It had been an unusually hot day. As soon as she woke up, she realised that the room was short of air, as if a heavy weight was pressing down on her chest, preventing her from taking a big breath. Unwrapping herself from the blanket, she hurriedly opened the windows, hoping for a breeze, but she was in for an unpleasant surprise. Instead of a breeze, a puff of compressed, stuffy air blew into the room.
But it wasn't light, the sun was closed behind heavy grey clouds. They draped the sky, and moved agonisingly slowly. Maria stayed at the window for a moment longer, just watching. Usually she welcomed the dawn, today the world was plunged into greyness.
Not wanting to dampen her mood with the weather she hurried to get ready and wake the children.
It's going to rain hard, I think it will last all day, the captain said thoughtfully at breakfast.
"Dark and stuffy, it reminds me, Georg, remember how in Florence we..." Herr detweiler was about to say something, but meeting the captain's menacing gaze he only rolled his eyes and continued to eat his buns with apple jelly.
What happened in Florence? The question ripened on the tip of Maria's tongue, but she would never dare to voice it. Normally, her reputation for talkativeness preceded her, but the last couple of weeks, with so many different questions swirling around in her head, it had taught her to bite her tongue once in a while, leaving the words in her mouth. It wouldn't be proper to ask such questions.
I think it will be another of Captain von Trapp's riddles that I shall never solve.
With this thought she cast a fleeting glance at the other side of the table, where the subject of her thoughts was at that moment chatting animatedly with the Baroness, drinking his words with coffee. So casual, so calm, so measured.
Coffee. She knew how he drank it. That knowledge seemed somehow forbidden. She had nothing to know or remember this information, and yet, every morning, she noticed how he carefully poured first the coffee, black as tar, into his mug, and then added a little cream. No sugar. And so it was every morning. Time after time, he drank a cup of coffee unchanged in the morning, and ate two pieces of toast generously buttered. No more, no less. Precise as a clock.
One day, he skipped breakfast; he and Uncle Max had gone into town on business in the morning, and the Baroness had decided to have the meal in her room. She had coffee that morning, like the captain. Determined to protect herself from questioning by Brigitta, who simply couldn't miss such a change in her governess's behaviour, she came up with a quick answer, saying that she had always wondered what all the fuss was about, coffee in the morning. It was true. Part of it was.
She couldn't say she liked it very much, maybe if she added sugar it would have tasted better. But she didn't want to spoil anything. She wanted to keep the flavour the way it was supposed to be. It reminded her of him. Exactly as she'd imagined.
It was the only time she drank coffee like this, the rest of the time it didn't seem appropriate, and besides, in the mornings, she preferred sweet, hot tea.
She wanted to look at him again, but Marta's question distracted her, and not wanting to get caught in the act, she didn't dare to look in his direction again.
After breakfast, Maria and the children tried to have a history lesson, but it was unsuccessful with how stuffy it was indoors. She had to open all the windows, which didn't help the situation much, and decided that she just had to take the children outside, hoping that they would be able to concentrate a little.
So they settled down on the terrace, Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt and Brigitta,writing about the Revolutions of 1848 in Austria, and Marta and Gretl doing their spelling, while she leaned back in her chair and watched the lake. The water was not calm, reflecting the grey sky that like a huge blanket covered the world from the sun's rays. The calm before the storm. The air felt dense with heat, as if nature held her breath before opening her arms wide to embrace the rain. Unusually quiet, Maria thought, except for the sound of pencils scratching paper.
"Why is it so hot," Kurt moaned, interrupting her musings, "I don't even feel like eating."
"Yeah, too hot for our own good," Maria said, running the back of her palm across her forehead, it was sticky. She could feel a few drops of sweat rolling down her back. But she couldn't admit that she was glad it was overcast today, for the sun seemed to spare nothing, scorching every patch of her skin it could reach.
Last night, while washing her face, Maria noticed a new cluster of freckles on her face, which were scattered in small clusters. She remembered how she had been teased about it at school. As if trying to wipe them off, she forcefully ran a towel over her face.
It didn't help.
She still had a cascade of freckles on her flushed face, which, like little traitors, were nestled on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.
It's too hot. Maria ran her hand over her forehead again. She was hot.
So another hour passed, the children asking her questions and occasionally they exchanged irritated comments about the weather. But their pleas seemed to be answered when a strong gust of wind blew between them and the first drops began to fall from the sky.
Blessing, the word flashed before Maria's eyes. But the drops began to get more insistent, threatening to get everyone wet.
"Children, pack your things and head inside," for a second Maria wished she could take back the words, it was at that moment that the water hit her forehead, bringing welcome relief.
She couldn't take that risk, quickly corralling the children into the house, she shut the doors leading to the terrace in the process. Such a pity, she thought, looking longingly at the lake.
They moved to the classroom again, and she prayed that she could keep everyone interested in the class at least a little longer. Her attempts were futile, so, after a while, they just sat and chatted about something.
As the captain had predicted, the rain beat relentlessly on the windows all morning and by lunchtime it still hadn't stopped. Maria and the children were so involved in the conversation, about the party and the musical number they were going to perform during the party, that they completely lost track of time. Lunch time crept up unnoticed and because of this everyone was a little late to the table. Walking into the room she noticed that the Captain and Baroness, who had already taken their seats, were chatting casually about something.
How she always manages to look so graceful and neat.
If there was one thing Maria couldn't be accused of, it was envy. She never envied the people around her, realising that she could never have such things. But still, at this very moment she thought she was truly jealous of the Baroness, it was a sin, she recognised that, but she also recognised that she was jealous of how calm and composed the woman was. The way her face didn't look like a tomato, and the beautiful silk dress didn't stick to her back.
"Are my children so addicted to science, or have they decided to take their governess's example in being late to all meals?" the captain glanced at her, his eyebrow arched in a mocking question.
"Oh no, please forgive us, we were just..." she looked at her charges, all silent, they hadn't done half of what they had planned for today, "we were just, we were rehearsing a little surprise for the party, a song," Maria felt her cheeks, already red, flush.
"In that case," he looked at her expectantly.
Maria quickly hurried to her usual place and said the words of prayer. All began the meal.
From the other end of the table Georg watched intently as the governess helped Gretel to spread her napkin on her lap, then moved her plate slightly towards the table, and once lightly stroked her hair. The gestures were so simple and uncomplicated. Like their mother. No, he quickly dismissed that thought, this was her job. Her direct duties. And yet, she did it all with such unconcealed love.
She was so gentle with them.
He went back to discussing some new play that one of Elsa's friends was going to put on, half an ear catching scraps of conversation. Friedrich said something that made the little governess laugh. The sound so pure and gentle.
The fleeting urge to lift his gaze and look at her was very strong, but he had to restrain himself. Slowly, he furtively slid his gaze in her direction. She tilted her head slightly.
She was dazzling.
How was she going to live the rest of her life locked up? Not when all she needed to do was give and receive love.
It didn't seem right. Like someone was going to pluck a beautiful flower, deliberately depriving it of daylight.
Damn it, pull yourself together.
Every time he was in her presence he repeated these words to himself. He needed a distraction, he tried again to concentrate on Elsa's words. It seemed to help, and now he was back in his own world, doing a masterful job of ignoring her.
It was even frightening, the way he seemed to be fooling himself. Repeating over and over again that he had no interest in the little nymph sitting directly across from him. And yet he noticed her every movement, caught her every movement: the way she brought her fork to her lips, the way she helped Gretl cut the meat, the way she nodded attentively at Brigitta's story.
She was everywhere, filling the room like fresh mountain air. But if that was the case, why was it so hard for him to breathe.
After dinner they all moved into the living room, at the insistence of Max, who had brought some new records, and the children and the governess couldn't wait to listen to this. Max had managed without much difficulty to rub his way into Maria's confidence, perhaps because, Georg thought sadly, his dear friend was no better than his children.
Max liked to visit them at rehearsals. And after the puppet show, he and Marie developed a strange friendship, his looking for a reason to cheer up the little Fräulein, and she gladly accepted his amusement.
The villa soon had a terrifying stack of jazz records playing seemingly non-stop.
"Georg, American music. Who'd have thought I'd love something like this," the impresario said with his usual pompousness, balancing a glass of whisky in one hand and adjusting the turntable with the other.
"If there's one thing we know about you, it's that you like to experiment," Elsa said, taking another puff and gracefully releasing a puff of silvery smoke into the air.
Georg hummed at her comment, but his gaze drifted back to the governess. She was nestled comfortably on the floor with the other children. Setting Gretel on her lap and wrapping her arms around her, she closed her eyes mesmerised, letting the music envelop her, swaying slightly to the beat.
He hadn't even realised she might like jazz, to his mind it was something too mundane, but as always his Fraulein was full of surprises, taking whatever was offered to her with great enthusiasm.
So, they sat while the rain drummed on the windows. Cosy and quiet.
The calm in his soul was spreading like honey, just as it should be. He was quietly exchanging phrases with Elsa, and yet, in the darkness of the room, there was only one thing that caught his attention, filling all his thoughts. Maria, she shone like the sun, bright as day, she carried that light behind her.
The sun.
Yes, she could be compared exactly to the sun. It loved her, every day showering the little fraulein with millions of kisses that left little freckles on her skin.
How he adored those freckles. They looked like drops of caramel on her porcelain face. He was sure they tasted damn sweet.
In those rare moments when he was close enough, reasonably close of course, he mapped out her face in his head. Trying to memorise and count every freckle she had. Wanting to steal and keep them for himself. That he could look at them in the darkness of his room in the evenings. He was sure they would shine like stars, illuminating every corner of his pathetic, sinful soul.
More than once, after their brief meetings in his office, he imagined slowly running his fingertips over her cheeks, her nose, as if tracing the contours of her face. He wanted to touch her, to hold her in his arms.
It was wrong, wrong to desire her. She's so innocent, but every time, when she looked at him with those big blue eyes like a wild doe, his brain drew out more and more skilful images in his head, once he was alone.
It was all her fault. Every gesture she made, every movement she made was directed at him, he could feel it. Even now. Here she sits, seducing him, teasing him. Yes, it's all her fault.
No, she was only to blame for being perfect.
Something dark and unpleasant began to spread in his chest. The headache was coming up again.
It was all her fault.
He needed to get away, to hide from her. To hide, to not give in to her charms.
Georg decided to skip dinner tonight. He consoled himself with the fact that he had enough work to do that required his maximum concentration.
The captain didn't turn up for dinner. He had too much work to do, as he had said himself. She had dared to assume that he was hiding in his office, as he had done before from the children's stories, but seeing how tired he looked the last few days, she had no doubt that he had obvious reasons.
He was troubled about something, she could tell for sure. Something had been tormenting him the last few days, keeping him restless. how she wished she knew what it was. How she wished she could help him.
But she didn't dare even ask about it.
Perhaps the weather and the day locked up had affected him as much as anyone else.
Everyone was too tired and exhausted. After supper she and the children spent another hour or so in the drawing-room playing cards, until Marta and Gretl began to yawn loudly. This was the first sign that it was time to put the children to bed.
She had no great difficulty in putting the younger ones to bed, just one story and the girls were already snoozing peacefully. The older ones also seemed too exhausted, the girls were already in bed when she came in to say goodnight.
"It's a shame we couldn't go to our mountain today," Louisa said as Maria was about to close the door to their room.
"That's okay, we'll have plenty of time, you'll see, the sun will come up tomorrow."
Heading into the boys room she heard an eerily loud snore. Kurt. Well, at least she was pretty sure the boys were asleep.
She, on the other hand, was as unlucky as her charges.
Finally reaching her room and entering the bathroom, she couldn't help herself. Her gaze found the mirror on its own, forcing her to look at herself. She hadn't allowed herself to be so narcissistic before. She was ashamed to admit it, but lately she had spent too much time looking at her reflection. Something had changed in the face looking back at her, she didn't know what, but she knew she didn't look the same.
How could one summer change everything so much?
The silence that enveloped her room was replaced by the clatter of raindrops. The rain drummed, driving her sleep away. Maria lay wrapped in the blanket, her gaze sliding slowly around the room, everything seemed so familiar. Her wardrobe, her desk, her chair, the curtains. She liked to think that everything here, even though it would be hers for the rest of the summer, belonged to her. At the Abbey, she had only one old bed; here she reveled in luxury.
Her musings were interrupted by the drumbeat of raindrops, they pounded with such relentless force.
How much water can there be in one miserable cloud?
Unable to bear the torture any longer Maria forced herself out of bed. She had left the children's essays in the classroom, perhaps she could check them now, God knows it would definitely be something that would help her sleep. With a sigh throwing back the sheets she reached for her dressing gown thrown on the chair by her bed, where she'd put her slippers, fully suited up she poked her head out into the corridor, it was dark and quiet, everyone was clearly long since asleep.
It wouldn't take long, all she needed to do was go downstairs, pick up a couple of sheets of paper and then just as quietly go upstairs.
She made it to class without much adventuring, picking up everything she needed she hurried out of the classroom.
The thought came to her before she had time to think it through.
Even with her eyes closed, she could move around the house without difficulty.
Closing her eyes, she bit her lower lip, trying to suppress the stupid smile she was sure was on her lips at that moment, and took slow steps toward the door that led to the hall. Five steps. One. Two. Three. Ouch, her thigh hit something, it was obviously the table Louisa usually sat at, good, so I'm close to the door.
With a lot of effort effort, she left the classroom, which meant she had eight steps to go straight ahead, then turn left, walk twenty-six steps, then climb six steps, turn left, take two steps, and then she decided to open her eyes. As tempting as this game seemed to her, she was afraid that if she stumbled on the stairs, her fun would quickly come to an end.
Maria thought that if she told anyone that she knew the exact number of steps it would take to get to her room, she would be considered crazy.
But she wasn't going to tell anyone.
She continued to tread slowly down the hall, silence enveloping her. It was intriguingly pleasant. With each step, more and more confidence was building in her, and she decided to speed up slightly. This was a mistake. The next second Maria felt herself crashing into something very hard and soft. It definitely wasn't a column. It smelled like a familiar cologne. And it grabbed her waist to save her from falling.
Captain.
She opened her eyes at the same second. There he was, looking at her with interest and concern.
Maria realised belatedly that the papers she had been clutching in her hands were scattered on the carpet. But she didn't move, she didn't dare, not when his arms were wrapped around her like this and his blue eyes were looking straight at her.
"I, I..." what could she say to him, how could she explain her stupid, unacceptable behaviour.
"Here, let me help you," the captain let go of her, bent down easily and began to gather up the sheets scattered on the floor.
If he wondered what his governess was doing here at this hour, running around his house like a ghost, he was clearly being a gentleman by keeping his questions to himself.
Ridiculously absurd, but she was glad he was helping her, she bent down as well, picking up the already creased papers.
"I'm not myself today," Maria muttered, "I think the party nerves are starting to creep up on me."
She needed something to fill the silence, so, she tried to make a joke, but realised it was partly true. She was really worried. Worried about the kids and their performance, worried about saying or doing something stupid that would make the captain blush for her in front of his friends. She didn't want to embarrass him.
Like you just did, she scolded herself.
He only smirked, holding out the last of the sheets to her. He was still in his suit, clearly working late again. And that made Maria feel so sad for some reason, she imagined him alone in his office, sitting over some papers.
She shouldn't feel so sorry for him, why should she all of a sudden.
"You know Fräulein," the captain spoke, "it's natural to be nervous I mean," he looked round and then leaned slightly towards her, "I'm worried too, just shhhh," he pressed a finger to his lips.
She felt a smile involuntarily spread across her face.
How he always managed to do it. Such a harmless gesture, such seemingly simple words, and that was all it took to take her breath away.
They seemed to stand there in the corridor for ages, and she didn't mind if it was allowed, she was sure she would have stayed standing there, with him, for as long as possible. Everything became so vivid in an instant. They stood there, and nothing else mattered. Peace of mind. That was the right word.
She watched his face, all the worries and anxieties of the day seeming to slip off their shoulders. And it was always like that, she felt like that whenever they were standing next to each other.
It was a moment later, or perhaps an hour, when at last the captain spoke.
"Fräulein, will you be singing at the party with the children," he asked with slightly narrowed eyes.
"No," her voice sounded foreign, like a muffled whisper.
He looked at her with that hard, unreadable look he always gave her when he asked her a question.
"Yes, all right," he shook his head thoughtfully, as if considering her words, "well," the fingers of his left hand trembled, a gesture she couldn't miss, "good night, Fräulein."
Without waiting for her response he turned around and headed for the privacy of his office. Leaving her standing there.
What he must have thought of her. She felt her face flush with colour. Not wanting to embarrass herself more, she rushed up the stairs, wanting to get to her room as quickly as possible. Why was she always so lucky to get into situations like this? She was sure that if it had been anyone other than the captain, she would have been kicked out the second it happened.
She didn't remember how she got to her room. Still in a daze, she put her palm to the spot where the captain's hand had been not so long ago. Scrutinising the spot for a fleeting second, she wished she had his handprint on her dressing gown.
She blinked furiously a couple of times, as if trying to banish the thought.
Hoping to divert her thoughts, she carefully picked up the first piece of paper she could find, trying to make out what was written on it. All in vain. She could barely concentrate on anything else.
Maria could hear her heart pounding, it seemed to be beating in time with the rain outside the window.
She definitely wouldn't be able to sleep tonight.
She didn't think she'd ever be able to sleep again.
hi, I was supposed to be studying for an exam, but I've decided doing everything I can to avoid studying, which is how this chapter came about. Although I think I'll be gone for a week if I don't get kicked out of university first. I want to thank you all again for reading my story and leaving reviews. That means the world to me. As always I apologise for any mistakes. And I own nothing.
