Stowe, Vermont
December 1945

"Alright, everyone, quiet down! Quiet down!"

The chatter and bustle of the von Trapp chalet did not slacken for this missive, however, and Brigitta, undeterred, pulled out her chair and climbed atop it, clapping her hands. This, garnering laughter, caught the attention of the occupants in the room with her, and, flourishing a piece of paper that she held in front of her, Brigitta tossed her long hair over her shoulder and indicated that the entire household should cram themselves inside the dining room.

This was something of a feat, for all seven von Trapp children were there, Liesl and Friedrich with their spouses, Hannah's family had joined as promised, and Max had come with Alexandra Higgins, Louisa had invited Dr. Jonasson and his daughter, Alice, and because Laverne and Dr. Stiles' first grandchild had arrived at last, the parents were spending a quiet holiday at home recuperating, so the couple had joined in the festivities at Maria and Georg's urging.

But at last, the challenge was accomplished, and everyone present was within reasonable earshot of Brigitta, who cleared her throat and did her very best to speak loudly.

"It is my great pleasure," Brigitta said, "to announce that the Trapp Syrup Farm has turned its highest profit this year so far to-date—"

This was met with whoops and hollers of congratulations, to which Brigitta smiled, nodding, "Yes, it's wonderful, of course, but that's not all!"

Here, she beckoned for Max, and the crowd around him parted to let him through. With a broad smile, he came to stand next to Brigitta, and glanced around at them all, raising his glass of Glühwein before the crowd. "Carry on, my dear, this is your triumph as much as mine," he winked.

Brigitta seemed hardly able to contain herself as she turned her gaze from Max back to her to the paper in her hand, then back to the crowd before her. "And, as a result of many wonderful things falling into line—success and hard work notwithstanding, of course!—I am pleased to announce that over the course of the next two years, this will henceforth become and be known as the Trapp Family Lodge!"

The applause broke out almost instantaneously, Kurt and Friedrich edged their way into the thrall with the sign between them which Louisa had been quizzing her mother about mere weeks ago, holding it up for all to see, and then when he and his brother set the sign down to rest against the wall, Kurt pulled out a bundle of blueprints from inside his dinner jacket, and brought them over to his father, placing them in his hands.

The clamor began again, ringing of excitement and questions, and Brigitta had to stomp a foot impatiently on her chair to gain the attention of the crowd once more. When she managed this, she continued, "I am pleased to announce that this will also mean working toward year-round employment of a full team of staff, lodgings for guests, a small ski resort, and holiday-centered cultural events of the Austrian variety. The hope is that, by the close of the 1950 fiscal year, the entirety of the operations will be profitable, self-sustaining, and allow my parents to step back from the full-time work they do here, in order to more fully focus on the incoming little ones, health, and career opportunities!"

"And," Max added, "I am pleased to announce that Kurt will be handling the promotional advertising at lead manager salary through his firm, I will be heading the events management, and Brigitta's friend from the law school at Yale has agreed to serve as fiscal officer until he finishes his studies. It is truly, wonderfully, a family affair!"

The rash of congratulations and exclamations was, to Maria's great pleasure, mostly directed toward her daughter, sons, and Max, but eventually, wide-eyed glances and half-whispered squeals of excitement came her way, and Maria had to reveal that though she could not divulge who, Brigitta's use of the plural regarding babies was not a mistake.

And as Marta and Gretl and Alexandra tried to guess, Maria noticed Friedrich pull Hannah into the center of the room, trade places with Brigitta on her chair to a much more noticeable effect, due to his height, and she simply chuckled, taking a sip of her own Glühwein before pointing with the glass toward her son in response.

"Ahoy," he called over the heads of the people, "if we're to be making announcements in which my little sister hopelessly gives away information—" here, he shot an annoyed glance at Brigitta, who merely shrugged with a smile—"then Hannah and I simply must share that we will be welcoming a baby ourselves in summer, or thereabouts!"

"Not that I'm not happy for them," Alexandra said to Maria as she sidled up to her friend, who was good-naturedly sitting on an overstuffed chair by the Christmas tree in the parlor a little while later, fielding comments of congratulations while playing a tapping game with Dr. Jonasson's little girl, Alice, "but I rather thought Brigitta implied a more impactful flood of von Trapp babies than just yours and Friedrich's."

"I promise I'm not carrying twins, if that's what you mean," Maria smirked, answering her friend in a low voice. "But the only other baby arriving in the family that I know of was Friedrich and Hannah's. Perhaps she was being hyperbolic. It is bound to happen, anyway!"

"Hmm," Alexandra said, not sounding convinced. "Perhaps, only that I seem to have encountered your eldest looking a little green in the kitchen, just now, instructing a very nervous James in how to brew peppermint and ginger tea, fresh."

Turning her head to look at her friend, Maria saw that Alexandra had an eyebrow raised, and now, Maria had to admit, her curiosity had been piqued. "It could be anything, Alexandra, they had a long flight back from seeing his parents."

"Still," Alexandra said, kneeling down to introduce herself to Alice. "I'll take over here. I've a feeling they both need a mother."

Maria agreed, promising Alice that she would return, and that later, they could go to the kitchen and eat maple candies. "And if someone can find some snow," she added, eyes twinkling, "we can make some snow candy!"

The shy, blond little girl looked up at Maria like she was the sun, moon, and stars, grinning widely. "Yes, please, ma'am!" she cried, clapping her hands.

"I will return shortly," Maria promised. "This is Mrs. Higgins, and she will continue to play with you until then!"

On her way to the kitchen, Maria encountered Marta and Gretl, and implored them to join Alexandra and Alice, to keep the girl company and not feel so left out. "Of course, Mother," Gretl said cheerfully, "though I think Liesl might need you. She doesn't seem well. She's in the kitchen."

Brow furrowing, Maria continued to the back of the chalet, pushing her way into the kitchen with a light knock. James was with Liesl at the table, stroking her clammy forehead and trying to convince her to drink the tea he'd brewed.

"Liesl," Maria said softly, "do I suppose correctly that Brigitta knows something I don't?"

Liesl groaned. "Only because she saw me lose my lunch in the bushes at the church earlier. She just gave me this look, and I couldn't lie to her."

"I think… I'm just going to excuse myself," James said, "that is, if you've got this in hand, Mrs. Trapp."

"I do, thank you, James," Maria said, smiling encouragingly at him. "Don't you worry, we'll get her sorted and right as rain!"

Both women watched as James departed, shutting the kitchen door securely behind him, then Maria drew out a chair and sat next to her daughter, reaching out to grasp her hands. "Well, my dear, when was your last cycle?"

"A while ago," Liesl confessed, "September I believe." Swallowing, she ventured, "Are you angry?"

Raising an eyebrow, Maria deflected the question and asked, "Have you had confirmation from a doctor?"

"I was supposed to go last week," Liesl mumbled, "but I've been so miserable. I couldn't drive, and James was away. I can't stop being sick. It was the same for my mother, in the early days."

"I was under the impression that you were entirely innocent of this from the questions that you posed to me," Maria said, not unkindly. "I'm not angry, no, as it does no good anyway, I just had the impression that you didn't want it to happen so fast."

"I wasn't sure, yet, back then," Liesl replied. "I had hoped it was a fluke, or stress, or something. But I was nervous, and thought it would be stranger if I had no questions, or asked the wrong ones. And anyway, I do love hearing you speak about father, and how you love each other, and the confirmation of that is worth more than I can say."

"I suppose the real question, then," Maria said, "is when you want to tell your father. It's a bit far gone, now, to sell him a tale of an early birth."

"Friedrich was vague enough," Liesl said coyly, but she exchanged her expression of annoyance for an exasperated smile and said, "we were thinking after the New Year. It's up to you if we wait until your baby comes."

"I see no reason why you should wait," Maria shrugged. Then, stroking her daughter's clammy face, she said gently, "May I ask why you didn't?"

"The waiting, Mother, it got me in the end. Both of us, really." She smiled weakly.

"I'd say it worked out well, regardless," Maria smiled, patting her hand reassuringly. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up and more comfortable, then. No use crying over spilled milk, and it's a happy thing, isn't it?"

"Yes," Liesl nodded, "apart from the fact that I'll have to give up my teaching."

Considering this, Maria recalled previous conversations regarding the future, the lodge, the family business, and she said, "I think it might serve you well to have a word with your sister about that, if you are up to it."

Slowly, Liesl nodded. "Before we return to Baltimore, in any case, I will speak with Brigitta and James privately."

"I'm afraid I should return to entertaining Alice," Maria said, pushing her teacup toward the center of the table. "Don't worry about these things, love. Someone else can see to them, alright?"

Liesl took a long, shaky breath, then nodded.

On her way past her daughter, Maria paused and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Liesl looked up, and Maria felt her heart warm for the empathy she felt at the expression on the woman's face, one filled with exhaustion, trepidation, and yet, that familiar flicker of uncertain joy. "This is a joyous thing, Liesl," Maria said, gently. "And there if there is any shame in this, you won't receive it from me."

"Thank you," Liesl whispered, looking down at her mother's hand on her shoulder. Without another word, she got to her feet and followed her mother up to the second floor, where she was instructed to remove her shoes and rest on the bed with a cold compress on her forehead, and not to be fussed if she fell asleep and missed the rest of the evening's activities.

"I'll send James up in a while with some tea and crackers," Maria said. "And I'll check on you in the morning, if I don't see you downstairs tonight. It's about that time where I'm being ordered to stay off staircases, unfortunately."

"It's alright, Mother," Liesl murmured. "Just leave some slippers for me on the end of the bed. My things are in the armoire already."

Maria pressed a kiss to Liesl's forehead and whispered, "Schlaf gut, meine Liebe."

Once back downstairs and rejoining the festivities, Maria was joined by her husband, who wrapped an arm around her and bent his head down to inquire softly in her ear if all was in order.

"Quite," Maria assured with a warm smile. "Liesl is under the weather, poor dear, but hopefully she will feel well enough to join us again later, for the gift exchange."

"You should have said something," Georg admonished, "I would have helped, so you did not have to climb the stairs."

Maria waved a dismissive hand. "It's no matter, love. Women's things. Sometimes a girl just needs her mother."

At this, her husband finally backed down, and though the worry was still in his voice, he said, "More's the pity, on Christmas."

Maria shrugged. "We can only take things as they come, my love."

"Indeed," he echoed, pressing a kiss to the top of Maria's head before breaking away to rejoin a conversation with Max, Dr. Jonasson, Kurt, Friedrich, and Alexandra, in which they seemed to be discussing something heatedly.

Maria watched him go with a smile, and then looked around the study in which several pockets of people were ensconced, and smiled to see Laverne, Gretl, and Marta playing with Alice. It appeared to be a game of charades. Then, she turned to the sofa that sat behind the coffee table and sat down to watch the festivities around her.

The clock chimed 9 o'clock, and with the chimes Maria looked behind her to the gentle touch of Liesl handing her the box of matches.

"I know it's so often a battle," her daughter whispered conspiratorially, "claiming the right to light the last candle of the Advent wreath on Christmas."

Maria patted the seat next to her, taking the matches from Liesl as she waited for her to circle around the sofa and join her. "How long do you think it will be before they notice?" she said, mirth in her eyes as she leaned to stand over the wreath, no longer able to bridge the distance with the length of her arm, her burgeoning belly the final obstacle.

"Three candles," Liesl said. "And then they will start to quiet."

"My guitar is just behind you," Maria said, "if you want to open the caroling."

"I will if you will sing with me," Liesl said, still shy to sing on her own all these years later.

Maria nodded, then struck a match. Likewise, Liesl turned and groped for the guitar resting against the wall behind the sofa, and when she had it comfortably positioned on her lap, began to quietly strum the chords of "Silent Night," and when her mother had finished lighting the three violet candlesticks, which were by now, on Christmas night, by now very burned down, as Liesl predicted, the clamor around them had quieted, and those spread throughout the different rooms of the first floor had gathered, watching Maria as she lit the rose candle for the second time, and at last, the white candle in the center.

Marta and Brigitta had come to cram themselves around their mother and sister, and it was their sweet sopranos which started the singing against Liesl's chords. Liesl shared a glance with her mother, who smiled, and with a steadying breath, she took the first solo. It was understood that Maria would take the rest, but turning her gaze to her husband, Liesl felt the whole world melt away, because she found him staring at her as if she were the entire world to him.

By the fourth verse, everyone present was also singing, and the night carried on likewise, with Liesl playing song after song until she could think of nothing more, then Brigitta, who had disappeared in the interval between "O, Tannenbaum" and "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen," at last reappeared, a honey-colored violin and bow in her hands. The crowd turned their attention to her in surprise as they heard the smooth, warm tones begin the prelude to "In the Bleak Midwinter."

Louisa and Dr. Jonasson were sitting on the loveseat, apparently having given up the pretense of a display of platonic friendship. Alice was ensconced on her father's lap, having nodded off in the midst of "O Come, All Ye Faithful." Friedrich and Hannah were sitting together on the overstuffed chair by the fire, and Georg was standing behind them, a glass of Glühwein in his hand. Hannah's parents sat near the tree together, sharing a plate of Christmas sweets with James, Marta, and Gretl. Kurt stood leaned against the doorpost, camera hanging around his neck. Max and Alexandra stood by the window opposite the fireplace with the Stileses, and everyone wore contented, warm expressions.

Listening carefully to Brigitta's transposed music, Maria took her guitar from Liesl and positioned it as best as she was able, joining her daughter's playing with a low harmony on the guitar, and in a crystalline, bright, warm voice, she sang the lyrics to the carol, smiling when she saw Brigitta's eyes widen and her stance lean into the impromptu duet in the span of mere seconds. On the penultimate verse, Maria set down her guitar and rose to her feet, walking over to where Brigitta stood in the midst of the parlor, folding her hands beneath her belly as she waited for the cue to sing again.

Together, they carried the final verse: Maria with the lyrics, and Brigitta with the warm, deep tones of the lost Guarneri, and when Maria turned to lock gazes with Brigitta, she saw in her eyes that her daughter knew it too: they'd found that elusive blending of instruments that created something beyond magic. Maria didn't have a word for it, but perhaps it was passion, or something even beyond it?

The audience around them seemed to know it, too, for they were breathless as Maria closed her mouth around the final word, and Brigitta allowed the last note to fade, slowly, drifting away like a dream.

When she lifted the bow from the strings, everyone clapped, murmuring amongst themselves, and Maria could see that Hannah's mother, Beatrice, was wiping wet eyes with the corner of a handkerchief and sniffling.

Brigitta lowered her arms, cast a glance to her mother, and then, with her father, she gave a nearly imperceptible nod and mouthed, "Thank you."

When the hour struck eleven o'clock, small presents were exchanged, to be found hidden amongst the branches of the Christmas tree. The family had, in true Austrian fashion, opened their gifts for each other the evening before, following the Heiligabend feast. These tokens were just a small thing, to bring Christmas to a close in one final reminder of the gifts with which they had all been blessed. And as thanks and hugs and kisses on cheeks were exchanged, a storm began to gust outside, and at last the Christmas festivities drew to a close.

Turning the hall light off with a snap, after having shut the door behind the Stileses and kissed Louisa goodnight at the foot of the stairs, Georg padded down the hallway to the master suite at the back of the house, where his wife was preparing for bed and waiting for him.

He remained quiet as he shut their door behind him with a snap, and began to unbutton his cuffs and shirt, loosen his tie, and step out of his trousers.

Maria, who was wrestling with a pair of woolen stockings as he did this, asked softly, "Georg, what is it?"

Narrowing his eyes as he peered at his feet, Georg shook his head, unsure of how to articulate his thoughts. "Brigitta," he ventured at last. "What torture it must have been, to put that instrument away, snap its case shut, and watch Max leave with it in hand."

Having at last succeeded with her socks, Maria slid herself with considerably more ease in between the sheets of her bed, ruefully admitting to herself that the satin was working rather wonders in that way, she pulled the duvet up to her chin, folded her arms over her chest, and furrowed her brow. "I suppose…" she trailed.

After murmuring that quiet thank you to her father, Brigitta had turned and exited the room, not slowly, but not quickly, either, and had gone down to her parents' room, where the violin had been stowed upon its arrival. Maria had tried to signal for Georg to follow her, but he'd been distracted by something Hannah was saying to him, so Maria slipped away to follow her middle daughter, and found her sitting on the edge of the great bed, the violin in hand, light fingers stroking it in revered awe.

"That was beautifully done, darling," Maria murmured, shutting the door behind her.

She walked to her daughter, and lifted her downturned face by the chin.

"I won't keep it," Brigitta gasped, "I can't. But I've been practicing on my Strad since Father told me of this instrument, so that I would be prepared to try it, as I said I would. I thought I would do it in private, for myself, but it seemed a waste of the gift, Mother. I had to share it."

"It was an incredibly brave and generous decision," Maria said gently. "A true gift befitting Christmas. How did you find it?"

"Amazing," Brigitta breathed. "A dream."

She looked down, tracing the fretboard. Then, she stood and turned around, where the opened violin case stood waiting on the bed behind her. Reverently, she placed the honey-colored, honey-toned masterpiece of musical craftsmanship into its place, slid the bow into its slot and, with steady hands, she spread the velvet cloth over it, lifted the lid, and snapped the clasps closed. "But not mine," she finished, looking over her shoulder at her mother. "Please, make sure Father understands I didn't suffer."

Silently, Maria nodded.

Georg was climbing into bed next to her. Peering at him, Maria sighed, then shifted onto her side and grasped one of his hands in one of hers, and said, "Georg, the gift was being able to play that. And, frankly… to sing with it? I felt that, here, deep in my gut." She pressed their intertwined hands into her husband's stomach, in that place between diaphragm and groin, and added, "Baby went so still, love, when those deep notes resonated. It has been a long, active day, and the calm that descended on us both… that is what such gifts are about."

Georg gazed at his wife, searching that earnest face, those wide eyes, and drew their hands up to kiss her knuckles, one by one.

"She wanted it this way, Georg. She asked me to be sure you knew that. I have every reason to believe it was true. Don't you remember her bubbling joy, earlier this evening, when she announced what would come together in the next years? Your caring, your love… is what made such a thing as this possible in the first place."

Her husband, at last, seemed to lose that knotted tension of worry in his face, which tightened over his cheekbones, and caused his brow to wrinkle and furrow. He sighed, then nodded.

"I'm glad that we could have a full, happy, warm Christmas," Maria said. "It has been such a long time coming, that today was possible."

Georg nodded, thinking how he'd watched Maria light the Advent candles one last time, and then, several hours later, blow them out, just as much alone in the act on lighting as when extinguishing. How peaceful and contented she had seemed, and… ready.

"Happy Christmas, Schatzi," Georg whispered, reaching over her to turn out the light, then helping her position a pillow behind her neck and between her knees. With a final kiss pressed to her forehead, he closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep, the notes of Brigitta's violin ushering him along.

"Happy Christmas," Maria whispered back, when her husband's breathing had evened, and his face had slackened, signaling slumber. One hand tightened around his own, and the other splayed around her middle, where her child had given just the slightest nudge, as though reminding her that it was time to sleep, and that she must take the advantage while she had it.

Stowe, Vermont
July 1942

Maria was shaking with nerves as she tried to pull a pair of white gloves onto her hands; a backwards glance in the mirror showed her how her hat had been knocked askew, and somehow, the pinned coil of braid that was her hair had begun to come undone.

"Argh!" she cried, "But of course!" And in the process of resting a foot up against a box so that she could set her hat on her knee and try to see into the mirror to fix the braid, which was quite the task normally, never mind hunched over, she snagged her one remaining pair of hosiery with the hat pin, causing a run in the thin, sheer fabric.

"Alexandra!" Maria cried, "My stockings have run, my hair is falling down, and my hat won't stay put!"

Alexandra Higgins appeared in the doorway of her back room, jacket unfastened, scarf hanging loose around her neck, and a tangle of shoelaces in one hand, which Maria realized she was trying to detangle so as to lace up her Sunday boots, for which apparently one had snapped.

Staring at each other, the two women finally burst out laughing, and Maria sat down on the box in front of her, hard.

"Well," she huffed, "this day is going about as well as we could have expected, I suppose!"

"I may have some clear nail varnish for that run," Alexandra said, "which I can fetch if you deal with—" here, she looked at the mass of laces in her hand with disgust—"this! And I'll make myself decent, and I recommend you simply put your hair in a chignon. I have combs, if you need them. It will work better with a cloche hat, and neither will be undone!"

"I don't know where a cloche hat is," Maria said, exasperated, as she reached out to take the laces from her employer. "Everything is upside-down-and-through-itself!"

At this peculiar turn of phrase, Alexandra twitched a smile and said, "Topsy-turvey is what it is, my dear!"

"Topsy-turvey," Maria repeated, trying the words on her tongue. "How whimsical!"

"Yes," Alexandra agreed, disappearing to search for the nail varnish.

As Maria concentrated on the ball of knotted laces in her hands, she wondered at just how everything could possibly have come to be. It had all happened so fast. It was less than a year she had been employed by Mrs. Higgins, and they had become friends, and executed a catalogue of clothing which had caught the eye of the governor's wife. And now, the governor was stopping in Stowe on a tour through his state, and his wife would make an appearance! Today!

Managing to yank a lace from the mass, Maria swallowed. The shaking had returned in her hands, and she was too nervous to think properly. Instead, she dug her heels out of a pile of shoes in a bin nearby, then sat down with her hat in her lap and began to remove the braided twist of a bun she'd tried, turning it instead into a chignon. Alexandra returned with a comb in one hand and varnish in the other, holding them out for Maria, who took the comb and expertly secured her hair, then turned and took the varnish, wrinkling her nose as she opened the bottle and wiped the brush before dabbing the liquid down the run in her nylon stocking.

"This should do," Alexandra said, handing Maria a navy blue cloche hat with a matching rose on the side. "Goes nicely with the suit, and won't ruin your hair!"

"Thank you," Maria said, nervously peering at her reflection as she stood to place and pin her hat in place. "How long it's been since I've had reason to wear such a hat, and my hair was short as a pageboy's, then!"

Fussing with her scarf, which she had tucked down the front of her jacket, Alexandra assured, "You're perfectly presentable, Maria, and you placed the chignon just right. Now, let me see you."

Biting her lip as she touched a hand self-consciously to her forehead, Maria turned around so Alexandra could see her. She was dressed smartly in an A-line skirt which hugged her hips and legs, reaching to her knees, and with it she wore a smart, ruffled blouse that paired nicely with the dress suit's jacket, a deep navy shade made of a heavy, durable cotton cloth. The aesthetic was set off by a row of gilded buttons down the front, the lapel crossing at the breast in a sharp V-shape, from which the ruffles of the white blouse peeked out, making an extra scarf unnecessary. The temporary patch of her stockings seemed sufficient, and Maria had chosen a pair of black heels from the pile, still in acceptable condition and nicely accented with the black leaves of the rose on the navy cloche hat. Her hair was neatly pulled back and firmly secured at the nape of her neck, and to her face she had applied some obligatory Pan Stik, rouge, liner, mascara, and a pinkish-orange lipstick. The effect was such that this gentle, spirited, kind face was elevated from simply symmetrical and attractive to commanding attention for the elevation of her fine features.

"You will make a fine impression," Alexandra smiled, pulling on her own pair of gloves.

"You don't suppose… you don't suppose she won't want to order anything, now, do you?" Maria fretted. "After all the work we've done?"

"Pfft," Alexandra said, masking her own nerves over similar concerns. "Even if she does, the clamour that will result from the publicity will keep us busy well into the year after next, even in spite of the war!"

"Hmm," was all Maria said, going silent.

Checking her own reflection, Alexandra nodded, satisfied, then took Maria by the elbow and steered her out into the front of the shop and down the front steps, where her captain and seven children were waiting to escort them to the town hall, where the governor and his wife would first arrive.

Reflecting back on it, Maria wished that she could remember more details, especially for the reason that so many people in Stowe still talked about the gubernatorial visit, and how the governor's wife had taken the entire day for viewing the inventory, discussing fabrics, trying on dresses and suits, and placing an extensive order not only for herself, but for her eldest daughter as well, who was in need of a wedding trousseau, and who also fancied the designs Alexandra allowed Maria to showcase on a daily basis.

"You have an eye for the elegant flair and the practical working woman's demands," the governor's wife had said to Maria, casting a sharp eye over her.

Maria could only remember nodding and trying to fight a rising blush, but her husband told her that she'd explained her humble Austrian roots, growing up in the mountains and yet thrust into elements of well-to-do life at different turns, the most recent of which had been her marriage.

The First Lady of Vermont had raised an eyebrow of interest at this information, and had commented how anything with a story was better than a piece of clothing churned out by a machine, with no human touch.

"Did you also make what you are wearing?" The blond-haired, steely-eyed woman asked.

Maria looked at this woman eye-to-eye, observing how her faux blond hair was pulled into a tight French twist, how her wardrobe was perfectly respectable, probably quite expensive, and yet how it had no texture or character to it, nothing of interest that could tell a story or catch the eye, and she nodded.

"You have quite a talent, Baroness von Trapp."

Maria supposed, in retrospect, that this is when the entire town had gotten wind of her husband's, and, indeed her, old, defunct noble titles, and she surmised that this might well be why it lingered and persisted.

But, in the end, just as she and Alexandra had hoped, the attention assured that they were both busy for the duration of the war, even with shortages, and it had allowed Maria to exercise a greater range of flexibility in designing new season catalogues in keeping with the latest fashions, creativity demanded because of the limited material due to war necessities.

There were times, Maria would admit to herself only years later, where, going about daily life in Stowe, it was as if nothing were amiss in the world at all, that everything was as it should be, as it was always meant to be. She never could forget for long, however, that there was a war on, for every day the news spread that someone else's son or grandson had been called to the front, or this woman's daughter had signed up to be an army nurse. The various uniforms of the different branches of the American military became a common sight even in sleepy Stowe, and plenty more passed through on their way to the capitol, or to training bases.

Ever present, too, were the war rations, and the victory gardens, and limits on fuel, and the pinched faces of those not eating nearly as much food anymore, but that, at least for Maria, had by now been the norm for more of her life than not, and in this, she did not blink an eye.

She slipped easily back into the role which required her to soothe hungry, growing children who had also developed the attitudes and appetites of adolescents on the brink of adulthood, but it was work that was made all the more easier for the fact that there were no daily threats of air raid bombings, and she once again had work that would allow her a reprieve from the tensions and challenges that resided inside the walls of her home.

Most of the necessary renovations for the chalet had been completed over the last months, and anything that was a larger job, but not essential, was being put off until the following summer. The house was beginning to feel like a home, and Maria had resolved to spend a little time over each weekend creating something that would contribute to this process and bring it along, including the children as often as she could.

She had been nervous, wondering what would happen between her and Georg once the burden of fixing up their home had lessened and there were fewer things to distract them from each other. They had patched things up, to be sure, but her illness and recuperation had reinstated perfunctory distance between them, and most nights they both fell asleep before their heads hit the pillow. There had been no room for intimacy, at least not the way she longed for it.

Recalling how she had asked him, once, if intimacy was something he always craved, and how he'd answered that dry spells usually left him oblivious to the drive, and feeling bolstered by the addition of a contraceptive diaphragm into her life, Maria had pursued her husband, not unlike the way he had pursued her when she was new.

It had required time, and it had required patience, and love above all, but slowly, they worked through the vestiges of the shipwreck that had been their marriage in the preceding years, and they focused their attention on building something new. Lovemaking nowadays considered their fatigue, his terrors, her injuries, and an all-consuming knowledge that, for the first time in the lives of either of them, they could pursue these hurdles of sexual intimacy without wondering constantly if their actions would bring a new life into it all, a consequence that would have otherwise made the endeavor far too daunting.

"I fear I am not who I am yet meant to be," Maria had whispered to Georg one night, clinging to him and still quivering from the effect of her husband's ministrations, her voice shaky. "I want to make love with you not just accepting that the future will come, but searching for it, with hope, instead of paralyzing dread."

"And I want to sleep soundly again," Georg had echoed, a slight tremor in his voice.

The return of his night terrors after the harrowing events in the British submarine exercises had shaken him more than he wanted to admit, and at present, making it through every day and every night was a struggle of the highest order. Sometimes wine would make his eyelids heavy enough, and inhibit his brain function enough that he slept undisturbed. Sex certainly helped, though relearning the ways to love each other were an ordeal in and of themselves, and he hated the idea of intimacy with his wife being a chore. If he was lucky, some days he would come to bed so dog-tired, so run over by the events of the day that he simply fell into bed, which meant Maria would have to remove his boots, socks, pants, and shirt, but those were the times when sleeping was a blank slate.

All other times, it was only a matter of how bad it would be from one night to the next. Maria would hold him, fetch compresses, allow him to push his body inside hers with absolutely no finesse and only a precursory attempt at her arousal, and when he spiraled clumsily out of control, she would climb on top of him and let him have her that way, sometimes whispering encouragement, and other times saying nothing at all.

Only in recent weeks had the condition begun to abate, and it was the simple sight of seeing Maria's wet skin clinging to the silken fabric of her dressing gown, her skin freshly washed after a long day tramping through the forests tapping trees, when the hungry animal inside him roared to life once more, inspired and seeking its first meal after a too-long hibernation.

Maria had actually screamed, and almost lost her mind, when he'd taken her in that way, so unrelenting as he was. And she had, in fact, been quite unable to walk for some time afterward, because her legs shook and quivered from the effort. A sort of raw, primal element had been tapped, she thought, when he bent her over the arm of their overstuffed chair, touch light and gentle, but of a fire that seemed to burn her skin, and slipped his sex inside hers, filling her and chasing that devious sprite that was the thing beyond passion.

Afterwards, dazed and feeling quite addled, Maria said in a thick voice, "I see again… why sailors have such a reputation. How I have missed you."

Spent and tired, and altogether quite shocked at how such a simple thing had turned him from merely partaking in intercourse for the sake of his wife and his marriage, to behaving like an unfettered animal, Georg had smiled daftly at her, and assumed that she would choose to drift off with him. Only, he had forgotten, he remembered with an electrifying jolt, as she slid down the length of his torso, a feather-light hand trailing across his skin, and put her mouth on his member, already hardening again, that she was not shy. She was unrelenting. And she had learned from him.

The sensation was otherworldly. Incomprehensible. And she, the devious minx, smiled a dark, mirthful smile, something humming deep in her throat as she did so, a sound and sensation that would cause him to nearly expire. Because she knew him.

"Maria," he gasped repeatedly, until it became a shout. Which was precisely when she kissed him from groin to lips and turned over onto her back, spreading her legs out for him, and dug her fingers into his hair, whimpering as he brought his tongue to her swollen, wet sex and tasted her musky, wonderful scent, kissing and tracing and sucking until the convulsions began, and then he stopped, only to begin again.

Maria smiled a secret smile to herself, musing over these things as she bent over a set of fabric swatches from which she was to choose new curtains. It was rather like life, wasn't it? And not just life, but love itself, the way their rediscovery of one another had been. That it could be wonderful and transcendent, only to break into thousands of indiscernible pieces, unrecognizable. Putting it back together again—that would always yield something different, something other. But the results, when one was committed? Altogether just as wonderful.

"—seems like the best idea under the circumstances. What do you think, Maria?"

Blinking, Maria looked around her, and realized that her husband was speaking to her. Was it something about the shutters, or perhaps some of the cracked windows? She had no idea.

"I'm sorry, darling, I'm afraid my mind wandered," she apologized. "Could you repeat that?"

Georg narrowed his eyes at her, apparently studying her face. This, alas, caused a blush to creep up her neck and into her cheeks.

"Might I wager…" Georg said with relish, "that your mind did not simply just wander, oh wife of mine? Could I posit that it, in fact, visited an entirely different world? One, perhaps, in which it is only you and I?"

Maria replied simply, "Am I so transparent?"

"Wildly," Georg answered, "in fact it reminds me rather a lot of… well, the way you were when we first married. You get this glazed look in your eyes, but you're ever so alert, and you sit up straighter, if that's even possible, and you lose all track of sense and time."

"Oh," said Maria simply.

Consulting his watch, Georg said, "You have an hour before you need to leave for the shop, this afternoon. Would you like to—"

"Yes, please," Maria said immediately, and took him by the hand and dragged him from the study and into their bedroom, where their door was shut and locked behind them before Georg lifted his wife up and she wrapped her legs around him, kissing him fiercely as he staggered under her weight and pushed her against the adjacent bathroom door for support, wondering if she would ever stop surprising him.

"Do you suppose this will always be our way?" she asked him when it was over, sprawled alongside him on their bed, running her hands through the hair of his chest. "On and off and on again?"

Georg grunted. "I doubt it. I rather hope not. We just have to find what truly suits us. We've not had the luxury of space and time since Paris. It's like starting again, in some ways."

"That's funny," Maria said, "I was thinking rather the same, earlier, before you suggested this lovely tête-à-tête."

"If it's any comfort, I like it all the same, just as well as I ever have, love."

"Which is to say," Maria chuckled, "rather a lot."

"Yes," Georg replied, "but I think you have me beat in some respects. I have, I think, met my match!"

"Good," Maria purred, leaning over to take his chin in her hand and kiss him. "I shall never have been your first great love, but I shall always hope to be your last."

"Without a doubt," Georg said. "There is none other on God's green earth for me."

His wife fell asleep for a while, breathing softly against his chest, and in those quiet moments, as he dragged a hand up and down the soft, warm flesh of her back, her body still seeming to hum with desire and anticipation, Georg thanked God for this marvelous, wonderful creature, for she was everything he'd never known he needed.

Maria was busy with a bowl of bread dough later that evening when Laverne Stiles came to call. She was agitated and upset from the first, and Maria knew she was nervous because the woman immediately started on with chatter alluding to a follow-up check-in regarding the experience of using the diaphragm, for they'd only just discussed it last week at lunch in Laverne's sitting room.

"Laverne, my dear," Maria soothed, "let me remind you that all is well. It has been near six months now, and Georg and I are not shy about testing the limits of such a thing as that barrier, especially these days. I am still tracking my cycles," she added, "and there is no reason for present discontent. Pray, tell, why are you really here?"

"It's my son," Laverne said, dumbly. "He's been called to the front." Her shoulders sagged, and she dropped her arms, spreading her hands before her. "I couldn't stay home, and the office is closed, and my husband is out of town. I sent him a telegram to call me, and then I got back in my car and kept on driving. I found myself in your drive, and saw one of the children in the front windows."

"Oh," Maria sighed, mournfully, "oh, Laverne, I am so sorry!"

Pulling her hands from the bread she was mixing and kneading, Maria wiped them on her apron and rushed to hug her friend, wrapping her arms tight around her, swaying slightly with Laverne, who was suddenly not steady on her feet.

"Sit down," Maria urged, steering her friend toward a seat. "Quick, set yourself down, before you faint!"

Laverne quirked a small smile at Maria's transliteration, and acquiesced with a watery smile.

Washing her hands quickly in the sink, Maria fetched a glass and filled it with cold water, handing it to Laverne, who took it gratefully and drank it all.

"Charlie's to report to base next week for training," she finally said. Clutching her arms across her chest, she doubled over and moaned, "Oh, I don't know if I can bear it! My only child! How have you made it through? How, Maria?"

Sitting down quietly next to her friend, Maria reached out to take her hand and said, "Prayer, faith, and a lot of love. Solace and community with my husband, our children, and our friends. That is how. We shall all help each other. As ever we should. Are you clear? You will not do this alone. None of us will. I promise you that."

"Oh, for the surety of youth," Laverne quavered, dashing a hand against one wet cheek. "But thank you, my dear."

"No," Maria said sadly, "no, it is not naïveté, rather what I have had to learn in the last five years of this war."

Slowly, Laverne's posture slackened again, and at last she nodded, murmuring in agreement with Maria. Together, the two women sat together, silent and simply being each other's company and comfort. After all, what was a trial without a friend? Maria smiled, remembering how though at first it had been difficult, those weeks and months in England, eventually, she and her husband's mother-in-law had become what one might loosely term "friends," having reached an understanding. She smiled, remembering how it had been a bulwark, having another willful woman to stand alongside, one who was fierce and unwavering, and Maria remembered how that had made all the difference, when everything seemed dark. It had, in a way, brought her and Georg back together, and she knew now that she should encourage Laverne to lean on her husband, to come through this together.

It was then and there that Maria resolved to try to have hope, even when it was difficult, or impossible, and to not let the harsh realities of the world run her over again and again and again. She would search until she found it, just as a woman whom she had loved dearly had challenged her to do, even if it took her the rest of her life to find it.

Surely, surely they must soon emerge into the light?