Chapter 7
All the way home on the bus, she rehearsed what she would tell the children, going over and over the exact words she'd use to break the news. But it hardly seemed real, the idea of saying goodbye to them. It was like being trapped in a dream she couldn't awaken from – not a bad dream, Maria told herself hastily, not exactly.
If only it weren't all happening quite so fast! There wouldn't even be an opportunity to thank the Captain for taking her in, because, as it turned out, he'd fled for Vienna within an hour of their unnerving encounter in the ballroom. At first, she had been a little hurt by his disappearance. But maybe it was better this way in the end. Hard as it would be to say goodbye to the children, somehow it seemed like it would be even more difficult to tell him her news.
Frau Schmidt greeted her in the foyer. "The children are out on the terrace," the housekeeper said, adding something about a surprise Maria didn't quite catch. She was too busy swallowing back the lump that had grown in her throat at the thought of saying goodbye to all of them, Frau Schmidt, Franz, Miri…Sighing, she crossed the foyer and went out onto the terrace.
The Captain was standing at the bottom of the steps, surrounded by the children, looking up at her with an oddly strained expression.
"Fraulein! Fraulein! Father's come back from Vienna!"
"So I see," she said briskly, nodding in his direction. "Now, children, I want you to go inside and start your dinner. I need to talk to your father for a moment," and they were off, lugging his suitcase along with them.
Maria hadn't seen him since the last notes of the Laendler had faded away in the ballroom, and the memories and feelings came flooding back, threatening to undermine her fragile composure. If there was one thing she'd learned from his lectures on military history, it was this: it was always best to meet the enemy on the offensive.
"Captain. You left without saying goodbye, even to the children!"
"It was wrong of me," he said smoothly. "Forgive me."
"But why-"
"Please don't ask me. Anyway, the reason no longer exists."
Georg had lingered outside Lenz's office for more than an hour before making his way home, all the while weighing two appalling choices: he could keep what he'd learned from his governess, which was clearly deceitful, or he could break the news to her, an awkward task he dreaded. The first would be unfair to her; the second was unfair to him. Of course, he'd anticipated having to tell Maria about the search eventually, but in some far-off, hazy future, not now. And who would ever have imagined the search would yield such unsettling results! How had he gotten himself into this situation?
"Fraulein. I have a serious matter to discuss with you. Not-" he glanced out at the lake, painted by the setting sun- "not out here."
But she only drew back her shoulders and announced, "Fine, Captain, but there is something urgent we need to talk about first."
"Well, it will have to wait, Fraulein, because this is a matter of vital importance to you personally."
"Mine concerns your children, Captain."
"Mine does as well, Fraulein."
He turned and marched back into the house, leaving her no choice but to scurry along behind him. When he stepped aside to allow her to enter the library, Maria felt her offensive advantage begin to wither – they were on his territory now.
He still had no idea what he was going to say, so Georg bought himself time by doing what always worked well for him: resorting to intimidation, putting her on the defensive. Drawing himself up to his full height, he spat, "I arrived home to find my children loitering aimlessly on the terrace. Do you make a habit of leaving then to fend for themselves in the middle of the day, while you disappear on personal business?"
"Even a governess needs time off occasionally, Captain." she said evenly. "I was in Salzburg looking for- ehrm," she faltered, "for something. Something important." Well, the truth was important, wasn't it?
"Something more important than my children?" he demanded, crossing his arms. "And have you found it, Maria?"
The sound of her name on his lips was like a blow that left her speechless. The stunned silence hung between them for several long, awkward moments before Maria was able to choke out, "My name! You – you know my name?"
Before he could stop himself, Georg let out a low curse. What had he done? How had he – a decorated war hero, famed as a brilliant strategic thinker – how had he been so irresponsible, so impulsive, so incompetent, that he had simply blurted out the delicate news? He ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "I apologize," he mumbled. "I was not certain of the best way to tell you-" Then his eyes flew to her face. "Wait. How did you-"
"I just found out myself a few hours ago. I went to– is it only my name, Captain, or do you know the rest of it?" she asked cautiously.
"If you mean about Nonnberg, I know all of it, yes. I had some inquiries made. I don't know why I didn't think of it before." Although he did know: at first, he'd been so desperate to escape to Vienna that he didn't care who she was, or where she'd come from. Later, he hadn't wanted to do anything that might result in her leaving. For the children's sake, of course.
"I went looking for the red dome, you see, and – well, it doesn't matter anymore. And isn't it amusing?" she went on, with an effortful tone of cheerful gaiety straining her voice, "You were right all along about my name. It was Maria after all! Maria Rainier. An orphan. A girl who loves music, who's trained as a teacher-"
"And a postulant at Nonnberg Abbey," he finished. By now, he had regained his composure, and his face was unreadable. "Tell me. Did that last part surprise you?"
"I felt that God was always with me during my time here, yes." It was not exactly an answer to his question, but it was the only thing she'd admit to. Privately, Maria was beginning to panic at the thought of being locked behind those gates forever, of never seeing the children again. She couldn't even let herself think of the foolish thoughts she'd entertained about him. That was all in the past, now.
"Were you surprised, Captain?" she asked suddenly. "About me?"
What would she say if she knew that he'd nearly convinced himself she belonged in his bed! "Well," he said slowly, "you obviously have a very big heart, and a lot to give. You must be thrilled, to have it all straightened out."
"Yes! Oh, yes, of course," she skittered. "It's just that-"
His eyes caught and held hers. "It's just what, Fraulein?"
"It - it's only natural. I've been very happy here. It will be a bit of an adjustment, but I'm sure I'll be…" the words faded into the deepening evening shadows that lined the room.
"I see. Tell me," he said, tucking his hands behind his back and beginning to pace the room, ""What are your plans?"
"I couldn't see Reverend Mother today, so they sent me home – I mean, they sent me back here until tomorrow. And I wanted to come back, of course, to say goodbye to the children. And to you, now that you're back from Vienna," she added, feeling her cheeks turn pink. "I told them I'd return in the morning. I'll ask Franz to drive me."
"We'll tell them tonight, then?"
She looked up at him gratefully. "Yes, sir. I'd like it if we told them together. One last night as a fam-" Horrified, she caught herself before the presumptuous thought slipped out entirely, but he didn't seem to have noticed.
One last night, Georg thought to himself. He wished now that he had kissed her that day in the ballroom. God forgive him, it was blasphemy, or nearly so, even to think it, but since it might never be more than an idle thought, what was the harm in it?
"You'll have to find another governess," she ventured politely, as though looking for safe conversational ground.
He was still pacing the room, back and forth, calm and methodical, appearing completely in control. "Why, yes, I suppose I will. It seems less urgent this time, somehow. Thanks to you. Fraulein," he said, stopping abruptly in his tracks. "You know, you don't look very happy. Are you sure you want to go back?"
She squeezed her eyes closed against the tears that prickled there. "Of course. It's God's will, after all."
He took a deep breath, sending up a silent prayer that God would accept a little bit of help. "You know," Georg said casually, "my mother used to say that when the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."
She shook her head. "What kind of a ridiculous saying is that?"
He reached inside his jacket and drew out the thick envelope Herr Lenz had prepared.
The Captain was talking so fast now that Maria could barely follow what he was trying to tell her. "Fraulein. You don't have to go back if you don't want to. I own a small cottage outside of Vienna, up in the mountains. It's yours if you want it. This is the deed. A gift, a way of thanking you for everything. My solicitor will be arranging a bank account, nothing extravagant, but enough to keep up the house, and to keep you fed and warm. "
She frowned at him. "Why?" she asked, suspiciously, "Why are you doing this?"
"Like I said, to thank you. I'm a wealthy man, you understand. But also, to give you a choice, a say in your own future," he said. "That's all. If you want to go back to Nonnberg, Fraulein, then go. But if you have any doubts at all, then please. Take this." He held out the envelope, but she recoiled at the gesture.
"You would send me away from the children?"
"You can't stay here. It would cause a scandal. You were all over the papers, and of course I'm well known, so, you see…."
"Scandal," she repeated faintly.
"You can visit us here, of course."
"Is it," she swallowed, "I suppose it is because you are getting married, is that it? And no longer in need of a governess?"
He looked puzzled for a moment before understanding dawned on his face. "Ah! Baroness Schrader, is that it? No, no. We've called off our engagement, you see. There isn't going to be any baroness. But even so, the children won't need a governess forever, you know. This way, you'll be set no matter what."
"Set?" her voice trembled. "Is that what you call it? And what would I owe you in return?"
"Fraulein, it's nothing like that," although even to his own ears, he sounded unconvincing. This wasn't going at all well. Georg did want to rescue her, to give her a choice besides locking herself in the convent. But if he were perfectly honest with himself, the thought had occurred to him that, just possibly- but no. No. Unless…
"I'm sorry. I can't," she started to say, but he reached for her hand and interrupted her.
"Maria. Don't go back there. Please. You don't want to, and we both know it."
She yanked her hand from his.
"You want to sleep in my bed, don't you?"
For the first time since he was a boy, and despite his long and colorful history as a ladies' man and later an ardent husband, Georg von Trapp blushed.
"Why, no, of course not," he fumbled. "That's not the idea. Not at all. Not that I would object – I mean, there is no requirement or anything like that, but if that's what you like," he let out an exasperated sigh and finished, "You can if you want to."
Her eyes burned blue with fury, but he saw something else there, too. Fear. In her eyes, darting nervously around the room as though searching for an escape route. And in the way she backed away with her hand outstretched, palm facing him, as though warning him to keep his distance.
"I'm sorry, Captain, but no." Her hand was trembling, but her voice remained calm. "That sort of thing is definitely not for me. It would be too - humiliating. But thank you very much for the offer." She edged toward the door again.
"Maria. Fraulein Maria, I mean." he said, trying desperately to right the ship. "I apologize. I just wanted you to have a choice. Not to be forced into a future that doesn't fit you at all. You owe me nothing in return. I was wrong to have even..."
She had the door open before she turned to face him again, and in a low voice tinged with sadness and anger, said, "You were right about one thing. When you lose something you love, it's better to forget it ever existed. I can hardly bear the thought of never seeing the children again, leaving everything here behind. I'd do anything to be able to forget this place. The children. You," she finished fiercely, and then she ran from the room.
"It's not the same thing!" he called after her, though he wasn't sure why, exactly, it was different. But there was only the echoing sound of the door slamming behind her.
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The next few hours passed slowly, and the whole time, Maria continued to feel as though she was in a dream – a nightmare, now, she could admit it - that she couldn't awaken from. Amidst the clamor of the family's dinner routine, with the children especially jubilant at their father's return, there was a moment or two when she could almost pretend that it was only a dream, at least until his eyes met hers and they both looked hastily away.
Soon enough, however, they were gathered in the salon, breaking the news to the children. They carefully avoided looking at each other, and the Captain stood by the fireplace in stoic silence while she made her announcement,
"…and so, although I am very, very sad to be leaving all of you, I am grateful to God for showing me the way back to Nonnberg – ehrm, I mean home, of course - again. I don't think it will be possible," Georg heard the quaver in her voice before a final show of strength, "for you to visit, but I will be sure to ask. And I will pray for you, all of you, every night, and I ask you to do the same for me."
At the worst of the storm that followed – indignant tears, sad tears, desperate tears, seven children crying oceans of tears – she looked over to see Louisa, crumpled against him, her face buried in his shoulder while he smoothed the hair from her face. Louisa. Maria knew what this must be costing him, not to run away, to stand his ground and watch his children suffer, this child especially. Despite her outrage and humiliation, she couldn't help sending a grateful glance his way, and to warm at his nod of acknowledgement.
It was almost midnight before she had settled them in their beds and returned to her room. It had begun to rain outside, a ferocious, driving rain that brought back memories of the night she'd arrived at the villa. Though the clouds blocked any view of stars or moon, Maria stood by the window, peering out into the cold wet nothingness. She wasn't ready to sleep, and there was nothing for her to pack – she couldn't take anything with her, anything except memories, of course. No matter her outburst a few hours earlier, she knew she would carry the von Trapp family in her heart for the rest of her life.
It was a shame that things had ended on such a sour note with the Captain. The nerve of the man, practically propositioning her! Oh, she'd been a fool. What had she expected? While he might not be marrying Baroness Schrader after all, still, the next time it would probably be a princess!
Her heart ached with regret and loss, and another fear she could barely admit to: if she, Maria, had been able to find happiness at the villa, even when she'd lost all her childhood memories, wasn't it possible that the von Trapp family might forget her entirely? They would go on without her, as though it had never taken place, as though it had been a dream.
"Whatever happens, it will be the will of God," she reminded herself, sinking to her knees. "Even if you can't quite see it, right now." And so she thanked Him for helping her find her way back to Nonnberg, and for keeping her safe at the villa. She could easily have died out there in that storm, on a night very much like tonight, had the Captain not come along.
Her throat closed with sorrow that they had parted on such dreadful terms. He had done so much for her! He wasn't entirely wrong about her mixed feelings, either, and in his own way, he'd been trying to help. The poor man had endured so many losses and had made such an effort to make things right with his children. Shouldn't she find it within herself to forgive him, she who was going to dedicate her life to God's service?
She climbed into bed and shut out the light, letting her memory take her back into the ballroom. She could almost hear the sweet strains of the Laendler. Even then, it had been his strong arms and reassuring smile that had shown her the way. What might have happened if that long-ago dance in the ballroom had ended differently? What might have happened if her response today had been any different? But how could it have been? How could she have been anything but humiliated, mortified, ashamed? And even if it was possible, there was no point in revisiting it now. The deed was done.
The thoughts chasing noisily through her mind, and the storm raging outside, made sleep impossible. The clock struck one. Franz was bringing the car around at six and she must be at her best for Reverend Mother! Frantic for sleep, but too wrought-up to achieve it, she suddenly heard the Captain's voice in her ears.
"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."
Gathering Liesl's voluminous hand-me-down nightdress close around her, Maria slipped down the stairs, checking to be sure no light shone beneath the door to the library before she pushed it open. The room lay in darkness, but she knew the bar was only a few steps to the left, and the brandy decanter was usually just in the center. There were glasses, there, too, the ones shaped like balloons he used-
"Good evening," his voice came from deep in the shadows.
"Captain! What are you-?"
"Why are you always asking me what I'm doing in my own house?" he said, his voice threaded with amusement. "The question is what you are doing here."
He switched on a small lamp and she could see that he sat slumped in the big armchair by the fireplace. The brandy decanter sat on the floor next to his feet, along with the jacket he'd discarded there. His tie was loosened, his hair was awry, his face was shadowed with stubble and, as he rose to his feet, there was something rather blurry about him.
As he approached her, she took an instinctive step backward. It was nothing new, to feel intimidated in the Captain's presence. But tonight, his menacing demeanor was different, somehow. No longer ice cold but dangerously hot instead.
Rain lashed against the windows. They stood silently, staring at each other, for what might have been a minute or an hour. She was afraid to say or do anything, not trusting his response, but at last, she managed, "I'm sorry, Captain. I should go."
She turned back toward the door but he moved swiftly to stop her, wrapping his hand gently around her wrist.
"Not so fast, Maria. Or should I say Fraulein? Or even Sister?"
"Maria is fine," she said unsteadily. "I'm sorry that I disturbed you. I couldn't sleep, and I remembered what you said about brandy being a help."
"Brandy?" Again, that amused, confident air. While she'd been upstairs suffering, he'd been down here entertaining himself with his thoughts. And the brandy decanter, apparently. "That's got to be against the rules, Maria."
"Starting tomorrow," she said, startling herself with a witless giggle.
"My pleasure, then," he said – had he just winked at her? She watched while he retrieved the brandy, accepted the glass he handed her and tossed down the drink, the way she'd seen him do it. The burning sensation almost knocked her off her feet.
"Thank you," she rasped, mustering her dignity.
"You're welcome," he said gravely. "Was there something else you wanted? A French macaron, perhaps? I've got a box of them around here somewhere."
She regarded him warily. "No, thank you."
"Any other rules you'd like to break?"
"Yes," Maria stumbled, "I mean, no. I mean, I would like to thank you again for your generosity. I'll never be able to thank you properly."
"No, I suppose not. Not anymore, you won't," he said, his blue eyes gleaming. He watched her with a steady, predatory gaze, until her flushed face told him that she'd gotten his meaning, and then gestured at her glass.
"More brandy? It would be a shame not to take advantage of the opportunity. This stuff costs a fortune. Why, one bottle costs more than a governess makes in a year! Although I gather you don't have very expensive tastes. Which should make that vow of poverty easy enough. I have a little more trouble understanding how you'll cope with the other two."
"No, thank you," she fluttered. "I really ought to be going." She turned toward the door, but before she could pull it open, his hand clamped around her wrist again, this time with a grip that she felt all the way down to her toes.
"Maria. You are not dismissed. Not until you satisfy my curiosity about something."
She turned to face him, her back nearly flat against the closed door, willing her face to remain impassive, willing her hammering heart not to leap from her chest entirely. "What is it, Captain?"
"It's very simple," he said slowly. He rested his hands on the door, one on either side of her head, trapping her with the wall of his body. He was standing so close that she could feel the heat come off of him, so close she could see the muscle that twitched in his jaw.
"Why, Fraulein?"
"W-Why?" she stammered.
"Why. Tell me why. Why you want to lock yourself up with a bunch of dried-up old women. How is it that you could possibly have chosen this path for yourself? I know you. I knew you when you barely knew yourself. It does not seem…possible."
For an instant, Maria wished she could tell him the whole story. She'd only regained the memory of it for herself a few hours ago, and it seemed terribly important to make him understand, as though he would help her come to terms with it, too. But reason quickly took over and she said only, "It's really none of your business, Captain. Now if you would only-"
"O-ho!" His deep blue gaze pinned hers, so that she couldn't look away even though she longed to. "That's where you're wrong. In fact," he leaned closer to her, until she could feel the warm tickle of his breath against her ear, "it is my business."
Like a moth flirting with a flame, she couldn't bring herself to turn away. She could only stand, frozen by the certain knowledge of what would happen between them if she moved even a fraction of an inch.
"Can this be happening to me?" she said unsteadily.
He leaned back and regarded her with an amused half smile. "Nothing is happening to you. All I'm asking for is an answer to my question, and you know, you do owe me. As you yourself pointed out. I gave you safety, I gave you a home-"
Home. The word stopped her cold.
"Go home," Sister Berthe had said. "To your family," Sister Margarethe had added.
And it was true. This, not Nonnberg, was her home and her family. Maria couldn't hold back the strangled cry of longing, misery and grief that echoed in the dark room.
The heart rending sound made him back swiftly away from her and watch, alarmed, as she bent over, as though she'd been punched in the gut.
She pulled in a ragged, gasping breath and flinched, anticipating a cutting retort from him, but there was only silence. When she looked up, though, his face was wiped clean of mischief. His mood was no longer playful, and his beautiful eyes were soft and suspiciously bright.
"So," he murmured. "It appears that there is something else you need, after all."
Without another word, he opened his arms to her. What else could she do, but go to him and let the storm break?
Georg held her gently, as though she might crumble in his arms, while she wept her heart out. "I am not the sort of girl who cries," she had lectured him once, but now, his shirt was soaked with her tears. And all throughout, he murmured gently, comforting sounds in place of the words he couldn't bring himself to say, and what would be the point now?
Why did he feel that he had made a mess of things? He had intended to send her on her way, and she was going. He wanted her, true. Even now, he couldn't quite ignore the soft curves of her body pressed against his, seeking solace. But he was an honorable man, and one who would never be able to love her the way she deserved. Anyway, no matter the temptations he'd pondered earlier in the day, he was no longer thinking of ravishing her, but of comforting her. Although he felt rather in need of comforting himself.
After a while, she cried herself out. "I'm sorry," she hiccoughed.
"There's no need to apologize. But you ought to get some rest." He released his hold on her, but she stumbled against him, drained by grief and fatigue. So he tucked his arm securely about her waist and, bearing most of her weight against him, got her out of the library, across the foyer, and upstairs to her room. By the time he deposited her on the bed and pulled the quilt over her, she was nearly asleep.
He was halfway out the door when he heard her murmur. "Please. Don't leave me. Not yet."
"Never," he wanted to say, but he couldn't, of course. Instead, he perched on the side of her bed and took her soft, warm hand in his. He waited, listening to the rain drum at the windows, until she had relaxed into sleep. But as soon as she sensed him preparing to move, she tightened her hand on his. She did this once more, then twice.
He was exhausted himself, and tense with emotion. Without letting himself think about what he was doing, Georg stretched out alongside her, smoothed the hair from her forehead and whispered, "All right, now. I'm here. Go to sleep."
The rain woke him once more, in the middle of the night, just long enough for him to remember where he was, just long enough to know that she had nestled under his chin, against his heart. Then sleep claimed him again.
The next time he woke, the room was filled with bright yellow sun, and he was alone.
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Yes, I know I said work would keep me away from this story for a while, but those reviews! Those reviews! And the PMs! I could not stay away from them, or you. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Also: you know, most of my stories start with one image, even if that image ends up being not central to the story after a while, and this story began in my mind with the image of Georg opening his arms to Maria, as happens (under different circumstances) in the Story of the Trapp Family Singers. Anyway, stay tuned. I don't own, all for love, and so on.
