For the third night running since the Fraulein had taken her leave from the villa, Georg found that sleep evaded him. Every time he closed his eyes, her anguished face would be etched on the inside of his eyelids - her hair plastered to her head in the rain, her chest heaving against her sodden dress and her foreboding words echoing in his ears as though she were whispering them right there next to him in the darkness.
"You shut the world out as if you believe it will bring her back..."
"You are marrying a woman you do not love.."
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter hoping to block out the memory. Her observations during their heated confrontation had left him feeling so disturbed, so vulnerable, that he had entirely refused to listen to them. The unwelcome words had rolled like acid off her tongue and he had wanted to to shut them out, to run, to send her away - anything that would prevent him from having to acknowledge the truth behind her accusations.
She had wept about pain and heartache and it'd left him entirely puzzled. He had convinced himself that she'd been talking out of turn about his own inner turmoil, but no matter how hard he tried to twist her words into something sinister, to bend the memory into something he could hate her for - he couldn't shake the feeling that it'd been a burden of her own she'd been referring to, a burden he somehow felt responsible for.
He'd felt a surge of relief after she'd left for the abbey the next morning, safe in the knowledge that her eyes could no longer haunt him, could no longer see into his very soul. He would no longer be in danger of losing his iron control. But try as he might to put the entire scene behind him and finally set his plans for his life in motion, he could no longer deny the startling accuracy of her painful words.
It had taken three days of no sleep and the comforting isolation of the night for him to finally admit it to himself. At some point during her absence, Georg had finally acknowledged what he'd scarcely dared to contemplate: She had been right.
She had been right when she said he hid from the world, she had been right when she said he didn't love Elsa, she had been right when she said he was in denial about what had happened to him.
And the terrifying realisation made the stubborn man in him growl in defiance, entirely adamant that he never wanted to see the woman again. She had forced him to face the unwelcome feelings that he vowed he would bury along with Agathe and in the process she had left him feeling entirely vulnerable. He didn't take kindly to weakness and her brutal honesty had rendered him powerless and fragile.
And as if that hadn't been enough to floor him, the heat that had radiated between them as they'd shouted at one another through the storm had plagued his thoughts and his body ever since. Underneath his outrage, he had felt a primal urge to strip her bear, to make her feel as vulnerable as he did, to lose himself in her body and possess her in ways that would show her she knew nothing of this so called heartache she spoke of. It had gripped him with overwhelming urgency and surpassed anything he thought he'd previously understood about longing.
She had turned his orderly life completely upside down. And now that she was finally gone, he could breathe easy in the knowledge that he'd never again allow anything or anyone to force him to confront the past. His ship was finally back on course.
So why couldn't he sleep...
"Goddamit," he growled, wrenching the covers off his body and wrapping a robe around himself to go in search of a much needed drink. Maybe a whiskey would help sleep finally claim him.
He was stunned to find a bleary eyed Max in the drawing room, nursing his own tumbler of whiskey and bent over deep in thought in one of the armchairs.
"What in God's name are you doing up?" Georg asked, leaning against the doorframe and eyeing his friend in amusement. Normally it was impossible to rouse Max Detweiler from slumber.
"I couldn't sleep," his lodger murmured, staring into space instead of meeting his eyes, absentmindedly swilling the amber liquid around in his glass.
"Well yes I can see that," Georg rolled his eyes in exasperation, "but why can't you sleep?"
"I could ask you the same question," Max fixed him with a scrutinising look, his eyes narrowed in judgement, and Georg suddenly felt uneasy under his watchful gaze.
The impresario observed his friend as he ignored the retort and made his way to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. He wondered whether Georg was robbed of sleep for the same reason that he was. Guilt.
Shifting uncomfortably in his armchair, he considered what he had been thinking about before the interruption.
He should've done more.
He had convinced himself that by cheering the Fraulein up during their private exchange, that he had done his part in fixing this godawful mess. But in retrospect, he knew that he'd done nothing to stop the chaos that had so rapidly ensued right in front of him.
He could've prevented Georg from letting the Fraulein leave, he could've spoken to him about his decision to marry Elsa, he could've tried harder to get the stubborn man to understand what had come to pass before his attack. But instead he'd sat idly by, convincing himself not to meddle, sweeping the deteriorating circumstances under the rug on the premise that he should allow things to take their natural course. But the natural course had turned out to be a damaging one indeed.
He had let the Fraulein down. He had let his friend down.
Clearing his throat, Georg approached his agitated companion and took a seat in the armchair opposite, observing Max's somewhat dishevelled appearance.
"You look terrible," he muttered, knocking back a larger mouthful of whiskey than would normally be recommended.
"You don't look much better yourself," Max retorted, "have the children been keeping you up at all hours of the night now there's no governess to tend to them?" His voice dripped with derision.
"Ah.. actually they haven't really spoken to me much since I let the Fraulein go," Georg rubbed the back of his ear sheepishly.
"I'm surprised you noticed," Max snipped, slugging the rest of his whiskey and getting up to refill his glass, "I can't say I blame them."
Georg was stunned into silence. What on earth had he done to elicit such disdain in a man who'd never taken anything seriously in his life?
Eventually his tongue unstuck itself from the roof of his mouth and he leaned further forward in his chair, "just what is that supposed to mean?"
"You barely acknowledge their existence as it is, Georg.."
"Max, what is this about?" He scowled, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Yet again he was met with the strange feeling that everyone in the villa was in on a secret he hadn't been privy to and it was beginning to exhaust him.
The two men eyed each other dangerously before Max sighed and threw down the ice tongs he'd been holding with a little too much force.
"It's nothing," he muttered, "nothing."
"No I've damn well had enough of everyone saying its nothing!" Georg snarled, jumping to his feet, "there is something! Something you know that I don't!"
"For god sake Georg, there's no bloody great big conspiracy that no one's telling you about!" Max snapped, thumping his fist against the cabinet, "You only have to open your eyes and you'd see what's right there in front of you. But you're too damn stubborn to admit it to yourself!"
"What the hell are you talking about!"
"The governess!"
The breath was stolen from Georg's lungs as a charged silence filled the room. The governess? Had he really been that obvious?
"What about her?" He murmured, dreading the answer to his own question.
"You feel for her," Max stated matter-of-factly, causing his blood to run cold, "you feel for her but you don't understand it. And you feel for your children, but you're so busy shutting the world out that you don't want to remember."
It was the second time in three days he'd been accused of shutting the world out and the truth behind the statement left Georg just as unnerved as it had done the first time.
"Remember what?!"
Max noted the anxiety in his friend's eyes and battled inwardly with himself over how much to reveal to him. After the doctor's stern instructions not to alarm his patient, Max was cautious that his words might cause further damage. But he could no longer stand by and do nothing.
He sighed heavily, "Things changed before your attack Georg. You.. You sang, you danced..there was music.. Laughter.."
"Stop this nonsense!" Georg snapped, beginning to pace the room as he lathered himself up into a rage as his only means of self-defence.
"You see?!" Max cried, exasperated, "You don't want to remember! We've all tried to treat this amnesia with care Georg but now it's time you heard it straight! You changed,my friend - you confronted your demons.. All because of her.."
Georg continued to pace furiously, his scowl deepening across his brow. Because of her? He thought back to the way she'd so often looked at him, the bizarre things she made him feel when they were alone. He didn't want to admit to himself that Max's words were starting to make sense.
"Don't you think it's odd that you held a party in the very ballroom you were desperate to keep locked all these years?" Max continued, "When you haven't hosted so much as an afternoon tea since.. "
He trailed off, the meaning of his words all too clear.
"Before all this mess you spoke of memories long forgotten Georg, you spoke.. You spoke of Agathe - "
"I can't.." Georg croaked, collapsing into a nearby chair with his head in his hands, allowing his iron will to slip in front of his oldest friend, "I can't do this!" Max had only seen this side to Georg - the vulnerable side - once before, shortly after his wife's passing and it surprised him to say the least. "It does no good to remember the past!"
"Try Georg!" Max whispered urgently, desperate to right what he'd allowed to go so horribly wrong, "you must try!"
Georg met his friend's eye uncertainly, finding comfort in the determined reassurance he saw there. He was the second person in thirty-six hours to beg of him such a simple request. Could Max be right too? He had convinced himself the past didn't matter, but of course it mattered. Remembering it however, was an entirely different story.
The Reverend Mother sat pensively behind her desk, her brow knitted with worry and the tips of her aged fingers touching together in front of her as she pondered the problem that was Maria Rainer. The girl had returned to the abbey three days ago, rattled and shaking, choking back tears of desperation - and the Mother Abbess had barely had a chance to console her before she'd resigned herself to seclusion. She was at a loss as to what might've happened to the girl and it had disturbed her that she'd seemed so unlike herself.
"Has she spoken yet?" The Reverend Mother looked up from her desk to meet sister Margaretta's eyes, "has she told you anything?"
The younger nun shook her head solemnly, "She hasn't spoken a word Reverend Mother, except in prayer."
It was just as the Reverend Mother had feared.
"Perhaps I've been wrong in leaving her alone for so long.." she pondered aloud, hoping that the Lord would somehow bring her guidance, "bring her to me please sister Margaretta, even if she's not yet ready."
With a curt nod the sister vacated the room and it wasn't long before the young postulant was bowing before the Mother Abbess, a timid reflection of the girl that once ran amuck inside the abbey walls. She looked so broken, defeated, saddened - and the Reverend Mother wondered not for the first time whether the cloistered life was the appropriate path for this child. Being so quiet, so pensive, so subdued - it really didn't suit her character. In fact, it made the Mother Abbess feel a disturbing sense of unease.
"You've been unhappy my child, I'm sorry," she placed a reassuring hand on the frightened girl's shoulder, "Why did they send you back to us?"
Maria took a deep breath, knowing she would have to share the truth with the elderly nun if she were to ever be worthy of God's forgiveness, "They didn't send me back mother, I.. I left."
It was an answer the Reverend Mother hadn't quite expected. Given Maria's somewhat haphazard approach to discipline, she had suspected that her early return was due to the Captain losing his patience with her chaotic ways. The fact that the girl had left of her own accord was puzzling. Gesturing to a nearby chair, she asked Maria to sit, wondering how best to handle the fragile girl's torn nerves, "tell me what happened."
Where could she even begin? Maria thought. How could she possibly tell the Mother Abbess that she'd committed a sin by falling in love with a man on God's errand - a man that no longer seemed to even exist. A man who was now engaged to another woman.
"I was confused.." Maria tried to explain, the words coming out on a shaky breath, wringing her hands in her lap, "I didn't know what to do.. I've never felt that way before.. I knew if I left I'd be away from it, I'd be safe.."
"My child, these abbey walls are not to be used as an escape," the Reverend Mother chided gently, "Why did you leave?"
Feeling as though a rope were being tied around her lungs, Maria choked out the words she'd been afraid to say.
"He isn't the same.."
"He?" The reverend Mother pressed in surprise, trying to make sense of the girl's confession, "Captain von Trapp?"
When Maria said nothing and stared at the floor in her anguish, the elderly nun pushed further, "are you in love with him?"
"I don't know!" the girl cried, flinging herself from her seat and pacing the room in desperation, "I was.. at least I think I was.. Before everything changed. I realise now that it was wrong.. That I'm wholly deserving of God's punishment..."
The elderly woman's forehead creased with a confused frown, "In what way do you believe the Lord is punishing you my child?"
"The Captain suffered a terrible attack and he lost his memory.." She whispered, her pain evident, "He no longer remembers me.. And I deserve nothing less! I was there on God's errand.. Asking for the Captain's love was wrong.."
The Reverend Mother sank into her chair as the sheer gravity of the young woman's predicament washed over her. It was indeed an awful mess. No wonder Maria hadn't spoken a word since her return. She'd been wracked with guilt, heartache, confusion - all the while convincing herself that her God had turned his back on her.
An age seemed to pass as the silence stretched on and Maria attempted to bite back the tears as she convinced herself that the Reverend Mother's lack of response was an indication of her disapproval.
"Oh Mother I'm so sorry!" she gushed, flinging herself to the woman's feet, "Please let me beg for forgiveness!"
"Maria..," the nun attempted to sooth the young woman's despair, "The love of a man and a woman is holy too. If you love this man it doesn't mean you love God less.." She stood from her chair and took the girl by her upper arms, noting the apprehension in her eyes, "did you ever consider that rather than punishing you, God may be challenging you?"
Maria's heart began to pound against her rib cage at the Reverend Mother's observation. Challenging her? Why would God be challenging her?
"You have a great capacity to love my child.." The Reverend Mother continued, "Perhaps God is willing you to explore that capacity. Perhaps he is willing you to discover for yourself just how much you are capable of loving."
Maria allowed the wise woman's words to sink in, trying to make sense of them. She'd been so wrapped up in her guilt, so busy drowning in her despair that she'd failed to even consider that God might be testing her. She thought back to the many times she'd been subjected to the captain's disdain, his painful indifference - only to find that she loved him all the same, if not more. She thought back to their confrontation by the lake and the way her desperate heart had threatened to burst from her chest as she'd looked upon his broken form. She had wanted nothing more than to comfort him, to cradle him in her arms and kiss his pain away. Despite every hurtful word, despite every hateful glare, her love for him knew no bounds.
But none of it mattered now.
"He's engaged Reverend Mother..to the baroness.." Maria whispered, utterly defeated.
The elderly nun paused, taken aback by the unexpected complication.
"I see.. " she eventually murmured, pacing the room slightly. This made things more difficult. In any other circumstances she would've advised that such a commitment should be respected. She would've consoled the heartbroken girl and explained that perhaps it was best she remained at the abbey to carry out God's will in other ways. But there was something about the drastic turn of events that had taken place in the von Trapp household that gave the elderly woman reason to suspect God wasn't quite finished with this particular chapter of Maria's complex book.
She eyed the anguished young woman thoughtfully, choosing her next words with great care, "And do you believe it is God's will that they marry?"
"Does it even matter Reverend Mother?"
The older woman shrugged slightly and offered a knowing smile, "God works in mysterious ways, Maria.."
The words entirely knocked the wind out of Maria as she recalled how Georg had comforted her with the very same sentiment all those weeks ago in their tree as they'd contemplated their futures.
"I fear I don't know what God's will is, Mother.." she whispered.
"Well you must find out," the elderly nun concluded wisely, cupping Maria's tear-stained cheek with a reassuring hand, "you must go back."
A/N: there you have it! Maria will have to confront the Captain and her feelings in the next chapter whether she likes it or not! This chapter focused a lot on both characters being forced to confront their fears by the people they hold dear. I hope you liked it and are still keen to see the story through to the end.