The Twelfth Governess
Chapter XIV
A/N: "Let's start at the very beginning…"
Disclaimer: I don't own "The Sound of Music", etc.
Once more, there were quite a few changes made in this chapter since Mellie reviewed it before leaving to her trip. This was actually supposed to be the last chapter of this story, but I changed my mind and decided to continue it.
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Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.
From a headstone in Ireland
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When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad.
Rodgers & Hammerstein, My Favorite Things
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The thunderstorm had turned to a light, but persistent, rainfall the following day as the Captain walked to his Horch. In spite of the bad weather, he had planned to drive to Vienna himself, just as he usually did. Driving, just like riding, was one of the few pleasures life had not deprived him of.
In days like this, he could almost hear Agathe´s voice again…
"And they still say that Austria no longer needs a Navy because we no longer have an ocean. With all this rain that we have all year round, there may come the day when you'll need one of your submarines, and not your car, to go to Vienna, my darling Georg!"
"Thank you, Franz," he said, automatically silencing the memory of her voice, taking the car keys that were being handled to him by the butler.
"Shall I call Herr Detweiler and let him know you have already left, Captain?"
Georg´s lips thinned. "No, that is not necessary, thank you" he replied, and unavoidably visualized the scene of his friend Max being woken up in that ungodly hour by a phone call from Aigen just to inform him that the Captain's ship had left port. Franz bowed and motioned to leave. "And Franz," he interrupted him.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Uhm… Do keep an eye on things around here, will you please?"
"Certainly, Captain. Anything or anyone in particular you wish me to – uh – keep an eye on?"
"Anyone? Everyone – most specially Liesl and her dealings with the telegram deliverer. Not to mention the new governess," he wanted to scream.
He was still trying to come to terms with the little Fräulein´s appalling behavior the previous evening. Her actions had left him so dazzled that now, scarcely ten hours later, he remembered the events as if in some kind of dream with a plot so mad that he was not quite able to make sense of it.
He recalled being in his study, pondering about unlikely issues such as the symbolic meaning of pine cones and Greek mythology (1), when the noise upstairs had awakened him from his trance. Laughter, screaming, shouting… sounds that had not been heard in that household for more than two years, at first because the children were in mourning, although, more recently, because he had forbid it.
His fists clenched, he had walked towards the obvious source of what obviously constituted a mutiny – Fräulein Heller's room. The simple action was something that he would never considered doing, something that he had never done with any of the previous women he hired. Going to a governess's room was unthinkable, not only because of the obvious impropriety of it, but because it was also an inexcusable intrusion upon his employee's privacy.
"Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favorite things…" (2)
"Fräulein Heller," he hissed, his teeth clenched, when he found himself just outside the door to her bedroom. He could hear them inside – his children's laughter, and a crystal clear soprano voice which could only belong to the little postulant, singing about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens and other absurdities. His anger had blinded him - and not for the first time that day – and he had forgotten the fact that, no matter what, etiquette demanded him to knock first. He had simply flung the door open and barged into the room, his body barely containing his fury.
Wearing a tent of a flannel nightgown, she had been waltzing around her bedroom with half of his children, while the other half had been… jumping up and down her bed.
"When the dog bi…"
The singing and dancing had abruptly stopped as the governess suddenly ran squarely into him. She had been so close to actually crashing into him with full force, and it had probably been her own quick reflexes that had made her jump back at the last possible moment. She gave a few steps back, ending the song with a few incoherent moans. As for the children, they had immediately line up at attention, in the usual order of age.
"Uh, hallo!" she had said, apparently fully recovered after only a few breaths. Again, she had flashed him one of her wholesome, utterly disconcerting smiles, as nothing was amiss, the skies were absolutely clear and the ship was sailing smoothly.
However, he did not find the situation, at all, amusing, and her smile only had the effect of flaring his temper, making his frown even more menacing. "Fräulein, did I not tell you that bedtime is to be strictly observed in this house?" he asked, his eyes quickly scanning the line of children.
Hastily, she had started to defend herself, the annoying smile replaced by an expression of obvious concern.
"But it is such an ugly thunderstorm, Captain."
"My rules apply to any kind of weather conditions, Fräulein. No exceptions are admitted. If not you, then certainly my children should be fully aware of the fact," he had said, directing his anger to the children again, to make certain that they knew that not only their governess had been at fault.
"Well, nonetheless the children were upset by the storm, so I thought that if I..." Her voice had died when he had fired one of his best fiery scowls at her.
"Didn't I just tell you?" he insisted.
"You did, sir."
"And do you or do you not have difficulty remembering such simple instructions?" he had asked, in the same tone he had always used with his subordinates when they were at fault.
"Simple?" At first she sounded almost like she was speechless. "It was twenty-five handwritten pages. Front and back, and honestly, Sir, half of it I could not understand," she had replied, indignant. "I am a convent girl, Captain Reverend; I have never even been on a boat. I can't tell portside from starboard, and I have no idea what skylarking means."
"Then allow me to clarify it to you. Port is left, starboard is right and skylarking is precisely what you are doing now – messing around and not doing your assigned work."
"Oh, but I was only trying to…" she began to protest.
"Now, do you or do you not understand your instructions, Fräulein," he had insisted.
She had conceded him defeat, but only too briefly. "Only during thunderstorms, Sir." There it was again, that mock defiance, the disingenuous challenge on her face. And something else too – disapproval. He hated the fact that she had been trying to use with him the same tactics she had employed with the children during dinner.
"It won't work, Fräulein," he wanted to yell at her, but instead, he held her gaze, vowing to keep doing so until she lowered her eyes in defeat.
It never happened. She never backed down, she did not even flinch. The sound of Kurt's laughter had attracted him to the line of children again, so it was him who had to look away from her. His anger, however, had not been directed to his laughing young son, but to his eldest daughter, who obviously believed she could run off to the gazebo with that arrogant little prick Rolfe Grüber without him finding out about it. Worse – she believed that she could do all that and remain unscathed.
There were too many things about the situation that disturbed him. The fact that the boy was a commoner was not what bothered him – it was the fact that he came from a family of well-known Nazi sympathizers. Politics aside, he was not blind to the fact that Liesl was at a critical age, in which the presence of a mother was essential to guide her. In the absence of a mother, he would eventually have to deal with it himself. There was this new governess, of course, but he honestly doubted that the little Fräulein had any experience in the matter whatsoever – it was the plain truth written all over her face.
"Liesl?"
"Yes, father?" His daughter had obviously been up to something, it was unmistakable. Her hair was messy and soaking wet and her nightgown… it was almost a replica of the same sack the governess wore, and he wondered where it came from. Certainly Agathe had never allowed such a thing to be a part of her children's wardrobe. Frau Poppmeier, who had been in charge of the children's clothes since she died, had been blessed with an adequate, although antiquated, good taste. Yet, not even the seamstress would allow Elisabeth von Trapp to wear something so… dowdy.
"I don't recall seeing you anywhere after dinner," he had snapped.
"Oh, really? Well, as a matter of fact…" Liesl had frantically tried to think of a convenient answer.
"Yes?"
"Well, I - I was, I was..."
Fräulein Maria had been his daughter's savior, in the end.
"Uhm… What she would like to say, Captain, is that, uh, she and I have been getting better acquainted tonight. But it's much too late now to go into all that." It had been the second time since her arrival that he had witnessed her standing up for his children – even if she had been the victim of an endless series of bad practical jokes. It had been that fierce loyalty to a bunch of seven unruly children that had kept him from firing her on the spot after the last transgression. It was what had him convinced that an alternative approach with the children should be tried, since the traditional means had not worked so far.
"Come along children, you heard your father. Go back to bed immediately. Ehm – uhm – abandon ship, all of you!"
The response to her order had been so immediate that he felt nearly envious at her efficiency – although he could not be sure if it the children were doing it in order to obey her or to run from him and his clearly dangerous mood. It was only as the children ran out the room, that Fräulein Maria became conscious of her state of undress. There had been a flush in her cheeks, as she picked up her robe and held it firmly against her. It had been a completely innocent gesture of her part, but one which attracted his full attention to her figure, and his body began to react in the same way it had when she had fallen from that tree, a reaction which he immediately tried to repress.
"Fräulein, you have managed to remember that I'm leaving in the morning?" he asked, ignoring her distress and his own reactions.
"Vienna. Yes, Captain, I remember," she had replied, apparently unaware of the direction his thoughts were taking.
"Is it also possible that you remember that the first rule in this house is discipline?"
His answer had been a somewhat reluctant nod. This time there was something else in her eyes – annoyance. He had been talking to her as if she was a slow child, and she deeply resented it. He smiled inwardly, satisfied. On the outside, however, he still glared ominously at her.
"Then I trust that before I return you will have acquired some, and you will at least be able to control yourself?"
Having said that, he just wanted to leave her room quickly – he was, after all, a widower, and there he was, alone with the governess in her room. A highly compromising situation. Fräulein Maria Heller was a young, innocent looking, undoubtedly virginal governess, who was going to be a nun before the end of the year. Had anyone seen them, it would be enough to have the tongues of all the gossipers from Salzburg to Vienna flapping with uncontrolled fury.
"Captain? Uh - I wonder if, before you go, I could talk to you about some clothes for the children…"
"Fräulein Maria ..." looking heavenward, he had tried to interrupt her flow of words that had ended in such a ludicrous request.
"... for when they play. If I could just have some material..."
"You are obviously many things, not the least of which is
repetitious."
"But they're children!" She had sounded angry now, and was making no attempt to hide it from him.
"Yes. And I am their father. Good night." With that, he had shut the door on her dismayed face, before she had been able to say anything else.
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"Anything or anyone in particular you wish me to – uh – keep an eye on?" After a long moment of silence, Franz insisted. "Captain?"
"I'm sorry. The usual, Franz, the usual," he replied curtly. "I expect daily reports from either you or Frau Schmidt until I return."
"Very well, Sir."
He was about to enter his car, when he heard a female voice calling him, the sound partly muffled by the rain that was, once more, falling heavily.
"Captain, wait!"
His first instinct was to ignore the voice, believing he had heard things. It had been years since he had heard a woman's voice calling from him in that house. Even then, she had never called him Captain. The only other female who could call out loudly to him like that would be Liesl, but he doubted that his daughter, of all people, would dare to shout like that after him.
The next sound he heard was impossible to be ignored – a boatswain whistle.
"Erh... Sir," Franz warned him, as he was, again, about to enter the car. Both men turned around.
The unlikely image of the black sheep of Nonnberg greeted him from the door to the house. This time though, she looked the part. She was dressed in her postulant's dress and atop her head was a wimple. She also looked absolutely wretched in the outfit.
"After last night, she still dared to blow that whistle at me," he fumed.
When he made no motion to walk towards her, she opened an umbrella – a hideous purple thing which had been discarded by a previous governess. As she did that, she became the innocent victim of another prank – this one not addressed to her. She was showered by a cascade of dead leaves which the children had probably stuffed inside in order to victimize its owner. The leaves clung to her ruffled wimple and to her habit, but she did not seem to mind at all, as she ran towards him, under the falling rain.
"She is going to break her blasted neck," he said between clenched teeth, as he noticed that the purple umbrella was not the only thing she was carrying in her hands.
"Did you say something, Captain?"
"Nothing, Franz. Nothing. I was just wondering what Fräulein Heller is up to now."
In her left hand, she precariously held what looked like… he squinted – yes, it was a vase, with something planted in it. Something white and delicate that, even from a distance, was enough to bring to his mind the bittersweet words of a song long forgotten.
"Captain, if I may…" she said breathlessly, when she was finally a few steps away from the car.
"You certainly may not! Fräulein, you do choose your moments," he said impatiently. "I only wish you applied yourself with the same efficiency in making my children behave the way they are supposed to, because last night you were absolutely dismal at it." His quick flow of words was enough to intimidate her for a few seconds, and he took full advantage of the fact. "If this is about more clothes for the children, I must say again that…" His gaze finally fell on the small white flowers. "What is that?"
"I am surprised you do not recognize one of Austria's most beloved flowers, Captain!" she exclaimed, her tone slightly censorial.
"Edelweiss," he whispered (3). How on earth did she get it? Where did she get it? He wondered. She did have the look of someone who hadn't had much sleep. Had the silly twit spent half the night hunting for flowers to plant in an old vase?
Naturally, he did not dare asking her any of that. It wasn't his business, anyway, what his employee did with their free time, even in the middle of the night. Instead, he said, impatiently. "I know what that is, but what do you intend to do with it, and what do I have to do with it?!"
"It is for Baroness Schraeder. Please tell her it's from the children," she explained.
"A complete waste of time, I'm afraid. She won't believe me," he stated, coldly.
"Why not?"
"Because there is nothing you can say that will convince me that this was the children's idea."
"They told me she has sent them presents. Just tell her…"
"Fräulein, didn't I say that there were some matters in this house which you are not supposed to meddle with?"
"You did, Captain, yet I…"
"I must to be in Vienna before nightfall, and not even you or the entire Nonnberg Abbey can keep that from happening. Now, if you'll excuse me," he finished, briskly.
He entered the car, banging the door behind him.
However, Fräulein Maria would haunt him until he reached Vienna and other thoughts began to occupy his mind – thoughts of Elsa and the very serious and long talk he planned to have with her as soon as they had some privacy. The last image he saw in the rear mirror of his Horch was of a girl, standing in the pouring rain, with a ludicrous purple umbrella in one hand, a vase of Edelweiss in the other, and a sorrowful look in her eyes.
Oddly enough, it was that small figure of a novice – and not Agathe – that would trouble his dreams at night.
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A/N: (1) See my story "The Baroness and the pine cone". (2) Rodgers & Hammerstein, My Favorite Things. (3) "Edelweiss (Leontopodium alpinum), one of the best-known Europeanmountainflowers, belongs to the sunflower family (Asteraceae). The name comes from German edel (meaning noble) and weiß (meaning white). The scientific name, Leontopodium means "lion's paw", being derived from Greek words leon (lion) and podion (diminutive of pous, foot). (…) The flowers are in bloom between July and September. It is unequally distributed and prefers rocky limestone places at 2000–2900 m altitude (…) Edelweiss is a protected plant in many countries, including Bulgaria, Croatia, Switzerland, France, Italy, Germany, Spain (Ordesa National Park), Slovakia (Tatra National Park), Slovenia (in Gorizia and Gradisca since 1896, in Carniola since 1898), Austria (since 1886) and Romania (since 1933). It usually grows in inaccessible places, which is why it is associated in many countries of the alpine region with mountaineering. Its white colour is considered in Switzerland a symbol of purity and due to its beauty, it obtained its Romanian name, floarea reginei (Queen's flower)." (Source – Wikipedia).