“Stop it.” The words cracked in the autumn air, snapping beneath the coldness of my voice. “Stop it, Käthe.”
Her cheeks reddened as though she had been slapped. “I don’t understand you,” she said.
“What don’t you understand?”
“Why you hide behind Josef.”
“What does Sepperl have to do with anything?”
Käthe narrowed her eyes. “For you? Everything. I bet you never kept your music secret from our little brother.”
I paused. “He’s different.”
“Of course he’s different.” Käthe threw up her hands in exasperation. “Precious Josef, delicate Josef, talented Josef. He has music and madness and magic in his blood, something poor, ordinary, tone-deaf Katharina does not understand, could never understand.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it again. “Sepperl needs me,” I said softly. It was true. Our brother was fragile, in more than just bones and blood.
“I need you,” she said, and her voice was quiet. Hurt.
Constanze’s words returned to me. Josef isn’t the only one who needs looking after.
“You don’t need me.” I shook my head. “You have Hans now.”
Käthe stiffened. Her lips went white, her nostrils flared. “If that’s what you think,” she said in a low voice, “then you’re even crueler than I thought.”
Cruel? What did my sister know of cruelty? The world had shown her considerably more favor than it had ever shown me. Her prospects were happy, her future certain. She would marry the most eligible man in the village while I became the unwanted sister, the discarded one. And I … I had Josef, but not for long. When my little brother left, he would take the last of my childhood with him: our revels in the woods, our stories of kobolds and Hödekin dancing in the moonlight, our games of music and make-believe. When he was gone, all that would remain to me was music—music and the Goblin King.
“Be grateful for what you have,” I snapped back. “Youth, beauty, and, very soon, a husband who will make you happy.”
“Happy?” Käthe’s eyes flashed. “Do you honestly think Hans will make me happy? Dull, boring Hans, whose mind is as limited as the borders of the stupid, provincial village in which he grew up? Stolid, dependable Hans, who would keep me rooted to the inn with a deed in my hand and a baby in my lap?”
I was stunned. Hans was an old friend of the family, and while he and Käthe had not been close as children—as Hans and I had been—I had not known until this moment just how little my sister loved him. “Käthe,” I said. “Why—”
“Why did I agree to marry him? Why haven’t I said anything before now?”
I nodded.
“I did.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Over and over. But you never listened. This morning, when I said he was boring, you told me he was a good man.” She turned her face away. “You never hear a word I say, Liesl. You’re too busy listening to Josef instead.”
Mind how you choose. Guilt clotted my throat.
“Oh, Käthe,” I whispered. “You could have said no.”
“Could I?” she scoffed. “Would you or Mother have let me? What choice did I have but to accept his hand?”
Her accusation gutted me, made me complicit in my own resentment. I had been so sure that this was the way of the world that I hadn’t questioned it. Handsome Hans and beautiful Käthe—of course they were meant to be together.
“You have choices,” I repeated uncertainly. “More than I ever will.”
“Choices, ha.” Käthe’s laugh was raw. “Well, Liesl, you made your choice about Josef a long time ago. You can’t fault me for making mine about Hans.”
The rest of our walk to the market continued without another word.
COME BUY, COME BUY
Come buy, come buy!
In the town square, the market stalls were laden with goods, their sellers hawking their wares at the top of their lungs. Fresh bread! Fresh milk! Goat cheese! Warm wool, the softest wool you’ve ever felt! Some vendors rang bells, some rattled wooden clappers, and still others beat an erratic rat-a-tat-tat on a homemade drum, all in an effort to bring custom to their tables. As we drew nearer, Käthe began to brighten.
I never did understand the prospect of spending coin for pleasure, but my sister loved to shop. She ran her fingers lovingly over the fabrics on sale: silks and velvets and satins imported from England, Italy, and even the Far East. She buried her nose in bouquets of dried lavender and rosemary, and closed her eyes as she savored the tart taste of mustard on the doughy pretzel she had bought. Such sensuous enjoyment.