THE WIDOW

Welcome to my new story! I disappeared into it months ago, shamefully ignoring my beloved fellow fans' stories on this site, as well as our community in Proboards. I don't know how the rest of you balance your writing and the fandom, because when I'm lost in a story like this, I find it hard to think about anything else (even, alas, my RL). I promise, I really do, to make up for it now that this story is solidly underway. With a bit of polishing, the updates for this story should come pretty frequently, and I'll have time to read and review all the wonderful stories that have been written in my absence, and to see everyone over on Proboards.

Writing this story required me to fake a lot of expertise I don't have: about boats, classical music, the German language, poetry, and a bunch of other stuff. I did just enough research on Wikipedia to satisfy myself, and hope that any experts among you will cut me a break. And yes, I know that the town in this story is nothing like the real Trieste, but a fictional town was somehow not as satisfying. So you'll have to cut me a break on that too.

This first chapter is long, because I thought you'd get more excited if I gave you the last bit, but I'll try to keep the updates more reasonable after this.

I don't own the Sound of Music, its characters, or anything about it. After nearly six years in this fandom, though, they still all bring me great happiness.

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Chapter One: Trieste

"Maria-" Reverend Mother hesitated.

Although she wore her usual serene expression, the older woman wouldn't look Maria in the eye. Well, whatever consequences awaited Maria, she had to accept they were well deserved.

This wasn't the first time she'd run away from the Abbey, but today's timing couldn't have been worse. Maria didn't understand it herself: she longed to be accepted into the novitiate, and to continue her journey toward becoming one of the sisters at Nonnberg Abbey. Yet today, with only a few days remaining before the next class of novices was to be selected, the blue sky and green mountains had lured her out of the Abbey without a backward glance.

"Maria-"

"Yes, Reverend Mother?"

"Maria, it seems to be God's will that you leave us."

"Leave?" Maria's heart climbed right into her throat.

"Only for a while," Reverend Mother began,

"Oh, no, Mother!" Maria interrupted. "Please don't send me away! This is where I belong. It's my home, my family. It's my life!"

"But are you truly ready for it?"

Maria jumped to her feet. "Yes! I am!"

The reply was firm, but kind. "If you go out into the world for a time, knowing what we expect of you – perhaps you will find out if you can expect it of yourself."

"I know what you expect, Reverend Mother, and I can do it! I promise I can!"

"Maria," the older woman said reproachfully.

"Yes, Mother," Maria blinked back tears and forced herself to return to her chair and sit quietly. If only she could go back and live today over! "If it is God's will."

Reverend Mother had begun to leaf through a pile of letters.

"Now. Let's see. There is a family near Salzburg that needs a gover-"

But then she stopped mid-sentence.

"No."

"I beg your pardon, Reverend Mother?"

"Hold on, Maria. I have a better idea."

There was a long pause while Reverend Mother opened a drawer in her desk and retrieved a letter she waved in Maria's direction.

"I should have thought of this right away."

"Ehrm – thought of what?"

"I have just the thing for you. There is an older woman in need of a companion. Madame Clara Rousseau. A kind lady, and a charming one. She lives by the sea, in Trieste."

By the sea! She might as well be sent to the moon! Maria had never been more than a few kilometers from Salzburg. And what kind of charming French person needed a companion?

"But I don't speak a word of French! How will I be a companion to someone who-"

Reverend Mother laughed. "She's as Austrian as you or I, Maria. She was married to a Frenchman for many years, but her husband died about a year ago. As for the rest of it, the Lord will show you in His own good time. I want you to try it, at least until September. Now. You'll need to find some proper clothing in the robing room. There's a bus to Trieste tomorrow morning."

She held her hand out so Maria could kiss her ring, and their meeting was at an end.

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"Fraulein! Fraulein, wasn't Trieste your stop? Come now, I've a schedule to keep!"

The driver gave her shoulder a shake until Maria scrambled to her feet. After one last sad and sleepless night in Nonnberg Abbey, the comforting rhythm of the bus ride had lulled her into napping most of the way from Salzburg.

"What time is it, please?" she asked the blue-uniformed back as she followed him up the aisle, trying not to notice the impatient passengers glaring first at her and then down at their wristwatches.

"Four in the afternoon. Right on schedule. Or we were," he said crisply.

Maria took the hint and clambered off the bus as quickly as possible, lugging her carpet bag behind. Blinking away the sudden glare of the sun, she waved forlornly after the bus as it roared off: her very last connection to Nonnberg Abbey, to Salzburg, to home.

As the bus's shadow slid away from her, Maria found herself standing in the middle of a landscape so foreign it really might have been the moon. To her left, the road curved inland, along a deep, U-shaped harbor. To her right was a stand of odd-looking trees, whose jagged-edged leaves, clustered at the top of a long, curved trunk, offered no relief from the sun.

And straight ahead, bordered by a narrow strip of rocky beach, lay the vast expanse of the sea, glittering in the late afternoon sunlight, stretching away until it met the bleached-blue, cloudless sky. Without the reassuring presence of mountains to guard the landscape, it all felt threatening, limitless.

It also felt hot. The heavy leather hat barely shielded her eyes from the broiling sun, and she could feel the sweat gathering underneath it and sliding down her neck and underneath the itchy black dress. It had been the only garment she could find in the robing room, although the sleeves were too tight and the hemline wildly uneven.

"Oh, help," Maria murmured, turning away from her first disturbing glimpse of the sea. She trudged through the cluster of trees and found herself facing a sprawling structure, one nearly as big as any cathedral or palace in Salzburg, but looking anything but somber. It was a big, pink pile of a building, with cheerful white trim and dark-green shutters drawn against the afternoon heat. In front of the building, there was a wide terrace littered with umbrella-topped tables and straw chairs. A handful of patrons laughed and chattered, and the sound of ice clinking in their glasses was nearly as appealing as the tumble of a mountain brook.

"This can't be right," she muttered, stopping to mop at the sweat gathered under the rough dress before digging a scrap of paper out of her carpet bag.

"Can I help you, Fraulein?" a slender blond waiter in a crisp white shirt and black trousers approached. His cool demeanor made Maria feel even more awkward, misplaced and hot.

"I'm looking for this address," she thrust the paper in his direction. His eyes flickered back to her, as if measuring her odd appearance against what was written there.

"There must be some mistake," she agreed with him. "I'm looking for Clara Rousseau. Madame Rousseau."

The waiter's face suddenly broke into a wide smile. "Ah! Madame Clara! You've come to the right place, Fraulein."

"But this place-"

"This is the Strand Hotel," he explained, "But our Madame Clara lives here year-round, on the very top floor. If you'll step this way, and proceed through the café to the lobby, they'll be happy to show you upstairs."

Five minutes later, having ignored the stares of the hotel staff and guests, Maria stood before an imposing double door and rang the bell. If she'd been hot before, by now, she was cooking in the sweat that rolled down her legs after the five-story climb. There had been a lift, but she was too shy to ask for help with it, or her bag.

"I'm Maria-" she began, but the little maid who answered the door replied in a shower of French, shrugged apologetically, and left Maria standing in the foyer. Curiosity quickly got the better of her, and she peered through a half-open door. With the shutters closed against the sun, she could barely make out a salon crowded with comfortable furniture, a piano and Victrola, and shelves lined with books. A dining room lay beyond.

"Having a look around, I see?"

Maria jumped and blurted out an apology, but the old woman standing in the foyer merely waved her words away.

"Good! I want you to feel at home here, Maria. Although I'm not sure why, exactly, you're here in the first place. But still. Oh! My manners! I'm Clara, and you're Maria," she chirped, extending her hand.

Madame Rousseau was tiny - no more than five feet tall, with smooth, porcelain-skinned cheeks, a feathery crown of white hair and velvet brown eyes.

"Madame Rousseau," Maria replied, shaking the proffered hand, and resisting the urge to curtsy.

"Oh, no dear, it's Clara, please. Like I said, I want you to feel at home here, at least as long as you - I told Susannah that I didn't need any sort of companion. I have Annette to help me, and the cafe downstairs to send up my meals, and really, for anything else, you know, I just-"

"Susannah?" Maria asked.

Clara laughed, a silvery bell of a laugh. "I always forget. Susannah is Reverend Mother to you."

Maria frowned. "I don't understand."

"You don't think Mother Abbesses are born that way, do you? We grew up together in the same village, near Innsbruck. The two of us girls, we did everything together, our schoolwork, and our chores, and swimming in the summers, and mountain hikes and picnics. We took music lessons together, sang in the church choir, went to parties. But when we finished school, she got it in her head that she wanted to become one of the sisters. I never did understand that," the old woman shook her head regretfully, as though the news was still fresh, "she was the best dancer, and the boys just loved her, and she loved them back, but, oh well- shall I have Annette bring some tea?"

Maria's head was still spinning at the revelations about Reverend Mother, whom she somehow must have thought was born wearing a starched wimple and sweeping habit, and with no name other than "Mother." Meanwhile, Clara led her into the salon, and got her settled into an armchair and situated with a cup of tea and a biscuit. With the shutters closed, and a big fan turning overhead, the room was cool and dim. Clara had a friendly and engaging, if slightly vague, manner, putting Maria so at ease that her questions just popped out, one after the other.

"And you didn't want to be a nun, Clara?"

"Oh, heavens, no! I went to Vienna, to study opera."

"You were an opera singer?"

"Well, for a little," Clara confessed modestly. "Even a bit of a successful one. They liked me in Milan, certainly."

"You sang in Milan?"

"Yes, and Paris, too!"

"Then you were famous?"

This was already proving to be quite an adventure, Maria thought.

"Not really. Well, maybe just a little." Clara laughed, "A little bit famous. But it was in Paris that I met my dear Georges."

"Georges?" Maria's tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar French pronunciation.

"My husband. My late husband," Clara gave a watery little smile and nodded toward a large framed photograph on the mantel.

Maria went over to inspect it. A handsome, bearded man with an ample belly draped a possessive arm over a younger, unmistakable Clara. In his other arm, he held a curly-haired little girl, no more than a toddler.

"Is that your daughter?"

"Lily, yes. My treasure." Clara answered, and it made Maria wistful, to hear the pride and love in the older woman's voice. She had no mother to boast about her, and while a few of the sisters at Nonnberg might miss her, it wasn't the same thing at all. "Lily lives in America now. Chicago. She's got a little girl of her own named after me! Her husband's a dentist, you know. "

Maria wasn't sure how she would have known that last bit of information, but it hardly mattered: "A granddaughter? In America! How thrilling! Have you been able to visit?"

"Oh, no, goodness, no," Clara said vaguely. "This is my home, you see. Georges and I came here to live when Lily was a baby, but she left to get married several years ago, you see, and then he-" she trailed off into an awkward silence and began fussing with the tea tray.

"I'm so sorry," Maria began. Perhaps they should talk of something other than Lily and the late Monsieur Rousseau.

"Clara? I have a confession to make. I've never been a companion. I don't know anything about being a companion. I'll need lots of advice."

"Well – ehrm-" the old woman hesitated. "It's just as I said, Maria dear. I don't needa companion. I tried to tell Susannah that in my last letter. But she got it in her head that - she's worried about me, dear old thing. She thinks I - for heaven's sake, I don't need a governess! I rub along quite well here, really. Not sure what a companion is going to do for me."

"Well, then," Maria said, "we'll just be good friends." Until September, Reverend Mother had said. It would be too humiliating if Clara sent her back to Nonnberg. Surely she could find a way to be of some use to this charming, fluttery old lady with the sad brown eyes.

"Perhaps I could read to you? Or write letters? And I can cook, nothing fancy, mind you, but-"

"Oh, we have all our meals sent up from the cafe. Annette cleans and does the wash."

"Perhaps I could do some sewing for you? I can make my own clothes," Maria said proudly, although she suspected that something like Clara's elegant dress was beyond her dressmaking skills.

"I'm afraid I already own more dresses than I'll ever be able to wear," Clara shook her head. "But speaking of dresses," she gave a frankly despairing look at Maria's awful dress, "I told Annette to throw that hat of yours in the dustbin, and that dress ought to go right after it. You'll want to change before dinner."

"I haven't got another dress," Maria started to explain, wishing she did. She was itchy and hot and miserable. "When we enter the Abbey, our worldly goods are given to the poor."

Clara's face brightened. "I know just the thing! Annette," she called, and when the little maid appeared, she issued a stream of commands in French. "Go on," she waved Maria away, "Annette will show you to your room, and she'll help you find something fresh to wear."

The promise of "something fresh," led Maria readily down a carpeted hallway, following Annette into a big room dominated by a four-poster bed. There was a small armchair, a little desk set between two shuttered windows, and an enormous wardrobe that stretched along an entire wall.

"All this is for me?" Maria asked, turning in a slow circle to take in the lovely room, which nearly glowed in a few stray rays of golden sun that speared through the shutters.

"Oui, mademoiselle," the little maid smiled encouragingly, "pour vous." She threw open the wardrobe doors and gestured toward the avalanche of clothing that tumbled onto the floor. "Et aussi, pour vous. Mademoiselle Lily," Annette began to explain and then shrugged. After a pause, she shrugged and held up six fingers.

"Six o clock for dinner?" Maria guessed, and they beamed at each other.

Lily's wardrobe, full of bright colors and silky fabrics, of evening gowns and swimming costumes and lacy underthings, didn't seem very appropriate for a postulant from Nonnberg Abbey, but Maria managed to find a full skirt and a white blouse with an embroidered collar and long, full sleeves. Even if Lily's shoes pinched a bit, they were surely the nicest clothes she'd ever worn.

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Dinner was brought to the dining room on a trolley, wheeled in by the waiter Maria recognized from the cafe, who greeted her with a smile and introduced himself as Kurt. He chatted with Clara as though he were a member of the family, winked at Annette, and quickly offered to show Maria around the small town that lay across the harbor.

Maria was just about to accept his invitation when Clara intervened: "Absolutely not! That town is no place for a girl like Maria, Kurt. She's on loan to us from Nonnberg Abbey in Salzburg. A girl who's studying to be a nun doesn't want anything to do with such a fast crowd. Not the casino or the cafes. And certainly not the types who hang around the harbor!"

Much to Maria's disappointment, Kurt's easy manner had been replaced by a guarded expression and fumbled excuses about not having been to church very often. He bowed his way out of the room, leaving them to their meal of a cool, creamy soup, simply cooked fish and plum tart, and leaving Maria to wonder about the wicked town on the other side of the harbor.

Clara was sweet and attentive, clucking sympathetically as Maria answered a barrage of questions about herself - no parents, no siblings, no relatives at all, a year of teachers' college, no languages except German, and yes, she'd been a postulant for three years, and no, she hadn't been accepted into the novitiate yet, and yes, it usually was only a matter of a year, but in her case -

The conversation suddenly took a dizzy turn.

"Here, Maria, dear, have some custard with your tart. Tell me, do you play the piano?"

Despite the old woman's distracted manner, Maria realized that the sudden change of topic had been an intentionally kind gesture, to steer them away from her failures as a postulant.

But Maria was still worrying about this matter of being a companion.

"Perhaps we might go on an excursion of some sort, Clara? I mean, the afternoons seem very hot, but tomorrow morning, if you'd like, you could show me-"

"Oh, no," Clara interrupted. "I mean - you see, I don't get out much. Or at all, actually."

"Never?" Maria frowned.

"No. I just remain - ehrm - here," Clara gave a little chuckle, but her soft brown eyes pleaded for understanding.

For the town to be off limits was one thing, but the entire outside world? Clara's apartment was turning out to be even more cloistered than Nonnberg! Her head hurt at the thought. "But don't you - what if you need the doctor? Or," Maria paused, her mind scrambling for other examples. "Or your hair done? And what about church?"

"Priests make house calls. And beauticians. Doctors, too, of course. Why, there's nothing I can't call downstairs for," Clara laughed her silvery laugh. "Books from the bookstore, and postage stamps, and - oh, all sorts of things. You'll see. And don't worry, Maria dear. We'll make sure you get some fresh air and exercise. Susannah was very clear about that. We've got to keep those roses in your cheeks"

Later that first night, when Maria retired to her new room, she threw the shutters open and leaned out to catch the cool night breeze. An enormous silver moon glowed low in the sky, casting a glittering carpet of light onto the gentle swell of the sea. Her eyes followed the deep curve of the road along the water's edge, all the way to the town on the other side.

As forbidden fruit always did, the little town looked awfully tempting. From high up in Clara's apartment, Maria could see an enormous white marble building sprawled on the far side of the harbor, its façade lit so brightly that she could make out a surrounding cluster of cafes, with people sitting and strolling about in every direction. On the water in front of them, boats of every size, shape and color bobbed in place along a half-dozen long piers that splayed like fingers from the shore. She strained to hear the imagined sounds of people laughing and lively music, but from this far away, there was only the sound of the sea, lapping at the stony beach.

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The next morning, over breakfast – served by a different waiter named Friedrich, who sported an enormous mustache - Maria and Clara worked out what a companion's duties might entail. They spent a quiet morning together, working on correspondence; Clara had a long and interesting list of friends with whom she corresponded regularly, and each letter came with an entertaining, if sometimes hazy, recounting of how she had met the other person or the adventures they'd had.

"I have a rest every day after lunch, from one to four," Clara told her over luncheon, served by a dark, stocky waiter named Hans. "And according to dear Susannah, I'm to shoo you outside during that time."

"I'll be fine inside, I'm sure." Maria said. Although she longed to be outdoors, the very thought of the hot afternoon sun made her wilt.

"No, don't argue with me, dear heart," Clara clucked, "Susannah told me about your headaches. I thought you might sit on the beach. Just remember not to go to town, whatever you do. It's not safe. Not for a girl like you."

"You really won't go out at all?" Maria inquired gently. "Not even to the cafe downstairs? Because after you rest, if you like-"

"No, dear," Clara flustered. "I just couldn't, you see. It makes me too sad. So many happy years here with Georges, and our bringing up our little Lily together, and now - no, I have everything I need right here."

So at one o'clock, when Clara disappeared behind her bedroom door, Maria traipsed down five flights of stairs, waving to Hans, Kurt and Friedrich, who bowed with near reverence in return. Then she stepped, blinking, into the blazing afternoon sun. Making her way to the strip of rocky beach, she sat obediently on a wooden bench and dragged the back of her hand against her forehead, which already ran with sweat.

God was everywhere, she reminded herself, but in this open terrain, she felt unsafe, surrounded by too many unknowns, too many possibilities. Which in turn, reminded her that she ought to think deeply about her vocation. What had Reverend Mother told her? – to consider if she could expect it of herself? What did that mean? She sent a brief prayer God's way, but while it had always been easy to find Him in the mountains, she did not feel His presence in this strange landscape. Then she thought of singing, but instead of her voice rising to meet the mountains, it was stolen away by the gusting wind and the rushing sea.

She peered across the harbor to the bustling little town, so full of life and possibilities, and sighed deeply. The three hours of Clara's rest time felt more like a month, and Maria was relieved when it was time to return to the apartment and dress for dinner.

The second morning was much like the first, but after lunch, on her way through the lobby, Maria seized the chance to have a chat with the three waiters. Kurt had obviously informed Friedrich and Hans of her vocation – she could practically see the three young men hiding their sparkle behind frequent references to the Holy Father and Our Lady. It took her ten minutes and a few of her best jokes before they relaxed enough to have a real talk, and then she was able to learn from them that Georges Rousseau had died a year ago, several years after their daughter Lily married and left for America. It had been a double loss for the old woman, then.

Once outside, Maria's mind was so busy turning over Clara's sad situation that she barely noticed she had turned away from the rocky beach, in favor of wandering along the road where it followed the harbor. She looked back nervously over her shoulder, but between the shuttered hotel windows and the stand of trees – palm trees, she now knew to call them - she realized she could slip away undiscovered. Surely no harm could be done if she went just a little farther! She made it halfway along the harbor to the town before her conscience overcame her curiosity. Reluctantly, she turned her back on the town and returned to the Hotel Strand, trying to ignore the pull of what lay on the other side of the harbor.

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Georg tightened the final rivet with a flourish and stepped back to admire his work. It had been a grueling three days' effort, but the beams were now sturdy and ship-shape. The engine parts would arrive within a few days, and those would be more than enough to occupy him until the replacement sails arrived ready for installation in another three weeks. Interior and exterior were both freshly painted, a cheeky red and white Austrian rebuke to the Nazis. He'd even begun to lay in some supplies.

Restoring the little sailboat - he liked to think of it that way, although it was really a step or two above, with its cabin below, two masts and sizable engine - had been a most satisfactory undertaking. Within six weeks – eight at the most - he'd be ready to launch the next phase of his battle plan.

Although the sun was nearly straight overhead, and he'd eaten nothing more than some fruit and a stale roll since waking before sunrise, he felt a burst of energy. Perhaps he'd start on staining the deck. He seized a broom and began to sweep it clean.

It was a different sort of clean sweep, his plan for a new life, now that the old life - as naval officer, husband and father - was in ashes. Four years after Agathe's death, he'd come to accept that his heart would never heal. But Georg was also a realist, so last year, he hadn't been shocked when certain other parts of him came to life and demanded attention, reminding him of all kinds of things he'd rather have forgotten.

With all that, under pressure from his family and most of Austria's upper crust, and his children badly in need of a mother, he'd toyed with the idea of marrying again. In fact, he wasted a year of Elsa Schrader's time before he sent her back to Vienna for good, having concluded that marriage would only add to, rather than cure, his woes.

That was when the idea had taken shape: why not go back to the life he'd lived before? Before Agathe and the seven children she'd given him. He couldn't bring back the Austrian Navy, of course. But he could return to wandering the sea: his first love, or at least the first one that wouldn't up and die on him. It would be easy enough to find some casual female companionship along the way. And without his comings and goings, the children would surely overcome the anger and resentment his presence evoked in them, as though he were no more than a cruel reminder of what they'd lost.

And so Georg had come to Trieste, gotten the old boat out of dry dock, found a berth in the harbor, and gone to work restoring her. He'd left behind lakes, mountains and the luxurious comfort of the villa in favor of backbreaking work and rough quarters, but for the first time in years, he felt in control of his circumstances.

Daytimes, he worked on the boat. When night fell, he avoided the casino that dominated the waterfront – he had no interest in being recognized by elite society or being snared by the marriage market – in favor of prowling the town's bars and cafes, staying clear of the whores, but flirting extravagantly with the barmaids and waitresses who were trying to earn an honest living. He'd been good with women - all right, very good with women, dozens of them, until he'd met his Agathe. It was remarkable, how easily it came back to him. And if he hadn't yet lured one of them into bed, well, it was only a matter of time.

He dreaded it. He craved it. And he had perhaps six or eight weeks to find it, before he left Austria for good.

Last night, he'd thought he'd been close. The barmaid – Sophia, wasn't it? - hadn't been his type; she was short, dark and curvy, when he'd always been partial to willowy blonds. But when she'd served his beer, she'd pressed her generous breasts against his arm, and he'd closed his eyes and told himself he could imagine her underneath him. After an hour in her company, though, her incessant nervous chatter and, worse, her habit of giggling in response to everything he said, made her company intolerable. He'd pressed a large tip into her hand and gone back to the boat to sleep alone.

Georg was nearly finished sweeping the deck when he heard a familiar whistle behind him.

"Max? What the hell are you doing in Trieste?"

"I've come on unfinished business."

"I don't recall having any business with you. Nor do I recall giving you permission to board."

"You're not in the Navy any more, Georg. When I arrived last night, I came down here straight away. I waited for you for hours. Where did you get to, anyway?"

"None of your business." Georg continued sweeping, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the deck. "What do you want, Max? If you've come here to rake me over the coals about Elsa, you're wasting your time."

"No, no, not Elsa. I mean," Max said, "it was a disappointment. I wanted the two of you to get married and keep all that lovely money in the family."

"We've been through all of that, Max. I was dishonest to both of us, and utterly unfair to her," Georg said firmly. "And now she's back in Vienna, where she belongs. Now. If it's not Elsa, then what could I possibly have done to bring you all the way to Trieste?"

"It's not what you've done, Georg, it's what you're apparently planning to do. A few weeks ago, I sent out letters to a hundred or so of my dearest friends, inquiring about sponsorship for next year's festival. Imagine my surprise when I received a response from your solicitor that you'd be out of the country for next year's festival! He went on to explain that you were stopping in Trieste for only a few more weeks, and then you'd be leaving Austria for an extended period of several years. Years! A most surprising turn of events for a man with seven-"

"I'm full of surprises," Georg said curtly. He swept the pile of dust and debris over the railing into the harbor below. Max followed him toward the stern as he resumed his sweeping.

"Are you out of your mind, Georg?"

"I'm a sailor, Max," Georg said calmly, although he found himself swinging the broom in a manner that was anything but calm. "Sailors sail. I'll be off in a matter of weeks, as soon she's seaworthy. There's nothing especially challenging about the journey down the coast, and then over to Greece."

"And then what? Your solicitor said something about Africa."

"Depending on the situation, yes. Africa. Or perhaps I'll put the boat in storage and go overland, toward the Middle East."

"Georg! It's one thing to spend a month in Vienna, but quite another thing for –"

Sighing, Georg stood his broom on end and looked Max straight in the eye. "It's just as he said. I'm leaving more or less permanently. I have in mind to settle myself somewhere different. As different from Austria as possible."

"You are out of your mind! Have you forgotten that you have seven children, Georg? That you are their only parent? How can you abandon them?"

"I am hardly abandoning them, Max. I'm leaving them in the hands of a capable staff. And I do have Elsa to thank for suggesting boarding school for the older ones. Once they are off for the fall term, it will not be so difficult to find a governess for the younger ones. Now, would you excuse me, please?" Georg slid by Max and went below to find the deck stain and brush. When he climbed back out of the hold, Max was still there, arms folded.

"Boarding school? Even for Brigitta?

"Max," Georg shook his head. "You don't know what you're talking about. Do you even know how old Brigitta is?" He dipped the long-handled brush in the bucket of stain. "And since when are you the defender of home and family? You've hardly lived a conventional life yourself. Who are you to tell me about my children?"

"I am a child. That's why I understand what it will do to them to lose you."

Georg gave a humorless chuckle. "They can't do any worse without me, than they're doing with me." He began to spread stain across the deck, with strokes that were perhaps more ferocious than necessary. "I left all the required instructions with my solicitor and the housekeeper. They'll want for nothing."

"They'll want for you," Max said. "Now take Liesl-"

"I do not wish to discuss my children in this manner," Georg growled, edging the brush in Max's direction.

"I know you don't," Max said, with an unfamiliar stubbornness, "but you've got to!"

"Max, it's time for you to leave." The brush moved toward Max in wide, sweeping arcs.

"But I am not finished yet!" Max protested, taking two steps backward. "Sometimes I think I don't even know you, Georg. What would Agathe say?"

"Max, don't you ever say that again!"

Georg nearly shoved the brush at Max, who leapt nimbly onto the gangplank.

"But they're children!"

"Yes, and I am their father. Goodbye, Max."

"You can't get rid of me that easily. I'll be back, Georg."

"In that case," Georg said, his voice deadly calm, "I'll make sure to be gone before you return."

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Leave me a little review, won't you? (I know, this was mostly setup. The action really picks up in the next chapter.)