i can't make it go away by making you a villain
Maria was restless.
She tossed and turned what seemed to be a hundred times with no avail – she couldn't quiet her racing thoughts.
That man had to be one of the most insufferable men she had ever met. She had thought that very thought down in the foyer while he was barking orders at her and blowing that bloody whistle at his children as if they were animals.
She began to try and reason with herself. He was her employer, and she had been more than a little outspoken – another nasty habit she was sure that had been considered when the Reverend Mother had decided to send her away for a while. She also had to remember that the man was grieving, and he was bringing up seven children on his own.
Ever since the Captain lost his poor wife, he runs this house as if he were on one of his ships again. Whistles. Orders. No more music, no more laughing. Nothing that reminds him of her – even the children.
Certainly, she could empathize with that, couldn't she? Hadn't she gone through enough loss in her own life to understand how it could be all consuming at times?
She frowned. Yes, he was grieving, but there were seven other people who were grieving the same loss, and they needed him now more than ever. No, she didn't think she could empathize with the cold, distant way he took his grief out on his children.
The children had been unrelenting that afternoon with their tricks and their advice – which was sure to get her fired. She had briefly wondered whether or not she would make it through until the end of the day, let alone the end of summer. Could she possibly undergo the scrutiny of her employer and the pranks of his children for the next few months?
She had known the answer before she had even asked the question. Of course, she could. She knew it was His will for her to be here, that she had a role to play in these children's lives, and she would see it through. The tricks were simply a test of her patience, a test of her compassion. Besides, she didn't believe that the children were malicious in the slightest. Behind the sly glances she could seven children who wanted to be just that – children.
Every trick, every lie only made her want to help them more. It was clear that they longed for attention and a little compassion – neither of which they had seemed to be getting much of previously. It broke Maria's heart to know that these children had been expected to grow up far before their time. It was clear in the way Liesl spoke, and the way Friedrich carried himself, and the way Louisa was wary to trust. It was clear in the way that Kurt avoided her eyes, and the way Brigitta hid behind her stories, and while the two youngest von Trapps had seemingly taken to her, that certainly could not be said for the rest.
It wasn't until the booms of thunder had sounded directly over the house, and the children had decided to seek comfort in the only place that seemed plausible. Maria. Why they had decided to seek her out, she wasn't entirely sure. Considering she had made them cry at dinner, it was curious how they ended up turning to her for comfort. Then again, where else were they to go?
For a moment she thought she was getting somewhere. For a moment, she had seen the smiles breakout onto the children's faces – genuine smiles of joy and amusement. She thought there had been hope then, hope that they were warming up to her. Of course, it was then that she nearly ran headfirst into the Captain.
She had been mortified at the way the children fell into line, the way their faces had fallen so quickly from laughter to stoic faced soldiers. And the way he had looked at them! As if they were no more than cadets who had fallen out of line. He had looked upon her with the same gaze.
It was maddening. It all seemed so very wrong. They are children, for heaven's sake!
Yes, and I'm their father.
His reply echoed around the corners of her mind, leaving a bad taste in her mouth.
Insufferable.
However, the reminder came to Maria that come the morning, the Captain would be gone. He would not be there to bark orders or blow whistles. She would not be under his scrutiny for every rule she broke. The children would not be oppressed under his many expectations. The thought alone lifted a weight from her chest and breathing became a little easier.
Tomorrow was a new day, a new start to her relationship with the children. Whatever they had to throw at her, she had seen a glimpse of what they could be, of what they wanted to be. She had seen the playful laughter and bright eyes. She knew those qualities existed in each of them, she just had to draw it out of them again.
Besides, perhaps if the Captain came back and saw how happy his children could truly be with a bit of leniency and some compassion, he might change his tune.
It was an image that made her fall asleep with a smile on her face.
Georg was restless.
His entire body felt on edge as he stared up at the ceiling. While the silk sheets called him to sleep, he simply couldn't shut his eyes without seeing her standing there, blatantly disobeying him.
She was maddening.
If he hadn't been so achingly desperate to go to Vienna the next morning, he might have fired her. Not only had her little performance at dinner ruined his meal completely, but she had entirely disregarded the bedtime that he had emphasized was to be strictly observed.
He didn't think it was very difficult to stick to the rules he had in place. Was it? He didn't think he asked for that much. He simply wanted to raise his children with routine and discipline. They would thank him for it when they were older. That was what he told himself.
He ran a hand over his face, the grimace in his features unwavering – he feared it was permanently etched there.
He once again found himself wondering why the Reverend Mother had sent her here. She had said herself that she was much more trouble at the Abbey. Was this a way for the Reverend mother to get her out of her care? Or did the Reverend Mother actually have faith in this slip of a girl to discipline and care for his children? He was leaning towards the former.
In each interaction they had, as few as they were – and yet, not few enough – she had been hellbent on challenging him. She seemed to delight in questioning and pushing his temper. Did she have any idea how close he already was to unravelling?
Yes, he was certain that leaving in the morning was the best course of action. She had been there only half a day and she had already driven him to madness with her cheery disposition and her insubordination. He wasn't sure he could survive another whole day.
He groaned, turning over on his side and closing his eyes. It was hopeless. There he saw her, dancing around the room with his children in that tent of a nightgown. She had looked utterly ridiculous, bouncing around singing some tune about bee stings and dog bites. He groaned into his pillow.
He couldn't deny that as challenging as she was, there was something courageous about her. He remembered the way she had called his name as he had set to leave her room. She had spoken it with a commanding tone most people didn't dare to address him with. It had caused him to turn, to look her over. He could see the hesitation in her eyes, but she stood straight and tall and looked him directly in the eyes as she asked him for materials for clothes for the children. She must have known the odds of his answer, and yet, she had asked it anyways with every confidence despite the dressing down he had just given her. Her repetitious nature had annoyed him to no end, and yet he found something about it impressive.
The way she continued to stand up to him.
The way she didn't cower in fear or walk on eggshells around him.
The way she demanded things from him.
All in a nightgown no less.
A boxy, unappealing, obnoxiously large nightgown.
A nightgown he had briefly thought of lighting on fire and –
He shifted back onto his back, his eyes shooting open. He was certainly not thinking about his children's governess's nightgown. He blinked a few times, trying to shake the image from his head, but it lingered like an itch.
Absolutely not, he told himself as he willed his body to relax, willing himself to think of anything else.
He found himself – as he often did when he felt himself unraveling – picturing his first time he remembered seeing the sea. He had been a boy then, merely five years old. His family had taken a trip along the Italian coast, visiting some other family there. He remembered the weight of his mother's hand tightening around his own, the coarse sand between his toes, and the sun soaking his skin. Most of all, he remembered the glittering blue of the Adriatic Sea. It had been so vast. It stretched on for miles and miles, and Georg had been awed that he couldn't see the end beyond the horizon. He had known then that the sea was where he would find his home someday, and in some regard, he had been right.
His heartrate slowed as the images in his mind shifted to the sea and the sense of calm that would wash over him whenever he was near it. Finally, he found himself lulled to sleep as he began to picture the sounds of the waves crashing ashore and pulling him back home.
A/N: A bit of a short chapter here. I know it's not really plot heavy yet, but things will get a bit more exciting soon! Thank you so much for reading! Every favourite, follow, and review made me smile :)
