Disclaimers, acknowledgements, notes, warnings, etc: Please see Chapter 01.
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The Sound of Music Chronicles
Part I
The Twelfth Governess
Chapter 30
Rising to the occasion
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"Now we lament one
Who danced on a plume of words,
Sang with a fountain's panache,
Dazzled like slate roofs in sun
After rain, was flighty as birds
And alone as a mountain ash.
The ribald, inspired urchin
Leaning over the lip
Of his world, as over a rock pool
Or a lucky dip,
Found everything brilliant and virgin."
Cecil Day-Lewis
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"The mountains are magnificent, Georg. Really magnificent," Elsa observed, as Georg drove the gleaming black automobile down a country road.
"I had them put up just for you, darling," was his gallant reply.
He was, indeed, in a good mood that day. Pleasant weather, pleasant company – unlike the thunderstorm he faced when he had driven to Vienna weeks ago, a storm raging not only outside him. That was all in the past now, where it belonged, together with all the other unpleasantries in his life.
The long drive from Vienna had one of the most enjoyable he had ever recalled. He had been silent most of the time, focused in his driving, but that did not stop him from listening to Max and Elsa gossiping gaily and laughing at their most outrageous comments.
As usual, when he was in Elsa's company he felt – content. It was almost – just almost – as if he did not have a care in the world. She did have the most unusual talent for making him forget everything else. Whatever expected him in Aigen seemed still far away even as the distance shortened, and he had made the decision not to brood over it until he was faced with… the problem. His good humor showed in his stance. His driving was relaxed, his hands rested, rather than gripped, the wheel. He had flirted shamelessly with Elsa ever since they left Vienna, hours before, much to her delight, and to the delight of Max Detweiler.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, delighted. "I am impressed enough darling, you did not need to go to such lengths. A tiny little hill here and there would do," she teased. "You know, it's been ages since I have seen the Untersberg, and it never fails to remind me of how sadly flat my Vienna is."
From the back seat, Max, who had been watching them like a hawk, while toying with his thin moustache, delivered his comment.
"Oh, please, humor him, Elsa."
"Yes, please do, darling. I´m devastated by your lack of appreciation," he taunted.
"After all, even if it's to a height of ten thousand feet, Georg always believes in rising to the occasion," Max changed.
His barely suppressed chuckle did not go unnoticed by Elsa, and he sensed immediately that she too had caught the double meaning of the impresario's words. The innuendo was rather obvious, but Georg had refrained himself from commenting upon it, as he would have done in any other occasion. He did not even comment on the fact that the Untersberg, majestic as it was, was not even close ten thousand feet, however. As Elsa opened her mind to speak, he cast a warning glance.
"Do not provoke him," his eyes told her, and she was clever enough to catch the message.
"Unless the jokes improve, Max, I'm taking back my invitation," he warned, playfully but sternly.
"You didn't invite me to your villa. I invited myself, remember? You just gave me the perfect opportunity and I wasted no time in taking it. How could I resist?"
"Naturally," commented Elsa, amused by the men's bickering. "Who would ever dream of blaming you, dear Max?"
Max continued his defense.
"You both needed a chaperone and I needed a place to stay where the cuisine is superb, the wine cellar unexcelled and the price – uh - perfect."
"Max, you are outrageous," said Elsa, now laughing.
"Not at all. I'm a very charming sponge."
"Now that is the most perfect definition of you that I have ever heard," Georg said. "I must keep it in mind, to use it again in the future."
At some point during the drive, they were able to see a Monastery up on the hill. Beautiful voices were heard, rising in a Gregorian chant.
"Listen," said Max.
"That's the Klopmann Monastery Choir," Georg informed them, tilting his head towards the direction of the chants.
"They're good! Very good," was Max's professional opinion. "Impressive! I must explore this territory in the next few days. Somewhere a hungry little singing group is waiting for Max Detweiler to pluck it out of obscurity and make it famous at the Salzburg Folk Festival."
Georg shook his head, and delivered cynically:
"They get the fame, you get the money."
"It is unfair, I admit, it but someday that'll be changed. I shall get the fame, too."
Elsa laughed, and for a moment the sound was nearly muffled by the laughter and excited cries from a group of children. There was a grove of trees alongside the road, and it appeared that they had climbed on top of them. A few dangling arms and legs could be seen among the branches. They also appeared to be wearing similar clothes, at least clothes made of the same flowery fabric.
"Good heavens, what's this?" Elsa exclaimed, a bit shocked.
"Oh, it's nothing, just some local urchins," Georg said, dismissively, still in the same nonchalant tone.
That lasted for a fraction of a second. What he had seen did not fully register in his mind until after he had driven past the noisy urchins. His eyes widened, his hands tightened on the wheel.
She could not possibly… she would not dare!
Would she?
Elsa and Max were back to their friendly bickering, but he hardly paid any attention to it anymore. Desperately, he tried to recapture the scene that had flashed before his eyes moments earlier. It was true that he was known to be a very observant man, but it was hard to be one and notice details when one never considered that there would be details to be noticed in the first place.
Urchins climbing trees… wearing clothes that bore an uncanny resemblance with the curtains that used to hang in the governess´s bedroom…
Laughter…
He remembered the last time he had seen anyone on top of a tree, the last time he had heard children laughing…
It could not be!
He was trying to raise his children so that in the future they would be ready and prepared to occupy a role in society worthy of von Trapp family name, and of the Whitehead name as well. They were meant to be leaders, diplomats, they were destined to excel in whatever they chose to do. They would not accomplish any of that successfully if they spent their idle time climbing trees and yelling like a wild Mongolian horde…
Although they had been completely inadequate for the task, eleven governesses before her seemed to have no problem acknowledging and accepting the fact that his children needed to be properly educated, that they needed to learn how to conduct themselves with decorum at all times. But no no, not her, however. Why did she have to be the exception to every single rule he could think of? What was this insane need that seemed to drive that tomboy, to rebel against every rule?
No, no, no. She would not dare…
Would she?
"Would you mind, darling?"
Georg looked at Elsa uncertainly.
To be absolutely honest yes, he would mind, and very much indeed. Yet, he did not have the heart to refuse her.
They were just driving past St. Baptist Church in Aigen when she had made her request. He did not know what to say, and that was not something that usually happened to him, something he was not used to. He would have to drive past the place in any case, so not even a detour would be needed.
But still…
It was not that he was unable to say no to her, it was the nature of her request. It was simple, reasonable request, even though, in Elsa´s case, he had a nagging feeling that she was putting him through another test, one that he was determined not to fail now that he had made up his mind about their future together.
Sensing his brief hesitation, she spoke again.
"I know, this won´t make any difference. Not to her, but to me it will. I am not the kind of person to break a promise, darling Georg. And I was at fault with dear Agathe, for staying away when she needed me the most."
"You were not at fault, Elsa, you had your own very sick husband to take care of. You were needed elsewhere. As for…" he stumbled upon her name. "She had me, the children, and the best doctors I could find. All that could be done for her was done. Nothing worked. I honestly doubt that you being there would have changed the outcome."
"I know that. Nevertheless I promised myself that the first thing I would do when I arrived here would be to bring flowers to her grave. Pink roses, you know. Her favorites."
"Pink roses for her, red roses for you, as I remember," he smiled sadly. Yes, he did not need to be reminded of that. Those were the flowers they had been wearing at that ball in Fiume long ago.
"I know, I know, it may be too much to ask of you…" she began, tentatively.
"A promise is a promise," he completed, and she looked at him a little bewildered. "Yes, you heard me well. It is a matter of honor. I would never dream of being the cause of you or anyone else breaking one, especially to my wife."
Only weeks ago, he would have denied her request, without the slightest hesitation, regardless of any promise she might have made, regardless of his feelings for her, or the plans he had made for their future together. If Elsa merely wanted to test him, he would simply give her a piece of his mind and tell her how much he loathed being manipulated. He wouldn't even want to hear about her motives. But that was then, and this was now…
What had changed?
He had not visited Agathe´s grave for months until that rainy morning, before he left for Vienna. He had been in such a hurry to leave Aigen, and yet he had found himself there, under the pouring rain placing her favorite pink roses on top of her grave. The truth that he had always refused to acknowledge was that, on that occasion, he had not been running away from her memory, on the contrary: he had been running towards her memory, to banish other disturbing thoughts that stubbornly lingered in his mind. He had run to Agathe´s ghost, and not from it. For the first time he had used his grief as an armor, for his own protection – and it had worked beautifully. It made him wonder for how long he had been doing that without realizing.
"It's just a grave, Elsa," he said, trying to sound calm and reassuring. "Just a place. It is not - not her. She is not there anymore."
His acquiescence had surprised her, it was obvious to him by the look of surprise in her eyes.
"Are you sure you won't mind, darling?"
A casual shrug was his answer.
As he had said – Agathe was not there. It would be easier to bear the small ordeal that Elsa had demanded of him if he thought that way. He was still able to sense her in the attic, where he kept most of her personal belongings. Her clothes still smelled of her. He could feel her in the empty, dusty ballroom, when he opened a book from the library and found a note on the bottom of a page written in her neat handwriting. Essentially, he could sense her presence in every single place where they had walked together, in every room he had made love to her. The graveyard, on the other hand, always was, curiously enough, quite harmless to him, simply because he had never been there with her.
"Would that be all right with you, Max?" he asked, tilting his head slightly towards the back of the car.
"Oh sure, your wish is my command, Captain!" was the ironic reply. "As long as I can stay in the car, trying not to drown myself in too much fresh air! Honestly, I am starting to fear for my poor smoke filled lungs!"
"You are always so accommodating, aren't you?" Georg said, parking the car in front of a lower vendor, so that Elsa could get her flowers – the largest and most expensive basket of pink rosebuds that she could find.
"Let me carry that for you, darling," he said, gentlemanly, as they walked towards the grave, taking the flowers from her hand.
The sight that greeted him when he approached the solitary ginkgo tree was not one he had expected to see. At most, he hoped to find the remains of the roses he had left there weeks ago, now withered and dead. Instead, there were local, bright and colorful wild flowers, randomly arranged. His wife may be dead, but her resting place appeared to be pulsing with so much… life.
"What the devil is that?" he exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that he was standing in hallowed ground.
"Oh, how sweet!" exclaimed Elsa, gaily. "Somebody else left her fresh flowers."
"Yes, I can see that, but who?" Georg asked gravely.
It was not the flowers per se that had surprised him. He had found flowers in her grave before. Agathe was loved in that community, and known as a charitable woman, not to mention as a patron of the arts. The church of St. Baptist would not have been completely restored without Agathe´s efforts to raise enough money, and donating a sizeable amount herself.
"Certainly the children," suggested Elsa.
"No, not the children. They would not come here without permission – my permission…"
"Wouldn't they? He asked himself in thought. No, they wouldn´t, unless, of course, she had anything to do with it.
Elsa, however, misunderstood his remark. "Of course not, what I was thinking? Common, ordinary wild flowers? Your children would certainly have left her roses or lilies. Those are practically weeds. Look, they are all over the place! What a ghastly mess they have made!"
He knelt down next to the grave and examined the colorful flowers, carefully. They were not neatly arranged, far from it. They looked like they were picked in haste and at random, and left there. Whoever had been responsible for the gesture had not even tied them together, and now, because of the light wind that was blowing, they were scattered all over the top of the grave in a colorful blanket. They also appeared fresh, and since wild flowers withered as soon as they were picked, he could only guess that whoever had left them there, had done it scarcely one hour ago.
"It's not the flowers, Elsa. The children only come here occasionally, and at least once every year, on the day of her birthday. Unless…" His hands tightened to fists. He knew only one person who might have placed the flowers in that particular careless manner.
"Unless what, darling."
"Never mind," he hissed.
It had to be her. Deep inside, he knew it had been her, just as he knew it had been her on top of those trees with his children.
"What is it, Georg?" Elsa asked, concerned and alarmed at his somber expression.
He barely heard her, for he was still brooding. The question remaining to be answered was:
"Why had she done it? Had the children been with her?"
It was certainly not something he would expect from a governess. The previous ones had never done anything similar. They had never dared to interfere that much in such private matters. It was simply too much. The tree climbing he could deal with, but this… It was unforgivable.
Still kneeling on the floor, he silently gathered the wild flowers back together, arranging them back in a bouquet, while Elsa laid her expensive roses neatly next to the elaborate iron cross.
"What are you going to do with those?" Elsa asked. The contrast between the naturally grown flowers and the cultivated roses that she had bought was staggering. "You could just throw them away, don't you think? As I said, they are practically weeds."
The suggestion was so typical of Elsa, so he did not feel offended by it. Nevertheless, the thought of throwing the – so he believed – painstakingly gathered wild flowers who were certainly an offense to Baroness Schraeder´s sophisticated sense of aesthetics into the nearest trash bin did not appeal to him at all.
"No, I don't think I can do that." Having said that, he carefully tied bound the bouquet together, using the stem of one of the flowers, so that they were not scattered by the wind again.
"You are right, as always. Don't you hate it how insensitive I can be at times?" He smiled. "Well, I do. Forgive me, darling. The flowers are Agathe´s, not ours."
"How could things be so different, and equally beautiful?" he thought, philosophically, comparing the wild flowers to the elegant rosebuds.
The three women occupying his thoughts were like three sides of a triangle, as different as any three women could be.
Agathe, the perfect wife and mother.
Elsa, the perfect Baroness, whose beauty and social skills were unrivalled.
Agathe, sweet, loving, witty, but shy.
Elsa, undoubtedly witty, but lacking a single shy bone in her body.
Agathe, the pink rose.
Elsa, the red rose.
And on the third vertex, the perfect…
Edelweiss…
"Flowers, not women," his mind screamed, annoyed by the fact that every other thought seemed to lead him back to the tomboy who was his children's governess. Why was he even mentally comparing her to the two most important women in his life? She was a mere governess, for heaven's sake!
"Just… finish your prayers and let us go home, Elsa. I think I have postponed my arrival long enough," he said bitterly.