A/N: Thank you so much for all of your reviews!  You guys are very insightful and help me to understand what you like about the story, so I know what to write next.  You've inspired me to get on a bit of a role, here :o)

However, a warning: I'm attempting to fill in some of the time between the famous Argument and the famous Singing of Edelweiss While Looking Longingly at Maria scene.  I think there must have been some really sweet moments when Georg and Maria got to know and understand each other better—imo, this is when they really fall in love.  However, as evidenced by the movie, which completely skips over this whole time period, nothing actually happens between themI'm afraid of these scenes lacking substance.  So, if you find this chapter boring, tell me, and I can rework some upcoming chapters.  In short, any advice/criticism is appreciated :o)

*

Chapter 3

The ordeal with the governess taken care of, the Captain now fixed his attention completely on his children.  He had a moment to watch them privately as he re-entered the sitting room—to notice that Brigitta looked taller, that Marta was losing teeth rapidly, that Liesl suddenly seemed more mature and self-aware than she ever had. 

"We didn't know either," Friedrich was telling Max confidentially, among the general chatter of the baroness and his other children. 

"It was Fräulein Maria," Marta said with a small, bright smile.

The children became quiet as they noticed their father's presence, turning to look at him curiously as he closed the doors behind him.  Georg looked at them blankly, feigning innocence.  "What was she, Marta?"

His children stared at him a moment, the curiosity palpable and awkward in the air.  "It was Fräulein Maria who taught us how to sing," Brigitta supplied into the silence, but no one else spoke, eyes fixed on their father.

"She must be quite a governess," Elsa replied gracefully—but her brow was raised as well, glancing questioningly at Georg.  She must have known that he had stayed behind expressly for the purpose of remonstrating Fräulein Maria, even for the purpose of dismissing her.

There was a general reply of agreement with Elsa, from Liesl's 'Oh yes,' to Gretl's giggle and profession of love, ending with Kurt's: "So nice Louisa didn't even want to do the spider thing this time!"—which suddenly made the children fall into a rather chagrined hesitation.

"Father," Brigitta started suddenly—rather bravely, Georg decided—"where is Fräulein Maria?"

All of the children looked at him.  Elsa wasn't the only one with a head on her shoulders; even the youngest were able to fathom that he hadn't been pleased with their Maria—that he might have done something awful to her, even.  Georg sighed inwardly.  And he had done, hadn't he?  "She's changing out of her wet things, naturally."

"Didn't do the spider thing?" Max interjected jovially, naturally eluding any uncomfortable conversation.  "Louisa, what is your brother talking about?"

"I haven't done it," Louisa said pointedly, still looking at her father, "because I don't want Fräulein Maria to leave."

"Leave?  Who said anything about her leaving?" Georg answered her, stepping toward Louisa until his hand touched his daughter's face, and the angry question in her eyes disappeared.  "I am sure she'll stay for a very long time."  He looked around him, at the relieved faces of his children, and said dispassionately, "A very very long time.  She says your voices are atrocious, and she won't leave until you can do something more than off-key squalling."

"She did not!" Kurt said indignantly—and every single one of his children laughed.

*

"Where's Fräulein Maria?"

"How old are you, Marta?" Georg asked, dropping Elsa's arm for a moment and looking down at his youngest daughter but one.

"Seven," Marta replied, looking up at her father and scowling.  They hadn't seen their governess since shortly after she fell out of the boat.  Now it was already dinner-time, and she was still nowhere to be seen.  Despite all that he had done to reassure them, his children still seemed to think that either their father had fired their governess, or that she wouldn't want to stay after whatever treatment he had meted out on her.  Georg hid the thought from himself that they could very well be right.

"Seven!  So old?"  Georg squatted down next to his daughter, a slightly sardonic smile on his face.  "Now tell me, Marta, why should a lady your age be asking for her governess every other moment?  You act as if you couldn't get along without her." 

"It's because we like her," Gretl explained simply for both herself and her sister, and the Captain stood and sighed.  He glanced at Elsa, who was returning his gaze with a knowing smirk.  He was glad that she was amused by this, even if she was laughing at him.  It was a trifle ridiculous, now that he came to think of it.  The children had been asking for their governess for a solid hour—it was not exactly the reception he had planned for Elsa.

"Anyway, why shouldn't she be here?" Brigitta asked pointedly, as they walked on into the dining room.

"The workings of your Fräulein's mind are beyond me," Georg replied.  "Incidentally, Marta, did you like your birthday present?" he continued, adroitly changing the subject as he pulled out Elsa's chair and they all sat down to dinner.

"She wouldn't stop waving that dratted umbrella at me," Kurt complained.

"Don't say 'drat,'" Liesl admonished, as Marta nodded, blushed, and said, "Thank you for having it sent.  All the way from Vienna!" she paused and looked at her empty plate.  "Fräulein Maria bought me some pink gloves to go with it."  Marta paused; then, plaintively: "Is she coming yet?"

"I'm hungry," Kurt said steadfastly, staring at his plate also.  "Where did you say Fräulein Maria was?"

"He doesn't know," Louisa said derisively, wrinkling her nose as her father rolled his eyes.

"This looks wonderful," Elsa said politely, looking at the food spread out on the table and smiling at the children.  Apparently she at last feeling sorry for him, Georg assumed, amused by Elsa's attempt to save him and take Fräulein Maria off his children's minds—but he was a trifle put out as well.  He'd wanted his children to respect Elsa—to get to know her, even to befriend her.  Instead they were whiney, and constantly begging for their governess.

Max smiled back at the Baroness in response.  "Let's not waste all the good cooking then.  Let's—"

"Don't we have to say grace?" Liesl interjected.

"We can't without Fräulein Maria," Gretl announced.

"Where is she?" Marta chimed in, not for the first time that minute

"I'll go get her," Friedrich offered, jumping out of his seat.

"No," Georg said at last, managing a forced smile.  He could tell his children loved their governess; they seemed to love her as much as they had hated all the others combined—even including Fräulein Helga.  If it was Maria they wanted, Maria they would have.  He wanted to make sure Maria knew that too—that as long as she continued to do what she had done for his children, there should be no hard feelings between them.  He threw his napkin down on the table and stood.  "I'll go.  Liesl, I'm sure you can lead our family and guests in grace.  Sit down and eat your dinner, Friedrich.  Please excuse me Max, Elsa."

"But—" Friedrich began, half-way to the door.

Georg's brows shot up.  His children seemed to be well aware that he hadn't exactly been polite to their Fräulein earlier today—but did they actually think he was going to inflict bodily harm on their governess?  "I said sit down," he repeated, in a voice they all knew well.  Friedrich sat.  "I will bring her down—kicking and screaming, if necessary," he assured Marta, who was still looking worried.

He exited the dining room with a fluttered: "Of course, Georg," from Elsa, and a rather excited "Do you really think she's going to kick father?" from Gretl, and a blustered, uncertain: "No, silly," from Kurt.  The Captain, actually, couldn't help laughing.

*

"Fräulein?" he asked, thudding a knuckle on the frame just as her door swung open.  She was dressed for dinner; she was just late, as usual.  At least she meant to come.  And she was no longer sopping wet, also a plus.  He had expected as much, but he was beginning to expect the unexpected where this woman was concerned.  Indeed, he'd been half afraid he'd find that she'd tied all her sheets together and escaped him out her window, he'd been so ill-tempered this afternoon—then again, he shouldn't have thought so little of her.  She didn't seem inclined to run away from much.

"Captain?" Maria replied blankly.

He blinked, realizing he'd been staring.  She'd availed herself of the materials he'd ordered—definitely another plus.  Though she still didn't look very much like a governess—too young, too bright-eyed—too pretty, actually, now that he thought about it, and said immediately: "Well?  Are you joining us for dinner or not?"

"Dinner?" she said, blinking.  "Well yes, if you all want me.  I'm not—"

"Well then, come along," he said peremptorily, turning from her doorway to the hall beyond.  "That is—if you please," he amended, pausing to offer her his arm.

"Thank you."  For the first time, he saw her hesitant, and then she took his arm.

They were silent for a moment, walking down the stairs.  He could sense her discomfort.  If she could do for his children what she had done, the last thing he wanted was for her to be ill at ease with him.  She was a link, in so many ways, to these past years he'd missed out on being a father to them.  Not to mention that he admired her—and he didn't admire many people; that was for certain.  "Allow me to apologize again, Fräulein, for—"

"Only if you'll forgive me," Maria exclaimed, stopping to look up at him.

"Fräulein, there's nothing to—"

"Oh yes there is," she explained, reassuring him.  "Everything I said was true—only, I really shouldn't have said it the way I did.  I simply had to, but it was really awful of me, and I know it will never happen again, so you needn't be afraid, and—"

"Fräulein."

"Hm?" she asked, innocently surprised by his interruption.

He had dropped her arm, and now stood looking down at her with something akin to incredulity.  "Fräulein," he began again, cocking his head somewhat derisively, "am I given to understand that you consider—that—to be an apology?"

He hadn't meant to be harsh, but he had meant to throw her off her guard.  He'd forgotten all over again that sternness, apparently, didn't work with this woman.  She merely blinked several times, and replied simply: "Well yes, Captain." 

He stared at her, eyes hard on hers; his gaze, to her, cold.  Perhaps his look was rather critical, for at the moment, he was trying to decide whether she was brave or just naïve.  Both, he was thinking—but the thought was not a criticism, and the look he gave her wasn't either.  In so many ways, he was looking at himself, wondering when it had come to the point that he expected people to always defer to him.  Perhaps it had begun when people had stopped telling him the truth—when his wife had died and the female socialites had turned out in full force to 'catch' him, when Hitler rose and Nazis came to his door murmuring niceties that he saw through and detested.

 Maria raised her brows and tilted her head.  "Er…Did I say too much?"

"Fräulein Maria," he said softly, turning a little to look at her quite clearly.  "In the future, you must remember to say what you will, how you will, when you will.  And you must remember that you are free, Fräulein, to say as much as you will."  Maria looked at him blankly.  Inwardly, the Captain was amused.  If he yelled at her, she gave as good as she got—it was only his sudden, incomprehensible gentleness that unsettled her.  "Only—don't apologize for it," he continued blandly.  "You're singularly dismal at it."

She looked like she hadn't believed there was a teasing bone in his body.  In fact, she was flushing, her mouth open a little bit, looking at him as if he had just told her he wanted her to teach the children to ride elephants.  Georg swallowed his smile and turned to continue toward the dining room.  He would enjoy disconcerting her like this in the future.  She really was rather pretty when she—

For a moment, Maria stood stock still behind him, watching him walk ahead of her with a somewhat shocked expression.  Recovering, she found her voice.  "Erm—" she muttered, catching up to him.  He again offered her his arm and she took it, still seeming as if she was looking for words—or courage.  "I was wondering then, sir, whether I mightn't ask you whether the children—"

"Fräulein," Georg said, stopping again, the smallest hint of exasperation in his voice.  "Can't it wait until after supper?"

Her brows shot up as she turned her startled head toward him.  "Well yes.  But you said 'whenever I will,' so I thought—"

"Yes, yes, but not at dinner time, Fräulein.  Kurt will have begun eating napkins by now, not to mention Max.  And there's one young lady in particular who is so anxious to see you, she might drown herself in her pea soup if you don't come soon enough."

"Marta?"

"Baroness Schraeder, of course," Georg replied, straight-faced, and pushed the dining-room door open for the governess.

*