AN: Oh my goodness. I did not mean to wait 10 months to post this review. A few things happened between January and now, and I've only had the creative energy and the willpower to write any more. I promise this story hasn't been abandoned, but I will say that this particular chapter was re-written so many times before I finally concluded it could never be perfect. And that the more I try for it to be, the less likely I would post anything to move this story forward. So here we are. My deepest apologies! I do hope you're still with me. :)


Maria had been working on the little girls' dresses for 3 weeks now. She was proud of how quickly she had worked through them. Her days were spent sewing for Frau Muller's clientele, and her evenings and weekends were spent lovingly crafting Marta and Gretl's party dresses. They were simple dresses, but ones she was certain the girls would enjoy twirling in, for she had made sure the skirts were full and billowy, the pleats just right so they would feel like princesses. She recalled the dresses Baroness Schraeder had picked for the girls at her grand and glorious party, frowning at the memory of Gretl scrunching her nose in disappointment. The girl always knew what she wanted, and it wasn't a white eyelet number that fell just below her knees. And Marta—the dear girl couldn't stop scratching for the first few minutes of wearing the stuffy dress, the material coarse against her skin.

She ensured the dresses would not only look pretty, but that the girls could move comfortably in them as well. Liesl's dress was also nearing completion. With only a few weeks left to her debutante ball, and her maternal grandmother insisting she take dancing lessons for the event, things were shaping up beautifully. The girl had insisted on her attendance, and Maria could only give a non-committal response as she did not know how much longer she could keep pretending to be someone she was not.

But the dresses were ready for their first fitting. She wasn't formally trained in sewing, but she was nimble and creative, and she was proud of her creations.

Packing the dresses carefully in a big cardboard box, she made her way downstairs where the Captain was waiting in his car. He had offered to pick her up and have dinner with the family when he found out the dresses were ready to be fit, and she agreed. She would deny vehemently that she was looking for more and more ways to spend time with him, and if anyone asked, it was merely for the convenience of not having to ride the bus with a sizeable box in her possession.

"Good afternoon, Captain," Maria greeted warmly as she slid into the front seat.

"Good afternoon, Fraulein," Georg replied, smiling at her with the irresistible half-smile before assisting her with the box, situating it in the back seat. "I trust your day went well?"

She nodded in confirmation. "Yes, Ingrid played a few records on her old phonograph the whole day—it made working on the dresses so much more lovely."

"Oh? And what kind of music does Ingrid listen to?"

Maria shrugged, noting how the Captain deftly maneuvered the car through the tight streets of the neighborhood she currently lived in. "A lot of Mozart."

"Hm. Well, we are in his hometown," he supposed absently. "But I prefer Tchaikovsky."

"Oh, I do as well!"

Georg nodded, a gleam in his eyes as he heard the twinge of enthusiasm in Maria's tone. "A fan of Swan Lake, Fraulein?"

"Oh," she flushed. "I mean, I've only ever really listened to his music," she amended, a little embarrassed. "I've never been to the ballet before."

Georg ignored the sudden pang in his chest at the admission. Maria did not know it, but he had planned on taking her to the ballet in Paris. He had already secured tickets to the box. And indeed, Swan Lake was playing, the Bolshoi company in town supposedly at the same time they were.

"But I'd imagine it would be a spectacular sight," Maria continued, ignorant of the way Georg had tightened his hands just slightly at the wheel. "All the dancing and the music… the sets! Oh, it would probably be magical." She turned to Georg then. "You've surely been to the ballet."

Georg made a small noise in the back of his throat, startling a little out of his thoughts. "Yes," he replied, throat a little dry.

"Is it as beautiful as I imagine it would be?" she asked brightly, eyes locked on his profile while he tried to concentrate on driving.

"Yes, the ballet is certainly… beautiful."

Maria's brow furrowed. "You don't seem very convinced about it," she replied frankly. "I take you're not a fan?"

"Oh, I am," he was quick to reassure. "But after a while it could get a little… overwhelming, I suppose. It's a visual feast, and with the orchestra playing sonata after sonata, and the dancing—"

"You don't like dancing?" she cut him, eyes wide with curiosity.

He cleared his throat. "I like dancing," he answered a little gruffly. Never mind that the kind of dancing he actually enjoyed was something very specific. At his home. In the courtyard. With a certain young governess who moved with more grace than all of the Bolshoi's dancers combined.

Maria hummed, unconvinced. "You just don't like the ballet," she stated.

"It depends on the company."

Maria pursed her lips for a moment before she nodded in understanding. "I hear the Mariinsky company from St. Petersburg is exquisite."

For a second he furrowed his brow in confusion before he chuckled and shook his head. "Not that company. I mean, the person you're with, Fraulein."

She made a wordless 'O' at his explanation. Seconds passed before she sighed. "Liesl would surely dance beautifully at her party," she said wistfully. "Lots of young men must be waiting in line to dance with one of Salzburg's finest young ladies."

Georg choked a little. "I really wouldn't want to think about that."

"Captain, you must admit. Liesl is attractive. She's young and beautiful—surely you, as her father, would understand how she would have every young man's attention. And whatever are those waltzing lessons for if not to dance at a party thrown just for her."

"I'm still her father," he replied stiffly, discomfited by the idea of his Liesl being passed on from one man to the next for such a ridiculous notion of introducing her to society.

"No one's discounting that, Sir. I'm sure you're very proud of her."

Despite his discomfort, he gave her a small smile. Indeed, Liesl had grown into a fine young lady. He had unfairly laid on her shoulders the burden of caring for her brothers and sisters when their mother passed away, seemingly forgetting that Liesl was still a child. A grieving child at that. But she grew with grace in such difficult circumstances. Like edelweiss.

Without a word, Maria understood. She read the lines of pride in his face, the gleam of bittersweet nostalgia in his eyes. She couldn't blame him—she had known the girl only two years and yet it felt surreal that she transformed into a woman so quickly. For the Captain, the feeling must have come exponentially.

He turned his gaze towards her for a quick second, his eyes catching the spark of satisfaction on Maria's features.

"Fraulein," he started.

"Hmm?"

"I don't think Liesl would have grown as splendidly as she has without your help."

"Oh Captain, you give me far too much credit. You said I was only at your home for a summer."

He nodded tersely. "But it was a consequential summer."

"I'm sure all summers are consequential," she teased lightly.

He shook his head. "No, I'm serious Fraulein. The summer you were with us, things were vastly different. Perhaps I haven't been able to tell you the extent of the difference."

"Does it matter?" she asked warily.

"It does," he confirmed. "I was absent. I was an absent father," he admitted. Somehow, two years later and a whole lot of forgiveness from the children had not completely dulled the guilt or the shame he felt about how he treated them in his grief. "I was gone often, treated the home like one of my naval ships—even had a whistle signal for each of them!"

Maria flushed at the statement but remained wordless. Whistles, orders, no music and no laughing, Frau Schmidt had said to her on her first night at the villa.

"And I… I was courting a woman. One of Vienna's most eligible widows herself. Baroness Schraeder, you remember I mentioned her?"

"Yes, you did mention Baroness Schraeder," she replied, thinking back to the day Georg had said without much consequence that Elsa helped with the children. But really, she remembered the Baroness for far more than that. She had made her peace with what had happened with the Viennese woman, and even found herself delighted at the prospect of the girls having someone who was more their stature to look up to. Perhaps Elsa wasn't all that motherly, or ready to take on the role of mother seven rambunctious children, but she did have her redeeming qualities. She was graceful, elegant, classy and sophisticated, and the girls surely could pick up a thing or two from her poise. Maria didn't have much of that, admittedly.

Georg nodded. "It was all mapped out, and it seemed like a perfect match. I proposed to her, and we were going to marry before the summer ended."

Maria swallowed but kept still.

"But Elsa… she was used to a lifestyle I could not give her. I don't know how I imagined she would ever be a suitable mother to the children, but it appeared, over time, that she wasn't. Probably would never be, gaging off how uncomfortable she always seemed around them. She's different with them, now that we're just friends but…" he trailed, turning slightly to her. "You were the children's governess at that time. And whence before they were just… black and white in my eyes, when you came, suddenly they were in full color. I knew I couldn't marry Elsa then."

"I think you underestimate yourself. Surely it was your love and attention that brought them out of their shell, more than anything or anyone else."

"It was love and attention I could not give, you understand? But you," he chuckled. "You forced me to see what I was not giving, and how it was affecting the children. Stubborn and frank as ever. You saw to it that they bloomed. I think Liesl, and the rest of the children for that matter, would be vastly different people today if it weren't for your presence in our home that summer."

She was touched by the sentiment. And yet—she wanted to scream as well. If she meant so much to him and the children, how could he have let her go? Why did he let his own doubts cloud what was, according to him, one of the best things that could have happened to their family?

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded, offering a small smile whilst her heart felt like it would fall into nothing yet again. She couldn't understand how she felt about the Captain. There were times when she swooned and forgot all about their ugly past, and then there were times where she would be inexplicably angry. It was frustrating, not knowing how she truly felt, how her emotions always battled against each other, how ultimately, she had not made peace with the past.

"So, thank you," the Captain said gently.

"Oh, you've already thanked me before," she chided softly, voice hoarse, unable to take any more compliments. It felt like a sin to do so at this point! "Truly, there's no need to thank me again."

He would thank her every single day of her life, if he could. If she would let him. If he played his cards right, he could show her every minute just how grateful he was… to her and for her. He didn't believe he was giving her too much credit. On the contrary, he felt he wasn't giving enough. Without her less than gentle prodding and pushing, he would probably still be the wretched, ornery widow who knew nothing about raising seven children except to hire governess after governess.

"The children are amazing," she continued. "You've raised them well, despite the circumstances. And I think… I think you should be proud of yourself too. I know your wife would certainly be proud."

"I hope so," he replied quietly, thoughts drifting seamlessly into a picture of Agathe, her face so calm and reassuring, as if to remind him he was doing well.

He could see parts of Agathe in each and every one of his children. Why, Liesl had Agathe's smile, that dimple she had an exact replica of Agathe's. And Friedrich? He had Agathe's strong will to defend and to protect, perhaps why she had insisted on caring for Louisa and Marta when they had gotten down with scarlet fever. Nothing could have stopped her from caring for her children with her own two hands. And Louisa—Louisa was her spitting image, her dirty blonde hair and freckles a constant reminder of her. This was perhaps why it was hardest to be around Louisa when Agathe first passed. She reminded him of Agathe without even trying. Kurt had her sense of humor, Brigitta had her love for reading (although he would say this was fair play considering he himself had amassed a library with nothing but the world's best volumes), Marta had her quiet demeanor. And Gretl? Gretl had her influence—with nothing but a small frown or a sweet request, Georg was circling the world to fulfill it.

Years ago, he never would have been able to even think of the children in this way. He never would have scouted for their similarities, or opened his eyes to the parts of her that were still very much alive in their children. It was the young governess who spoke too honestly that coaxed all of this out him. In consequence, he got his family back. There was truly much to thank her for.

He had no doubt whatsoever that Agathe would have loved Maria. And that if Agathe had to handpick a person who would care for her children in her absence, who would devote her life to them in the way she had, Agathe would have chosen Maria. Maria's love was so unadulterated, asked for nothing in return, and watered the seeds in their children's hearts until they were flowers budding and waiting for spring. Yes, Agathe would have chosen Maria. Georg would have chosen her, too, without question or cause, if only he did not let himself doubt.

Hindsight, they say, has the clearest vision.

They continued the drive in amiable silence, Maria watching the greens around them, mesmerized always by nature. Georg, lost in his own thoughts, wondering all that could have been between them.


"Fraulein Maria, this is beautiful!" Gretl exclaimed as she admired her reflection in the mirror, the dress nearly finished except to ensure it fit the child well. It was the color of honey, and it complimented her hair.

"I'm glad you like it," Maria grinned, kneeling next to the girl to assess the fit. "Would you try moving around in it to see how comfortable you are?"

The girl wasted no time and tried to arabesque, her built not yet ready for such a pose, but her determination ever so present. And then she proceeded to twirl, giggling with absolute delight as the honey-colored dress twirled along with her, the soft fabric billowing freely around her legs.

"I love it!" Gretl cried happily. "Oh Fraulein, you make the best dresses!" she said, charging herself at Maria and hugging her, her chubby arms sliding smoothly around Maria's neck as she knelt on the floor.

"I don't know about that," Maria chuckled, but she wouldn't deny that her heart inflated just a tiny bit by Gretl's enthusiasm.

"It's true," Marta said from the bed, sitting on her hands to keep her from being too excited, and waiting patiently for her turn to see and fit her own dress. "You made play clothes!"

"Play clothes?" Maria feigned shock. "How ever did I manage that?"

"With drapes," said a low voice from the door, the Captain now leaning on the doorframe and smiling at a bouncing Gretl. "The children roamed about Salzburg dressed up in nothing but some old drapes from your bedroom."

"Oh," she flushed. "That must have been—"

"They had a marvelous time, Fraulein," Georg cut in swiftly, sensing an oncoming apology. "Children are meant to play, so said a wise woman to me once."

Maria raised a brow but did not comment, instead choosing to smile graciously at the Captain before making notes on where to tighten Gretl's dress.

"Alright," Maria declared. "You can shimmy out of this now, darling. I'll make sure it fits you perfectly the next time I come."

"Can I have five more minutes please, Fraulein Maria?" she pouted.

"Now, Gretl," Georg interjected. "You wouldn't want to spoil the dress before the party. It'll be wrinkled even before everyone has had the chance to see you wear such a beautiful dress."

Gretl looked at him unconvinced. Maria held back a chuckle. "Darling, it seems a bit loose now," Maria tried, "and princesses only wear clothes that fit them just right. Now, how about we take this off and when I return, it will be ready for the party."

Gretl finally grinned and nodded, allowing Maria to help her out of the dress and into her clothes from earlier in the evening.

"My turn!" Marta declared, finally jumping out of the bed. It amazed Maria how much self-control an 8 year old could possess—certainly far more she ever did at that age. Or really, up 'til now. She was impulsive as ever, and she could learn a thing or two from Marta.

Georg turned his back to allow Marta some privacy while Maria dressed her. He didn't know what possessed him to supervise the fittings. Normally he would just wait at the salon until news about the dresses came. But he loved seeing Maria interact with the children, yearned for it even. At dinner, when she laughed at all of Kurt's jokes and sounded very much enthused by all of the random trivia Brigitta was parroting from a book she had just read, Georg felt himself come alive. Supper was a lively and boisterous affair, louder than it had been in the previous years despite having 7 growing children. Maria made the children feel comfortable, like the most important people in the world, and he watched in awe as she expertly divided her attention so that each of the children would feel she was present for them. Of course, he had had her to himself on the drive to villa, and the same would be true on the drive back to her apartment. He wouldn't want to compete for her attention in front of the children. But he had no doubt that if he did, she would still be able to add him into her marvelous balancing act. It was only true of a heart that expanded graciously.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Marta's high-pitched squeak, a sound he recognized to be his second youngest trying to contain her excitement. He turned around to see her flouncing without prompt in the pink dress she had requested. It was tulle, Georg knew. And she looked like she had just come out of the set of Swan Lake.

"Marta, my dear, you look breathtaking!" he complimented, making her beam with delight.

She tried a few twirls, just as Gretl did, not waiting for Maria to tell her to do so. She couldn't help it. The dress literally begged to be twirled in.

"I take it you like it," Maria gathered with a grin, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Marta.

"Thank you, Fraulein Maria. This is the prettiest dress I've ever owned," she said honestly, chocolate brown eyes so earnest, it made Maria's heart melt.

"I'm glad to be of service," she winked, before she had the girl face the mirror so she could assess where adjustments were needed.

Georg watched the girls fawn over their dresses and thank Maria endlessly, with Maria only glowing with love for them. It was clear to anyone with eyes just how much joy the children brought her, and how she took great pleasure in keeping them all satisfied. Their happiness was her happiness, and Georg highly doubted that he would find someone who rivaled the magnitude of his feelings for the children.

Marta reluctantly took the dress off when she was asked, assured by the promise that the party was only a few weeks away and that she could twirl in it as much as she wished when that day arrived.

"Now," Georg said with authority. "How about we all join the others downstairs? It seems they're occupied with a game."

"A game?" Gretl questioned, hopping up next to her father and straining her neck to look at him.

Georg nodded with a pat on her head. "Uncle Max has brought a game, smuggled in from the United States. I'm not sure if you girls would be interested in it, but perhaps you'd like to try."

"What is it?" Marta asked excitedly, sidling up next to Gretl just as Maria stood up to straighten Marta's dress and put it back in the box.

"I believe it's called Lexiko."

"That doesn't sound like fun," Gretl pouted.

Georg chuckled. "It's a word game, darling. And your sister Brigitta has beaten Kurt at it two rounds in a row."

"Brigitta is good with words," Marta mused thoughtfully.

"Yes," he agreed. When Max pulled out the board and its tiles and explained the objective of the game, Georg was certain Brigitta would outperform everyone on it. It was a game invented just for her.

"That sounds like fun," Maria said, walking over to the trio with the big box under her arm.

"Oh, allow me," Georg tried to insist, reaching out to grab the box.

"Captain, the box weighs about a fourth of Gretl. I can manage," she reassured him, flashing him a cheeky smile.

"Very well," he acquiesced. "Let it never be said that you did not get your way."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't you deny it, Fraulein. You always insist on your way, as is right because you're usually correct—but it's true. You're not used to yielding."

Maria narrowed her eyes at the Captain's playful tone. "Are you saying that I… do not like to be incorrect? Or that I cannot take critique?"

"Well," the Captain said thoughtfully, "no one likes to be incorrect, don't they? Especially me," he admitted.

Maria hummed but continued giving him a suspicious look.

"But, you find it difficult to yield. And when you do… you're—"

"A sore loser?" Maria supplied blandly.

"You're nothing if not determined, Fraulein, is all I'm trying to say," he replied, both hands up in mock surrender. "But perhaps you would be a sore loser if you lost to me in this new game Max has brought."

Maria gave him a skeptical look before her eyes drifted to the grandfather clock across the hall. "Somehow I don't think it would be a good idea to play at this time of night."

Georg raised a brow. "Are you afraid you might lose, Fraulein?" he taunted playfully. When Gretl giggled, he sent her a short wink, which made her giggle even more.

"Lose?" Maria asked incredulously. "And afraid? Why, I'll have you know that there's very little that scares me."

"Then it's settled then."

"What?"

"We'll go down to the salon and have at it. One on one. Shall we?"


It was impossible to play the game in German. That was the first thing Maria noticed when she saw the board and sat opposite the Captain on the playing table. The children gathered around them, excited by the prospect of their father facing off with their beloved Fraulein. It wouldn't be the first they had faced off, but this was by far one of the most exhilarating, where there wasn't any tension between the two adults who constantly bickered.

Maria knew Georg could speak several languages. He spoke French fluently, that much she'd heard while he prepared the itinerary for their honeymoon. He also spoke Italian, because he was born in Zadar, a part of Italy under the Treaty of Rapallo, and learned the language through time. And English? Well, suffice to say the entire household could speak English, seeing as their mother was part English.

She knew English, perhaps more than the children were aware of even as she tutored them over the summer. She read just as voraciously as Brigitta, and books by English authors were some of her favorites. In fact, she could so easily identify with Jane Eyre, a governess falling in love with her mysterious employer. Life imitating fiction as it was.

With the way the Captain was looking at her—challenging, even a little smug, Maria knew he was probably underestimating her. The thought should have made her indignant, but she knew such an underestimation was to her advantage. There were a of lot things this family did not know about her, and it was moments like this, where the layers were peeled back between all of them, that she yearned for when they were first engaged.

Max explained the rules of engagement briefly, making sure they both understood. Brigitta was designated as the scorekeeper while the rest of the children gathered around them, excited at the prospect of their mother—their Fraulein—battling head on with their father.

Georg played first, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I'll take it easy on you, Fraulein Maria. I promise."

M-U-S-I-C

Maria scrunched up her nose. "There's no need for that," she replied, pulling the tiles she was about to play.

C-R-E-A-T-E

Beside her, Marta smiled, nuzzling her nose against her Fraulein's neck as if to convey how proud she was for taking on the challenge. Maria kissed the tip of her nose in return.

Georg looked between Maria and his daughter, smiling in spite of his competitiveness. It was a sweet sight to behold, at any given time, to see Maria with any of the children. Such displays of affection were always so warmly given and received, like a bank that never ran out.

But before he could get distracted by the image of Maria and his children, he turned his attention back on the game.

M-A-I-D-E-N, Georg had spelled out, with Brigitta announcing that he was leading by a fraction.

At his smug look, Maria rolled her eyes. They were very early in the game. There was a lot of time to catch up. But something in that smug look suddenly made Maria uncomfortable, as if she had just realized how little Georg knew of her. He had discarded her because she knew little of the world, but didn't he know too little of her to discard her so soon, too?

Steeling herself, she played. E-N-G-A-G-E

"Just reminding you that if you use up all 7 of your tiles in one turn, you get extra points," Brigitta explained enthusiastically, unaware of Georg tilting his head at the word Maria played.

Clearing is throat and hiding his discomfort expertly, Georg pulled out his letters.

L-E-A-D, he played, trying to direct the game to neutral ground.

Without flinching, Maria took her turn. D-E-N-I-E-D

"The first double word score!" Brigitta exclaimed triumphantly, beaming at Maria. Maria smiled back at her while she replenished her tiles, avoiding Georg's questioning gaze.

D-A-N-C-E-S, Georg played, missing a triple word score by two tiles. But Liesl grinned at her father, no doubt in anticipation of the prospect of all the dancing at her debutante ball.

"That's a good word, Father," Liesl encouraged from beside him.

"Indeed," Georg replied gruffly, raising a brow at her. The word wasn't meant for her. It was for Maria. Could she ever remember the dance that they had shared? The one that opened both their eyes to the fact that they were madly in love with each other?

Maria gave the Captain a meaningful look.

B-R-O-K-E-N

Brigitta bubbled excitedly as Maria hit the second double word score, leaving Georg scoring poorly next to her. The children giggled and Friedrich rallied behind his father, encouraging him to catch up.

Except, Georg didn't think this was the purpose of the game at all. It seemed to him that Maria was… revealing herself, in a way. She probably did not remember the stories or the people, but she remembered the pain. And she was playing with the pain on the blasted game Max had brought in that day. His conscience was having a field day.

Steeling himself, Georg looked between his tiles and the board with military precision, calculating and planning with the mind of a naval Captain. He could be tactical too, not just in scoring, but revealing his inner thoughts.

W-R-O-N-G

Georg's tiles had hit a double word score, earning him a proud grin from Brigitta.

"W is a good letter, too," she had added. "And you've got yourself a double letter on the G."

"Excellent play, Father," Friedrich coached from behind him. But it was lost on Georg. He watched Maria furrow her brow in concentration, Marta and Gretl snuggled close to her and looking between the tiles and her face. Well, Maria was nothing if not determined, did he not say earlier that evening?

Concentrating for a moment longer, a twinkle in her eye came to be. Georg watched expectantly as she played her turn.

A-S-S-U-A-G-E-D

"That's all seven letters!" Brigitta yelled, almost toppling the board in her excitement. "And you hit the triple word score! Oh Fraulein, you're a natural at this game!"

"It seems she is," Max commented in amusement from the corner of the salon, glancing at Georg who had stiffened in his spot.

"Assuaged, Fraulein?" Georg asked.

She nodded. "Yes Sir. Do you doubt it is a word?"

"No," he replied, but Louisa was pulling out the dictionary before he could say anything further.

"Assuage," Louisa started, "to make an unpleasant feeling less intense."

"That's a good word, Fraulein Maria," Brigitta admitted. "Your English is terrific."

Maria shrugged, taking in the look of pride from all the children and not certain how she was to feel. They meant well, of course. They usually did. But the way they marveled at her now made her feel like she was correct this entire time—that this family did not know her completely. That Georg didn't. And what made it all the more wretched was that he had given her up even when she was committed to allowing this family to know her to the core. To leave nothing to imagination, to allow herself to be so raw and vulnerable and unadulterated as she had never been before in her life.

"I like to read too," she addressed Brigitta, a half-smile on her lips. "Perhaps not as insatiably as you darling." She turned to the Captain then. "It's your turn, Sir."

The Captain held her gaze for a quick moment before he shook his head and studied his tiles. Friedrich leaned from behind him, trying to figure out his father's next move. He looked at his letters. He had enough tiles to spell out the word F-O-R-G-I-V-E, but nowhere on the board to fit it. It would use up all his letters, and oh how he wanted to gain the same advantage Fraulein Maria did. But playing the word also felt like a plea, a silent message, an imploration for her mercies.

But no matter how he tilted his head to squeeze the word in, it would not fit. It was, perhaps, a reminder that asking for her forgiveness was premature.

He sighed, resigning himself to the subtle message the universe was sending him, and then played.

D-I-V-E

Liesl peered at Georg, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. It was the most uninspired play at such a time, especially after Maria just copped out a significant score from her last turn. When she looked at him expectantly, he just shrugged.

Maria frowned at the word Georg had put on the board, but she did not dare cheat and see what letters were behind his holder and why he was looking rather disappointed. Instead, she forged through.

L-E-A-V-E, she played, the double entendre not lost on her. He had left her—broken and bent and tattered and torn and all sorts of confused. But oh, did a part of her also want to leave the past behind and move forward. It was a jumble of emotions inside her, she wasn't entirely certain how she was handling it all.

"That's a double word, Fraulein," Brigitta informed her dutifully. Maria nodded, not trusting herself to speak around the lump that was suddenly lodged in her throat. A double word for a double entendre. Just swell!

Friedrich glanced at Georg's letters and then the board, knowing even without much inclination from his father exactly what his next play would be. He exchanged a knowing look with Liesl, who bit her lip to hold back a smile.

Sighing, Georg set his tiles in motion.

L-O-V-E

Maria's eyes widened only slightly, her reaction drowned out by Brigitta's triumphant exclamation.

"That's a double word, Father!"

"Yes," was Georg's short response. He knew he was still lagging behind points-wise, but at this moment in time he cared very little. The competitive edge he had walking into this game had melted away, replaced by something he could only describe as magnetic, a force that was oscillating between him and Maria without either of them really understanding what it was. The room started to feel stuffy, stifling, like there wasn't enough air to breathe. Not when she was sitting a table's length away from him, playing this game as if she were communicating with him. But how could she? How could she be communicating a message she did not know the context to?

He decided the force was probably only in his mind, and that Maria was just rising to the occasion. After all, he had challenged her to this duel of sorts.

Maria, seemingly unbothered by the conflict in Georg's features, reached out to set her tiles.

S-C-A-N-T

"Scant," she said aloud as she set the tiles on the board.

Gretl looked up at her curiously. "What does that mean, Fraulein Maria?"

Before she knew it, all the children were looking at her, the Oxford dictionary in Louisa's hand forgotten. She shrugged. "It means… not enough," she explained to the young girl. When Gretl did not seem mollified, she continued. "Erm, lacking, darling. Or, inadequate."

"Inadequate?" Gretl repeated, even more confused.

"It just means something is not enough, darling. Barely sufficient. Like, let's see," she said, looking around the children. "For Kurt, cookies are probably always scant."

Gretl giggled and the other children smiled, earning herself a wide grin from Kurt. His boyish features were only just becoming a man, and he still possessed the childlike wonder of a little boy. It made Maria's heart soar.

"Is Kurt… scant?" Marta asked curiously.

Maria bit her lip. "Oh, darling—"

"I think it can be used to describe a person," Louisa cut in, teasingly elbowing Kurt.

"Oh, shut up," Kurt replied, rolling his eyes.

Maria watched the children banter while she pondered on the question. Can a person be… scant? Not enough?

Surely they can.

It was exactly how she felt when Georg had left her, was it not? She felt small, meager, excruciatingly inadequate. But before she could dwell on the matter for any longer, the grandfather clock at the end of the hall chimed 9:00pm. The children's bedtime was upon them, and the game would have to be left unfinished.

Brigitta had declared Fraulein Maria the winner, but she did not even feel like gloating. Instead, she felt little joy in the victory, and little relief from the Captain's magnetic presence.


In the days following Marta and Gretl's first fitting, Georg was restless. Bringing Maria home and having her spend time with the children was not only a rediscovery of the things they all used to know and love about the young governess, but also an eye-opener. It occurred to him that in the weeks of their engagement, while they had gently peeled back the layers of each other, revealing light and darkness, complexities and reverence, they had not done so enough. For here Maria was, in all the youthful wonder that surrounded her, but also with facets Georg found himself unfamiliar with. It was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

There was little doubt in his mind that this Maria was a different person from the one he had been engaged to two years prior. The Maria he knew did not have pain in her eyes, insecurity sitting on her shoulders, a certain air of sadness clinging to her bones. The Maria they were getting to know now, although still as clever and kind and beautiful, had spaces within her that were filled with questions. Doubt. Fear. Where once the woman he loved was fearless and hopeful, the Maria he brought to his home had the slightest indication of caution.

For one thing, he wasn't even aware she spoke English! He had naively assumed she knew only German, perhaps an elementary level of a few other languages as she helped the children in their studies as governess. She gave little inclination over that summer about this particular facet of her—a small one, but it seemed to Georg almost like the tip of an iceberg. It was only proof that there was so much more to learn about her, and her of him, and that they hardly scratched the surface over their engagement.

He did not know her. He now doubted whether he ever did. But what was quintessential about her still remained until he realized that indeed people changed. They grew and they evolved, and the process of getting to know someone happened over the course of a lifetime. He knew he loved Agathe with all of his heart, but in retrospect it seemed he most likely did not know everything there was to know about her, and it was having the chance to that was snatched unceremoniously from his hands that made losing her painful. With Maria, the doubt he let shadow about all that was wrong about their relationship clouded the enviable and exciting prospect of spending his entire life knowing her and loving her and watching her become the woman God intended for her to be.

In recognizing the differences between the governess who all but smacked him in the head to knock some sense into him and the woman Maria was now (still full of life, but jaded, hardened, and yet still so determined to live life to the fullest), he also recognized that he loved her anyway. He loved her in all her forms, in all her versions, in every state of life she was in. She was determined in the face of so much uncertainty—from her past and from her present, and he found that he loved her even more for it.

He knew without question that letting his doubts overshadow how strongly he felt for her was one of the worst mistakes he'd ever made in his life, the first being ever being neglectful of the children after Agathe's passing. So much remorse coursed through him, but intertwined with the remorse was a resolution to make things right.

Was he worthy? Probably not. If he were Maria, he would scoff at the attempt and brush it off as if it counted for nothing. But he was nothing if not indomitable, and if he had to face his heartaches, look his mistake straight in the eye, stand toe to toe with the knowledge of all he had done wrong, then so be it. She had unknowingly given him hope, that day at the café when she said she understood why her fiancé had left her. It gave him hope that perhaps there was a chance to set things right. He tried to shush the voice that told him she may have understood, but it did not mean things were forgiven. Instead, he focused on the goal—have a real chance with her, no matter the consequences.


When Maria first confronted the Captain after the unfortunate time the boat capsized into the lake, she had begged him to see the children. To love the children. To be their father. And in the days following that fateful fight, she had seen with her own two eyes how much Georg had transformed. From cantankerous and obsessive with order, to doting and loving and adoring. It was a transformation she counted herself blessed to have witnessed, and she often thanked the Lord for allowing her to be even just the slightest instrument for such a turn of events.

Since then, it brought Maria much joy to see the Captain interacting with the children. It made them feel loved and cared for, whenever he helped Louisa with a particularly troublesome trigonometry question, or when he offered to help Kurt and Friedrich build a model ship. There was no missing the twinkle in Brigitta's eyes when she would be handed a volume he enjoyed reading and knew she would too, or the joy written so clearly on Marta and Gretl's faces whenever he would sit down at their tea party, looking impeccable, and impeccably out of place, too. And there was absolutely no mistaking the comfort it brought Liesl to finally be able to talk about her mother with him, and have him reciprocate in a way that did not make her want to cower or hesitate.

But mostly, it was the clear awe and joy indelible on the Captain's features each time such an occurrence happened that made Maria's heart leap. The children relished in their father's presence, forgave him for all his faults, and welcomed him into their lives so willingly. What this did to the Captain was even more of a blessing to witness. As much as she loved the children, she knew she for sure she was falling in love with him when she saw the joy he brought them returned in equal measure. From absentee father, he had become the very essence of a proud one. And it made Maria's heart swell.

In the times the Captain had brought her to the villa to meet the children after her "accident", she had witnessed many similar instances. The children had grown, of course, and their interests varied and evolved along with them. But the Captain remained at the helm of it all, helping Marta with her French, Kurt with his geometry, Liesl with her essay on 18th century English poets, and Gretl with her piano. He remained doting, willing to be a part of their lives as if he were still making up for the years he spent being absent.

It was hard to admit at first, but the sight of him being the perfect father sent a lump to her throat that was hard to swallow around. She still found great pleasure in seeing him interact with the children, and it was those same interactions that made her heart swoon even when she was disallowed from having such feelings for the man. Why, he had practically humiliated her when he walked away from their engagement! But it hardly mattered now, did it? She never stopped loving him, and seeing him talk and play and treat the children so wonderfully reminded her of all the reasons she was immensely willing to devote her life to this family.

But where was she to begin now? There was an old adage about being fooled twice, and she would not be the idiot who would allow such a thing to happen again. And yet, despite the absolute fear of once again being the fool, her heart was in a constant battle of tug-of-war—to allow herself to feel what she felt for the Georg (undying love, as it was), or to hold on to the lessons she had learned from the past (that he was a bit of a scoundrel and very capable to hurting her).

She sent her eyes heavenward, for there was no way she could navigate this tricky situation without divine intervention. She was certain the guardian angel the good Lord had sent her was unquestionably exhausted.


AN: Lexiko is a real game, an earlier version of Scrabble that was around in the 30s. :) Hope you're all staying safe wherever your are in the world! Thank you for reading up to this point. :) Til the next chapter!