IN VINO VERITAS

CHAPTER 4

A/N: This story was not submitted to a beta yet. However, it has been throughly revised and expanded, and another new chapter added. A little warning - the changes made the story a bit darker, and probablymore controversial. So, if you like to see Georg and Maria as practically perfect in every way, maybe you should stay away from this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Sound of Music, etc.

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The wine urges me on, the bewitching wine, which sets even a wise man to singing and to laughing gently and rouses him up to dance and brings forth words which were better unspoken.

Homer
The Odyssey, bk. XIV, l. 463

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They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

Ernest Dowson

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"It is… her. It has to be her."

"I should leave," she reasoned with herself. "It would be the wisest thing to do, the most sensible thing. But when have I been wise in dealing with him? Oh, I cannot leave him like this, I simply cannot. I cannot bear to look at him like this, yet I cannot leave. I won't forgive myself if I do… and I hope God will forgive me if I stay."

"The Baroness?" Maria asked, tentatively, after his passionate words.

"Elsa has nothing to do with it either, except perhaps, because she could see right though you when I cannot! At least not entirely."

"No… the other Baroness," she whispered breathlessly. "Your Baroness. The children's mother," she clarified, speaking clearly now using the same expression he used whenever he was referring to her.

"Yes, that Baroness – my wife." He looked up at her, his face devilish under the candle light. There was softness there – the same kind that she had detected as soon as she had walked in that room, and she heard him whispering the words "my love". He smiled sadly at the memory. "She was always at Nonnberg, seeking counsel from the Reverend Mother. They held each other in the highest possible regard. I wonder if you ever crossed paths with her… I wonder if she ever saw you around, whistling, climbing trees and sliding down banisters... No, she would mention it to me if she had. Had she seen you, she would certainly remember."

"Probably not, Captain. I am sure I would remember too if I ever met her. Not only that, Sister Berthe would now allow any of us postulants to be near her study when she was receiving guests from the outside world. I don't think we could possibly have met."

"You would remember if you ever saw her, I am sure." he said. "No one ever seemed to be able to forget her, even now, nearly three years after her death. She was the most beautiful, the most perfect thing that ever walked the face of the earth… and I lost her," he began dreamingly, wistfully. "So utterly, absolutely perfect it was annoying, so I used to tease her by saying that her biggest flaw was that she had none. Not that she did not try to appear less perfect in my eyes, but she never quite succeeded. She only made herself more… adorable."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.'

"Upset is hardly the right word, Fräulein, so there is no need to apologize. No, it is not you who upsets me, at least not in the way you think."

"But…"

"Yes, yes, you did upset me, as you say, five minutes ago, and if it were not for that door slamming and the coming storm, I would certainly have done something that I would regret for the rest of my life. Maybe I was wrong all along, maybe you are meant to be a nun, and the coming storm was the Lord's way of protecting you…"

"I am not sure I was in need of any protection from you, Captain."

"Oh yes, you were!" was his almost inaudible whisper.

No, she did not want to talk about that – not anymore. Not ever again in her entire life. She wanted to close her eyes and forget it, because somehow it felt that if she did not remember, it never happened. What made it worse was the fact that now he remembered the incident under such an ugly light. So she brought the subject back to the one ground she felt safe with him.

"Captain, it would mean a lot to the children if you at least considered bringing the piano back downstairs. I know it would."

It was useless. He ignored her remark. "Sometimes I wonder when it will not hurt so much to remember…"

"It won't, unless you let go."

"And how could you possibly know that, since by your own admission tonight you said you never loved and lost before? And not two days ago you said that you never longed for anything else other than becoming a cloistered nun?"

She spoke, if not to defend herself, only, to interrupt the disturbing thought that was just about to form in her mind. "You are right, Captain. Unlike you, I can only mourn for what I never had…" And never will, a voice inside her whispered. "Although there is one thing I must say." She bit her lower lip before continuing.

"Go on," he encouraged, softly.

"I… It does not seem right to me, to keep everything up here, under lock and key. It is not… healthy, it cannot be. The children should look at those pictures, they should read those books, hear music coming from this piano. They need those memories. You…" she took a very deep breath, for courage, "… you have all the right to shut the memory of your wife in here, Captain, but you wife happens to be their mother. I hardly remember mine, but every little scrap of memory is precious to me – that is why the mere possibility of finding her books…" he voice caught.

"Fräulein…"

This time it was her turn not to let him interrupt her. "I was just thinking that at least bringing the piano and the book collection downstairs would…"

"Oh yes, children, I know." That sneer of distaste again. Maria bit her lower lip. "Where and how did you learn to be so wise?" She was not sure if he was mocking her, or indeed paying a much unexpected compliment. No, not wise. Being there with him in the middle of the night was nothing but that. Discussing matters that she supposed were never discussed between a governess and her employer. Becoming aware of her own innocence for the first time in her life in a way that was almost physical. Stopping herself just a fraction of a second before she threw herself into his arms. Her body was reacting, a reaction that could only be described as… sinful. For the first time in her life she had an inkling of what the word meant.

"You are right, Captain, I do not know the meaning of love, but I most certainly know the meaning of loss…" her voice trailed away, as he leaned forward in towards her. "What?"

"Who did that to you?"

"Who did what?"

"Who turned you into a…" he searched for words, "… an appalling, poor excuse of a vestal priestess?". He stopped, and his eyes gleamed, as the answer just occurred to him. "You were left with nothing, weren't you? Not even a pitiful collection of children's books to keep you company… Even that they took away from you, even a little girl's right to dream about a happily ever after fairy tale ending. No wonder you had no other alternative before you than that of becoming a nun."

He was much close to the truth for comfort. Speaking hastily, to avoid thinking to much about what he had just said, she spoke quickly, "I wouldn't that is the reason, Captain, just…"

"It's all right, I have not right to inquire about that. Who am I, after all, to question your religious vocation? I have stretched the bonds of propriety enough for one night already," he quipped, then thought for a moment. "The things I said were unforgivable, the things I almost did…" he stopped himself from finishing the sentence. "But you are right, she does live through the children. It is so very obvious, and yet I never actually thought about that." He took a deep, anguished breath. "You know, it would not even be seven if it were not for her."

"What?"

"We… I would have stopped at three. But she liked things… how can I say – symmetrical. And she was not particularly fond of odd numbers, I never knew why. She just… did not like them. We had Liesl and Friedrich and we were about to settle for that. Then Louisa came… it was unplanned, an accident – but it was she who made the way for the other four that followed. After that, she wanted another boy, to even things, and the result was Brigitta. When Kurt arrived, she came to the conclusion that the sex of the baby hardly mattered, and what she loved the most was making babies and being pregnant, and taking care of children. She was happiest when she was pregnant. And if it made her happy, who was I to mind? She loved children more than anything else, and I learned to love them as well – at least ours. She used to say that the children made her feel she had a purpose in life, rather than being the useless socialite she was raised to be. Marta and Gretl came, and we never did a thing to prevent that… And Gretl was the last only because the doctors said an 8th pregnancy would be much too risk for her and the baby."

Maria remained silent, not sure what to say. He had revealed more about his life in the last minute than in the past six weeks. She wondered how much of the wine he had drunk – he was usually so enigmatic, so guarded. In vino veritas, - there was some truth in that saying, at least.

Without a word, he started playing again, and once she did that, she simply could not walk away from him. Silence fell over the candlelit attic as the Captain finished the last accords of Chopin's prelude, The Raindrop. Maria was now leaning against the piano, her head supported by her right hand. It was that sudden quietness that brought her out of her trance.

"Oh my! I'm sorry. I must be more tired than I thought I was," she said, stifling a yawn.

"It is either that or my music bores you to near death. Where were you and this mind of yours just now? I could hear you breathe, it was unsettling."

Unsettling? She – Maria – was unsettling? "Yet, it is I who make him uneasy tonight…" Maria thought.

"I am not bored by your music, on the contrary. Music could never bore me. You practically told me to shut up and listen while you played. It was a very clear command, and I just obeyed it"

"I thought you had trouble obeying orders when they were against your better judgment."

"Oh yes, but… this one wasn't!"

He silenced her. "It's all right, maybe it is wise that you go. I am feeling drowsy myself, and I'll probably retire soon as well. I would not like you to sleep on my piano. Or worse, fall asleep on your feet tomorrow when you are doing whatever you planned to do with my children. Besides, as I said, I think I stretched the limits of propriety far enough tonight. I have no wish to compromise you. I only hope that hasn't happened already."

"C… compromise me?" That was the last thing in her mind until he said it.

He nodded towards the door. "Franz could be just eavesdropping outside now – a disgraceful habit of his. Or even Frau Schmidt, or any of the maids. And tomorrow, all of Salzburg would know that Captain von Trapp spent half the night in the attic doing God knows what with his children's governess," he spoke bluntly.

He had a point. What if there were rumors, and what if those rumors reached the Abbey? She would be mortified. "But I didn't… we didn't… We did not do anything wrong, Captain." She thought for a moment, the scene interrupted by the storm flashing before her eyes again. "Did we?"

He smiled at her confusion and obvious embarrassment. "If we did or did not, it hardly matters. I just happen to know from experience how those kinds of rumors begin."

"I should go then." She looked at the window. The storm was fierce now. "It is pouring out there, I may have left a window open."

"Indeed you should go." She began to rise from her seat. "Fräulein?"

"Yes?"

"From now on, please feel free to use this room as you please. Whenever you want."

Maria wondered if he was not telling her that she was welcome to join him again, if she ever heard him playing in the middle of the night. It was an intriguing idea. She knew that if he granted her that kind of permission openly she would not be able to keep herself from climbing those stairs to the attic again. There was something dangerous, forbidden, about being with him when he was like that, something she knew she had to resist. She knew deep down that if the scene that ended abruptly with the loud sound of a door banging downstairs was repeated, the outcome would be different. If she found herself alone with him like that again, she knew she would be lost. That was what made her utter her next words – to try to convince herself and him that there was another objective reason for her to want to be there again, a reason related to her job as the governess of his seven children, and nothing else.

"You… you don't have to grant me that kind of permission, Captain, there is no need at all. I just came for the books. The truth is that I don't really need to come here and disturb the Baroness's belongings." Or you, she added mentally.

"I don't think the Baroness would mind, and that being the case - why would I?" There was the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice. He was almost successful in hiding it completely, by bringing up the late Baroness von Trapp again. "You didn't know her, of course. Had she been alive, she would probably have taken you under her wing. Had you stumbled on each other in that Abbey, she would do her best to convince you not to be a nun. She could not stand the thought of anyone without a family, surrounded by children. Then she would drag you to Vienna, to all the balls of the season and not rest until you were proposed at least half a dozen times." He had been speaking at the speed of light.

Maria's jaw dropped open. To attend a Viennese Ball with the von Trapps? To expect a marriage proposal from one of the aristocrats in their social circle? The thought was nonsensical. If she were less drowsy, a little less intimidated, she would probably have laughed at the idea. She remembered the words from a new novel she had borrowed from Liesl:

"'When I married her I was told I was the luckiest man in the world,' he said. 'She was so lovely, so accomplished, so amusing. Even Gran, the most difficult person to please in those days, adored her from the first. "She's got the three things that matter in a wife," she told me: "breeding, brains, and beauty." (2)

Breeding, brains and beauty – the late Baroness von Trapp had all of those attributes. So did Elsa von Schrader, who would probably be the next Baroness von Trapp. But her, Maria? She was not of noble blood; she was not a dazzling beauty like Baroness von Schrader – who in the Captain's world would even consider giving her but a second glance? That left her only with brains. Though lately the intelligence she prided herself for seemed to desert her when confronted with his wit. Well, at least when he looked at her with such unbelievable intensity.

"I'm only a governess, Captain. I'm here on God's errand, nothing more I am hoping that this experience will make me work better in His service, after I make my vows. I am afraid that I would be completely out of place at the Vienna Opera Ball, no matter how good the Baroness intentions would have been. As I would be out of place in this room, sifting through her things. It is just not right."

"Fräulein Maria!"

"Yes?"

"You're blabbering," he sneered, finally sounding like Captain von Trapp again.

She was the one who was rambling? "So are you, Captain," She retorted boldly.

His answer to her was a low chuckle. "I am glad you are back to being your normal self, I was just beginning to miss that defiant tone of yours. Where was I? Oh yes – you may come up here whenever you please from now on. And forget all that foolishness about class distinctions. You - have - done it."

"What have I done, exactly?" she frowned at him.

"Many, many things, but the most important of all at the moment is that you've earned my trust. I trust you," he said gravely.

"Captain, if you knew me well…"

"Ooh, I know you well enough. That is why I am placing my trust on you. Consider yourself in full command now."

"I dare to disagree. You don't know anything," and I shall tell you nothing, she continued in thought.

"I know everything I need to know, and that does not necessarily mean facts about you. I don't know how you do it, but you manage to keep the ghosts away. The thing is… that for the first time in four years I was able to talk about the children's mother without feeling that I was being stabbed at the heart." He came to stand a few feet from her. "For the same time I am actually considering the idea of bringing some of these things back downstairs where they belong." He closed the piano keyboard. "I'll prove it to you"

Maria's breath caught as he walked towards one of the boxes and opened. From inside it, he took another smaller box, one the children had shown her before while he was in Vienna. It was known as Agathe´s memory box, where she kept her favorite family photographs.

"Hah! I see a look of recognition in your face. You know what is in here, don't you?" Maria nodded. She knew very well – not long ago, she had spend an entire afternoon going through those pictures. Before she could defend herself against his probable attack, he continued. "No need to explain yourself, Fräulein, I know the children come here from time to time – I just never had the heart to stop them from doing it. Here, take it." He handled the box to her.

"I don't understand!"

"You are right. I may not want or need the memories, but the children do. Just… tell them they each can choose one or two photographs to keep with them. After they make their choice, you should take them to a photographer in Salzburg, to make copies." All she could do was nod. "Now, I should really retire. You know, Max would has been warning me about that particular Bordeaux for months. I will certainly have to brace myself for the… ill effects in the morning."

"Well, Captain, I would not worry. You won't remember most of it, if you are anything like my un…" He waited for her to finish the sentence, but she never did.

"Then while I am still fully conscious let me say one more thing. I will not forgive myself for not saying this to you if I don't remember anything tomorrow."

"Yes?"

He thought for a second, before continuing, as if rehearsing a brief speech. "You are not, and never will be - "only the governess"," he said, stressing the last words. "No, you are much too unique to be just that. I ask you never to say that again. If you were "only the governess", you would not be here with me in the middle of the night talking about-", he made a gesture with his hands, "- ghosts, Viennese balls, Baronesses, dark secrets and whatever it was that we've been talking about. If you were "only the governess" I would not …," his voice trailed away, and he never finished the sentence. Looking very tired now, as if the effects of the night and of the wine were finally taking their toll on him, he hand his hand over his unshaven. His gold wedding band glimmered, attracting Maria's eyes. "Just don't ever let anyone, myself included, ask you to be less than you are. You should be proud of every little thing about you."

Maria stared at him mutely, his passionate speech having left her in an absolute state of bewilderment.

"Now you may leave. I think I may have disturbed you enough tonight," he said suddenly, afraid that indeed the wine had gone up to his head and he had just revealed too much. Then he smiled apologetically. "Go now, Maria!"

She hurried out of the room, and ran down the stairway, two steps at once, tripping a couple of times. It wasn't until she was inside her bedroom, and under the covers, that she realized that the last word he had said to her was her name.

He had called her by her first name.

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A/N: (1) See "Underneath her wimple". (2) The quote is from Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier.