TEN DAYS, Part Two

They were in the forest for ten days.

When, exactly, did it happen? It was impossible to know.

There was no single moment of truth. It happened gradually, the way spring changes to summer, or day turns to night, or a boy becomes a man. It happened nearly imperceptibly, like the blink of an eye, a single breath, the beat of a heart.

THREE

There was reason to celebrate their progress when they reached the abandoned railroad track – a sign, according to the map, that they would shortly be able to turn inland. They only needed to cross an old trestle bridge, rusty from age and disuse, that spanned a narrow ravine.

Knapsack on one shoulder, Georg bounded across first, in long, energetic strides. He'd moved a good fifty meters further before realizing that he'd lost his companion. Turning back, he saw her, still standing on the far edge of the railroad bridge, staring down into the ravine; as he drew closer, he saw that she had turned white under her freckles.

"Fraulein Maria?"

She was silent.

"Fraulein? What's wrong?"

"This bridge. I can't cross it."

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I can't. I'm afraid of heights."

He had to bite back a laugh.

"You grew up in the mountains! How could you be afraid of heights?"

"Mountains are sturdy. They stay fixed under your feet. This," even from across the ravine, he could see her shudder, "this swings about, and there's nothing but air underneath. Isn't there another way we can go?"

To humor her, Georg pulled the map from the knapsack and pretended to consult it.

"No, there isn't. This ravine runs all the way to the sea in this direction, and far uphill in that. I can assure you, the bridge is perfectly sturdy. Why, I weigh half again as much as you, and I had no trouble. It just shifts with the breeze a bit, is all."

"Can't you come and get me?"

He couldn't bring himself to tell her what he was thinking: the bridge had been stable enough under his feet, and it was surely safe for her, being lighter, but the two of them together? He wasn't so sure.

"Come on, Fraulein. You can do it," he said encouragingly, only to be met with a despairing shake of the head.

A sudden wind gust juddered the bridge, and Maria backed nervously away from the ravine's edge.

Georg pondered the young woman standing across from him. It wasn't that he didn't know how to get her across the bridge, because he did: if he commanded her to look at him, trapped her eyes with his and ordered her to do it, she would dance across the damned ravine. Women always did anything he ordered them to do in this fashion, and having had her in his bed, he knew she would be no exception.

Except that for three days, he had been making a heroic effort – one that strained the limits of his self-control - to keep his distance from her, to put a damper on the fire he had so irresponsibly ignited between them, trying to sort out his feelings for her before doing any more damage. How could he presume on that connection now? Perhaps a different approach was called for, and while he gave that matter some thought, it would give her a chance to calm down.

It occurred to him suddenly that at this point, he probably knew her better, and bore more responsibility for her happiness and well-being, than anyone else on earth. Had she not been chased by her Reverend Mother into this marriage of convenience, she'd have no family at all. And so he took her measure, reviewing what he knew of her: on the one hand, her fierce desire for independence in thought and deed, on the other hand, her need for reassurance when her confidence wavered.

"Fraulein Maria. Do you trust me?"

She glanced at his face, down into the ravine, and back at his face.

"I suppose I do, Captain, seeing as how I followed you into the middle of nowhere, but that doesn't mean I-"

He took a deep breath, and took his own first step onto uncertain ground.

"Then I ask you to please come over here."

"I told you. I can't. I'm sorry, but-"

"Please, Maria. It's very important, you see."

She wrinkled her nose.

"Why?"

"Because," he said simply, "I can't go on without you."

And just like that, her eyes never leaving his, she began to shuffle toward him. Slowly. Cautiously. At the midpoint, another breeze shivered the bridge, and she let out a little moan, but she kept moving. Slowly, so slowly.

When she was a few strides away, Georg extended his arm to her, and when at last, he grasped her soft hand in his, he felt its trembling pass through her body and into his, like a spark arcing between them.

"Brave girl," he told her, and he was proud of her, but he was proud of himself, too, for knowing her as well as he did, for being able to give her what she needed. Maria was so lovely at that moment, the way she danced about, giddy with joy and relief, and he wanted to pull her close, to feel her wild hair against his face. To tell her what was in this heart. He'd meant to last night, before getting sidetracked by all that talk of tidal waves.

"Did you see me? I can't believe I did that!" she bubbled, spreading her arms wide, spinning in a wide, euphoric circle, and then, before he knew it, she had thrown herself at him and twined her arms around his neck. Still laughing, she proclaimed, "I don't know whether to kiss you or throttle you, Captain!"

To feel her body pressed against his, after struggling so mightily to keep his distance! Georg was nearly brought to his knees by a wave of lust that sent the blood rushing to his groin and left him speechless. Unnerved, he could only manage to stagger backward and emit a pitiful little groan.

Before he could recover his composure, the smile slid from her face, and the sparkle faded from her eyes. Without another word, Maria yanked her arms from his neck and stomped off into the woods.

He ought to have kissed her, at least. Why hadn't he kissed her? Georg knew why, of course: one kiss would not be enough. It would never be enough. Maria was like a puzzle he was never going to tire of solving. Sighing, he picked up the knapsack and followed her. They'd sort it out when they stopped for the night.

Now that they were away from the coast, he had been looking forward to the comfort of a fire and a lantern's light, but it hardly seemed like a night for celebration. They made camp in stony silence, sharing out their rapidly dwindling store of food before curling up a safe distance from one another in the darkness. The icy chill of her anger was palpable, even though he suspected the hurt and confusion that lay beneath. He wondered what topic might soothe and comfort her.

"Fraulein Maria, I was thinking, and I was wondering-"

"What is it this time, Captain?" she said flatly.

"You never really told us much about your family."

"Are you joking?"

"Why would I be joking?"

"Oh, never mind," she heaved an exasperated sigh. "I've already told you everything there is to know. My father died when I was a baby, so I don't remember him. My mother died when I was nine. That's all there is to it," she said curtly.

"Just like Louisa," Georg observed. "She also was nine when her mother died."

There was a pause before Maria let out a reluctant chuckle.

"You have no idea how many times I've had to remind myself of that," she said wryly. "Those are difficult years for a girl to be motherless." Now, her voice softened. "My mother, she was everything to me. She loved me unconditionally, even though I was not a very good little girl,"

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"-and I was not very pretty, either, with freckles and long braids, all elbows and knees . But no one has ever loved me that way since."

She sighed again, a sigh that broke his heart.

"Maria-" he began, but it was as though she had forgotten he was there.

"You know," she said dreamily, "I never thought of it before, but my parents – I believe they were a love match. Not at all like my aunt and uncle! Maybe that's why I wanted to be one of the sisters. God loves us without limits. Maybe I wanted to be part of a family again, one with that kind of love. Maybe if my parents had lived, I'd have thought about marriage differently."

"Hm," Georg hummed his agreement, and waited expectantly for their conversation to continue. When she remained silent, he took a deep breath and sent the words out into the night:

"Fraulein? The night we left the hotel, you said that I – that is to say that – well, you remember what you said, don't you? Because I'm starting to think that perhaps-"

All around them, a gentle breeze rustled in the trees, and he strained to hear her reply, but he could only make out the quiet, even sound of her breathing. His little governess had fallen asleep, gone to dream of the kind of love that could last forever.

When, exactly, did it happen? It was impossible to know.

FOUR

Now that they had turned inland, the immediate threat of a German pursuit seemed to have eased, but the Captain was still quite tense and on edge. When Maria questioned him, he said something vague about how the journey taking longer than expected, and the terrain was getting no easier. But she thought there might be more on his mind; was he worried about the children, perhaps?

The Captain led the way as they carved a path through the undergrowth, occasionally stopping to looking upward and gauge their position, or downward to check the map, while Maria followed behind.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, so abruptly that she crashed into him.

"Pardon me, Captain-"

"Shh!"

"What the-"

"Fraulein," he said quietly, but with an undertone that made her uneasy, "I want you to take a dozen steps backward. Away from me. Slowly, now. No sudden movements."

"What is it?" Maria said, her heart climbing into her throat.

"Snake."

"A snake?"

"Go. Once you're safe, I'll try to-"

"Hold on, Captain."

Maria peered cautiously around his bulk, and then crept out in front of him.

"Fraulein Maria! What are you doing? For God's sake, be careful!"

Maria bent down to pick up a convenient switch and poked inquisitively at the snake, which lifted its head, blinked sleepily, and went still again.

"Why, that's just a common wood snake, Captain. It's about all you'd expect to find this far north."

His face was curiously pale.

"You're not afraid of a snake, Captain, are you?"

"Once, in India, I watched a poisonous snake devour a kitten." he said defensively. "Whole."

"Well, this isn't India. And you are supposedly one of the bravest men in Europe! Haven't you got a medal in there somewhere?" she gestured at the knapsack.

"They don't have snakes at sea."

Maria did her best to swallow her laughter, and they continued on through the forest. But something about the snake incident reassured her and lifted her mood. Although she was still perplexed by his behavior, it was a reminder that her Captain was only human. Humans were flawed, and loving them took patience and tolerance.

That night, there was very little left to eat, but now that they were away from the coast, they were able to enjoy a small campfire. They curled up on opposite sides of it, savoring the warmth against the night's chill, talking of anything except their empty stomachs.

"I'm sorry I laughed at you about the snake, Captain. And after you were so kind to me about crossing the bridge."

"About the snake - it's meant to be a secret, you understand," he grumbled.

Maria's tactical skills had been sharpened by months of acquaintance with her Captain. "I'll do you the favor of keeping it a secret if you do me a favor in return," she offered magnanimously, and then, having exposed his weakness, she proceeded to ambush him.

"What I want in return, Captain, is for you to keep your promise. You were going to explain to me about those women, the ones you went to bed with even though you didn't love them, even though your wife-"

"Fraulein Maria," he groaned. "You are nothing if not persistent!"

"You promised!"

"All right, but I'm afraid there really isn't that much to explain. No dark secrets. I always liked women. Loved them. Loved bedding them. I needed it, the way most people need air to breathe. Before I was married? I traveled all over the world, to places where people have very different attitudes toward these things than we do in Europe. And before you say anything, I never took anyone's innocence. I was a complete gentleman. Just not by the standards we have in Austria."

"And then?"

"I met Agathe. I wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anything! But she had been very gently bred. It was six months before they would let me escort her to the opera even with a chaperone! They weren't even going to leave her alone with a man until she was wearing his engagement ring," he grumbled. "But the truth was, I was happy just to be in her company, in any circumstances at all. I was utterly besotted with her. And I was very happy to be –"

"Trapped?" Maria smiled. She was enjoying this version of the Captain, so unrecognizably young and eager.

"Exactly. At first, things – well, it didn't come naturally to her. It took a while, and then I was away so much, and there was always a new baby, but still, we were very happy together."

He fell silent, so that the only sound was the hiss and pop of the campfire.

"After she died, well, the bottom fell out. The house was in chaos, and I was drinking entirely too much. After six months or so, I was desperate enough to write to my mother in law and ask her to help. She came and took over the household and off I went to Rome, to be alone, where I could grieve. While I was there, I met a woman. A widow, like myself, and – well, we were able to find some comfort together. It was a distraction, at least for a little while, a chance to forget what I'd lost."

"After that, I began to see them all around me. Women. Widows without a man to look after them. Married women, who had been brought up like Agathe, whose husbands had given them the required child or two, and were now taking their pleasure with mistresses. These women – there was no man to show them tenderness and affection, or what things can be like between two people when they- It was very nice," he finished simply.

"Nice?" Maria blinked.

"Yes. It anchored me, reminded me I was still alive. And – I know this sounds strange – gave me a sense of purpose. I didn't think Agathe would have minded. She knew what I was like, what I needed. And what I had with her – it went a great deal beyond – I know it's hard to understand."

"It's not hard to understand at all. You were lonely! You were the one in need of some affection, the kind that mattered to you."

"No, no, it wasn't that at all. It had nothing to do with any feelings. People have certain needs, you see, that was all."

Maria couldn't hold back a little skeptical sound.

"I realize it must not make any sense to you, Fraulein. But until -ehrm – the other night, I hadn't been with a woman in two years."

"Did Baroness Schrader make you stop?"

"Elsa?" he laughed. "No, I stopped before I met her. Word was getting around about me, and – ehrm-"

"I imagine you were in great demand," she said drily.

"Something like that. It was happening far too often that they would develop feelings for me, feelings I couldn't return. And before you ask, no, it's not the same thing at all, what happened with you. I didn't want to believe it, but this was different. I don't understand it myself, and I certainly don't expect you to."

"Stop telling me that!" Maria said sharply.

"What?"

"That I can't understand. Of course I do! I mean, I know I haven't got a lot of experience, but I've got enough to know that going to bed with someone makes you feel close to them. For some people," she said slyly, "it might be the only way."

He didn't take the bait, or maybe he didn't notice it.

"O-ho! Spoken like a sophisticated woman of the world, one who's seen it all!"

"Don't laugh at me."

"I'm sorry," he said hastily. "But you are still quite innocent, Fraulein. For all your worldly airs, it would be pitiably easy for me to shock you if I wanted to."

"Go ahead and try," Maria countered, stung by how, after everything they'd done in his bed, he could still consider her an innocent.

"All right, then. What do you know about Max?"

"You sent him off to Shanghai, to keep him safe from the Nazis."

"Do you know why he was unsafe?"

"You said he was Jewish."

"Max is no more Jewish than I am. What he is, is-" he hesitated, "he likes men."

"What's wrong with liking men?"

"In bed, Fraulein."

"Oh!" she fumbled. "I had no idea! I mean, I do know that – but why Shanghai?"

"They take everyone else's sinners there, or so I'm told."

Maria took a moment through page through her memories of Herr Detweiler, who had always been so kind to her, despite his friendship with Baroness Schrader.

"I'm not shocked, though, Captain. They have that in the Bible, you know."

"Hm. All right. Let me try again. Do you remember when I told you about my rescuing Leo, how I made him sing to distract himself while I pried him free?"

"Yes. It was a romantic old sea chantey, if I recall. About a woman who met a man."

"Romantic?" he snorted. "You could call it that. She met two men, as it happens."

"And she had to choose between them?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Why not? Did one of them die?"

He made an odd sound, one Maria could tell was born out of the attempt not to laugh at her.

"Only in a matter of speaking. She kept them both, you see."

"Both?"

"M-hm."

"But you said it had a happy ending!"

"I imagine it was very happy, don't you?" and now he did roar with laughter.

"Oh!" She had to think about that one. "You didn't ever – I mean, did you?"

"You know me better than that, Fraulein. I don't even share my dessert."

Now it was Maria's turn to laugh.

"Good night, Fraulein Maria."

"Good night, Captain."

From her side of the flickering campfire, Maria peered over at her Captain, who was lying on his back, staring up at the night sky. After four days on the run, unshaven and unwashed, he somehow was more appealing than ever. And all that banter about people going to bed with each other had left her restless and aching for his touch. She wanted so much to be close to him, wanted his weight on her, wanted his hands and his mouth and the side of him that she had only glimpsed in their single night together.

Only a few days ago, she had accepted that lovemaking was the only way he was ever going to be able to express his feelings for her. Now, instead, he was showing her a side of him she hadn't anticipated, and she was torn between savoring his hard-won confidences, and feeling uneasy that he might have lost interest in what she had been so ready to give him, the kind of connection she knew meant the most to him.

Burrowing her cheek against the soft patch of moss where she lay, Maria reminded herself of the vow she'd made the night they'd begun their journey. Having spoken her piece, whatever happened next would have to be up to him.

When, exactly, did it happen? It was impossible to know.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

I don't own TSOM or anything about it. The next chapter will take me a little longer but it will be worth the wait.