1. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Georg found her staring at the view of the mountain that loomed over the lake behind his house. The children had informed him that she had received some bad news from the Abbey that morning and they were near tears with worry for her. He couldn't blame them for their concern; the young woman had been a whirling ball of sunshine from the moment she first blew into their lives. And he had to admit he was curious to find out what could do to her spirits what pinecones, whistles and blustering sea captains could not.

"Fraulein Maria?" He stood back at a respectful distance, not wanting to intrude too much on her private emotions but not wanting to startle her either.

"Good afternoon, Captain," she greeted him sadly. "I'm sorry to leave the children, but it was only for a little while. I... I just needed to be alone."

"Of course," he said, stepping a little closer, assuring her with a wave of his hand that he was not cross with her. "The children told me you had some bad news." He didn't wish to pry, but he hoped she could hear the invitation to share her burden if she wanted. She turned back to look out over the lake and swallowed a lump in her throat.

"Sister Thomasina passed away last night," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "She was elderly and died peacefully in her bed. I know I should be glad, she's enjoying the reward for a long life of service to God now. I know this, but..." She sniffed back the tears that were gathering in her eyes. "I guess I'm selfish."

"I don't think there is anything selfish about it," he said as he stepped closer and offered his handkerchief to her. "Would you still like to be left alone?" Maria shrugged and shook her head.

"I'll miss her," she said as she took the cloth and wiped her eyes. He gestured for her to keep it when she tried to hand it back. "Silly, really. I don't know why I'm so upset, except... she was really kind to me. Kinder than any of the others. In some ways, I think I lost my only friend."

"Surely not. You always talk about the convent as your home and your family," he countered, but only to offer some words of comfort. But instead of being comforted, Maria sniffed again and shook her head.

"I say that, yes, but to be honest life is difficult for me at the Abbey." Maria wiped her eyes again and took a deep breath before she went on. "I can't seem to get the hang of it, of living that strict disciplined life." She laughed as she considered her own words. "That's some confession, isn't it? Hardly earth-shattering news." She gave him a teary smile and he returned it kindly.

"Rome wasn't built in a day. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, you're still a postulant."

"Still a postulant," she repeated a tad bitterly. "Still a failure." She shook her head and sighed. After a few moments, a smile spread across her face again and she looked at him, her eyes twinkling. "Many times I would miss a meal as punishment for some infringement, but Sr. Thomasina would always slip me some bread and cheese when no one was looking. And if I happened to sneak out, she always left the service door by the kitchen unlocked for me in case the gates were shut before I returned." She paused. "Sometimes I would cry at night from the loneliness I felt, and she always came to me. She would give me another blanket to be warmer, or held my hand and sang to me. She always stayed until I fell asleep. The older nuns aren't supposed to speak to postulants, you see. I was always afraid that she would get in trouble because of me. She told me that while the strict rules are important for order and safety, there are times when you have to bend them a bit in order to show mercy. She told me that without compassion, rules are just tyranny."

The Captain nodded, his lips turned up in a funny grin. "That sounds like another nun I know." When she didn't follow his meaning, he smiled and gave her a pointed look.

"Who, me?!"

"Only during thunderstorms," he quoted in mock seriousness, reminding her of the night she defied his strict bedtime rule in order to comfort his frightened children. "Please don't be discouraged, Fraulein Maria. It seems to me you understand what's most important about a life of devotion. And I for one am very grateful for it. Where would this family be otherwise?"

For once, Maria was speechless. No one had ever expressed gratitude for her insubordination.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Maria," the Captain said, resting his hand gently on her arm and giving it a careful squeeze. "Please take as much time to yourself as you need and if there is anything else I can do, please let me know." He released her arm and started to retrace his steps back into the house when he stopped and cleared his throat. "You did not lose your only friend, Fraulein. I hope you know that."

She fought back tears, making it impossible to speak. She simply nodded and watched him walk away.