While My Guitar Gently…
They had been beckoning for so long. She had been to the hills with the children several times, but not since she had left the Abbey had she come alone. Despite carrying the extra weight of her guitar, Maria increased her pace, feeling impatient to visit her favorite spots: the trees that she sometimes thought of as her own private slalom course, and other times imagined being a fragrant canopy under which she could rest; the brook that bubbled and chuckled and never failed to cheer her; the wide open spaces that looked out onto the closest things she could imagine to permanence on this good Earth – the sky and the mountains.
She grinned broadly and, setting down her guitar, spread her arms out wide and twirled until she was too dizzy to stand. Laughing at herself, she sat on the grass and waited for the world to come back into focus. When her head had stopped spinning, she looked all around her and tried to absorb the unspoiled beauty of the hills. Closing her eyes and lifting her head up to let the warmth of the sun, the warmth of the Son, penetrate, she prayed.
She felt so thankful. In just one day, yesterday, she had nearly lost everything, and yet she had somehow regained it all, multiplied. She had argued with the Captain, had said things to him without thinking through the consequences. She had been unable to hold herself back; the words had exploded out of her. It had been because of the children; someone had needed to speak for the children.
When he had dismissed her, she had been momentarily stunned; all of the fight had gone out of her. She could already see herself saying goodbye to the children and could not bear the thought. When he had walked away from her, distracted and lured by the sound of the children singing, she had been left to walk back to the house alone. It had been so difficult to take those steps. She had already begun to feel the loneliness; she had already started to miss the children.
But there was no need to feel despondent anymore, was there? He had changed his mind. He had even apologized to her and asked her to stay. The children's singing had touched something in him, and even if she didn't quite understand how or why, she was grateful.
This morning he had surprised her by unexpectedly giving her the afternoon off, telling her that he would be spending it with his children. She had almost refused at first, thinking she might be needed, but had reconsidered when she imagined how happy the children would feel to spend time with their father. She suspected it would be good for the Captain as well.
And so here she was, alone on her mountain once again. Alone, but not alone. Never alone.
She opened the case beside her and lifted the guitar out gently. Holding it in her lap, she looked at it more closely than she had in a long time. Although it was in good condition, it was an old guitar. She didn't know how old, or how many people had owned it before her, but it had a few nicks and scratches. Most of the original shine on the body of the guitar had been dulled long ago. The frets were worn down, indentations clearly visible from the many fingers – her own included – that had pressed down on them throughout an untold number of years. The strings were begging to be replaced, but it was enough that they still played for her.
She was not a masterful musician, nor did she aspire to be one. She played simply, modestly. It was all she needed; it was enough to accompany her as she sang.
She had not made much use of the guitar once she had entered the Abbey. The instrument of choice there was the organ, and there were persons far more talented than she who provided the celestial music that helped to raise the nuns' voices to heaven. Her guitar had lain in a closet, untouched, for almost the entire time she had been in the Abbey.
When the Reverend Mother had met her at the Abbey gate to bid her farewell, Maria had been surprised and delighted as the Abbess had handed her the guitar. Maria had been beyond grateful for the gift, and even more so for the Abbess's thoughtfulness. Maria had left the Abbey feeling not quite so alone; she had welcomed and embraced her longtime companion.
Feeling content with the memory of that moment, Maria strummed a chord; D major. She had always thought of D major as a particularly happy sounding chord. Without having anything in mind, she continued strumming, switching from one chord to another – D major, A major, and back to D major. She smiled as she heard in her head the opening notes to the first song she had taught the children and hummed it as she began the familiar picking pattern on the guitar. That song had been the start of some of the happiest times she had spent with the children.
She paused in her strumming as she thought of the children. Although they sometimes tried her patience, they always ended in delighting her. The older children already looked to her for guidance as they continued to mature. They often surprised her with their questions and comments, constantly revealing a strong intellect and a desire to learn. The younger children made her happy in the simplest of ways. Each time she felt a small hand sliding into hers, each time one of them smiled up at her with a look of complete trust, she could barely contain the love she felt growing for them. For all of them.
She thought of the Baroness, the woman who was destined to be their new mother. Although it was unreasonable, she felt a pang of jealousy at the thought. The children were not hers and they never would be. It was a simple fact. She would just have to continue doing her best to prepare them for their new mother. Their rightful mother.
She picked at the guitar again, hands moving almost automatically as she thought of the children and the Baroness, of how clear it was that they needed much more time to develop a sense of warmth, a sense of connection between each other. Even though the Baroness and the children had only just met, she felt instinctively that there was something lacking that should be there. She decided that she must help them as much as she could.
She thought of the Captain, of how he and the children seemed to be rediscovering their connection. She remembered how he had reached out so hesitantly to the children when they had completed their song, of how they had responded by rushing into his arms, of how she had almost felt a part of that connection.
She began humming absentmindedly again but stopped when she heard the sound of her own voice accompanying the chords that she was playing. It was an old song she had not thought of for many years. It was a song that had always made her weep as a child; the melody was haunting, filled with longing and loss and loneliness.
I go to the hills when my heart is lonely…
She wiped the corner of her eye, not having been aware of the tears gathering there. Why should she feel lonely or sad? She was always surrounded by people, by the children. She was helping to bring a family together. She was being of service; she was on God's errand. Her days were filled with joy, not sadness.
I go to the hills when my heart is lonely…
She resumed playing the melancholic song of her childhood and tried to let the music take the loneliness away from her. She tried to pour it out of herself, to let it flow out of her fingers and into the guitar. She tried to let the guitar weep for her.
When the song ended, she packed up her guitar and returned it to its case. She packed up the feelings that had momentarily overwhelmed her and put them away as well. She stood and, determined to leave behind on these hills what she could not, should not, take with her, she went back down the mountain and returned to the villa.