Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.

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The Sound of Music Chronicles

Part I

The Twelfth Governess

Chapter 05

Pulling rank

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"Not everyone can be an orphan."

Andre Gide

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The series of pranks had started the day before the tenth governess fled. First the children stole the door to her room during the night. The door was found in the stables the next morning, and promptly re-installed. But no one realized that the little devils had removed the doorknob and replaced it by a similar one, so that the first time their governess returned to her room, she was locked inside for hours. That had, apparently, not been enough to make the woman leave, so they resorted to desperate measures. Somehow – and Georg did not even want to think too much about how they had accomplished it – they obtained hundreds of crickets, which they released in the poor woman's room while she slept. After that, it had taken all of Frau Schmidt's powers of persuasion in order to convince the weeping governess not to leave so late at night, and at least wait until morning.

The children were now lined before him, wearing their dark blue sailor suits. He paced in front of the line, back and forth, looking at every one of them.

"Agathe, my love, how did you do it?" he murmured inwardly.

There were seven of them, their ages ranging from five to sixteen. Six children in different phases of their childhood, with different needs, requiring different kinds of attention. The seventh, Liesl, could hardly be considered a child anymore, although he did not know how to treat her any differently. She was 16, and, at that age, Georg´s mother was already married and pregnant with his older brother, who had died in his infancy. However, it was impossible to think about his eldest daughter in those terms. In the opposite end of the line there was little Gretl, age five. Georg felt just as helpless with her, he hardly remembered himself at that age.

The worst part is that perhaps they knew all that, they knew about his inadequacies. At least they sensed it. And for a man who was used to command and inspire authority, a man known for his intellectual capabilities, it was something too hard to digest.

Liesl, looked at him challengingly. Friedrich's eyes conveyed a certain anger that he would never dare to put into words. Louisa's gaze was accusing – "we would not have to go through this if it weren't for you," her eyes told him very clearly. The four youngest looked just… frightened of him, as usual. There were crickets scattered all over the house, and the sound of one of the annoying little insects broke the silence. He stopped pacing immediately. Brigitta giggled, and he saw the other children fighting hard to prevent themselves from laughing. Only three years ago, he would not only have encouraged that, he would join them.

Their mood seemed to change after that. They eyed him expectantly. He knew precisely what they were waiting for, an hour long lecture during wish he would lash out at them. Oddly enough, they looked like they were actually looking forward to it. It was a possibility that he had been examining in his mind. It was baffling, but true, and he did not know yet how to deal with that new realization: they wanted him to lecture them for hours with all his sea captain´s fury. They wanted his time and attention, even in that distorted manner.

O-ho, but he would not give them that. He would not be so easily manipulated. It did not mean that they would have their proper punishment. No, that would come quickly.

Actually, their penance was due to arrive in about ten minutes. The eleventh governess – he could not help but smile secretly when he thought about the woman. Number eleven was a graduate from the University of Vienna, with an advanced degree in child psychology. Her field of expertise was what she called troublesome children. To add to the woman´s impressive curriculum was the fact that she was also a professor at the University of Graz, who had taken a two year sabbatical leave to do some field work and get in touch with the subjects of her extensive researches. True, he was not quite sure he wanted his children to be viewed as laboratory rats, but, as things were, desperate measures were necessary. If such a highly qualified expert in education did not fix his children, then he would not know what else to do. But apparently the woman had succeeded before, and his was not, by far, the worst case she had ever encountered. When he interviewed her during a telephone call while he was still in Vienna, she took a great deal of pride in the fact that she had successfully reformed problem children in a handful of other families. Her voice alone was frightening enough, and he hoped she looked as formidable as she sounded.

He stopped pacing. His smile was just like a Cheshire cat´s, and that was enough to alert his eldest daughter. His face hardened immediately, and he chastised himself, remembering that, until recently, he was much better at hiding his emotions.

"Father?"

He stopped in front of her.

"Yes, Liesl?"

"Permission to speak freely."

"Granted."

His daughter visibly relaxed, but still kept the stiff military posture he demanded of them in such occasions.

"It is about our presents. They are lovely, father, really liked them."

"Yes," Friedrich, in line next to his sister agreed. "We only would like to thank you."

"Mmmm…"

In the end, Elsa convinced him to bring the gifts to the children. He had to congratulate himself, mentally, for the fact that his choice for a bride was an extremely intelligent woman. Apparently, the presents were a success, because, in spite of the little information Elsa had about each one of his children, she had somehow managed to choose a gift for each of them that was entirely perfect. Max had probably helped her with the task, he had no doubted about it.

And now they wanted to thank him!

It was the ultimate proof (as if he needed any) that the seven of them were, above all, Agathe´s children, having more of her traits than his own... At least the good ones. They wanted to thank him for beautiful gifts he had not chosen for them, for presents he was not giving them, that he had not even seen. He did not know how to deal with that, he had no clue about how to reach them – finally, what was worst of all, he didn´t know if he wanted to reach them. Yet, telling them the truth was unavoidable.

"Those gifts were not from me, children," he said sharply.

"No?" several of them murmured in unison, disappointment etched in their faces.

"I thought I made that clear when I gave them to you."

"You didn´t, father."

Kurt was right, he hadn´t. He had instructed that the gifts should be taken to the nursery as soon as they arrived, and never bothered with them again until now.

"Who are they from, father?" Louisa asked him suspiciously. "Uncle Max? Aunt Alicia?"

"Baroness Elsa von Schraeder sent them to you." He looked at his eldest daughter's expression – it was something akin to his – brooding. He addressed the remaining children, "And you should all write her a thank you note."

"Baroness who?" asked Brigitta. He ignored the question, resuming his pacing.

"Who is this Baroness Schraeder?" Louisa insisted, ignoring his faint attempt to let the matter drop.

He sighed impatiently. Realistically, he knew that there was no way he would be able to avoid that question. On the other hand, the sooner they became aware of Elsa´s existence, the better.

"She is… she was a good friend of your mother´s." That was all his children needed to know for the moment, and that was all he would tell them.

"A good friend? I don´t remember her being at the funeral," Liesl said, narrowing her eyes, her lips becoming tighter as well.

"Neither do I," echoed Friedrich.

"She wasn´t there. She couldn´t - she… lost her husband around that time." He didn't have to ask what his daughter thought, he could see it in her eyes – she felt betrayed. He knew that she undoubtedly knew what his intentions were. She was, after all, his daughter and she could read between the lines of what he was and wasn't saying.

But Brigitta translated it into words with the usual accuracy.

"She is a widow like you!"

"Why is she sending us presents now?" Louisa asked. "She does not even know us."

"This could turn out better than I expected at first," he thought. They were giving him the ammunition that he needed to introduce the idea of a new marriage, and he decided to take advantage of it.

"No, she doesn´t know you, Louisa, not yet. But she knows me, and she knew your mother very well. They were friends when they were children, and she was a bridesmaid in our wedding."

"Is she the pretty blonde?" Marta asked innocently.

"Uh – the pretty blonde? What do you mean, Marta?" he demanded to know. How could the six year old know that Elsa was blond? All he knew was that the answer had everything to do with the warning looks the elder children were giving her now.

"She means the one in the wedding picture," Gretl replied candidly.

Quickly, he scanned the line of children. Liesl was biting her lips, Friedrich had actually closed his eyes in exasperation. Louisa was glaring at her younger sisters, Kurt was looking up, badly pretending he wasn´t paying attention to the conversation, acting as if he would start whistling at any second. Only Brigitta met his eyes, bravely.

They knew the rule only too well. Not a single photograph of Agathe was allowed in the house. They were all either in that locked drawer of his desk in his study, or stored in boxes in the attic, also under lock and key. Nearly three years had passed since their mother´s death, Marta and Gretl were little more than toddlers at the time. There was no manner in which they could possibly have seen the wedding picture at that early age and still remember the details. And if there was, he fully intended to find out how had they managed it. Had they been going through their mother´s things without his knowledge or permission?

"Brigitta?" he pointed his finger at her.

"Yes, father?"

"The wedding photograph. Where is it?"

Brigitta looked lost only for a moment. When the answer came to her, she was so relieved her face lit up.

"We don´t have it here. Gromi showed us last Easter, when we went to visit her in the Innsbruck house, remember?"

Yes, he remembered the occasion.

Gromi was how the children affectionately called their maternal grandmother. Although she and her husband lived in England, they spent a good part of the year in Innsbruck, where they owned an estate. Whenever their grandparents were in Austria, he would send the children packing to visit them for a few days – it was easier and better than to tolerate guests in his villa. Well, at least he had to be proud of his eleven year old daughter. It was a flawless answer, one that he could not possibly question. Perhaps he should not have chosen her to interrogate, perhaps he should try Friedrich, who was the worst liar of them all.

"Yes!" Betraying himself completely the fourteen year old nearly shouted, triumphantly, undoubtedly pleased with Brigitta´s quick thinking. "She showed us many pictures of you and mother when you were younger."

"She did, didn´t she," he sneered.

"Yes, father, it´s true," Liesl serenely admitted. "Gromi showed us lots of photographs, including one of you being decorated by the Emperor. She wanted us to bring it with us, but we said that you probably would… not… like it."

"Mmmm…"

Yes, he certainly would not like it.

Their story was convincing, but Friedrich´s reaction was still suspicious. Never mind any of that now. Number eleven would help him to unveil the rest of the tale.

He cleared his throat before addressing the children again.

"Now, where were we? Yes. Baroness Schraeder and her marvelous gifts. You would like to know, Marta and Gretl, that she is indeed the pretty blonde one in the wedding photograph. She sent you those presents because…" his hesitation was brief, but noticeable. "…she feels bad about not being around when your mother became ill, and she would love to meet you all. In fact…"

"So that is where you go when you are in Vienna," interrupted Marta. "To visit this Baroness!"

He did not deny it.

"It is one of the reasons, yes."

"Is she going to be our new mother?" He turned to his youngest daughter in surprise. Five year old Gretl, in her childlike innocence, had hit the target. He could almost feel the older children holding their breaths, waiting for his answer. He could not lie to them. He had never lied to his children, and he was not about to start now.

"That is a little early to say, Gretl," he said, speaking in a softer voice he often used to address his youngest girls. "First you have to meet her. Then, you must like her."

"What if we meet her and we don´t like her?" Marta asked.

He paused for a moment.

"You will, Marta, I am sure you will."

"Mother used to say that we should not like a person only because we are told to, or only if she brings us nice presents," recited Brigitta.

"Yes, Brigitta, I remember everything that your mother used to say, and she was right most of the time," he spoke rapidly, "but I do not need to be reminded of any of it," he added in thought. "I am sure you will have plenty of reasons to like Elsa – that is, Baroness Schraeder."

"When we are going to meet her?" Kurt asked.

"Does that mean you are taking us to Vienna?" Brigitta asked, her eyes shining.

"No, it does not," he replied curtly. "But you'll meet her soon enough."

He forgot about what he was about to say next when his butler entered the drawing room.

"Yes, Franz?"

"Frau Reisenberger has arrived, Captain."

He turned to his children. "Back in line, all of you. Stand straight. Let us march to the foyer. It is time for you to meet your new governess."

Captain von Trapp was not so easily fooled. Not with years of strict military training behind him. He would not underestimate his sons and daughters, not ever again.

A war had been declared.

Baroness Eberfeld needed not to fear, she was not one of the attractive ones.

Frau Reisenberger – or number eleven, as Georg would always remember her, stood obediently before them. In spite of all her outstanding qualifications and her academic degrees, she looked no different than most of her ten predecessors, which made him wonder if there was some kind of code book governess lived by, because they all looked and sounded the same to him.

He introduced her to his children, calling them by their respective whistle signs. He left after that, as he usually did, to allow his new employee to get better acquainted with her charges. It was the eleventh time he performed that very same routine, and the next step was to go to his study… and wait.

Two hours later, number eleven barged into his private sanctuary, without even bothering to knock. Frau Helga Reisenberger, professor of Psychology at the University of Graz, started bellowing at the top of her lungs that she would not stay another minute in that house. Not after being locked in her room with various spiders and snakes as her company, not to mention a ghost, rattling currents and all, inside her closet. The children must have been uninspired, he thought, because they had already used those same tricks.

"Governess number seven, I believe," he recalled, feeling strangely calm under the circumstances.

If there was one thing he had learned was that they never used the same prank twice.

"Enough is enough," he said, slamming his fist against his desk, after the woman left, carrying a generous check to compensate her for the trouble the children caused.

It was time to try a different approach. Time to forget the list of highly recommended governesses. No more academics, no more widows of impoverished noblemen…

As usually, the new strategy was carefully planned.

All eleven governesses had been hired taking into account their impeccable qualifications, and vast experience. They all had worked for the most aristocratic families in Europe, they had helped in the education of noblemen, diplomats, even royalty… They had all been hired because they had the best possible references, some of them referred to him by old time friends who employed their services. Not one of them had been able to handle his children, they had all fallen victim to their pranks. And the reason, so he believed, was because all of them lacked the skill that would be needed in handling his children: the ability to install and maintain discipline.

Discipline. Order. Decorum.

And Captain Georg von Trapp knew of only two institutions where the ideals of discipline, order, and decorum were the golden rule, the vary basis upon which they were built. One of them was the late Austrian Imperial Navy, of which he had been one of the most distinguished members.

The other was the Benedictine Abbey of Nonnberg.

Since finding a governess from the Austrian Navy was an utter, impossibility, he, all he was left with was Nonnberg…

He started writing the Mother Abbess a letter.