EPILOGUE: WITH MY HEART AS WITH A HAND
Now they lay together in a silver spill of moonlight. All around them, the night was so still that Georg imagined he could hear their two hearts, beating in unison.
There had been no question of spending their wedding night away from the children, not on Christmas Eve. After Boxing Day, though, he planned to take his bride to Scotland, where the Whiteheads owned a hunting lodge tucked deep into the countryside. His mouth curled into a smile at the thought of what might happen between the two of them there, for he hadn't been entirely forthcoming when he'd bragged of having taught her everything.
For tonight, however, it had been enough for Georg to make love to his wife, simply, tenderly, as though it were the first time. Which, in a way, it was.
"I love you," he told her, for possibly the hundredth time that day, although he would never tire of her ready response.
"Oh, I love you too, Georg, I do."
"I was quite certain I'd told you along the way, you know. In between risking my life to rescue you from a sausage vendor and facing down a snake."
"It was me who faced down the snake," Maria reminded him, and they shared a laugh. "I still don't understand what took you so long," she said reproachfully. "Especially if you had in mind to marry me again all along!"
"Ah, but I was neither so clever nor so enterprising as that. No, that was a last minute improvisation, thanks to Mathilde. After a good dressing down from her, the only thing I wished for was the chance to start all over again, from the very beginning," he shrugged, "and then it was obvious what had to be done."
He trailed his fingers idly along the soft skin of her shoulders, let his fingers tangle in her wild, bright curls.
"Maria?"
"Hm?"
"What was it that made you come back?"
"Back?"
"That day in the hotel. I wanted you to come with me to France, but I couldn't – I just couldn't, you see, not quite yet-"
She gave a low murmur of understanding.
"You said that you weren't going to wait around for me to break your heart, that Elsa had warned you about that, and then you left. At first I was certain you'd change your mind, but as the hours went by, I began to lose hope. I sent up your things, and then I waited. For hours, at least it seemed that way. Leo came and went, warning me that the Germans were closing in. I was beginning to think that I'd have to leave you behind, and that I'd never see you again. And then," he paused to clear his throat, "you came back. Why did you?"
"Oh! Well! I'll have to think about that one." She scrambled to a sitting position and gazed into the distance, trying to remember. "I think – I think it was something in a book."
"A book?"
"Y-yes. When you sent up my money, and that letter, you passed along three books you'd bought earlier in the day, remember? Poetry, of course. At least the one in German was."
"Ah. Right. A volume of Rilke's work."
"There was a poem about love in there-"
"That's all Rilke ever wrote about. He once said that for one human being to love another is perhaps the most difficult of our tasks, that everything else is mere preparation. Or something like that."
Maria was biting her lip in concertation, as though she were trying to summon the page in front of her.
"This one poem," she said slowly, "it was about the kind of love that lasts forever, even if it has to change shape. Even if the person you love dies," she sent a sad smile his way, "or goes far away, or can't love you back, you don't stop loving them, you just love them differently. Those women – well, that was the only thing you had to give, so I thought that was what I would have to accept, and all I would give you in return. Even though you thought I only had a silly crush on you, even though you said I'd forget all about you, I knew I never would."
"If you thought I would never love you, then why did you come with me?"
"Honestly? I mostly tried not think too much about what would happen after Paris. But there was also Leo."
"Leo?"
"You were like Leo, pinned. I couldn't just leave you there, could I? Not when I had my heart set on you." Maria's blue eyes burned with emotion. "Does that sound pathetic?"
"No." Relief and gratitude for her perseverance filled his heart. "No, it sounds determined."
"I knew that one way or the other, I was never going to stop loving you, not for the rest of my life," she said contentedly, stretching her arm out before her so she could admire the gold band that glowed against her pale hand.
Georg began to laugh.
"With my heart as with a hand," he chortled.
"What are you talking about, Georg?"
"Give me your hand," he gestured.
"Hold on! What are you doing?" she protested as he tugged the ring from her finger and tilted it under the moonlight so she could see the engraving within.
"With my heart as with a hand," he said. "It's a line from the same poem. And, as it happens, the same line I chose for the engraving."
"Do you know the whole poem?" she asked, as he slid the ring back on her finger.
"Do I know the whole poem," Georg scoffed. "What do you think? Come on, now," he beckoned her back into his arms, and when she lay against him, her head tucked under his chin, he began.
"Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you.
Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you.
And without feet I can make my way to you,
without a mouth I can swear your name.
Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you
With-
He had to stop and take a steadying breath before continuing.
With my heart as with a hand.
Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.
And if you consume my brain with fire,
I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood."
He felt the shape of Maria's smile against his shoulder. Within moments, she had relaxed into sleep. The room filled with peaceful silence. And then Georg let the simple truth of her – her weight on his chest, the brush of her soft hair against his skin, the even sound of her breath - carry him into sleep as well.
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Thank you for reading my story. I don't own anything about The Sound of Music, I do this for love.