Maria buttoned up the last awkward button of the dress the poor had not wanted. The material felt unexpectedly nice against her skin, despite the coarse fabric. It felt familiar, and comforting. Since it was nearly morning, Maria decided not to take the hat – she had to confess she was never very fond of it. So she left it in the bureau, with all of her other dresses. She knew that if she took them with her, they would be taken away and given to the poor . . . No, she wanted to leave with only what she'd come with. But though she looked the same and carried the same as when she'd come, she felt like a completely different person.
After shutting off the lights, Maria left her room and shut the door behind her. Quietly, she made her way to the other side of the house towards the children's rooms. In the pocket of her dress were seven separate notes for each child, giving her apologies, love, and permission to visit her at the Abbey whenever they liked. When she came to each child, Maria put the envelope addressed to each on their bedside tables and kissed them softly good-bye. When in the little girls' room she nearly broke down. The sights of Marta holding her doll and Gretl her blanket in sleep was so endearing, and Maria wished more than anything that they were her own to care for and never leave.
But she had to; there was no other way. So, steeling her heart, Maria quietly left the room, and blew one more kiss before softly shutting the door. After picking up her carpetbag and guitar from outside the door, Maria quietly made her way down the stairs.
Just as she reached the bottom, she heard a voice from the top of the stairs: "Fraulein?"
Maria stopped, sighing. She was prepared for this: one last fight. It was the last thing she wanted, but she knew that if she just walked out now, he would follow her. But she didn't turn around, but stood strong, clutching the handles in her hands tightly. When the footsteps behind her had stopped on the last step, just behind her, she spoke in a controlled, toneless voice, "Please don't try to stop me, sir. I've made up my mind and you can't change it. I'm sorry I'm leaving like this without saying a proper good-bye to the children, but . . . I feel it's for the best."
A moment of silence. "I'll talk to them in the morning."
What he said and the tone of his voice made Maria's head turn an inch to the left. Was he not going to try and persuade her to stay, then? And his voice sounded . . . resigned and sad, but somehow she could sense the merest hint of an inner turmoil just behind the tone. Deciding to try and stay strong, she said, "Thank you, I appreciate that."
Another moment of silence before he spoke again. "Would you like a ride back to the abbey? It's still quite dark outside." He spoke hesitantly in that same sad tone, as if he already knew well what her answer should be.
Maria didn't surprise him. "No, thank you, I can make it on my own." Another few moments of unmeasured silence. Maria waited – was he really not going to put up a real fight to make her stay? Was this the best he could do? Why did he have to be so infuriating this way? Make up your mind! Giving a silent sigh, Maria said finally, "Well, if that's all . . . good-bye, Captain."
But before she could even lift her foot, a strong but gentle hand rested on her right shoulder, and she heard him say, almost brokenly and urgently, "Maria . . ."
Maria froze and looked at the hand that was on her shoulder. His grip was not tight; if she really wanted, she could leave and escape that hand now. But she suddenly couldn't move her legs. Her heart began to beat faster, her face began to burn, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. His hand was very warm.
Gently, the hand turned her around to face him. Still, Maria couldn't bear to look up at him. He stood on a step, even more tall than her. She fixed her gaze on the third button of his nightshirt. Heat seemed to radiate from him.
"Please look at me, Maria," he said in that same heartbreaking tone. She had no choice but to turn her head up so slightly so she could look into his eyes. All at once, she was caught in those dangerous eyes, just like when they had danced. Then, his eyes had burned into hers as if they were trying to tell her something, like now, only this time it seemed stronger. And though her heart beat faster and stronger than ever, she couldn't quite name what it was, for it certainly wasn't only lust, as she'd once thought . . .
"I . . ." he started, barely audibly, and paused. Then he continued with more sincerity than he'd ever spoken to her. "I'm so sorry, Maria. So very sorry for everything. I can only beg that you can someday find it in your heart to forgive me."
And in that moment, she did. Just like that. Though Maria didn't let it show in any way, she knew in her heart that he was forgiven. She felt the hand still on her shoulder shake a little, as if he were fighting to keep it there, and not touch her face. In fact, she saw the line of his jaw just beginning to barely tremble. She got a little frightened now, but of what she didn't know.
"I can't . . . make you stay . . . you are so strong, so much stronger than I thought, I was foolish to think . . . I only ask that you be happy, Maria. That's all that matters to me in the end. Please . . . live a full and happy life, with no regrets. And remember . . . there are people in this house whose lives you have touched profoundly . . . You've been an angel sent by God to us . . . Remember that, Maria, if nothing else."
Maria was overwhelmed. Caught in his gaze, by the hand on her shoulder, somehow she felt her very soul binding with his, like the night of their dance. Not knowing how she found the strength to, Maria finally tore her gaze from his and focused on that button again. She felt relief, but also pain. Tears in her eyes were swimming and threatening to fall. And somehow, she managed to find her voice again, and it sounded just like his. "G-good-bye, Captain."
Then she felt something very soft and warm on her forehead. The sensation was not something Maria was used to, and for a brief moment wondered what it was. But then she realized: the Captain was kissing her good-bye. Her heart seemed to inflate and hurt all at once. The kiss was both gentle and powerful, and like his eyes, seemed to speak volumes of something she couldn't yet understand. Her eyes closed and tears spilled out.
When she let out a shaky sound, a cross between a sigh and a sob, she felt his lips leave her forehead. Instantly the spot felt so cold but so hot, like she'd been burned, seered with a charm. She dared to look up into his eyes again: there were tears there, too. "Good-bye, Maria." Her name felt like a caress on his voice.
And before Maria could either break down or completely forget who she was, she muttered in a breathless, choked voice, "I'm sorry," turned around, and went out the front door, shutting it behind her.
Leaning back against the door, her hand clutching the knob behind her back, Maria tried desperately to control the silent sobs that were now shaking through her body. She felt torn up inside, and the worst part was that she didn't know why. All she knew was that it had something to do with this place, with this family, with those children, and most of all with him. What was happening to her? Poor Maria, if she'd grown up in a loving family, or had any previous experience, than she would know, but alas she did not. Trying desperately to calm herself down and clear her vision, Maria took one deep breath after the other.
Once she felt reasonably calm, she began the long walk towards the gate. She remembered how, when she'd arrived, she'd run across the yard to the door, singing at the top of her voice. Now, she trudged at a slow step, and her voice seemed to have disappeared from her throat.
At the gate, just before she opened it, Maria turned her head to look at the house again. Once it had seemed huge and opposing in the sunlight, now it seemed familiar and comforting in the dark. There was a moment when Maria just wanted to run back to the house, but it only lasted a moment. "Good-bye," she whispered, then went through the gate, shut it behind her, and began her long walk to what she thought was her home. She didn't yet realize the journey she had to make before she found her true home.
Georg wandered everywhere and nowhere in the house. It shouldn't have surprised him that he ended up outside of Maria's empty bedroom. For the last few nights, he'd been dreaming of walking to this room at night, but he never got further. Somehow his conscience had mercifully kept his dreams from getting . . .
But his conscience couldn't stop his stupid remarks he'd made to Max. He didn't listen to his conscience years ago when he should have let Agathe go. If he'd done it before Maria had come, he would have realized his feelings a lot sooner, and wouldn't have been a problem to him. But, even if that, what good would it have done? The bottom line was this: Maria was a postulant, had chosen to give her life and heart to God. No matter how much he thought that life didn't suit her, or his own feelings for her, she'd chosen her life and he had to respect her decision, hard as it was.
He entered her empty room, and he could still smell her scent on the air. He inhaled it deeply, knowing it would soon fade with her absence. Noticing the bureau was open and not empty, he inspected. She'd left the clothes she'd made here behind. His hand reached out and touched each of them, letting memories flow through him with each dress: the dress she'd worn when she'd fallen in the lake, and how it had clung to her figure so deliciously it nearly drove his frustration to the boiling point; the light blue and flower-print dress she'd worn at the party, when he'd danced with her and been close to her for the one and only time; and the dress that meant the most to him . . . the lovely, flowing blue dress from the night of the puppet show.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to remember when he'd given her the material . . .
Georg came back from town just before dinner, a bundle cradled in his left arm. He felt strangely eager to see the look on the little Fraulein's face when she got this material in her hands. He still vividly remembered the incident of the previous week, and since then had been searching for a way to show his thanks. And today, while running errands in town, he'd spotted this material in the window of a dress shop. Remembering how she had boasted she could make her own clothes – and how truly horrid the dress she'd come with was – Georg knew he had to get it. Finally he could give her something from which to make a dress that would compliment her perfectly.
He could hear the children in their rooms, getting changed for dinner, and knew that Maria would most likely be in either her room or the little girls' room. He decided to try her room first, and luckily she was there.
"Captain!" she exclaimed in some surprise upon opening the door and seeing him there. "Was there something you wanted?"
"Well, Fraulein," he began, and suddenly he felt almost nervous and shy, with his gift for her. "You see . . . I never had the chance to give you a proper thank you for last week, when our little screaming match resulted in me finally coming to my senses."
"Oh," said Maria, "Captain, there's no need to thank me –"
"I believe there is, Fraulein," he interrupted, and held out the bundle for her, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Her eyes glowed as she reached out to take it. Immediately, she untied the string and carefully unwrapped the brown paper. When she glimpsed the blue fabric, she gave a gasp of pure delight. The Captain couldn't stop the smile from spreading on his face as she unfolded a bit of it and smoothed it with her fingers. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were sparkling. Her smile was absolutely lovely.
"Oh, Captain! This is . . . I'm sure this will make the most beautiful dress I've ever had. Thank you, thank you so much!"
"It was my pleasure, Fraulein," the Captain replied, the small smile still on his face. Remembering he needed to change for dinner, he said, "I'll see you at dinner, Fraulein."
"Yes, thank you again, Captain, so much," she said and then closed her door. Georg walked back to his own quarters still smiling; it was the best gift he'd ever given.
And now she'd left it behind. She'd left him behind.
Georg lifted the dress from the bureau and sank down on the edge of Maria's bed, his fingers caressing the soft fabric. As he did so, he said a silent prayer to God as the first tear he'd shed in four years soaked into the sleeve of the dress:
"Bless her, God, and keep her. Let her be happy. If for nothing else, because she is an angel sent by you. Because she saved my family. Because she loves my children.
"And because . . . I love her."
THE END
A/N: Don't start crying and sharpening your pitchforks just yet! Look at the summary - heck the title - for this story: this is only the first act! You don't honestly think I'm going to end a story like THIS, did you? Keep an eye out for Act II . . . ;)