Chapter 18: Attersee

Maria had never seen anything like it as she and Georg began their slow stroll, her hand folded tightly into his elbow: the deep blue water stretching so far as she could see, hardly even rippling with a breeze. Well, there wasn't much of a breeze anyway, not with the the hills surrounding the shoreline and the trees climbing to the very top to hold any at bay. If she glanced all the way to the top—squinted, even though the sun was no longer that low on the horizon—she thought she could see a few patches of snow even now. The hills were so much lower the mountains she had come to love, it wasn't too difficult to see the peaks. I can't believe we're here, Maria thought, her eyes darting here and there, struggling to see everything at once. It isn't that far, I know, but it does feel like a different world.

The drive hadn't taken that long—or at least Maria didn't think it hadn't. The longest trip she had ever taken was the train from Vienna to Salzburg, so really, she couldn't know, she supposed. There had been no pleasure trips like this in her childhood. As the car's engine came to life on the edge of the road only a few blocks from her room and the vehicle began to bounce over the cobblestones, Georg hadn't said all that much, only that it wouldn't quite be the same. The same as the ocean, I'm sure that's what you mean. The road had turned dusty shortly after the borders of Salzburg lay behind them, smoother as well with just the tires rolling over packed dirt and the occasional branch. Right at the start, she had asked him where they were going, but all he heard him whisper was Upper Austria as he glanced at one of the last cross streets before the city vanished.

Once in a while, Georg muttered something under his breath as a driver on the other half of the road drifted a little too close his car, though Maria expected he meant it to be quiet as possible. Something I might not like to hear, she supposed. But more often than not, she enjoyed watching the countryside rush past, though she was careful where her elbow sat on the door handle. The fields and occasional trees, the grass still sparking to life after a winter slumber, the wiry brambles and bushes waiting for warm mornings and afternoons to give birth to their buds and blossoms.

But now, with the drive finally complete—the worn car left behind to remember its better days—and just standing on the shore without another person to be seen, Maria dipped the very toe of her shoe into water. It was almost still so close to rocks under their feet, calm and nearly mesmerizing, the eventual deep blue stretching out before her was so beautiful. The path from the car had been clear but dusty and her shoes, once nearly white stockings, and even the very bottom hem of her dress were covered with a thin layer of dirt. Though it wasn't too warm even in the morning sun, the water was cooler around her foot—

His other arm was already around her waist, dragging her away from shore, her backside hard against him as she stiffened in his sudden hold. "Don't make me pick you up out of the water," he whispered into her ear. "It wouldn't be quite as pleasant for either of us."

Even wriggling against and tugging at his arm was useless, Georg's grip was too strong, and after a moment, Maria stopped, though she was still tense. "I wouldn't do that."

"The number of times you've fallen on the street?"

"That's different."

He laughed in her ear, his breath warm as it whistled across her cheek. "Forgive me if I don't believe you after all this long."

"It was your fault this morning—"

"And I didn't, darling." He loosed his arm from her waist, now setting her hand in his elbow again. "But come on."

There was little conversation as they walked, occasionally in step as the gravel buried and almost tamped down the dust. The trail's grade occasionally rose—only to ease itself down again, Maria once hurrying down a shallow hill away from Georg. "See?" she said with a smile as he reached for her again to pull her close. "I can manage to walk without stumbling over my own two feet!"

"I'll believe it when I see it again," he said, her arm and hand firmly back in his grasp.

They mostly fell into silence. Now, Maria was more fascinated by the slopes closing the lake off from much of the world, her eyes still trying to take every tree—every bird—every hill still topped with the winter snow in at once. Georg often turned her attention to the lake itself as the trail turned upward again, pointing out the rocks worn by the water occasionally drifting in from the creek that fed it, rising and falling like a tide, but over months and years rather than hours.

"Here," he finally said, pulling her a small clearing, stubborn weeds already poking up through the dirt. The low bluff wasn't that far above the water—five or six feet—but there were no rocks, no marks where the dust and stone might give way. Georg held her back a little, not ready to have impetuous feet rush forward and test the edge. "Imagine this—as far as the eye can see, Maria." He took a deep breath, the smell of fresh water and Maria's hair melting together in his nostrils. "The Mediterranean. It's the closest I can show you without taking you to the Italian coast."

Georg's hands on her shoulders held her firmly in place, but Maria still struggled to stand on her toes; the shoe she had dipped in the water was long dry and mussed again, clinging worse than before. From higher up, the water was even more vibrant—even bluer, so clear, she almost thought she saw the rocks at the bottom. It was only a gentle wave here and there, more around the little boats going this way and that, so far away and so small, they hardly looked more than pebbles on the opposite shore. "I didn't imagine it would look like this," she whispered, finally falling back onto her heels. She still wanted a better view of the lake, but she didn't mind Georg's hands holding her still. She really didn't know when she had learned to adore it—love it, really.

"No?"

She shook her head, her long braid slapping at the buttons of her coat as it often did, almost squirming under his grasp. "It's so much more than I imagined it could be."

"You've seen the lakes in Vienna, I'm sure—"

"Nothing like this. They're more ponds than lakes."

Georg took a step back, bringing Maria with him—back to the trail, now with his arm around her waist. Their gait was more awkward, now, but he couldn't resist the heat of her body against him, delightful even through their coats. "But you should know why I wouldn't want you to fall in. I don't think you would have a pleasant journey back home."

Maria blushed, something she had grown more than accustomed to doing around Georg; just a simple word set her cheeks aflame, sometimes, leaving her wishing she was alone with her thoughts and embarrassment in her room. Never enough that she would want to leave him, just enough to hope he didn't quite notice how red her skin had gone. But she remembered how it felt, soaked to the bone in stagnant lake water. She had hardly been out of her uncle's house when she managed to tumble into one of Vienna's ponds on a trip with some classmates that first year of college. Hardly a fancy affair, it was really just a handful of girls and boys bored with spending all their free time at the dorms, rather as she supposed some of those girls who were suddenly gone one day felt, equally bored with spending all their time only in the girls' dorm. At least this smelled fresher.

"But it's not too much farther," Georg murmured, sliding his arm from her waist and taking her hand again instead. If the people of Salzburg often failed to mask their disapproval over how close he always managed to be to Maria, the rare prying eye around the lake would likely despise it even more.

They were quite alone, Maria had realized that as soon as Georg's car was hidden behind the first slope beside the trail. There wasn't another soul to be seen on the trail—no one ready for a cool breeze in the hot summer, she supposed—no gaze to ensure an unchaperoned girl lost no honor around a lake with a man twice her age. I know you were thinking that earlier, Johanna. But there's nothing to worry about, Maria thought as she tightened her fingers in Georg's hand. I know someone else wouldn't know that but...I do.

"Where are you taking me?" She peered around the bend as much as she could: fresh grass up the slopes to one side, rising up to meet the lowest trees, the dirt beach and crystal clear water to the other. She thought she finally heard voices up ahead—or at least one, maybe it was just echoing around the bend.

Georg pulled her along a little faster, closer to where the speaker must be. "I told you while we were driving here, out on the lake."

Maria ground her shoes in the dirt, trying to slow them down. "You can't, not really."

"I can do whatever I like—"

"But you've—" She was nearly tripping again as she struggled to keep pace with him, really only his grasp keeping her on her feet. "But you've already spent so much money just for me."

He slowed, maybe hearing her breathing race as she half-ran to match his quicker and longer strides, finally just stopping and turning to her, waiting for her last stumbling steps to end. "You aren't used to that, are you?"

"No," she whispered.

"That's unfortunate." He brushed a few loose hairs from her forehead; the little breeze drifting across the lake and her last little sprint had loosened even the top of her braid. "You deserve more in life than that. I told you I can see you have a passion for life."

"But—"

"Won't you finally trust that the navy was good to me, I told you so weeks ago."

"Will that make you happier?"

He had to settle his hand around her waist once more, she was too far away with just her hand in his. "Perhaps."

They ambled along for a while longer, the bend in the road longer and slighter than Maria had expected. The sun had risen higher in the sky, and the more they walked, the more the sweat under her collar grew, sticking the heavy fabric to the back of her neck. She wanted to open at least one, maybe two of her coat's buttons and allow a hit of fresh air closer to her skin; she would probably feel it through her thinner dress as well. If she was standing still—waiting for the bus each school day, or this morning while she was waiting for Georg—she would have managed with one hand. But walking along beside him half wrapped in his embrace, her hand would be so unsteady that she would likely just rip a button away...and she didn't want to pull her hand from between them. I don't know the next time I'll feel this, even though...You seem to like having me in your arms somehow. Oh, I just don't know—

"What was it like being on a submarine?" she blurted out, not quite knowing where the words came from, only that they tumbled out before she could stop them, just as they always did.

And now he was peering down at her, as he always did. "You are always curious."

"Before, you told me where you went, not how you got there."

"Come on," he said, hardly giving her a moment before her pulled her along with another scrape of their shoes in the dusty gravel. "Cramped and damp, if I'm honest."

The bend of the faintly sloped hill continued onward, following the path and the little inlet of the lake, bright blue water following along as well. "That couldn't have been easy since you're so tall," Maria said after another gulp of air.

"You can do a lot of things that aren't easy if you are passionate about it. I'm sure you had to take on some interesting tasks to pay your way through college."

"Not that interesting," Maria said with a shake of her head. "I worked for a dressmaker, it's how I learned to make my own clothes." She still remembered all the little pricks and marks on her fingers and thumb before she realized how to use the thimble properly. Her foster mother had taught her many things, but nothing with a needle and thread much beyond a week's worth of embroidery before she gave up. "I was sent home with the first few I did, she was too embarrassed to have them seen in her shop."

Georg couldn't stop himself, his eyes darting back to her, chest rising and falling beneath that ugly, heavy coat a little faster than he was used to seeing her do. A little too fast for you, Fräulein? he wondered. I know it isn't too far from the car, I've walked with you a lot farther than this. Or perhaps it's the company again. "I've definitely seen far worse, though maybe not on you, at least now.

The voices were finally closer, likely a few stalls of various locals selling anything a couple—a pair of people on the lake might want. Little snacks, bottles of the local soft drink—Georg didn't care for those at all—even a few towels for those who were a little too adventurous and ventured too close to the water, or rocked a boat a little too hard. A market of its own, Georg thought, still waving his hand at every ware—every sample batted away, even though Maria's eyes were wide as he slipped his arm from her waist. It was nothing like the market from Thursday, really just a few vendors looking to make a few schillings rather than bakers and confectioners eager to sell their goods but without a storefront to their name. And before too long, the voices were already fading, another bend leading them into silence and solitude.

"But what were you saying?" Maria asked.

Georg sighed. "Tenacious, too, aren't you?" He laughed to himself, at last tugging her closer again. Even for a few minutes, she had been too far away, despite the sweat collecting beneath his arm and against his side. So far from a city, gossip still circulated at times, and at least in Salzburg, there were more than enough pedestrians cluttering up the roads for even the most prudish to take much notice. "But I was telling you about submarines?"

"Yes."

"Even if it is called a submarine, it wasn't during the war." Without the stall holders enticing them, the faint, gentle lapping of the lake against its rocky dirt shore emerged again. "We were hardly under the water itself, our engines weren't strong enough pull us farther under, and we never quite knew when the air might finally run out."

Maria shuddered, her head pressed into his shoulder for a second. "And you really weren't frightened? All I mean—and there are all sorts of animals—"

"Not so close to the surface where we were—and they would be happy to avoid us if they needed a breath as well."

"And now you're not answering my question."

He shrugged, and the warmth of her face was gone, suddenly leaving a cold patch on his skin despite his shirt and his own winter coat. The next time he had to return to Aigen, he would hand it over for laundering and storage until this year's autumn turned too cold. "At least if you are—frightened, everyone on your boat—something much larger than anything on this lake, to be sure, Maria. Everyone is frightened right beside you. One of them might just be better at hiding it than you are."

"I guess." She glanced off the path, toward the faint lapping of the lake. What would it really be like? she wondered, still letting Georg guide them along the gravel. Between the lake and the trees looming high on the hills, it also seemed so cramped when she thought about the mountains she had hardly just met in her months in Salzburg. Wide and open, just begging her to go higher and higher. "But…" She turned her face back up to him. "But you couldn't even talk to your family?"

"It might be better now, in navies that...have those wireless sets." Sometimes, he could hardly stand the memories. The laughter and pranks he reprimanded his sailors for before the outbreak of the war, even though he was hardly older than some of the more newest enlisted men. The quiet and the anxiety spreading through the corridors while they drifted just below an Allied warship, always hoping they didn't find one of the newfangled underwater mines, eyes turned up as though they could see through the steel ceiling and the hull itself to the wooden or iron bottom of their hunter. And in the very last years, always missing the girl he had fallen in love with, just like so many of his sailors. "But there was nothing to do but send letters whenever we were in port."

"That's horrible, Georg."

"Nothing else for it, darling. Even if we had been able, there's no reason to let one lovesick man…" He didn't allow himself to do it anymore, but if he closed his eyes, he still saw the inside of his cabin, far larger than the berths allotted to the enlisted sailors. A desk, a proper electric lamp rather than the harsh bare lights of the damp and echo filled steel hallways—though sometimes it flickered and he never kept it lit for too long, the submarine's batteries were too fickle to waste. Even a bed large enough for him to stretch out his legs rather than curl them up like that first long journey to Australia when he was hardly out of the academy. And at night in those final days, always turning to the little pictures of Agathe he had tucked into his pocket when they left port, wondering—hoping…"There's no point in letting a lovesick man…ruin everything."

Maria swallowed. No matter what he said, it all did sound so frightening. "No, I suppose not."

"But…" Georg forced a smile, trying just to think of the young girl tucked into his side. "We're already here, I don't think you noticed."

The wooden pier hardly deserved that name, just a narrow set of warped wooden planks stretching out into the water. A few pilings held it upright at the shoreline, then in the middle and finally at the very edge. Where the lake met the supports—even a little higher when the water lapped up occasionally—a couple rings of green algae and mold clung, though no barnacles. And at the very edge, bobbing with the faint currents simmering beneath the surface, three little dinghies wearing the same ring of green scum.

Just beside on the last of the dirt and hibernating grass, an old man sat on a stool—rickety and molding as well—probably a retired sailor, by the look of him. If his sleeves had been pushed up as they likely would be in the Austrian summer, Georg suspected his arms might bear quite a few dark blue tattoos, faded through the years and many a sunburn on the open ocean and even from the lake. Whenever the summer sky emptied itself of clouds, the glare off of the blue water was blinding, Georg remembered that from the last summer trip to Wolfgangsee with the children and— No, I can't. Not here with you. Never with you.

It was a quick conversation with the man—or rather Georg asked a question about the price to let one of the tiny boats and the man mumbled back through his wiry beard before holding out his hand. Georg dropped a few coins into his palm, his own hand high enough that he didn't touch the man's grimy skin. With those in his pocket, the old man stood slowly from his stool and began to hobble down the dock.

"What did he say?" Maria whispered.

"You don't have to be so quiet, he probably can't hear you after decades on a ship."

"You can—"

"Perhaps I was lucky. But come on, I can't take you out there if you're standing here on the shore."

Maria's steps were a little slower as they took their first steps from the gravel and dirt onto the wood, her own arm suddenly clutching Georg tighter. The first planks were already creaking under their weight—and they were hardly past the rocks that mixed with the dirt beach. "We're already on the water, aren't we Georg?" It was just the lake beneath the short pier, now, and there was the knot in her stomach again, though it was nothing like whenever she met Georg on the street, or when he had his arm around her. There was nothing pleasant: no lovely flutters as she enjoyed the heat of his skin or imagined what anything and everything with him might feel like when she was alone her own little cell, surrounded by the memories she loved but that somehow had lost their magic. Sometimes, she didn't quite understand how he had grown so quickly in her life, leaving her ready to hang onto every word and every touch.

"God, no."

"We aren't?"

"We're still on dry land, Maria."

"Really?" Peeling herself from him for a second, she finally peered straight down into the water. The bottom of the lake was still there—if she tumbled in now, it wouldn't be all that difficult to scramble to shore—

"Are you frightened?"

"You asked me that on Thursday."

"If you were frightened of me or yourself, not if you were frightened of this." Georg's steps were pulling her farther along, closer to the edge where the old man was already unwrapping the thick rope from one of the moorings, the dinghy drifting a few more feet from the splintered edge of the dock up ahead. "Though you never quite answered me, then."

"I'm not, not of any of it—but I've never been on a lake this large, just a pond."

He laughed under his breath, his eyes already raking over the small boat he had just hired. A few nicks on the side, likely a little water in the bottom; something was gleaming in the bright sunlight. The handles of the oars were a little shiny with black grease from hundreds of hands, but the paddles themselves were solid, not even a crack. "Don't worry, darling, I'll take care of you."

Georg climbed into the tiny boat first, balancing himself as the hull rocked to the left and then the right as he turned around. Maria still stood a couple of steps back from the pier's edge, her fingers twisted together: nervous, he knew. But it was almost a relief, the water and the dinghy's hull shifting under his feet as the lake lapped up against it little by little, as though he was...coming home. There was no salt in the air, but he could almost smell the seaweed clinging to the rocks along the Mediterranean coast, a stagnancy replacing the salt that threatened to corrode every ship and submarine it touched.

"Here," he murmured, his hand out for her. She reached for it—then drew her own back. "You trust me, Maria. I know—"

"Yes." She seized his hand with no more hesitation, not resisting as he half pulled her into the little boat. It rocked again—and Maria almost fell right against him, wincing as her breasts crushed against his chest.

"You'll learn how to keep your balance after a while," Georg whispered as he peeled her away from him. "But sit down." He nodded to the bench at the far end, stepping a little closer to keep her steady. Maria sat, biting at her lip as she smoothed the wrinkles out of her coat and tucked the folds beneath her legs. "I think you'll at least be more comfortable."

Despite the chill lingering in the air, Georg shoved his winter coat from his shoulders and behind himself as he sat opposite her—their knees nearly touching—enjoying the sudden cool breeze whipping across the top of his chest. Even with his shirt buttoned to the base of his throat—no tie, there had been no reason to bother this morning—the air scraped wonderfully over his skin, almost like one of those rare moments when they surfaced and the entire crew took their turn scrambling through the hatch for a moment of sunshine and salty sea air. And with the handle of an oar in each hand, he dug the paddles into the water and the thin layer of algae on top, the dock beginning its slow retreat into the distance.

For a short second, Maria had been unable to tear her eyes from Georg. Either he was in his suit coat in the muted evening sunshine or in a heavy winter coat in broad daylight. (Somehow, rather than leaving her best coat in her wardrobe just for church on Sundays, she found herself wearing it whenever she knew she was going to see him, her thinner grey jacket now just for schooldays.) But never just in his shirt, now leaving her almost able to properly imagine— She gasped as the little boat lurched, the first strokes of the oars choppy in the shallows. Both of her hands tightened on the bench, the boat rocking just a little too and fro as Georg dug the oars in again. "Oh…"

She closed her eyes for a second—then opened them again. If she couldn't see the hills across the way, those waves breaking against the wooden sides as Georg battled against them to push them away from the worn dock—even just him...Something in her stomach was twisting in knots. Perhaps ignoring breakfast had been a good choice; despite dressing and being out of her room and down the stairs with more than enough time, she was too anxious. Peering around at the hills surrounding them again, Maria sighed. She already missed the mountains, as new to them as she might be when she thought about how long Georg must have looked up at them. Or how often he could have looked at them, she told herself, a low breath whistling between her lips. And her gaze came down again, back to him, his hair already whipped up and wild by just the faint breeze and bite of the air as they continued to move across the water. And...She clenched her eyes again. Oh, I don't know if I like this.

"Maria?"

"Yes?" she whispered, still not opening her eyes but already pressing one hand to her stomach, roiling and unhappy deep beneath her skin. And always, the up and down of the small boat, worse than the little dips to either side.

"Closing your eyes will only make it worse. Both eyes open, darling, you'll be used to it soon enough."

"But—"

"I've spent more time on the water than you ever will. You already said you trust me."

With a deep breath—loosening her other hand on bench under her backside—Maria opened her eyes slowly. She still had to blink a few times, both against the brilliant sun shining on the water and the little film blurring her vision. When it did clear, Georg was still opposite her—the oars still cutting into the water, though a little slower than before. The more languid pace eased the shifting of the boat, now just a dip now and then. And if she had been unhappy to have her coat at the start of the morning, now she finally crossed her arms over her chest, tightening it around her.

But Georg seemed content in his shirtsleeves, patches of sweat beneath his arms and even down along his sides. And always the muscles moving beneath the fine cotton, grown so large in her imagination that she fancied she could see them now. "Have you…"

Georg's gaze had been at the water for a moment, wondering where the choppiness off to the east began. He could always steer them west instead. "Hmm?" he hummed as he glanced back to her. The wind was whipping at her hair despite the long braid laying over her shoulder, strands of hair here and there flying loose in the wind. Beautiful, love.

"Has it been a while since you've done this?"

Another stroke into the water, this one a little harsher. "Done what?"

"Been out on the water—in a boat like this."

"Not for a year, I think." Early last summer, really, the last happy moments they had all had until...He growled beneath his breath, not wanting to increase their speed—Maria was clearly not accustomed to the feeling of the water—

"I guess I have done this once with my father. I can almost remember it."

"You always talk of him around me. I can't be that much like him."*

Maria shook her head, her stomach settling a little bit as Georg slowed again. "You aren't." Despite the chill and the rocking of the boat, her right hand was already tangled in the very bottom of her braid rather than tucked into the folds of her coat, she couldn't stop herself. "He was an engineer in Vienna, at least before my mother died, and grey from my first memories."

"Hmm," Georg murmured again as he twisted his head around, a gentle crack beneath the base of his skull as he tried not to yawn. He hadn't slept well the night before, suffering through disruptive dreams just suspected she had as well, though his were far away, caught in a world that had already disappeared. The memories were fading: they were almost caught behind some sort of fog during his time in Salzburg, and most especially when Maria was at his side. But such a simple question—her innocent curiosity—was enough to resurrect them all…The boat always anchored at Wolfgangsee, surely much larger than anything he suspected Maria could imagine. The days passed in one of the little towns on its shore. The afternoons with his wife and the children on the water, hoping for a fresh wind to fill its sails—

"You really do miss this, don't you?"

"Hmm?" God, he sounded a bumbling fool right now. He thrust the oars into the water yet again, pulling them back so sharply that a sharp pain ran through his forearms. "Miss what?"

"Being here—"

"Like I'm out on the ocean?" He couldn't let her finish. He'd rather have taken her to Wolfgangsee, but...the memories still burned too brightly, there.

"Yes. But it feels like this must be so much safer, Georg."

"Safer?"

"Well, safer than being out on the ocean." She turned her head this way and that, as though she was eager to find the shoreline—be certain it was still there. "I told you, it feels like it must be so frightening, surrounded by nothing but water."

Georg snorted, though his next round of pulling the oars was tamer, less of the placid water splashing about. "You wouldn't need an ocean for that."

"No?"

"Plenty of lakes would do the same, if they're cold enough." Another pull of the oars. "The old sailors always some lakes will never let you go, once they have hold of you, if they're cold enough."

Maria shivered, her arms back around her middle. "Never?"

"That's what they say." I don't give a damn about the dead in the ocean, I just wish the earth would give me back mine.

"And did you ever see that?" she asked quietly. "You couldn't have been on a submarine your entire life."

"For the war, I was. But on a modern ship—even in the middle of the ocean—without the threat of an enemy frigate or destroyer, there's not much to worry about, so long as you sail before or after the worst of the storms."

For the next few minutes, neither of them spoke, it was only the sound of the water against the tiny hull and the oars breaking through the water. Maria tried to look anywhere but at him—whether left or right again, or just over his head and shoulders—but Georg didn't try to tear his gaze from her. It's the first time I've properly had you to myself, Maria, he thought with another dig of the oars. If you think you're unwilling to say goodbye, I don't think you quite understand how I feel. She was looking off to the side once more, just her fair hair shining in the sun, and probably would do in the darkness as well. You're entirely too lovely to bid farewell, if I don't have—

"Really, how didn't it frighten you?" she asked, turning back to him.

Georg sighed, dragging one of the oars into the boot and laying it along the bottom to add another small pool of water to the ones that had been waiting for them when he first handed over the coins for the the boat. "You've already asked that today, but I suppose there were other things to be frightened of instead of the ocean."

"What sorts of things?"

I don't think I can tell you, Maria, especially not out here. It's still so calming, just feeling the water moving beneath me. All the time after he met Agathe—even when she was just a pretty girl in Vienna he couldn't quite forget—he had worried and thought after her with every free moment on his U-boat. Where was she—was she safe—and always hoping that on their rare times coming back into their home port, a letter from her would be waiting for him. All too often, none were; the mail routes were already interrupted and the trains were hardly for anything but troops and supplies. Sometimes, though, he had three at a time, greedily reading them like a starving man. "So many things," he whispered. And after their short time together once they were married, having the first two letters from her and learning of the pregnancy he had left her with after their unadulterated passion and lovemaking...Well, his sailors had sometimes been an afterthought, with the war past its end and just the navy's ships and U-boats to decommission.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Georg shook his head as he reached for her with his free hand, just brushing her knee—and not missing her shiver. "Don't worry about it, darling. The reason...no longer exists." Leaning back, he took the oars again and thrust them back into the water, managing another few pulls before a sudden wave crashed against the hull—then again. Just beyond the end of the boat—just past Maria—he could see the white of the waves. Not too high, certainly not enough to crash into the dinghy, but enough set the boat rocking a little more side to side.

"What is that?" Maria asked. Anywhere she looked, the water was rising higher, slapping along the wooden boat. And the air was more than whistling down over the hills, it was almost a roar in her ears. I know I'm imagining it, but...I don't know what to think out here.

"Just a little wind over the water." Georg was still rowing, steering the boat a little to the west, away from the roughest patch. "We'll be away from it in a few minutes."

"I wasn't expecting it, Georg. And you know I'm not used to the water like you are."

He laughed quietly. "At least you can know that out here, we'll both be unhappy together if the boat capsizes."

"You're not being serious, Georg."

"It's neither or the both of us." Propping the oar in its holder—not bothering to drag it in, this time—Georg reached out to her again. She was just close enough he could touch her face, her skin a little chilled in the late winter air over the lake. "It's nothing out here, we aren't that far from the shore. Not even your shoes would be enough to stop me from dragging you to shore."

"More riddles, Georg?"

Leaning back, he put the oar back in the water, allowing himself a little smile. "You're quite fun to tease, darling, that's all."

Georg rowed them fairly far across the lake and away from the roughest water, following the shoreline though always a far enough distance that even someone shouting from land would be difficult to hear. They didn't talk of much, Maria simply enjoying a few minutes—well, closer to half an hour alone with Georg as they slowly moved. At least that feels safe here, she thought, finally dipping her fingers into the water. It was frigid and left a faint film on her hand. For his part, Georg just enjoyed looking at her, all his hungry thoughts from that crumbling Salzburg street suddenly buried. Something about being here on the water with her—the sun probably beginning to redden both of their faces—made it somehow...wrong. Something about it was still too sacred, even if it was merely a lake in the middle of the Austrian countryside rather than his beloved Mediterranean and Aegean Seas.

As the water calmed across Attersee completely, Georg pulled both of the oars into the boat this time, telling her some of his other stories about the navy probably for close to an hour. Some of the different tours and where they had taken him and his submarine (he didn't mention captaining it), some of the ports along the Mediterranean coast (he also didn't mention most of went on during those times ashore, at least before he met Agathe; he didn't speak of her, either), some of the friends he had made down in the bowels of the iron hull (he refused to even think about how many hadn't made it to the end of the war merely alive). It's all so simple with you, Maria, he thought, taking a deep breath as something on the shoreline drew her attention and she turned toward it. So simple and lovely, I can't imagine ruining it when the past is in the past. At least when I'm...here with you. "Maria?"

"Yes?" Her eyes were still on the water, fingers splashing a little through blue surrounding them.

"Would it...That is…" Christ, how was he so lost for words?

"What is it?" For a moment, she nearly leaned over the edge from her place on the opposite bench, her braid threatening to dip into the lake as well.

"I need…You just need to let me have a moment..." No, it all sounded so foolish, even just the thoughts echoing and jumbled in his mind. "Never mind," he whispered, reaching one hand over her shoulder to bring her fully back into the dinghy, struggling not to linger. "But be careful, Maria."

She really was beautiful, even as she glanced about when a swell broke against the shallow hull. If Georg had thought that before, there was no denying it now. Her jawline might be a little too harsh, but the curve of her chin was soft, and her nose sharp. And with her braid over her shoulder, almost wrapped around her neck as she twisted her fingers into the loose ends...You don't know it at all, do you, Maria? And really, you should want another man—a younger man—to look after you, I know full well you want me to do just that, even though you don't say it quite so plainly.

"...Georg?"

He shook his head—and the peace began to vanish. "Hmm?"

"Aren't we drifting a little?"

"It does happen," he murmured, the calm at last gone and the fences erected again.

Georg shook his arms against the sweat dripping down from his armpits. Even without his overcoat, it was too warm, now. Rolling both sleeves up, the hems now a lump in the bend of his elbow, Georg thought he heard something from the other end of the boat. He glanced up—and Maria's hands were now folded together in her lap, knees and ankles tight together. "Something wrong, Fräulein?" he asked, struggling not to grin as he reached for the oars. Only meaning to brace his foot against the wooden bottom, he heard her swallow—some sound when it slipped against hers. His defeated grin quickly changed to an obvious smirk.

"No," she whispered, her eyes on the inner hull of the boat.

"But now you're fascinated by the wood and the extra puddles of water the lake has splashed in." He reached across for her chin, drawing her face up and bringing her gaze back to his. "I'm not a fool, Maria, and you don't hide it very well."

Maria swallowed, despite the sudden dryness in her mouth. "I know."

Georg dug the oars back into the water, each stroke churning through the still choppy patch of water, bringing them closer to the shore—the dock—and the real world. I don't think you can stay the same way you just were, Georg thought as he tucked the oars into the edge of the boat. I think it will all be the way it was without the water rolling under me.

After the rope was thrown out to anchor the small boat to the moor, it was time to begin the process of getting Maria out. The man on the dock took one of Maria's hands, then the other, half-hauling her up while Georg grasped one leg and helped her push herself up. Each of her knees caught on the splintered wood though he didn't hear any hiss of pain, and she straightened her coat and dress before scurrying farther down the dock than he thought she meant to, rather faster, too. Still wary, he assumed. It doesn't take a sea captain to see when someone isn't comfortable on the water. An ordinary sailor can do that just as well.

Georg was far more certain, tossing his coat onto the damp wood at edge before just needing one of the old sailor's hands to start pulling himself up, the trouser fabric on his first knee snagging on a rough sliver as well. At least they were older—many of the clothes in his Salzburg wardrobe were—and a repair wouldn't cost more than a few schillings. After he found his feet, he shook the wrinkles and a couple patches of mold from the boat seat from his coat. "Thank you," he muttered to the wizened man, shoving his arms into the sleeves before walking around the man rather as fast as Maria had, eager to have his arm around her waist again. I don't want to have you that far from me if I have to say farewell to you sometime today.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked, steering her back onto the path.

She shook her head, but Georg still felt her shaking a little against him, probably still becoming accustomed to the stillness of the dry earth again. "No, but I didn't expect the boat to rock even like that."

"Even with me rowing?"

"Especially with you, you just said you love to tease me."

Pressing a kiss to her head—rewarded with a little sigh he didn't think Maria even knew she let out—Georg smiled against her hair. "Then maybe you have a lot to learn."

Just like the lost Austro-Hungarian coast had seen more than a few little towns with their quaint restaurants, the Attersee shore had its own, though fewer and much smaller. On the walk returning to the car, Georg half-pulled her into one of the smaller cafés, her stomach rumbling louder than she would admit. Her Käsespätzle vanished quickly, perhaps her belly too ravenous for her to remember to be embarrassed by the cost. Another pair coffees—burnt in a pot, he could taste the char—rounded off the meal, Maria's only with sugar; there was no milk available in the café kitchen.

They wandered a little past where the car waited, the other way around the lake, until Maria's pace slowed. Georg knew she wouldn't say it, but she was growing tired, now and then rubbing at her eyes and hiding her open mouth behind the back of her hand. "Time to take you home, I think," he whispered into her hair. Even if she hadn't touched anything but the bottom of her braid, it all still smelled of damp.

If they had talked a little on the way out of Salzburg, Maria was almost silent for once, her cheek on her hand, elbow against the window rather than the handle this time. His little teases were hardly enough to draw her out her thoughts, her eyes on the trees and occasional bushes and brambles flying past them on the left. (Once in a while, he did see her eyes dart over to him—and then return to the scenery whipping by just as fast.) With still half of the journey ahead, Georg left her to herself, working to memorize the glow of her profile in the sun instead if she didn't have anything to say for once. You won't be quiet forever, darling, I know you better than that.

Maria walked slower than she normally did, her hand tucked into Georg's elbow as it had been for much of their time at Attersee, cautiously glancing to the cobblestones now and then. Most days—most evenings as well—she was hurrying wherever she went, not always paying attention to what lay right before her eyes. Well, perhaps she shouldn't be all that upset, really. After all, if she had been more cautious, she would have simply walked around him, probably just murmuring a quick "Excuse me, sir" under her breath before she went on her way with the music still filling her head.

Georg had left the car a few blocks away in the first open place on the street he spied once they were in her neighborhood. But you don't live that far either, so I suppose you feel fine leaving it there, she thought, dragging her next step a little more than she meant. Occasionally, the mid-afternoon sun still bright and vibrant, she glanced up at him. He was quiet as he often was, the long ago swipes of his hand at his hair not enough to bring it back under control. The wind had torn and bitten at it whilst they were in the middle of Attersee, and even once they were back on dry land, the breeze had refused to die completely. Here and there, it curled high up into the air, almost as though he was a child refusing his mother's attempts to comb his hair back against his head. She bit down a giggle.

"And what's so funny now, darling."

"You, that's all," she said softly, leaning heavily against him.

"How so?"

"Just…" She raised her free hand for a moment, desperate to brush down the wild hair he seemed to have decided to ignore as the afternoon grew longer—and then yanked it back. I don't know if I should. "May we stop, Georg, just for a moment?"

She heard him sigh, though he did stop, half shaking her hand from his arm. "What is it? You can't be that tired after today."

"No," Maria said with a shake of her head, all of her own wild hairs that had long ago escaped her braid brushing against her cheeks. She didn't want to let him go, not even just for tonight. The entire drive back to Salzburg, she hadn't been able to look at him—let alone say anything. She didn't have anything sensible on her tongue and if she looked at him for more than a moment or two...well, she might forget herself the way he always said she did and find herself back in her dreams. Now, though...it was all somehow a little safer, a little more familiar. "But you just look so different, now. Younger, really."

"I don't think I could say the same about you." Tugging his arm from her grasp, he caught his fingers in the little frayed hairs around her face. Even though it was only his knuckles, she pressed her face into his touch. "Apart from your coat—and standing upright—you look rather as you did when I met you." Letting her hair free, Georg dragged one of his fingers along her jaw, quickly tapping her nose for a second as her eyes closed. "Quite lovely."

She opened her eyes again—glassy and almost unfocused as she stared up at him. "Wha—what?"

Georg turned her round, his arm around her waist for...he had lost track of how long he had clutched her that close to him this afternoon. "But come along, Maria. It won't be too long before the evening chill is here."

The last of the remaining road to her boarding house vanished beneath their feet: one intersection, another block, and then a final cross street. Maria still dragged her feet as much as she could, but Georg continued forward, his hold around her waist strong enough to pull her along with him. And all too soon, the worn and scratched door to her home was right there. They would part ways, Georg going to his own flat—she still didn't quite know where, though it must be close by—and she would hurry up the stairs to her own room, alone. Twisting back around, Maria crushed herself into his chest, almost pushing him backwards though Georg caught himself before he tumbled down. "Don't take me down with you, darling," he whispered, his hand pulling her face up. "I think…" He bit down on his lip, hard.

"What?"

"Don't ask me, Maria, I don't think you'll…" Bending down just a bit, he kissed her cheek gently, only lingering for a moment before he heard her give a little gasp as though she was suddenly out of breath. "I don't think you'll be happy with what I tell you."

Her eyes were still wide and glassy, her jaw slack. "I don't understand."

"I suppose you wouldn't," he said quietly, his lips pressed to the top of her jaw. "I did try to tell you earlier today."

Now, her eyes closed, her face turning up even higher. "Did—did you?"

"Yes." He had his mouth against hers again—nearly groaning as she threaded her arms around his neck, fingers tight around the collar of his unbuttoned coat. Her entire body was pressed to his: her breasts against his chest, her sharp hips to his, even the dip between her legs against his groin and the blood that always seemed to rush there at the slightest provocation from her. Her mouth was opening to his—opening for him—and Georg finally tore himself away. "But you can't do that me anymore, darling."

Reaching up, he tugged her first arm away from his neck, then her other; they hung in the air for a few seconds before she dropped them to her sides and her eyes opened again to the harsh sunlight dipping closer to the western horizon. A few final patches of yellowy orange sunshine fell across her heavy coat here and there, hardly enough curves beneath to cast a shadow. "Tomorrow?" she whispered.

Georg laughed to himself. "Still not enough for you? The entire day?"

"It was wonderful," Maria said as she finally shoved a few of those loose hairs from her face. "I couldn't have thought of spending the day any other way. But I always look forward to seeing you." She was nervous, Georg could see that. Maria might not realize it, but whenever her stomach must be churning with something she couldn't quite stand—something she didn't quite know how to say—her fingers always wound up tangled in the occasionally ragged end of her braid. "Sometimes…" She was about to tug the the band from the end, and her laughter was short, almost stilted.

"What is it?" he asked, gently pulling her hand from her hair. Her fingers were colder than he expected; he wrapped his own around her palm, the bones along the back of her hand sharper than they should be. "You shouldn't be out here much longer—"

"I told you, I look after myself, you don't need to treat me like a child—"

"You're not, darling." He couldn't stop himself, his other hand trailing over her arm, now tarrying at her waist before rising up along her side. "You've made that very clear in…" There was no mistaking her gasp or ignoring the shudder under his touch. "In so many ways. But what?"

"Sometimes, I wish the priest would hurry up with the final prayers. Or that the rest of the church could run down the aisle for the Eucharist."

"You're that eager to see me each week?"

"Yes."

Georg tightened his hold on her hand, so strong that for a moment he worried her fingers might be white when he let go. "I didn't think you could enjoy me that much, as rude as I was to you those first two Saturday nights. I do apologize."

"Thank you." She turned her face over her shoulder, a quick glance at the old door to her boarding house, letting out a little sigh before facing him again. "But I wish you didn't have to go. Even if you'll tell me that I needto go again…"

You want it, too, don't you, Maria? Georg thought, drawing his free hand back before he was unable to resist the desire to seize her backside and pull her hard against him. Even you wouldn't mistake what you would feel if I did. I told myself all of it this morning, and I'm even more sure than I was then. He settled for wrapping that hand in her braid, her new little moans more enticing than ever. "And where would I go, if I didn't go?"

She closed her eyes again, all her dreams suddenly rushing through her mind. Every time her bed was suddenly too warm or her skin burned so much her sheets and nightgown were unbearable, always somehow seeing him rather the darkness when she sat up gasping. Now, it was no longer his hands exploring her faint curves or ravishing her neck again. Once or twice last night, he had somehow crept into her bed, his bare arms and legs knotted together with her own naked limbs. It was come and gone so quickly, she hadn't even remembered until sitting beside him in the car as he followed the twists and turns of the road to bring them back to Salzburg. "I...I don't know."

"Up there?" He jerked his face up toward the cramped rows of window between the old brickwork. "Into that warren? With you?" Her face was redder than ever, and Georg loosened his hold on her braid, one finger tapping her lips. "As lovely as...I don't think you would be very happy with yourself, darling, the way you talk about God. I don't think—I could…" He kissed her again, nearly shoving her into the façade as he had only two days before, still ready to devour her. "I know you wouldn't be pleased with yourself tomorrow morning, no matter…" Gritting his teeth, Georg took a deep breath against the curve of her neck, just where he had lost control before. It might simply be her cheap soap and washing powder melded with the smell of the algae on the lake, but it was almost addictive, his mouth nearly salivating with desire. "No matter…"

"What?" It was hardly a word, more a strangled breath.

No matter how happy we could make one another tonight. And you would make me very happy for a while. "I told you, you wouldn't be happy tomorrow morning."

"No," she whispered, hardly able to shake her head.

"Perhaps someday, darling."

"Someday?"

"You heard what I said. You'll torment me as much as yourself, tonight."

"But—"

A finger against her mouth again quieted her. "Don't ask me now, I don't think you really want to know the answer. But I do have to go, as you should as well. You're…" Leaning in to her again, Georg kissed her cheek once more. "I think I'll find out someday."

"Find out what?"

"I told you the last time I saw you, Maria. But good night, until tomorrow."

"At—at the gardens?"

"Yes, it will be for the best. Here, you're…" Georg tore himself from her, his pace finally normal now that she wasn't threatening to deliberately trip with every step. I can't look back, love, or I don't know if I could resist you—and more than ever, I know you wouldn't resist me.

Maria didn't move until Georg had turned a corner and finally vanished, apart from standing on her toes, struggling to hold him—all of him—in her sight so long as she could. But he was gone...and finally she let out her breath and collapsed against the rough wall behind her, fingers scrabbling at protruding bricks. Without something to cling to, she was afraid her legs might give way. And I know you won't be here to help me up this time, Georg.

She forced herself into the sidewalk after a few minutes, desperate to clear her head before she wandered up the stairs to her room. I can't go inside, not quite yet, she thought, her feet taking her along the same path Georg had just taken. I have to calm myself before—it's just me alone in my room. It would all explode again exactly as it had Thursday evening, only now...it wouldn't be so surprising, so shocking when the waves crashed over her. No! I told myself then that I can't, not again.

The breeze was stronger as it whipped through the narrow streets and she struggled to walk around the men and women heading to their own homes. Well, mostly women returning with late afternoon shopping from the greengrocer's or the market. Just like Johanna this morning, but probably hoping for what didn't sell through the day, like I would do. She wasn't even thinking about it as her right hand wandered up to her neck, her palm over that fading mark Georg had left on her skin, her left braced against the wall at her back. I don't think you understand, it just happened, and...She fell out of group of pedestrians swarming through the street, needing the wall against her back once more.

Maria closed her eyes, her mind still trying to grasp at that short moment only two days ago. You called me a vice—and I know what you meant, and what you were telling me just now. But I can't let—I can't, not right now. The fingers of her left hand twitched, suddenly cold as they scratched against the stone. It's not just what he told me years ago, I know it just wouldn't be right. Peeling her right hand from her neck, she couldn't stop herself from peering down at her splayed fingers, bare and empty. You have to understand that.

Maria had never met her foster mother's husband and she never really spoke about him, as though the memories were too much to bear. And her aunt and uncle...well, no matter how they spoke to one another when they stepped through the front door into Vienna itself, there was no happiness after it slammed shut behind them. No love, no joy. "But…" she whispered into the cooling afternoon air. "It can't always be like that, can it?"

Her heart was pounding, almost as though she had been running for an hour. I can't imagine what it would be like, but—you're not anything like any of them, I think. There's so much more I need to learn about you, but...Her right hand was tangled in her braid yet again, the feathered ends knotted around the tips of her fingers. You always call me lovely, Georg, but somehow I think that would be lovely, being with you like that until...Her heart raced faster. I don't know when, but growing old together. That might be silly, but I think I want it all the same. And it wouldn't be wrong, then, what I want—and what you want, too.

Maria turned herself around, not wanting to wander too far from her boarding house. The sun was burning over the horizon, straight into her eyes; she lifted one hand over her brow for a little bit of shade—and she winced. Something smelled, the same sort of stagnant odor that had wafted about the edge of Attersee, mixed with the algae and moss on the rocky shore, and it was clinging to her coat. She sighed. It would all have to wait until tomorrow to be scrubbed in her bathtub, her dress and her winter coat. At least I shouldn't need to wear it for much longer, if it the days keep growing warmer. And it really is time I made another dress.

I'll have to see how many coins I have at the top of my wardrobe, it might be another week or two before I can afford the fabric. She tucked her elbows in—arms down at her sides—as she still worked her way through the crowd. And I'll be more careful with the straighter seams—you might notice. She almost laughed, already feeling the wild smile on her face. The way you were on the water today, I know you would love blue, wouldn't you?

Her front door appeared far too soon, despite her sudden desperation for a shower. I feel it's the same every time, she thought, working her way through the throng of pedestrians to press herself against the brick wall yet again. It's all the same, in there and...She tugged the band from the very end of her braid, fingers undoing the first twists of hair they found. It was almost like a little adventure today, even if it's nothing for you. Half of her plait was gone, just her wrinkled hair rippling in the breeze still funneled down the street between the buildings filled with flats and rooms like her own. The only adventures I've ever had were coming here—and meeting you.

She wrapped her loosened hair around her palm, already hearing a couple of tuts from an older woman passing her by. (Maria had already learned to ignore the same in those few stolen moments whenever Georg kissed her...though really, she could count those on one hand.) I just don't quite know what...happens next. In all those stories, it's not very happy until...Her next breath was sharp, a gasp, really. Until they lived happily ever after to the end of their days. But it can't be that simple, can it? And maybe...maybe we wouldn't have to be unhappy to start at all.

* Just a riff on the stereotype that a lot of girls want to and do grow up to marry men quite like their fathers. Not meant to be gross.

A/N: A lot of Georg's comments about being on a submarine come from a recent visit to the US Naval Undersea Museum. Obviously, that is information centered on the US submarine fleet, but I'm just pretending that it's universal. If you ever find yourself in Seattle, take the short ferry ride across Puget Sound to Bremerton and visit. Fascinating stuff, plus one of the Triestes is permanently docked in the parking lot; you earned extra nerd points if your ears instantly perked up at that. Essentially everything about Attersee is made up, apart from the approximate location, the blue water, and the hills and trees. (At least from the best aerial picture I could find.)

And I don't say it often enough, but thank you for reading. I know this thing is long and only going to get longer.