A/N: I wrote this for the ProBoards advent calendar last year, I wasn't entirely happy with it. I'm happier with it now, though I know it involves a lot of the same themes and references as the main story I'm working on. This site usually chews up my files, so if spaces are missing, I swear they weren't in my file.
Ghosts
Christmas Eve, 1937
It must have been the morning cold that woke her, Maria decided, twisting her arms and legs tighter into the sheets, crushing her cheek into her pillow. The quilt was already drawn up to her chin, dense and a little scratchy where the seams between each patch rubbed against her jaw. At least she could have as much of that as she wanted, Georg never seemed to be bothered, no matter how the temperature plummeted.
Too many years with cold ocean air on your face? She had wondered that first night she transformed all the blankets she could reach into her own little cocoon, tugging them away from him without even a single hitch in the gentle hum of his snores. It was the only answer she had even now. Some time in the middle of November, Georg had snatched her away from their children for a short weekend at Attersee, apparently desperate for another few days and nights alone with her. (What he had whispered in her ear as that first night found them warm and twisted together, a moan already on the tip of her tongue...Oh, he'd threatened to change the whole world, then, even if it was still just a well worn suspicion while she was still waiting to see the real evidence between her legs!) But standing on the shore of the lake, nothing made him shudder against the cold, not even the fiercest gales descending from the surrounding hills that forced her to bury herself in his side. Watching the wind ripple over the pale blue water, was he remembering all those years on the ocean?
It wasn't so bad this week, but at the beginning of December, at home in Salzburg again, the cold had even infested her bones, leaving her shivering no matter how tightly Georg held her through the night. Well, he didn't need the cold to do that, Maria had learned that very quickly.
She felt him beside her, turned on his side, his chest against her back. The rise and fall of his breathing rustled the hairs on the back of her neck, his arm still laying heavily over her, just beneath her breasts. You do like to do that, she thought as she scrubbed some of the crumbs from the corners of her eyes. Or I suppose you do, it's hardly been three months!
Across their large bedroom—the heavy mahogany dresser and tables set against the walls blacker patches in the darkness—the earliest bits of the morning dawn were already threatening to burn it all away. But it was all so...pale, that was all Maria could call it, almost silvery as it spilled across the carpet laid over the wooden floor. It wasn't the moon, she knew that, it had to be too late; Georg had kept her awake too long into the night for her to see it tonight...or this morning, really.
A flush burned across her cheeks, just remembering last night. Sometimes, she thought both she and Georg forgot this was no longer their honeymoon—that those weeks in Paris and that weekend on Attersee were long gone—that now they were in Salzburg, mother and father to seven children. And you love it, Maria reminded herself, the heat in her belly spreading to the very tips of her fingers and toes, beating back the cold, at least for a little while. The moment you're alone with him, you're just as hungry.
She eased herself away from her husband, tugging her nightgown back down her legs as she twisted herself around, grateful for the carpet beneath her feet when she finally had them over the side of the bed. You hardly gave me time to put it on at all, even with the winter all around, Maria thought, trying to remember where her dressing gown lay. On the chair in the corner? Well, almost, it hung from one arm, just where it landed when Georg stripped it from her shoulders. If it wasn't for the December chill, she doubted he would have allowed her a moment to gather her nightclothes, happier to clasp her naked body against his own, all the damp sweat on their skin melting her into him. Or at least he would have tried to keep her bare skin on his. After Marta awoke early one October morning with a bad dream—the pair of them hurrying into their nightclothes before Georg opened the door to her, Maria's face bright red as the seven year-old demanded a place in their bed between them—she had mostly refused. But some evenings, worn and exhausted by everything he had just coaxed from her body and lungs, she couldn't bear to leave his arms.
Maria stood slowly, hoping she didn't disturb him; even though Georg sometimes slept like the dead, he always seemed to know when she was sliding out of bed. A sharp shiver rose up her spine, the night air enveloping her ankles and tickling her neck, and she nearly ran to that chair, thrusting her arms into the sleeves and pulling it tight about her torso. She knotted the sash around her waist, still rubbing her hands over her arms. And making her way to the window, eager to see everything outside...it was exactly what she thought it must be.
She sighed, one hand pressed to the chilly glass. She could hardly see through the window—each pane wore a thin layer of frost on the other side—but it was a fresh dusting of snow falling in the rising sunlight, just another layer on the drifts that had been growing for weeks, each new flurry or deluge adding another half inch or three. "It's lovely," she whispered, her breath melting a small patch of the cold away. The trees in the little copse surrounding the estate wore the same crowns of snow and ice they had for the last weeks, icicles hanging from many of their bare branches. I'll miss being out there, I don't think I'll be able to even after winter thaws.
The ground between those tree trunks was wretched, icy and knobbly roots that had been ready to catch all of their toes on the last hike of the season. Georg had gone ahead with the boys, as well as Louisa and Brigitta, probably talking of the trees, pointing out the little brooks that ran between them when the ice didn't imprison the fish and frogs that called them home. Maria and Liesl—as much a friend as a daughter—had lingered in the clearings as the hike wore on, each of them holding a little girl's hand. Whenever they tired of correcting their shoes on the snowy forest floor, Maria told them some of the short stories she remembered from her own childhood: the Snow Queen, the trolls in their snowy caves in Norway and Sweden, the snowmen that haunted the hills in Asia.
And behind the house, the ice had spread across the lake, creeping inward from the shore day by day, drawing the growing nights along with it. Friedrich and Kurt had begged for skates once the edge of the ice was impossible to see from the stone landing, but Georg had refused. "You need more respect for the water than that."
She almost wanted to turn the latch and let the window open for a second, reach out for a few of those fluffy flakes...and feel them melt away on her skin. Oh, just let them be, she told herself. Isn't that all you'd want if that was all the life you had? Her elbow caught on the inner sill—her chin balanced on her palm—and in the early morning quiet, Maria just watched as the snowfall increased, minute after minute transforming into a deluge. Occasionally, she let out a long breath against the window, wiping away the new frost.
There will be enough for a family of snowmen again, the girls will love that. And I'm sure the boys will be eager to attack one another with as many snowballs as they can make. Louisa might join them, even though I know Georg won't want her to. But it's all been so lovely, this year. It's been so long…
All those years ago in her foster mother's house, the Christmas tree was always dutifully erected on Christmas Eve, but it was the only bit of Christmas cheer allowed all while it seeped through the other houses along the street, along the lane, through all the rest of the neighborhood. Even when she was seven or eight, her classmates talked eagerly of Saint Nicholas and Krampus through December, all the little treats their mothers baked when they had the time. But in her home...The Advent candles glowed each Sunday evening, but there were no special biscuits or cakes, no songs—even carols!—and hardly an ornament hanging from the evergreen's thorny branches. And then with her aunt and uncle, there was nothing at all: no candles, not a single string of holly, not even a reading the nativity story. "A load of rubbish," her uncle always said. "No point in believing in foolish stories." Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were days like any other, apart from grumbles over shop closures than usual. And all through her time at the abbey, always wishing for more than what she could ever be, it was only a time of contemplation, gratitude, and prayer. Devotion to the Blessed Mother and Christ Child. But this year…
Each evening in the drawing room, either she or Georg led the children in a series of carols, strumming her guitar as Friedrich's falling voice mixed with his father's, Kurt's younger voice melding with his sisters. Most nights, her husband preferred for her to provide the chords, his hand settled on her knee, squeezing it gently whenever he wanted. ("Remember what I told you," he whispered that first evening, a flush settling in her cheeks over something so simple but...so much, at the same time. "You can't undo it now.") And even after the delicious dinners and desserts Maria had come to know over the last months in the household, Cook baked tray after tray of crescent cookies, the nutty dough and powdered sugar atop melting in her mouth. The children devoured their share—all but Friedrich and Louisa, neither of them really caring for sweets—but Maria couldn't resist, her own sweet tooth unleashed—
A brief burst of wind through the little crack between the window and the sill brought her back: Christmas Eve and the master bedroom. It was all changing, already, the easiness of mornings as she woke beside Georg giving way to the first hints of burning that rose in her chest, only to vanish before she could even sit up. Maria couldn't resist glancing down, her belly still flat beneath her palm. Georg is certain you're there—more than ever, now—but I don't know if I can really believe it, at least not yet. Her eyes rose again, back to fluttering snowflakes in the gentle dawn, the sun continuing its inevitable rise, drawing the day and coming evening along with it. It would be so lovely, but it all sounds too much, too wonderful...It has to be too much to hope for more than him, the children we already—
Her husband's arms were suddenly around her waist, pulling her hard against him: away from the cold, back to the heat burning within him. She hadn't even heard his footsteps approaching from behind, not that she would ever admit it to him; Georg already teased her enough about her head lost in the clouds. Could he feel her heart pounding against her ribs as one of his hands rose along her side? Oh, how could he not, she told herself, that same hand drifting across her chest, just cupping the bottom curve of her breast. And there was his breath—now his mouth—brushing her neck again, then tickling her ear. "Whatever are you doing here, darling?" he whispered. "It was quite cold when I opened my eyes a minute ago."
Maria turned her head toward his voice, just able to see him from the corner of her eye, the sharp lines of his nose and jaw softened by the early morning light as it danced through the snowflakes. Even his lingering yearly tan was faded in the grey, as though part of him was clinging to the summer. "I woke up. And I thought it would be nice to see the snowfall, that's all."
"It's the same as it's been all winter."
She shook her head, struggling to turn in his arms, but his grasp was too strong, still holding her tight along the length of his body. You always know where I want to be, she thought, her stomach twisting with need under his touch. "No," she murmured after another moment, "not really."
Georg pressed another kiss to the back of her neck. "It isn't? One snowfall, and you've seen them all."
"But that's not true, Georg, you know it!" Another squirm against his arms saw her finally free and spinning around. His shirt was only half-buttoned—hastily thrown over his shoulders rather like her nightgown—and his hair lay tangled against his head. "It was never going to be."
"You're that sure?"
Maria nodded, drawing a deep breath as one of his hands tightened on her waist. "All these last weeks, they're all so...different to anything I remember. Everyone is so...happy, not solemn or...careless, I suppose."
"Careless?"
"Oh, he didn't care, that's what I meant. About anything we've shared as a family over the past few weeks."
"I understand, darling, I really do." That same hand wandered from her side to the front of her belly, lingering as it often did in these last few weeks. "Or at least the children do."
"Georg..."
"For Marta and Gretl, really, it will be something they've never experienced." He sighed, drawing her to him. If she could catch his eyes, Maria knew Georg wouldn't be looking at her; he would be staring into the past, through all the years of emptiness. "The singing, games in the snow, the candles as each week goes by, all of it. And it's been so long, it will seem new to all of them, I suppose."
Maria threw her arms around his neck, a few tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, her face crushed against his shoulder. "Oh, don't think of all that now."
"There's no undoing it, darling."
"But does it matter? You have all of us now!"
She felt the laughter in his chest more than she heard it, one of his fingers twisted in her short hair. "You'll have to forgive me, Maria. It's been such a short time, really, not just since we were married, but since I saw everything that was right in front of me. It may feel like it's been forever, now, but it's only been months."
Another breath caught in her throat, almost a sob. Father, how have we managed to find each other—pull each other back—
"Maria?"
"I love you." The words tumbled out of her mouth; she couldn't stop them and she didn't want to!
"You said that rather a few times last night as well, though you sounded quite different, then." A gentle tug at the end of her hair brought her face up from his shoulder, Maria not knowing a mark from his shirt's seam lay across her cheek, pink and deep against her fair skin. "But back to bed, love, at least for a little while longer. There's no use in you catching cold on Christmas Eve if you're looking forward to it so much."
She frowned as let out an annoyed breath, struggling against his arms again even as her dressing gown caught around his legs, tangling her together with him. "I can look after myself—I'm perfectly fine—"
"And you knew as soon as you were standing with me in front of the altar at Nonnberg you would have to put up with me doing that for you." Letting her hair slip from his fingers, his palm found her face, warm as he folded it around her jaw. "Even without Christmas, I won't have you making yourself ill now."
"You'll just wait for your baby to do it instead?"
He nodded, nearly smiling as though it amused him. Well, you were the one who did this to me, Maria thought for a moment even as she shivered against his touch, that thrill of pleasure she had yet to tire of rushing through every limb. But I can't be that upset about it, can I? It was something I never thought would be real, a child of my own. "Something like that. But, come with me, back to bed?"
Maria didn't resist as he took her hand, gently tugging her across the bedroom—over the carpet, through the shadows awaiting the first true rays of sunshine to burn them away, bringing Christmas Eve along with it. He untangled the knot in her dressing gown's sash—slipped the white cotton robe from her shoulders—traced the gentle line of her collarbone beneath her nightgown—and unlike what felt only a few hours ago, made no attempt to strip it away from her as well. (She didn't expect how strong the surge of disappointment was.) He pulled her down to their bed—under the quilts and sheets and tight against him, all those layers drawn right up to her chin, hand curled around the top hem even as he hardly brought them across his chest. You're already too warm for hat, I suppose, she thought.
"Better?"
Maria nodded. "Yes."
"Good. It's one of the nicer ways to keep you warm. Not the nicest, but certainly the best for this morning." Even in the silvery dawn, Maria knew he saw her blush again. You still notice everything.
She just listened to him breathe for a time, the minutes melting away just as the snow had yesterday on the tip of her tongue. (The little girls had giggled even as they did the same.) His hand against the curve of her spine, his fingers traced endless little circles; already, her back occasionally ached, a complaint that had drawn a few murmurs of worry from her husband. How am I supposed to know what's right or wrong? she wondered, a sudden brush of cool air on her face forcing her even closer to him, a grunt rising from his throat, quickly followed by a low cough. As long as I can feel you like this, I can truly know it's all real. Even knowing I'm carrying your first baby—I know you're hoping for another son at last, even if you won't say so—I'm always so worried it could fade away, like it's only a memory.
With her smaller body curled into his, Maria closed her eyes. I'm not scared of it, here. Her fingers flexed against his chest, finding the bare skin just atop the first button he had managed to fasten all those hours ago. I don't have to think about it, wonder anything—
"Maria?"
She shuddered against him, his voice rich and deep as it broke through her thoughts and worries. "Hmm?" Somehow, she still couldn't quite look up to his face.
"You're very quiet, unusually so. I know you're muddled in the mornings, but you're never this quiet here—"
That drew her eyes up to his, shining bright blue in the growing morning. "Georg!"
He was almost...amused, she decided, as he had been all the evening before, teasing her little by little as the red grew in her cheeks. "Something's on your mind, that's all. More than thinking about Christmas. What is it?"
"You'll think it's silly."
A hand under chin pulled her gaze even higher. "How will I know for sure if you don't tell me?"
Beneath his hand on her back, Maria slid farther up along the sheets, looking right at him rather than tucking herself into the hollow of his neck. "Everything is just...so nice, right now."
"And that's troubling you?"
Oh, how do I explain it all? she asked herself, tugging his hand away from her chin and twisting her fingers into his. "No. But, somehow, it's all in a way I never expected would come to me."
He tightened his grasp on her hand, just like he had then, right as they knelt before the aged bishop, Liesl at her side, Max by Georg's, what felt like mere minutes before the bells rang out for all the city to hear. "So you never expected to tame a grumpy sea captain?"
"No," she said, louder now. "Never in my strangest dreams. And that's just it."
His eyes narrowed, eyebrows almost coming together over his nose. "What do you mean?"
She needed a deep breath. You have to understand, Georg. Please. "Ever since our wedding..."
His hand refused to stay still along her back; there was no more pain, but Maria didn't think he would stop even if he knew. It was something he knew drove her mad: it transformed her breaths into ragged pants and conjured her cravings for him from nothing and nowhere. "If you're that worried over saying it, I might think you're wondering about what the world still calls a rash decision."
"No!"
"You know much of Salzburg still doesn't quite understand what a postulant saw in that unhappy sea captain."
"I know, but that still isn't it."
"Then what?"
At least here, her head on the same pillow as Georg's—her husband pulling her right against him another time—it had to be safe. Otherwise, there was no place she could say any of it. "The night before, I could hardly fall asleep."
That saw his hand pause just in the deepest dip of her spine, a lovely warmth spreading from beneath his palm. Maybe he knows I'm just worried about what will come in the next months, I've never known anyone who was carrying a baby. "Ah, so you weren't curled in my arms asleep on the train for most of the journey to Paris just because I wore you out the moment I had you alone."
"No," she murmured, biting her lip against an embarrassed grin. In that moment—the door to their hotel suite hardly locked behind them, Georg's hands struggling with the delicate buttons along her back as he occasionally cursed when yet another slipped between his fingers—she finally understood everything she was craving, all those same things she was craving this morning. Now, at least, I understand what I want. I didn't quite know then, only that I needed it. "But I was...frightened, that night. If I allowed myself to fall asleep, I wondered if I would wake up and...have to face that none of it was real. That it all was a dream—a lovely dream, but nothing else. Almost like the snow falling outside right now, I suppose. If I reached out and touched it—just to know one way or the other—would it melt away"
"But you know that isn't true, love. You can feel the wind whistling through the crack just underneath the window—it's one of the reasons I've felt you shaking, now. And the sheets lining our bed, and most importantly, my arm around you."
She shook her head. "Georg, can't you understand? I was just frightened I would wake up in my bed at Nonnberg—I know that's where I was, that evening, but that it would be weeks earlier. That I would still be too frightened to face you and...everything. Like I'd forgotten everything the Reverend Mother told me. Sometimes, it all still feels so fragile."
"Well, it isn't." He left a gentle kiss on her lips. "It's more real than ever."
It ignited something in Maria, a fresh burning at the bottom of her stomach. She wrenched her hand away from his—that one she wrapped around his neck, the other she forced beneath his chin—together, the pair of them pulling him back to her. She caught them in his wild hair; somehow, she had never imagined him like this all through the summer and their brief engagement, hair tousled and thrown about twists and turns against pillows and sheets, not until she had seen it herself.
Georg let her do as she wished: opening his mouth to hers when she demanded it with her own; opening the swell of his neck when she needed to taste something new of him; allowing her hands beneath the collar of his nightshirt, her cold fingers leaving a spray of goose pimples wherever they roamed his skin. And then she found his mouth again...Too much, darling, far too much. "You are a torment," he whispered, wrenching her hands away.
He turned her on her back in a moment—crawled atop her, his thighs on either side of hers, the quilt still clinging to his shoulders. "You understand now?" he asked, not even trying to hold his body off of hers. "If you can feel that, it's all—"
Just in the corridor, the thundering was beginning, Georg remembered it from all those years ago. What sounded like an army of feet running about the corridor—no doubt still in their pajamas and nightgowns—Louisa and the boys probably at the held of the column, Brigitta chasing them, Liesl following with the tiny girls, refusing to leave them behind. Ready to scurry down the stairs into the hall—out to the veranda—the snow drawing them like a siren's song on the sea? "And you hear that?" he asked, the din fading away, leaving Maria's labored breathing the only sound in his ears. "That noise? It's no dream, either. It's everything that is yours, as well as mine."
Maria still couldn't quite let him go, her fingers clutching at his shirt, keeping him crushed against her as a faint sigh escaped her mouth. Will it always be like this? she wondered, suddenly desperate for his skin on hers. Please, let it never change. "Georg..."
He kissed the curve of her neck, just further fanning the flames in her stomach. "I don't think there's time for that anymore, love, not with seven children already tearing about. But I'll see to you thoroughly tonight." Another kiss, this one lingering as the flush blossomed in her cheeks yet again. "We don't have too much time left for that, at least for a while."
"And what will the children think?"
Georg pushed himself up and away from her, off of her and onto his side, drawing her to him again. Sometimes, he seemed to forget how much smaller she was than he, the strength of his embrace almost painful as he pulled her to him. She never told him to stop, happier to melt into him than be a few inches from him; now, though, she sometimes had to bite at her lip against the new ache in her breasts. Just another gift from your child, Georg. "They'll love it, Maria. Though Marta and Gretl—mostly Gretl—might have to grow used to not being the youngest."
Maria's eyes widened. "Has it been too long?"
"They've always looked after her, I don't quite know what she'll think about having to look after someone younger, at least in a year or two."
Just over his shoulder, Maria saw the dawn creeping further into their bedroom, still silvery and grey, almost flickering as it shone through the snow. It will be so cold when we finally go outside with them, and you're so warm right now. "Can't—can't we stay here for a little longer?" She pressed herself hard against him. "Please?" His hand drifted to her backside—skating across that gentle curve of her spine again—pinching her once, twice, then again before retreating to her waist. "You know I don't like it when you do that!"
He kissed her neck before nipping at it as it dipped into her shoulder. "Why else do you think I do it when you least expect it?" Now his palm found her belly again, lingering for a moment before wandering to the top of her thigh. Was her nightgown rising along her leg, probably Georg's fingers gathering it little by little? Oh, it must be, his fingers on her skin itself, still traveling higher and higher.
She couldn't suppress her soft moan, finally begging, "Please, Georg!"
He pulled her atop him, another laugh deep in his chest rumbling against her. "You have one thing on your mind, don't you, Maria?" He wrapped his arms around her back, almost anchoring her to him, still tugging her nightgown higher. "You know I can't quite resist you when you're here—"
The pounding of feet was back again, louder this, melding with a chorus of excited giggles and shouts in the corridor. (Had the housekeeper turned them around, sent them back to bed for the next few minutes?) Maria twisted toward it—as much as she could with her husband's arm holding her still—and she was almost grinning when she turned back, a faint scowl on her husband's face. "I don't think I'm the only one."
"Well, you are entirely irresistible— Why are you laughing?"
She hadn't been able to hold it back. "It sounds like that first day, hearing them run about to find their place in line after you blew that silly whistle. Only much happier."
"And how very fortunate that you did come." He ran the back of his knuckles along her cheek, the very first way he had touched her the moment they were alone, already breathless ahead of what felt had been an endless reception. "But I think the children are about as eager as you for Christmas Eve to begin. And you can finally say farewell to all those ghosts. They've gone, love."
"So have yours, Georg. Please don't ever forget that."
He slid her off his body—on her back in their bed—not bothering to right her nightclothes, still stroking the top of her leg that he had uncovered. "No, never. Not as long as you're here to remind me."
A/N: There's a really lovely, very short song by Donal Hinely, one of my favorites musicians, "Bubble". That's the song in my head for this: everything is so wonderful, I'm worried it's all going to go wrong.