Chapter 10: Secrets

"Tell me, Fraulein. What makes you so wise?" His voice pierced the darkness. "You, who know nothing of the world. Of life. How did you learn so much, locked away in that cloister?"

Maria's heart was pounding so loud she could barely hear the storm, but she tried to hold her voice steady. Steady and light. Just pretend you are in his study. Or at the dining table, with the Baroness and all seven of the children looking on.

"You are making me sound like some kind of hermit, Captain. May I remind you, once again, that I went to teachers' college, just like lots of other young women do."

"Ah. Of course. I forgot!" He paused only a moment before pouncing, "And how many suitors did you have there?"

"Captain!"

"I'm sorry," he chuckled, sounding not the least bit regretful. "That was utterly inappropriate."

But he had barely finished apologizing when her confession popped out. "Well, none, actually. You're right. I don't know anything about love - I mean, about life. I don't think – well, I am not wise at all."

"Indeed." Maria heard the teasing smile in the Captain's voice, but with an undertone that almost – not quite – frightened her. "If you were wise, you would not have found yourself out here, alone in the dark, with me. In your nightclothes. Why are you always where you shouldn't be? You should be more careful, you know. Especially in your nightclothes. Next time, stay where you belong."

"Where I belong?" she said, struggling to keep her voice calm and even, despite the nervous excitement welling up inside. "If only I knew where that is."

"Ah." His voice deepened. "Tell me. Let me help you with your troubles as you have helped with mine," he coaxed, as though urging her to do something wicked. And it felt wicked, sitting in the darkness, wrapped in his jacket, confiding in him about things she was almost certainly not supposed to discuss with anyone.

"Well. That's why I'm here, you know. I mean, not why I'm in the garden. Why I am here being your governess. That is, the children's governess." She stopped to take a calming breath.

"The Reverend Mother wants me to be sure about – well, it's hard to explain. Not whether I can do what they expect, but if I can expect if of myself. Does that make sense?"

The Captain chuckled. "It does. An unfortunate sign that I have fallen entirely under your influence. And – tell me - what have you concluded?" His voice was soft, but insistent, like rough velvet.

"I want with all my heart to serve God," she explained. "Because I love the sisters, you see. From the moment they took me in, I was never happier. I was only twelve, you know, when I was left there by my aunt and uncle. Abandoned, actually. They'd been caring for me since my parents died and – well, anyhow, I've never wanted to be anywhere else, at least not until - " Maria paused, stunned at how much she had just revealed to him – no one outside Nonnberg knew about her past - and the inconvenient truth she had just stumbled upon.

"Go on." That voice again. There was no resisting it, and she didn't want to, really.

Wryly, Maria remembered the purple prose in Liesl's book: "The night would keep their secrets." Somehow, with that gentle voice and the steady rhythm of the rain to encourage her, the dark night had become safe. The words rushed out of her, urgently, as if by explaining things to him, she would, understand them herself, would be able to see things more clearly.

"Reverend Mother sent me here to figure it all out. I'm not sure why she sent me here, I mean, no disrespect meant, sir, you have all been very kind to me, but I am no closer to the truth than I was that first day," she said glumly. "Like I told you the other night, I'm not sure I'll make a very good nun. I still am not sure where I belong, and I will leave with more questions than I came with."

"Like what?" he prompted her.

"Like - when I broke into Sister Berthe's quarters that day? I wanted to see how they lived. I thought, perhaps, that if I saw their place, I would understand my place in it. Well, you know, they – er – their hair is very short. They don't have brushes, or combs, or even mirrors. I was trying to accustom myself to it, you know, cutting my hair back in stages, giving up my curlers…" Maria laughed, ruefully. "But this summer I seem to have gotten quite fond of pretty clothes, and being endlessly groomed by your daughters. I am very vain. Another one of my faults."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. She heard him murmur something – "Pity?" – but that made no sense.

"I beg your pardon, Captain?"

"Er-nothing. Go on," he said.

"And there is the fact that I cannot bear to be cooped up indoors, no matter what the weather. And singing. I can't seem to stop singing wherever I am. And, there's no singing in the Abbey, of course."

"I see. What else?"

"And-" she faltered, "I have always wanted to work with children. I'm a trained teacher, you know…"

"Yes, you've made that clear, " he said, a wry smile in his voice.

"…but this summer, well, some of the best things happened outside the classroom. Helping them through life's difficulties. Building their confidence. Being with them all day and at night, well, it's like being a teacher, but better. I'm going to miss that. As a teacher, you only get them during the day, and only for one year. You don't get to see them change, grow up. And- " Her eyes filled with tears.

"Yes? Go ahead. You can tell me," the Captain said, and his voice was warm and concerned and not the least bit fearsome – at least for the moment..

"A teacher is never as important to them as their parents are. The truth is, that even at your worst, they'd have traded a day with me for a minute of your time. They never stopped loving you. Can they even name those eleven governesses?"

"A-ha!" he cried.

"What?" It seemed as though she'd told him another secret, but she wasn't sure just what it was.

The rain continued its incessant drumbeat. A flash of lightning lit the garden up for just a moment, and then pitched them into dark again.

" Fraulein. There is more to it." It was a statement, not a question.

"Well," Maria confessed, struggling to find the words to explain it, "then there is this garden. You were right, you know. I wasn't curious about her, not exactly. I mean, I was at the beginning, but after a while, I wanted to see for myself - well, I didn't understand – let's just say that a lot of things are not the way I always thought."

He cleared his throat. "I know what you mean."

Why have I unburdened myself to him this way? How will I ever be able to look at him again? How will we ever go back to what came before?

There was a long pause, and then, in the inky darkness, she heard creaking and rustling as the Captain began to move. She could tell that he had risen from his seat, that he had taken a step or two – and then she felt his weight settle next to her on the loveseat. He was sitting so close to her—too close. Maria could feel the damp heat rising off his body. Although his coat was still wrapped around her, she began to shiver.

"Forgive me for prying, Fraulein, although heaven knows you have shown no such compunction toward me. Why don't you let yourself fall in love and get married? Let some young man give you children of your own?"

Her mouth went dry.

" You're a delightful young woman. Bright. Talented. And…"

He hesitated, the end of his thought suspended unspoken between them, as if they both might stop to consider the implications if he spoke it out loud. And then he did.

"…beautiful."

Somewhere deep inside her, a thousand butterflies had taken flight. Struggling to keep her voice steady, she asked, "Don't you think you ought to apologize for that?"

"I ought to, but I won't." The words came in a passionate rush, as though he'd been biting them back for a long time. " I've been watching you, and I know you. Maybe better than you know yourself. You are curious about everything and everyone. Someone ought to show you a sunrise at sea. The pyramids, an African jungle, an Indian temple. The Pacific Islands. Rome, and Paris, and London. America, and Athens. Have you ever waltzed? Drunk too much champagne? Have you ever even been k-"

"Captain!" She was grateful for the darkness, so that he could not see that her face was on fire.

He lowered his voice, but lost none of his intensity. "I wish – I hope you will have a chance to find out for yourself before you let them lock you away in there forever. Because you'll never be one of them."

Panic filled her chest until she could barely breathe. She considered standing and moving away from him, and from that voice that was somehow all at once soft and rough, gentle and demanding. But the truth was, she didn't want to get away from him, she wanted to be closer. The only things she wished – desperately - to escape were the doubts he was so expertly unearthing, and the feelings sweeping through her.

Is this really what the Reverend Mother wanted me to experience? Are these feelings going to follow me back to the Abbey? Can I ever go back to being who I was before?

Frantic, Maria struggled to get control of the conversation, of the game they were playing.

"You have not only crossed a line you should not have crossed, Captain, but you are wrong about me." Her voice was shaking. "Those- those things are definitely not for me!"

"Why not? What's stopping you? Aren't you the least bit tempted?" She was certain, now, that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

As if out of nowhere, a childhood memory: The savage noises they made in the darkness woke me night after night. And then the truth slipped out before Maria knew it, an answer of sorts, at last, to a summer's worth of prayers:

"I'm afraid. No. I'm – I'm terrified. Actually."

There was a long, awkward silence.

"Well, we don't want that, do we?" he said gently, and she felt him pull away from her.

"I mean-" Maria said defensively, "I mean to say, I've pledged my life to God. Those things you were talking about, they are not – not God's will for me."

"How do you know that? Oh, never mind. I'm not your man for a discussion of God's will-" He stopped abruptly, as if afraid of what he might say next.

His silence gave her permission to continue.

"Now it's my turn, Captain. What about you? You haven't told me why you were out here tonight. Or why you've been coming out here so often, for that matter."

"O-ho, all right." He chuckled indulgently, and she felt him stand and move away from her, as is to emphasize that he was not giving up control, that he was allowing her to steer the conversation to safer ground.

"I have some decisions to make about my own path in life. The country is falling apart. The world is falling apart. I need to decide how to keep my family safe. And meanwhile, half of Austria is firmly pushing me up the aisle. I have a lot to think about and," added, archly, "it is too noisy in the villa to think about it. Thanks to you and your complete inability to maintain discipline."

"That is not the reason, and you know it, Captain. You come out here because you miss her."

"I was under the impression that I was doing what you told me to do. Coming to terms with my tragic past, and all that, at the bidding of my fearsome governess," he said mockingly.

"But she is not coming back!" Maria burst out. "You know, I had a miserable childhood, being raised by people who treated each other dreadfully and me even worse. But I don't waste my time longing after parents I can barely remember. You have to move on. You have to get married and give your children a mother." She stopped: this time, she had certainly gone too far, and she tried to make up for it with a last few gentle words. "I'm sorry."

"Stop telling me to get married!" the Captain said, but he seemed more amused than irritated. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't marry someone just to fill the vacant job of mother. It doesn't work that way. A mother – you don't hire a mother, like a teacher, or a governess for that matter, weren't you the one who stumbled on that truth just a few minutes ago?"

"The real shame of it," he continued gravely, "is that you have let an unfortunate childhood, and a bunch of dried-up old women, and, I see now, the terrible example I've set, frighten you away from – from life. From the life you could have had."

Once again, the words flew from Maria's mouth before she could stop them. "It's easy for you to say. Uh, Sir. You are the bravest man in the entire country, for heaven's sake, and look at what happened to you! I have already lost enough. At the Abbey, I feel…safe."

"Oh-ho, Fraulein, you are braver than most men I know. But I'm not going to lie to you," he admitted. "Most people don't achieve their heart's desire even once. But you ought to try, before it's too late. The devil of it is," he said slowly, "if I thought I could find it again, even knowing what I know now? I'd do it in a heartbeat."

They stared at each other for several long moments; around them, the night held its breath.

And only then did Maria realize that she could see his face. Somehow, she had failed to notice that the rain had stopped, the clouds had crept away and the garden was washed in silvery moonlight.

"It stopped raining ten minutes ago." His face wore a weary half-smile. "Look, Fraulein. Fraulein Maria. I want to give you something." He reached in his pocket and drew out a small brass key. "This will open the gate."

"Oh, Captain, I can't, I mean, you shouldn't. Not after all those things I said, and all the trouble I've caused."

He grinned. "It's safer than having you vault over walls. Next time you'll break your neck, and I do not want to go to the trouble of having to find any more governesses. Please. Use it as you will. Just- this space is not for the children. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Maria nodded. Somehow she knew that she'd keep her promise.

"We need to get back," he said, rising abruptly. She could almost see the mask descend over his face, restoring him to the reserved, aristocratic Captain she'd known…before. But she knew things would never be the same between them.

"My ankle…" she reminded him. "I'll need help."

"Look," the Captain directed. "Before the storm broke, you said you could wait here by yourself. Do you think you could wait here long enough for me to go get Peter? I'd rather send him to get you. I can tell him I was inspecting the property after the storm when I found you. That way, no one will see us…"

"But Captain," she protested. "Why do we have to act like – I mean, it's not like anything, er, happened!"

That half-smile again. "No?" he asked, his eyes glittering. And then he was gone.

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Thank you for reading, reviewing, following and – best of all – reviewing my story. I am going to be away for a while, so I'm afraid there may be a bit longer wait for an update, perhaps as long as three weeks. I don't own the Sound of Music, or anything about it.