It turns out between homeschooling during another lockdown and Mother Nature's snow days and the insanity that has been working during omicron, my timeline was a *little* ambitious.
The story becomes a bit more... ?canon divergent from here, but I think it was sort of about here I realized I needed to move things along if I ever wanted to wrap things up!
Thank you all for reading! xx
(from a stack of letters tied up with string in Fraulein Maria's carpetbag)
xxx
Dear Fraulein,
You came to the festival for my children, it was only right I drove you back to the Abbey afterward. Perhaps I should be the one thanking you, for salvaging an evening that would otherwise be spent in the company of Max's new show business friends. I am as mystified as you how he managed to find so many people who happen to be just like him. He has been gleefully basking in the children's success all week. In blessed contrast, it was nice to hear your quiet stories of the Abbey, including the one about kissing the floor. Had that been a tenet at the villa, would it have made you more inclined to abide by the rules?
The children really were wonderful, weren't they? Now, I can see that smug smile on your face. I admit it, you were right. I am a proud father, even if their costumes were a bit colourful for my taste. My smile stretched ear to ear to see the audience stand and demand an encore. Wherever my wife is now, she would be wearing the same smug expression you are. She always believed in them.
The bouquet of roses you presented the children is sitting in a vase as the dining room centerpiece. They are unusually fragrant. I never knew nuns were such incredible horticulturists. When they start to wilt, the girls want to press the flowers into their books, so they might remember the best night of their lives forever. How is that for sentimentality? I haven't decided if their behaviour counts as excitability, but I'll let it slide. They have otherwise been model children, as you promised they would be.
Fraulein, you need to know you have nothing to prove where the children are concerned. So Long, Farewell was of course a fitting choice for their encore piece, for obvious reasons. I was surprised to hear in your letter you felt the need to recreate it – to make anything up to the children at all. Just think how cheerfully they said goodbye. The children have never believed you abandoned them, and in these past weeks, you have shown that you have not, wherever you may be.
And for the record, Fraulein, a proper goodbye involves a gentleman walking a lady to her door, whether she lives at the Abbey or elsewhere, as opposed to her bolting out of the car and dashing off into the night. I hope you will remember it for the next time.
Yours most sincerely,
Captain von Trapp
PS. Please do not suggest any more bakeries, restaurants, or cafes to Max. Strudels have been arriving by the double dozen all week. I don't know what he hopes to do with all of these. Even Kurt has started refusing them.
xxx
xxx
Fraulein Maria, my greatest collaborator,
We did it! Wasn't that a grand concert? The children were magnificent. Salzburg is abuzz over their performance. Even if Georg refuses to allow them to perform again – and God forbid I even the teensiest bit, very circumferentially, I might add, suggest the idea of touring – Max Detweiler has made a splash in the industry, no small thanks to you. I do hope Georg will continue to let them sing to their hearts content. They really seem to love it, those darlings.
I'm sending you this box of strudels in celebration. I myself marked the occasion with a bottle of Georg's finest bubbly, but of course, your Reverend Mother would never allow that blasphemy into her sacred space.
Newly minted vocal choir manager,
Max Detweiler (newly designed massive flourish befitting his new role)
xxx
xxx
Dearest Fraulein Maria,
Louisa and I walked by the Abbey yesterday evening. Father asked us to drop off nine boxes of strudel to the home for the poor. We could hear the nuns singing during vespers. Were you amongst them? It made us think of you.
We're all looking forward to the start of school, especially Gretl, who as you know will be starting primary. And of course, it's going to be my last year. We were talking about it just yesterday, why it feels so different this year. I think it's mostly because we had such a good summer. We went on so many adventures, and spent so much time outdoors, and had more fun than I ever remember us having. And of course, the concert! It really feels like we made the most of it, and there can only be more to come.
Speaking of excitement, father had a funny misadventure last week. His car broke down on his way to collect Baroness Schraeder from the train station. He insists he waited for somebody to pass by, but I feel he probably just became impatient. He was close to the estate of an old friend of his, so he walked there. He told us he tried the house, but nobody was home except the old barn hand. Max says if father even pretended to appreciate the gossip, he would know that Herr Muller was away on a hunting trip. In any case, father says he had to resort to his final recourse, and persuaded the barn hand to lend him one of Herr Muller's horses. He vows he only wanted to reach a telephone, but the train station was closer. Obviously, Baroness Schraeder refused to go home with him on a horse and hailed a cab back to the villa on her own. Father doing such an impulsive thing, can you imagine, Fraulein Maria? I think Gretl and Marta were secretly thrilled to imagine father as a hero on a horse. As for Baroness Schraeder, I don't think she was so impressed.
Baroness Schraeder brought six suitcases back with her. I feel sure it must all be dresses because she wears something new every day. Father likes to tease her about it. He says us country-folk wear clothes until they are worn through and some of us even make do with used upholstery. I never thought he'd see the funny side of the clothes you made us from the curtains. Baroness Schraeder is certainly very stylish. She said she would teach me to put on makeup, but I don't think father approves of young girls using makeup. She offered to teach Louisa too. Louisa had to fake choking on her salad to hide how she felt about it and had to excuse herself to her room.
Love,
Liesl
xxx
xxx
(letter in an unmarked, unaddressed envelope)
Dear Captain,
I am writing to tell you I am leaving.
And I love you.
You are stubborn, unreasonable, hot-tempered, and oddly possessive about adhering to completely arbitrary household rules. You are kind, and generous, thoughtful and tender.
When the Baroness told me I had fallen in love with you, I didn't want to believe it.
But I do. I am. I do love you. I am in love with you. I might have started loving you the moment you blew that silly whistle.
This is the plain truth. But oh, Captain, I don't know how to be honest with you.
And so, I am leaving.
I can face Liesl. The children have forgiven me and between you and the Baroness, they will be alright. I can face Max, who will only be delighted. And Heaven knows he's made enough questionable decisions in his own life. But you – you will scoff and glare and ask why, and you won't settle until I tell you the truth. You will call me a coward and accuse me of disappointing the children. You always use the children to get your way, because you know how much I care for them. Captain, I would do it for you, too.
You are engaged. Soon to be married. To a beautiful, sophisticated, intelligent woman. I should be happy for you.
But oh, Captain, I wish things were different.
I wish it every day.
I wish our one dance together might have ended differently. That when you looked at me in that way and I couldn't look away, that you might have kissed me right then so I would not be left wondering how it would feel if you had.
I wish Baroness Schraeder had not brought me to my senses that night, had not made it so pitifully clear how I felt about you, when I had no right to do so. Since that night, I have been acutely, painfully, excruciatingly aware of it.
I do love you.
I wish you knew how my heart leapt when I received your first letter.
I wish you knew how long I dithered before responding to it. Then I read it again and again to make sure it sounded like nothing more than Fraulein Maria, former governess to your children.
Every letter from you is both too much, and not enough. Every time we see each other, it's painful. And yet saying goodbye is worse.
I will say it, this time. In person. Or else you might never let me live it down.
And then I will be on my way. And oh, I will miss the children. But Captain, not only the children, and that I hope you never know.
What I cannot face is not that I am leaving. What I cannot face is that I am leaving, because I am in love with you.
xxx
xxx
(on the back on above letter never meant to be sent)
Dear Captain,
I have been greedily collecting letters from the villa for the last few weeks, without sending a reply to any of you.
I have news, but I've been delaying the moment until I needed to share it. Until I have to say yet another goodbye to you, to the children, yes, even to Max, who has somehow grown to be an extension of your family. As you're quite aware, I'm not very good at it, though with practice, I seem to be getting better.
I have decided to leave the Abbey. The Reverend Mother has encouraged me to take a position teaching music for a small boarding school run by nuns in Groningen, Holland. I've accepted. I may be gone a year, perhaps longer. Perhaps I will learn to call Holland home. I hear they make delicious caramel waffles.
If it doesn't pose an inconvenience, I'd like to drop by the house sometime in the next week or following and see the children. You might observe that I can, indeed, say a proper goodbye. You could have cook pop your extra strudels in the freezer and thaw them for a little tea party when I come.
Sincerely,
Maria Rainer
(written with large exclamation points across the page) Do NOT send!
xxx
xxx
Dear Fraulein,
Groningen! You are one surprise after another, Fraulein. I apologize for the tardiness of my reply, but I was well and truly flummoxed, and did not know what to think.
I take it you have decided not to pursue your postulancy, then? While I am sure you would have made a fine nun, I did wonder whether any amount of time or solemnity would have cured you of singing in the hallways or running away to the mountains. In all seriousness Fraulein, you have many remarkable qualities to offer the world, and I guarantee there are any number of people who would be so lucky to benefit from them.
I do have to wonder, what changed your mind? I did not know… did not dare think, that you were amendable to changing that particular trajectory.
I have been to Groningen on several occasions. It's a charming town, but are you sure you want to stay the year? Northern Holland gets awfully damp in the winter.
Well, if teaching a flock of children to warble and play the piano and flute (and my children can attest there is no one better than you) in an idyllic, waffle-laden town is what you want to do, far be it for me to discourage you. Just know that should you need a change of scenery or more strudel or a different set of children to marshal, you are always welcome to come back to us.
Of course you may come to visit the children. Any day, any time after school. I think you'll be hard pressed to find any of the children taking strudel for tea at this point, but cook might whip up a nice batch of doughnuts for your visit.
Sincerely,
Captain von Trapp
xxx
xxx
My dear Fraulein Maria,
Georg has always said that I am too much, and I am inclined to agree. I like more. More to see, more to do, more to imbue. You, my dear, are rather like me, I've always thought. Perhaps that is why we get along so fabulously. Sure, I'm outrageous, and you're sweet – although Georg says you're plenty feisty, but I'm sure I hardly know what he means. I like indulgence, you like hard work. I'm a child, you're a purposeful young woman. But we're alike in what matters. You see more, do more, believe the world is yours for the taking.
A life of prayer and contemplation is well and good, but you would be as much suited to that life as I would be as a friar in a monastery. Just the thought of it makes me shudder. I may need to pause my pen for a drink.
I can see you frowning. You looked uncertain and pale and a little queasy when you visited. I can't decide which of you looked more miserable – the children, you, or Georg. What I can say for the children; they know they can't pretend, so they don't even try. But you, my Fraulein – you don't want to leave, even though you don't belong. You can't bear to examine what you've left behind, and yet, that is all you want.
Some men may be completely blind to what is in front of their very eyes, but I am not. I feel for you, Fraulein, but such is life.
As your confidant of shameless excess and unburdened cheer, I'm here to remind you that people like you and I, we move forward in style. We dance through life and light up the stage.
Do not fret, my dear Fraulein. There will be a place for you yet.
I myself will be headed to England in a matter of weeks. There is some theatre business in the London West End awaiting Max Detweiler. What do you say to traveling together? I could see you to Groningen, then continue onward to London. Who knows what adventures await us.
Your friend,
Max Detweiler (flourish)
xxx
xxx
Dear Fraulein Maria,
Not kind. Practical. Georg is willing to fund my fare if I make myself useful.
Oh, my dear, you wear your heart on your sleeve. And what sort of gentleman do you take me for? Of course, not a word to Georg.
Max
PS. Oh yes, the nesting dolls are sweet, aren't they? I introduced the children to a most excellent toymaker that I know. If it were up to Georg, he would have whittled it himself, not in the least because he doesn't know any toymakers, that hermit. You're very welcome. The children painted it themselves. I believe it was Friedrich who did the one meant to be you. I think they wanted you to have something to remember them by but were sensibly mindful of not sending you with too much. Clever things.
xxx