Chapter 5: Forbidden Dreams
A/N: I've had a touch of writer's block. I came up with an outline for this chapter days ago, but I wasn't able to figure out how to write it. Then today on the subway ride home from work, it came together. I hope you like it.
Unfortunately, I had to break with the Forbidden 'T' pattern. 'Dreams' just fit this chapter better than any 'T' word I could come up with.
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Clear azure blue skies. Crisp mountain air. Birds chirping, singing. A field of edelweiss waving in the brisk wind, a marriage of white and green. The sun warm on his face.
If he could only remember why he was on this mountain.
Children's laughter. Running footsteps. Mild complaints and arguments. The flutter of pages being turned in a book. Aimless humming.
Yes, of course. There they were – the children, picnicking, playing on the mountain. Three-legged race. He smiled, leaning against a tree.
"Louisa, will you be my partner?" Friedrich. Forceful. Becoming a man.
"Of course! The others won't stand a chance!" Louisa, a competitive gleam in her eyes.
He shook his head fondly. Always so competitive.
"I don't want to be in your silly race, Friedrich!" Gretl, hands on hips, glaring.
Trying to intimidate her brother. Adorable.
Brigitta, nose buried in a book, as usual. So intelligent.
Marta, playing with her doll. Pink dress, of course. So delicate.
Liesl, staring into space. Dreaming. Becoming a woman.
Is this a dream? The air swirled, then cleared.
"Will you be my partner?" Kurt, man/child, looking up at Maria.
Maria. Exquisite, beloved wife.
Children shouting, cheering. Kurt and Maria pulling ahead, falling, a web of arms and legs and laughter and hiccups.
Let me help you.
He holds his hands out to help her up. Love in her eyes. So much happiness.
Blue nightgown flung to the floor. Tangled white satin sheets. Hot, mingled, panting breaths. Skin slick with sweat. Enticing, inviting curves. Taste of salt and nectar. Playful wrestling. Laughter swallowed by moans. Stifled screams. Quiet embrace.
"All of my kisses are yours."
"I love you."
Where are you going?
She fades, slips from his fingers.
Don't leave me.
So cold, cold as ice.
Don't leave me.
His hands are empty.
She's gone.
He woke up gasping, his hands fisted so tightly that he drew blood. It took several seconds for him to realize that it had been just a dream. He relaxed his hands and stared at the shallow gouges in his palms before dropping his hands to his sides. He was almost grateful for the wounds; it gave him a different kind of pain.
That had been the worst one so far. It had felt so real; she had been his, had been in his life, in his bed, in his heart. But the rest wasn't a dream, was it? She was gone; she had slipped away. She had never, in fact, been his at all. That was real. The empty chasm inside him, the loneliness, the loss he had no right to claim – that was real.
He turned on his side, curled his knees to his chest, his eyes dry. He had to work hard to swallow past the lump in his throat.
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Georg made his way downstairs to join Elsa for breakfast. It would be just the two of them this morning; Max had already left for an early morning meeting.
He slowed his steps. He still felt half dazed with exhaustion, and the traces of his dream lingered. He knew he needed to clear his head before he got downstairs. Elsa liked to engage in conversation at the table, to plan their day together. He had to stay sharp, regardless of how difficult it was.
He had been plagued by dreams ever since he had arrived in Vienna two weeks earlier. At first the dreams had been similar to those he'd had those three nights before he'd left his home. He had almost gotten used to them; he had begun learning to accept that Maria would join him every night in his dreams, if not in reality.
But gradually the dreams had become more like nightmares. They always started out the same, with some kind of family gathering. Then somehow he would just know that she was gone. He had begun to dread waking up in the morning. Every day she slipped from his fingers. Every day he lost her all over again. It was becoming unbearable.
He was on the last step when he tripped. He was able to catch himself on the banister before completely losing his balance. This was the second time that he had slipped on the marble steps. Elsa's home was beautiful, tastefully decorated, elegant beyond compare, but sometimes he thought it was all like these marble steps – pale and austere and cold. Perhaps he was being unfair, but this house did not feel like a home.
He entered the dining room where Elsa sat at the head of the table, waiting for him. He walked over to her.
"Good morning. I trust you slept well?" He bent to kiss her cheek. She looked and smelled lovely, as always. He sat down at her right.
Elsa smiled at him brilliantly before her expression changed to a look of concern.
"I slept quite well, but you, my dear Georg, you look as if you haven't slept at all."
"It's nothing. You know I never sleep well when I'm away from home." It was true that he had always slept poorly when he travelled; he was glad to have a valid reason for looking tired, even if it was not the whole truth. He took his napkin and placed it on his lap. It was made of a rich, white cloth.
Tangled white satin sheets. Hot, mingled, panting breaths. Skin slick with sweat. Taste of salt and nectar. Laughter swallowed by moans. Stifled screams.
He ran a finger along the napkin, remembering the feel of the satin sheets against his skin, remembering the feel of his body sliding against them, sliding against her, remembering the taste of her skin…
"Darling, are you all right? You look a bit flushed." Elsa was looking at him intently, with a penetrating look. She saw the way he was gripping the napkin and arched an eyebrow. He let go of it and smoothed it carefully on his lap.
"I'm quite well, thank you. It's just a bit warm in here." Stupid of him to let himself get so easily distracted. He took a long drink of water.
"Georg, what's happened to your hands?" Elsa sounded alarmed. She tried to pull one of his hands toward her to look at it more closely. He pulled it away before she could grab on to him. He had forgotten the wounds.
"Just a slight accident this morning. They're merely minor cuts. I've already treated them. Now, what were you saying?" He appreciated Elsa's concern but thought it wise to deflect it. He could never tell her the truth. He needed to be more careful.
"I just said that if the bed is uncomfortable, I can have Frau Krause make arrangements to move you to another room. There are several others available." She gave him a searching look but did not ask for more of an explanation. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"No, no, don't give it another thought. I'm fine where I am. Now, I've delayed our breakfast and you must be starving. Please, let's eat." He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. He poured himself a cup of tea and reached for a slice of toast.
"Very well, dear." She smiled, nodding slightly, and helped herself to some fruit.
"We received an invitation from Baron Becker to attend a tea party this afternoon. You remember the Beckers, don't you, darling? You met them at the Müller ball last week." She spoke in between bites, as was customary for her.
"The Beckers...yes, I do remember them. Herr Becker and I spoke of our days in the navy, though he served years before I did. I believe he's about the age my father would be had he lived."
Georg counted himself fortunate to have remembered the Beckers; he was certain it was only because of the naval connection. He had been to what seemed like an endless stream of empty social gatherings over the past two weeks. They had left him feeling weary; he was not sure how many more he could endure.
Would he be able to live this kind of life when he married Elsa? Surely it would be different once they were married. They would be living in his home, not here in Vienna. He would insist on a more balanced life, a simpler life. But he could not imagine Elsa being happy with the way he preferred to live. Sometimes he thought they were too different. And yet, she had brought him a measure of happiness when he had needed it desperately.
He looked at her, hearing her speak but no longer listening to the words. She was elegant, sophisticated, independent, a perfect hostess, a noblewoman. She should be a perfect match for him. She paused in her litany of information about the guests that would be attending the afternoon tea party and took a bite from her grapefruit. Yes, she was elegant, even in the way she ate. She had perfect manners. But there was no spirit of freedom in her, no sign of being able to give herself fully to the joys and simple pleasures of life. Not like…
"…on the 28th. I should really send a final confirmation by this afternoon if we'll be attending."
He had lost track of what she was saying. But the 28th…
"Pardon me, what was that about the 28th?"
"Georg, are you paying attention at all? Honestly, we must find a way for you to get a good night's sleep. I've never known you to be this torpid. The Hoffmanns are celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary this Saturday, the 28th." Elsa's tone was light, but he could tell that she was annoyed. At the moment, however, he was more concerned about what she had said.
August 28th. It was Louisa's 14th birthday. How could he have forgotten?
"I'm sorry, Elsa, but Louisa's birthday is Saturday. I've lost track of the days here, but I must return home for her birthday." The second the words left his mouth, he realized what he had said. He had to return home.
"Are you certain, darling? The Hoffmanns will be so disappointed." It seemed to him that Elsa was the one who was disappointed. She was almost pouting.
"Yes, I'm certain. It's my daughter's birthday." He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He was not certain he had succeeded.
"You're right, of course, dear. I'll explain it to the Hoffmanns myself. They have children of their own and will understand." Elsa was all sweetness again, perhaps sensing his displeasure.
All at once, he was struck with the reality that in two days time he would be home. Only two more days and he would have to face her again.
Blue nightgown flung to the floor. Tangled white satin sheets. Enticing, inviting curves. Quiet embrace.
"All of my kisses are yours."
"I love you."
It was too soon. He felt his anxiety level rise; his heart was already palpitating, his hands were sweating.
He had to get out of the room. Elsa would notice that something was wrong with him. He put his napkin on his plate and stood. He tried to smile, though he imagined it looked more like a grimace. His entire face felt stiff.
"Would you please excuse me, Elsa? I need to…freshen up."
"Yes, of course, darling. I'll wait for you here."
He hardly knew how, but he managed to kiss her cheek before walking out of the room.
Even though he wanted to run, he walked calmly to the first floor bathroom, silencing the clamor in his head until he was inside. He closed the door behind him and leaned back, knocking the back of his head against it until the pain forced him out of his stupor.
He walked over to the sink and ran the cold water, splashing it on his face until he felt collected enough to think. He gripped the sides of the sink as he raised his head and looked at himself in the mirror. It was time to stop hiding.
He could not disappoint Louisa. There was nothing for it; he would have to go back, even though he was nowhere close to feeling ready to return. He swore like he hadn't since his days in the navy. He swore because he had not yet figured out how to expunge Maria from his head. He swore because it seemed that everything was working against him. He swore because nothing had changed.
He swore because he could not wait to see her.
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A/N: Just a bit of trivia – Louisa was based on the Captain's daughter, Maria Franziska von Trapp, who was born on August 28, 1914.
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