In from the snow
Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow
Tarnished but so grand
Lightening split the darkening sky, a resounding boom following shortly, rattling the windows of the von Trapp villa. The storm had been getting worse and worse over the hour, but Georg had yet to notice.
He sat rigid in his chair – shoulders squared, and muscles tensed – as his eyes absently scanned over the same paper that he had been looking at for the better part of two hours. For what seemed like the millionth time that evening, he retained nothing, and so he began the process over again. He began at the beginning of the page, letting his eyes read the first line before his brain began to drift away. The only thing that brought him back to reality was the rhythmic tapping of his uncapped pen on the desk – the pen of which was surely dry of ink by then.
He wasn't sure what was wrong with him. He felt agitated and restless with no real cause. It had been more and more like that lately. He felt utterly unsettled. Now, he had been unsettled for a long while, but the difference now is that he felt as if his life was coming together, and with that, shouldn't he have begun to feel a sense of normalcy? Shouldn't he begin to feel steadied by the way things were going?
Days had passed since the day on the mountain, and Georg had believed that things had been going rather well. His relationship with the children had blossomed with a pace and force far beyond his highest expectations. He droped in on their lessons every so often, offering his assistance the best he could with their schoolwork. He tried to give them as much of his afternoons as he could, revelling in every moment that he could learn about the individuals his children had become.
Most importantly, he made it a habit to read to them each night, just as he had before. While he had thought perhaps the older children would have grown beyond that phase, he found that each evening, all seven of his children piled into the nursery, sprawled out on the floor or on the ends of Gretl and Marta's beds as they listened to him recite the stories of their childhoods. Those might be his favourite moments from each day – when he was surrounded his children and his world shrank down to that very room. It was one of the only times in the day where he felt completely and utterly in control of himself – where the restlessness faded and he felt ever so present in his own life, not just watching his life pass him by.
He was finding himself to taking a liking to the way things had become. Where he used to enjoy the silence, he found he enjoyed the laughter more. Mealtimes were certainly noisier, but Georg didn't mind. He found that he liked the way his children's voices filled the space. He liked hearing about their days and their lessons and the things they found on their walks. He liked hearing the jokes they made – he was delighted to learn how cheeky Kurt was and how witty Brigitta was becoming. He liked the feeling of family.
The increasing security in his family situation, however, did little for his restless nerves. It didn't matter how much or how little time he spent with them, he found that there was an agitation settled deep beneath his skin – a nagging itch that he couldn't quite seem to scratch.
He wanted to attribute it to his utter neglect towards his guests. While he tried to manage his time wisely, he found it difficult to keep up with the demands of being a gracious host and being a doting father. Something had to give, and in this instance, it had been his time with his guests.
Max wasn't a huge concern. Set him up with a bottle or two from Georg's personal collection, and Max would be content for the rest of the day. Max had always found nothing more entertaining than himself.
It was Elsa that concerned Georg.
She had taken the whole ordeal graciously. She smiled politely when he excused himself to see what the children were up to, and she simply accepted defeat when he missed lunches and social events in favour of staying home, but he could sense the annoyance within her. She'd never show it, but he could tell his lack of attention was beginning to frustrate her.
He didn't blame her. He was being a rather beastly host. He had invited her all the way to his home with the intention of showing he where and how he lived as well as introducing her to his children. It was, in a way, the last step in his mind before marriage.
Marriage.
The word echoed in his mind, and he found himself slumping back in his chair, his uncapped pen tossed carelessly on the papers he was finally giving up on.
Marriage.
The power of the word had him crumpling beneath the weight of it. It seemed so impossible for him to get married again. When he had married Agathe, he had done so for love. He had found the person that he loved most in the world and whom he wanted to spend the rest of his days with. He had pictured them growing old together, right there in that villa, with several children and grandchildren surrounding them. He had pictured a life for the two of them, a long and happy life.
And then she had gotten sick.
Nothing could truly articulate the pain that had seared at his heart the day he began to realize that he was losing her, that there was no saving her from the illness. When he knew that it was going to take her, when he knew there was nothing else he could do but hold her as he watched the life flee from her eyes, fighting off the sobs that threatened to wrack his body, that's when he had given up hope. That's when he had given up hope and joy and desire and most of all love.
He had decided that day that he would never love again. His heart had become irreparable that day. There was no way that he could love another with the way that he had loved Agathe. It was simply impossible.
And yet, he knew, eventually, he would need to remarry. He was a man of respectable status in the aristocracy, and he knew he was expected to take a wife. More importantly, his children needed a mother. It was a fact he had grown more and more accustomed to. He could keep relying on the care of governesses, but until recently, none of them had stuck, and the children had been growing more and more unruly without the presence of a stable nurturing presence in their life.
Of course, things had changed. He was more a part of their lives than ever, and he had taken that nurturing role himself – along with the invaluable help of Fraulein Maria – and he knew they could be happy with the way things were. The inevitable fact remained, however, that Fraulein Maria would leave at the end of the summer, and their lives would change once again. He already dreaded for the day to come, because they knew how attached they had grown to her. He knew that they needed something more permanent, someone to be a part of their lives forever.
So, he needed to marry.
Every time he thought about it, it felt as if the air was being sucked from his body.
There had been no other candidate than Elsa. Before he had become acquainted with Elsa, Georg was in a state of inconsolable grief where he couldn't even entertain the idea of marriage or fatherhood or even life itself. He could barely remember the long months that stretched on after Agathe's death. He had gone about his business, staying away from the home they had shared as much as possible, but he remembered none of the specifics, just the dull ache that he felt with every beat of his heart.
Elsa had helped to bring him out of it. Elsa had reminded him of what it was to laugh again, to take a breath without the accompaniment of bitter grief. Her charm and wit had been enough to make him forget for a while. He had found that in her presence, he had begun to feel a little more like a person again.
She had experienced her own loss, and with that she had learned how to handle her grief. Many gossips would say that Elsa had never been in love with her husband, and while that was true to an extent and perhaps, she hadn't loved him with the same ferocity that Georg had loved Agathe, Elsa had loved her husband in her own way, and she had felt that loss acutely. It was something they had connected with in each other, though it was never spoken about. Elsa knew better than to speak a word of Agathe, and Georg had very little interest in bringing up her husband of fear of where the conversation might lead. But their silent camaraderie had been comforting to Georg in the past months.
Elsa was graceful and beautiful, elegant and witty. She was the epitome of aristocratic class and charm. Georg would count himself incredibly lucky if he could call her his wife, and yet, he hesitated every time the question was asked in his mind.
Could he marry her?
He wanted to want to marry her. He wanted it desperately, because on paper, they were perfect. On paper, it made sense. In society, it made sense. He knew there were people speculating on when he might propose – Max included – but every time Georg thought of the notion of proposing, he felt sick to his stomach.
Because he didn't love her.
He liked her and they got along well, but he didn't love her.
It shouldn't matter, he would tell himself. He knew he would likely never love again, so what was the problem? Was it that he felt it was a betrayal to Agathe? Was it because he knew that he would be signing up for a life of parties and social events that he didn't necessarily care for if he married her? Or was it simply because he couldn't fathom marrying someone he didn't love?
He sighed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes tight. He was being foolish. He had been lucky to have married someone he had truly loved, and that chance was not going to come again. He simply needed to do it. He made a mental note to include Elsa more with the children. While she had been pleasant with the children, he hadn't ever seen them interact much beyond a polite 'how do you do?' Perhaps if he saw them interact more, it would make his decision easier.
As he thought about his predicament with Elsa, a pit twisted in his stomach. While it was something that weighed heavy on his mind, he knew deep down that it was not the cause of his frequent restlessness.
If he was being honest with himself, really and truly honest, he knew what had been getting under his skin.
He slumped further into his chair as he allowed himself one minute to acknowledge what he had been ignoring so blatantly for the past several days.
That whirlwind of a governess.
He wanted to recoil at the very thought of her because he should not be thinking of her then and he had been trying so hard to avoid doing just that.
That day on the mountain had changed several things for Georg, both with his relationship with his children, and his opinion of the young governess. He had begun the day knowing he wanted to speak with her, to show some vulnerability to make her more comfortable around him. He detested the shy, timid way she avoided his eyes and the way she had obviously been holding back her thoughts around him. He very seldom had the urge to be vulnerable with anyone, but seeing as he had practically begged for her help with his children a few nights before, and the abominable way he had treated her, he figured the very least he could do was to let his walls down a little with her.
He had felt triumphant when she had begun to do the same. To learn that she had gone through something much like his own children had, and to see the way she had gotten through it with such resiliency was admirable. It was no wonder she was empathetic and strong-willed.
Since then, she had become like a puzzle to him. He found himself wondering about her.
Who had helped her through her grief? Anyone?
Had her grief led her to religion? To God?
Was she truly made for the Abbey?
It was the last question that rung in his mind more often than not. He would watch her with the children, how freely she played with them, and he saw the way she looked up to the sun, soaking up every last drop when she thought no one was watching. She was full of vibrance and energy, and he had a hard time picturing her life behind the Abbey walls. She was just so full of life and wonderment and not at all what one would expect of a prospective nun.
He felt restless for answers – to put the pieces of the puzzle together. More and more he felt his gaze falling towards her whenever she was around, trying to catch a clue as to how this strong-willed, radiant, full of life young woman had decided she was made for a cloistered life that lacked experience and wonder.
He wasn't sure why it should irritate him so much. It was her choice and her life. If she wanted to take her vows and live within the abbey walls, what did it matter to him? She was an employee. She was there to provide a service, to care for his children. What business of his was it with what she went on to do with her life? What was the difference between her and the previous eleven governesses that had come into his house?
But she was different.
No one had looked at his children the way she did. No one had cared for them in the way she did. And no one, not even he, had give his children a chance. Every other governess had brushed them off, sympathetic to their loss, but diverted by their unruly behaviour. Fraulein Maria had been the only person who had tried to put a reason to the actions. She had been the only person who had truly wanted help them. She had been the only person to look past their pranks and standoffish appearance to really get to know them.
Something about it made Georg's chest feel warm. She loved his children, that much was obvious. However, he didn't think she knew just how much they loved her back. Every time he watched the children interact with Fraulein Maria, he could see the bond that had taken root, and it was something that had gotten under his skin. Not in a bad way by any means. He was happy they had been able to trust and care for their governess, but he knew it would make it all the harder to say goodbye.
He let out a long exhale as he thought about the day she would leave. It was unfathomable. How would the children feel?
How would he feel?
He shook his head. He would feel sad, but purely on behalf of the children. Because besides being the governess, what was she to him? Nothing, he told himself.
Liar.
Some part of his mind screamed out – the same part of his mind that had given him continuous dreams of the young woman under his employ. He groaned at the very thought of the illusive dreams that clouded over him. He tried so hard to bury the images in the day, but the evenings resurfaced all of the uncomfortable images once again. He didn't know why he kept having the same dream. It rarely ever changed. He kept chasing an illusive figure in white who always revealed herself to be his children's governess. It was infuriating and likely half the reason that Georg had felt so restless.
He didn't want to think about her like that. He didn't want to think about her at all, and yet, he found that she lingered on his mind in the most random of moments.
He needed to stop himself. He had promised himself a minute to allow himself to think about it, and he knew he had spent much more than that. He couldn't afford to spend time thinking about the dreams or much too frequent thoughts about Fraulein Maria. He had to believe that it was simply because she had become such an important figure in his children's lives and that his gratitude for her was playing some sort of trick on his mind. Whatever feeling or restlessness that was burrowing under his skin would go away with time.
He allowed his eyes to open, looking to his wristwatch. It was nearly the children's bedtime. He allowed himself a brief stretch, moving to stand from his chair. He felt a tweak in his back from slumping in his chair for a long period of time. He surely would be hurting in the morning.
Grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, he slipped it on. He straightened his tie and smoothed his hair, attempting some modicum of dignity before he left the room. He hoped his features didn't give away the exhaustion and uncertainty that plagued his mind.
He made his ascent on the stairs, feeling the familiar anticipation he always felt before he read to them. However, he paused as he came closer to the nursery, an angelic sound washing over his senses.
Someone was singing, but it was unlike anything that he had ever heard. It was a soft sort of singing, almost a lullaby if he had to guess, though he couldn't quite make out the words, frozen as he was in the middle of the hall. He could only hear the elegance of the tone, the depth of feeling in each and every note.
A sort of calm rushed through him. The angelic sound filled him with a tenderness and peace like no other, and he was convinced he could happily stand there for eternity so long as the angel kept singing.
His curiosity, however, won out. With slow, measured steps, as if afraid to scare off the source of the singing, Georg came closer to the nursery doors. They were slightly ajar, and he felt a gravitational pull towards it. He was transfixed by the melodic voice – a man cast under a spell. Slowly, and without realizing what he was doing, he pushed the doors open further.
He shouldn't have surprised that it was the governess. He truly should have known. He had heard from all the children that she was a phenomenal singer – to which she always blushed and avoided meeting his eyes – but he hadn't realized just how phenomenal she was. He had heard her sing once, on her first night in the villa, but he hadn't really been listening. He had been too filled with rage at her neglectful treatment of his rules to really listen to her voice.
He feared in that moment that it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.
Her back was to him, and he was grateful for that. He was sure the looked on his face was something akin to jaw dropping shock, though he found he couldn't move a muscle. Time was at a standstill, and there was nothing else but the sound of her voice crashing over him like a wave.
It ended eventually, her voice ending on a high note that rang crisp and clear in the air. Long after she had finished, Georg could still feel the note ringing in his chest.
It was silent for a moment, and finally, he registered the dreamy faces of his children as they looked at one another, nodding approvingly of their governess's song. It wasn't until Brigitta had taken notice of him that he made any move into the room.
"Father?"
Eight pairs of eyes looked towards him – one gaze heavier than the rest. Georg felt his skin warm at the attention. He rather felt like a child who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
He cleared his throat, stepping further into the room.
"I, uh, was just coming up to say goodnight," he muttered, feeling entirely off balance. The enchantment of Fraulein Maria's voice seemed to linger in his mind. He tried to mentally shake himself from the trance and avoided the set of blue eyes that burned into him the fiercest. "I apologize if I've interrupted anything."
There was a strength to his voice that he did not feel in that moment, and it filled him with relief. At least he could sound as though he were unaffected.
"Of course not, Captain. The children were just a bit frightened by the storm. I thought a song might help," it was the governess that spoke up, and in that moment, Georg registered the storm that was raging on just outside. How had he not heard the thunder crackling as loud as it had been? Had he truly been that lost to his thoughts?
She had spoken in a steady tone that gave him the courage to finally look at her. She offered a small, if not vaguely embarrassed, smile, but nothing in her features gave the indication that she noticed anything off with him.
He wondered how he appeared in that moment. Did he look as he always did? Because he felt as if couldn't. He felt as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet in some insurmountable way, and he felt as though it had to be written all over his face. Could they not hear the way his heart pounded against his ribcage, begging to be set free?
Just as he felt his tongue turn to lead in his mouth, Marta ran forward, a book between her hands.
"Could you read this one tonight, Father?" she asked quietly. Georg smiled down at her, ridiculously relieved at her timing. He took the book from her hands.
"Of course, darling. Is everyone ready?" he looked around to his children who all looked at him eagerly. He spared a glance at Fraulein Maria who looked equally eager for the story. He had noticed that she seemed to like this part of the day as well. She always stayed, usually letting Gretl slump against her until the young girl was snoring softly.
Like many of the nights before, the children took up their designated spots. Marta and Gretl settled into their beds. Brigitta sat at the end of Gretl's bed, while Louisa sat on the floor against the end of Marta's bed. Liesl took up the window seat while Friedrich sat in the armchair near the door. Kurt sprawled out on the rug between the girls' beds, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. They all looked up to Georg expectantly as he settled in next to Marta, wrapping an arm around her as she jumped slightly at the next boom of thunder.
As he did every night, he began to read the lines on the page, his voice changing octaves between dialogue and narration, earning sleepy giggles and words of encouragement that warmed his heart. While the thunder and lightening carried on outside, Georg found the children had become rather settled in his presence. Marta hardly jumped and had begun to relax in his arms, drifting off to the sound of his voice. He wondered if it had always been this easy, if perhaps all they had ever been looking for was comfort. Had he really denied them something so simple for so long?
Despite his best efforts, Georg found that his gaze strayed more often from the page that night than others. More and more he found his glances falling towards where Fraulein Maria sat, watching him with rapt attention as he gave his nightly performance. He attempted to stop himself, to keep his eyes focused on the pages before him, but there was a pull deep within him to know whether or not she was looking back at him, whether or not he had her attention. Each time he found her gaze firmly on him, he felt increasingly gratified, and it bothered him to no end.
Once he finished the story, he looked around the room. Marta was fast asleep against his arm, and he could see that Gretl was in roughly the same shape. Liesl looked dreamily out the window while the rest of his children were in various stages of yawning. Finally, he looked a Fraulein Maria who graced him with a brilliant smile to which he returned.
Slowly, as they did every night, they extricated themselves from the youngest children's embraces without waking them. Georg planted a soft kiss on Marta's head as he got up. He made his way over to Gretl to do the same, as Farulein Maria began to usher the other children out. He was the last to leave the room. He closed the door softly, receiving drowsy 'goodnights' to which he replied in kind, ruffling Kurt's hair as he left.
And then it was just him and the governess.
He felt a tightness in his chest that he wasn't used to. She looked at him, offering a soft smile, but nothing more. This was always the part where they said goodnight and nothing more. She would walk off to her room, and he would turn and descend the stairs to make his way to his study or the salon to sit with Elsa and Max.
However, something in Georg's chest refused him to turn away just yet.
"You have a lovely voice," he said, or rather, blurted out. He wanted to smack himself at how pathetic he sounded. However, she didn't seem to notice. Her cheeks darkened in hue, and she tipped her head down as if to hide it.
"Thank you, Captain," she replied quietly. He could see the pull of a smile on her lips, and felt a surge of triumph.
"Did you train classically as a child?" he inquired. She shook her head.
"No, I've never had any sort of training," she told him, meeting his eye once again. "Singing was something I have always enjoyed doing, and it always made me feel better in my lowest moments. Whenever I felt as though I couldn't express something, I would simply sing what I was feeling. It was always easier that speaking, as ridiculous as that sounds."
"It doesn't sound ridiculous at all," he insisted. "You know, we were a rather musical household before…"
He trailed off as he always did when he began to speak of her. It was as if his throat constricted, and the words refused to come out. He watched as her eyes downcast with a small nod of understanding. She wasn't pressing, and he knew that she wouldn't. He could have left it there and went his separate way to brood over the repressed memory he refused to confront, as he often did. He didn't have to continue his sentence, but something made him swallow the fear.
"She loved music," he said quietly. She met his gaze again, her features a bit apprehensive but curious.
"The children might have mentioned something about that," she said evenly, as if she didn't want to offend him. He smiled wistfully as he allowed himself to remember, really remember.
"Oh yes, there was not often a moment where you wouldn't find her singing or humming. She was also a very skilled violinist," he said, anticipating the stab to his heart that never came. He watched a smile grow on her face.
"Really? I've always thought the violin is a beautiful instrument," she replied. He nodded.
"She was very talented. The house was always filled with music one way or another. Whether she was humming or singing or playing the violin, she always made sure there was music," he grinned. "That must be where the children got their talent from."
"I've heard that you aren't so bad yourself," she stated with a knowing look. He shrugged sheepishly.
"It was a very long time ago. I am quite out of practice," he said bashfully.
"Is it true that you played the piano?" she inquired, a cautious look on her face as if she weren't entirely sure if she was allowed to ask him that. He gave her what he hoped to be a reassuring smile.
"Yes, that would be true. I do believe I was rather good as well, if that doesn't sound too boastful," he replied. "Though it's been years since I've dared to play. I'm not entirely sure I'd remember."
"I'm sure it would come back to you. The beautiful thing about music is that it always finds a way back to you," she said. Georg nodded in agreement.
"Yes, well, I must thank you for bringing it back into the house. I had forgotten what it was like to hear their voices, and even their laughter. It means more than you know," he said, his voice taking on a serious edge.
"I'm more than happy to help, Captain. Besides, your children are so bright and full of life that they I'm sure they could have brought music back to you themselves. They just needed a little push," she replied. He wanted to shake his head at her, the way she casually brushed off the incredible changes she had made. Well, perhaps she hadn't made them, but she had been the catalyst, the one who had pushed for the change. While she may think differently, Georg was convinced that things would not be the way they were now had she not come into their lives, and for that he would be forever indebted to her.
"In any case, I thank you for being the one to give them that push," he said simply, not wishing to argue with her on the matter. She beamed brightly.
"You're more than welcome, sir," she said. He found himself beaming back at her.
For a moment they just regarded each other with smiles, and the realization came over Georg that he had just successfully spoken about his wife without the tug of dread in his chest. It was curious and unfamiliar to him. The absence of the pain that often followed thinking about her left him feeling rather shocked, but not displeased. He began to realize that he was feeling a level of comfort he was not accustomed to. Something about the young governess made him feel safe in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.
"I should go," she said, breaking him from his reverie. He nodded.
"Of course, of course," he said. "Goodnight, Fraulein."
She graced him with a brilliant smile.
"Goodnight, Captain."
And with that, she turned and left, walking towards her room. He found that his gaze followed her until she was out of view, the tug in his chest that he felt earlier returning to him.
A/N: We are back with this monster of a chapter. I rewrote this three times this week because Georg is a mess. His feelings about Elsa and his uncertainty of what his feelings are in regard to Maria are very confusing, and they even confused me. However, the more I write, the more muddled it gets, so this was about as solid as I could get it without screaming or making it 10,000 words.
Also, this chapter marks the first 1/3 of this story. From beginning to epilogue, I have about thirty chapters planned. We have a couple more of these slower, more introspective chapters that show these two navigating the new direction of their partnership, and then we get into the thick of it. There is going to be quite a canon divergence once we get into the last third of this story, but I think a little original twist might make things more interesting as you won't know what to expect!
I hope you've enjoyed. As always, thank you for every favourite, follow, and review on this story. Each and every one makes me smile and keeps me on track to writing the next chapter :)
