I finally got around to updating this one. Enjoy. I am on an updating spree today because it is my first week of summer vacation.
Maria stood in the checkout line of an unfamiliar store, tapping her foot nervously and holding a basket of fruits and vegetables in her shaking hands. It had taken all of her strength to leave the house this morning but she knew she couldn't keep her family nourished on cookies alone, so she had swallowed her tears and pushed out the door.
She regretted it now, looking around at the unfamiliar faces, being jostled by the busy people in the crowded grocery store. She was so tired her eyes drooped and her bones ached.
She cringed and swallowed hard as the smell of fresh fish wafted into her nose and she turned around to see a man with two slimy looking specimen wrapped in paper. Her stomach did a small summersault and she quickly looked away, feeling heat rush into her head. This entire situation was almost too stimulating for her in her fragile state.
Sighing, Maria placed the food on the counter and allowed the man behind it to tally up what she owed. His voice as he informed her of the price came out muffled and her hands quivered as she pulled out the money.
As she paid for her purchases the realization suddenly occurred to her that she had no way of acquiring any sort of income. "Damn." She muttered under her breathe, taking stalk of how uncharacteristically vulgar her speech had become but not really caring.
"Excuse me?" The man behind the counter raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, pardon me." Maria bowed her head in apology, finished paying, grabbed her groceries and rushed hurriedly out of the store.
Once free of the stench of the fish, she took a deep breath and relaxed just slightly. She couldn't seem to release her shoulders from the tension that kept them locked in place, however. One of her hands shot up and started rubbing the tight spots on her back, while the other continued to cling to the bag of food.
She forced herself to acknowledge that the only person capable of massaging the tension out of her shoulder would never be able to relieve her.
Then her mind turned back to her new problem, money. She needed a job. But, honestly what could she do? She had never had a job, not really. She had gone straight from childhood to the convent and had only ever held service positions where any profit she made went to the church.
Maybe she could try teaching. She had always had an affinity for working with children and had some experience through her work in the Sunday school and with the Von Trapp children.
Yet, even if she set her mind on teaching, Maria had no idea how to go about acquiring such a job. Was she supposed to just walk into the principal's office of a school and beg for a position on the staff? She may not have had many jobs but she knew enough to know that that wasn't how it worked.
She shrugged the thought out of her mind and walked down the cobblestone street, past a few children playing hopscotch in the street, past an old couple cuddling on a bench next to a fountain, – the sight of them made her heart ache for what she would never have with Georg – past a working man mowing a large lawn, the grass spitting up behind him as he pushed across the green field.
…
Several Weeks Earlier
…
Donald Foreman had been mowing lawns since he was seventeen years old. At eighty-four, he was still going strong, though his back sometimes hurt him occasionally, and he tired out easier than he used to. He worked with a company that kept lawns and gardens of some of the richest families Salzburg, earning quite a satisfactory salary considering his line of work.
The good news about his job was that no matter who was running the country, people still needed a kept yard. Despite the government turbulence, grass continued to grow.
Today's job was different than others. Today, the yard was surrounded by men in uniform, their badges glistening in the bright sun, their faces solemn and their arms fat at their sides. Today, the walls of the house that the lawn surrounded was empty and bare, the lights out, the walls creaking and the rooms devoid of life. Today, there were no children to play in the yard or mothers and fathers to stand on the house's balcony overseeing his work, only a general or admiral or whatever rank that man lounging on a wooden deck chair was.
A woman came around from the front of the house, waving her arms around and shouting, "Come around front for a glass of lemonade."
Donald paused his work, straightened his back and wiped the sweat from his brow, gazing out over the sparkling lake water. His co-worker John Milford, who was trimming the hedge that surrounded the water's edge, set down his clippers, adjusted his overalls and started to follow the crowd of soldiers up the hill around to the front of the house.
Donald began to do the same, but was stopped by a gruff looking man with a thin mustache.
"You have not been making enough progress today." The man noted, shooting a disapproving glance to where Donald had abandoned his machine. "I don't want to see you taking a break until you are at least half way done. This house needs to look like nothing has changed." With that the general turned and marched away, leaving Donald alone with the grass as it swayed in the wind.
He walked slowly over to the lawn mower, which was leaning up against a tree. He sighed and hunched back over to push the machine forward.
SPLASH!
His head shot up from his work as the lake erupted with movement. His eyes flew over to where a man was emerging from the water. He was wearing nothing but an undershirt and shorts which were both plastered to his body because they were so wet. Donald furrowed his eyebrow as the man shook, sending droplets of water flying from his hair and clothes.
The man ran a hand through his soaking wet brown hair, his eyes wild, his movements fast and anxious. He rushed over to the gate, and shook it for a moment before realized it had been padlocked shut. He groaned, abandoning the gate and jumping over the hedge.
He winced when he landed on a pile of discarded sticks and leaves and then looked up and seemed to notice, for the first time, the shocked old man standing before him.
Donald wasn't certain what to say, he just gaped at the dripping stranger with wide eyes and mouth. "I-." He started to speak but before he could utter a word was being grabbed by the throat and pushed backwards.
Blue eyes darted wildly over Donald's face and the man gripped his neck, not hard enough to choke him, hard enough that he couldn't escape. "Who are you and what are you doing in my yard?" The man growled.
"D-. Donald Foreman, Sir. Mowing the lawn." Donald managed, stuttering under the sharp glare.
The man narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Are they here?" Donald studied the man's features, the sagging bags under his eyes, the dirt and – was that blood? – smeared on his face, the gruff unshaved stubble that covered his chin. It was the look of a man on the run. After the World War, Donald knew what a man on the run looked like and this was certainly that.
"I-. I-. Can't speak." Don raised his eyebrows, and to his relief the strangers hold on his neck lessened before he was shoved backwards.
"I'm sorry." The man looked shamefully at the ground and gulped. "I just-."
"You're running from something." Donald finished for him.
"Not from something. To something." Replied the man, his jaw tightening. "My family. They're-. They are out there somewhere and I-. I need to get to them."
It suddenly dawned on the yard worker who he must be talking to. "Captain Von Trapp?"
He nodded solemnly.
"Aren't you dead?"
Another nod.
"But you're alive."
The man's eyes glistened, and in them Donald saw fear, sorrow and regret. It looked like this man had been punched in the gut, which come to think of it, he probably had been at some point.
"How are you here?"
"It doesn't matter." The Captain's voice dropped. "What matters is that I need to get into my home and find some money I had stored away so that I can find my-." He cracked, his lip quivering. "So I can get back to them." A solitary tear trickled down his cheek and he swallowed, his whole body trembling, clearly trying to hold back tears.
Donald was too stunned to speak.
"I need to get inside, where are the soldiers?"
"They're all in the front yard having a break." Donald managed.
"How much time do I have?" Captain Von Trapp quickly composed himself, rubbing the tears away from his eyes.
"Five maybe ten minutes."
"That's enough." And with that the man took off running into the house.
Nobody reported finding him in the house, and the old gardener never saw a glimpse of anyone leaving through the back door. For the rest of the day, Donald waited for some sign of the fugitive, but none came.
The former Captain must have gotten what he needed and ran.
It's been what? Almost a year? If there are any loyal followers and reviewers please make yourselves known to me so that I can personally thank you for sticking with me through all of this.
333 xoxoxoxo
~rosemusic20