"…Edelweiss, edelweiss, bless my homeland forever…"
Georg let his voice drift as he watched his youngest child drift to sleep. Feeling Marta's breathing beginning to slow in his arms, he gently rose from the edge of Gretl's bed.
A soft gasp was heard from his seven-year-old. "Oh, Father!"
"What is it, sweetheart?" He saved this term of endearment especially for her, his most shy and fragile child.
"I forgot to tell you today," she said, her apologetic tone fighting against the mounting exhaustion. Georg tucked her into her own bed "The song reminded me. Fraulein Maria asked me to give you something this morning."
"Oh, really?" He and Maria often did this: have the children pass along little gifts between the two. Not usually letters – those were sent abundantly on their own – but tiny gifts. "Where is it?"
Marta pointed to a tiny bundle of white fabric on her bedside table. Georg picked it up and put it in his pocket. Looking back at his daughter, he saw that she was extremely close to sleep. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams, my sweetheart."
"Good night, Papa," she barely whispered before sleep claimed her for the night.
After kissing Gretl good night, he went to the doorway and looked at his two smallest before closing the door for a moment. Of all of his children, he knew that they would probably have little to no memories of Agathe; they had been so young, just babies, when she'd passed. But Maria had come and filled that gap in their lives. And it broke his heart to realize that the first time they would remember their father loving them would be that day of the rowboat incident. They would never remember how he'd shed a tear of joy as he'd held them in his arms for the first time, how he'd taught Marta her first steps, or heard Gretl's first word. But they were so young, and he had so much time to make up for that now. Blowing a last kiss to both of them, Georg shut the bedroom door softly.
As he walked to his room, Georg unwrapped the bundle of white fabric Marta had given him from Maria, noticing the white fabric was that of her handkerchief. Inside was something he had not expected: a delicate rosary with a silver cross, tiny pearl beads and a delicate fresco of Madonna and Child. Then he saw there was a tiny note beneath it. He unfolded it and immediately recognized Maria's feminine hand:
Georg,
This rosary is the only heirloom left of my mother, and my grandmother before that. The most precious possession I own, one would say. I've never been without it before, but I loan it to you now, and tomorrow you can give it back. Remember: I'll be the one in white.
This is how much I trust you – how much I am in love with you. See you tomorrow.
Love, Maria
Somehow, Georg felt more honored than he had when he'd received the Maria-Theresa medal years ago. In his hand was something very precious. The fact that she would trust him so completely touched a very deep place in his heart. Gently, he wrapped up the bundle again and headed for his room.
However, upon entering his room, Georg saw his uniform all laid out on his bed, along with his luggage at the foot. Looking around the room, he could see how much it had truly changed.
After Agathe had died, one of the first things Georg had done in his grief was to have his bedroom completely redone. Just like with the ballroom – and his children – he had shut things that had reminded him of her out of his life, and the bedroom was one of the worst. Nights were already unbearable. So he'd had his room done over in dark colors and basic furniture. Depressing was what it was, but he would rather sleep in a room like that than in the room where so many intimate memories of Agathe would haunt him, reminding him that he was alone.
But once he'd become engaged to Maria, Georg had taken one look at his bedroom and shuddered. He would not bring his new bride into this room, not without it being prepared for her. So, over the past six weeks, he'd made sure only the best people had transformed his private rooms – with the exception of his study, which he had always left alone – to be ready for her. Looking around his now finished bedroom, he was very satisfied. The interior designer he'd hired had understood his request to make it a room for two rather than one, and listened when he'd told the designer about his future bride. All around the room was a balance of masculine and feminine: the dark wood furniture of elegant design, the wallpaper pattern of light and dark blue, and a king-sized bed with more than enough room for two. This was a room he couldn't wait to carry Maria into.
But, for now, Georg stripped off his clothing and changed into pajamas. Obviously with his uniform laying out over the bed he couldn't sleep there. That was no problem – he would simply sleep where he had slept on the nights when there had been drying paint or a mess of supplies in his bedroom.
After good-naturedly making up the bed his children had so recently messed from jumping and dancing, Georg settled under the covers, head on the pillow. He looked at the pillow beside him and reached out to stroke it, imagining Maria was beside him. He realized that tonight would be the last night he would have to sleep alone in a bed too big for just one person. The thought brought unbelievable comfort to him, a man who was not meant to sleep alone after sleeping alone for four years. The thought was just as happy as the thought that tomorrow he would not only see Maria, but marry her.
He drifted to sleep with peaceful thoughts in his head.
After Maria had hung up the phone, it wasn't long until the Reverend Mother had come back into her office and had been ambushed by a joyous hug from Maria. Laughing, the two women had parted for the night.
Maria still had to fight the impulse to head for the postulant's rooms at night, and remember that she now resided in one of the guest bedrooms. It was an old habit.
She still marveled at the difference between her old postulant's cubicle and the room she currently lived in. Of course, neither had been as nice or elegant as the room she'd had at the Von Trapp villa. But the difference between her two rooms at the Abbey was still something she marveled at. When a postulant, she stayed in a very tiny room that only had room for a bed, a two-drawer bureau, and she had to share the common bathroom with the other girls. Now, her room was a bit bigger, with a desk and chair, even her own small bathroom. The window to her room looked out into the garden, now flushed with moonlight and starlight.
She smiled at the sight of the desk; all of the letters that Georg had sent her were neatly organized in piles, each letter at least three pages long. They had written about everything over the last weeks; from the weather, to the children, to Agathe, to their pasts, and to their future. The one thing he would not mention was the honeymoon – only that he was personally taking care of it and that it would last for six and a half weeks (Georg had reasoned that he wanted their time alone together longer than their time apart). Well, she would find out tomorrow . . . she thought nervously, and gulped.
After changing into her nightgown, Maria went to the window and looked out. She could see the tree on the other side of the garden wall that she would often climb as a child. How far she had come since being that little, long-haired, bruised and lonely child.
Maria thought of what Georg had said, of being afraid this was all too good to be true. She felt the exact same way, despite her nervousness and insecurities. The child's prayer came to her mind, and she shuddered when she thought of the line, "If I should die before I wake . . ." All throughout the past six weeks, despite how good the sisters were to her, the Abbey had felt like a prison, keeping her away from her future family, from the man she loved.
Her nerves were all but forgotten now, her love for Georg coming over her in a wave. Tomorrow, she would become his wife, and start a new life by his side, in his arms. She had learned that night in the gazebo – the only time they'd been free to express their love to each other in person – that in those arms was all she'd ever wanted, and all she would ever want. Tomorrow, her new life would start, and she couldn't wait.
Now was usually her time to pray, but then she remembered where her rosary was (with a smile). So this night, her prayer was so strong that it came out in song, as her feelings usually did, staring at the clear and beautiful night sky:
A million stars light
this beautiful night.
This is not a night to die,
let me sing and dance beneath the sky.
I have such love to give,
to give.
I want a chance to live.
Live for the one I love.
Love as none has loved.
Give, asking nothing in return.
Free,
free to find my way,
free to have my say,
free to seize the day.
Be
like I used to be;
like a wild bird, free,
full of life in me.
Though this world tears us apart,
we're still together in my heart.
I want the world to hear my cry,
and even if I have to die,
love will not die;
Love will change the world!
Live for the one I love.
Love as none has loved.
Give, asking nothing in return.
I'll love until love wears me away.
If I die, I know my love will stay.
I know my love will stay.
She sang softly, out into the night air, knowing only God and she would hear it. Knowing she had better try to get some sleep, Maria went to her bed and settled down, lying on her back.
As she lay there, she realized that this would be the last time she slept in a bed by herself. She'd always slept by herself, never before with another person. And she wasn't even thinking of her "duty as a wife" – never in the Abbey walls did she allow herself to think much about it. Just of sharing a bed to sleep in . . . what would that be like? Would there be enough room? Would they bump each other in sleep? Would he snore and keep her awake? Thankfully this thought made her giggle.
Then she thought back to the gazebo . . . how warm his body felt when he'd held her in his arms . . .
No, she wouldn't mind sharing a bed with Georg at all.
Eventually, sleep managed to catch up with her, and God granted her prayer with breath and pleasant dreams.
A/N: The song is the English translation of the song "Vivre" (or "To Live") from the musical Notre Dame de Paris.