As Though They Knew the Way

by augiesannie

Eight years have passed since they last crossed paths. When they meet again, in post-war Salzburg, the Captain and Maria are no longer the same two people they had been, back when they danced in the garden. But as Rodgers and Hart wrote, "Sometimes you think you've lived before, all that you live today/Things you do, come back to you/As though they knew the way."

4. Aigen

AIGEN

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BANG!

The ballroom doors flew open with such force that Lottie must have felt it through the soles of her feet, because the girl's eyes grew wide with fright at the tall figure looming threateningly in the shadowy doorway.

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Captain von Trapp, his figure intimidating and austere, stepped aside silently to let them exit. But as Maria and Lottie scurried from the ballroom, there was no missing the trace of a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth.

Once they were back in the brightly lit foyer, the Captain made a remarkable sight. Not only had he had shed his jacket and tie and rolled his sleeves up over his elbows, but his flushed face gleamed with sweat and his hair clung damply to his forehead.

"Why do you stare at me that way?" he demanded.

"Where have you been, Captain?"

"I went to the cemetery. To visit my wife's grave. Why?"

"What on earth happened to you?" Maria blurted. He looked as though he'd rolled about on the gravesite, but she couldn't imagine him giving into his grief in such a fashion.

"Oh. Well," he looked down and examined the toes of his polished black boots with great intensity. "I was on my way back here to collect the two of you, and upon reflection, I realized that – ehrm – it must have seemed rather cowardly, the way I abandoned you at the front door. I resolved to seek you out and apologize for my behavior, but once I got myself inside and passed the library, it suddenly occurred to me that there were some volumes of my father's that held special meaning for me, and that I hoped might have survived. I stopped in there, and the next thing I knew, I seem to have found myself," he looked down at his rumpled clothing, "why don't you come see for yourself?"

As the three of them crossed the foyer, Maria noticed his gaze drifting to where the large Austrian flag had hung so proudly.

"It must be hard for you, being here," she said tentatively.

"Not really," he shrugged, tearing his eyes away from the blank white wall, "it's not as awful as I expected. With everyone gone away, and the chaos those animals left behind, it's not the same place anymore, not really."

The library: where Captain von Trapp had reigned from behind the massive desk, challenging Maria's every decision about the children, but somehow making her a better teacher than she'd been before. Where she had found refuge among more books than she'd ever dreamed could exist. Now, there was a mountain of trash heaped by the French doors alongside a few rickety chairs. Torn and stained draperies had been pulled down and piled in the corner, while two enormous rugs had been rolled up and stood sentry against the far wall. A neat stack of a half-dozen volumes stood in the center of the enormous desk, which had been cleared and wiped clean of dust.

"I straightened the place out myself," he explained. "Couldn't bear to see the mess they'd made of it. I put aside those books to take away, and got the rest of it ready for the haulers. If any ever materialize, that is. The rest of the books, the better furnishings, my solicitor can worry about. And I got to thinking – if you'd be willing, I mean you are looking for work – we could come out here again and do some more of it. Pile up trash, wash windows, tidy the garden, that kind of thing, while waiting for crews to do the heavier bits, and – Fraulein? I mean Maria. Are you listening to me?"

Maria was watching what appeared to be Brigitta, climbing the library ladders, an act that was strictly forbidden.

"What? Oh, yes, of course, Captain. I was just-" she swallowed, "never mind."

"What is it?"

"It's just that – do you see them?"

"Them?"

"People who don't belong where you're seeing them," Maria explained. "I know it sounds foolish, but the whole time I've been here today, I've imagined seeing the children. And – and other people." No need to mention that, just moments ago, she thought she had glimpsed Baroness Schrader through the French doors, setting out for a stroll along the lake. What had happened between the Baroness and the Captain, anyway?

She was relieved by the Captain's grim bark of a laugh.

"It happens to me all the time, Maria."

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And just like that, Georg's new life fell into place.

Maria readily accepted his offer: until a work crew became available, in return for her assistance at the villa, she and Lottie would stay in the suite's second bedroom and take their meals with him. When he added a cash stipend to the deal, she muttered a token protest, but it wasn't hard to see how she went pale with what he was quite certain was relief. What was Maria going to do with all that money? he wondered.

Every morning after breakfast, they drove out to Aigen with a packed luncheon and spent the day working. The ghosts were still with him: on any given day, looking out the window, Georg might spy Kurt climbing a tree by the lake, or Friedrich and Louisa racing each other across the lawn. But, unlike the old visions – Elsa, Agathe, Max, even Maria, popping up in places they could not possibly be - somehow, these ghosts belonged here, children from a lost past who had come home to a place that existed only in memory. And as Lottie frolicked about the deserted, dilapidated villa, her antics filled the empty rooms with a kind of joy that made what might have been a sad errand, more bearable.

As the days and then weeks went by, though, Lottie more frequently stayed behind to spend the day in Salzburg with Clara Armstrong and her young charge, Susan. Maria fretted at the imposition, despite Clara's reassurance, "but it is good for the two girls, to be making friends, it forces them to learn to communicate in more challenging circumstances, don't you see, Maria?"

And when Maria worried out loud about the imposition on Georg – the luxurious accommodations, the generous pay for menial work, the meals delivered to the suite within minutes of a telephone call – it was his turn to reassure her.

"You and Max are always after me to do something for dear Austria, and having spirited my fortune away to England before the war, aren't you glad to see me returning some of it?" Although he paid her extravagantly for their work days at the villa, he quietly noted that she bought nothing for herself; she apparently owned no clothing besides the elegant golden suit and two polka-dotted shirtwaists, the one in red and its twin in green, which she wore on alternate days.

"Some of the better shops have reopened," he told her one day, "why don't you buy yourself something? A new dress, or a hat, perhaps?"

"No, I'll be all right," she said easily. "I'm saving up for – ehrm – for a – well, a journey. One I hope to take with Lottie someday."

On a few occasions, he left Maria alone for an hour to visit Agathe's gravesite. Not that Georg was the sort to chat up a headstone, but it gave him a certain satisfaction to note that the tearing grief had been replaced by a sort of wistful acceptance. And he wanted to reassure himself that the arrangements he'd made for its maintenance, so faithfully honored during the war, would still be followed after he'd left Austria for good.

Without Lottie to distract them, he and Maria were a fearsomely efficient team, methodically working their way through the great salon, the dining room, the nursery, the servants' wing and the kitchen, separating trash from valuables, retrieving a few small treasures for his family, cleaning, sweeping, dusting, and washing the filthy windows. Maria made a charming picture in her colorful shirtwaists, with her long curls tied up in a kerchief and her freckles peeping out from beneath smudges of dirt. When she expressed surprise that a man with his aristocratic roots took so easily to menial work, he found himself regaling her with tales of the rough life on submarines during the Great War. In return, she told him stories of her childhood on her uncle's farm, and he marveled that a childhood devoid of love, with even the most basic necessities grudgingly given, had not turned her bitter. And, of course, Maria was always anxious for news of the von Trapp children, and Georg welcomed the opportunity to speak of them, not only their present lives, but their experiences Switzerland during the war.

It was while Maria was sweeping up broken dishes in the kitchen, and he was, to his great satisfaction, managing to repair the wiring behind the great ovens, that he told her about the time Agathe had tried to make apple strudel. "When Cook told her that it was a mistake for anyone born outside Austria to even attempt it, Agathe threatened to dismiss her! Oh, she could make biscuits with the children, and a proper English trifle, and scones and such," he said with a rueful smile, "but let's just say that strudel was never going to be her strong point," adding after a moment, "what are you staring at, Maria?"

"Hm? Oh, well. It's just that you tell stories about her so easily now. The children's mother, I mean. Back when – ehrm, I mean, that summer, you barely spoke of her. And when you did, the subject was changed as quickly as possible. As though you were afraid of her memory."

"Afraid?" he bristled. "Have you forgotten who you're talking to?"

"I think it's been good for you, Captain, to come back here. It's just like Reverend Mother used to tell me. You've got to face your fears."

"Face my fears?" Georg snapped. Something inside him, something childish and resentful he'd barely been aware of, burst open. "Face my fears? While we're talking about facing your fears, is that what you did, running away in the middle of the night and abandoning my children? Why, Maria? What was it that made you run away to the Abbey?"

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Because he knew perfectly well what she'd been afraid of: him, and of the sparks that flew between them, and that damned dance. The Laendler. By speaking aloud, he'd acknowledged a shameful truth, one he'd managed to bury for eight years, leaving it safely beyond his memory's reach.

"The reason no longer exists," was all she said, quietly, before turning away from him and slipping out the back door and into the garden.

Georg gave her a minute's lead and then followed, wanting to make peace. She didn't acknowledge his presence as he trailed behind her through the ruined garden, where no vestige remained of the carefully manicured lawns and greenery he'd once taken such pride in. But now that they were well into April, the air was milder, and once they reached the path along the lake, there was comfort to be found in the green-fuzzed trees and a playful breeze that sent ripples across the water.

"Next time Lottie is with us, I ought to take her out in the canoe," Maria observed.

He would take the olive branch extended to him, then.

"Not on your life," he said lightly, "If anyone's taking Lottie out on the water, it will be me. Have you forgotten what happened the first time you took the children out – watch out!" he called, but it was too late, as the breeze tore Maria's kerchief from her head and sent it skimming out onto the lake. She let out a curse.

"Listen to you, swearing like a sailor!" he chuckled. "Glad to see you've learned something from me!" But he couldn't take his eyes from her long blond curls, which blew about wildly, despite her efforts to confine them.

"Don't you laugh at me!" Maria was laughing too. "It will take me a week to get the tangles brushed out of it! Let's go back inside so I can find another cover for it."

"I've got a better idea. Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around," Georg motioned, and when he had her wary obedience, he came up behind her, took a deep breath, smoothed back her errant mane, and began to braid. Left over middle, right over middle, and so on, letting the orderly rhythm of it distract him from the silk slipping like water through his fingers.

"Where did you learn how to braid hair?" she asked, sounding the slightest bit breathless. "It's from learning all those sailors' knots, is it?"

Left over right, right over middle, repeat.

"No, it's from having five daughters and no governess. I had the whole war to perfect my braiding skills." He waited, biding his time, and then, "Maria?"

"Hm?"

Left over right, right over middle, repeat. Slowly now, stretching out the task.

"I apologize. For prying."

"It's all right. Captain. It's just that you are rather secretive yourself, you know."

Hadn't she just complimented him for talking so freely about Agathe? But he was in no mood to bicker.

"Maria, do you think – I mean, now that we are working together so well –you could use my given name, you know. As you are so fond of pointing out, you are not one of the men under my command."

She was silent for so long that he reached the end of his task. When he gave the golden rope a last little tug, a visible shiver ran down her back, and then only then did she answer.

"No, Captain. I'm afraid I can't do that. It would be too-"

She didn't have to finish the sentence. After eight years, their roles were cemented into place. To her, Georg would always be "the Captain," just as she, although widowed with a daughter of her own, would always be his little governess. Although if she'd been only that – a prim and pious governess, - he'd barely have noticed her eight years ago and would certainly have forgotten her by now. It was her complexity that had infuriated and intrigued him. Even back then, she'd been a bit of an enigma.

On the drive back to Salzburg, he ticked thru the mysteries in his mind. There was, of course, the question of why a girl like Maria had ever thought she was born to live inside a cloister in the first place. Moreover, she'd made very clear that she did not welcome inquiries into the circumstances that had caused her to flee the villa eight years ago, and had led her away from Nonnberg Abbey and into marriage and motherhood. She was silent on her whereabouts during the war, and why she'd chosen to return to Salzburg. "Please don't ask me that," and "the reason no longer exists," she had told him repeatedly. Georg found it impossible even to imagine what sort of man Maria would have married. And what had become of this hypothetical husband? Was he dead? Had he been a spy, or a collaborator?

Once they arrived back at the hotel, he set his questions aside in favor of a shot or two of whiskey, and let himself be drawn into the cozy routines that seemed to have established themselves under odd circumstances: a collection of unrelated individuals whose paths crossed in what had previously seemed a cavernous and impersonal hotel suite and somehow created an atmosphere of warmth and welcome.

Here was Clara Armstrong, accompanied by her charge, Susan, returning Lottie to Maria's care and stopping to chat with Georg about everything from postwar England's slow recovery, to the small steps she was taking toward her dream of a school for deaf children. He admired the woman's initiative, her quick mind and precise English diction, and found himself offering to introduce her to the Mayor. Perhaps the idea of the school would distract the man, who had sent a number of letters to the hotel, pestering Georg to become involved in Salzburg's affairs.

Meanwhile, the two little girls gamboled about the suite, filling the space with such spirited energy that Georg barely noticed the absence of laughter and chatter. Their visits were delightful reminders of the years when his daughters had been young.

And here was Max, turning up in time for supper as usual, bearing new records for the phonograph in return for the hospitality. Although his highest hopes were for his real estate ventures, he continued to follow the entertainment business as post-war New York began to export its theatrical successes out to a slowly recovering Europe.

"Listen to this one! It's from the biggest hit on Broadway!" he'd announce, or "can't you just see the crowds dancing to this one?" and he would turn the volume up, until Lottie and Susan felt the vibrations and gifted Max with wide smiles.

Despite his initial frustration at having been stranded in Salzburg, the arrangements suited Georg, so much so that, just as spring burst into its full glory all around them, he began to feel something warm and tender blossom within, especially when it came to Lottie. The red-headed sprite flitted through life as though unaffected by her handicap. She was bright, inquisitive, naughty, lively, stubborn and possessed of a winsome charm that captivated every one she met. Given Maria's prickly insistence on privacy, he dared not inquire about Lottie's condition – had she been born deaf? Had they consulted the very best doctors available? Georg kept these questions to himself, instead taking an interest in mastering enough basic signs that he could communicate a bit with her, and willingly offered himself as a model for her lip-reading practice.

Georg found himself relaxing in Maria's presence as well. Their friendship, seeded by his gratitude for what she'd done for his family long ago, had now firmly taken root. He continued to be fascinated by the way that the old Maria had been so completely replaced by the new one; not that the old Maria had been timid or retiring, but she had been transparent, while the new Maria seemed encased by a sort of tough shell that had developed during the war years, a shell that only very rarely cracked.

One such rare instance occurred one late afternoon in early May, as he sat by the big window, a generous pour of whiskey at his elbow, reading the evening paper. He hadn't really been listening to Maria and Clara chattering in the background, until he heard his name mentioned.

"Lottie. No," he heard Maria say, with an uncharacteristic sharp edge to her voice, "You mustn't say such things! Captain von Trapp is not-"

At the sound of his name, Georg's gaze swung in their direction just in time to see Maria and Clara exchange uneasy glances over the girls' heads.

"I'm not what?"

"Never mind," Maria told him, "it's not important."

"Me? I'm not important?" he laughed, but he was brought up short by the bright spots of color that appeared on Maria's cheeks.

"I don't want you asking me again, Lottie!" Maria's signed movements stabbed angrily at the air. "He is not, and that's all there is to it. Now, have you washed your face as I repeatedly asked you to?" Without another word, she took Lottie by the hand and marched her into their shared bedroom.

"I'm not what?" he asked Clara.

Sighing, Clara removed her spectacles, gave them a polish with her handkerchief, and returned them to her nose.

"Lottie seems to think that you are her father."

"But that's ridiculous!" he sputtered, feeling mortified for no good reason at all.

"For heaven's sake, Captain, of course it's ridiculous! I know that." Georg tried not to take offense when Clara rolled her eyes. Was the idea really so preposterous? "The little one just wants to be loved. And so does her mother, for that matter."

The questions surged to his lips while he forced himself to project an air of mild indifference.

"So Maria was – ehrm – she and Lottie were all on their own when you first knew them?"

"Oh, yes! Maria is a wonderful mother, anyone can see that, but she was quite the merrymaker back then. Not that she was the type to kiss and tell, or at least not the telling part of it," Clara said with a grin and a wink. "Only the best champagne for our girl, and on the dance floor?" Then her expression grew grave and tender. "But you could see the hurt below the surface." Her eyes slid to the other end of the suite, where Maria and Lottie remained behind the closed bedroom door. "She didn't talk about him much."

"Her husband, you mean?" Georg prompted. "What do you know of him?"

"Enough to know that it broke her heart, what happened with him. I mean, there were other men, but nothing like - Once, when she'd had a few glasses too many of champagne, she told me that -"

Georg wanted to know more, but at the same time he didn't, so he was relieved and disappointed all at once when, just then, the elevator chimes sounded, and Max arrived in time for supper as usual, bearing an armload of phonograph records.

"More new American imports, Max?"

"No, no," Max said, "These are actually from Austria, before the war. Courtesy of a friend of a friend who acquired them by – well, never mind that. I'll bet you'll remember this one," he added slyly, setting down the needle.

"Edelweiss, edelweiss, every morning you greet me,"

The sweet melody wafted out into the room and straight into Georg's heart. There had been a brief time in his life when he had shunned music, and its power to summon the past. It had been Maria, come to think of it, who had taught him to consider those memories a gift, the only gift the past was capable of offering. There was so little left of the life he'd had in between the wars, that it was lovely, actually, to lose himself in the warm and peaceful moment, at least until the silence was broken.

"Would you shut that damned thing off?" Maria, returning to the salon, barked out the order.

Max hastened to comply, while protesting, "But Maria, sweetheart, you always loved that song! Doesn't it remind you of Austria in her better days?"

"Well, I don't like it anymore," Maria snapped. "And in case you haven't noticed, Austria's better days are behind her. There is no more Austria, at least as far as I'm concerned."

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Being daily flummoxed by Maria's transformation from sunshiny postulant to sharp-edged young woman, Georg could not let his curiosity rest. Late one afternoon, upon their return to the hotel, he lingered at the front desk, feigning interest in his mail and messages, watching as Maria's attention swung in the direction of the lobby cafe. By teatime, it was already lively, the crowd's chatter weaving in between the tinkling notes of jazz piano. There was no missing the way her eyes shone and her toes tapped.

"Perhaps you'd like to go in for a drink?" he said easily.

"But Lottie will be home soon," she said reluctantly, although her eyes didn't leave the scene.

"Another time, then. We can ask for her to be brought home an hour later. It's obvious that you want to. Nothing wrong with wanting a bit of fun."

"Perhaps someday," she said briefly. "Although I'm not sure I'm interested in drinking with you."

"What the hell does that mean?" he asked, following her into the lift. But he required no answer, having seen Maria's scowl the previous week when he'd triumphantly discovered a bottle of French brandy the Germans had overlooked.

"You drink entirely too much, Captain. I mean, I know it's not my place, but there is Lottie to consider, and-"

"All right," he said calmly.

"I am not finished yet!"

"Oh, yes you are," he said grimly, storming from the lift, and proceeding to the bar, where he gathered up the brandy and two half-empty whisky bottles. Before he could change his mind, he marched into his bedroom and emptied them all into the toilet.

"I draw the line at wine," he informed her when he returned to the salon.

"Thank heaven for that, as I grew very fond of champagne during the war," Maria offered him a tentative smile, obviously anxious to break the tension. "And – look, I've got a present for you, Captain." She reached into her pocket and tossed something his way, a gleam of silver flying through the air before the old bosun's whistle landed in his palm.

"My whistle! Where did you find it?"

"In the attic, my first day I was working out there. But I – I don't know, I wasn't sure you'd want to see it again."

"Little witch!" Georg pretended nonchalance, but later, he tucked the whistle away in his empty suitcase, so that he might take the memories with him when he left Austria for good.

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With summer just around the corner, they began to clear out the gardens, raking out the beds, weeding and pruning, tearing away at overgrown vines that threatened to choke the trees. At midday, they stopped to take lunch out on the terrace, where they could enjoy the sun and fresh air. The view – the soaring mountain peaks reflected in the lake's calm surface, the trees bursting with pink-and-white flowers, the rich blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds – filled Georg with a peaceful contentment he hadn't known in years. Even in this troubled place, he recognized that, having survived unendurable loss in middle age, he now had much to be grateful for: his children settled with a grandchild on the way, the tearing grief for Agathe dulled by time.

"Days like this are a gift from God, don't you think?" Maria asked.

"I didn't know you still believed in God," he observed, and when she began to protest, he pointed out, "you haven't once been to church, not since we met up here. No grace at meals, no bedtime prayers with Lottie. I'm a fine one to talk, I know, but with you coming from Nonnberg Abbey and all, I've always wondered how you could turn away from it. From Him, I mean," he finished awkwardly.

"Of course, I still believe in God," Maria lifted her face to the sun. "He gave me Lottie. And I pray all the time, for her, and for Clara and Susan, and for the sisters at Nonnberg. And for your family," she said pointedly. "But living at the Abbey took its toll on my health, you know. I had headaches all the time. Reverend Mother was always sending me on little errands that would take me outside, and she looked the other way when I felt that I just had to escape up to the mountains or die. That's one of the reasons she sent me to care for your family. But after I – ehrm - when I returned to Nonnberg, then Reverend Mother – well, she felt with great conviction that it God's will that I not become one of the sisters." She sighed deeply. "Those were some of the happiest days of my life."

"At Nonnberg?"

"No," she said absently, and then her spine stiffened. "Yes, of course. That's what I meant. I was very happy at the Abbey."

Georg was disarmed by the sudden outpouring from a girl who had been so reticent. He could practically see her retreat into her shell, and sure enough, after a moment, she stood up, brushed her skirts, and said briskly, "But that's enough of that from me. There's a question I've been wanting to ask you, as it happens. About the ghosts."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The first day we came here, Captain, do you remember? We talked about seeing the children, and – and other people. It happened all the time, at first, but lately, I haven't seen them at all, and I was thinking, and I was wondering if you –

Only then did Georg realize that for some time now, he had seen no ghosts at all.

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I'm so glad you're enjoying my story! I love the reviews, and how everyone is guessing, sometimes correctly and sometimes not, what will happen next. Some of you have better ideas than I do! This is the very last setup chapter, and when I'm back from vacation in a couple of weeks, things will really start to happen. Christopher Plummer fans may recognize some glimpses of the actor's life in the above scene where Georg goes sober. I don't own TSOM or anything about it.