Anna Maria's Gift (5 page)

Anna Maria pulled away. “No, no, no! I was standing at the window and I heard someone playing my violin.”

Sister Lidia’s eyebrows went up. “Where was it coming from?”

“Somewhere west of here. Please, Auntie, ask Mother Elena if we can go look for it,” Anna Maria begged.

“Very well. Come with me to her office, and you can tell your story.”

At the door Sister Lidia knocked. “Enter,” Mother Elena said.

Anna Maria rushed to her desk. “Mother Elena, please, I beg you. Let Auntie and me go out to find my violin.”

The prioress looked at Sister Lidia, then back at Anna Maria. “What are you saying, my child? Your violin is at the bottom of the canal.”

Anna Maria shook her head. “No, I heard someone playing it last night.”

“How very strange. Are you sure?” asked Mother Elena.

“Sì
, Mother,” Anna Maria said. “No other violin sounds like mine.”

The prioress pursed her lips, thinking. “I cannot let you go running around the streets, Anna Maria. The governors have threatened
to dismiss me if it happens again.”

“But …,” Anna Maria began.

The look in Mother Elena’s eyes stopped her. “Let me finish, dear child.”

Anna Maria put her hand over her mouth.

“I will tell the governors your story,” the prioress went on. “They will decide what is to be done.”

They won’t believe it
, thought Anna Maria.
I must find another way
.

A
fter violin class, Anna Maria waited until the other girls left.

“What is it, my dear?” Maestro Vivaldi asked.

“Oh, Maestro, last night I heard someone playing my violin,” she told him. “I’m sure, because I heard Papa’s voice.”

The maestro’s eyes widened. “Indeed!”

“Can you help?” she went on. “Mother Elena won’t let me go look for it. She’s going
to tell the governors my story. But I don’t think they will believe it.”

The maestro nodded. “I will see what I can do. One of the governors owes me a favor for dedicating some music to him. Perhaps he can convince the others.” Maestro Vivaldi smiled. “Especially since I shall be your escort.”

Anna Maria wanted to throw her arms around him. But she dared not.

Two days later, a letter came granting the request. After classes, Maestro Vivaldi, Sister Lidia, and Anna Maria stepped out the door of the Pietà.

“I’ll hire a gondola,” the maestro said.

“Look!” said Anna Maria. “There is my friend, Signor Francesco.”

“Good afternoon.” Francesco bowed. “Where may I take you?”

“On a search,” the maestro said.

“Signor Francesco,” said Anna Maria, “my violin did not drown. I heard it singing in the night.”

“Did I not tell you,
signorina?”
he said. “Where was the sound coming from?”

She pointed. “That direction.”

Francesco turned to the maestro. “What is your wish, Don Vivaldi? Shall we wind our way through the canals and listen for it?”

“Sì,”
he answered.

As Francesco rowed, Anna Maria listened. She heard water rippling. She heard caged birds singing from windows. She heard a street vendor calling out his wares. But no violin.

They came to the leaning bell tower. There, a smaller canal flowed off to the right.

“Turn here, Francesco. I know of a violin shop nearby,” the maestro said. “You can let us off at the next steps.”

When Francesco had helped them out, he said, “I’ll wait for you.”

“Thank you,” the maestro said. “Follow me, ladies. I don’t trust this shop owner, but we will have a look.”

He strode down the narrow street, his black robe flowing. Anna Maria and Sister
Lidia followed. At the open door of the shop, he waved them in.

Anna Maria looked around. There were violins hanging on the walls and lying on the counters. She saw red ones and brown ones, but not her golden violin.

The owner, a burly man with a permanent frown, bowed. “Don Vivaldi. Are you looking for an instrument for the orphan girls?”

“Sì
, Signor Braga,” said the maestro. “One made by Nicolo Lombardini.”

The owner shook his head. “I sold the only one I had three days ago. Count Contarini bought it for his daughter. He was quite taken with the violin. Especially since the master made it for his own daughter.”

“That was my violin!” Anna Maria cried.

Signor Braga looked down at her. “Your violin,
signorina?”

“Sì
, my father made it for me. But Paolina threw it in the canal. And somehow you found it and … and sold it.” Anger rose inside her, almost spilling out.

Signor Braga scowled at her. “Are you accusing me—”

Maestro Vivaldi held up his hand for silence. “Permit me to explain,
signore.”
He cast a look at Anna Maria that told her to keep quiet.

“This young lady is indeed Anna Maria Lombardini, daughter of Nicolo. She is also a student of mine. As you know, her father recently passed away. His last gift to her was that marvelous violin. She arrived at the Pietà clutching it to her heart.”

The maestro paused. But Signor Braga said nothing.

“Unfortunately, another student became jealous. She stole the violin and threw it in the canal.” Maestro Vivaldi looked steadily at the shop owner. “May I ask,
signore
, where you found it?”

Signor Braga drew a sharp breath. “I do not go about looking for violins in canals, Don Vivaldi. Nor do I sell stolen goods. The
violin was brought to my shop by a fish merchant. He said someone threw it out of a window into the canal.”

“It was stolen!” Anna Maria blurted.

Signor Braga made a curt bow. “I am afraid there is nothing more I can do for you.” He turned and walked to the back of his shop.

A
s Francesco rowed them home, Maestro Vivaldi turned to Anna Maria. “I once played for Count Contarini in his palace. I shall send a letter to him and ask for a meeting.”

Anna Maria stood up, rocking the gondola. “Maestro, may I go with you?”

Sister Lidia held the side of the gondola and gasped.

“Signorina!”
Francesco said. “Please sit down or we shall capsize.”

She sat. “I’m sorry, I forgot.”

Maestro Vivaldi chuckled. When the gondola stopped rocking, he went on. “You and Sister Lidia may go on one condition. You must let me do the talking.”

“Sì, Maestro. But the count probably paid a lot of gold for my violin. How can you persuade him to give it back?”

“Leave it to me, child. I know how to deal with nobles. They all want flattery.”

Two weeks later, Maestro Vivaldi received a letter from Count Contarini. He invited them to his palace the next day.

Late in the afternoon Anna Maria, the maestro, and Sister Lidia again stepped aboard Francesco’s gondola. He rowed along the Riva, and into the Grand Canal.

“Watch for violins flying out of windows,” Francesco said.

Anna Maria laughed out loud.
“Signore
,
you can make anything funny.”

“I try,” he said.

They passed palace after palace on both sides of the canal. Anna Maria saw a girl standing on a balcony and waved. The girl turned away.
People who live in palaces don’t care about other people
, Anna Maria thought.

A little farther on, Maestro Vivaldi said, “There it is. The pink one on the right.”

Anna Maria caught her breath. The afternoon sun cast watery reflections on the three-story marble palace. The middle floor had tall, arched windows, pointed at the top.

“I won’t know how to act in such a palace,” said Anna Maria. “Should I curtsy?”

“Just be yourself,” said Francesco, “and the count will be charmed.”

“Curtsy when I do,” said Sister Lidia.

“And let me do the talking,” said Maestro Vivaldi.

Anna Maria nodded and kept her mouth tightly closed.

Francesco pulled up to the steps and helped the three of them out. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” said Anna Maria. “We’ll need it.”

Maestro Vivaldi rang the bell while Anna Maria peered through the gate. A long room reached all the way to the other side of the palace. The only light came from openings at either end. An elderly servant appeared, shuffling along the tile floor.

“Don Antonio Vivaldi to see Count Contarini, please,” said the maestro.

“Ah, Don Vivaldi.” The man opened the gate and bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you again. Please, follow me.”

Anna Maria glanced back at Francesco, who stood beside his gondola. He curtsied like a lady. She had to hold in a giggle.

They climbed marble steps up to the first floor and entered another long room. This one was flooded with light from the tall, pointed windows. Straight chairs lined the walls around Persian rugs.

“Please, sit down,” said the old man. “I will tell the count you are here.”

Anna Maria sat on one of the chairs between the maestro and Sister Lidia. She looked up. The ceiling was painted blue, with fluffy clouds and angels flying up to heaven. It was like being in a church.

“When I played here, the countess swooned in delight,” said Maestro Vivaldi.

Just then Count Contarini entered the room. He was a tall man with dark curling hair. “I remember that, Don Vivaldi.”

Anna Maria’s heart fell. He was not smiling. Nor did he have the violin in hand.

Maestro Vivaldi stood up and bowed.
“Excellency, it has been too long since I played for your illustrious family. I trust you will not deny me the pleasure of returning soon, that I may entertain you with my feeble efforts.”

Count Contarini squinted at the maestro. But he said nothing.

“Speaking of feeble efforts,” the maestro went on, “it would give me great joy to dedicate my newest concerto to your noble self.”

Anna Maria had never heard Maestro Vivaldi talk like this.
Feeble efforts?
Everyone loved his music. Was this what he meant by flattery?

Maestro Vivaldi bowed again. “Of course that which I offer is a small tribute—”

“Let us speak frankly, Don Vivaldi,” the count interrupted. “Am I to understand that I have purchased a stolen violin?”

The maestro sucked in a breath and held
it for a moment. Then he gestured to Anna Maria and Sister Lidia.