, took his coat off and hung it on the same peg he had hung it on when he had first entered the house.
"Well?" Marla asked impatiently from her seat. He was encouraged to see even more color in her face than had been there when he left. "What's the verdict on the Steinway?"
He crossed over to her, bent down and kissed the top of her head. "The piano has been totally uncrated and reassembled in the Weaver's Guild hall. Friedrich has examined it with great care, and both he and Hermann are of the opinion that it has suffered no harm from its journeys. So, you may rest your mind about it, and therefore rest your body as well."
Marla sighed, and Franz watched as a certain tension drained out of her, leaving her almost limp in the embrace of the chair. Her blue eyes peered up at him through the curtain of her bangs, followed by one of those smiles that reminded him of just why he loved her. "Okay. I've had a nice long chat with Mary, but I think I'm ready to go to bed now. Help me up."
He reached down to take one arm just as Hilde the maid appeared at the other side of the chair; between them they raised Marla to her feet. He walked with them to the door that led to the stairway. Marla gave him a quick kiss, then started up the narrow stairs with Hilde supporting her.
"An unusual young woman," Franz heard from behind. He turned to face Mrs. Simpson.
"I believe that is what my friend Ingram would call an understatement," he said soberly.
Mary smiled. "No doubt."
"Frau Simpson . . ."
"Mary," she interjected.
"Mary, then . . . I thank you for arranging a place for my friends and me to stay, but I must tell you that a simple inn would have been more appropriate than the . . . Wettin household."