For the first time since she had come to the Von Trapp villa five months ago, Maria Von Trapp felt completely useless.
She'd spent the morning almost completely alone. She had woken up two hours later than usual, propped up by pillows, Goethe's Faust open on her lap, and her bedside lamp still on. She nearly panicked when she found the children's rooms empty after running to their rooms without her robe and slippers. Only when she had found Frau Schmidt downstairs did she learn that Georg had gotten the children up, fed and to school on his own without waking her.
Either he got home after I dozed off or he never came up to our room last night. Why? And he woke up the children and got them to school on his own without waking me. Why? And now he hasn't come back after dropping them off. Why
Why, indeed; it was all Maria could think about now. Especially why Georg was not speaking to her, why he was avoiding her. Today…that must be it. Of course my presence would be hard on him today of all days…
The twenty-two-year-old spent the morning sitting at the drawing room window that faced the front of the house, absently mending some of the children's clothing and watching for her husband to come back. But he didn't.
Finally, the lunch bell rang, and Maria put down her task and went to the dining room. Only her place was set, and she looked at Frau Schmidt.
She spoke with a sympathetic look on her face, "The Captain called and said he would not be home for lunch. He asks that you pick up the little ones from school and he will pick up the others later, and asks that you and the girls meet them right afterward at Agathe's gravesite and be ready."
Maria nodded slowly, taking in this information. "He didn't say where he was? He didn't want to speak to me?"
Frau Schmidt's look and tone became even more sympathetic to her. "No, he just said he would be out and to pass along the message." She laid a comforting hand on Maria's shoulder. "Don't take it to heart, Baroness. It's a hard day for everyone."
Maria nodded and gave a tremulous smile before sitting down to her lunch. But she didn't eat much, because most of her appetite had disappeared. Against her will, she felt angry. Not that Georg was choosing to be by himself, but that he had cut her off completely – the previous evening, when she woke up, at breakfast, and now lunch, when he wouldn't even tell her these afternoon plans himself, as if he were angry with her!
So she ate her lunch with a new fury and then hastily left to walk to the primary school and pick up the girls. Mutti, no matter how I feel, don't let me worry the children; this is just as hard a day for them as it is for my husband.
On the walk there, Maria wondered if he really was angry with her. But why? Of course she understood that, today of all days, Georg would not have Maria at the forefront of his mind, and Maria understood that. But to treat her the same way he had when she had first come to the villa? Even worse than that?
Maria, don't. It's his grief, nothing more. You are always more withdrawn on the anniversaries of your parents' deaths, and it would be foolish to expect him to behave as he does on normal days. Just be patient and don't confront him about it; that will only lead to an argument and that is the last thing anyone in this family needs today of all days.
When she heard the sound of many children, Maria immediately snapped out of her train of thought, wanting to put on a strong face for the girls. She smiled when she saw Brigitta, Marta and Gretl amongst the many children, looking for her. Today, the primary school had only a half-day of school, due to an all-school teacher's meeting in the afternoon.
The three girls soon spotted her and went to her. Gretl ran forward first, and Maria picked her up in a tight hug, relishing in the sheer joy her littlest one always had upon seeing her. "Hello, Mother!"
"Hello, everyone," said Maria, reaching down the hand not holding Gretl to caress Marta's head and then Brigitta's cheek. "How was your day? I'm sure it was nice to have only a half-day of class."
"I made a picture for you," said Gretl as Maria set her on her feet.
"That's so sweet," said Maria, taking her hand and also Marta's hand. "Let's go home and you can show it to me."
When they began walking towards home, Brigitta asked tentatively, "Are you feeling all right, Mother?"
Maria, surprised and touched by the compassion in the eleven-year-old's voice, instantly replied, "Of course, darling, why wouldn't I be?" Listening to her voice, Maria cringed at how falsely cheery it sounded.
Brigitta looked uncomfortable and worried as she, in turn, replied, "Well…you didn't help wake us up or join us for breakfast. Father said to let you sleep in since you so rarely get to, but we worried you might feel sick and he didn't want us to worry so he didn't say anything…and, well, today being today…"
Maria kept her face determinedly neutral yet reassuring as she put an arm around her middle daughter. "I feel absolutely fine, Brigitta," she said in as firm of a voice as she could. "Don't worry about me."
But even as she spoke, her mind was reeling with this new information she had learned about her husband's behavior. He's even used the children to avoid seeing me…
Maria's afternoon with her three youngest daughters was infinitely better than her morning alone. Knowing that they would be going to their mother's grave later that afternoon, Marta wanted to bring flowers. However, it being November, no flowers were in bloom or even alive outside.
But Maria had a solution for that. "We can make some," she said. "We'll use paper and paints and our crayons and scissors to make some flowers."
Marta and Gretl were instantly excited by this idea, and Brigitta smiled at it. She joined them for a while before she pulled out a pad of paper and pen.
"I always write a letter to my mother and pretend to mail it to her," said Brigitta in explanation, almost shyly.
Maria smiled and squeezed her hand. "I often talk to my mother in my thoughts, especially right after she died. I believed, and still do, she became a kind of guardian angel for me."
Brigitta smiled. "I like that."
"Me too," said Marta. "I only remember her a little bit…I remember she smelled like lilies, and she had the prettiest smile."
"That's right," said Brigitta, her wistful smile widening. "Lilies were her favorite flower."
Gretl had stopped coloring and had lowered her head. "What's wrong, little one?" asked Maria, lifting her chin up with her finger.
The five-year-old looked apologetic, sad, and slightly worried. "I…I don't remember her…"
Maria felt immediate sympathy for Gretl, and gathered the little girl to her for a hug. "Gretl, you were only a baby when she passed…no one blames you for that."
"Not even Father?" asked Gretl, her voice muffled against her mother's dress.
Maria's jaw tightened at the thought of her husband, and said fiercely, "Especially not your father. And whether or not you remember her, your mother loved you with all of her heart. She loved all of you." Maria looked at Marta and Brigitta as she spoke the last sentence.
Marta joined in the hug, and Brigitta nodded with tears in her eyes, smiling.
It was the first time all day that Maria didn't feel useless.