A/N: me again! I hope you enjoy this next update and I think the next chapter may be the last!
The days following their peaceful afternoon in the woods seemed to fly by, but while Georg had expected a flurry of activity in preparation for their imminent departure, he'd been surprised to discover that a melancholy kind of stillness had befallen the household instead. Even the trees surrounding the country home seemed to hold their breath in silent anticipation, weary of the uncertain, cautious of the unknown, awaiting the untold future.
They'd finally let the children know that it was time to move on, that it was time to make a better life for themselves - and each of them had been altogether giddy with excitement and utterly petrified all at once.
Little Thomas had given a squeal of enthusiasm, flailing his arms and babbling - in an idiosyncratic mixture of English and German that he'd adopted over the months - about the fact that they were all going on a great adventure on a ship not too dissimilar from his little model boat.
Lucy, still so young and unsure, had become momentarily confused and asked whether her parents would be joining them on their journey. Georg had found himself suddenly lost for words, but Maria - his light, his angel - had gathered the girl into her arms and told her that while her mother and father were in heaven now, they would still be with Lucy no matter where she was in the world. It had moved him deeply, to see his Maria mother yet another child in need of love, a child that wasn't her own and yet received an adoration just as fierce.
A grave look of understanding had been shared between Leisl and Friedrich at the news - the oldest two siblings who together had shouldered the biggest responsibility in losing their mother. Georg knew they'd been forced to grow up faster than their years demanded, and they'd consequently grown closer for it. The pair of them shared a unique bond, a bond that touched Georg's heart - blonde and thoughtful Friedrich, so much like his mother.. dark, bold Leisl, not unlike himself - so different from each other in nature and yet so close as a result of such tragedy.
Prickly Louisa had softened somewhat in those moments, asking with a solemn sadness whether they'd ever return home. Where was home now? Georg had thought darkly, wondering whether she was referring to their refuge in England, their time spent in France or the years of wonderful memories that remained in their beloved Austria. But he knew deep down there was no question about it - his daughter was referring to the long evenings spent by the fireplace in their drawing room singing songs and playing games, the long summer afternoons spent frolicking in the lake, the breezy autumn mornings whiled away riding bikes past the Salzburg mountains, the starry nights spent gazing through the glass walls of the family gazebo, the breeze sweeping through the trees like a restless sea - every aspect of the place he'd called home for over twenty years. How he yearned for it, how his children yearned for it. If he allowed himself to dwell on the memories they'd left behind for too long he felt as though the world was about to cave in on him. But he resolved to never, ever bury the past again, for as long as he had his memory to guide him. Instead, he'd do all he could to make sure his children never forgot the wonderful life they'd shared at 53 Aigen.
Much to Georg's relief and welcome amusement, Kurt had broken the unbearable tension by creasing his face in a serious frown, demanding to know immediately whether schnitzel with noodles was an available dish in America. He'd been crestfallen to discover that schnitzel wasn't all that popular in their chosen destination but his little eyes had sparked with wonder at the mention of burgers and fries smothered in ketchup. It seemed that as long as his middle son's appetite was satisfied, then the boy himself was satisfied.
Brigitta, though rather timid about the uncertainties of a new start in life, had been persuaded by the prospect of the many universities she'd one day be able to apply to - colleges that offered educational opportunities the likes of which she could only dream of as a young girl from the smallest corners of a warring Europe. With a brain as sharp as hers, Georg had reassured her, she'd be able to do great things. She'd cracked a bashful smile then and suddenly his future had been flashing before his eyes, watching his inquisitive daughter adorn the stage in her robes to accept her scroll with pride.
It was baby Gretl that had perhaps shocked him the most. Rather than wail or cry about the loss of her material possessions, rather than quiver in fear at the prospect of a new life, she'd sidled up to her father, face scrunched in a concerned frown, looking him straight in the eye, and asked, "how will you feel about leaving father?" And he'd found himself suddenly transported back to the grassy bank in Ermenonville where he'd collapsed in a heap of despair and his little girl had turned the tables of their relationship by wiping away his tears with a gentle hand. His remarkable little Gretl, who'd never known her mother and yet harboured every ounce of Agathe's fierce compassion. Her innocent question had entirely knocked the wind out of him.
Uncle Max - thank God - had saved him the turmoil of an honest response by lightheartedly exclaiming to Gretl that of course her father was nothing but excited by the prospect of traveling to America, for the land of opportunity was absolutely rife with talent the likes of which even the impresario could only dream of. Save for the von Trapp family singers of course. Everyone had fallen about laughing then and Georg had given his friend a silent nod of gratitude from across the room, a look that Max had returned with a nod of his own and a weary smile.
Perhaps the hardest reaction to come to terms with however, wasn't the vastly differing thoughts and feelings of his children, but the deeply stirring reaction of his mother in law. He'd found her nestled in a chair in the earl's drawing room that very same afternoon, clutching at what looked to be an old photograph of some kind. He'd taken a moment to simply watch her from the doorway, startled by the sudden resemblance to Agathe. Almost instantly he'd been reminded of the times he would find his late wife poring over a book in her favourite corner of the library back at home, and he would take a moment just to gaze at her before she'd become aware of his presence and chastise his nosiness with a dazzling smile.
The earl's drawing room was quite considerably smaller than his library back in Aigen, or the lavish parlours of the Whitehead's country home in Northampton, but it was every bit as beautifully decorated. Quite evidently the rakish Earl had allowed his mistress to inject a woman's touch into this particular room of the house, for it was the only space in the manor that seemed truly welcoming in comparison to the almost boorish decor that dominated the rest of the household. And what a fitting room it was for such a delicate, elegant woman as Lady Whitehead, her long skirts cascading elegantly to the floor from her position in the armchair, her grey hair coifed perfectly atop her head, her face so thoughtful and melancholy as she'd gazed upon her prized photograph. She'd looked more like Agathe in those moments of private reflection than he'd ever seen her, and he'd found himself suddenly frozen to the spot - as though he'd suddenly been sent back through time and was standing in the doorway of his library once again. Or perhaps he was looking into the future he and Agathe might've shared had she lived to be as old as her mother. Would she have looked like Margaret in her old age? He'd wondered with a small smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps she would've been even more beautiful, even more elegant, even more worldly.
Either way, it hardly mattered. Margaret had looked almost ethereal in her mature elegance in those moments as he'd watched her from the doorway, entirely unaware of her curious onlooker, and he'd found himself making a silent promise to Agathe that he would always do everything in his power to protect her mother.
"Did no one ever tell you it's rude to stare, Georg?" the elderly woman had pierced his moving reverie without so much as looking up from her photograph, "it's no use standing idly in the doorway now is it. Was there something you wanted?"
"What have you got there?" He'd asked curiously, pushing himself up from his resting position against the door jamb and making his way to her side.
"It's one of the only items I managed to pack in London before we fled the city," Margaret had cracked a weary half smile and run her fingertips over the glass of the frame in her lap, "it's my favourite photograph - it lived atop the sideboard in the hallway at home back in London and I almost forgot to take it with us. It wasn't until we were about to step out the front door that I saw it and hurriedly stashed it in my bags.."
Curiosity stirred, Georg had taken up residence next to his mother in law, perching on the broad arm of the cosy chair and peering over her shoulder, eyes narrowing in interest. He'd followed the trace of her fingertips as they glided over the faces outlined in the grainy black and white image, and as the profiles had come into focus, he'd recognised the two people instantly. He'd seen the photograph before in fact, many years ago.
There in the frame sat a young man adorned with a moustache and a thick head of dark hair that had been parted and slicked back meticulously. He was sat ramrod straight in a chair that had evidently been placed specifically for the photograph, and in his lap sat a little girl, her light hair pulled into tight pigtails and her little legs dangling off her father's knees as he held her in place lovingly. The man's gaze was fixed on the little girl, an adoring grin etched into his features, and the object of his affections was looking directly into the camera, an impish smile spreading across her face as though she couldn't possibly be happier.
"She was so beautiful," Margaret had whispered, following the lines of Agathe's childish face with her fingertip once again.
"Yes," Georg had agreed simply, "she was." He'd placed a firm hand on Margaret's shoulder then, welcoming the lump that had formed in his own throat. There was once a time when he would've shrunk away from such an intense feeling but these days he found that he savoured it. It was a welcome reminder of how much Agathe had meant to him and how her memory would never be forgotten.
"Where were you when this was being taken?" Georg had asked.
"Ah," Margaret had given a nostalgic laugh then, a laugh that had momentarily surpassed the sadness in her eyes, "it was meant to be a family portrait but Robert was larking about so much that the photographer was refusing to take the shot, so I had to take matters into my own hands and get behind the camera myself!"
Georg had given a hearty chuckle then as he looked back at the picture of a much younger Robert and his daughter. He'd been tickled by the thought of a boisterous baron and an impish Agathe sharing in their silliness while the no-nonsense Baroness lost her patience and shooed the cameraman out of the way to take the picture herself. He had been able to see the moment captured in real time as he'd gazed at the grainy image - the baron's adoring smile and Agathe's cheeky grin making it appear as though father and daughter were sharing in their own little secret.
As quickly as it had come, Margaret's laughter had died on her lips, replaced instead by a darkness that seemed to shroud her like a cloak. She'd taken a shaky breath and Georg had felt, through his grip on her shoulder, that she was trembling.
"God how I miss them, Georg.." she'd breathed, barely above a whisper, a single tear suddenly splashing against the glass of the frame, "and now this is all I have left.."
"That's not true," Georg had protested fiercely, whirling to face her so quickly that he nearly fell off the armchair, "you have your memories! Thousands of them. Just like I have my own memories of Agathe and I wouldn't trade them for the world now. Maria helped me to realise that. And we may have lost our material possessions, even some of our loved ones, but the Nazis can never take our memories, Margaret!" he'd felt the anger starting to rise in his chest like bile, Zeller's face, Himmler's face, Hitler's face swimming in front of him through the red haze of rage as he considered how it was possible to hate anything as much as he hated the Third Reich. But he would die before he allowed them to break him. It was his darling Maria who'd given him the strength to rise above the despair that could have easily engulfed him. She had shown him that he could turn the darkness and evil on its head and use it to gather hope, determination, resolve, love - until he was entirely convinced that they were utterly indestructible as a family. With every hit, every loss, he found himself becoming even more determined to provide his family with the future it deserved. His darling Maria had shown him that they were blessed just to be breathing. And with her by his side, he knew he would never stop fighting.
"And you have us," his eyes had bore into Margaret's with a fierce intensity, "you have ten grandchildren who worship the ground you walk on. You have a son in me, a daughter in Maria.. and I suppose you have some kind of lovable pet in Max.." they'd shared a wry chuckle then before Georg had forged on, gripping her frail hand in his, "the point is Margaret.. now is not the time to give up. Now is the time to fight the hardest." He'd watched, as the tears had pooled in her eyes and she'd swallowed hard, her face set in righteous conviction, "It's time.." he'd insisted meaningfully, and she'd nodded without so much as a single hesitation. And he'd known then, in those few moments, that his mother in law had some fight left in her yet.
And now it seemed that the time to pursue their new life was finally upon them. They were due to leave at the crack of dawn and, as he lay awake staring at the bedroom ceiling the night before their departure, waiting for the hours to tick by until they would have to get up and make their way to the port in Liverpool, he found himself consumed with fear and excitement all at once. He couldn't possibly determine what kind of fate would await them in America - if they even made it that far - and he was riddled with anxiety that he might not be able to provide his family with safety and security when they eventually arrived in New York. He and Maria had agreed that they'd somehow make their way to Vermont to settle, where the mountains and lakes would remind them fondly of their homeland - but his sole priority at this point was to simply get the fourteen of them safely into the country. All their papers were finally in order, his fortune was secure and the Blitz had calmed enough to make travel seem less deadly. But still the fear gripped him in an unwelcome vice.
To his surprise, he was urged back into the room by the woman laying next to him, who turned to face him and placed a comforting hand against his chest, warm and soft as satin.
"I can't sleep either," she whispered, running her fingers languidly through the curls beneath her fingers, "are you scared?"
He gave a tight nod, his eyes eventually moving from the ceiling and locking with hers in their anguish, "terrified," he whispered into the semi-darkness, "do you think less of me?"
Her answer didn't come in the form of words, but in the way her lips joined the path of her fingers, grazing languidly across his skin and causing his breath to hitch against the fiery trail she left in her wake. Her warm frame was pressed against every inch of his, anchoring him, consoling him, offering him a harbour in which he would always find home. She pressed hot, open mouthed kisses against his collarbone, his neck, his jaw, his face, as though heeling invisible wounds - and he felt his body stir instantly to life against her comforting ministrations - confronted with a sudden and deep ache to be inside her, to be as close as two people could possibly be. How fiercely he loved her - his wife, his bulwark, his very lifeblood. And he found that he desired her not as a body to conquer, not as a physical source of relief, but as a soul that he desperately needed to worship. He ached for her very being - her strength, her joy, her innocence, her wonder - he needed her to seep into the deepest recesses of his soul and light the darkness, right the wrong, soothe the turmoil that raged within.
And as he sank slowly into his wife's body on their last night in England, inch by excruciating inch, he resolved to memorise every heated gasp, every burning look, every desperate plea, as though they were as crucial to his existence as the very oxygen he breathed. He loved her slowly, lazily, delicately, entirely lost to an intoxicating abyss of love and sorrow, pleasure and pain, loss and life - and he realised he was in no hurry to leave such a place, delaying their pleasure to the point of near-hysteria.
As time stood still and the world faded to black around them, her desperate cries filled the room until she was fairly begging him in broken gasps. His whole body burned for release, his orgasm threatening to tear through his body and rip them from their rare and carnal refuge - but still he held off, delaying the inevitable, unwilling and unable to give her up - his angel, his siren, his Maria.
It wasn't until she finally grasped him firmly around the hips and held him as deep inside her as he could possibly be, her nails digging into his skin and her desperate cries muffling against his mouth, that he felt her tighten around him, his body succumbing to the fire as they hurtled headfirst into the flames together.
It was at the crack of dawn that he finally woke her again with a loving kiss, the sun not yet above the clouds as they wordlessly gathered their few belongings and roused the children from slumber. It was wise to make a swift and discreet exit - for it was impossible to determine whether they were still being pursued in some way or another.
As they huddled together in the hallway, adorned in their travel clothes and clutching their little cases, Johannes bundled in Maria's arms, Georg and Max did one last sweep of the house before deciding that it was finally safe to go. It was still rather dark outside, the crisp morning air and thick fog dimming their surroundings with the silvery hue of dawn, making it the perfect setting for a subtle escape.
But as Georg threw open the front door and made to step out onto the gravel, he was halted dead in his tracks, dread unfurling in his stomach as he watched a darkened silhouette making its way through the fog and up the driveway towards them.
He froze, panic twisting in his gut as he watched the silhouette draw closer, entirely convinced that it would be Zeller coming to take his final revenge. The crunch of the gravel underneath the visitor's feet seemed to reverberate off the stone walls and rattle around in his mind, taunting him for what felt like an eternity as the culprit drew ever closer, as though in slow motion. He held his breath, entirely ready for battle, his heart hammering in his chest as he ushered Maria and the children protectively behind him - until the silhouette finally stepped out of the shadows and the entire world shifted on its axis, Georg's legs threatening to buckle beneath him.
"Hello Georg.."
Surely it was entirely impossible. Surely his eyes were deceiving him. It couldn't possibly be..
But all doubt was immediately eradicated when Margaret gave a strangled cry that made the hair on the back of Georg's neck stand on end - a cry of earth-shattering anguish, a cry of overwhelming relief, a cry that seemed to shift the world out from under their very feet. And then she was shoving past Georg with unwavering strength, running as fast as she could towards their bedraggled visitor, her wracking sobs echoing around the courtyard as she flung herself into the open arms of the man standing before them.
It seemed that Margaret had more than just her memories left after all.
Robert had returned.
A/N: maybe it's too predictable, too cheesey, or just right - I'll let you decide! But either way I hope you enjoyed this update and in the next chapter we'll find out what Robert's been through.