Anna’s mind flashed to Bruno’s contritely worded letter.After enduring hardships of war, he’s worried that things might not be the same between us.She buried her thoughts and stepped to Max. “May I help you tune the piano?”
“Sure,” Max said. “It will go faster if someone can strike the keys while I adjust the tuning pins.”
“I can do it,” Norbie said.
Anna fidgeted with a sleeve of her sweater. “I think Max might need someone to know the notes on the keyboard.”
“The ability to play a few chords would also be helpful,” Max said.
“Oh,” Norbie said, a timbre of disappointment in his voice. “Anna can read music, so maybe she’s a little better suited than me for the job. But if you need an extra opinion on whether a key is sharp or flat, you can find me tinkering in my workshop.” He rubbed Nia’s belly, causing the dog to roll over on her back and thump her tail, and then descended the stairs to his workshop.
“What would you like me to do?” Anna asked.
Max gestured for her to sit on the piano bench. “You can start by striking the middle C, and hold the key down so I can locate the hammer.”
Anna sat and struck the key. A flat, twangy tone filled the air.
He glided a hand inside the piano until he located the pressed felt hammer. He followed the string to the tuning pin, and then turned it clockwise with the wrench. The pitch sharpened.
“Is it difficult for you to tune a piano without a tuning fork?” she asked.
“Not really,” Max said. “But I’ll need to rely on your ears for the upper octaves.”
She struck the key again. “I hope I can do a good job.”
“You will,” he said. “You sing in perfect pitch. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble with directing my adjustments.”
Anna smiled. She gazed at the network of metal wires. “How many strings are there?”
“There are typically two hundred and thirty strings on a piano with eighty-eight keys.”
“Oh, my,” she said. “I guess I never paid much attention to how many strings were hidden inside the piano. How long will it take to tune?”
“A couple of hours,” he said. “But without my sight, it might take a little longer.”
“You’re lucky that I filled in for Vater,” she said. “He’s unaware that he’s a bit tone deaf, and you might be up all night, debating whether a string is flat or sharp.”
He chuckled. “I don’t mind. Norbie is great fun.”
“Ja, he is,” she said, grateful for hervater, as well as Max’s kind words.
“Middle D,” he said.
She pressed the key.
He located the hammer and string, then adjusted the tuning pin.
“Are all of the strings flat?”
“Most will be,” Max said. “Due to humidity, they tend to turn flat in the winter and sharp in the summer.” He ran his hand over the inside of the piano and paused, his fingers resting on a raised metal manufacturer’s emblem.
“Is something wrong?”
“It’s a Blüthner piano,” he said. “I thought it might be one based on its clarity and rich warm sound.” He ran a fingertip over the crown and raised name on the emblem—Julius Blüthner. “Myvaterwas a piano maker for Blüthner in Leipzig.”
Anna’s eyes widened. “Could he have worked on this one?”
“Maybe,” he said. “How old is it?”
