Chapter 5
The days slipped by. There was no word from Elsa, and he felt no particular urgency to return to Vienna in her absence. Beyond the usual press of business affairs, there was also a steady stream of requests that kept him involved with the children. Georg found himself assisting with everything from capturing frogs for a terrarium, to French translation, to making campfires by the lake at night, to solving equations, to telling stories from his time at sea.
The sound of music, which he had strictly forbidden for so long, now seemed to be everywhere, filling the warm, breezy days and long purple evenings. He felt himself thawing out, the way one might after coming indoors from the cold – there was comfort and pleasure in the returning warmth, but also the occasional twinge when a painful memory caught him by surprise.
Curiously, while he felt more at ease with his children than he had since Agathe's death, their governess had grown cool toward him. In his presence, she was by turns awkward, detached, polite and remote. He thought back to her confession – how she felt vulnerable because she had nowhere else to go. Surely, after what she'd done for his family, she deserved better than to live in fear so.
So Georg sent her a note, asking her to join him in the library one evening after the children were in bed. Although at that hour, he usually enjoyed a brandy or two, he even ordered a pot of tea and some cakes, hoping to put her and her sweet tooth at ease.
For the first few minutes, she perched on the edge of the big leather couch, fidgeting with her handkerchief and waiting anxiously for some declaration: surely he'd called her in with a complaint, or to point out some previously unknown rule, or impose a new, onerous requirement.
She worried constantly about her position at the villa, so much so that the Captain had been appearing in her dreams at night, sometimes grim and unsmiling, other times relaxed and cheerful, but always bearing the news that he'd found a real governess and it was time for her to go. Or that the details of his marriage to Baroness Schrader had finally been worked out, and the children would have a new mother instead. And meanwhile, she still didn't know where she was from, or even her name, and the few memories she'd been able to patch together were an unhelpful collage of happy, sad and worse.
But after a few minutes of small talk about the children, and with the help of a cup of tea and a slice of cake, she began to relax. The Captain slumped into a comfortable armchair nearby, sipping his tea. While he wasn't ever going to be the jolly, amiable sort, they had a shared history now, and he wasn't quite as formidable as he'd seemed during her first days at the villa.
"Was there something you wanted, Captain?"
"Well," he started, starting into his teacup. "I asked you to join me tonight because – well," he forged on with determination, "I was thinking, and I was wondering. Have I done something to offend you?"
"Me? You want to know if you have offended me?"
Her tone suggested that if he hadn't offended her, he might have done something else, though he couldn't imagine what it was.
"Yes," he hurried on, "and anyway, I haven't had much opportunity lately to thank you. The children seem to be thriving. They've even put away those ridiculous uniforms and started wearing proper play clothes for a change. They answer to their names now, and not that silly whistle. And the credit goes to you."
Now that he was past the awkward part, Georg stole a glance at her. She looked unaccountably flustered.
But all she said was, "They're your children, Captain. And they're quite well behaved."
"Don't even bother trying to convince me of that," he chuckled. "Are you telling me I don't know my children? I do know mischief when I see it. I was a terror myself, as a boy."
"You?" she said disbelievingly. "But you are always so – ehrm - correct."
"I was completely undisciplined. A holy terror. I had more tutors than my children have had governesses, and there was only me and my sister! That's why I was sent to the naval academy, in fact, when I was barely Friedrich's age. It was the best thing that could have happened to me."
The anecdote had put her at ease, he saw.
"It's funny," she said confidingly. "Even though I can remember almost nothing of my childhood, I'm quite certain I was the rebellious type too. Climbing trees, tearing my clothes, sliding down banisters…"
"Of course you remember those things. I've seen you do some of them myself!" There was something utterly charming about the way she flushed and squirmed at the admiring compliment. Hastily, he added, "so you are making progress with your memory?"
"Slowly, Captain, slowly. As I told you, I can remember specific things but I don't know how they fit together. Like that red dome, for example. Why would I have so many memories about a convent? And," she sighed, "I still don't know how I came to be here."
"Well, I admire you," he said soberly. "You've been awfully brave about it all."
"Brave? Me? As I recall, you are supposed to be the brave one."
"Not in the same way." He paused, considering. "When you're a soldier," he said slowly, as though thinking out loud, "The memories are a burden. You survive by forgetting. You must push the horror and fear away, because if you remembered it all, you'd never be able to carry on. Yet you, Fraulein – you are fighting to find the memories you've lost. Aren't you afraid of what you'll learn?"
"It couldn't be any worse than not knowing," she said, quietly at first, and then her voice strengthened. "I would gladly shoulder any burden, just to know my name. Mirjam, Marta, Magda, Marlene – such lovely names, all of them, but they aren't me. I want to know my name."
He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Fraulein. You'd give a great deal to have your memories back, and here I am-" he faltered, uncomfortably.
The words flew from her mouth before she could weigh the impulse. "You only want to forget, is that it?"
She sprang to her feet and began pacing the room, rumpling her fingers through her red-gold hair.
"I'm sorry, Captain, but if I could remember everything? Honestly, I've already got a pretty good idea that there would be some heartache. But I know there would be joy, too. You lost your career at sea, but at least you can remember the sea. I don't even know if I've ever -and – you have parents, don't you?"
"My parents are dead," Georg said curtly, watching her circle the room. He had invited her intending to offer comfort, and she was attacking him?
"But you remember them, don't you? That they loved you, how proud they were of you, the nicknames they had for you, the way they cared for you when you were sick, or scared, or…"
She stopped her pacing just long enough to take a deep breath, and he took advantage of the moment to interrupt.
"Of course, Fraulein. There are good memories as well, but they are far in the past." He felt oddly embarrassed, as though his grief was some kind of shameful weakness.
Tea had proved inadequate for the situation after all. He hauled himself out of the armchair and went to pour himself a brandy. A great surge of anger welled up within, one that pushed the words out of his mouth before he could remind himself that he never voiced thoughts like this, and certainly not to a pink cheeked slip of a girl.
"You are much too young to have experienced a very great loss, the kind that can never be made right," he said sharply.
His fist clenched around a brandy, he crossed the room to where she stood, conscious that he was trying to intimidate her, to regain the upper hand. A part of him couldn't help admiring the way she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin at him. This girl was relentless!
"It's so unfair, Captain. Here you are, running away from your memories…"
He could almost see her usual vital energy drain from her.
"While I am coming to terms with the possibility that I may never remember everything. My name, for God's sake. I'm going to have to choose a name for myself if this keeps up! People are made of their memories. Surely you of all people understand that, Captain! Because your wife - at least you know you loved someone and that you were loved in return. Would you really rather have forgotten her?"
Of all the audacious, impertinent – the furious retort died on his lips at the sight of her forlorn figure, shoulders bowed, her blue eyes full of sorrow, on his behalf as well as hers. The ache in her voice made him want to - instead, he drained his glass.
"No," he said, "of course not, it's just-"
"There is nothing left of me, not even a name! Nothing. What will become of me? How can someone who is nothing become anything?" She was rambling now. "Something. Anything. Nothing from something. Nothing comes from nothing." She turned her face away, but not before he saw the tears shimmer in her eyes.
Although he'd long ago accepted his own grief, frustration and despair as a permanent state of affairs, he somehow couldn't tolerate such a future for this young woman. Not after everything she had done for him and his children.
"Come, now," Georg said encouragingly, "the children adore you! And you had parents. Everyone does, after all. Surely they loved you. And a beautiful young woman like you, undoubtedly there is someone, a young man, you know, who…"
She turned toward him again, and for just a moment, something flashed across her face, a certain glow in her deep blue eyes – that completely captivated him, leaving him unable to look away.
"No, no. Not me," she said weakly, "I mean, I don't think I ever…"
He couldn't stop himself: he lifted his hand and brushed a finger across her cheek, soft as silk, watching it stain pink, feeling her turn toward his touch.
"How would you know?" he whispered, swallowing back the feelings – tenderness and relief and, yes, desire, that welled up within.
But she only flinched, looking apprehensively at the empty glass in his hand.
"I'm sorry," he fumbled. "I shouldn't have-"
"It was the brandy talking," she said feebly.
"I don't drink that much. Much less than I used to, in fact. El – someone told me to cut back, and I did. You are probably one of the lucky ones who sleeps like a baby, but there are those of us, Fraulein, who occasionally need a little help quieting the storm inside."
"It's my fault, Captain," she said hastily. "I shouldn't have spoken so freely to you. You know I'm very grateful to you for everything."
So even after what had passed between them, she was still afraid of him. Georg hid the vague feeling of disappointment behind a platitude, one he knew to be false: "It doesn't matter who you were, Fraulein. Only who you are."
When her eyes met his with a wordless retort, he looked away.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Elsa's telegram arrived the next day:
MOTHER BABY THRIVING. RETURNING VIENNA TOMORROW. EAGER FOR REUNION.
And he had replied, carefully omitting the question mark at the end:
SEPTEMBER SALZBURG VISIT
It was a relief in some ways, knowing that this interlude, however pleasant, was at an end. Things with his children were back on track, which would make matters with Elsa much simpler. He'd had too much time on his hands lately, and had let himself get far more wrapped up than was prudent in the troubles facing his anonymous little governess. Last night's conversation, for example.
He couldn't afford to let this kind of distraction push him off course! A quick call to Leo Weiss confirmed what she'd told him: the memories were returning, but slowly. Georg was not a patient man, and in his mind, he began to consider alternative ways to resolve the situation.
Two long, rainy days passed with no further word from Elsa. It was the rainiest summer Salzburg had seen in years, and his admiration for his governess only grew as he watched her keep his children productively occupied. They'd been closeted in the ballroom all afternoon, and he'd heard nothing more than the low, constant refrain of music and the occasional burst of laughter and applause.
A knock at the library door, and Franz appeared. "Telegram for you, Captain."
NEEDED FOR MAX OPENING SEPTEMBER. PERHAPS OCTOBER.
October? Fuming, he tossed the telegram aside. He could go back to Vienna, of course, to try and hurry Elsa along. It would simply be a return to the existence that had suited him well enough just a few months ago. But the very thought of Vienna – the noise, the lights, the infernal gossip, the oppressive city environment – irritated him. He looked longingly out the window toward the stables, but the weather was too foul even for Jupiter to manage.
Restless, he wandered out of the library and into the foyer, and the music grew louder. Tchaikovsky? Curious, he quietly pushed open the ballroom doors.
Most of the children sat cross legged in the floor, watching intently as Brigitta and Louisa leapt and pirouetted. Their Fraulein stood to one side, overseeing a record player. After a minute, the music ended and the girls curtsied to loud applause.
"Bravo," Georg called from the doorway, and they turned to welcome him, the children's bright faces welcoming him enthusiastically, their governess' demeanor more cautious, more guarded.
"I hope the noise didn't disturb you, Captain," she said, bustling around the record player. "We're having a recital, you see. Marta has already performed, and now…"
That she could still be intimidated after what had passed between them the other night simply baffled him. "No, no. Don't mind me," he reassured her. "What's next?"
The strains of a simple melody filled the air.
"I wanted to waltz," Liesl complained, "but Friedrich refuses to cooperate."
"That's not a waltz," he corrected Liesl, "it's the Laendler. An Austrian folk dance."
Just then, the little governess made a sound, a quiet little moan that could barely be heard over the music. When he looked over at her, she was standing frozen in place, her hands held up against cheeks that had gone pale white.
"I-I know this one," she whispered. "I haven't danced it since I was a little girl."
"Show me!" Kurt bounded up to her and took her hands.
She closed her eyes, her whole body tensed with effort at the memory.
"Well, first you bow and I curtsy, like this, and then…" The two took a few awkward steps together, but the discrepancy in their heights interfered.
Before he knew what he was doing, Georg gently nudged Kurt aside and took her hand, soft and warm, in his. Slowly, gently, he began to lead her through the steps. It might move things along, he told himself, if he could help her remember her past. He didn't let himself admit that it was a relief to have an excuse to touch her.
At first, she struggled for breath, and she was so dizzy that it took everything she had not to stumble over her own feet and land on the floor. Somehow, it helped steady her to watch his face, with its customary confident, assured expression, as he guided her through the figures.
Breathe, she told herself, focus, concentrate, but then the music lifted her up, like wind in a sail, and after that she felt like she was flying, soaring effortlessly, with only his gentle touch to steer her. Exhilarated, feeling the smile spread across her face, she swept and spun through the movements. Her feet knew the steps, her hands knew just where to go.
There was only one moment when she faltered: when she remembered what came next. While her mind shrank at the thought, her heart nearly leapt from her chest. In any event, there was no way to stop the music's sweet, insistent pulse, no escape as he came up close to her. The Captain smelled like cologne and spices and something else, something masculine. Under her clothing, her skin prickled with heat in the places where his hand curved around her waist, and where his legs brushed against hers.
The air in the ballroom grew heavy and charged, swelling outward against the golden-filigreed walls. She felt herself melting, knowing she would surely dissolve into a puddle on the floor had it not been for his firm embrace. And she couldn't look at him, not anymore, because she was quite certain that if their eyes met, the resulting spark would surely ignite and the entire room would burst into flames.
At last, she summoned the strength to break away. "I don't remember any more," she said breathlessly. She could barely hear the music over the roar of her own heartbeat, and there was no escaping his knowing gaze, or the tender smile that sucked the air from her lungs.
"Fraulein," Marta broke in, "may I have a turn with Father?"
She picked up what shreds of composure she had left. "You can if you want to," she said, bending to tie Gretl's shoe. When she straightened up again, he was gone.
At teatime, she pleaded a headache and fled to the safety of her bedroom. Think, she told herself, think, but her only thought was of him, his handsome face, that wicked smile, those smoldering blue eyes.
If he'd begun to invade her dreams, well, at least no one could see that. But letting him see how he affected her, that was quite another. How could she go on after what had happened between them today? Matters with the Captain would always be orderly and definite: he would never love anyone again the way he'd loved his wife; he had patched things up with his children; he was going to marry a titled aristocrat. There was no room for her in this picture, of course.
She was in too deep, and so, though it would break her heart to leave the children, it was past time for her to go. She must redouble her efforts to learn enough about herself, and her people, so that she could leave this place. And she'd start first thing tomorrow, with the red dome.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOo
His hands shook as he poured himself a double brandy and gulped it down. What the hell had just happened?
Georg ran his fingers through his hair and began to pace the room. He knew, with complete certainty, that if his children had not been in the ballroom, he'd have kissed her. Kissed her senseless, and more. Her blue eyes, looking up at him through the fringe of her lashes, had kindled something within him that he'd thought long dead.
He had very nearly been overtaken by a wave of desire – lust, he told himself, let's call it what it is. This wasn't admiration or gratitude for a kind-hearted governess. This wasn't tender sympathy for a helpless lost soul hiding from some nameless troubles. Though she'd been wearing a dainty, girlish dress, another of Liesl's hand me downs, there was that moment when her skirt had lifted – the image of those long legs was permanently etched in his mind's eye.
His eyes fell on Elsa's latest telegram, lying discarded on the desk, and he was overcome by guilt. Why was he tempted to take advantage of a rough-edged girl half his age, while distancing himself from a charming, suitable, stunning woman who-
Moreover, he feared that if he didn't leave the villa – and soon – he would find himself doing something he was too ashamed to even think about. He had no right to complicate her already-difficult life, no right to force himself on her, but the temptation was very nearly irresistible.
Yes. It would be better for everyone if he returned to Vienna. To Elsa. Surely the feelings stirring within were more appropriately directed at her. And if Elsa and he became intimate, surely she would come around, would visit Salzburg, and would fall in love with his children. Or something close enough to suffice.
Georg poured himself another small splash of brandy, organizing his thoughts, making a plan. It would be best to leave quickly, without making any sort of fuss around her or the children.
He knew what he had to do in Vienna, and, he reminded himself, he already had the beginnings of a plan for the girl as well. She was deeply devoted to the children, so it would be hard for her to leave, but she'd probably go along with his plan out of gratitude. It was the least he could do for her, help her find her way on with her life.
Yes. It was time for all of them to move on.
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Thank you so much for your reviews. Please keep them coming, even if you read this long after it's published, as they make a HUGE difference as I plow along with the remaining chapters (and there could be quite a few of them). I think it's interesting that many people like the slower pace at which things are developing between M&G (well, OK, slightly slower). That's what makes fanfiction so fun, isn't it? You couldn't have all of this happen in a three hour movie! Also, it's a good moment to pause and acknowledge that this story is devoid of Nazis, Anschluss, etc. At one point I tried to fix that, and you will see a little vestige of it in the next chapter, but after that I decided there's already too much going on so I abandoned the Anschluss angle. Oh, and I don't own anything, all for love.
