Okay, warnings: this is in no way historically accurate, also, some drinking will occur. Enjoy!
They walked in silence towards the graveyard, towards Agathe. Lingering in the back of his mind was the realization that this was the first time, in the few months he had known Maria, that he was not entirely focused on her. Instead, his mind seemed to be traveling in as many different directions as the trails that travel up the Untersberg. He had not been to see Agathe in six months or more, and it had always been alone. This thought unnerved him more than any other as he had always assumed he would one day go with his children or with a new wife, someone he loved dearly; more importantly, someone who would understand.
The rusted gate was difficult to move. It took several good pries before it sprang out, nearly knocking Maria off her feet. Knowing how difficult it would be to actually step through the gate he allowed Maria to walk in first. A gesture that normally should have been born out of a certain gentility, he took displeasure in knowing it came from cowardice. To have Maria see his anguish would be too much, and in this situation fleeing was not an option. It was a surprising thought, seeing how far he had fallen from the glory days of his youth. Fear had never been in his sights then, and now it seemed to lay at the foundation of every action he took.
The small path that led through the graveyard was overgrown with weeds and wild-flowers. The dirt scuffed his shoes and left stains on the hem of his pants causing him to wonder if Maria was in anyway physically bothered; her legs were receiving the same earthy attack as his pants. A trivial thought, and one he hoped to hold onto as they made their way deeper into the cemetery. Any thought that did not dwell on the coming emotional upheaval was one to cling to. He did not wish for Maria to see him at his worst moments, and yet he would not miss the chance to learn anything he could about her: even her own worst moments.
After a minute of walking, Maria took a sharp right and headed down an even smaller path towards an older section of the cemetery. This made him pause. This little path, depending on how far they went, could lead them straight to Agathe. He wasn't sure if he was prepared for that yet.
Maria turned around, probably noticing he was no longer on her heels. She stood patiently, her normal curiosity notably absent from her bright blue eyes. As he caught up to her she spun back around and continued down the narrowing path. Focusing more and more on anything but the moment, he nearly ran into the branch of an approaching tree. He was very grateful Maria had her back to him.
The brief pause allowed him to realize Maria had finally stopped. She was standing in a small clearing in front of two small graves. Deciding it was best to give her a moment alone, Georg remained by the indignant tree but watched her closely.
She stood at the graves for a long time; just staring. There was no perceptible movement from her, the woman he had thought never stopped going. She stood, her back slightly hunched, the bag over her shoulder forcing her to lean slightly to the right. Her face was clouded by her hat, but he could easily visualize the sorrow glossing her eyes. She stood at the graves for a long time.
She didn't budge as a cool wind swept across the grounds, her fingers didn't even move. Realizing that this was possibly harder for her than she had originally let on, Georg slowly moved towards her, looking to simply indicate his presence, should she need it. Once he too was in the clearing he stilled, waiting for a sign from her that this was acceptable.
He was now close enough to see the little graves himself. They were side by side and read:
VICTOR FRANCA 1888 - 1921
HOLLE FRANCA 1896 - 1920
The simplicity was heartbreaking. These were two people who had had little money, who had died leaving behind a young daughter with absolutely nothing. Calculating the dates in his head, Georg realized Maria would have been orphaned before she had reached Marta's age. The chills flowing through him had little to do with the changing weather.
Running forward quickly he tried to catch Maria as she fell to her knees. He stilled, watching as she pulled off her hat exposing her serene face, her eyes closed, lips moving slightly. She hadn't fallen, he realized. She was praying.
She settled in front of her parents graves, her legs casually resting in the dirt. After a brief moment she opened her eyes and dug through the bag still slung across her shoulder. The jiggling of her various effects broke the silence that had been with them since they had entered the graveyard. She huffed, not being able to find what she was looking for. Pulling the bag off her shoulder she stared into it and then dove her arm back into the bag. At last, she pulled from it a black box no bigger than the size of his palm.
"It was my Mother's." Her calm voice startled him as she placed the box in-between the two graves.
He moved closer to better see what she was doing. She opened the box to reveal a little ballerina placed on a small platform that clearly moved on the little rails around the bottom of the box. Suddenly, music began to play. It played only a few notes before stopping. Looking to Maria he noted she was as surprised as he was.
"It...It's been broken for years!" As she spoke she picked the music box back up and examined it carefully. Shaking it a few times and looking through the rails inside, she gave up after realizing it must have been a fluke.
Not keen to see her disappointed, Georg offered, "Allow me."
She handed it to him, their fingers brushing from the exchange. She immediately looked away when this happened, and he felt his lips turn slightly as though he were going to smile, but he knew he couldn't, not now, not here.
He looked it over, going through the same motions as she had just before, but he could find nothing wrong with it on appearance alone. If he were going to fix it for her he would have to open it up, and he wasn't sure if he could do that without breaking it entirely. After looking it over he caught her watching him, completely entranced. She looked away again, and a slight blush appeared on her cheeks. Her lips moved again, but this time he was pretty sure she had just apologized to her parents in prayer.
That was a sobering thought.
Remembering how young and poor she must have been when she had lost her parents, he wondered if this music box was all she had left of them. He set it back on the ground, watching it as it rocked slightly before settling in the dust. It was old, rusted, broken, and he knew exactly why she kept it.
She stared at it with him. Music had always been something they shared and now those four notes still lingered in his mind, just as he knew they were playing in her own. She stood suddenly, taking the box with her. He rose, not as quickly, his knees creaking against the strain.
"They died on the same day, a year apart." She explained.
He looked back at the two tombstones. The exact dates were not etched into the stone.
"Mother from typhus, and Father, well, everyone said it was from a broken heart." She continued.
Her words slowly settled as a growing nausea began brooding in the pit of his stomach. It was much to close to his own story. Agathe had died from scarlet fever and he as good as died just afterwards, at least as far as everyone else was concerned. Would it have been different if he had only had one child? Instead of the seven he knew needed him? There had been many nights where he had prayed for death only to wake later drenched in shame and remorse. And then one night Max had found him, clutching a bottle of sherry, pistol in his hand, mumbling about a meaningless life – at least that was how Max told it. He didn't remember any of it. Grateful only that his children had never seen him in such a state.
The sweat that was falling from his forehead had no place there in the cool air. A visible sign of his disquietude. Maria was looking at him, this time in worry. She would not look away now, her concern was too great. He attempted a reassuring smile. Perhaps it was simply because he had tried to smile, for she, in one simple look, told him she knew he was in pain, but also knew he could move past it.
She finally set the flowers on the two graves. Violets for her mother, edelweiss for her father. After blowing a kiss at the two graves, she moved away and stood expectantly.
It was his turn now.
He turned and walked past her parents heading into the older, richer, part of the cemetery. It was almost embarrassing to bring her there. As though it was more a reminder of how wealthy and therefore wonderful his life was, even in death. The rain began falling while they walked.
"We can head back if you would prefer." He offered, indicating the rain.
"I don't mind a little rain, Captain."
Her offset smile knew far too much.
Luckily, they did not have far to walk and the rain was light. As they approached the large tombstone he became increasingly tempted to take her hand, if only for its comfort. Yet, he did not. Instead, he steeled himself against the onslaught of emotions that fought through him, wave after wave, as if he was back on the ocean.
He apologized for not coming more often.
It was right to bring Maria.
It was completely unacceptable to have brought a governess.
How many other people had been to see Agathe, while he had seemingly ignored her?
Maria was a comforting presence that he had not had since Agathe, would his late wife accept her?
Could he ask for a sign?
Would he recognize it if he was even given one?
The thoughts piled on each other the closer he got, wave after wave striking his body. He felt physically ill. As he turned to face the tombstone, which was almost as tall as he was, he abruptly felt everything settle.
It had been three years that he had been mourning. Three years that he had watched his children grow without him. Three years he had longed for one more embrace, one final kiss, one last moment of grace.
He had thought he had moved on when he had finally allowed Elsa into his life.
Who had he been fooling?
He was never going to move on, or forget the one great love of his life. How could Romeo ever forget Juliet? He almost envied Victor and Holle for being reunited so quickly.
Maria coughed slightly and he returned to the world. No, there were things he still had to do, people he still had to live for, and a woman behind him who was beginning to mean just as much to him as the woman in front of him had.
The eye of the etched eagle on the top of the tombstone seemed to be expecting an answer, a resolution to the problems burning in his heart. There was only one thing left to do, it seemed. He had to ask for, and receive forgiveness.
Kneeling in front of Agathe, as he had seen Maria do moments before, and as he had done only once in his life to Agathe – the happiest day of his life – he began his prayer.
He thought of Liesl: how she had blossomed into the beautiful young woman he, as Maria had said, barely recognized. He wondered if there was any worldly wisdom he still had left to give her, or if she would be willing to take it after all the years of nothing.
Friedrich was nearly a man, and it quite obvious how taken his son had become with his governess. Yes, Friedrich would be one to watch in the coming years. You had said so, Agathe, you always knew Friedrich had inherited my wolfish ways. Old wolfish ways, he corrected himself. He put those ways far away from his home once he had married. After all he had had the only woman he could ever want.
Moving to Louisa he remembered their time with the little puppy. She had grown up quite suddenly as well, sometimes showing more maturity than even Liesl. She had certainly inherited Agathe's stubbornness and strong will. Out of all his children he felt he shared the most with Louisa; though he loved them all equally.
He considered each of his children, how much he had missed with them. He asked God to help them forgive needed their forgiveness; and he had realized he needed it before he made any rash decisions concerning their governess.
Maria.
He needed to know Agathe could accept her. She would never replace, only heal, love.
The rain was becoming heavier. He lifted his head skyward, feeling the drops grace his face, helping to hide any tears he might have shed – his family needed to become whole again, and they needed to be safe before that could ever happen.
Too many problems to deal with at once, he prayed for one last thing: the strength to do everything that was needed of him.
Finally crossing himself, he rose, unsurprised to find Maria standing next to him. The church bells began to ring, loudly as they were standing so close to the cathedral, signaling noon-time mass.
He smiled bitterly, "And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."
He turned to see her confused face, her eyes wide, brow furrowed. He explained, "John Donne."
"I know," she whispered.
A crackle of thunder broke overhead causing both to look up. A lightening bolt streaked across the sky lighting up the rooftop of the cathedral, the cross remained illuminated for a second afterward.
The rain beat down on them even harder. Taking one look at Maria they shared a thought and then went sprinting towards the main gate. Maria was laughing as she lost her hat to the wind, he grabbed it before it flew farther into the distance. He couldn't help but laugh as well. Leaving the cemetery felt like he had left an enormous weight behind, a weight he hadn't even known he was carrying.
They reached the marketplace where people were scattering, some heading into the church, others boarding up their booths. He placed her hat on her head and she laughed again.
"Did you take the bus?" He asked, having to shout through the downpour to be heard.
"Yes!" She shouted back.
"I have the car if -"
"Yes!" She didn't let him finish his offer and he laughed again. He took her arm and directed her through the twists and turns of Salzburg's streets. Finding the car he quickly unlocked her door and ushered her inside, then hurried around to the other side.
Sliding into the relative warmth of the car, he slammed the door and immediately started the engine. Catching her as she shivered, he reached in the backseat and pulled the blanket to the front. He kept it there for just such occasions. It was a big, warm blanket with a large boat printing spanning the width. He gently draped it around her shoulders and she huddled into it, his hands skimming the soft material of her dress.
"Thank you." Her voice shivered.
He retuned to his seat, "you're welcome."
Putting the car into gear he drove off, slowly through the rain.
"The children will be glad to have you back so soon." He began, "They were quite worried about your leaving this morning."
"Oh. You saw them?" She asked.
"Yes, they accosted me just before I left. They seemed to think you might have been sacked." He chuckled.
"What? Why would they ever think that?" She seemed genuinely shocked by the notion.
"Well, I did fire you once before." He reminded her.
"Yes, but I thought we were past that." Her hands fidgeted, indignantly folding the blanket further around her.
"Well, we are, but I'm afraid children's memories seem to exist as much in the past as in the present." Laughing he added, "regardless, they will be very happy to see you this afternoon."
This made her smile.
He loved making her smile.
"You didn't want to go to mass this afternoon as well, did you?" He asked.
"Well, yes, how did you know?" She slid towards his side of the car as he took a sharp turn.
"You mentioned once how you would like to attend more often." He explained, trying not to let her proximity affect his mind.
"I see, it's a bit late for that now though, isn't it?" She moved back to her window, and he felt slightly lost, which was odd especially given she hadn't even touched him.
"Not at all, I can turn around quite easily you know." He sent her an ironic wink and this time she laughed.
He loved making her laugh as well.
"No, it's alright. I can never sit still for mass anyway." Her admittance seemed to warm the inside of the car, "I'm really not well suited for this religious life, as much as I want it."
This admission he let settle over them. It warmed his very core. It provided light where there previously hadn't been any.
He pulled the car into the villa's roundabout, pulling the parking brake before getting out in the rain to open the door for her. He pulled off his jacket, allowing her to use it to cover her hair as she rushed into the main hallway. Watching her enter the villa and then turn around and offer him a salute he couldn't help the laughter that bubbled through him once more. He parked the car in the garage on the side of his home and entered the villa through the servant's door.
The children had been very pleased to find their governess returned to the villa. The eighth member rejoined, they spent the rest of the day in the parlor playing games and singing. It felt like the home Georg remembered. Dinner had been a feast to make up for the dismal weather and afterwards he had consented to play a game of hide and seek with Marta and Gretl.
The evening went quickly and the children said their goodnights. Maria disappeared for some time while she sang her lullabies and set the children's fears of boogie men and thunderstorms to rest.
With Marta and Gretl off in bed Georg took the opportunity to open another case of his favorite beer. It was an interest that very few in his class took part of, a failure on their part he felt, as beer had as many interesting and challenging tastes as wine did. Very few people knew the extent that one might enjoy a good beer and he took every opportunity to teach anyone he could, Max especially. He knew very well that Max hated beer, but Georg was sure that with enough persuading he could convert the gin drinker into something much more enticing. He also knew that he had far too much fun bullying Max into doing something he didn't like.
Of course the fun never lasted too long, he always let Max make some excuse to run away; which he had done leaving Georg alone to enjoy a very fine oatmeal stout in his absence. His focus was so intent on tasting the multitude of flavors intoxicating his senses it came as a bit of a shock when he heard someone playing the piano.
The piano had been brought down from storage for the party and had never been sent back. Its current residence in the ballroom had yield it untouched after the party was over, as Georg was the only occupant of the villa who knew how to play. At least, he had thought he was the only one. That the piano was now being played seemed to suggest otherwise.
He left the parlor in pursuit of the unnamed pianist and was unsurprised to find the bench occupied by Maria Franca, his lovely little governess.
Shaking his head at such a tag he began to take in how much beer he had had. He was by no means drunk, but there was a certain lightheadedness that was beginning to take effect. Leaning on the doorframe of the ballroom he allowed himself to listen as she played. She was certainly not an expert, playing a very slow version of Chopin's Prelude in E minor. A simple piece marked by extreme beauty and, the way she was playing it, immense sorrow. He wondered if she was thinking about their morning together.
She tripped through the end, missing the one triplet, and losing the bass note on the final chord. Nevertheless it was very expressive and thoroughly enjoyable, so much so that he simply had to clap. She turned quickly at the sound and instantly blushed.
"Thank you, Captain, but I hardly think that's necessary." Her words were modest but the pride showed through in her voice.
"Why not? It was rather delightful." Perhaps he was drunker than he thought, using a word like delightful for such a sour piece.
"Oh, I would hardly say that." She turned back to the piano to hide her increasing blush. He sat on the bench next to her, eager to see her hands as she played.
"Play me something else." He requested.
"Oh, Captain, I don't think I know anything else." Her fingers moved across the keys, gently touching them without making a sound as she thought about what she could play. He knew that was what she was doing even as she denied it.
"I'm absolutely certain that you do. Please." He added, realizing he might be being too forceful.
Finally, she nodded her acquiescence, and then her face turned an even brighter red.
"I'm afraid you might not like it too well." She confessed, not daring to look at him.
"Don't be so sure, my dear, I am a man of many tastes." He kept his voice smooth as he spoke, hoping to lull her into resignation.
She sighed, "Well, here goes."
She straightened up and set her fingers along the chords she would need. She took a deep breath and then:
Nothing.
He looked up at her. Her eyes were closed and she was mouthing words, her head bobbing to some invisible tune.
Oddly, he was quite certain she had just mouthed 'present arms'. She was up to something.
Finally, she began to play, two measures of a light staccato beat, harmonies moving in a circle up and down a fifth. Then she began to sing, and he nearly fell of the bench in laughter:
I am the monarch of the sea
The ruler of the Queen's Navee,
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants
He entered, singing the chorus through his laughs:
And we are his sisters and his cousins and his aunts,
and we are his sisters and his cousins and his aunts,
his sisters and his cousins and his aunts!
Maria came in again with the verse, as they took the two parts in turns:
When at anchor here I ride,
My bosom swells with pride
and I snap my fingers at a foeman's taunts;
And so do his sisters and his cousins and his aunts
and so do his sisters and his cousins and his aunts.
His sisters and his cousins and his aunts!
But when the breezes blow,
I generally go below
and seek the seclusion that a cabin grants
And so do his sisters and his cousins and his aunts
and so do his sisters and his cousins and his aunts
and so do his sisters and his cousins and his aunts
And then they sang together:
his sisters and his cousins, whom he reckons up by dozens, and his aunts!
She finished with three loud chords, the last she jokingly made minor. By the end they were both in hysterics. Catching his breath as quickly as he could, a difficult feat as every time one got their breath the other would start up again.
Finally he settled, an occasional chuckle escaping him as he spoke, "marvelous! Although I must say, I enjoy Never Mind the Why and Wherefore far more."
"Truly? I would have thought When I was a lad to be more your forte." She presented him a toothy smile to go along with her jibe.
"Oho! Is that so? I suppose Poor Wandering One is your favorite then? Very fitting." He added before she had the chance to answer. Then he sang, "Take heart, no danger low'rs; Take any heart – but ours."
Thankfully she laughed, he had been afraid that might have gone too far, but she seemed to enjoyed his teasing.
"It is one of my favorites, however that is the wrong opera, Captain." She corrected him.
"Oh, forgive me, I have not seen either in some time." He explained.
"Yes, it's been a while for me as well. I used to go every few months." She began doodling on the piano, playing little bits of famous pieces by ear.
"Really?" Watching her fingers caress the keys was mesmerizing for him.
"Mmhm, in school, every few months they did a new student opera. They were free and the entire school would attend. It was such fun." She stopped playing, allowing herself a chance to look at him while he watched her hands. He purposefully continued to stare at the keys, seeing her watch him in his periphery.
"I believe I read in the paper today that the H.M.S. Pinafore is playing in town right now in fact." He did remember reading that and was beginning to find it a wonderful coincidence.
"It would be quite a thing to see it done professionally." She sighed again, she knew she didn't have the money for such pleasures. He knew it as well, and he knew exactly what had just been offered him.
It had to be a sign. It was too good to be luck.
"I was considering getting tickets, if you would like to go." He said it quickly, not wanting to miss his chance.
She stared at him for a moment before answering, "you wish to take me?"
He nodded his response, watching as she began to understand what he was suggesting.
"With the children?" Even the way she said it, he knew she didn't expect the children to attend.
He clarified anyway, "without the children."
She stood from the bench and backed away from him. He felt his face drop and tried to control the disappointment from appearing.
"Captain," She began, and after a brief moment of silence, he knew she was not going to continue. He opened his mouth to explain, but found words difficult to form. Instead they stood there, starring across the piano at one another. The confusion was evident in her eyes, and yet he also thought he saw a longing there as well. Although he knew he could easily be imagining it.
"Sir." Franz appeared next to them so suddenly they both jumped.
"Yes, Franz?" He asked impatiently.
"A telegram for you." The old butler handed him the small piece of paper and everything stopped.
Anshluss occured. STOP. Austria now NAZI Germany. END.
His first thought was that it was too short. The telegram was too short. How could something so utterly despairing be condensed to eight words? His hands were shaking as he crumpled the paper. Franz left quickly, probably having read it himself.
He turned trying to focus on something, anything to stabilize the reality he was facing. His country was gone. Hope had quickly been replaced by fear and anger. Why had he ever been hopeful? There was nothing now. Only his children. His children, he had to tell them they were leaving their home. Because their home no longer existed. He threw the paper on the ground as hard as he could manage. As he straightened, failing to control the anger pulsating through him a soft hand took his arm and he was startled out of his fury. Maria's beautiful face swam into view and he found something he could focus on. Something that was real.
"What happened?" She asked, although her eyes seemed to guess.
Not having the words yet, he picked up the telegram and handed it to her. She unfolded the crumpled ball and gasped as she read its contents. Her hand found his arm again. As she swayed dangerously his arm wrapped around her back to offer support until he helped her down to the bench. He sat down behind her, and allowed her to lean against him.
They sat there, together, for five minutes exactly. He knew because he watched the clock the whole time. At exactly five minutes she stood from him, crumpling the paper back up and heading out of the ballroom. Georg followed her, knowing she was aware of him all the way through the villa.
The door to her bedroom was where she stopped finally. Even though he knew it wasn't proper he had followed her the whole way, needing to know what she was thinking.
She harshly opened the door, watching it fling against the wall and bounce back. However, she did not enter. She turned to him.
"What are we going to do?" She asked.
"Leave, as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning, or perhaps night, depending on what happens next." He answered quickly. Nodding, she looked over her room. He felt a twinge of unnecessary guilt, he still had yet to fix her pipes.
"I need to go to Nonnberg before we go." She spoke to him, still looking over the room.
"I feel we don't have much time."
"I know. I'm leaving tonight." She entered her room as she spoke and pulled out her carpet bag from under her bed. He stood in her doorway.
"It's far too late for that."
"There's a bus at half-past ten I can still make." She flung open her armoir, throwing a few dresses in her bag. Glancing around she also took her bible. Oddly, she left her music box sitting on her night stand.
"Have the children ready, I'll be back before ten tomorrow morning. Is that enough time?" Her hurried manner was more frantic now, she had entered her bathroom to gather her necessities.
"Earlier. Can you be back at Eight?" He asked, her frantic movements making him edgy.
She thought about it a moment, then standing in the doorway of her bathroom she hung her head. She looked as defeated as he felt, "yes, we'll leave at eight."
"Good. There's no rush," he tried to convince himself, "I haven't been requested for anything yet, and I can't imagine they'll close the borders."
She nodded, eyes still shining with worry. Finished packing, she took her bag and left her room. He took her bag from her as they made their way through the multitude of hallways. He had never cursed the size of his house before, but now, when time was so important, he couldn't imagine why he had ever thought to buy such a grandiose thing. Once in the main hallway he helped Maria with her coat and handed her the carpet bag. She looked exactly like she did when he had first met her. The only change was the stern set of her face. He needed to say something, even through such a dire situation, she needed to know.
"Love can level ranks." He spoke the lyrics hoping she would understand, expecting her to.
She swallowed, the fight raged in her eyes. He sent a silent prayer, needing her now more than he had ever thought he would. Then, her face softened.
"You have carried firm conviction to my hesitating heart." She answered in his manner, a slight smile graced her lips. It would have been so easy to kiss her then, but doing something easy for love seemed false. Instead, he bestowed a brief kiss to her cheek and then watched her leave the villa into the night until he could see her no more.
I know, I know, how could she leave!? Read on to find out! Or leave a review about how stupid an idea this is! Or whatever it is you might think! exclamation points!!!