Any body of water could lift Georg's spirits. As soon as he stepped out onto the terrace he felt calmer.
He looked out over the lake. It didn't need to be the sea, on which he'd spent so much of his life while in the Navy. It was something different.
Even after Agathe had died he had found the lake would calm him. When everything else in his life had been an agonising reminder, the lake wasn't. The water had no connection to Agathe. It had no connection to anyone; it was a part of him completely separate from any other part. Water was his element.
On the water he had lived one life. The life of a young naval officer, ready and eager for adventure. Quite apart from many less than virtuous pursuits with the ladies, he had been commanding submarines and troops, witnessing the horrors of war firsthand as he had patriotically fought for his country. He had been decorated by the Emperor for his service.
On land he had lived his other life, in which he had loved his children unconditionally, proudly watching on as they grew up right before his eyes. He had cherished his wife and had been devastated when she died; so much so that the life that had once been that of a life of a loving husband and devoted father had transformed into one of commanding cadets.
While there were certain similarities between Georg's two lives, no one but him had been present for both of them. The two worlds themselves had never overlapped.
Against the light of the water he could make out the silhouette of a figure sitting on the bench by the gazebo. He knew instantly who it had to be.
After putting the children to bed for the night Fraulein Maria had gone outside. Not that there was anything unusual about that; provided it wasn't raining, she did it most nights. But tonight was different. She seemed sad. Only looking at her now did Georg realise she had in fact been sad all day.
It would have been impossible to tell if it was anyone else. She had still been eager with the children and polite to him and Elsa and Max and the other staff members. Even when she was sad she was happy.
But there were little things.
She had seemed quieter and slower in her actions. She hadn't sung at all today. And the way she sat on the bench right now, her shoulders slumped, head bowed, all pointed to signs of sadness.
Without really thinking about it, Georg walked down the stairs, and headed towards the gazebo.
What could possibly have happened that could make her so sad?
Maria sighed. She had tried her best to not let it bother her; this was the happiest time she had had in years. She felt almost guilty for letting her spirits be dampened when there was so much to be thankful for in her life right now. The seven beautiful children under her care. She loved them so much and would treasure their time together as long as she lived.
And their father. A week and a half ago, on his arrival home with Baroness Schraeder, she and the children had fallen into the lake. The Captain had been anything but pleased; displeasure that had turned into absolute fury when she had stood up to him, defending her charges, who wanted nothing more than the love of their father; to be seen as the children they were, not just unhappy little marching machines.
The Captain had been so outraged that he'd dismissed her on the spot. But she hadn't had much time to be sad, for the children had started singing, calling him away. And even Maria could not have predicted that he would join the children in their song. Moved by the turn of events he had apologised, and asked her to stay.
Since then things had changed. The Captain had grown closer to his children and made it clear he valued the governess' opinion. Even more memories had been made.
But even all these things still weren't enough to push away the pain that she had felt every year. It seemed that no matter what, this day was one on which she was forever destined to be sad.
"Fraulein?"
At the sound of her employer's voice Maria slowly turned around and began to rise from the bench.
"Captain?" she asked. "Is everything alright?"
"Yes, yes, everything's fine." he answered, motioning for her to stay seated.
"I just came outside to get some fresh air," she explained as she sat back down. "I just needed a moment to myself."
"Of course," he replied.
She didn't say anything more. A long pause fell before he spoke again.
"May I, uh join you?" he asked. Her silence had only made his suspicions that something was playing on her mind stronger.
Though she had said she wanted to be alone, for some reason Maria felt comforted that the Captain was here now. She nodded silently, and he joined her on the bench. She did not say anything more though, and another long silence filled the air.
Georg looked out over the lake. A week and a half ago, his children had fallen into that lake. He'd been furious at the spectacle they caused, and became even more livid when the governess, who had joined her charges in their spontaneous dip, had started admonishing him on his parenting skills. He'd fired her immediately. He wasn't going to allow someone so outspoken and lacking in discipline to take care of his children.
But then he'd heard the singing. His children were singing, seemingly happy for the first time in five years. He had joined them without fully realising it, and when he had, something in him had shifted. Everything Fraulein Maria had said was the truth. He had quickly rectified his mistake, asking her to stay. Without her his children would not be singing, and music would still be gone from the house. He wasn't going to let this girl get away.
Beside him, she was still silent, and this quiet brought Georg back to the present moment. When he realised she wasn't going to say anything, he spoke.
"I couldn't help uh, noticing you seemed uh, to be rather...sad today," he stammered. He didn't want to cause her any additional pain. Whether she would admit it or not, he knew she had had a hard time today.
Maria looked away. She had hoped nobody had noticed her mood today, least of all the Captain himself.
"Are you all right?"
Maria lowered her head. He knew. Now she couldn't chalk it up to a bad night's sleep. Considering these feelings only ever lasted on this particularly day, that had been her plan, had anyone asked her about it tomorrow. But because he knew, she couldn't do that. The only option she had was to be very careful with what she told him.
"It's nothing sir," she assured him. "I'll be fine by tomorrow. It's just today."
"Today?" Georg asked, confused.
"Yes sir," she replied. "It-it's the anniversary of my father's death."
"Oh," he said, unable to manage anything else. "Fraulein, I'm so sorry."
"Thank you." Her voice was little more than a murmur but Georg could tell she meant it.
"I know how you feel."
"Yes," Maria replied offhandedly. "I would imagine losing your wife would be very hard."
Georg had heard that before. After Agathe's death, there had been a seemingly never-ending line of people doling out condolences that never seemed genuine. There had been the occasional close friend or family member who did truly care, but even then, Georg realised, he had been so consumed by his grief and angry at the world that he'd never really heard it.
Now, for the first time in years, he was hearing it. Finally. And he was touched by the young governess' thoughts.
"I am sorry for your loss Captain," she added. "I know I've never really said it but..."
Thank you Fraulein," he said. "And you are right. It was hard. It was the worst pain I ever experienced. You saw what I was like."
They shared a small smile. Georg wasn't proud of the way he had treated his children over the past five years. He had never stopped loving them, but he had certainly not shown it. But from now on he was intent on being the father he should have been; the father his children deserved.
"You know, you are the reason I am not like that anymore," Georg said. He had to tell her again. He could not thank her enough. "Thank you."
Maria broke his gaze and looked down at her lap. She could feel her cheeks colouring. Compliments were not something she was accustomed to.
"You're welcome sir," she demurred.
"But I wasn't talking about Agathe," Georg continued, returning to the original subject. "My father died when I was four."
Maria was surprised. Maybe it was shock that the Captain had mentioned his late wife. She had never been mentioned in any of their conversations since his return from Vienna and the children still had not brought it up with him. Or maybe it was the fact that he had lost a parent at such a young age, just like her.
"I'm so sorry Captain."
"Thank you Fraulein," Georg said. His voice was sincere, if slightly absent. He didn't really want to talk about his father. They hadn't been especially close. That wasn't his father's fault; it was just the dynamic his family had. But even with that, it had still hurt when he heard that his father had died.
But that wasn't why he didn't want to talk about it. If Fraulein Maria was willing to tell him, he wanted to hear her story.
"May I ask, how did your father die?"
"Scarlet fever," she answered with a sigh, before braving his gaze again.
Georg was so shocked he couldn't react immediately. He was taken aback to know that she had experienced this, for he knew the pain of scarlet fever all too well. Two of his daughters had contracted the virus. Luckily they had pulled through, but Agathe, his darling wife had not.
"That was how-"
"-your wife died," Maria finished. "The children told me."
He nodded. There was a time, not so long ago, when he would have been furious at the thought of his children talking about Agathe, but not now. He wasn't angry. She was the reason he wasn't angry.
"How old were you?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"Six," she stated.
Georg's heart gave a little jolt. Her father had not only met the same fate as his beloved Agathe, but she had been the same age as Brigitta had been; the same age Marta was now. No wonder she was so compassionate with the children.
"And your mother?"
Georg knew he was walking a dangerous line. But for some reason he couldn't stop. She had done so much to help them. In the space of a few weeks she had found out things about the children that he had not known in the entire time of being their father. Georg realised he felt genuinely bad that he did not know anything about this woman who had repaired his broken home.
"She died when I was only two," Maria answered. "Pneumonia."
Georg felt a lump in his throat, affected once again by what she was telling him. He remained silent, waiting for her to say something else.
"My father caught the pneumonia too," she continued. "He managed to survive, but was left very weak. He would catch every illness that went around and would take much longer to recover than most people. But he always did. And then one day-"
"He didn't?" Georg supplied.
"Yes," she affirmed quietly. "When the scarlet fever hit, I was sent away lest I contract it too. He never came back to get me. After that I was sent to live with my uncle. It was..." her voice softened, eventually stopping altogether. "Well, I'd rather not talk about it."
"Of course, Fraulein. I understand." Georg had heard the pain in her voice when she mentioned her uncle. He wasn't going to push her any further. He was amazed she had opened up as much as she had.
He looked up at the sky. Being the middle of the summer, it wasn't completely dark, but it definitely wasn't as light as it had been when he had first walked outside. Elsa and Max would be wondering where he was. He should definitely not have spent all this time with his children's governess.
"It's quite late," he said, easing himself up off the bench. "I think I'll retire now. Thank you for the talk, Fraulein."
Maria gave a small nod. "I'll stay out here a little longer, if that's alright, sir."
"Absolutely," Georg replied. "Would you, uh, like to take the morning off tomorrow?"
"Oh no, it's really not necessary," she insisted. "I will be fine by tomorrow."
He nodded. "Well, if you change your mind, or if you need any other day to yourself, just let me know."
"Thank you," Maria nodded again. "I will. Goodnight sir."
"Goodnight."
As he readied himself for bed, Georg thought about the conversation he and the governess had just had.
Until tonight, he had never realised just how private a person Fraulein Maria was. She would forever be talking with the children, eager to know anything and everything about them, and since their argument she had even talked to him. But it was still about the children, about Austria, about him. Anything but her. She never brought up her past. Even the Abbey was a topic she barely discussed.
Georg also knew that what she had told him tonight was barely scratching the surface. Losing one's parents at such a young age was a huge ordeal. Her behaviour throughout the entire day had shown how much it had affected her. And yet, she had still told him about it.
He shuddered to think about what she wouldn't discuss with him.
Maria stayed outside far longer than she expected to. Her conversation with the Captain had given her so many things to think about.
Two weeks ago, she wouldn't have dreamed of telling her employer anything, and certainly not something as personal as what she had revealed tonight. She had never thought she would tell anyone about it, let alone Captain von Trapp. But it had seemed so natural to talk to him, and for the first time since her father had passed away, she had felt a flicker of happiness on what had always been the hardest day of the year.
By telling him, she had let him into her life; a life she had kept so hidden as long as she could remember. And when the Captain had spoken of his life, he had let his guard down. He had allowed her into his life.
Two different worlds had overlapped tonight.