Chapter Fourteen: Blessings

Sorrow seemed to weigh heavily on the hearts of everyone in the von Trapp household, though now that Maria was up and hobbling around, it wasn't quite as apparent. Even though there was a shadow over her own heart, her presence and her smile instantly seemed to cheer every spirit. Georg noted with some pride and overwhelming love that Maria was bearing her physical pain with hardly a word. He knew that her sprained ankle frustrated her and her injured ribs caused her pain with every movement, but as soon as Dr. Hagen had allowed it, she had insisted upon being out of bed.

She'd said pointedly, "This room has become depressing and in no way a happy place for me to spend my days. I need the brightness of my children and the outside world back."

Neither Dr. Hagen nor Georg could find a retort to keep her back, but the doctor had cautioned, "Take it easy on that foot, Maria. And I would give it a few more weeks before you did any heavy lifting or carrying—your ribs are going to take a long time to heal completely."

Maria still didn't find herself very fond of this man. She'd fixed him with a level glare, saying quietly, "I'm not an idiot, contrary to your belief. I didn't want that roof falling on me, I didn't want to lose my baby, and I don't want to be like this. I know where my limits lie. I don't need you constantly reminding me that I hurt in every capacity—it's right in front of me."

When Georg heard that, he'd wanted to whoop and crush her tightly into his arms. Though the doctor was nice enough, he did seem to treat Maria as though she was unable to hear every word he said—in other words, dumber than a rock—and he knew what had happened a few weeks previously was still stinging her. He knew the feeling, but in a different way. It was an ugly feeling and concept to know or think that you were merely a tool, not mattering at all to those who used you. It was not a happy thought to possess.

As the days wore on and Georg watched his wife hobble around the house, caring for her children, playing with a crawling Elias, picking at her guitar, asking him to walk her down to the barn to see Duke, tenderly stroking a very weak Trudie, and keeping her kittens out of mischief, he saw that he had so much to be grateful for. He could have so easily lost the wife that he loved so much and thought to be so beautiful in every single respect. He could only thank God in heaven that the area around them housed several other German or Austrian families and that they'd been able to direct him to where he could find work. He was helping to manage the local shipping docks not far from their home. Because of this, he'd found Dr. Hagen, and as much as the man was a pain to deal with, he was a blessing.

It was a humbling thought, Georg concluded, that God had directed his family to America with next to nothing, only some wisely saved investments that were quickly dwindling in light of everything that needed to be done to make their home completely presentable. It was humbling to know that his wife had been spared anything worse than what she'd gotten, and that she was well on her way to a successful recovery. It was humbling to know that with so many to provide for, along with the large horse that was sulking in his stall or otherwise wandering listlessly around his corral, God was continually providing for them in small, efficient ways. It was humbling to him to be able to understand fully Maria's near child-like faith in God now, and to depend on Him in a likewise manner. There was no doubt in Georg's mind that he was richly blessed, and he was ever so grateful for it.

At the end of August, Trudie's failing, precarious health finally collapsed and her body gave in to the infections plaguing her immune system. She died quietly in Maria's arms one fine, bright morning, her body thin and frail. The children dug her a grave just beyond the first of the rolling hills, then after Georg had buried her, Maria carefully limped by herself to the corral.

Georg gave her some time to collect herself down at the railing as she watched Duke trot in unending circles, then went to meet her. Knowing that Trudie's end was coming hadn't made things much easier to handle, and over the last five weeks, Maria had grown especially close to the little calico. Gretl would bring the little cat in her mother's bedroom after breakfast, and Trudie would quietly lie on Maria's legs while the young woman tenderly wiped her eyes clean and inspected and cleaned her bites.

Once the children had seen Trudie's injuries healing fairly well, they'd begged of Maria to tell them that she would get better. Their mother simply shook her head in answer. "No, she won't. Her bites will heal, but she doesn't eat enough, even when we force-feed her, so she remains weak. The infections are winning the battle." As time wore on, Maria finally asked that everyone stay away from the cat. "She's been acting strangely. I'm afraid it may be that the dog with rabies attacked her. I'm not certain, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

Louisa had countered, "But that was close to two months ago..."

Maria shrugged. "Rabies is generally unpredictable."

Georg knew when she said that with finality in her voice to silence the children. She had grown up on a farm, as she had told him many times, and would know such signs, no doubt. She was still not quite herself, and he didn't feel the need to have her irrationalities aroused when she was so unsettled emotionally.

Quietly, Georg crept up behind his wife, carefully wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She didn't react for a moment, then leaned her head back onto his shoulder. She said quietly, "Georg, I'm afraid we'll have to give up Duke as well."

Calculations ran through Georg's head, and he said confusedly, "Why, love? It's not a problem taking care of him and feeding him—the children love it!"

Maria shook her head, soft hair brushing his nose and tickling it. "No, it's not that. I've been wondering for a while why we've ended up with such a fine cross of a horse when it was supposed to be an old draft horse only good for a plod around the meadow. Last week, I was checking his teeth, but then I remembered a new method of identification that I heard about in New York." She grew quiet, lost in thought.

Georg shifted his weight, prompting, "What is it? Go on."

She sighed. "They tattoo the inside of a horse's lip with an identification number . It occurred to me to check for one." She turned in his arms, eyes displaying a hurt look. "He's got one, all right."

Georg was really quite surprised; he'd never heard of such a method. "When was this started? I've never heard of it."

Maria bit her lip. "From what I can gather, it was developed by the Jockey Club here in America last year. Duke here, being around three-quarters thoroughbred, could have been a test subject. It's not official yet, though."

"Is there anything that the tattoo can tell us besides that he did have some prominent owner?"

Maria nodded. "Yes, I believe so. If I remember correctly from what I was told, the first four digits give you the horse's birth year; I was dead on with his age. He's seven." She stepped away from her husband and gave a click with her tongue, calling the copper beast to her, and as he neared her, she opened the gate to let him out. He walked up happily behind her, lowering his head to nuzzle Maria's shoulder.

The woman smiled, reaching up to stroke his nose with one hand, feeding him a sugar cube from her pocket with the other. She jerked her head towards Georg, beckoning him closer. "Here, have a look." She murmured low to the beast when he tried to throw his head up as she gently lifted his upper lip, and he complied, keeping his head level with her shoulder.

Georg inspected the identification number that was displayed when the lip was pulled back completely, revealing the soft pink of the inside of Duke's mouth. The ink was quite dark, the number nineteen thirty-four etched in bold, blocky numerals. He quickly memorised the entire number, his head already starting to pound. It shouldn't be a chore to get information, but if no one in town could tell him anything, he would place a call to Max. At least that way he could converse freely in German and explain it to Max in a way that guaranteed full understanding of the situation. He knew Maria didn't want the family being cornered for any sort of horse theft. Though he and his younger children were the most fluent with English at the moment, the language barrier still existed and could not be ignored.

"I'll talk with Johnson tomorrow, Maria. Maybe he'll know something."

Maria only nodded, releasing Duke's mouth and turning back towards the distant meadows. Duke snorted softly, following his favourite von Trapp. Georg watched this with an ache in his heart; he'd hoped Duke would be able to help Maria heal completely. Would he have to be taken from her as well?

Marta dashed into the kitchen, throwing herself at the counter next to her mother, who was washing Elias's face and hands off from breakfast. "Mother, that man Father told us about last week is here to see Duke!"

Maria glanced down at her daughter, shocked. "What? He wasn't supposed to come for several more weeks yet! The house is in no presentable order, let alone Duke!" She quickly lifted Elias off of the counter, wincing in pain, then handed him to Marta. "Keep him busy in the living room, munchkin, and don't let him knock anything off the bookshelf or table."

Marta nodded. "Yes, Mother. I'll get his blocks out. Gretl and I will build castles with him." She grinned, leaving the spacious kitchen with her brother attached firmly to her side. He was happily cooing and giggling, pulling at her hair. His recent fascination with pulling materials off tabletops so that he could use them to pull himself into a standing position had proved disastrous on several occasions, and if his hands weren't clean, his probing fingers could quickly have your hair in a sticky mess.

Thinking of this, Maria shook her head in loving exasperation, then put her hand to her head, thinking quickly. She glanced down at herself, deciding that her brown dirndl made her appearance more than satisfactory. She supposed it was true, for Georg liked to tease that her dirndls were more revealing of her figure than his favourite blue chiffon. "I can see your face, curves, and legs all at once in utter perfection with those dresses," he'd said. Then he took a moment to consider his words, whispering mischievously in her ear, "Though I rather like them off of you as well," earning a slight blush and a slap on the arm from her.

Not caring in the slightest about her hair, Maria carefully rushed out the back door, being careful not to twist her ankle, as it had finally healed enough for her to be on it full-time again. She forced herself to walk once she drew near the barn. She eyed the collapsed part of the roof, which was being slowly repaired, and then she turned towards Duke's corral. As she came closer, she saw a small, wiry man arguing with Georg.

"Unless you can prove that the horse can be ridden, I am taking him with me!"

Georg fought back, "My wife is the only one who rides him, and she's in no condition to ride. See that broken roof? It collapsed on her a month and a half ago."

"You can't prove that he's able to be ridden, so I'm taking him to the meat factory. He's a useless half-breed." The man whipped around and yanked the corral gate open, rushing in to grab at Duke's halter.

Duke, seeing the man, instantly flattened his ears to his head, nostrils flaring. He reared up slightly, then took off at a canter around his large corral, keeping away from the man that he so disliked.

Seeing this exchange, Maria called sharply, "Don't touch him!"

The crude, small man jerked around, spotting Maria, then sneered, "So, is this your daughter, come to tame this useless beast, von Trapp? I worked with him when he was a colt, he was untrainable!"

Maria quickly entered the corral, planting herself along the rail, in Duke's path, saying with utter coldness, "I am his wife." There was an icy fire in her eyes.

Turning away from the gaping man, who was stuttering at the sight of her, Maria caught Duke's eye, then diverted her gaze, letting him know to come to her. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lift his head up, shake it, then stretch it low to the ground, breaking his fast pace. She slowly walked along the rail towards him, then turned for the center. He followed her, then stopped behind her, waiting for her to reach up and stroke his head. She did so, then ran a hand along his neck and over his back.

Glancing quickly over at Georg, Maria nodded firmly, then grabbed a fistful of Duke's mane, quickly leaning her weight over his back, giving a shove with her strong arms, pushing herself further up and swinging her right leg smoothly over his back. When she did that, her ribcage protested in the worst way, and she heard some of the bones creaking. The momentary pain made her want to black out for a second, but she shook herself and quickly found the center of her seat, pushing him into a paced trot. She knew she would probably pass out from the bouncing if she endured a sitting trot, so she quickly began to post, willing her body to comply. Georg was right; she was in no shape to ride, but this horse wasn't going to a meat factory if she could help it.

Suddenly, the man shouted something at Maria, and she slowed, looking over confusedly at Georg. He quickly realised that she hadn't understood, thus shouting the translation in German to her. Her face cleared, and she gave a nod. The owner wanted some dressage and loping—two different things of two different disciplines. She set Duke to his paces.

She hadn't done much of the formal dressage, but as a child, Pietr and her father had taught her everything involved in their spare time. It was one nice thing about riding; the standards did not vary across continents. It was generally rule of thumb. Work with your horse.

Finishing up one of the most complicated routines that Pietr had ever put her and Belle through, Maria maneuvered Duke to turn and go in the opposite direction. She asked him to give her a long, loping trot, and he happily complied. She was hurting, but this exhilarated her. She no longer cared what this man thought. Duke was giving her what she asked for without question. Before she could be asked, she cued Duke into a canter, savouring the smoothness of his movements. He truly glided.

Finally, Maria directed him with a squeeze of her legs towards the gaping owner in the center of the corral. She stopped him, breathing hard. "Was that not good enough for you?"

The man felt intimidated with this woman towering over him on his horse. The animal had obeyed her legs and seat, moving with a purposeful grace that the man had only seen once or twice in his life. The copper horse had allowed her to ride him.

Maria, gifted with the ability to read certain people like open books, said sharply, "I've never, ever asked these things of him before. I myself haven't done this in years." What she refrained from saying was that her head now felt like splitting open in pain and she likely wouldn't be carrying her son for a week after having done this. Her head was swimming and she forced down the urge to vomit, but triumph was written in her eyes.

It was a truly glorious moment when woman and horse rode silently off together for the barn. No saddle, no reins. They won the battle together. Georg watched this with pride and love welling up in his chest for the millionth time. Together, with the help of Duke, he, Maria, and the children would fully heal from the blows of having lost something they all loved.

Satisfied, Georg ignored the nagging feeling that Maria could barely stand long enough to shake the bitter owner's hand. "You lost your horse, we found him, my wife rode him."

Jonas Flench nodded dumbly. "She rode him well. The beast is yours."

Upon their return to the house, with Georg supporting Maria, who was white but smiling, the children all looked at them worriedly. Maria smiled at their concern, giving a nod. "He's ours."

She immediately went upstairs without a word to rest, thoroughly exhausted. Until now, she truly hadn't realised how much of a toll the miscarriage and injuries had taken on her, and she was grateful for the lie-down. However, after dinner that evening, quite rejuvenated despite soreness, with the entire family gathered in the living room, Maria asked Georg to explain how Duke had ended up at their farm in the first place.

Georg was happy to recount events from last week for his family.

"Mr. Johnson, my family lives on the old Kendall farm—do you know the place?"

The jolly, white-haired dock manager chuckled. "I know the place very well, son! What's on your mind?"

Georg explained, "When we bought the place, we were told that an old draft horse was to accompany the house, barn, and property. It was an actually a seven-year old thoroughbred cross—my wife is guessing he's a cross with a quarter horse—and she discovered an identification mark tattooed to his lip several days ago." Georg quickly rattled it off for his employer, asking, "Do you know anything about this? He's copper, enjoys bareback horseback rides, tolerates a saddle for Maria only, and is about sixteen hands and two inches at the shoulder. He goes by 'Duke.'"

At first, Riley Johnson didn't recognise a word about this horse, but as Georg continued and he heard about the tattoo for identification, he asked, "Isn't tattooing a relatively new form of identification, and for the racehorses only—not quite officialised yet?"

Georg nodded. "That's what Maria said. She thinks he was a sort of trial run by the Jockey Club for tattooing. We weren't in New York for very long and she didn't have a chance to get out much, but when she did, she went straight for the horses. I guess she made some acquaintances who were willing to tell her about Saratoga and Churchill Downs."

The old man nodded thoughtfully. "I remember hearing something about a prize racehorse accidentally getting mixed up with a horse of a lesser breed, but also of racing quality. Kendall's son is in the racehorse business. I think it was his horse. Virtually untrainable, very temperamental, hated the saddle. And he had a name that most certainly didn't suit him. Kendall's son, Jack, sold him off to some racer not as well-known. Some Jonas fellow. Flench, I think it was."

Georg was beginning to see what had happened. "But how did Duke end up back in the Kendalls' possession?"

Johnson scratched his chin, pondering. "I recall Jack telling me once that Duke loved to escape. I guess he got away from old Flench, who doesn't have the best reputation, by the way, and then came home. Jack sent him to live with his father because Flench raged that he wanted nothing to do with the beast after that."

Georg said, "Duke's not in any way aggressive. Apprehensive, yes, but not aggressive, and he enjoys Maria and the children."

Johnson nodded, smiling knowingly. "Old Jeff Kendall had a way with horses. I think he tamed a lot of Duke's imperfections out and even rode him when he could. He died last spring, though."

Nodding, Georg understood. "Maria and I would like to stay out of as much trouble as we can—we've already had enough of our own, Lord knows, with that damned barn roof collapsing. Is there any way we can get in contact with this Jonas Flench?"

"I can make a few calls around and get you his number. I should have it at closing time."

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson; we appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure, son."

"Oh," sighed Brigitta, "it's somewhat sad, but so perfect!"

Maria was leaning her head on Georg's chest, sitting contentedly next to him on the old sofa. She smiled, agreeing, "You couldn't have put it better, Brigitta. Bittersweet, I suppose we could safely say. But something more than that..." She sat up carefully. "I'm glad that Duke is in our hands. He's been such a blessing."

Everyone nodded at this: you had to be blind to not see the effect that this horse had on Maria. She became more and more herself every day.

Kurt finally begged, "Mother, can't we sing just one song before bed? Please?"

His question, of course, set the rest of the children off, and Elias, bright blue eyes shining and rumpling his soft, light brown hair with his pudgy fists, squealed excitedly on the floor next to Liesl. He loved his mother's voice. He burst out happily, "Sa! Sa!"

Maria heard him, and nearly dropped the guitar that Friedrich was handing her. "Did I just hear Elias say 'song'?"

Georg was watching his little son with amusement. "Yes, I think you did. Typical that it should have to do with music, having you for his mother."

Some of the children laughed with their father at this comment, but Maria watched her child with a glowing smile, quite proud and elated. "Do keep in mind, he's only nine and a half months old. It could be coming from you." She thrust the guitar in Georg's lap. "Your turn tonight, Captain."

The children all groaned, knowing Georg would play Edelweiss for their mother, but Maria only smiled knowingly at the look Georg gave her.