A Time to Face

Marta Von Trapp was the only early riser of the Von Trapp children. Liesl enjoyed her beauty sleep, Brigitta and Gretl found their dreams very fascinating, and Maria had often had to use very creative methods in getting Frederich, Louisa, and Kurt out of bed at seven each morning. But Marta was different; she woke up with the sun. And today she had a very good reason.

After washing and dressing herself – skills she had taught herself after her mother's death and before Fraulein Maria came because she woke up first – Marta quietly sneaked out of the room she shared with a still-sleeping Gretl. Now all she had to do was wait for her father to wake up. How long would that even be? Well, she would just have to find out.

So Marta sat herself on the top step of the stairs closest to her father's bedroom, trying to control the jittering of her legs, she was that excited.

Thankfully, she did not have long to wait. Just as she was beginning to wish she had brought her favorite storybook with her, Marta heard a deep chuckling from behind her that made her jump and turn around. Her father stood just behind her, smiling down at his seven-year-old daughter.

"So I am not the only early-bird in the house," he said, sitting down on the step beside his daughter, imitating her position of folding his hands on his knees. It was a touchingly comical sight. "Or are you just eager?"

Marta still felt a bit shy with him, so she ducked her head for a moment. She was the most shy of all of the children, and she was not yet accustomed to this new, friendly, loving father she had no previous memory of. But, remembering her Fraulein's words to keep her chin up, she raised her head to answer her father's question in her soft voice. "I always wake up before everyone else. You do, too?"

"Oh, yes, all my life," said her father, still smiling at her reassuringly.

Now Marta smiled back. "I thought I was the only one. I hated how I was so different."

"Not different," said her father, lifting her chin up with a finger. "Special." He kissed her forehead. "Now, let's have some breakfast before we set out." He held out a hand and she placed her smaller hand in his big one.

But as they were reaching the bottom of the stairs, Marta spotted Uncle Max and the Baroness outside the open front door, where a taxi was pulled up. "Father, look!" she said, pointing there.

Her father looked, and immediately walked a little quicker towards them, Marta with him. "Elsa? Max? What's going on?"

Max turned to them and, surprised to see Marta as well, said, "I was just about to drive Elsa to the train station, Georg. But if you two need to go somewhere I can call a taxi."

"No, no, no, we're not leaving right away…" said her father, who was looking in surprise and some fear at the Baroness. "Elsa, why…"

"Well, Georg," said the Baroness in an almost biting tone, but then she noticed Marta, standing by her father and holding his hand. Immediately, her expression melted into sorry pleasantness. "I realize how emotional and life-changing a day it was for both you and your children; this is a time for re-connecting. I don't want to be in the way of that, and don't –" She held up a hand as he was about to protest, "try to change my mind, it's made up." She bent down towards Marta. "It was a pleasure meeting you and your siblings, little one."

"It was a pleasure meeting you too, Baroness," said Marta, determined to make her father proud by being as polite and pleasant she could be. She held out her free hand for the Baroness to take.

The Baroness hesitantly took Marta's hand, her face for a moment full of regret. To further confuse the seven-year-old, the Baroness only grasped her hand briefly before straightening up hastily and saying hastily, "Well, Auf Weidersein, Georg." With that, she went to the packed car.

Max and Georg exchanged a surprised look. Before following her, Max leaned in and whispered something to Georg. Obviously they did not want Marta to hear them, but she had good ears and did anyway.

"Safe to say your daughter just saved your life."


Georg had made a resolution to spend each day of the coming week with one of his children, to get to know them on a personal level. Marta was first, for a special reason. He felt terrible about missing her birthday, and wanted to make it up to her. So, after a quick breakfast in the kitchen, Georg had driven the two into Salzburg.

Upon helping her out of the car, he'd knelt in front of her and said, "I'm so sorry I wasn't here for your birthday, sweetheart. I know this is a shallow way to make up for it, but I drove us here to pick out some presents for you that I should have given you."

Marta's eyes widened and she smiled. "Really?"

"Really. So, birthday girl, pretend you are Aladdin and I am the Genie. You have three wishes for your birthday."

Marta flung herself at her father and wrapped her arms around his neck in joy.

Of course, the first wish she made was for the birthday present she had most wanted: a pink parasol. So Georg took her to a dress shop for children that he knew Agathe had often ordered clothes from for their daughters. He certainly was an odd sight: the upright father in a shop full of lace and silk, but he didn't think about that. He was just happy to be able to make Marta happy.

With the help of the shop assistant, Marta found the perfect parasol for herself: light pink silk with the outline of blossoms in magenta, and an elegant white handle. Marta also fell in love with the light pink summer dress that matched it. The dress was perfect for her: light pink with white blossom print, not too frilly or poofy, letting her own self shine through. So this made her second birthday wish.

Walking out of the shop, holding her hand, Georg said, "I do declare, Marta Von Trapp, I do not recall being more proud to walk down the streets with such a great lady before."

Marta giggled and blushed.

"So, do you have your third birthday wish, sweetheart?"

Marta paused in their walk along the street, and Georg stopped with her, stooping down to look at her face. She looked slightly apprehensive but hopeful.

"I…I want to visit Fraulein Maria."

Georg looked at her for a few moments, an emotion in his eyes his little daughter could not read, then nodded slowly. "I was planning on going to the abbey today anyway. Let's go."


Marta jumped out of the car the moment the engine turned off. Clutching her new parasol tight beneath her arm, she hurried up to the gate and waited for her father. Turning around, she saw he was approaching slowly, looking scared.

"Can I ring the bell, Father?" she asked eagerly.

"One moment, Marta," he said, stopping beside her and still looking at the gate. Finally, he reached inside his blazer and pulled out a small envelope. He bent down and put it into the pocket of her dress. "Give that to her, will you?"

Marta looked at him, surprised. "Are you not here to see her too, Father?"

Georg shook his head. "I came to speak to the Reverend Mother."

"But, Father, if you don't see her you can't say you're sorry for firing her, and then she won't come back."

Her father gave Marta a sad smile and looked down for a moment. "You have my word, Marta, that I will apologize to her. But not today, unless she asks to see me. I won't force her to see me. Sometimes, when people get angry, they need a little time. Understand?"

Marta thought she did and nodded.

"All right," said her father, standing up. "Ring the bell now." He smiled. "But I think you might need my help." He gently picked her up from behind and held her up as she pulled the bell three times. He put her down just before a nun approached the gate. Her father took her hand in his, but she somehow felt that it wasn't for her comfort that he did it.

The nun arrived at the gate, smiling at them both. She had a sweet round face that was aged but doubled in kindness. "Yes, may I help you?"

"We're here to see Fraulein Maria," said Marta right away, smiling and eager.

For a moment the nun looked surprised. Then her gaze shifted to her father and the surprise turned to realization, and not a good kind. But it didn't last when she shifted her gaze back to Marta, seemingly torn. Finally, she sighed and opened the gate. "Come in, please."

Marta and her father followed the nun down the passageway and turned into another, until they came before a wooden doorway. She stopped and turned to them. "Wait here," she said before entering.

Only a minute passed before the nun came back out with a smile for Marta. She held out a hand for the seven-year-old. "I'll take you to Maria."

Marta smiled brilliantly and took the sister's hand. She heard her say in a less friendlier tone to her father, "The Reverend Mother would very much like to speak with you, Captain."

Marta glanced behind her as she and the sister walked away, and saw her father, looking scared, go through that wooden door.

As they walked along the stone corridor, other sisters who passed them smiled at Marta; she smiled back. "My name is Marta. What's your name?" she asked the nun holding her hand.

"Sister Margaretta," said Sister Margaretta. "Your name and your dress are very pretty."

"Thank you," said Marta, playing with her skirt. "Why are all nuns called sisters?"

Sister Margaretta chuckled. "Well, we all live together and become as close as sisters."

"Oh," said Marta. "I have four sisters."

"Yes, Maria told me," said Sister Margaretta. "Speaking of…" They stopped outside a more simple wooden door, one of many. Sister Margaretta knocked gently on the door. "Maria?" she called. "You have a visitor."

A pause, then Marta heard a muffled, familiar voice from behind the door. "Please, sister, don't make me see him."

Marta's eyes widened in confusion; was she talking about father? She called through the door, anxious to see her. "Fraulein Maria, it's Marta! Can I please see you?"

Instantly the door flew open and there stood her beloved Fraulein, wearing a thick black dress and a black veil. That didn't matter – it was still her governess. "MARTA!" she cried, immediately opening her arms and crouching down. Marta rushed to her and hugged her tight around the neck. She couldn't stop smiling. This must be what it's like to hug a mother.