Amor vincit omnia
Disclaimer: see chapter 1
AN: Once again Trapper has outdone herself in matters of quick beta-ing. Thanks, dear, you're really great!
Chapter 11: The knight in shining armour
October 1942
Liesl von Trapp closed her fingers around the crumpled handkerchief she was holding, fighting with all her might against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her again.
The last week had been a nightmare. From the moment the priest had appeared in the little flat she shared with her friend Julie, she felt as if the ground under her feet had shifted.
"Your father was killed in the line of duty." The priest's line still rang in her ears, but despite hearing it, she wasn't really able to believe it. Her father couldn't be gone like that, simply disappearing out of her life without even saying goodbye! Of course, there was his letter, but what was a letter when she needed to hear his voice, to look in his eyes, to be in his arms?
She had always been Daddy's girl and even during the time he had grieved for her mother and distanced himself from his children, Liesl had known that there was a special connection between him and her. Even then they had shared moments of closeness. Sometimes it was only a glance at each other and him smiling his half-smile; sometimes it had been a little touch, him stroking her cheek before he went away once more; and sometimes it had been a little phrase like "What would I do without you, Liesl?"
He had trusted her to look after her younger siblings, and though the responsibility sometimes had been a burden on her, she had felt honoured by her father counting on her.
As the oldest child in the family she was probably the one who had known best about her father's vulnerability and how much he had suffered after her mother's death. Therefore she hadn't found it too hard to forgive him for the coldness with which he had held his children at a distance afterwards. Him coming back, becoming the loving and caring father again that she had known – it had made her very happy. And Maria – even if Liesl hadn't already loved her for the person she was, she would have adored her for making her father so happy.
But now Maria was sitting next to her, dressed in black, her hands cupping her swollen abdomen protectively, her face like marble and her blue eyes looking far away. What was she thinking while listening to the speeches honouring her late husband? How did she feel about the empty chair on the stage, decorated with a blue and gold cover, a pair of white gloves, the American flag and the Maria-Theresien Order with its red and white band?
The Navy had outdone itself in honouring its dead hero. Admiral Forrester had come to Annapolis and he had brought the entire crew of the USS Liberty with him. The officers were standing on the back of the stage, their covers under their arms, black bands around their arms. And there was Admiral Jemmings, the four golden stars on his shoulder glimmering. Next to him sat a lanky, bald man in civilian dress – Alan Rewards, the Secretary of Naval Affairs at the White House. He held a little box between his hands. Liesl already knew that it contained the Navy Cross, a high order the Navy wanted to honour her father with posthumously. She also knew that he would have been proud of the medal, but that didn't change the fact that it didn't mean much to her. She would have given away all the accolades in the world to get her father back!
Admiral Jemmings was speaking now, but his words about duty and honour did not really reach Liesl's ears. She thought of the letter her father had written to her, telling her how much he loved her and how proud he was of her. And she remembered their last walk together. They had talked about her studies, her dreams for the future – "One day I'll sing Figaro in Salzburg and you'll sit in the front row, won't you, Father?" – and about what had happened in the Abbey with Rolf, the boy who had been her first love. However, as important as this talk had been to her, she wasn't thinking about the words now, but about how close they had come to each other.
Liesl remembered how much she had liked to cuddle with her father when she was a little girl. She had loved to sit on his lap when he was reading to her; she had loved to hold his hand when they walked together, and every night when she went to bed, he would come and tuck her in, kissing her forehead. Though it was long ago, she still remembered how he had smelled, how silken his hair had felt under her fingers and how strong and soft at the same time his hands had been.
As the years went by, touches, hugs and kisses had become rarer. There had always been a younger sibling asking for his attention or needing to be held. Liesl had learned to accept that she, as the oldest, was supposed to be the "sensible one" who understood that her father couldn't hold her hand when there was a toddler around who couldn't walk on his own yet.
After her mother's death Liesl had almost forgotten how it had felt to be hugged and kissed by her father. He had grown so distant that she hadn't dared to touch him anymore. In that period, Brigitta had been the only von Trapp child who had sometimes come close to him. She had been only four years old when she began to pester her older siblings and the governesses with her wish to be taught to read. At six years old, she had already grown bored of the children's books in the nursery. She had started to sneak down to their father's study to read his books – first only when he was away. However, with Brigitta totally losing herself in books, it had been inevitable that Georg, coming home earlier than expected, would find her one day in her favourite chair in his study, totally entranced by a book. To Brigitta's surprise he hadn't kicked her out, but only grumbled: "You can stay if you keep quiet and don't disturb me."
Brigitta had taken that as a "general permission" to read in the study whenever she wanted to and indeed, Georg had never minded her. Just on the contrary – one day Brigitta had told Liesl that he even would sometimes ruffle her hair or stroke her cheek, asking her what she was reading and if she was enjoying it.
Liesl had almost envied her then – besides the very rare occasions when he noticed her, normally her only chance to get his attention was by playing tricks on governesses or starting an argument with him.
Maria coming to the house had changed everything. Liesl would never forget the day when Baroness von Schraeder had come to visit. She had probably been the only one of the children who understood why their father had become so furious about his offspring presenting themselves looking like a bunch of drowned rats after their fall in the lake. Despite his aloofness he had always been proud of his children and therefore he had wanted them to make the Baroness' acquaintance looking and behaving their best.
Liesl had felt bad about spoiling this moment for him and ashamed about the cold tone he used when introducing them to his guest. Therefore she had made her siblings change in record time and had shooed them down the stairs to sing for the Baroness.
In the middle of their song she had suddenly heard the warm baritone she had almost forgotten because he hadn't sung with them in years. Her father had joined the family choir – and as he stood in front of his children, smiling almost shyly, Liesl had known that something important had happened, that something close to a miracle had given them their loving father back.
Of course, Brigitta had been the first one to throw herself in his arms then. Her example had given Marta, Gretl and Louisa the courage to follow her.
From that day on the little ones had used every opportunity to cuddle with their father. And he had invited them to, opening his arms for goodnight kisses, ruffling their hair, or offering them a hand when they were walking together.
Only with Liesl he had remained rather shy. Sometimes he would twinkle at her and sometimes, but still rather seldom, he would touch her cheek. Only once there had been more: on the day of his wedding as handed Liesl the flowers for Maria, she had put her hand on his shoulder and, overwhelmed by her love for him, she had risen up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I wish you every happiness, Father!"
For a few seconds he had stood ramrod straight, but then he had pulled her close, kissed her forehead and whispered: "Thank you, Liesl, thank you for everything!"
That had been all for the next years. When she would come home after an absence, she would always get hugs and kisses from Maria, but her father had restrained himself to a twinkle and stroking her cheek.
On their last walk together after a wonderful lunch they had started as usual with a good piece of distance between them. As they talked they had moved closer together, so close that their elbows had touched. On impulse, Liesl had shoved her hand in the crook of his arm. It had gotten her a little smile and then, after a few steps, her father had reached for her hand, closing his fingers protectively over hers. After a while even this hadn't been enough anymore – he had put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close while Liesl had wrapped her arm around his waist.
The next morning as she had said goodbye to him, he had opened his arms again, embracing her and holding her close while he kissed her forehead.
Liesl was glad she had spent those precious moments with him. Only it made it now even more painful to think that he would never hug her again, that she would never get a chance to sing the Rose aria for him, that he wouldn't lead her to the altar one day when she married. And what about her siblings? This morning she had told Maria that she wouldn't go back to New York, but would stay and help her bring up the little ones. Maria had immediately declined: "No, Liesl. Your father wouldn't have wanted that and I don't want it either. You won't waste your talent this way. I've got a lot of help here – Susan, Patricia, Louisa, Kurt and Brigitta. We'll manage, Liesl, and we'll always be happy when you come to visit us, but we certainly don't want you to give up your career."
"But don't send me away immediately!" Liesl had begged. "I want to stay at least until the baby is born. I need to be with my family now!"
Maria had hugged her. "Of course, darling. I wouldn't know what to do without you now."
The Admiral had finished his speech, and now the Secretary of the Navy had started and called Friedrich up to the stage. Liesl watched her brother in his white uniform with his cover under his arm bowing to the politician who presented him the Navy Cross in its open box. "In the honour and memory of Captain Georg von Trapp, I ask you to stand for a moment of silence."
Everyone stood, the men saluting and the women bowing their heads. Through her lashes Liesl saw that Commander Grammings, who had been her father's second in command, was swallowing hard while the red-headed Ensign at the end of the row looked as if he would start crying at any moment.
Then the speeches were finally done and Admiral Forrester had invited the guests to the nearby officers' club where drinks were served. There Liesl found herself suddenly surrounded by at least a dozen officers who wanted to tell her how much they had appreciated her father. And there was the red-headed Ensign who stammered: "I don't know how to say it, but I'm terribly sorry for your loss. The Captain was the best commander I ever served under – I mean, he actually was the first and only one, but I know I will never get a better one. Of course, he was very strict, but he was also fair and he never demanded more than he would have done himself. And you know, he was terribly proud of you. There was a picture of your family on the wall over his desk and sometimes during meals he spoke about you and your siblings. Your father was a great man and a true hero!"
His words touched Liesl and she thanked him with a smile, looking over to where Maria was sitting with Friedrich and both of the Admirals at her side. Liesl actually wanted to join her, but suddenly a tall man with soft blond hair and bright blue eyes approached her with a small bow. "I'm Lieutenant Finlay Carson from the USS Dallas. I don't think you've ever heard of me, but I know a lot about you, Baroness von Trapp."
Liesl was amazed to hear him use that title – most Americans didn't know about it, so she wasn't accustomed to it. Almost awkwardly she said: "Baroness von Trapp – that sounds as if you should talk to my Mother. For me, "Liesl" will do."
"Only if you call me Finlay!" He smiled at her and Liesl almost felt like blushing.
The blond young man – he hardly seemed older than twenty-five or twenty-six years – was almost too handsome for Liesl's taste. Although he was a bit lanky, he cut an imposing figure in his white uniform – his proud composure and the grace with which he moved caused it. And then there was his face with incredibly blue eyes, surrounded by long, dark eyelashes, a fine nose, and a generous, sensitive mouth over an energetic chin.
"I didn't know your father as well as I would have liked," he said now, his face serious and sad. "He was my neighbour in the officers' home at the base in Cyprus, and we spent three or four evenings together. You know, life at the base is rather boring. Most officers only spend time in their rooms to sleep and they hang out in the casino or the local pubs in their free time. I don't like going there – most pubs are too loud for my taste. I'm actually a musician …"
"Oh?" Liesl became curious. "What kind of musician?"
"Opera. Before I joined the navy, I was one of the junior directors of music in Chicago." He smiled. "And I know you're a singer, so we're actually colleagues."
"Only I'm not done with my studies yet," Liesl replied. "I suppose music was what got you in contact with my father?"
"Yes," Finlay Carson nodded and then chuckled quietly. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't laugh, not under these circumstances. But the story of how I became acquainted with your father is rather funny."
"I'd very much like to hear it," Liesl said truthfully. "Only I'm afraid my mother wants to go home now." She waved to Friedrich who was looking at her. Then, biting her bottom lip, she added spontaneously, "I'd really would like to hear it. Would you like to come over to visit – perhaps after dinner?"
Now the cheeks of the young officer betrayed a bit of a blush. "Oh, I'd love to – but are you sure I wouldn't be disturbing you and your family?"
"Certainly not!" Liesl assured him. "I must run – but please, do come! We live at the end of Sycamore Road, number forty-two!"
When was "after dinner"? Liesl caught herself looking at her watch for the second time in the last ten minutes. It was a quarter after eight. Maria, feeling rather drained, had already retired a half hour earlier, the little ones were sleeping too, and Louisa and Kurt had disappeared into the stables. So it was only Liesl and Max – Brigitta probably was in bed with a book – and they were sitting on the porch because it was such a lovely night.
Max was sipping at a glass of old brandy and was now smiling at Liesl. "Who are you waiting for, Liesl?"
"Well, after the ceremony I met a young officer who had known father," Liesl looked at the road where a car was just passing. "He's actually a musician and because we didn't have much time to talk at the hall, I invited him over."
"A musician?" Max looked interested. "You're not talking about Finlay Carson-Fenswick?"
"You know him?"
"Of course I do. Before he joined the Navy, I was after him like a bear after the honeypot!" Max replied. "The boy is a rising star among young American conductors – a pupil of Mantini who has praised him highly. I would have liked to send him to London. He only needs a bit more experience in Europe and he'll become one of the great conductors."
Liesl was chewing on her bottom lip, feeling almost a bit silly. H had said "one of the junior directors of music in Chicago" so casually – but she should have known that the Chicago Opera was one of the leading theatres. One needed to be very good to become even "one of the junior directors of music" there. "Did you know that father met him, Uncle Max?" she asked.
"Yes, he told me so in a letter. He liked the young man and enjoyed the few hours he could spend with him."
"He never mentioned him to me," Liesl said thoughtfully.
"Well, you were never the most faithful writer," Max sipped at his glass again. "And your father always answered letters he received rather than starting one from scratch …" He interrupted himself, pointing with his chin to the jeep that had just come up the driveway to the house. "Here the prince comes – and I should go. I must write a few letters. Have a nice evening, Liesl."
Before Liesl could protest, he had taken his glass and disappeared into the house. Shaking her head Liesl got up and walked down the stairs to the jeep, which had just stopped.
Finlay Carson jumped out and bowed. "Liesl, I'm so sorry for being late, but when a Captain wants to talk a Lieutenant's ears off, one can hardly tell him to shut up. Am I still welcome or shall I come again another time?" He was looking almost pleadingly at Liesl, and she felt how deeply she was blushing.
There was something about this man she found almost irresistible. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to listen to his voice and to look into his blue eyes – and at the same time she felt almost ashamed of her wishes. Her father had just died! This really wasn't the right time to get too excited about a man who had probably only come because he felt obliged to her father!
Clearing her throat she said, "My mother and my younger siblings are already in bed, but I'd really like to hear your story. Would you like to sit on the porch with me? It's such a lovely evening!"
"Yes, it is – and your porch looks very inviting," he replied, walking up the stairs with her.
With a wave of her hand Liesl offered him one of the chairs. "Can I get you something to drink? Brandy or beer or wine or perhaps an iced tea?" She wasn't even sure if they had beer in the house – neither Maria, Max, nor she liked it.
"Iced tea sounds wonderful! You know, I grew up in the South – and there people always drink iced tea!" He was stretching his long legs and smiled up at her.
"Iced tea it is then. Just a moment!" Liesl smiled and opened the door to the house. Running to the kitchen, she took a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge – Susan prepared some every day, knowing that the entire family loved it –, set it with two glasses on a tray and went out again. "Finlay," it was the first time this evening she had used his name, discovering that she really liked the sound of it, "did you have dinner? I could heat you some soup. And there's probably even some salad left."
"Thank you very much, but I just had a sandwich at the club." He helped her with the tray while she sat down again. "I grabbed it as I was leaving. You know, if there's one thing you learn in the Navy, it's to always get food when there's an opportunity for it."
"Is it that bad?" Liesl poured tea for him and for her in the glasses.
"No, no! Thanks for the tea." He sipped at it and smiled. "Hmm – very good. And as far as seamen's food is concerned: when we're on a mission, we're often under a silence order for days. That means that the kitchen only serves sandwiches – and you need to eat them when they're there because there's always at least one guy on the boat who manages to put down a dozen of them."
"Sounds like my brother Kurt! Father always called his stomach 'the bottomless pit,'" Liesl smiled. "You're a U-boat man too?"
"Yes. I serve on the USS Dallas, which is actually the sister ship of your father's Liberty," he answered. "That's why we were both in the officers' home when our boats were in port. You know, people serving on surface ships stay on the ship when they're in port. But submarines don't have regular quarters. The only one who gets a room of his own – a very small one – is the captain. All other people on board only have a bunk and a tiny closet. And even a bunk of one's own is an officers' privilege. The crew shares one bunk for two men. When one is on duty, the other sleeps."
"Ugh!" Liesl shuddered. "Sounds rather uncomfortable."
"It is – so we're always glad that we get regular quarters with real beds and a door to close when we're in port. We store our personal stuff there, and in my case my most important possession is a record player and some records. They're what got me acquainted with your father."
Liesl sipped at her tea too and was now leaning back. "Do tell me how you met him!" she begged him.
"The long or the short version?" He twinkled at her, but suddenly became serious and leaned forward slightly. For a moment Liesl thought he would take her hand, but then he folded his and only looked into her eyes. "Are you sure you don't mind talking about your father? I'd hate to cause you more pain."
"You wouldn't!" Liesl assured him, touched by his concern. "I want to know how he lived over these last months. You know, my family is very close-knit. Therefore I always thought it rather odd that there is," she blushed and corrected herself, swallowing, "was a part of my father's life that none of us – except perhaps my brother Friedrich, that is – knew about."
"In that case you'll get the long version!" Finlay Carson was smiling again. "It started when I moved into the officers' home. Or was it even before?" He ruffled his hair. "Yes, there's something you must know before: Your father is," now it was his turn to correct himself, "was a legend among U-boat men. Even before he joined the American Navy, we all knew his name because we had all learned about his heroics during World War I. There's even something called 'the Trapp manoeuvre' – it's hanging your boat up at its periscope. Your father was the one who discovered that it is possible and practised it to perfection …"
"Hanging up your boat on its periscope?" Liesl repeated with a raised eyebrow. "I shouldn't understand that, should I?"
"Certainly not – it's a rather complicated trick, but it works fine when you have to wait silently near the surface," the young officer explained. "Anyway, one learns about that at the academy and one also learns who developed the manoeuvre. So you can probably imagine how excited we all were when we heard that the legendary Captain von Trapp was to command the Liberty and would be stationed in Cyprus too. Only my captain had a little problem with it: Knowing that your father was a bit older than the other officers and was also a family man, he guessed that Captain von Trapp wouldn't take it too kindly if he were disturbed in the middle of the night by a drunken colleague coming back from the pub singing loudly. And my captain likes partying a lot, and he was the one who actually had the room next to your father's. So he asked me to switch with him."
"It was probably better that way," Liesl smiled. "My father certainly wouldn't have been amused by a loud neighbour."
"Well, so it was me who got the room next to him – and I liked it, not only because I wanted to meet him, but because I hoped he'd be a quiet neighbour too."
"I think he was, wasn't he?" Liesl looked out at the meadow where the two stallions were standing. "I can hardly imagine my father drunk and singing loudly."
"It certainly wouldn't have been his style," Finlay confirmed.
"So you got your quiet neighbour," Liesl wanted to hear more and not only because the story interested her, but because she liked listening to Finlay's soft voice.
"Not immediately – during my first and second stays in the officers' home he wasn't there. Around that time our boats didn't operate simultaneously. As we came back to Cyprus for the third time, we were once again the only submarine docked next to the carrier ship, so I thought I'd missed your father once more. My first night back I spent sleeping, as always, but on my second night – believing I'd be alone in this corner of the house – I dressed comfortably and turned on my record player: Mozart's 'Don Giovanni,' an old favourite of mine. I must admit I let it play rather loudly – as I've said: I thought I was alone. Suddenly someone knocked on my door. I thought it must be one of my mates – sometimes they still try to persuade me to go out for a drink. Imagine my shock as I opened my door to see the legendary Captain von Trapp standing there! I was sure I was in for a severe telling-off and so, before he could even open his mouth, I apologized and assured him that I'd immediately switch the music off and wouldn't bother him anymore."
"Only he didn't want you to switch it off?" Liesl asked with a smile. "Father loved Mozart, and 'Don Giovanni' was one of his favourites too. He could even sing the Register aria."
"Really? He never told me. I only knew that his wife and his children – especially you and one of your brothers – were very talented singers," Finlay said.
"We inherited the talent from him. Father isn't too bad of a singer himself. His voice wasn't full enough for a professional, but he had a good range and a nice timbre. Besides – perhaps just because he didn't have much volume – he was really good in coloratura. He had a very pliable voice and he did Bach and Händel very well," Liesl told him – and had to fight back tears because she remembered how much she had loved to sing with her father.
"Too bad I never heard him sing. Did you do duets with him?" Finlay asked.
"Rarely," Liesl replied and swallowed again. "We once did a piece from 'Rigoletto' together, but mostly it was my mother he sang with. She's got a wonderful lyric soprano which suited his baritone better than my voice. I mostly was too loud for him."
"Nevertheless I would have liked to hear you together."
Liesl looked down at the ground, suddenly feeling very sad again. Quietly she said, "I always dreamed of doing a duet with him again – perhaps for Mother's birthday."
Now Finlay was bending over the table and took her hand. "I'm sorry, Liesl – I shouldn't have reminded you. It must hurt terribly…"
For a few seconds Liesl only looked down at his hands, lying protectively over hers. Then she raised her head. "It hurts, but I think it would hurt even worse not to talk about him. I lost my birth mother when I was twelve years old. In the first years after her death, no one, not even our servants, talked about her anymore. It often made me so mad. It felt as if everyone around would try to deny that she'd ever lived. Yet I wanted her to be remembered, and I wanted at least to keep her memory alive."
Finlay studied her face. "You feel that way about your father now?"
"Yes, I do. And I think Maria – that's my stepmother – feels it too."
"Then let's talk about your father!" Finlay let her hand go, reached for his glass again and leaned back. "I'll tell you all about the little time we spent together, and then you'll tell me more about him."
"Yes, you weren't done with your story. How did he react when you offered to switch the music off?" Liesl asked.
"He told me he'd actually come to ask for the opposite. He wanted me to keep the music on and open the door so that he could listen to it too. He hadn't had an opportunity to hear music in a while, so he was eager for some Mozart. I felt rather shy – you remember the legend thing, right? – but I dared to invite him in. At first he was reluctant – he said he didn't want to invade my privacy. But I managed to persuade him, and so we spent our first evening together – quietly, not talking much, but listening to 'Don Giovanni.'"
"I take it you invited him again?" Liesl asked.
"Yes, I did. Two days later I met him at breakfast. He invited me to join him at his table and we talked about music. He told me he liked Schumann's symphonies, and I asked him to come over and listen to the Rheinische with me. In the evening he came and brought a bottle of wine with him. We listened to the record and talked – though I must admit it was mostly me who did the talking. You know, your father was a very private and kind of reserved man."
Liesl nodded and filled Finlay's empty glass. "Yes – he wasn't easy to approach and always needed some time before he opened up to someone. Actually the only person who was ever able to get through his reserve quickly was Mother – I mean, Maria, my stepmother."
"How long did it take?" Finlay asked and got a chuckle for an answer.
"Well, she actually only needed two days to draw him out of his aloofness," Liesl replied, still smiling. "She came to our house as our governess. At that time Father was rarely at home. He left again on our new governess' second morning in the house."
"He must have trusted her a lot to leave her alone with his children after only one day," Finlay said.
Once again the memory of those days made Liesl giggle. "I actually don't think so. Of course, in a way he trusted her – or rather he trusted where she came from. Mother had been a postulant in an abbey and her Reverend Mother sent her to us after my siblings and I had driven twelve governesses away in only four years. Father asked the Reverend Mother for a new one – he probably thought that someone would need a nun's patience and devotion to bear with the little monsters he'd sired. But Maria certainly wasn't what he'd wanted. She was much too young, too headstrong and too outspoken for his taste. That was how she pulled him out of his reserve so quickly. When they met for only the third time – after he'd returned from his trip – not ten minutes had passed and they were already yelling at each other."
"Sounds as if they reacted rather passionately to each other." Finlay smiled.
"You think so?" Liesl had never thought of that before, but it made sense. "You're probably right. I mean, they loved each other very much and were a great couple. But when their tempers clashed – puuh, it was always rather loud then."
"As I said: a passionate couple. Although I must say when your father spoke of your mother it was touching. I remember one evening – our fourth, if memory doesn't fail me. We were listening to Schumann songs. There was one that was obviously very special to your father – the Widmung."
Liesl nodded and quietly started to sing: "That you love me makes me worthy of you; your gaze transfigures me …" Smiling she said, "It was one of Father's favourites."
"Yes, he told me so." Finlay played with his glass. "As he did so – you can call me a sentimental fool, but the way he looked then touched me. I sort of envied him at that moment not only for having a woman who was able to make him feel so loved, but also for being able to love so much himself." Finlay sipped at his tea. "When we met the next time, he invited me to his room for a game of chess. He had a picture of your family on his desk. You're in it, holding your youngest brother in your lap – and, you know, you look very lovely in that photograph. Your father told me then that you were a soprano, and we joked that I'd like to conduct you once after the war. And he warned me that I shouldn't try flirting with you because he's such a protective father that he rakes all of your admirers through the coals. And that you had a lot of them."
"Oh no!" Liesl sighed. "He was exaggerating! He thought every boy who came to see me – even if it was only to borrow my mathematic homework – was an admirer."
"I think he was right – or were you in a school for the blind and the deaf?" Finlay smiled. "I can't imagine someone looking at you and listening to you without becoming an admirer."
"Now you're exaggerating too!" Liesl felt herself blushing hotly.
"No, I'm not!" Finlay insisted. "But I should apologize – you're mourning for your father and invited me over to talk about him. I shouldn't take advantage of your kindness by bothering you with my feelings."
"I don't feel bothered," Liesl assured him. "And I even don't think my father would have. He obviously liked you or he wouldn't have spent time with you."
Now Finlay looked awkward. "Well, I wouldn't go that far. You know, there's something odd about U-boat men. We live very close together on our submarines. There isn't any privacy for most of us, not even much for the captain. With only one bathroom for around fifty people you can't avoid shaving in front of each other, and with no room for yourself you have to dress in front of your comrades, you share your meals with them, you even write private letters with someone sitting so close to you that you sometimes can't avoid touching him. But this kind of closeness causes most of us to become reserved about sharing more privacy, so that on board most men hardly talk about their life at home, their wives and their families. You feel as if you need to protect at least that part of your life. Not sharing your thoughts like that can sometimes make you feel rather lonely – and not even men as strong as your father are entirely immune to that. So meeting someone who is in a way a 'kindred spirit' – and even if it's just that you share your love of music with him – makes you enjoy the other's company and come closer to him than you probably would have if you had met him in peacetime." He shrugged his shoulders. "That sounded a bit confused, didn't it?"
"It didn't," Liesl replied firmly. "Father told me something similar once. I still think that he liked you. Oh, by the way, he mentioned your acquaintance to his best friend. He wouldn't have done so if you hadn't meant something to him."
"Mr. Detweiler!" Finlay was smiling. "We thought it rather funny that we both knew him – though I must admit at first I was puzzled about it. Mr. Detweiler isn't exactly what one would have imagined as your father's best friend."
"You don't like him?" Liesl couldn't avoid sounding a bit cold. Uncle Max was very dear to her and the thought of Finlay not seeing through his superficial façade to recognize the sensitive, deep-feeling man under it didn't sit well with her.
"Oh no – I like him and appreciate him very much," Finlay replied quickly. "Max Detweiler isn't only a great musician himself, but one of the best impresarios around. He really cares about his clients and he treats them fairly. He wants to help them become as great as possible. Of course, his clients' success isn't to his disadvantage, but he's shown often enough that he doesn't only use them. I hope I can get him to be my agent when the war is over."
Liesl smiled at him. "I think he'd like that – and I hope that I'll become his client too someday."
"Aren't you already?"
"No, not really," Liesl blushed a bit. "At the moment I'm just the goddaughter he looks after."
"Having Max Detweiler for a godfather certainly is an advantage for a singer!" Finlay stated. "You know, I very much look forward to hearing you once."
"Figaro in Salzburg? With you as the conductor?" Liesl replied with a smile.
"Yes – let's do that after the war, shall we? You'll sing the Contessa, right? And all during the rehearsals and the production I will envy the Conte because he gets a chance to kiss you!"
Once again Maria sat at her favourite place on the windowsill, looking out to the yard where just a few moments before Finlay Carson's car had stood. Over the last week he had spent every evening with Liesl and now he had managed to persuade her – with Maria's help – to go out to dinner with him.
Maria was glad that he had come into Liesl's life. The poor girl had been so miserable after learning about Georg's death. Finlay was certainly helping her a lot – and he wasn't only a handsome and intelligent young man, but a nice one too. Besides it was clear to see that he had fallen for Liesl – and that she was in love with him too, but at first Liesl had felt bad about it.
"How can I fall in love only a few days after losing my father? It looks as if I didn't care about him!" she had told Maria.
"I don't see the connection there," Maria had answered. "You loved your father dearly – but that has nothing to do with the feelings you're developing for Lieutenant Carson now."
"What would father think about it?"
"Oh, that's a tricky question. You know he always was a bit jealous of the young men in your life," Maria had replied. "But he liked this young man – so probably in this case he wouldn't have complained."
Or would he have? Maria remembered only too well how worried he had always been about Liesl. He had known how vulnerable and sensitive his oldest daughter was. On the other hand, Finlay seemed to be rather perceptive himself. And he was a musician. Didn't that make him someone who wouldn't only understand Liesl, but would also appreciate her? Maria knew that their love for music had formed a strong bond between Georg and her. And hadn't it even been music, the singing of his children, that had once drawn him out of his grief and back to his children?
"Not all musicians are pleasant to be around. Great artists are often rather egotistical." It was as if Maria had heard Georg's voice in her head and it made her roll her eyes and answer him in her mind: "Darling, are you sure you're not jealous of Finlay? You never thought any young man was good enough for your Liesl."
Suddenly she became aware of what she had been doing and swallowed. After Georg had gone to Europe, she had often spoken with him in her mind. Actually she had done it almost every day and she had always felt as if she were close to him then.
Once she had written him about it, despite finding it rather silly. "You know, it feels to me as if there is a connection between us, as if a part of you is with me and I can reach out to you this way."
His answer had surprised her. She had really been afraid that he would find her a bit mad, but then she had read his words: "Of course there is a part of me that is always with you: my heart. You're its keeper and it will stay with you as long as I breathe, think and feel."
Wrapping her arms around herself – she suddenly felt rather chilly – Maria closed her eyes and concentrated on how she remembered her husband on the last night they had spent together. He had lain in his favourite position: one arm behind his head, the other around her, his hair a bit tousled after their lovemaking, his eyes beaming and a tender smile playing around his lips, slightly swollen by her kisses. Tears were welling up in her eyes and she whispered in the dark: "I miss you so much, Georg!"
And then it was again as if she could hear him in her mind. It was his voice and it said, "I'll come back, Maria. I promised I would, remember?"
For a moment Maria became almost furious. What kind of trick was her mind playing on her? Georg was dead! He wouldn't come back, he wouldn't keep his promise, not this time. He had fallen into Zeller's hands and there wasn't a chance his old archenemy would have let him get away. Georg would never smile at her again, he would never kiss her again, he wouldn't see their child that kicked inside her. He was dead, and she was alone.
"Maria!" It was if he had called her and she put her hands over her ears. Was she going to go mad? How could she hear her dead husband's voice in her mind? "Trust me – I'll come back to you!"
Dear God! Why did she have to suffer through that? Wasn't it bad enough that she had lost Georg and hadn't even been granted a place at which to mourn him? She would never have thought it possible that it would bother her so much, but over the last few days she had often wished that there were at least a grave she could visit.
Admiral Forrester had told her there would be a plaque with Georg's name on it on the wall of the Naval cemetery soon – but what was a plaque when Maria needed a grave to bring flowers to?
But there hadn't been a body. Georg had died – and no one knew where or when or what had become of his body. Until now Maria hadn't dared to think about it. Of course, as a Christian she knew that the body was only a vessel for the soul. And what had the priest said? "I'm sure your husband's soul is with our Father in heaven now." What did his body matter then?
Only Maria had loved his body too. She had marvelled at its strength and warmth; she had known it almost as well as her own body; she had loved to touch it and kiss it. The thought of this body – no, she really couldn't think about it. She didn't want to. She would keep her memories as they were – Georg in his pyjama trousers, holding Barbara on his naked chest, laughing because his daughter had pulled at the hair there; Georg on his horse, his face all concentration; Georg in his uniform – as she had seen him first in the Navy's summer whites it had almost taken her breath away. There had only been one uniform that had suited him better: the Austrian blue dress uniform in which he had married her, looking like the dashing hero out of a girl's dream.
Conversano Theokratia was just trotting across his meadow, his body glimmering in the moonlight like silver. Now he stood at the fence, head up and ears erect as if he was waiting for someone. During the last several nights he had often stood there like that, looking lost and sad. Maria was sure that he felt that something bad had happened to his owners. Even Pluto Bona, normally the more robust stallion, had noticed it. In better times rather impatient and more interested in carrots then in tender touches, he had become quiet and docile too. Whenever Maria came close to him, he stayed still until she petted him. Conversano Theokratia even replied to her touches. She had long ago lost her fear of him and had learned to enjoy his company. Over the last nights when sleep had eluded her she had visited him, hugging his neck and laying her head against his silken warmth. And he had always turned his face to her, softly and tenderly nibbling at her hand or blowing his warm breath towards her.
She remembered how Georg had once told her about meeting the stallion for the first time when he was only a two-week-old colt. "Even then he was already something special. I immediately wanted to buy him, but he had already been selected to go to the Spanish Riding School." And then Georg had laughed. "The mext time he upsets me with his tricks instead of showing a proper levade, remind me that his tricks are what got me him. If he would have learned the movements as he was supposed to, the Spanish Riding School would never have given him away."
Maria slipped down from the windowsill and went to the kitchen where she took an apple and a carrot out of the pantry. On the porch stood her boots, ready for her to slip into them, and she did so, then walked across the yard to the pasture. Pluto Bona obviously was in the stable, sleeping, so Conversano Theokratia was alone for once. As he heard Maria's step on the stones of the yard, his ears started to twitch. And then, when Maria was only five feet away from him, he bowed his head and opened his mouth. Maria stopped, staring at him in amazment. He was grumbling, a soft sound coming from deep within his chest.
She had heard this grumble before – only not in the last months. While Pluto Bona was the talkative one, greeting every member of the family with loud whinnying, Conversano Theokratia had always been quiet. He only greeted two people: Louisa with a deep, quiet whinny and Georg with the soft rumble.
Now for the first time ever he had greeted Maria with it, and stepping closer to him, she took his head and leaned her face against it. "You miss him too, don't you?" she whispered. "And you know what, beautiful one? Tonight I feel like I'm going mad. It's as if a part of him wants to be with me again. But that can't be, can it?" Once again the stallion grumbled – and it sounded as if he wanted to say something. Then he turned around and started to canter, his long tail and mane rippling in the wind. He stopped at the opposite side of the meadow, for a moment just watching Maria. Turning once again, he came towards her – first a few steps in his fastest trot, then slowing down to a very slow, hovering trot – the passage. Finally in front of Maria, he stopped moving forward but trotted with high steps on the spot – piaffe, the lesson Georg had loved so much to perform on him.
But Maria almost couldn't see the stallion anymore, her eyes were so blinded by tears. Once again she had heard Georg in her mind, laughing cheerfully: "Conversano Theokratia is such a show off!"
Now he had once again shown off as in his best days – and as if his beloved rider had been with Maria.
To be continued