Beware VERY LONG chapter update. Lots of thinking. Lots of talking. I probably should have split this chapter in two, but the sections rather complimented each other (and Maria's voice somehow became very wordy in my mind :P)

Thank you so much once again for your dedicated reviews (I'm so sorry I have yet to reply to this round)! xx

Chapter Three

Her Reasons Why

The town of Salzburg was beautiful. It had all the beautiful architecture and spacious gardens of Vienna, with an old world charm Vienna didn't have. From romantic avenues lined with whispering trees, to alluring alleyways adorned with shops begging to be explored, Salzburg was one delightful turn after another. She loved the beautiful river, loved the parapet of the castle overlooking the old town, loved sneaking in and getting lost in the manicured Mirabel gardens. But most of all, she loved the mountains. She had stared in wonder at the beautiful peaks of the Untersberg as her train pulled into Salzburg station, and, unable to tear herself away from its siren's call, had found her way up those mountains before she had even unpacked. There was something about the unpredictable gusts of wind in the fields, the laughter of brooks as they danced their way down the slopes, the sheer expanse of wilderness that made her feel confidant and free.

And free was what Maria desired most.

It was true, her new boarding house left something to be desired. She had taken out a flat in a cheap apartment, the small window overlooking a dusty courtyard used mostly for storage. The walls were old and stained, with patches of discoloration even her beautiful posters couldn't cover up. The floors were the creakiest she'd ever heard, and she was afraid merely walking from one end of the room to the other could wake the entire building.

And yet, there was still dawn, where she could open the small window to let in the freshest of mountain airs. There was late afternoon, where her tiny flat would be bathed in warm light from her west-facing window, and she could watch the sunset behind her beloved mountains. And at night, she could look out from grading papers at the clearest skies, dusted with bright stars such as she'd never seen in Vienna. At those times, she couldn't help but love her little apartment.

Maria Rainer has a small habit of finding delightful things everywhere she looked. She wasn't sure if it was something she was taught – she had vague memories of her mother and father as being buoyant, merry people – or something she had picked up over the years to get through the harder days. But somewhere along the way, Maria had learned that happiness was an active process.

She counted her lucky stars that she was now finally a teacher - teaching music, her most beloved subject, no less – in the beautiful town of Salzburg. But Maria knew that even if she had to live in a mud hut in the middle of the desert, she would have taken the position.

It meant that one day – not soon, but someday in the future – she would truly be free. Free of her debt to her uncle, which clung to her like a thick coat of dust accumulated over each year she had lived with him. Free of the feeling of being thrust onto the chopping block to serve his whim (she could only be grateful that it had been a kind, charming school trustee on the receiving end). One day, she would be free to start again, with her own earnings, on her own two feet.

Maria didn't resent the huge debt she owed her uncle. Ever since she first understood the value of money, she had known that everything her uncle did for her came with a price tag. He never lost a chance to remind her of what needed to be repaid the moment she got a job. But how she could resent him, when he had stepped in after her parents died to take her in? Without him, she would have grown up in the orphanage, instead of the little apartment she'd had with him in Vienna. It wasn't much, but it had been a place she could call home. And she had him, someone she could call family, whose resemblance to her mother reminded her that once upon a time, she'd had parents who loved her dearly.

Her uncle wasn't cruel, although he had a penchant for gambling, which often left him in a foul mood. They'd never had much money, and her uncle loved what little he had more than anyone she knew. He had adopted her, along with the rest of her family's possessions, and then proceeded to sell off every single item, save one. Maria had begged to keep her father's guitar, with the outcome that he allowed her to keep it but added its value to her growing debt.

Maria wondered if he had known that one day, this small concession would pay off for him. Armed with her guitar and her growing love for music, she had won her way through every music related award in school, finally earning a coveted scholarship to Vienna's Teaching Academy. She was surprised when her uncle agreed to loan her the rest of what she needed to put herself through the course, although twice he gambled away the money he had promised her, leaving Maria scrambling to make her tuition.

But finally, she found herself a teacher – no longer caged, but held by two shackles in the form of biweekly envelopes containing most of her meager salary; one to her uncle, and one to Herr Detweiler to help pay off her uncle's debts. Maria tried not to dwell too long on the situation. She found the cheapest boarding house she could, and ignored the sympathetic and curious stares that came her way when she scoured the charity clothing drop-off for anything she could teach in.

Instead, she threw herself wholeheartedly into teaching. Prior to college, anyone who knew her would have laughed at the idea of Maria Rainer becoming a teacher. She was generally acknowledged to be sweet and dear, but was just as frequently considered unpredictable, flighty, and at times, aggravating. Nobody could imagine her enforcing rules, when she herself could barely follow them.

But perhaps it was this very quality that made her such an adored teacher. She had a knack for winning over even the most obstinate of students. Her teaching was dynamic and imaginative, and she was exasperatingly persistent, making sure no single student was left out or left behind.

It was a different matter outside the classroom. Even Maria, impervious to negativism as she was, couldn't miss the way people studied her behind her back, taking in her girlish figure and dowdy clothing. She heard the gossip loud and clear from the front desk staff – parents who questioned her suitability, her background, her unconventional teaching methods, her unbridled abnormal enthusiasm. She'd had to defend herself more than once to parents who assailed her after school hours, convincing them with dubious success to give her methods – and herself – a chance.

And today had been the worst of all. Her disastrous meeting with Captain Von Trapp.

After today, she wondered if she would still have a job.

Maria groaned inwardly. Why didn't she just listen to the front desk staff when they told her the Captain was a terrible recluse who had never once been involved with the children's school life?

Why, for once, couldn't she leave well enough alone and keep her nose firmly on her head and her foot firmly out of her mouth?

Oh, if it wasn't for the children! The seven Von Trapp children who had built a wall around themselves so obvious she spotted it immediately even though they were not even in the same class. They had contrived to make life as difficult for her as possible in those early days. Maria considered herself the brave survivor of several of their pranks – one scary incident which involved a handful of spiders in her desk drawer. It had taken weeks to get past their defenses – days of patient observation, gentle coaxing, sleepless nights, and a little bit of their own medicine. She would never forget the day Brigitta had sneered at one of her Alps posters and called it 'the ugliest thing she'd ever seen', and Kurt had chimed in that it was 'dreadfully gaudy'. Maria had responded by taking the entire class up the Untersberg that day as a field trip – and not one further word was said henceforth about her ugly posters. But it had been worth the effort. The children, all seven of them, had blossomed unrecognizably these last two months. They were a quick study, matching Maria's own love for music; sweet and lively children who opened up once they found that she not only listened and understood, but more importantly still, saw past the things they told her and let them just be children.

When she had questioned Liesl, Friedrich, and Louisa about the permission form for the play their father had failed to submit, all three had categorically and untruthfully stated they didn't care for being involved in the play. All three wore the same disappointed but resolute expressions that were much too old for their young faces.

She couldn't say precisely what made her write Captain Von Trapp the letter that had so angered him. Something in the children's expressions had reminded her forcefully of her own youth, where she would have been denied every opportunity that came her way had she not fought for it tooth and nail, and she felt a sudden rush of anger toward the Captain.

Maria had heard each child speak of their father at one time or another. She understood that he was strict, aloof, at times explosive, but mostly invisible, and had pieced together enough to guess that this shell of a man was very different from the one he'd been before his wife's passing. The children never spoke ill of him, only that they missed him. Maria could see how much they loved him, feared him, and to some degree, protected him – although it was a strange way to think about a decorated naval hero. The last thing they wanted was to see him hurt.

But God help him if Captain Von Trapp needed protection from and against his own children.

Maria didn't know what – if anything – would come from the letter. In fact, she had her doubts the Captain would even read it, or if he would care, detached as he was.

And yet he had. And he did care. More than she'd supposed if he'd thought that she was challenging his role as a father.

Their encounter had gone so well before she'd learned who he was. If Maria had been even the tiniest bit anticipating his visit, she would have said she understood why the children loved him as they did. Even though he'd startled her, standing like that in her doorway, tall, self-possessed, and – she couldn't deny it – handsome, she'd felt a strange connection to him that had made her feel both comfortable and oddly warm at the same time.

But when they'd started talking about the children, it was as though a physical gate had slammed between them. He had become cold, cruel even, and Maria's temper had gotten the better of her. And when he had made that stinging remark about not belonging in his family, Maria felt she could hate him.

Many hours later, his piercing barbs smarted painfully. But now that her anger had abated, Maria was filled with regret. Her behavior had not been much better. The way she had held what she knew about his children over his head filled her with shame.

She worried that she had overstepped her boundaries, and perhaps his offence might have been expected if she had not been so impulsive in writing that letter.

What business did she have, lecturing the Captain about being a father, when growing up her only family was an uncle whose claim to affection was that he never turned her out?

Who was she to talk about heartbreak with the famously grieving Captain, when she'd never even known anyone close enough to lose?

"She did what? You said what?"

It was evening at the Von Trapp villa. Maximilian Detweiler listened numbly to the story, and sank back against the luxurious sofa in the big sitting room with a groan. The full tumbler in his hand threatened to spill. Max would have liked to put his feet up – really, he ought to tell Georg that this particular couch needed a good ottoman – but made do for the moment with the very fine brandy in his hand.

He took a feeble sip, watching his host with wary eyes. Max knew something was up when Georg sat stoned faced during supper. The children certainly felt it, the atmosphere so tense you could cut it with a knife – and a blunt one, at that. It wasn't until the wide-eyed children had retreated upstairs and Max had settled into the sitting room that Georg stormed in, face set and eyes glaring daggers, and demanded that Max see to the immediate relief of Fraulein Maria from her post.

Max had sat upright. "Good Heavens, why?"

Georg had muttered something about insolence – or perhaps it was interference – and lack of discipline. Max had pressed him, but his friend remained infuriatingly tight-lipped about the whole thing.

"It's halfway into the semester!" he protested instead. "Where on earth do you expect me to find a decent substitute at this time?"

He downed half the contents of his tumbler, feeling inexplicably agitated as Georg glared at him.

Max had meant what he said when he agreed to take on the role as Salzburg school trustee; he needed a change. That evening when he had found Georg drinking down his sorrows at the bar, Max had just escaped a meeting with a creditor where he had been physically threatened. It was the first time in his life he had felt… worthless. It was a terrible feeling – a feeling not even the euphoria of his exuberant escapades could soothe. If he was honest, he had jumped on Georg's offer for Aigen a little too enthusiastically.

But strangely enough, being a school trustee suited him. Max had once upon a time trained with Austrian intelligence, and he thought of the school system as his own little nation. He was a skilled negotiator, good at getting what he wanted, and loved the idea of being able to move players at his whim. And he routinely employed the one skill he cherished most – information gathering by any means possible. Max Detweiler dearly loved to gossip.

But somehow, by some imperceptible transition, Max found himself caring about the welfare of his Salzburg students, and the teachers he employed. It took him a minute to realize the stab of emotion he'd felt at Georg's angry demand was annoyance at how little his friend seemed to realize the consequences of that request.

Georg snorted. "I would venture anyone could replace a teacher whose classroom looks like it was decorated by a child, and spends the year organizing frivolous plays."

Max was surprised. "How do you know about that?"

And then Georg told him about Fraulein's Maria letter, and how he had gone to the school and rebuked her in person – if what he'd done could be called that.

After getting over his initial shock – whether it was at Maria's bold move or Georg actually getting involved with something at the school, he couldn't be sure – Max watched his host, thoughtfully. Fraulein Maria had been his most unexpected and interesting find. He had known she was outspoken, unconventional, and stubborn as a mule when he'd hired her, and it didn't take him long after the school year started to realize that sooner or later, her methods would clash with the rigorous expectations Georg had set for his children. He just didn't expect it to be quite so soon or quite so… explosive.

"Look," he started diplomatically, "if this is about the play – "

"It's not about the play, Max. It's about discipline."

"Discipline?" Max's mustache twitched in confusion. "But the children are getting along splendidly!"

" – not theirs. Hers. I would think that to become a teacher, she would have acquired some along the way."

"Ahh." Max's expression cleared, and he smiled knowingly. Georg may be a mystery to some, but Max knew exactly what this was about. "So she challenged you and didn't run away with her tail between her legs."

"Max." Georg growled a warning.

"You've finally found someone who doesn't submit to you," Max restated, a note of badly concealed glee in his voice.

"I'm not looking for submiss – that is not what this is about," Georg snapped. "The woman has a complete and utter disregard for authority."

"Whose authority, Georg?" Max raised his eyebrows. "This isn't the navy."

"I am their father, Max."

"Nobody's contesting that," he returned calmly. "Look, if you refuse to let anyone near you with a ten foot pole – "

"You seem to be sitting a bit closer than that." Georg looked at Max, reclining comfortably on his sofa, in his home, drinking his alcohol.

" – yes, well, I'm exceedingly charming, remember? Anyways, if you're going to be prickly about it, there's not much I can do. But perhaps you ought to consider letting other people into their lives. It's not you and the children against everybody else."

Georg's eyes narrowed as an indiscernible expression flashed across his face – a mix of anger and pain. Less anger, and more pain. Seeing that he had struck a chord, Max proceeded with caution. "If you ask me, Fraulein Maria is doing your children some good."

"What makes you say that?" Georg's voice was reluctantly curious.

Max looked surprised. "You can't tell?"

Georg was about to retort that he couldn't. But he could. He had seen it, these last few months; how the children seemed more eager, excited… happier. He couldn't put a finger on it then, and concluded that the school year was certainly off to a better start. At least very least, there were no more grievances about their many misdemeanors.

He did wonder why the revelation should have made him feel strangely wistful.

But after his tumultuous encounter with the little Fraulein, he could sense that perhaps she did have something to do with it – something that had nothing to do with how aggravatingly confidant she had been in telling him off. Rather, it had been something about her – something authentic and wholesome – that was strangely reminiscent of the children. It might have been inviting, even, were she not so damn provoking.

Max, who had been scrutinizing his face, leaned into the sofa with a chuckle. "You, my friend, are remarkably good at shutting yourself in. So perhaps you missed it - but it just so happens that our delightful young Fraulein is remarkably good at drawing people out."

"How very… poetic of you." Georg retorted. "Sorry to disappoint, but her antics fell short – unless her objective was to infuriate me."

Max gave him a strange look. "I wasn't talking about you, Georg. I was talking about your children."

Georg pressed his lips together, and said nothing. Max was right. This was about the children. He was Captain Von Trapp, and she was but the teacher of his children. What Fraulein Maria did should not affect him at all.

"She has a way with the students, that's for sure," Max continued, as though he wasn't seeing the conflict playing across his friend's face. "I like her style – it reminds me of… well, me." He smiled fondly.

Georg snorted. "That's because you're a child, Max."

"And maybe that's what your children need. To be children."

Georg glared at him.

"What?" Max stared blandly back at him. "Well, regardless of what it is, she certainly has her own methods, and they're working."

Georg remained silent, his face serious, but there was a distracted sort of light in his eyes that softened his gaze and made Max wonder what he was remembering.

The method's got potential.

"I think you should let this one go." Max coaxed, sensing victory.

Georg leaned back against his armchair. Max was amazed at how he managed to make such a relaxing gesture look so stiff. They were quiet for a moment, and then unexpectedly, Georg chuckled.

"What now?"

"At least have her put on something more appropriate," he ordered, by way of explanation.

Max gave a bark of laughter that ended in a frown. "Do you know where she lives, Georg?"

When Georg shook his head at this unexpected question, he continued. "You don't want to see it. It's very depressing. And do you know where she gets her clothing? From that charity for the poor, you know – the one next to Nonnberg Abbey."

Georg's eyebrows disappeared above his forehead. "You're joking."

"Not at all." Max grimaced, as though her lack of wealth hurt him personally. "Actually, if I had let her go, I doubt she would have had anywhere to go."

Georg shook his head. "Surely a young woman like that must have some family. Or a young man." No sooner than he said that he found he was unable to picture any young man holding a candle to her flame.

"An uncle," Max pursed his lips. "An old… acquaintance of mine."

"Max." Georg straightened, his voice suddenly sharp. "Tell me you didn't hire her because you owe a debt to her uncle."

"Quite the contrary. He owed a debt to ME."

"… he's making the girl pay it off?"

Max's silence said it all.

Georg groaned, tilting his head back against the chair in defeat. "You agreed to this? Does this Fraulein Maria even have qualifications as a teacher?"

"Of course she does." Max looked affronted. "She's a new graduate of the Vienna teaching academy. Graduated with distinction, I might add." He saw the horrified way Georg was staring at him. "Don't worry – I interviewed her and everything. Went through the proper channels."

"And you don't see this at all as a conflict of interest?"

"Do you think I agreed, Georg?" Max sighed, exasperated. "I do have scruples. I told the uncle I wouldn't consider it. But Maria – she stood there on the other side of the room, and declared she would. She wanted to, she said. She didn't mind paying down the debt."

Georg made a non-committed noise.

She had an uncle who had offered her like cattle to the first bidder that came his way.

Fraulein Maria, who had flinched when he had accused her of meddling with his family.

Something in him constricted painfully.

"She didn't say as much then, but you could tell she needed a way out. The uncle is a compulsive gambler – their flat wasn't in much better shape than her current room. And he's an… unpleasant sort of man. Quite a weasel. Tried to cheat his way out of his losses more than once, from what I can tell. What else could I do? I told her I'd offer her an interview, and she happened to be the most qualified."

Georg stiffened. He had worked with men like that – the sort of men who obeyed him on the surface and sneered behind his back. Who blamed other sailors for his errors. Who bought women drinks for the purpose of bringing them back to their cabins. He could hardly imagine how a young Fraulein Maria had endured such conditions. No wonder she felt the need to defend his children.

"Feeling sorry for her, Georg?" Max was studying him closely.

He hesitated. Exasperation. Admiration. Anger. Humility. He couldn't remember the last time someone had evoked so many reactions in such quick succession. But somehow, pity was one thing he didn't feel. "You don't?"

"I admit I did, at first. She all but avoided mentioning it to me, but she's got some sort of contract with her uncle to pay back the cost of raising her, or some such ridiculousness. At this rate, she's going to be tied to her debts for the next fifty years. I tried to release her from paying me back after I hired her, but she wouldn't hear of it. Gave me quite an earful."

Georg smiled reluctantly at the image of Fraulein Maria sailing into Max Detweiler.

"But somehow, I can't bring myself to feel sorry for her," Max mused. "It's hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't feel sorry for herself."

Georg drew a breath. When he had met her, he had been annoyed by what he thought was naïve, misplaced enthusiasm. But now he wondered what kind of spirit had kept that unbridled optimism intact over what had surely been many long and hard years.

He was quiet for several long moments. "I'll give her a chance," was all he said.

Max smiled. "Trust me, I know a winning hand when I see one."

Georg raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure you do, Max."

"And most of the school board and at least half the parents agree with you." He shrugged easily. "But let's leave it to my trusty intuition, shall we?"

"Let's hope your intuition fares better than your gambling record."

Max's eyes grew comically wide. "Taking her side already, Georg?"

Georg paused, surprised. He wasn't sure where between her biting letter and fearless anger, her self-righteous yet daring crusade on behalf of his children, and the miserable past that had failed to shut her down, he had subconsciously decided that perhaps, after all, she deserved a victory.