Maybe I, maybe I, am just as scared as you
It's alright, stay by my side
On the edge, on the edge of everything we know
It's alright, just don't look down
And I will hold on
Reaching down, he picked up the iron poker and angrily prodded the fire. The logs from earlier in the evening were little more than lumps of coal, their orange glows a sharp contrast against the blackened char. As he began to pile another two logs, then a third and fourth, on top the coals, a kaleidoscope of sparks spat and crackled their way up the chimney. After a moment or two, the sparks settled, and the coals burst into life, with orange-yellow flames licking at the fresh logs. It wouldn't be long before they'd catch, even if they were a little damp.
The weather had been miserable.
Cold and wet. Bitterly cold. He sighed. And so much rain. He couldn't remember the last time there'd been this much rain. At least it hadn't begun to snow yet. Feeling a tinge of guilt, he knew how keen the children were for it to finally start snowing.
Laying the poker back on the brick hearth, he leaned back on his heels, surveying the fire. Despite the freezing wind whistling outside, sending the temperature plummeting below zero, it should still be alight in the morning. Pushing off his heels, he leaned forward, carefully turning the pairs of boots lined in a neat row in front of the fire. With any luck, they'd be dry by the morning.
Satisfied, he settled back in the armchair. He may not have heard it creak in protest, but he certainly felt the discomfort of the springs in the seat underneath him. He shuffled in the seat, trying to get comfortable. Years of people sitting here, staring into the fire, posing their questions, searching for answers, had obviously taken their toll. Perhaps in better times, the padding that had worn down to almost nothing, might have been replaced. But that was the least of his concerns tonight.
He stretched his legs out in front of him, the soles of his feet facing the fire. Running troubled fingers along the dark stubble of his jawline, he stared at the row of socks strung out from one end of the mantle to the other. All lengths and sizes, he hoped they might also be dry by morning.
He sighed again. A tired, weary sigh…
I'll never let go
You're right beside me
So just close your eyes
I'll never let go, you're all that I need
So just close your eyes…
"I'm cold…" Brigitta whispered apologetically.
"I know, sweetheart," Maria's forced smile faded in and out as a draught found the candle, sending the flame stuttering and flickering, while its light danced dangerously around the room. "I've managed to find another blanket…" she added, setting the candleholder down on the bedside table. Folding the grey, woollen blanket in half, she spread it across the small bed.
"Do you think it'll snow tonight…?"
"Well, it's certainly cold enough for snow!" Maria's heart warmed, her momentary cheer reflected in a small flash of excitement in the young girl's eyes. It was unusual not have seen snow this far into the season. It had become one of the games they played, passing time, taking turns to guess when the first flurry might arrive.
Pulling the blanket up under Brigitta's chin, Maria dropped gently onto the edge of the bed. She glanced across the room, where the two youngest two girls shared the other crowded bed. Gretl had finally settled – that's what had brought her here in the first place – and Marta was still sleeping soundly. Brushing stray strands of hair from Brigitta's face with her fingers, she shuddered at how cold the girl's skin was to her touch. "Sleep tight, sweetheart…" she whispered. Placing a tender kiss on the Brigitta's forehead, she smiled at the stifled yawn. Standing up, she reached across to retrieve the candle.
"Do you think Santa Claus will come this year?" Brigitta asked, worry etched across her face.
"He comes every year," Maria answered decisively, forgetting about the candle and dropping back on the bed.
"But how will he find us?"
"He has a way of finding you, wherever you are," Maria answered confidently. "Didn't he find you those years you were staying with Poppa and Gromi?"
Brigitta nodded, the lines of worry softening a little. "I'm glad we're spending Christmas together," she propped herself up on her elbows.
"So am I, sweetheart," Maria smiled.
"Even at Poppa and Gromi's, Christmas hadn't been the same, not since… well, since… you know?" Brigitta mumbled.
"Oh, Christmas will always be Christmas!" Maria answered brightly, gathering the girl into her arms in a tight embrace. Releasing her hold, she sat back and studied Brigitta in the soft candlelight. "If it wasn't so late, I'd re-braid your hair," she frowned at the many strands of hair that had escaped their ties. "Is this Gretl's handiwork?" she shifted her eyes from the stray locks and raised a brow at Brigitta.
"Not Gretl…" Brigitta frowned. She'd never ask Gretl to braid her hair again. "I let Kurt do it…" her smile turned into a giggle.
"Hmmm…" Maria bit back her suggestion that perhaps Gretl might have been a better option. "It's too late to worry about it now," she shrugged, knowing there'd be knots to untangle in the morning. "Time to get some sleep." Under her watchful eye, Brigitta settled back against the pillow. Maria pulled the blankets up under the girl's chin before placing a second kiss on her forehead. "Good night, sweetheart," she stood and picked up the candleholder from the bedside table.
"Goodnight, Mother…" Brigitta whispered.
Never tiring of hearing the children call her mother, Maria's heart clutched. She doubted if she'd ever get used to being the children's mother, or Georg's wife for that matter. She'd forever marvel at her good fortune and God's good grace for blessing her with such a beautiful family. What had she done to deserve all this?
Reaching the door, she turned to cast a final eye over Brigitta and the two younger girls. Satisfied, she made her way into the hallway, leaving the door ajar. Hopefully, some of the fire's warmth might find its way along the hall.
Directly across the hallway, the older girls were sharing one of the other small bedrooms. She pushed against the partly opened door, hesitating as its hinges creaked loudly in the overwhelming silence.
"Mother…?" a sleepy voice whispered across the room.
"Yes, Louisa…" Maria walked across the room in the direction of the sleepy voice.
"What time is it?"
"It's getting late…" Maria placed the candle on the side table between the beds, and sat on the edge of Louisa's bed. "Can't you sleep?"
A shake of the head was her only answer. "Liesl woke me…" she rolled onto her side. "Snoring, again…" she added, rolling her eyes.
"We're all tired, sweetheart," Maria soothed. "It's been a long day…" These days, they were all long…
"Christmas will be different this year, won't it?" Louisa propped herself on her elbow, resting her head on her hand.
"Well, it won't be what any of us are used to…" Maria agreed, perhaps a little too defensively.
"Oh, I didn't mean that…" Louisa blushed a little. "I meant, good different, not bad different…"
"Well, I hope it's good different," Maria smiled.
"We all meant it…" Louisa whispered so softly, her words were almost drowned out by Liesl's heavy breathing. "What we said earlier…" she added.
"Mmm… and what was that?" Maria smiled to herself. At night, she loved watching the children fight off sleep, drifting somewhere between the real world and the magic of dreams and make believe. But sometimes it was impossible to make sense of anything they were saying.
"It will be nice to spend Christmas as a family…" Louisa smiled, something she did sparingly these days.
"Well, I feel very special spending Christmas with all of you…" Maria bent down, scooping Louisa into her arms, wrapping her up in a warm embrace. She closed her eyes tightly, holding back the emotions that were never far from the surface these days, forever threatening to trip her up over her words. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else…" Realising what she'd just said, her words drifted off. They both knew what she meant. "I love you all so much," she whispered against Louisa's blonde hair. "I'm the one who's blessed..."
"That's exactly how I feel…" Louisa's words were muffled against a thick woollen coat that smelled of camphor. "Thank you…" she sat back, a little self-consciously.
"Oh, I should be thanking all of you," Maria couldn't remember the last time she'd spent Christmas surrounded by a family she loved with all her heart. A family who loved her. The sisters at Nonnberg didn't really count. After all, they'd accept any of the Lord's lost sheep. Christmases with her uncle and aunt were far from joyful, especially for the niece they didn't want and couldn't love. Her last truly happy Christmas must have been years ago, when she was a small child. Before her parents passed. But those memories were so distant, they'd mostly faded with time. "Thank you for letting me be part of the family …"
"No, thank you… for being our mother," stifling a yawn, Louisa rested her head back on the pillow, as heavy lids threatened to take her off to that world of dreams. Softly calling her name, beckoning her to join them. "And thank you for bringing Father back to us…"
"Oh, I didn't do much…" Maria could feel tears of joy welling in her eyes. "He would have returned on his own, he just needed a little time…"
"You did it… Mother…" Louisa insisted, her words slowing, listing. "You brought Father back…" her cheek burrowed into the pillow, heavy eyes almost giving up the battle. "You made our family… complete… again…"
Bending down, Maria placed a kiss on Louisa's forehead. "Good night, sweetheart," she whispered. "Sleep tight…"
Louisa smiled again, this time into her pillow. "Goodnight… Mother…"
Standing up, Maria picked up the candleholder from the table between the beds. Reaching the door, she turned. Holding onto the doorframe, emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Could she love the children any more? Standing there, watching Louisa drift off to sleep, she doubted it.
Deciding she should check on the boys, soft steps took her a little further down the hall. Silently, she turned the door handle and pushed the door open. From the light of the candle, she could see Friedrich in one of the two beds, on his side facing the wall. In time to his breathing, the bed covers moved steadily up and down.
Turning to the bed on the opposite wall, she frowned at the sight of Kurt's arms hanging out over the edge of the blankets. Walking along the narrow space between the two beds, she placed the candleholder on the small table and gently prised the blankets from under the boy's arms. Despite her best efforts, Kurt stirred. Mumbling something incoherent, he blinked against the light of the candle.
"I'm sorry, Kurt, I didn't mean to wake you," Maria whispered. He muttered something in response that made no sense. "We can't have you catching a cold, can we?"
Kurt's first answer was a wide yawn, followed by a shake of the head. "I'm hungry, Mother…" he mumbled.
"I know…" Maria ran the back of her hand tenderly down his cheek. "It's late, but tomorrow…"
"We'll have a Christmas feast…?" he asked hopefully.
She smiled at the boy's enthusiasm, even though he was still half asleep. "What do you like most about Christmas?" she asked, deliberately avoiding his question.
"Apart from the presents?"
Maria laughed softly. "Apart from the presents…" she sat down on the edge of the bed. "Tell me what Christmas treats you enjoy the most."
"My favourite is roast ham with apple sauce!" Kurt's sleepy features lit up. "What's your favourite?"
"Gingerbread!" Maria didn't hesitate as she tickled his ribs. Her heart soared as Kurt wriggled and giggled in response. "I can still remember the kitchen filled with the smell of gingerbread and my mother baking tray after tray."
"Do you think we'll have gingerbread this year?" Kurt frowned.
"I'm not sure…" Maria brushed the worried look from his face with the back of her hand.
"Maybe we can sing a Christmas version of our Favourite Things tomorrow?"
"What a wonderful idea!" A smile masked her sadness. You never know what you've got, until it's gone. "Now, close your eyes and tell me what else you like about Christmas…"
Settling in, she tugged at the edges of her jacket, pulling them tighter around her. The door to the boy's room had been closed, so the air in the room was chilly. Actually, it was freezing. She made a mental note to leave the door open when she left, even though it would take some time to warm.
"…roast potatoes…" Kurt was ticking off the list in his head. "I love roast potatoes, especially Cook's…"
When I look back,
I look back, on the times you tried to hide
Inside, your delicate mind
In the end, in the end, I'm just the same as you
And it's alright, just stay by my side
And I will hold on
It was hard to believe it was already Christmas Eve. Where had the time gone? It was the first year in five, that had rushed by. After Agathe's passing, time seemed to stand still. Weeks dragged, months felt like an eternity, a year was forever. But this year had flashed by – almost over before he could remember it starting. All thanks to you, Maria…
Startled from his thoughts by a log rolling in the hearth, he reached down for the fire poker and stoked the fire again. Settling back in the chair, he sighed. This would certainly be a Christmas far different to any other. He ran his fingers along his jawline, scraping the dark stubble. Although he'd had a welcome bath before dinner, he hadn't shaved. He'd have one in the morning, before Mass. Usually, they'd go to midnight Mass, but the children were far too tired. Guilty fingers found his jaw again, but suddenly stopped…
Turning to glance over his shoulder, he melted at the sight of Maria in the doorway. "Been there long, my love?"
"Not long…" she fibbed. She adored nothing more than gazing at Georg, catching him in those unguarded moments.
"What were you thinking, just now?" she asked, forever curious.
"Nothing…" his turn to fib.
She answered him with a smile, before blowing out the candle and placing it on the bureau beside the door.
"How are the children?" The question was accompanied by more than the usual weight of guilt. "Asleep…?"
"Finally…" she pushed herself from the doorframe and walked toward him, their eyes still locked. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she rested her cheek against his hair, still damp from his earlier bath. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his musky scent.
Leaning back against her, his hands found her forearms, wishing the impossible for a moment, wishing it was her soft skin under his fingertips, rather than a stranger's rough woollen coat. Still, he could stay wrapped in her arms forever.
"Good news, I found another blanket for Brigitta…" she kissed his temple. "The bad news is, we might be a little colder tonight…"
"Oh-ho! I've got a solution for that…" his voice was low, seductive; his need for her, a constant craving, always lurking just beneath the surface.
"Oh, Georg!" Maria chided him playfully, but her arms tightened instinctively around his shoulders. "Kurt was hungry…" She stopped, feeling his body tighten. "He's always hungry…" she reminded him softly.
"I just wish…"
"I know, darling," she murmured against his ear, allowing herself to breathe again as she felt some of the tension leave his body. "We promised, remember…" She could feel him nod against her. What she'd give to restore some of that pride and take away the pain and guilt. Especially, the guilt...
She loosened her hold, but he didn't dare let her go. His fingers slipped down her forearm, catching her hand in his. Stepping around the armchair to face him, a gentle tug on her hand was all the invitation she needed to drop onto his lap. Swinging her legs over the arm of the chair, she fell against his chest and laid her head on his shoulder. She sighed – relief – as his arms tightened around her. Wrapped in his arms – her favourite time of the day…
"Do you think the children will mind?" Resting his cheek on the top of her head, his thumb ran up and back the length of her forearm.
Reaching up, she cupped his cheek with her hand and gently turned his face towards hers. Light from the fire's flames flickered, casting shadows and a strange orange glow that took turns to dance across his dark features. "The children don't mind at all," she assured him.
"It's our first Christmas together, I just wish…"
"Shh…" she placed a forefinger against his lips. "It's our first Christmas together and that's all that matters," she reminded him. "We're together."
"I wish we weren't here… in Sankt Georgen," he pressed his forehead against hers. "See, I'd almost forgotten where we are," he scoffed bitterly. "There've been so many of these damn villages…"
"I know, darling," she whispered, soothing his frustrations. "But at least Father Ignatius has been kind enough to give us one of the teacher's cottages for a few days."
"Hopefully, we can stay a little longer," for Georg, it was a constant worry how weary the children were after weeks of being on the move. Apart from the train ride from Salzburg, most of the journey had been by foot. "I just wish we could celebrate our first Christmas at home."
"But if we stayed home, we wouldn't be celebrating Christmas together, would we?" she shrugged.
"What do you mean?" he asked defensively.
"You'd be at Bremerhaven…"
"I'd never be at Bremerhaven," he bristled.
"I know you wouldn't, darling…" Maria adored her honourable, principled Captain. "I'm just saying, that's the only way we could still be at home in Salzburg."
"Hmph…" he grumped.
"Well, let's pretend you're in Bremerhaven, shall we? They'd be unlikely to grant you leave so soon after arriving," she pressed on. "If we had stayed after you refused their commission…" she paused, barely able to say the words, "the children… all of us… we wouldn't be home… we'd have been shipped off, held somewhere…" she couldn't face the rest.
He stared at her sadly, azure blue eyes that usually danced with joy, now filled with horror and fear.
"We probably wouldn't even be together… we might not ever see each other again…" she whispered, burying her head against his shoulder. "I couldn't face that, Georg… I couldn't…" she sniffed.
The arm around her shoulders shifted and his fingers combed her hair. "I just wish it were different, my love," he murmured.
"We all wish the world were different," she reached up and pushed his fringe back. "We might not have any presents, Christmas dinner won't be anything fancy, probably not much at all, but at least we're together," she told him. She debated whether to tell him about the conversation she'd had with Louisa. The best Christmas present the children could have hoped for this year, was simply having their father back after so many dark years. She went to speak, but decided against it. She might tell him later when she was laying in his arms. Until then, selfishly, she'd just enjoy the warmth of the fire and his comfort and strength.
"You're right, my love," Georg wrapped his arms around her. Bending down, he caught her lips in a searing kiss. Pulling back, he smiled at her breathlessness. "Surrounded by my beautiful wife and wonderful children… a man couldn't want for anything more." He brushed his fingers tenderly down her cheek. It was probably red from the warmth of the fire, but he preferred to think it might have a little more to do with his kiss.
"Do you think the socks will be dry by morning?"
He smiled, marvelling that it was still a mystery to him, how her mind flitted from one thought to the next. "If they're going to dry anywhere, it's above the fire."
"Oh, I hope so…" She'd taken care to wash them early tonight. Georg had been out finding dinner – a loaf of bread, some cured meat, and an odd kind of pickles – while she and the children bathed and changed into their second – and only spare – set of clothes. She was too tired to wash all their clothes tonight, she'd do that tomorrow after Mass – Christmas day and all…
"I'll get up early in the morning," he smiled at the feel of her head growing heavy on his shoulder. "The fire will need some more wood, I'll check their socks then and fill them if they're dry…"
Closing her eyes, she snuggled against him. "Tell me what you found, darling…" Until the children were asleep in bed, there was never a chance to talk. Really talk. "Tell me they'll have something…"
"Well, I'm afraid it won't be much…" he mumbled sheepishly. The village was small, with only a handful of shops. And by the time they'd introduced themselves to Father Ignatius and offered to sing at morning Mass in exchange for a few days' accommodation, most of the shopkeepers had closed early, given it was Christmas Eve and the threat of snow was keeping most sensible shoppers away.
"That's alright…" she answered dreamily. "Just some… thing…"
He glanced down at her – long lashes resting on rosy cheeks, hiding the dark circles that had arrived with the telegram from Berlin, and had refused to leave ever since. Resting his cheek on her hair, he breathed in the fresh scent of lavender. "Well, I found a shop, owned by a lovely old lady," he continued. "You remember the shops you used to see all the time when we were children…?"
"Mm-hm…" she mumbled.
"Anyway, her shop was filled with homemade toffees and sweets," he explained. "I hope the children like them…"
"They like… anything sweet…" she reminded him, sounding far-away.
"I bought as many treats as I could stuff into my coat pockets," he closed his eyes, taking in another deep breath of her. "She also had some gingerbread…" he waited for a response, but there wasn't one. Knowing how much she adored gingerbread, he cast a concerned eye down at her. He smiled. She was fast asleep. "I know, my love…" he whispered. "It's been another long day…"
Being careful not to wake her, he gently gathered her up in his arms and pushed himself off the hard springs of the worn armchair. Glancing at the fire, satisfied that it was safe to leave, he carried her to the doorway. She mumbled something in protest, but simply tightened her arms around his neck. "Shh, Maria…" he soothed.
Carrying her down the dark hallway, he found the open door of their bedroom. Placing her lovingly on the bed, he gently lowered her head against the pillow. Looking down, he noticed the quilt had already been pulled back. She said she'd found more blankets for the children. Bad news, we might be a little bit colder… Now, it all made sense.
Carefully, he peeled off her coat, murmuring away her protests.
"What time is it, Captain…?"
He smiled. When she was half-asleep, adrift between dreams and the real world, she'd sometimes call him Captain. Biting back a laugh, sometimes he half-expected her to salute him as well. Pulling the quilt up over her, he bent down and kissed her forehead, wondering how she was making sense of a kiss from the Captain in whatever dream had found hers just now.
"It's probably Christmas Day, Fraulein…" he whispered, still leaning in close.
"Mmmm…" she murmured dreamily.
He quickly shed his clothes, throwing them over the back of a battered timber chair in the corner of the room. Shivering from the cold, he crawled under the quilt, trying his best not to disturb her. She was right. With the rest of their blankets now covering the children's beds, it was going to be a cold night with just the quilt. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She murmured something, as she nestled and settled on his chest.
"Merry Christmas, my love…"
I'll never let go
You're right beside me
So just close your eyes
I'll never let go, you're all that I need
So just close your eyes
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone!
The inspiration for this little piece of Christmas fluff is a song by Rhodes, called "Close Your Eyes." I'd never heard of him or his song until, for some reason, it popped up on my YouTube home page one day. It's been stuck in my head ever since. If you're interested, check out the Burberry Fashion Show version where he plays a grand piano and is accompanied by a classical orchestra.
This time of year represents so many different things for people, whether you celebrate Christmas or simply enjoy the holidays and soak up the festive season. This year especially, in a world filled with turmoil, upheaval and untold grief, try to be a little kinder and remember to cherish those closest to you.
"Immerse your soul in love"