For the first time in the history of the Von Trapp family, Uncle Max Detweiler was the first to arrive at the breakfast table. He was utterly flabbergasted to find the dining room empty when he entered. Something clearly had happened that he didn't know about.
When Frau Schmidt came in with the coffee to pour into his and the Captain's cups, she greeted him and he said, "Hello, Frau Schmidt. Has a witch come to whisk away everyone else in the house and leave us alone?"
Frau Schmidt had the briefest of smiles for him before turning somewhat somber again and answered, "The Captain is upstairs with his children. Told me he needed to speak to them urgently before breakfast in private . . ."
The troubled expression on her face intrigued Max, so he continued, "Is Fraulein Maria with them?"
Frau Schmidt gave a heavy sigh, looked towards the doorway, then moved closer to him to say confidentially. "I have not seen her at all, and she is generally up right after myself. She wasn't in with the family for their talk. When I went to her room, she wasn't there . . . and I saw that her guitar case and carpetbag were gone."
Max's eyes widened in shock. "She hasn't left, Frau Schmidt?"
Frau Schmidt sighed sadly. "It certainly looks that way, Herr Detweiler, as much as I wish it weren't true."
Max looked upwards, thinking of the sad family that was sure to come down to breakfast. "Oh, things will be a lot more gloomy around here now . . ."
"Mmm," said Frau Schmidt absently and sadly. She, too, had enjoyed the new happiness in the household.
"Frau Schmidt, this seems so unexpected! Do you have any idea why she might have left?"
Frau Schmidt shook her head. "Honestly, I have no idea. I only know that Maria seemed extremely sad and introverted since the night of the party, not at all like herself. I'm not sure what changed. Perhaps she's struggling with something of her own . . ."
Max had noticed the change in Maria as well, and had been worried about the poor girl. At first, he'd suspected Elsa of saying something not very nice to her. But the strange thing was that since the party, the two women had become somehow closer; their farewell to each other had proved it. So Elsa, who now looked happy as ever, was ruled out. Which could only mean that whatever was bothering Maria had something to do with . . .
Max turned sharply towards the doorway when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs at a drudging pace. He winced inwardly as he watched each Von Trapp child come in and take their seat. Marta and Gretl had tear-streaked faces, the boys looked down at their feet the whole way, Louisa looked like she wanted to kick something, Brigitta looked shaky like her mind was racing, and Liesl was trying her best to not look to sad for her little sisters. Last of all came Georg, who had such a heavy air of sadness about him it struck a chord in Max. He was clearly just as affected as the children were.
Fraulein Maria was nowhere to be seen.
After exchanging half-hearted greetings, everyone sat down and for a moment, didn't know what to do. The children all looked at each other, wondering who would make the first move. On any other day, Maria would start the meal by saying 'grace;' it had become engrained in their routine. Now they were afraid to start eating without doing it, but who would say it?
"Liesl? Would you say grace for us, please?" asked Georg gently to his eldest daughter sitting beside him. She was surprised by his request, but nodded her head. In a somewhat shaky voice, she said Fraulein Maria's familiar blessing: "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."
"Amen," came the sad, melancholy responses from everybody, and for the first time since Fraulein Maria's arrival, the family ate in complete silence. This time, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware and stifled sobs.
Both men seemed to know that a conversation needed to take place unconsciously, so both headed for Georg's study right after breakfast. The children had gone right back up to their rooms, still as sad as ever and not wanting to do anything. Georg knew that he could not let them mope forever, but since he felt as miserable as them, he decided to let them have today for their tears.
Upon entering the room, Max closed the door behind them and watched Georg sink onto the couch, rubbing his face with his hand.
"Georg, is she really gone?"
"Gone," he replied in a dead voice.
"She must have left last night, then, after we'd all gone to bed," said Max, walking to the couch and sitting beside Georg. "Why do you think she would leave without saying good-bye like that?"
Georg exhaled and lowered his hand, clasping both together as he leaned forward, staring at nothing. "I found out this morning that she had left notes for each of the children, stating her reasons and reassuring them it was not their fault, how much she loves them, and they are welcome to visit her whenever they want."
"Well, I think that would be out of the question today," said Max, looking out at the cloudy and drizzling day. "I hope it wasn't raining when she left . . ."
"It wasn't."
Max turned his head sharply. So Georg not only knew she had left before his children did, he knew exactly when she had left. Something had happened. "Georg?" he said, the tone of his voice asking for the full story. Georg got the hint and began his story.
"Last night, I couldn't sleep so I went downstairs to make some tea. You know I always make it very hot. As I was exiting the kitchen I bumped into Maria and the water spilled. The water burned the back of her hand."
Max inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. "You didn't hear her coming?"
"No, she was quiet as a mouse," Georg replied. The deadness in his voice was being replaced by a deep sadness. "Of course, I insisted I clean her hand and wrap it in gauze, and she let me . . . Then, after I was done . . . I was foolish, Max, I let my hands linger on hers, and suddenly she is crying, begs me to stop and springs away from me."
The eyebrows on Max's face went up. "That's all that happened and she became that frightened?"
Georg gave a very deep sigh and his face tightened. He looked like a man who carried a great guilt on his shoulders. "Max . . . I ruined everything. It's all my fault."
Now Max became worried. He remembered the conversation he'd had with Georg three days ago, and instantly he became suspicious. "Georg, you'd better tell me now what happened before I assume what I never want to assume."
Georg looked at Max sharply but soon his expression turned to one of pure, tired regret. "Max, do you remember the conversation we had after the party?"
"How could I not?"
"Well . . . she overheard it." He shamefully hung his head again.
Max gasped and then immediately gave a sad sigh. "Oh, Georg, no . . ."
"Oh, yes," said Georg, twisting his fingers. "She said that . . . she no longer felt comfortable around me, as much as she loved working here and being with the children."
"Well, this does explain why she's looked so unlike herself since the party . . . but you tried, didn't you? To explain yourself?"
"I suppose," said Georg. "I didn't deny it, I told her I'd been frustrated and drinking a little, but that didn't change the fact that what I said stems from something true and powerful . . ."
"You mean your attraction, even . . . lust for her?"
Georg cringed at that word. Once he thought that was all he felt for her, just common lust. How wrong he had been. Slowly he shook his head. "No, Max . . . Yesterday, after delivering Elsa to the train station, I found myself going to Agathe's grave. I said good-bye and searched my soul for a while. When I came home, I saw Maria playing with the children . . . I realized the truth. I realized it again when I bandaged her hand and held it . . ." He turned to Max and finally said aloud. "I'm in love with her, Max."
Max looked at his friend and realized that Georg was telling the truth. It all made sense to him now, the looks he saw between them and the way they would glow. All at once, he felt a profound sympathy, compassion and understanding for Georg. "And that's why you let her go."
Georg nodded, looking at his hands again, head hung. "I just want her to be happy, and I have to respect her decision."
Max patted his shoulder. "Did you tell her of your feelings, Georg?"
Georg shook his head. "What good would that would have done, Max? She is a postulant, and has vowed her life to God. I would only have made her feel worse, even guilty."
"Have you ever considered the possibility she might feel the same way for you?" Max asked gently.
Now Georg seemed agitated and got up from the couch. "Max, don't say that. If she did, would she have left?" he practically snapped.
Max decided it may be best to leave this subject alone. At least, for now. Standing up himself, he said, "Well, we both know what you at least cannot do."
Georg looked at him curiously. "And what cannot I do?"
Max answered straightly: "You cannot become the man you were before she came."
Georg looked at Max for a long time. "That will never happen." And he meant it.
"Well, Georg, I will stay for as long as you need my help, and I will do my best to help things brighten up around here."
"While having two extra helpings of each meal," joked Georg weakly, but then turned seriously again. "Thank you, Max, I appreciate it." Max nodded and started to leave the room when Georg stopped him. "Oh, Max? Could you do one thing for me?"
Georg moved to the liquor cabinet, and Max instantly became wary. But Georg merely took the two remaining bottles of heavy liquor and handed them to Max. "Pour these down the drain, will you? I believe I've learned my lesson," he finished ironically.
Max managed a chuckle and took the bottles with him out of the room.