Amor vincit omnia

Amor vincit omnia

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: Once again thanks to Trapper, my super quick and hard-working beta.

Chapter 12: The lonely goatherd

October 1942

Someone felt terrible, as if every bone in his body had been broken and his head had been used as a punching bag. And there was a vile taste in someone's mouth and the attempt to open his eyes made someone almost sick.

Georg wondered who this someone was and how he had gotten himself into such a terrible state. And why did he feel the pain of this someone so keenly? Just a minute before he had lain in Maria's arms, looking up at the wonderful blue sky over the Untersberg. He had been so content, so happy – and now he felt as if he had been trampled by a herd of elephants!

"Ah, waking up again? Well, then it's probably time for you to have lunch. What will it be today? Three spoonfuls of milk or perhaps even four?"

A boy's voice and it spoke Hungarian? And now Georg felt how a spoon touched his dry lips and he opened his mouth.

"Yes, that's right – and now be a good sport and swallow! You know, I'd like you to wake up soon – really wake up, I mean. You're a pretty boring companion just lying around here all the time. On the other hand, you were speaking German in your fever. I'm probably crazy to be nursing a German –you'll probably get me in trouble when you become conscious again …"

Georg would have liked to answer, but he was too busy swallowing the milk the boy had spooned into his mouth. It was an exhausting task and he had to fight hard to not immediately fall asleep again.

"So, here we go with your second spoonful!" the boy said. "You know, you're actually looking better today – of course, you still won't be winning any beauty contests. I really wonder who beat you up so bad. I mean, you're a German, but you're not a Jew – sorry for saying so, but I'm the one who took care of all of your needs over the last few days, so I couldn't help noticing it. With my luck you're probably a Nazi who got in trouble with the locals. Maybe I should have let you drown out there, but I fish here and I really wouldn't want to eat a fish that had eaten you." The boy fed the third spoonful of milk to Georg, chuckling. "My father always said Nazis are pigs – so a fish who has fed on a Nazi probably isn't kosher anymore."

The fourth spoonful came too quickly. Georg couldn't swallow it properly and started to cough. It felt as if something was going to explode in his chest, and almost gratefully he felt himself passing out again.


The next time Georg awoke, he felt someone – the boy? – covering him with something that smelled bad. Yet it was warm, and Georg was glad because he had never before felt so cold in his life.

"My, my, you're really good at keeping a fellow entertained!" the boy was complaining. "First you sweat for days and are so feverish that even the cat doesn't want to keep you company any more; now you're obviously freezing like an Eskimo out of his igloo. But you're in luck – the last storm left behind a lot of driftwood, so we can have a nice fire."

It cost Georg a lot of strength, but this time he managed to open his eyes. First he could only see shadows – a wall, a small figure that was just putting something into a little fire. There was a strong smell – goats, Georg realized. Somewhere close, there were goats. And then there was a purr and something soft and furry grazed against his cheek. Green eyes glimmered – it was a cat, and it snuck under the blanket the boy had covered Georg with.

His body still hurt, but his head had become clearer and so had his sight. He took in more now: he was in some kind of hut with only one small window. And there was a boy of around 12 or 13 years who sat cross-legged next to him, cuddling another cat that he held in his arms.

Georg tried to clear his throat. He wanted to ask the boy where they were, but his voice wouldn't obey him. He only produced a croaking sound, but it was enough to make the boy look at him.

"Hey, you're finally awake!" he said and then sighed. "Only you probably don't understand Hungarian, Nazi! Well," he got up, took a mug from a board and filled it with water from a can, "have something to drink all the same." He came to Georg, knelt down next to him and shoved his free hand under his neck. With surprising gentleness he helped Georg lift his head while he put the cup to his mouth.

Georg drank greedily and tried to speak once again. In Hungarian he said, his voice very hoarse and weak: "I'm no Nazi!"

"But you spoke German!" the boy responded accusingly.

"I'm an Austrian!" Georg managed to get out.

"There is no Austria anymore!" said the boy.

If his chest hadn't been hurting so badly, Georg probably would have laughed about the absurdity of the situation. "You want to discuss politics?"

"No. I want to know who you are," the boy replied. "Are you a monk? Or a priest?"

"Should I be?" Georg retorted. He still didn't feel up to thinking much, but he at least knew that he didn't want to say too much about himself without knowing where he was.

"You kept calling for Maria in your fever," the boy told him. "So I just thought you might be a priest or a monk – I mean, if you're not a Nazi."

"My wife's name is Maria." Georg closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of sadness. He was so far away from his Maria!

"You're married? But you're not wearing a wedding band!" The boy sounded suspicious.

Georg fought against the tiredness that was almost overwhelming him again. His mouth had become dry again and he croaked, "Could I have more water?"

"Of course – you probably need a lot. You sweated a ton over the last few days." The boy had filled the mug again and helped Georg to drink.

"Thank you!" Georg sank back and tried to smile. "You're very kind. What's your name?"

The boy looked as if he wasn't sure about giving this information to a stranger, but then he smiled. "I'm Stephan. What's yours?"

For a moment Georg was tempted to use his alias again, but then he remembered that he had already said he was Austrian. "My name's Georg."

"Nice to meet you, Georg." The boy filled the mug once more. "Here – have another drink. Or would you rather have some milk or something to eat? I've got bread and cheese and there's some fish left. I could make a soup for you. You should eat something, you know? You haven't had more than a few drops of milk since I fished you out of the sea."

"How long have I been here?" Georg asked.

"A week," Stephan answered and got up once again, taking a pot from a shelf, filling it with water and hanging it over the fire. "I'm going to make you some soup. I don't think your stomach could deal with more."

"Stephan …" Georg had tried to raise his head, but gave up because it hurt too much. "Where is here?"

"'Here' is the monk's island. It's pretty small – you can walk all the way around it in an hour. It's nice though – it's got a pretty cove, lots of trees, a well with fresh water, and mostly lots of driftwood in the cove," Stephan said while putting some herbs in the water.

"And you live here on your own?" Georg asked.

"Yes," Stephan answered simply. "It's me, my goats – five of them – two cats, some rats, a lot of mice, some ducks and a few other birds. I think tomorrow I'll go and catch some pigeons – they make for a good soup." He had gotten a fish out of a bucket and started to cut it in pieces.

"How does a boy from Hungary come to live here?" Georg wondered. "I take it you're Jewish, aren't you?"

"You don't like Jews?" There was an edge in Stephan's voice.

"Ridiculous!" Georg said as firmly as he could. "The only people I dislike for their beliefs are Nazis."

"Does this mean they're the ones who beat you up so bad? Did you oppose them?"

"Yes and yes," Georg was very tired again. The little talk had utterly exhausted him, and he almost couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

Stephan seemed to notice it. Smiling he said, "Your soup will need to cook for at least half an hour. Why don't you take another nap until it's ready? I'll wake you up."


Three days later Georg was able to sit up and to even do more: Helped by Stephan he had gotten to his feet and hopped – his left knee was badly hurt and he couldn't stand on it – out of the hut to relieve himself behind a bush. Yet this little excursion had cost him so much strength, he had fallen asleep immediately afterwards.

Now he was awake again. Stephan wasn't there, but he had left a message, using a piece of coal and writing on the wall: "Gone fishing – don't worry. S."

Over the last few days Georg had learned a lot about his young companion. Stephan had spent almost half a year alone on the island, and now he enjoyed talking to someone. He had told Georg all about his life: that he had been born the second child – there had been one sister, two years his senior, called Katia – to a doctor and his wife in Budapest 13 years previously. He had grown up in a nice house in Pest where his father had had his physician practice, wanting to become a doctor himself.

When the Nazis had come to Budapest, Stephan and his family had fled into the country, hiding for half a year on the farm of a former patient. There Stephan had learned to deal with goats and other animals and how to fish – they had been close to the river Thisza.

However, the idyll hadn't lasted. Someone had betrayed the family to the Nazis, and so they had fled again, this time out of the country towards the Adriatic coast where a friend of Stephan's father lived. But upon arriving there, they had learned that the friend was dead. A few days later the family had been caught by the Nazis. Only Stephan, pushed away by his father and ordered to run, had managed to escape.

Searching for a hiding place he had gone to a little port where he had found a fishing boat to sleep in, but he had been discovered by the old fisherman who owned the boat. After Stephan had told him his story, the old man had proven to be a kind soul. He hadn't dared to hide Stephan himself, but he had gotten him to the island where an old monk lived with a few goats. The monk had taken Stephan in, and Stephan had helped him with fishing, the goats, and making cheese. Once a week his friend, the old fisherman, came and got the cheese to take it to the local market and brought the monk and the boy bread and other necessities.

Other people never came to the island. "Father Marian – the monk – had gotten rather odd. The people on the mainland thought he was mad and even dangerous. So they didn't dare come here," Stephan had recounted.

After living with the old monk for almost a year, the old man had fallen ill but had firmly refused to leave his island. So Stephan had nursed him until the old monk died. "Slatko – that's my fisherman – and I buried him, and then we decided that Slatko wouldn't tell people about his death. Slatko still comes every other week – mostly at night when he's on his way back from one of his fishing trips. He gives me with everything I need. He says the Nazis won't stay forever and when they're gone, I can go back to the mainland. Maybe I can even go back to Hungary then. You know, Georg, I want to go back to school. I never liked it when I was there, but now I'd really like learning something. And you know what I miss most? Books! Slatko can't get me books – he never bought one in his life because he can hardly read. If he went to a bookshop, people would get suspicious."

Georg liked listening to the boy. Stephan wasn't only kind, he was also very bright – and of course, he reminded Georg of his sons. They were brave and tough too, and Georg didn't doubt that they also would be able to come through such a situation on their own.

However, Georg wasn't sure if Friedrich or Kurt would have done as well as Stephan in tending an injured man. Stephan had told Georg that he had found him at the beach ten days earlier, unconscious, feverish and bleeding. The boy had pulled him out of the water and, working for hours at the task, had succeeded in dragging him up to the old hut where he lived. There he had tended to Georg's wounds, washing them and covering them with leaves he had collected. "You know, my father was very interested in herbs and plants for medicinal purposes. He told me a lot about it, so I know that these leaves will help you heal."

He had even found some herbs that were known to help lessen fevers and he had brewed tea for Georg, feeding it to him with a spoon.

Georg was sure that Stephan had saved his life. He remembered now that he had hoped to reach an island to hide out on after he jumped out of Zeller's car. He even remembered that he had swam for what had seemed like hours. But one thing he was sure of: without Stephan he wouldn't have survived.

The only problem was that Georg had literally missed his boat. Stephan kept a calendar by cutting a notch every day into a piece of wood, and he had told Georg that he had been unconscious for an entire week. Now he had been awake for five days – that meant that twelve days had passed since his capture. So it was now October 22 – and the USS Liberty, after waiting in vain for her captain in the cove behind Trogir on the 14th, was now certainly back in Cyprus.

Georg had been an officer long enough to know what had happened then: his first officer had reported that Georg hadn't arrived at the rendezvous point. The Admiral had then informed intelligence – and though Georg, like most seamen, had never liked spies much, he didn't doubt their efficiency. They had people in Trogir, and so they had certainly found out that he had been captured by Zeller. That meant a stamp on the cover of his file: "Missing, presumed dead."

The rest was routine: Following the general order for such cases, his superior officer was to inform the relatives of the missing man "ASAP and in an appropriate manner," which normally meant that the superior called the American base where the missing man had been stationed (and where his family lived) to send out someone "of the same rank or superior" to inform the family. If the missing man had been a member of a large church, a priest or pastor was designated for this task.

Knowing his admiral, Georg was sure that, in this case, he hadn't followed the orders to the letter. He had certainly asked his wife to talk to Maria.

As comforting as it was to know that there were friends caring for her, it didn't change the fact that Maria believed him to be dead now. It had certainly been a great shock to her – and how had she taken it in her condition? In her last letter she had told him happily about the baby in her belly kicking constantly. "And the doctor says it isn't only a very lively child, but a real chunk too. Therefore Pittypat supposes now that 'it' isn't a Phillip as our sons hope, but a Philippa – she says girls are generally bigger than boys."

Georg certainly didn't care if the baby was a Phillip or a Philippa – as long as it was healthy and didn't come too early. It was due in four weeks – and he intended to let Maria know before then that he was alive.

The only question was: how? He was sure that there was still an American submarine out there, patrolling the Adriatic coast. At the moment it probably was the Liberty's sister ship, the USS Dallas. Besides there was the HMS (1) Duchess of York, an English submarine that controlled the entrance to the Adriatic sea. And in the Ionic sea were at least a dozen American and English surface ships stationed to fight the Germans and the Italians. But how to reach them? It was maddening to know that the Dallas, perhaps, was near this island – her captain working with the maps Georg had prepared, using the routes the Liberty had mapped out, and so she probably passed Monk's Island once a fortnight.

Of course he knew the Dallas' signal. Unfortunately he couldn't use it – if he were to send out light signals, the chances that they would be seen by a German or Italian surface ship were much higher than the chances that the Dallas was nearby and just at the surface. Even if he spent the nights watching the sea – the USS Dallas was there to see and not be seen! Her captain was an experienced man too. He certainly wouldn't surface and show his boat in bright moonlight close to an island. Instead he would wait to surface in bad weather and would only do so at a distance to the islands and the mainland.

There was only one option: Georg needed a boat himself. He needed to leave the island and to sail towards Malta, using the routes he had worked out for his submarine. On them he would have a chance to meet the Dallas or the Duchess of York, and even if he missed them, towards Malta he would sooner or later meet an American or English surface ship.

It was a good plan. There were only two drawbacks: he didn't have a boat, and even if he could persuade Stephan's fisherman to help him get one, at the moment he certainly wasn't up to sailing. In spite of Stephan's nursing he had lost a lot of weight and still suffered from his injuries. Even with Stephan's help he was hardly able to stand upright, let alone walk. As much as he hated the thought, before he could try to leave the island, he needed to give his body time to heal. Three weeks he supposed – or perhaps a few days less if he started to train as soon as possible. He would ask Stephan to get him something like crutches as soon as possible. And he would eat as much as he could though he didn't have much of an appetite. He needed strength, and that meant he needed to gain weight again.


"Darling Liesl, you mustn't worry so much! She's in good hands and they'll know how to take care of her and the baby!" Finlay Carson reached for Liesl's hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

Liesl looked up at him, her blue eyes full of tears. "The Lord can't be this cruel," she whispered.

"What are you talking about?" Finlay inquired.

Liesl swallowed. "He couldn't make us lose her too!"

"Elisabeth von Trapp!" Finlay sounded severe. "I forbid you to think such morbid thoughts! Your mother is young and healthy. She'll make it through and so will the baby!"

Liesl didn't answer. Instead she stared at the door bearing the inscription "Surgery – Authorized personnel only!"

How long had they been sitting now in front of this door? To Liesl it seemed like an eternity, but a look at the clock on the wall told her that only two hours had passed since they arrived at the hospital, Finlay carrying a rather weak Maria in his arms.

Actually the evening had started out so nicely! Maria had invited Finlay over for a farewell dinner – the next morning at ten o'clock he was to go back to Cyprus – and afterwards they had all gone into the living room. Finlay had played the piano and Liesl had sung for Maria – and Maria, her hands stroking her belly, had even smiled as Liesl had performed a Bach aria for her.

Then, suddenly, Maria's expression had changed. She had paled and gotten up to go to the bathroom. But a minute later she had called for Liesl, sounding terrified. She had been bleeding heavily.

Liesl had wanted to call an ambulance, but Finlay had been quicker. Wrapping Maria in a warm blanket, he had picked her up, carried her to his car, and commanded Liesl to hold her while he drove to the hospital.

In a way, Liesl had been totally surprised not only by his action, but also by the calm and collected way he had dealt with the situation. She had spent every night of the last week in his company and had believed she already knew him rather well. In her opinion he was a very sensitive, sometimes rather dreamy artist who often got lost in his thoughts. She had already started to wonder how someone like him could serve as a military officer. He was so soft-spoken, so tender, and so romantic!

However, now she had seen another side of him – commanding, decided, strong. She had understood that this characteristic in him certainly made for a fine officer – and a great conductor too.

And yes, she was in love with him. As inappropriate as it seemed to her to feel so happy only a few days after her father's death she couldn't help it. Finlay was the man she had waited for; he was everything she had dreamed of and a smile from him was enough to make her heart sing with joy. After Rolf she had thought she would never trust a man again, and she hadn't wanted to fall in love once more. But Finlay wasn't like Rolf. He wasn't a boy who wanted to appear strong and was therefore running around in a silly uniform. Finlay, 28 years old, was a real man and a brave one who had gone to war to fight for his convictions. In a way he reminded Liesl of her father – and no, she certainly didn't think that was bad – except that Finlay was more outspoken and emotional than her always-reserved father.

And Finlay loved her! He had told her so on their third evening together and on the next he had kissed her and it had felt as if she had finally found what she had always been searching for.

However, there was one dark cloud hanging over her young love. On that third evening when he told her that he had fallen in love with her, he had looked rather miserable. "If only I had met you earlier – or later, perhaps in two or three years after the war," he had said. "At the moment I shouldn't talk to you about love."

"Why not?" Liesl had asked him. "Is it about the war?"

He had shaken his head and turned away, looking out at the sea. After a while he had started to speak again: "Six years ago I made a big mistake. I fell in love with a dancer. It was a whirlwind romance – we met, fell in love, got engaged and only three months after our we first met we eloped."

"You're married?" Liesl had gasped.

"Only on paper!" Finlay had assured her. "Wendy – that's my wife – and I only needed half a year to discover that we don't suit one another. She wants the proverbial little house with the white picket fence in a nice suburb and children while I – I mean, I like children and I want to have some, but not now! I certainly don't intend to spend my entire life as the second director of music in Chicago and I certainly don't want to become a professor of music at some college in Little Boredom, Arkansas. I want to work in the big opera houses. I want to do Bruckner with the Vienna philharmonic orchestra and I want to conduct one day in Bayreuth!"

"Your wife doesn't approve of your plans?"

"Certainly not. She hates travelling and wants a quiet life. That's why we separated after only five months. I moved out and lived with my brother for a few months. He's a professor of history in England, but at the moment he works as a diplomat at his majesty's embassy in Washington. Actually he's a terrible bore and a pedant, but obviously he's good at analysing things, organizing and persuading people – don't ask me for details, I never cared for it. But he's got a big house, so I lived there for a while."

"Please, I don't understand. Your brother works for the English embassy? Isn't he American?" Liesl had interrupted him.

"I'm American – my mother insisted on that. But Christopher is as British as British can be – including the stiff upper lip and the charisma of an ice cube. He's only my half-brother, 14 years older than me out of my father's first marriage to an English lady. I just lived with him for a while until I got the job in Chicago. I actually wanted a divorce then, but there were always so many other things keeping me busy – I simply never managed to get myself an appointment with a lawyer. And then, a few days after I enrolled in the Navy, I got a letter from Wendy. She had broken her leg and couldn't dance anymore. Christopher helped her rent a few rooms to start a dance school in New York, but at the moment Wendy doesn't earn enough money to provide for herself. So we decided that we'd stay married until her school is doing better – you know, an officer's wife gets support from the Navy." He had inhaled deeply. "I think in a year or two we'll have reached that point. Until then I'm married, but I don't feel like I am. I only saw my wife once during the last three years and even then only in the company of my brother."

Liesl had contemplated this story for an entire night. Her upbringing forbade an affair with a married man, and she remembered only too well how disgusted she had been by the woman at the riding school who had been after her father. Besides she had been brought up as a Catholic and her church forbade divorces.

However, on this point even her father had never agreed with the church. He had had a friend who was divorced and he had often said that that friend's marriage certainly hadn't been blessed by God. "I trust our Lord too much to believe that he would put two people so ill-suited to each other together," he had once declared and had been promptly scolded by Maria who had thought we was being too sarcastic yet again.

However, Liesl was sure that even Maria wouldn't be so hard-hearted that she would want Finlay to remain married to a wife he didn't love anymore. Maria liked him and certainly wanted him to be happy with someone who loved and supported him. And Liesl did love him and was sure that they could be happy together. And actually he wasn't really married anymore, was he? He had lived apart from his wife for years, and he was in love with her! That was why she had kissed him the next evening, telling him that she trusted him to get things right as soon as he was able to and that she would wait for him until then. That he didn't want to divorce his wife just now – that was only decent of him, wasn't it?

"Miss von Trapp?" A doctor had come out of the surgery. He looked tired but was smiling. "Congratulations! You have a healthy little brother!"

"And my mother? How is she?"

"She'll be fine. We had to do a Caesarean, but she'll recover. In about two weeks she'll be as good as new. Would you like to see her and your little brother for a moment? She's awake now."

"Oh, of course I want to see her!" Liesl felt like hugging the doctor. "Finlay, would you perhaps call Patricia Forrester and tell her the good news? She's certainly waiting to hear from us."

After they had arrived at the hospital, Liesl had called Patricia Forrester, who had immediately said she would drive over to the house. "I'll take care of the children. I'll get the little ones, Gretl and Marta over to my place. Brigitta, Kurt and Louisa I'll bring to the Sollers – from there they can bicycle over to look after the horses in the morning. Don't worry, Liesl – everything will be fine!"

Now Liesl was following the doctor down a dim hallway. Opening a door he let her into a room with one bed. Maria lay there, very pale and with an IV in her left arm. Yet in her right she held an infant and was smiling tenderly at him.

"Mother!" Liesl whispered and stepped closer to the bed. "I'm so glad you and the baby are going to be fine."

The nurse who stood next to the bed smiled: "Your mother can be glad she got your baby brother out of her. He's really big!"

"My doctor called him a chunk," Maria said, sounding rather weak.

Liesl bent down and looked at the little head with its tuft of dark hair. "Hello, little brother!"

Tears glimmered in Maria's eyes. "I wouldn't have thought it possible that a newborn could look so much like a grown man!" she said and shifted the baby so that Liesl could look at his face.

The little boy opened his eyes – and Liesl felt like crying too. Her baby brother was the spitting image of their father! There were the deep blue eyes, the energetic chin, the generous mouth and even the dimples in his cheeks. And now he was raising his left hand and Liesl saw the elegant, long fingers and the way he moved them. He really was his father's son!

"Mother, I know you actually wanted to name him 'Phillip'. But – well, over the last few days Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta and I have been thinking. Wouldn't you like to name him 'Georg'?" Liesl asked.

For a moment Maria seemed to consider it, but then she shook her head. "No, Liesl, I don't think so. Perhaps, if you children want to, we could call him 'Phillip Georg', but not Georg as his first name. We can't have two Georgs in the family. Besides, your father always wanted a 'Phillip'. It's Greek, and means 'friend of horses'. I think it's a very suitable name for a von Trapp."

Once again Liesl swallowed. She had already noticed on other occasions that Maria sometimes sounded as if she believed that her husband would come back. Liesl worried about that. But now certainly wasn't the right moment to talk about it. Maria looked drained and the baby was fussy. The nurse had noticed it too and was picking up the infant. "I think it's bedtime for you and your mother. I'll bring you to the nursery." She smiled at Maria. "Sleep well, Mrs. von Trapp – you need your rest! I'll look after your son and tomorrow at breakfast you'll see him again."

"Thank you." Maria could hardly keep her eyes open anymore. "Liesl – what about the children at home?"

"You don't need to worry about them, Mother. Mrs Forrester is looking after the younger ones and Mrs Soller has taken Louisa, Kurt, and Brigitta with her. We'll manage until you'll come back to us." Liesl kissed Maria's cheek. "I love you, Mother," she whispered. "Goodnight and sleep well."

Leaving the room she looked at the nurse who was carrying the little one. "Could I perhaps hold him?" she begged. "Just for a moment?"

"Of course. He's your brother after all!" Tenderly the older woman handed the bundle over.

Once again Liesl looked down at the little face which reminded her so much of her father. "Welcome to our family, Phillip von Trapp!" she whispered. "May your life be as happy and as blessed as we feel about having you with us."

Suddenly she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and looking up she saw Finlay. "What a cute little fellow!" he said. "He suits you nicely – and you know what he makes me think of, don't you?"


On the way back to her house Liesl was very quiet. On the one hand she was happy about Maria and Phillip being healthy; on the other hand she couldn't stop thinking of her father. She remembered how once, on a sunny day in May fifteen years earlier, he had come to breakfast with a bundle in his arms, his eyes beaming and his voice full of joy. "May I introduce you to Kurt Salvator von Trapp?"

He had always been so happy about his children! And he had always doted on them! As a young girl Liesl had sometimes thought it almost embarrassing how her father rolled on the grass in the backyard, playing with one of her younger siblings, or how he had looked when he fed the baby and it once again decided that mashed carrots would go better on its father's face than in its stomach. Then, Liesl really hadn't known if it was suitable for a man to be better at changing diapers than most nannies. She had been sure that none of her friends' fathers would even have touched a soaked diaper and that her friends would have laughed at her if they had known that the famous Captain von Trapp loved to give his babies their bath and generally came out of it more wet than the child he had bathed.

However, over the last few years she had come to adore what a wonderful father hers had been. It had always touched her when she had seen how the little ones wanted to be close to him and how patient and loving he was with them.

To think that Phillip would grow up without even being held once by his father, to think that her father would never see his youngest son who looked so much like him – it made Liesl infinitely sad. She hated this war that had taken her father away from his family; she hated it with flaming passion! And to think that Finlay was going back to this war in only a few hours and that he might not come back either, that she would perhaps lose him now when she had just found him! To think that all their dreams for the future could be destroyed – it was unbearable.

Now his hand was on her arm. "You're so quiet, Liesl – what are youe thinking about?"

"About the war and that you'll be gone tomorrow at this time," Liesl answered quietly.

"Darling Liesl – you mustn't worry so much. I'll come back to you – I promise!"

Now Liesl couldn't stop the tears. "My father made the same promise to Maria."

"Oh." For a moment Finlay bit his bottom lip. "I'm so terribly sorry, Liesl. I didn't want to remind you."

"My father got killed in this war and you …" Liesl couldn't make herself finish the sentence.

They had arrived at the house and Finlay was switching the engine off. Turning to Liesl, he opened his arms. "Come to me, darling Liesl." Pulling her close he whispered into her hair: "You're right – no one can promise anything in this war, except one thing: whatever happens to me, I won't stop loving you. And I do hope I'll come back to you."

He kissed her deeply and Liesl responded with all the love and passion she felt for him. She now knew that she couldn't let him go like that, and, breaking the kiss, she quietly said, "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Of course. Shall I drive you over to Mrs. Forrester's or would you rather stay with Mrs. Sollers?"

"Neither." Liesl felt how she was blushing, but bravely proceeded: "I want you to stay with me, Finlay. I love you."

"Liesl, my darling!" He was cupping her face in his hands and looked at her. "I love you too. But I don't want you to do something you might regret. I can wait, Liesl."

"I can't, Finlay!" Liesl had never been so sure about anything. Climbing out of the car, she went up to the porch. "Come here, Finlay!"

He had gotten out of the car too and was shaking his head. "Your father would probably have me killed!"

"I won't tell him," Liesl said firmly. "I'm an adult – so this part of my life isn't my parents' business anymore." She opened the door and reached out for him. "I love you, Finlay."

To be continued

(1) The "USS" in front of a ship's name stands for "United States' Ship". The "HMS" means "His majesty's ship" (or, nowadays with the Brits having a queen, "Her majesty's ship) and is used by the English Navy.