A/N: I'm glad so many like the letters! Here are some more, only not what you think… hope you like them too. I don't own 'The Sound of Music' or the characters. Still. Thanks for the great reviews. Keep 'em coming. Please.

Chapter Seven

It was all Frau Schmidt's sister's fault.

The poor woman fell ill and needed looking after. Originally the housekeeper only planned to be gone a week. The household managed to muddle through without her, but when her absence stretched to three weeks, the staff went on edge. Maria stepped in where she could and Liesl helped show her how it all should be done.

The holidays were approaching very quickly and without Frau Schmidt's oversight of the decorations, it fell to Maria to do it. She was informed that the villa hadn't been decorated for Christmas since the passing of Baroness von Trapp and so whatever decorations she could find in storage may not even be usable.

Just the same, she thought one dreary morning, the sooner I get started the better. It was anyone's guess how much mending and cleaning would have to be done before the old decorations could be used. Meanwhile, the idea of rummaging around the attic stirred that sense of adventure she was trying hard to suppress ever since her return, the thing that always seemed to get her into trouble.

And so, thanks to the weather and Frau Schmidt's poor sick sister, she didn't care too much about denying herself the pleasure of snooping around. She brought Marta and Gretl to the attic with her just to keep her on task. They found a couple boxes marked as holiday decorations and after an hour the three of them had gone through it and sorted out the items that would be useful, such as the ornaments for the tree and a small crèche that needed a thorough cleaning.

At one point, Marta wandered to a corner filled with trunks and a rack of old dresses. Maria surmised these things belonged to the late Baroness. On the one hand it moved her to see that the Captain had at least saved the memories even if he stashed it all away in a dark corner of a cold and dusty attic. Still, memories weren't meant to be buried, not good ones anyway. She felt it again, the impulse to go too far.

It must have been catching, she later reflected, because before she could stop them, Marta and Gretl were flinging open a rather large trunk. They peered into a treasury of little girl delights. It was full of hats and stoles and other fashion accessories. Maria picked up a wide brimmed hat with large flowers clustered on one side and a piece of veil stiffly hanging off the sides. She straightened it a bit and plunked it onto Marta's head with a giggle. Not to be left out, Gretl reached for a green Charleston hat that reminded Maria of the hats one of her teachers wore and kept on the corner of her desk until the end of the day.

She let the girls play for a while. She wondered what the Captain would say if he saw his daughters having so much fun dressing in old hats and gloves. The sight is quite irresistible, she thought with a smile, even for a noble sea captain. Quickly a more sober thought shadowed the scene. She had underestimated his reaction to her meddling with the memory of his wife once before and it ended horribly.

"Girls, we need to clean this up and put it away like we found it," Maria said as she gathered various items from the floor.

"But I want to see what I look like!" Gretl pulled a different hat onto her head and reached for a feather boa Marta had discarded onto the floor. Maria looked around the attic wearily and finally spotted a dressing mirror with some other old furniture and allowed the girls to admire themselves for a few minutes while she began to gather the scattered items.

She was about to drop an armful into the bottom of the case when she discovered the trunk was not completely empty. Tucked into a corner was a small bundle of paper tied with a fade blue satin ribbon. She glanced over at Marta and Gretl who were engrossed in their make-believe. She gently laid the things to one side of the trunk, her eyes fixed on the pile of letters. She swiped them quickly as she stood up, turning the bundle over in her hands. She recognized the penmanship on the envelopes instantly and her heart sped.

Her correspondence with her employer had undoubtedly taken a friendlier turn. The man that wrote to her was a far cry from the unflappable sea captain that she first met. His missives were open and real. No one had ever written letters like that to her and she came to look forward to them with great anticipation.

At one point he alluded to the fact that he wrote such letters to his wife while away at sea, and there they were—practically begging to be read once again. She chanced another look at the girls before sneaking the letters into her apron pocket. She was sure the children could hear the sound of her heart pounding around the attic. There was always a kind of thrill in the air when she took that final step past propriety, not that she was very proud of it.

"Come along, now," she called across the attic a little louder than she intended. "Put those things back in the trunk so we can get on with our day." They obeyed, asking if they could dress up again someday. "I'm sure that can happen," she answered as she picked up the boxes of Christmas decorations and headed toward the stairs. "We'll have to put things back eventually."

XxXxXxXxX

My Darling Agathe,

Is it possible that I only said goodbye to you a few days ago? When I am away from you a day seems like a lifetime. My nights are the loneliest, my dearest darling, when I'm haunted by the pallor of your skin glowing in the moonlight that streams in through our bedroom window. Visions of your soft tresses splayed across my chest as you cling to my side stir deepest longing.

I close my eyes so these visions can become dreams, beautiful dreams of you in my arms. When I wake at dawn, the taste of your lips and the smell of your hair on my pillow linger as if you really came to me and I can feel the warmth of you all around me.

I have come to depend on your love for my very life, for without it I cannot be whole. For now my body belongs to my country and this war, but only temporarily. My heart – my heart is yours forever, and by that truth alone I am able to be strong. Your love centers me, thoughts of you sustain me.

I love you, my dearest Agathe. I love you with all my heart.

Always and forever,

Georg

oOo

Dearest of my heart,

I received your letter. It is clear to me from the tone of it that you wrote it before you were given word that I survived with only minor injuries. I'm very sorry that you were put through such torture and worry. I am fine, my love. Truly.

I don't know yet if what I did was stupid or brave, but it was my duty to act one way or the other. My life would have been worth so much less if I had chosen self-preservation over the brave men who serve under me. I apologize again, Agathe, but the distress I caused you is the only regret I have.

I need you to understand something very important. Before we were married, my heart had no anchor. My mind made decisions without any thought of the future because I didn't have one. But now, I have you and the children to hold me steadfast. I desire only to make you proud. I cannot be careless with my life because you are my life. To be reckless with my command in this war would betray my vow to cherish you, darling. I did what I did, but do not think for one second that you were away from my mind when I acted. I want you to remember this and trust me as I do my job.

I have been given some leave time but not enough for me to come home. If you have forgiven me for causing you such worry, meet me in Pola. I miss you and need you. I think it would be good for you to see me in one piece, and to have you in my arms would heal my soul as well as my body. Please do what you must to come to me.

Now and Always Yours,
Georg

oOo

Heart of my heart,

It is our final morning together in Pola. I'm supposed to be packing the rest of our things while you take your morning bath, but my heart is too full. There's too much to say.

I love you, Agathe. I hope you know how much. I know that you are afraid this war will make you a widow. I could feel it in the way you made love to me last night. I noticed the tears you tried to hide as your trembling fingers caressed my wounds and I felt you stiffen in my arms when I promised that I would never leave you like that. I know only a fool would tempt fate by promising such a thing, but I didn't know what else to say when you clung so desperately to me afterward.

In all the years we have been married, I have never been able to fall asleep before you. I'm not sure why that is. Do you remember how we used to sneak into the nursery and watch Liesl sleep when she was a new baby? We marveled that something so perfect and beautiful belonged to us, that we could love something as much as we love her. I have that sense of wonderment when I watch you sleep, that someone like you would deign to love me.

And just like when we watched Liesl, I become uneasy if you sleep too peacefully. I watch for the fall and rise of your chest to be sure you are breathing. I understand your fears, darling, more than you know, because I have often wondered what I would ever do if I lost you. The thought terrifies me so much that sometimes I pull myself around your body and weep in relief that you are real, that you are warm and alive. That you are mine.

You are mine, my beloved, and I am yours. No one has ever owned me, heart, body and soul, like you. Your happiness is my burden, one that I gladly bear. I will not let you down, Agathe. This war cannot last much longer. I will come home to you and then love you for the rest of our life together.

Your train leaves in a few more hours. I will post this after I see you off at the station. Be brave. Go home and hold our children closely. Whisper that their Father loves them dearly. Dream of the day we are reunited for good. Always know that I love you.

Always and forever yours,

Georg

oOo

As Maria slipped the letter into its envelope and gently laid it on the pile with the others, she discovered she'd been holding her breath for too long. The gasp for air came out as a loud sob and she shut her eyes tightly to keep the tears from falling.

It wasn't if any of it was shocking. She knew the Captain loved his wife. The Reverend Mother told her, and Frau Schmidt, even the children informed her repeatedly that he adored Agathe von Trapp. The intimate expressions in those letter, however, showed her exactly how true it was. She never knew it was possible for a human being to feel those things for another. Seeing the proof of it on paper only served to sharpen her awareness that she didn't know love, not like that. Not the kind that connects one heart to another so that they can barely beat when the other is gone.

Gone. Agathe was gone and the author of those letters was devastated. She had seen it with her own eyes, heard it with her own ears as he pleaded for his brightest happiness to return to him.

"Darling, why did you leave me? I've missed you so much."

"I don't want you to go away again. It's been so lonely without you. Please stay."

His eyes were deadened by sorrow and his mind addled by the alcohol when she found him that evening. All she wanted to do was stop the pain. All she wanted was to end his torment, even if only for one night. But she was like a child playing with matches, toying with something that had power to destroy. She disrespected their love and treated their passion like a joke when she dared to answer his questions as Agathe! What was she thinking? At the time, she was a naïve postulant hiding behind vows of chastity and piety. How did that give her the right to tamper with his broken heart?

Maria slowly fastened the ribbon around the letters and moved to hide them until she could return them to the attic. She clutched them to her heart briefly before wiping her tears and tucking them in the wardrobe behind a pair of black boots. She couldn't decide which was more beautiful; the words in the letters or the devotion the words expressed.

She didn't know anything about love that horrible night last summer, but she was beginning to understand it now, but only with her mind. She longed to know with her heart, too. The more she thought about those letters, the more impossible it seemed that she would ever find that kind of love. But at least she now knew it existed.

Sometimes, she thought bitterly, knowledge is a curse.

Yes, it was all Frau Schmidt's sister's fault.