It was the beginning of the third week in November when Maria knew she couldn't put the conversation off any longer.

"Georg?"

"What is it?"

"Well, Advent starts next week, and I don't know how we're going to..."

Celebrating the Advent season had been something Maria always looked forward to around this time of year. And considering this was the year she had finally found out what God's will for her was, she was more excited than usual. Having found happiness, found where she belonged, she couldn't wait to celebrate this time with her very own family.

Unfortunately, reality had intervened.

They hadn't even been in America for a fortnight after fleeing Austria less than two months earlier. They were living in a hotel, as they were yet to find a permanent home. The rooms were theirs for the time being, but it was little more than three bedrooms connected to a shared bathroom. They spent so little time in the tiny living space that to call it such was virtually a misnomer.

There was no room for an Advent wreath anywhere, let alone a Christmas tree.

"I'm afraid I'm not much help," Georg replied sadly; guiltily. "We haven't really done anything for the holiday season since Agathe died."

"Oh, I see," Maria knew she should be angry, or at the very least, startled at this news. Not celebrating the holiday season was sacrilege. And if it hadn't happened since Agathe was alive, that meant little Gretl would never have had a proper Christmas.

But she knew it wasn't the result of laziness or unwillingness. It had happened for the same reason there were whistles, orders, uniforms and no playing when she arrived that day in summer. Grief.

Georg had shut it out of his life, and his children's lives, because that was the only way he knew how to cope.

"We went to Mass on Christmas morning, but that was about it."

Maria nodded slowly.

"But I think it would be a wonderful idea to do something," he added, kissing her cheek.

All the children were very excited about the prospect of celebrating Advent. Liesl, Friedrich and Louisa had some memories of celebrating the holidays from before their mother had died, but to the rest of them, it was entirely new.

So getting the children on board with the celebration was easy. And Maria discovered it wasn't that hard to find the ribbons, candles, or even the fir twigs required for the wreath. But they still didn't have anything to use as a base, and by now, there were only three days left.

The base of every other Advent wreath Maria had made had been a wagon wheel. But where were they supposed to find something like that in New York when they could barely find their way around the city itself?

Marta and Gretl both suggested jewellery, like the bracelets and necklaces they had seen in the store windows whenever they did venture outside the hotel; but those would not be nearly big or strong enough to support the wreath, which had to hang from the ceiling for almost a month and hold four candles.

It was only on the Saturday; the day before Advent officially began that they found the answer. Maria walked past the girls' bedroom to find Liesl sitting on her bed, sewing something.

She had started doing this a lot more regularly in the past month, after they'd arrived in England. It had been partly at the request of her grandmother, who was very determined her grandchildren grow up 'properly', but Liesl had grown to enjoy it quite a lot. She had even started helping Maria with some of the sewing and mending for the family.

And that's when it hit her. They could sew the base of their Advent wreath. And between her, Liesl and maybe Brigitta, they could get it done before tomorrow evening.

"Liesl?" she asked. "Do you think we could make the base of the Advent wreath ourselves?"

"What do you mean?"

"Sew it," Maria explained excitedly. She could almost see it coming together in front of her eyes. They could sew pieces of fabric together – almost braid them – to form a base. "Do you think it would be strong enough?"

"I think so," Liesl mused. "If we do it properly."

Maria nodded. Her daughter's confidence had given her a boost of her own, and later that day she took all the girls into town to buy the fabric.

As she'd expected, it was much easier to find that than a solitary wagon wheel, and they returned to the hotel with their arms full of multiple bolts of mismatched cloth and many other little pieces.

They deposited it all in the girls' bedroom, and got to work.

After their first Advent wreath – with its homemade fabric base – was assembled the next question was where to hang it. They eventually decided on above the table in the kitchen/dining room. Even though it wasn't a living area, it was the largest communal space in their current lodging; and they spent more time there than any other room, excepting the bedrooms. Just as much time was spent there doing other, everyday activities as was eating; so Maria felt it was the best option.

That night, once all the dinner dishes had been cleared away, everyone stood at their places under the wreath. At his wife's insistence, Georg lit the first candle – given this was all her idea, he thought she should do it – and they all sang carols together.

Each person got to choose a song; so there were nine songs that night, which would continue in the coming weeks. For the most part, each person had chosen their favourite carol. Or in the case of some children, their current favourite carol; Brigitta seemed to have so many that narrowing it down to four was agonizing, while both Maria and Georg knew that Gretl's choice next week, and the week after, and the week after that, would be Jingle Bells. She had heard it upon their arrival in America and would share her love of it with anyone who would listen.

The one that had surprised everybody the most though, was Marta. She hadn't asked for a carol, but rather the song Maria had sung during the thunderstorm that very first night, which everyone had sung many times since and had been dubbed My Favourite Things.

"It's got sleigh bells and snowflakes," Marta pointed out when Kurt protested.

No one could argue with her after that.

"Alright, bedtime," Georg announced after the final carol; Friedrich's choice of O Little Town of Bethlehem had come to a close.

There was a series of small groans, but the children dutifully filed out of the room after kissing their parents goodnight.

"I'll be in soon for story time," Maria promised as the little ones reached the door. While they had lost everything but the barest necessities when they left that night, as soon as they had reached a stable lifestyle, Maria had reinstated bedtime stories for Marta and Gretl; using her imagination in place of a picture book.

The girls didn't mind that minor change at all, and Maria felt like it was the least she could do given how much of their life had been thrown into chaos.

By now the only child left was Liesl. She looked as though she was on the verge of tears.

"Sometimes I forget just how much you've done for us, Mother," she said, her voice thick. "And then you go and do something like this…"

Maria pulled her daughter into her arms. "You're welcome sweetheart," she murmured. "And I couldn't have done it without you."

After breakfast on the morning of the sixth, Maria helped Georg get ready for St. Nikolaus' visit. With no one else to play the role of the bishop, he had happily volunteered. He would already be visiting without the devilish Krampus this year "though maybe that was for the best," Georg had mused. "The children have been nothing short of miraculous throughout this whole ordeal."

He'd informed the children at dinner the previous evening that he had business in the city and would be gone for most of the day. Both she and Georg were certain the only ones who didn't realise it was a ruse were Marta and Gretl.

"Are you alright?" Georg asked his wife as she finished tying the long white beard at the back of his head.

"Of course," she replied with a yawn. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"Ah yes, Maria," he said in a funny voice; the voice she knew he'd be using when he visited the children as St. Nikolaus. "You've done so much for your family; especially at this time of year. But you need to relax as well; take care of yourself."

Maria covered her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter at her husband's antics.

"I mean it," Georg insisted, dropping the accent. "Take it easy." She had been so determined to celebrate the Advent season properly that she'd used a lot of energy up on getting it right. Now that everything was underway, she should start to relax. Of course he knew she wouldn't purposefully do that.

Maria nodded slowly. She knew her husband was right. By now they were already a week into Advent, and everything had fallen into place. While this holiday season hadn't been what she'd expected, it was still wonderful and memorable in its own unique way.

"St. Nikolaus' orders," Georg added, switching back to the funny accent.

Maria started laughing again.

She and Georg had helped the children write their letters to the Christ Child. They had all been thrilled at the idea of the Angel Himself reading their letters and were eager to tell Him all their deepest wishes; though Louisa and the boys had tried to outdo each other with their promises.

Maria had smiled as she watched these moments. She might be an ocean away from everything she had known all her life, but Maria was determined not to lose her Austrian heritage. Considering this was the first proper holiday season for most of the children, she found it doubly important to do it properly.

She knew Georg felt the same way; which was why she had been determined to have an Advent wreath – even if it had to be hung in the kitchen – and letters to the Holy Child rather than the American customs she heard discussed in passing; all of which baffled her.

The children absolutely loved St. Nikolaus' visit. Liesl and Friedrich loved hearing how much help they'd been to the family since they'd left Austria. They of course, knew that it was really their father under that long red robe and white beard, but it felt different hearing the news this time around.

Louisa, Kurt and Brigitta had similar feelings as their older siblings, though Louisa and Kurt were a little annoyed when they were told they needed to reign in their tempers.

The little ones, by contrast, didn't mind that he was scolding them, because they were so amazed that he knew about them in such detail. After all, the only person Marta had told about the time she spilt her drink under her bed was Mother. How could this strange bearded man know about it?

She was a little sad Father wasn't there to see it.

Georg woke Maria up very early on Christmas morning.

The rest of Advent had passed happily, if somewhat more simply than normal. But Maria didn't mind; she was thrilled that it was happening at all, and every so often she was able to forget how difficult and scary the last couple of months had been.

But she still wasn't sure why her husband was waking her up as early as he was right now.

"Come with me," he whispered. "I want to show you something before everyone else wakes up."

Maria nodded sleepily, but got out of the bed and followed him out to the living area. With the Advent wreath hanging in the dining room, it was the only option for the Christmas tree.

It was tiny and the decorations were sparse, but neither Maria nor Georg minded and none of the children had complained. And underneath it, were several boxes of various sizes. Given what had happened in the last couple of months, Maria was amazed that there were as many as there were; and her heart swelled with gratitude.

Georg reached around to the very back of the tree and grabbed the only box that wasn't wrapped. It was also the largest one there, too big to pick up, so he simply slid it over towards Maria.

She smiled back at him, before lifting the lid.

Inside the box was a guitar case. Georg had specifically packaged it that way so Maria wouldn't know what it was until after she'd opened it.

With a gasp, Maria unlatched the clasps of the case and lifted the lid. Her eyes widened as she took in the instrument; her gaze never leaving the guitar as her hand tentatively reached out to glide along the shining wood.

"I know how much you wanted to bring it," Georg told her. "So I contacted Max and had him send it over."

Maria's hand paused in its travels. She looked up at her husband.

"You mean this is actually…" she breathed.

"Mmm-hmm."

Hardly daring to believe it, she gently lifted the guitar out of the case.

There, at the back, where the neck of the guitar met the body, was a scratch on the heel. She would never forget how that had come to be there.

During her year in Vienna, she had been asked to spend the afternoon with a group of children. After all, wasn't that the ultimate goal of a teaching degree? She was lucky she even got to use the guitar. Not everyone who got this opportunity got the subject they wanted. Maria knew if there was one subject she would want to teach, it would be music.

She had started by playing a song for them; one not dissimilar from the Do-Re-Mi song she'd taught the von Trapps. After that any children who could play an instrument had been allowed to join in.

The little boy with the violin; Thomas – she'd never forget his name – had been a little too enthusiastic, and when he began to play, Maria had turned around at the exact same moment and his bow ended up hitting the heel of her guitar, scratching it.

It hadn't damaged the instrument beyond the outward appearance and she had assured Thomas nothing was wrong and she wasn't cross at him.

And she wasn't. While she had been very pleased she had been able to buy the guitar in such good condition, she truly wouldn't have cared if it had been covered in scratches. As long as it could play the music she wanted it to.

And now, half a world away, in a life she would never have imagined at eighteen, she was more grateful than ever for Thomas' passion that day. Without his mishap, she wouldn't have been able to tell this guitar from any other. But there was no doubt in Maria's mind that this was, in fact, her guitar.

She had never thought she would see it again. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes.

"Georg…"

Given her past, practicality had always triumphed over her personal wishes. Never had she needed to utilise that philosophy more than when they fled Austria. Of course she couldn't take her guitar; they were going over the mountains.

It wasn't until sometime later, once they'd made it to England – once they were safe – that the guitar had entered her mind, and she'd realised just how much she missed it. Although she had bought it herself, she had been introduced to the instrument by her father. Listening to him play the guitar was one of Maria's most precious memories, and whenever she played, she thought of him.

"You're welcome," her husband replied, answering her silent question.

She lifted the guitar out of its case, set it on her lap and began to play. She hadn't played since before the wedding. There hadn't been any time once they'd arrived back from Paris; they'd been so busy with escape plans.

She thought she'd missed it when it crossed her mind back in England, but having it in her hands once more, Maria realised she had missed it more than she'd ever thought possible.

Georg watched her eyes light up as she played; music made her come alive in a way even he, as her husband, couldn't match. Melodies transported her to another world, and whenever he watched, Georg felt like he was there too.

After what seemed like an age, but was probably no more than a couple of minutes, Maria returned the guitar to the case.

"Why did you give it to me now?" she asked, as she closed the lid and secured the clasps. "Instead of with the rest of the family, I mean?"

"Because you've always been so strong," Georg answered simply. "And it's not a Christmas present. It's always been yours; I'm just returning it to you."

"Well, thank you," she smiled. "But it was nothing."

"It was not nothing, and you know it." Georg insisted. Despite her comment, he knew it had been far from easy for her. "I'd always feared Christmas more than any other day. Especially this year. But you have made it very beautiful for us."

She had made everything beautiful. She'd given him his life back. She'd returned his love when God only knew what he'd done to deserve it. She'd abandoned the only life and the only country she had ever known to be with him. And now she'd singlehandedly organised the best Christmas he'd had in years; when given the fact that they hadn't been in this completely foreign country for a month yet, it should've been the last thing on her mind.

She had made his life better, and he would spend the rest of his days returning the favour.

"Well, you made it very beautiful for me too," she replied.

She leaned over and threw her arms around Georg's neck, kissing him fully on the mouth. He was surprised for a moment – while Maria could be very passionate and had come a long way since that magical night in the gazebo, she wasn't usually one for big, obvious gestures such as this – but soon relaxed and kissed her back.

Christmas wasn't over yet, but they both knew that any second, seven people would wake up, and this moment would end.

I have never celebrated the holiday season like this before, so I hope it's not too far from the truth. Pretty much everything is taken from Maria's memoir. I also paraphrased it at one point.

Hope you all have a happy whatever you celebrate and holiday season. Thank you all for reading my stories.