The first storm had passed over Salzburg an hour before, and the air left behind was sticky and damp. A heavy mist muddled the far light of the lampposts, and in the distance, a second storm could be heard rumbling its way towards the city.
The Captain sighed as he climbed the stairs absently. He, the two Sisters, and Maria had helped the children settle into their beds. Liesl had wanted to remain up, but he had insisted that his eldest get some rest; they were in for a hectic day tomorrow.
As he climbed, he realized that he didn't know where he was going; all he knew was that sleep was the last thing he felt like doing. He ascended the seeming countless stairs and felt the stress of the past few hours weigh him down.
The constant bombardment of emotions he had gone through in the last twenty-four hours should have drained him. He should have collapsed onto his bed and fallen asleep before he realized where he was. But it was just the opposite; he felt energized, alive. His hands twitched with nervous, barely contained electricity.
The most puzzling part of his mental state was that the Anschluss had not entered his mind at all. The moment he had seen Maria again, all other thoughts had vanished from his head.
Georg paused and frowned. The image of her sitting with his children warmed his heart more than he thought possible. He hadn't realized how vital she had become to their lives until he watched the amazingly subtle way his children's fears vanished as they huddled closer to her. Even Louisa's inherent anger seemed to melt away in Maria's presence.
How was it that one person, one person, could have such an effect on eight people?
The frown deepened. Eight people? Sighing again, he realized that he had to be honest with himself. He had felt his own mood lighten the moment he had seen her, just as his children's had. Maria held a powerful grasp on his family; everything seemed clearer when she was with them.
Her question about Elsa had disturbed him. He himself hadn't thought of Elsa since her departure a few days after the ball when they had decided that they didn't have a future together. He had been so consumed with helping his children cope with Maria's departure that all thoughts of the plans he had made with Elsa had vanished from his head. It had shocked him when Maria mentioned her; Elsa had apparently been on Maria's mind for some reason.
He resumed his climbing, trying to clear his thoughts. However, the only thing his forced concentration resulted in was the memory of that wonderfully peaceful interlude from the time of his return from Vienna to the night of the ball.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he paused as he surveyed the scene before him. He had come to the graveyard of the convent. Countless tombs loomed in front of him in the hazy, dim light. His gaze stopped suddenly when he realized that he was not alone.
Across the courtyard, her silhouette unmistakable even from this distance as she stood under an arcade, was Maria. He studied her, finding himself entranced by the way the dull light framed her figure and her posture as she stood, leaning against the wall. The unusual pose struck him as serene and graceful.
An urge to go to her swelled from deep within him, and he slowly walked towards her. He wanted to know the real reason she had escaped to the Abbey, and why she had mentioned Elsa an hour ago. The unsettling sensation of losing something, a missed opportunity, came to him, and he checked himself from practically running over to her. He realized that he would not have this chance again; he was leaving the next morning and would leave her there, alone forever.
Sensing a presence behind her, Maria whirled around and he heard her breath catch when she saw that it was he coming towards her.
"Forgive me, Fräulein," he said, feeling nervous. "I didn't mean to startle you."
She looked at him blankly, as if she didn't trust herself to speak.
"I see this spot as been taken," he said and reluctantly backed away. Above all, he didn't want her to be uncomfortable around him. "I shall find another place to think."
"I was just watching the sky," she said at last, her voice an invitation. "Storms have always fascinated me."
He smiled and walked over to stand next to her. "You should have seen the storms at sea then," he said. She shifted to face him. "I've never seen such power of nature."
"It sounds exciting," she said, and he was surprised at his reaction to the small smile of her face. He felt as if he had been holding his breath and was finally able to release it.
He nodded. "Exciting and humbling," he told her.
"Humbling?"
He looked out the window. "There were many times when we were at the complete mercy of the sea," he explained. "You come to truly respect the power of God when you're completely defenseless."
"No atheists in a hurricane, I guess," she said, and the two laughed. Their eyes met, and she turned serious.
"I hope these storms tonight don't put you too much out of your way," she said.
He shook his head. "I think they might have been a blessing in disguise," he said with an honesty that surprised him. Her cheeks reddened, and she looked down. Georg quickly turned to look out to the skies again. They stood in an awkward silence for a moment.
"I must confess," she started, her voice hesitant. "That I was surprised to see you here in the abbey."
"It was a detour," he said, studying the calm of the city. Salzburg looked, from this distance, as if everything was perfectly normal, and nothing horrible was engulfing it, possibly forever. "If the storms hadn't come, we would be out of the city by now."
She nodded mutely. "Well, I'm glad I got a real chance to say good-bye, then."
He smiled. "It was good for the children to see you again," he said. "Their nerves are considerably calmer now."
"They are such wonderful children," she said, turning to face him.
He shook his head. "Once again, you managed to do what I could not," he confided, turning to look out into the sky.
"Sir?"
He gave her a side-long glance. "You calmed the children in such a dire situation, and you didn't even try," he told her.
Lightning flashed in the distance, and the glow lit her blushing face. She smiled and followed his lead to look out into the sky. They stood quietly for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts.
He heard her sigh. "I can't believe it's happened," she whispered.
"The Anchluss?" he asked, again turning to face her.
She nodded, moving to meet his gaze. "It doesn't seem real," she said.
A dark look came over his face. "It's all too real, Maria," he said lowly, feeling the weight of the telegram in his coat pocket. "They're here."
She shivered, despite the humidity in the air. "What happens now?"
He sighed. "I don't know," he confessed. "Austria is now a under the control of the Germans. Everything will be turned over to them. The Austria we know is gone."
"I don't blame you for leaving," she said and sighed, looking past him at the graves. "You mustn't join them."
Georg's jaw set in angry determination. "I would rather die," he said.
She snapped her head to look at him again. "Then who would take care of the children?" she whispered.
A bitter laugh came from his throat. "Now you know the real reason I'm taking seven children on such a journey."
"They're strong, determined children," she told him. "They'll be fine."
He nodded and their eyes met in shared parental pride. Georg stared at her, studying the soft lines of her jaw and the sprinkle of freckles adorning her nose and cheeks. The lightning illuminated her face again; the dull purple light catching the bright blue of her eyes. The wind picked up and shifted the few wisps of her hair that had escaped the confines of her wimple, and he found himself resisting the urge to brush the lose strands from her face.
A loud rumble of thunder caught them both by surprise, breaking the unexpected spell. Maria gasped and took a step back, leaning against the wall. The Captain cleared his throat and looked out at the city.
"This one seems to be worse than the previous one," he commented, his casual tone sounding forced, even to him.
"Uh, yes," Maria stammered. "I hope the children will be alright."
He gave her another side-long glance. "They're strong, determined children," he said and she returned his wry smile.
"They'll be fine?" she finished for him and they laughed.
She turned serious. "I pray that you make it to safety," she said.
He nodded.
"I am glad that I got a chance to say good-bye properly," she said again, returning her attention to the approaching storm. He saw the fear on her face.
Studying her profile, he noticed how her cheeks seemed to redden even more under his scrutiny. "You could have done that on your own terms, Maria," he said.
She turned away from him, and her hand went up to her mouth. He regretted making her uncomfortable, and he fought the urge to reach out and take her hand.
"I'll never forgive myself for leaving you all like that," he heard her mutter. "But I had no choice."
This surprised him. "Why do you say that, Maria?"
She kept her face hidden, and he heard her intake her breath sharply. "I pray you forgive me for leaving," she said, unable to answer his question.
He shook his head. "I wish I knew what had caused you to run away," he said.
She looked up at him, and he was surprised to see confusion on her face. "I had to," she whispered.
"Why?" he asked, moving closer to her. He could tell that she didn't like being trapped, but he was overcome with the need to hear her explanation.
"I, uh," she hesitated, her breath catching. "I was only there for one reason. Anything more than that would have been wrong."
Georg felt his stomach drop. "What do you mean by 'anything more'?"
Maria swallowed, struggling to find the words without sounding accusatory. "I didn't know what it was, not until she—"
"Who?" he asked, his eyebrows dropping.
She shook her head. "She said that you… and that I…" she trailed.
Narrowing his eyes, Georg searched her face. An old sensation filled his chest; something that he hadn't felt in years. The feeling started to consume him, and he didn't try to resist it. As he stared at her, hearing what she couldn't say aloud, he felt an odd sense of peace come over him. Without warning, things became clear.
What she felt for him became suddenly apparent, and as he registered it, as he reflected on it, he knew that he felt the same way. She was in love with him, and as he stared into her eyes, he knew he loved her too. Unexpectedly feeling more alert than ever, he noted how he could feel his own heart beating.
But did she want to feel that way? Was that why she had left? She thought it was wrong, and she fled, without even considering the possibility of pursuing her feelings. Did she still wish to deny her emotions? He wished he could bring himself to ask her that, to ask himself that.
He set his hands on the railing of the wall, keeping his eyes locked with hers. "When did you talk to the Baroness?" he asked.
Maria shook her head. "It's not important."
"Yes it is."
"No," she insisted. "What's done is done."
"Was it the night of the ball? The night you left?" he persisted.
She nodded mutely and Georg felt his jaw tighten. They stood in a tense silence for a long moment, and Georg noted how uneven her breathing had become. Part of him wanted to take her hand and tell her that he felt the same way; another part wondered if it was too late.
Instead, he studied Maria's agitated face. "What would have been wrong with 'anything more'?" he asked.
Her mouth dropped, surprised. "I was there on God's errand," she said. "I was there to help prepare the children for a new mother—"
She stopped, and he raised his eyebrows for her to continue. She stared at him. "Why isn't the Baroness here?"
He cocked his head. "It's as Louisa said," he said, unable to remove the darkness from his voice. "She missed the city too much."
She looked doubtful. Knowing that he owed her honesty, just as she had been truthful with him, his smile was more sincere this time. "We decided it wasn't going to work," he told her.
Maria's eyes widened. "But I thought that you were going to…" she trailed again.
He shook his head. "It never would have worked," he repeated, sighing. "We came to value different things. I came to value different things."
She looked confused. "Then why did you consider it at first?"
He laughed softly. "In the beginning, we were very compatible," he started. "We liked the same things, were of the same social standing, enjoyed each other's company. She was a nice escape when life at home became too unbearable.
"I had planned on marrying her, but things changed when I took her back to Salzburg with me at the beginning of the summer. I distinctly remember everything changing the moment my children fell into the lake with their governess."
Their eyes met, and he smiled at the sweet glow to Maria's cheeks.
He continued. "When you opened my eyes to how I was missing my children and the truly important things in life, I began to see things differently. Instead of looking at the world as a cynic, I saw it through the eyes of a parent again.
"That was something Elsa couldn't relate to. Oh, she tried, bless her; she tried. But you can't force yourself to be something you're not. And I didn't want her to. We decided that it was best that we went our separate ways."
Maria nodded, and Georg watched her reaction. He silently added that Elsa had looked different to him after Maria had entered his life. Elsa's charms, worldliness, and sophistication seemed dull and tired next to the bright, pure energy that had filled the house upon his return from Vienna.
Georg had felt himself drawn to that energy, as if he needed it to survive. At first, he thought it was simply the children's liveliness that had captivated him. As he reflected, he concluded that it was more than that. With Maria, he had felt alive, electric. She was like a breath of fresh air, a force of life that he found himself unable to be without.
He wondered if he had the right to tell her that.
"So, it had nothing to do with politics?" Maria's voice pulled him back to reality. He shook his head. "No," he said. "It wouldn't have been fair to either of us. But, as I think about it, I can't imagine her coming with us. Elsa is a good woman, but I can't see her willingly give up everything for a cause she didn't completely believe in."
Maria nodded, and the Captain studied her as she reflected on his explanation. While she looked more at ease than before, he noted how the soft lines of her mouth were drawn slightly down as the fear remained in her eyes. He desperately wanted to tell her that she had nothing to fear from him or the emotions she felt, and he couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out.
Thunder crashed in the sky again, and they both jumped. Without warning, a wave of anxiety swept through Georg, and he felt as if he was about to lose the one opportunity to ask her what had been plaguing him since the moment she had reappeared into their lives. He couldn't let her slip away from him again, now that he had just realized what it was between them.
He snapped his head over to stare at her, his eyes boring into hers as he grabbed her hands.
"Come with us," his voice was rough, almost desperate.
Her mouth dropped again. "Captain, I—"
"Maria," he interrupted with an intense urgency. "Listen to me. They won't care. They won't care if you're a nun."
"Captain!"
"These walls won't protect you," he said, squeezing her hands tighter. "They'll come and do what they please. You won't be safe."
"Please," she said, fear invading her eyes.
"I couldn't live with myself if I left you here," he said, and he watched the fear turn to sorrow. She stepped back, but did not try to release herself from his grasp.
"It's too late, Captain," she whispered.
He pulled her back to him, ignoring the shock on her face. He felt her body against his, and he was overcome with a passion he hadn't felt in years. His face came very close to hers, and he felt her trembling beneath his grasp. Her warm breath hit his face, and he felt his cheeks tingle with the contact.
"It can't be too late," he interrupted. "Not when we're both here, together."
"Captain," she said. "Please. I—"
Unable to maintain his composure any longer, Georg pulled her to him and silenced her protests by grabbing her face with his hands and covering her mouth with his. Absently noting her weak struggle at first, he deepened the kiss, moving his hands to stroke her neck. He was overcome with the need to deny the bitter realization that what never had been was turning rapidly into what never would be. She must have felt it too, because she ceased her feeble resistance and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her hands moved up to run through his hair, pulling him closer to her, and he became dizzy with a hungry desire.
It was as if they had reached the final step. Maria had brought him back to his children. She had made him a father again. Now, she was bringing the last piece to him. She made him realize what he was missing as a man: that wonderful feeling of completion that only the woman he loved and who loved him could bring to him.
The thunder crashed around them, and he felt the blood rushing to his head. Lightning flashed, and he shut his eyes tighter against the light, against reality. The only thing he was aware of was the taste of her lips beneath his, the subtle movements of her mouth, and the soft moans coming from her throat. He pressed his hips closer to her and was keenly aware of his reaction to her soft her body against his. Her trembling transformed to assertiveness as her hands traveled down his back, sending sparks of heat through his body.
He didn't care about the Nazis at that moment. His family's perilous journey seemed a dim vision that would arrive when he woke, something he was unwilling to do. The only thing that mattered to him was that she was in his arms, and he was unable to let her go. He hadn't known until that moment that she was the one person who could complete him, and that he needed her in his life more than anything. His hands moved up caress her hair.
And his fingers collided against the material of her postulant's wimple.
Georg snapped back as if stung. He pushed Maria harshly away from him, horror flooding his face as he gasped for air. Scanning her up and down, he saw what she was wearing for the first time that evening. He hadn't truly realized, until that moment, that she was a postulant; she was going to be a nun.
She stared back at him, her lips pink and moist as she struggled to recompose herself. But it was the look in her eyes that nearly broke him; they were filled with passion, hurt, and confusion. She blinked several times, unsure what she had done wrong.
"Forgive me," he whispered.
She looked frantically around the courtyard, trying to catch her breath. His stomach tightened as he saw the shame flood her face.
"Don't do that," he pleaded. "Don't blame yourself."
She couldn't look at him, her face bright with anxiety. "Oh, God what have I done?" she breathed.
"No," he insisted, reaching out to take her hands. She instantly recoiled and stared back at him in horror. Denied contact with her, he stared into her eyes, desperate to convince her that she hadn't done anything wrong. "It is I who needs to be forgiven. I had no right to do that. Do not blame yourself, Maria."
She shook her head, tears in her eyes.
Going against all his instincts, he stepped away from her. "Forgive me," he whispered again, his eyes not leaving hers. Turning around, he practically ran away from her, frantic to escape the feelings they had just shared. Wishing he had never seen her again, he all but flew down the steps, taking him away from what he had just experienced in the Abbey graveyard.
As he entered his chambers and stared at the bed, he tried to calm his nerves, but the only thing that came to his mind was the wrenchingly glorious sensation of Maria in his arms and how he had felt when he had finally touched her as he had longed to touch her. Her skin was silk; her breath was sweet, and her body was soft. Even if he wanted to, he didn't think he could ever banish the feelings he had when he was with her. She was like a drug, and he was hopelessly captivated by her. His fingers shook as he tried to mentally remove the waves of passion streaming through his body.
She wasn't his to have. It wasn't meant to be. No matter how right it felt, how complete and clear everything was the moment he had taken her into his arms and kissed her, he had no right to her. She belonged to God, and Georg was wrong in confusing and scaring her the way that he had.
Who did he think he was? He was putting his own savage desires above the needs of his children, himself, and of Maria. It wasn't his place to ask anything of her. She had made her choice the night of the ball; he had to respect it, no matter what his heart told him.
But he couldn't deny his feelings for her. When she left her unfinished confession hang in the air, it had hit him. He loved her, and she loved him. Georg was overcome with a bittersweet sensation in his stomach. Just as he had found what he had been unconsciously searching for since Agathe's death, he learned that it wasn't meant to be. Maria's departure prevented them from continuing whatever path they might have taken.
He should have been angry with her for making the decision without his knowing, but he knew that she had been frightened. She hadn't expected to fall in love with him, nor did he with her. No wonder she had been scared; she felt she had betrayed her reason for going to the villa. Also, Georg wasn't aware of his own feelings until just a few moments ago. No, he couldn't blame her for leaving.
But knowing that didn't help ease the ache in his stomach.
He glanced around the tiny sleeping quarters, trying desperately to erase the images flashing in his mind's eye and to quench the strong feelings running through him.
Georg sighed and cast a tired, weary glance up to the ceiling. Sitting upon the bed, he knew that he would not be able to sleep that night. He wasn't sure if he could handle what had just happened, what had just slipped through his fingers. Losing Austria was hard enough, but at least he had his children with him, and they were going to be safely out of the country in a matter of hours.
But he didn't think he could endure this. After just realizing that all he ever needed had been right there, in front of him for weeks, it was gone. It tore at his heart knowing that she felt the same way, but it just was not meant to be. The cloth on her head proved that.
Bitterness filled him, and he stretched across the bed. Part of him wanted to know why God had thrown Maria back into their lives. Why the storm had formed so suddenly, just as they were passing the Abbey; how Maria had simply appeared, calming his children and tormenting him with a vision of what never could be. He shut his eyes tightly and debated if it was wise to curse God in a convent.
To be continued…