Chapter 4
She hadn't expected to miss it as much as she did, the guitar. She had so little of herself – a few scattered memories, her work as a teacher – that putting her guitar aside was like tearing off a limb. But today, up on the mountain, lounging on the soft grass of a green meadow, surrounded by magnificent snowy peaks nearly touching an impossibly blue sky – today, her spirits soared nonetheless.
All around her, the children chattered and romped, throwing balls, turning cartwheels, running races, jumping rope. Their father sat nearby, on the other side of the picnic blanket. Dressed in a jacket and tie, he sat straight upright, and he wore a watchful air, as though he expected bad news at any moment. He wasn't joining in the games, or even conversing with his children, but still, he'd been patient and almost cheerful, as he'd led them on their journey up the mountain.
It was beautiful here, so lovely and peaceful. Even better, for the first time since she'd woken up in the villa weeks earlier, she recognized this place, knew she'd been before. The shock of recognition was thrilling, but it also put her on edge. Perhaps this was the breakthrough she'd been waiting for.
"Tell me, Fraulein," the Captain's voice broke into her thoughts. "How are things with your memory coming along? If you don't mind my asking."
"There's been some progress, but it's slow. I know I was a teacher, of course. I get little bits of information when I'm sleeping. For example, I'm quite certain that my parents are no longer living. And there's someone named Kurt, I don't know who. And a Klaus. Or maybe they are the same person, and I just can't get the name right. Although there is an older man, short and round, and a boy with spectacles in there somewhere. As you see, I can't make sense of it all. I went to see Doctor Weiss the other day, and he told me to be patient. Not something I do very well," she laughed. She thought about telling him how familiar this meadow seemed to her, but the sensation felt new and a little tender, as though it weren't quite ready to be shared with anyone.
"Any luck with your name?" he asked.
"No." She shook her head. "I tried to get the children to call me simply 'Fraulein,' which is good enough for the boys, but the girls each call me something different. Louisa calls me Fraulein Marlene, after a movie star she likes. Brigitta calls me Fraulein Magda, after some mythical Norse goddess. Marta, of course, calls me Fraulein Marta. Liesl is partial to Fraulein Mirjam, for a princess in a story she loved as a child."
"And Gretl?" he pressed, but she didn't answer. He glanced her way, but she was carefully studying her lap.
"Ah. I see. She calls you Mother, does she? Well, it starts with M, anyway."
"Oh Captain," she burst out, "please don't be angry. She hardly knew your – her mother, and every little girl wants someone to call mother. I've explained it to her, why she shouldn't, and she does try, but sometimes, when she's very frightened, or upset, she just…"
He sighed. "I understand, Fraulein. Don't trouble yourself about it." He had come to appreciate this young woman's rough charm, and found it hard to stay angry at her for very long. She was a refreshing change from anyone else he knew: unsophisticated, utterly transparent and completely approachable, with her freckled face, and a wide smile that could light up a room. And he had to admire her bravery under what seemed like extremely difficult circumstances.
Seeking to lighten the mood, he asked, "What about Maria?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Maria. It starts with M, and it's a common enough name. Statistically, it's the most likely suspect."
"No," she shook her head emphatically. "That name is definitely not for me. It's too…too obedient, too virtuous. Too docile. I am not a Maria."
"How would you know?" he threw his head back and surprised both of them with his hearty laugh. She hadn't ever seen him laugh before, and for a moment, she could almost imagine the charming young man Frau Schmidt had told her about.
She had joined him in laughter but then, without warning, she sprang to her feet. "What's that?" Her face had suddenly gone pale, pale and she was visibly trembling.
"What?"
"That sound."
He had to strain to hear it over the noise his children were making. "That? It's just bells. Church bells. You can hear them all the time up here, from all over Salzburg."
That sound had reached deep inside her and wrapped itself around her heart. "There's something…" she choked, but she couldn't get another word out.
The Captain peered at her, concerned. "Come," he said, as he stood and extended a hand to pull her to her feet. She felt his big hand on her back, gently guiding her to the edge of the meadow, until they could see Salzburg spread out below them.
"They're the bells of Nonn-," he started to explain, but before he got any farther, she broke in.
"That place. What is that place? The one with the-"
"The red dome? That's what I was telling you. It's Nonnberg Abbey."
"I know that place," she whispered. "I know that place."
He shook his head. "Not likely, Fraulein. It's run by the Benedictines. The strictest order in Europe. The sisters are cloistered, locked behind gates. It doesn't seem possible that you'd have had any connection to it. Although if you like, we can make inquiries."
She was dizzy, and her stomach was tied in knots, though she wasn't entirely sure why: was it her past, tapping her on the shoulder? Or was it shock of his warm hand at her back, a gesture completely out of character for a man who unsettled her at best and terrified her at worst?
Tearing her eyes away from the red dome, she shook her head regretfully. "Of course. It's a ridiculous thought, me as a nun. It's just that sometimes, I so long for the truth, to know who I am, that I'd be willing to believe just about anything."
Something in his face shuttered closed, and she knew she'd gone too far, seeking comfort from him. Her troubles, she reminded herself, were hers alone. He had been generous enough to give her a home, and she would have to do the rest herself.
"Just give me a moment to collect myself," she said shakily, "and we'll break open the picnic baskets."
A half-hour later, she had regained her composure and usual good humor. The family fell to eating the enormous lunch Cook had prepared for them.
"This dessert," she mumbled, mouth full of fruit and cake. "What is this called?"
"Zwetschkenkuchen. Or plum cake, if you like," Liesl told her.
"I like it very much," she said, swallowing the last delicious bite and looking longingly at the Captain's plate. He cake sat almost untouched; he didn't have much of a sweet tooth and rarely ate dessert. "In fact, this may be my favorite dessert yet."
"Fraulein, you say that about every dessert," Brigitta laughed.
"I like Cook's apple strudel best," said Kurt, and then everyone began talking about their favorite sweets. Everyone, that is, except the Captain, who wore a remote, distracted look on his face that made her suspect he'd been thinking of his wife.
"The best thing ever," Liesl said dreamily, "are French macarons. Remember, Louisa?"
"Oh, yes! The French governess – what was her name? – she brought them back for us from Paris. They are delicate almond cookies, as light as air, in beautiful pastel colors," the girl explained.
Georg had lost the thread of the conversation, having been distracted by the sight of his governess licking the last bits of plum cake from her fingers, and swooning extravagantly at the very thought of French macarons. It was Gretl who got his attention, with a casual remark far deadlier than any torpedo fired from a submarine could ever have been.
"Mama loved plums," the little girl observed.
A moment later, it was Marta's turn to fire. "Father," she begged, "will you tell us the story about Mama and the plum tree?"
In the silence that followed, one could almost hear the grass grow at the far end of the meadow. The children had become so accustomed to discussing their mother during his long stay in Vienna that they'd forgotten their father's rule. Horrified, she looked at the Captain, as still as a statue, his fork suspended in mid-air. He turned to glare at her, but she shrugged helplessly. He could hardly blame her for spreading stories about a woman she'd never met. His gaze swung to Liesl next, who smiled impishly and said, "Well, Father, if you don't want us to talk about Mama, what do you want us to talk about?"
Insurrection, Georg thought. For four years, his prohibition had gone unchallenged, but now, like so many other things, it had seemingly expired.
He looked back to the little governess, who sat across from him, busying herself folding napkins and stacking cups. Brigitta had woven a wreath of edelweiss that sat crookedly on her head. He cleared his throat noisily, and she looked up long enough to fix him with her clear, direct gaze. He could almost hear her say it. "Coward."
She left him no choice. He cleared his throat again.
"It was when I was courting your mother. There was an extensive garden on her parents' property, with a plum tree that must have been nine or ten meters tall. Knowing that she was, as you say, Gretl, fond of plums, I set out to pick some for her. I'd heard the sweetest ones grew near the top, so I –." He paused. "I fell out of the tree and broke my arm. It was very painful," he finished tightly.
They didn't need to hear the rest of it – how Agathe had felt so guilty, she'd let him steal a kiss that night, their first. Her first ever, he thought, remembering how he'd felt tender and smug all at once. He'd have gladly endured breaking every bone in his body for the sake of that kiss.
That night, preparing for bed, Georg caught sight of himself in the mirror. Perhaps it was the effect of a day up in the mountains, but he looked like he felt – oddly relaxed, untroubled, even a little giddy. Cautiously, he tried on another memory for size, telling the empty room about the time, just days before the wedding, when they'd snuck off to the barn and… Agathe used to say that she was still picking straw out of her hair on their honeymoon.
The next morning, he woke early, having slept more soundly than he had in years. He was full of energy and the thought of sitting down to a morning of paperwork was unbearable. A quick glance out the window inspired him and he swung into action.
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As usual, she was awake before dawn, reluctantly surfacing from the depths of sleep. Her fingers moved restlessly across the covers as though trying to capture the music before it faded away, always the same, simple melody, a tune that stayed with her all day, every day. Slipping from bed, she went to look out at the lake, barely visible as the sky was just beginning to brighten. Her fingers wiggled of their own accord, forming the chords in the air, finding the notes to that haunting melody. How she longed for her guitar, tucked safely away in the nursery! But she pushed the feeling away, remembering her promise to the Captain.
Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. The rest of the household wouldn't be up for hours. Perhaps, just for a minute, she might…did she dare? Without letting herself think about it, she peered cautiously out the open door of her bedroom and then crept quietly across the house to the nursery. A few minutes later, breathing a sigh of relief, she'd taken the guitar in her arms, perched on a low bench, and, hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence, picked out the melody. After the first time through, she added the words.
"Edelweiss, edel…"
"Lovely. That's just lovely." his voice came from the door. This time, he hadn't announced his presence with a bang of the doors that heralded a dressing down. Instead, he was leaning casually against the door frame. How long had he been standing there?
"Captain!" she gasped, her heart in her throat. "I'm sorry! I know you asked me not to – and I promised – but I just couldn't help it, you see, I…" Her fingers fidgeted with the thin cotton of her nightgown, and she swallowed back her nerves. "The music. It must have been very important to me, before. Because it never stops playing in my mind, you see. It's with me all the time."
"Fraulein. Be still. There is no need for you to be so apprehensive!"
She raised her chin defiantly. "Maybe you have forgotten, Captain, but I am completely at your mercy. I have a place to live, and food to eat, only owing to your kindness. The last thing I want is to defy you because, the truth is, I have nowhere else to go." She put the guitar aside and rose.
Georg admired the way she responded with dignity and tenacity, just like she had that day when he'd come upon the children singing in the nursery. Although the sound of their music had initially come as a shock, the memory had stayed with him. Ever since that day, their refrain echoed in his mind until he grew quite accustomed to it, even comforted by it. Until he longed to hear them sing again, in fact. Now, watching the little governess abandon her guitar, he was suddenly desperate to hear the rest of her melody as well.
"There is nothing for you to be afraid of, Fraulein. Go on, go on," he waved his hand at her.
Momentarily reassured, she seated herself again and settled the guitar on her lap. For the first time, she noticed that this was a Captain she hadn't seen before, dressed in an open-necked shirt, soft trousers and high boots.
"What are you doing up this early?" she blurted. "You look…"
He raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth lifted just the tiniest bit.
"I look?"
"Useful." She felt her face turn hot; where had that remark come from?
Just like he had that day on the mountain, he threw back his head and laughed. "Useful? I'm not sure my horse will agree. I was on my way to the stables. I haven't ridden in years, but somehow, this morning, a good hard ride seemed like just the thing. I was on my way to saddle Jupiter, when I heard you."
"I am sorry about the music, sir."
"That melody you were playing? I know it," was all he said. "The next part is my favorite."
Feeling shy, she ducked her head and tried to continue, but her fingers suddenly were clumsy and disobedient.
"No, no," he said, crossing the room to where she sat, "that's all wrong. It's like this," and the next thing she knew, he was seated by her side, rearranging her fingers on the frets.
"Now try it."
But it was hopeless, not with the Captain sitting so close she could feel the heat of his body through her thin nightgown. And it was impossible to concentrate with his arm curved around her shoulders. Her heart wobbled and something shifted and stirred inside.
"Hold on," he said, his voice oddly strained. "This isn't – ehrm – working out. Perhaps it would be better if I tried it myself."
"Y-yes," she said, stumbling to her feet and handing him the guitar.
For a moment or two, he held the instrument loosely in his arms and looked past her, into the distance. His gaze grew remote and his face went blank.
He must be thinking of his wife again. She closed her eyes, flinching in anticipation, expecting this new, amiable Captain to evaporate, leaving in his place the stern, distant man she knew so well. But then the music floated out into the room and a rich, warm voice washed over her:
Edelweiss, edelweiss.
Every morning you greet me.
Strong and white, clean and bright,
You look happy to meet me.
When she opened her eyes, he was watching her.
Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow
Bloom and grow forever.
Edelweiss, edelweiss
Bless my homeland forever.
She clapped delightedly as he gave an embarrassed little shrug. "Encore, Captain! Encore!"
Laughing, he picked up the refrain.
"Edelweiss…"
Their heads both swung in surprise at the sweet echo coming from the doorway:
"Edelweiss."
Liesl stood just inside the door, surrounded by her brothers and sisters, who gaped, round-eyed, as their sister sang the reply. And then the voices of father and daughter met in harmony:
"Every morning you greet me."
Too soon, the song was over. The notes faded away, and the magic along with it, so that only a long, fraught silence remained. He was staring hungrily at his children, as though he hadn't seen them for years, as though he'd been on a long journey without them and had only now returned home.
Suddenly, impulsively, he reached for them, and then they were on him, the little girls crawling into his lap, Brigitta hanging on his shoulders, Liesl and Friedrich perched at his feet. He reached out to ruffle Kurt's hair. Only Louisa hung back, a little uncertain, until an encouraging nod from her governess propelled her into the fray.
This was him! the man Frau Schmidt had told her about. The man he used to be. Although it was a happy scene, her eyes stung with unshed tears, recalling the moment before he began to sing, when he had drawn into himself, lost in memories of his wife.
"Our mother used to sing that song," Liesl explained, as if to confirm just what she'd been thinking.
"Yes, well," she said briskly. "And I liked hearing it. Now, everyone. It's time to get dressed and get ready for breakfast. And lessons." Without waiting to see if they followed, she fled back to the safety of her room.
Once there, her eyes sought her reflection in the mirror, and she let her fingers dance across her face, the pointed chin, the long nose, the freckles. The girls were always telling her she was pretty, but to her critical eyes, her mouth was too wide, and her hair stuck out like a wild boy's.
She thought back to her first morning at the villa, when Doctor Weiss had teased her about a beau. At the time, she'd been too overwhelmed by her dire circumstances to even consider the possibility. As the days had gone by, she'd continued to wonder about, and pray for, her family, but she was all but certain that there had been no sweetheart, no beau. Because surely she'd remember feeling this way.
Dizzy. Thrilled.
Terrified.
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Georg rode hard for a good half-hour, but there was no outrunning his thoughts. It wasn't only the sound of music, or the embrace of his children, or the memories of Agathe. It was also the girl's body brushing against his, and the shimmer in her eyes, and her fighting spirit.
He stopped to let Jupiter rest and let his mind linger on the image of his children's governess, darting from the nursery before he'd had a chance to thank her. For what? he asked himself wryly. For defying his orders? He hadn't held a guitar in four years now, but it had come back to him easily, and there was no denying the pleasure it brought him. Where he'd anticipated torment, the sound of music had brought him peace instead.
And, he reassured himself, the girl probably hadn't noticed his momentary loss of composure, after he'd felt the soft, round shape of a breast sway gently against his hand, with very little in between him and her bare skin. He hoped she hadn't noticed; probably not. He didn't know how old she was, or anything about her past, but she was clearly a grown woman. Yet she seemed strangely, almost oddly, innocent.
Digging his heels into the horse's sides, he turned for home.
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So glad you're enjoying my story. BTW, I've amended the summary to clarify that I'm using Maria's memoir as another source. Not for this chapter, but for what lies ahead. I know it's a busy time of year, but reviews are very motivating! I don't own TSOM or anything about it.
