Keeper of the Vineyard
*Disclaimer: I do not own The Sound of Music.
This story is dedicated to Haze-of-Winter.
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It still did not sit right with Maria, being elevated so suddenly. Overnight, her world had turned on its axis. Instead of approaching the altar to take her vows as a new sister of the convent, she would be approaching the altar to be a new bride.
She would not have taken such a turn in her life for just one man. The children had won her heart first, and that would never be lost on her. Seven extensions of him, seven unique twists of his genetics, seven reasons she had to stay strong, even in the face of her uncertainty.
If she had fallen in love with any other man, she would not have understood the true meaning of love. Outside of her love for the Lord, she had not experienced anything so powerful. Because her love did not just stop with him – it flowed on, unyielding and uncontrollable – for his entire family, his history, his world, his aspirations, his passions.
Maria was rarely daunted by anything, but since the start of summer she had found herself paralyzed around every corner.
Captain von Trapp had enlisted the help of a local tailor for his new wife to be fitted properly for a new wardrobe, before leaving for their honeymoon. Maria had resisted at first, still wildly uncomfortable with the idea of dressing like an aristocrat after so long hiding behind her black robes and whimple. But he had insisted – and his insistence was quite difficult to refute. Maria was introduced to a kindly older woman by the name of Frau Kinder whose knowledge of fashion would likely rival that of Baroness Elsa von Schraeder herself. Georg's tender assurances were followed by a teasing remark about not needing to wear any burlap dresses where they would be traveling.
"So you're the one who requested material back at the beginning of the summer," Frau Kinder surmised as she quietly took Maria's measurements.
Maria gave the older woman a wry smile. "I did."
"Captain von Trapp had not ordered anything from my shop since his late wife's passing," she said with sad tension in her voice, idly stretching her tailor's tape between her fingers. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd lost his business forever."
Maria felt herself go pale at the mention of the Captain's late wife.
"I have to admit, you're younger than I would have expected," the woman whispered as if it were a scandal.
It was not the first such comment she'd heard. Nor would it be the last.
That moment had replayed in Maria's mind over and over until she had somehow miraculously found herself seated on the terrace of a restaurant in Paris, France, across from the man whom she now called husband.
"I still can't comprehend how you were able to tame them all enough to have them sing together that way," Georg mused with a chuckle.
Maria shrugged. "This coming from the man who persuaded all of them to respond to a whistle."
Georg murmured grimly into his glass, "That took months."
"Hm," Maria nodded thoughtfully, "And a little under one month to undo it."
Georg seemed pleasantly surprised at her quick wit. His eyes twinkled significantly as his expression turned lovingly solemn. "You were all of our undoing."
Maria felt a small surge of pride at his remark. She smiled shyly down at her now finished plate.
The waiter stopped at their table to refill their water and asked something in French. Georg looked to Maria and quickly translated, "Will you take dessert?"
All he had to see was the way she'd perked up, and he answered for her.
Under any other circumstances, Maria would have been uncomfortable consuming dessert whilst the person across the table from her refused to partake. But she could not bring herself to feel guilty for the decadence that she so rarely had the privilege to experience before in her life.
It wasn't until she had only two or three spoonfuls remaining that she noticed he had been discreetly watching her as she ate. He masked it well enough so as to not disconcert her, but behind every raise of his wine glass, she began to notice the way his icy eyes lingered on her, a bit longer than he would have ever allowed at the dining table back at his villa.
On their walk back to the hotel, she suffered a characteristic slip of the tongue.
"Did you ever come here with . . ."
It could have been a reference to either his late wife or Baroness Schraeder. She hadn't the time to clarify before he gracefully dodged her query with a simple, reassuring statement.
"I have never been to Paris with another woman."
She felt her body relax in response. He glanced at her with a wry smile. "Even at my age, one can still have 'firsts.'"
The last word hung upon the air between them like a titillating whisper.
When he had told her they could see the Eiffel tower from their suite, she hadn't believed him. It would surely be but a shadowy tiny silhouette in the background of the city, she thought. But when they finally stood on the balcony together, she was startled by the view.
It was as centered as it would have been on a postcard or painting. It seemed unfair that the children would not get to enjoy such a sight with her. She could imagine the way Liesl and Brigitta would sigh, the way Gretl and Marta's faces would light up, the way Louisa might challenge her brothers to climb it.
"And what are you giggling about?" he asked, breaking her out of the daydream.
"I was just thinking of what the children would say if they were here to see this."
By the look on his face, he was clearly touched. "You think of them often," he stated more than asked.
"I do. Every waking moment," Maria agreed, leaning against the balcony with a sigh, "When I ran back to the abbey, being away from them was . . . torture."
He seemed surprised by her strong choice of word. He turned away from her to look pensively out at the city, sunset painting a warm pink glow on his handsome face.
"I truly believe that God meant for you to be their mother," he said. His deep voice and tender words were a balm to her bashful ears. He looked down at her again, and their eyes locked. It was one of the most meaningful things he could have said to her, and she had to be sure he knew this.
"Reverend Mother used to tell me that God's plan is always perfect."
"Let's hope God's plan doesn't involve me being the next victim of the Third Reich."
Maria blanched. She may have been naive, but she knew quite well what she was marrying into. Captain von Trapp was a coveted asset for any military endeavor, and he would be a prime recruit from Austria. It was not a surprise to her that even on his honeymoon, the dark cloud of political unrest still haunted him wherever he went. Georg was a man who would willingly die for his country. And that scared her more than anything.
"I'm sorry," he apologized briskly, "I promised myself I wouldn't speak on such matters during this trip."
"Don't apologize," Maria insisted, holding his hand in both of hers as she turned to face him. "Are you afraid?" she surprised herself with her own question. Her habit of blurting things out unintentionally had certainly not been lost since leaving the abbey.
She saw him swallow, and he replied in a hoarse voice, "No."
She didn't believe him.
"No matter what happens," she whispered, "I won't leave your side."
His eyes turned glassy as he gave her a pained smile. "Maria . . . " He paused, and turned her hands over so her palms were facing up. Blinking back tears, he traced her palms with loving fingers, searching for how to tell her what he dreaded saying aloud. "It may be necessary for you to leave my side . . . if things do not go well."
Maria was baffled by how she could both understand his meaning completely and be utterly confused at the same time. The prospect of losing Georg so soon after marrying him was pure agony to even entertain. But she knew that her responsibility now included not only her husband, but seven innocent children as well.
"I know that you will take care of your country," she assured, her voice shaking. "I will take care of the children," she promised.
"Our children," he gently corrected her. She could not bear the way his eyes were glistening, and so she leaned in to kiss him before his tears could spill.
"Please forgive me," he murmured against her cheek. "I promise not a single word more on the subject." The tone of his voice darkened as he continued, "If I break this promise again, I give you permission to punish me however you see fit."
It was the same gentle teasing he had prodded her with every day leading up to their marriage, but it felt so different now. There was a scintillating concreteness to his suggestions now, without that pesky distance of time languishing between a promise and the action that followed.
Her mind was fast to travel in a hundred directions, to wonder at his meaning. Did he think she wanted to punish him? Did he want her to punish him?
She should have tried to laugh, but she couldn't. The somber weight of their recent exchange still hovered in her heart, and her confusion in the wake of his attempt at brevity only further perturbed her.
She noticed that he was no longer kissing her, but rather contentedly nuzzling her neck. She clutched his shoulders as he held her by the waist, and a shiver overtook her body as a breeze brought a new chill to the air.
"We should go inside," he suggested against her skin. His voice was so sinfully quiet, she almost missed his words. Her heart began to beat unevenly. It was not a familiar feeling, but it was surprisingly pleasant.
She was, however, hesitant to follow him. She knew what awaited her now. She had exhausted every topic of conversation, every chaperoned location, every excuse to see another sight, every convenient mention of the children to prolong the inevitable.
Her mind began to swirl with vague fragments from the Song of Solomon, memories of her trembling fingers tracing over the tissue-thin pages of her Bible; the curiosity and wonder that simmered in her chest upon every new discovery of each passage's meaning. Her fingertips no longer had to trace those passages in the dark of her quarters; now they were encouraged instead to trace the very bare skin of her own lover.
Unwilling and unable to resist, she let him lead her into the warm bedroom, and he firmly closed the doors behind them. She caught a glimpse of their faint reflections in the glass, against a glittering backdrop of Paris lights. The juxtaposition between them was almost cruel. Maria had never prepared herself to take a lover in her life, let alone one who held so many accomplishments and so much status in the secular world. She knew that this man loved her very much, and he had made it very clear why. She had given back what he had long forgotten - she had restored his faith and his hope. She had brought joy back into his life, and a deeper appreciation for cherished moments with his family, without the fear of loss. But there still remained that nagging feeling of unworthiness, that reminder of where she came from, that she somehow did not deserve what had been gifted to her by God.
Because Georg was not only a gift to her; she was also a gift to him. He reminded her of this every time he made eye contact with her. It felt as if the earth were caving in beneath her feet. When he took her into his arms now, she was assaulted by the memories of their first dance together. She closed her eyes and succumbed to his strong arms as the distant chords of the Ländler played in her mind.
It was, physically, the closest they'd been since right after the wedding, when he'd taken one rare moment of solitude to kiss her properly after their chaste exchange upon the altar. His kiss had seemed to say, "I will never kiss you with such propriety again from this day forward."
So far he had kept true to that silent promise.
The room was so quiet that their breathing was amplified tenfold as they kissed. His arms were sturdy, but the faintest tremor challenged his strength. She could sense that he was withholding a rapturous passion, and it frightened her as much as it intrigued her. She tested her own bravery by stroking his back with appreciative hands.
"How I've craved your touch," he sighed against her chin. She tilted her head back, welcoming his lips into new territory. He pressed a trail of soft kisses down her throat, stopping at her collarbone. It was then where he pulled away, his blue eyes hot with an intensity she had never seen before. A thrill shot through her as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it carelessly on the footboard of the bed.
He grasped her hands and placed them onto his necktie. Maria suddenly became tense with uncertainty. Her fingers twirled clumsily around the silky fabric for a few embarrassing seconds, hesitant to pull too hard or else she might hurt him.
He quickly realized his mistake, and not wanting to draw further attention to her inexperience, he gently pried her fingers off of the offensive accessory with a small smile. "It's all right, I've got it."
With one insultingly swift tug, he swept the tie from his neck and discarded it atop his jacket. Her lips fell open at the sight of his bare neck, and his white collar which now lie splayed with the top button unattached.
She was undeniably wildly attracted to this man, however Maria could not in her right mind reconcile the idea of consummating her marriage to the Captain. The fact that she still instinctively referred to him in her private thoughts as the Captain should have been enough of a sign that she was not ready for this.
Only two articles of clothing had been shed from his body, and he was still quite decent enough to traipse about the streets of Europe in his current state. Yet, to Maria, he may as well have been completely undressed.
He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, and he froze in his place. There was a firm glint of understanding in his gaze as he touched her hand and drew it to his neck. Her knuckles barely brushed the wicked warmth of his skin and she felt her knees nearly buckle.
"I have no expectations for tonight." The rasp of his whisper betrayed his words, but his expression was more than sincere as he gestured to the bed with a slight tilt of his head. "Just lie with me," he offered. Her heart soared at the thought. "Nothing more."
She stumbled over her words. "Georg, I want to–"
"We have our entire lives, Maria," he reassured with a chaste kiss on her temple. He discreetly picked up the bottle of champagne and one of the crystal flutes which had been left by the staff on their bedside table. "I'll step outside for a few minutes."
He didn't have to say why he was stepping outside. They both knew. He was giving her space to undress and prepare for bed alone. Maria could not say she was happy that the evening had taken this turn, but she was regretfully relieved.
She was hasty in preparing for bed, knowing he was just outside on the balcony. Although he had drawn the curtains before leaving the room, the fabric of those curtains was one layer shy and a touch more sheer than the dress she'd worn the night they'd danced together.
Author's Note: I do not know what my plans are for this story as of yet. This first chapter had been partially written, lost somewhere in my Google drive for about seven years until I finally discovered and finished it this morning. I am not sure when I will post another update, but I'm thinking this will ultimately be a series of snapshots from the honeymoon and possibly post-honeymoon. I do take readers' thoughts and suggestions into consideration when writing, so please share in a PM or review if you have a thought about where I should take this!
xox Mackenzie.