This is a double chapter day! This was really one big chapter, but I decided to split it in two to make it more digestible. Thanks to everyone for continuing to follow along!

The Baron and the Ballroom: III

Georg's assessment of the little Fraulein was that she had managed the children and their usual antics relatively well for someone who had not been a governess before. However, it was her military precision in her interactions with him that left him a tad breathless. She struck before dawn, attempting to break him like a horse. Mock salutes, whistle refusals, sassy smiles, gaping expressions, and then the insolent nymph used his own whistle on him, the great Captain Von Trapp! The power of his command seemed to be slipping through his fingers like sand. It was like the entire story of Fraulein Maria could be told simply by gazing into her eyes, deep pools of blue, expressive, telling… saying so much without even saying a word.

He had to get out of this house before she broke him further. What was it about this girl?

Sinking back down into the mattress, Georg admitted to himself that although she frustrated him, she was somehow entirely captivating. An imposing enigma in a small, dynamic form. What struck him the most about #12 was her confidence. Or was it fearlessness? Simple naïveté?

"Bah, undisciplined little nymph!" he chuckled to himself in the darkness. Nevertheless, within minutes of entering the Von Trapp home, she had pushed back the front line, emerging from her hiding place at the Abbey. She skillfully crossed over the battlefield, and at once she arrived at that place where the ocean meets the mountains, invading the ballroom. Transforming with ease into a Siren and willing the Captain of the ship to follow to his doom.

After the pinecone incident, he recalled how the little Fraulein led the family in grace. Not one for wishing to thank the Lord for the miserable life he was leading, Georg had watched her instead. The way her dark lashes settled on her cheeks, a smattering of freckles across her elfin face, her cropped auburn hair that accentuated the length of her neck. He was not attracted to her, he had decided, it was just that she had caused so much chaos in so little time, his Captain's know-how told him that he needed to study his adversary. He needed to learn where the kinks in her armour lay. He shook his head and rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Sighing, he noted hers were burned into the back of his eyelids.

Georg tossed and turned. He needed to get to sleep for it was his plan to get up with the sun and leave for Vienna. In the peri-solstice of June, the sun rose early in Austria. Maybe he needed a drink to quiet his mind? If only he could push the absurdity of the day's activities out of his mind, he could get some rest.

He wished he could look forward to Elsa's soirée the day after tomorrow, but the truth is, he hated parties. Elsa was always the centre of attention and lived to be a hostess. He sometimes felt like he was nothing more than an accessory on her arm at these events. He rather enjoyed spending time with her without the crowds, but at these parties, so many boring people would come and talk to him, asking questions about submarines, the Navy, the state of the Empire, the rumblings in Germany. The women at these events insisted on hanging on him like gaudy jewelry. After peeling the ladies' fingers off his forearms, he usually managed to escape for some quiet time, all the while hoping the men would do their withdrawing sooner than later.

Although there certainly was ennui in his other life in Vienna, what he faced at home was, perhaps, worse. The whole incident earlier today in the ballroom had pulled him back into one of his dark moods and he found his grief trying to bubble to the surface. Yet, he agonized through internal conflict as he pondered what went on inside that head of hers…

He recalled earlier that afternoon when he had called the little Fraulein into his study for a brief orientation, that even when her mouth was closed she was infuriating! He observed how her eyes wandered about the room, only vaguely concentrating on what he was saying. Had she been under his command in the Navy she would have been formally censured for her behaviour. Occasionally, she would shake herself back to the present and throw him and enormous smile and her eyes would sparkle with mirth. There was so much positive energy emanating from this woman he could hardly stand it.

He had tried to teach her the basics of using a Bosun whistle, but he got the distinct impression that she was not remotely interested in improving her skills. There were moments when he was demonstrating when she looked like she was going to get up and wander the room rather than focus and pay attention to what he was showing her. However, there were other times when she looked at him with some degree of consternation; and others, like she might devour him.

Those moments only lasted a fleeting instance, almost like a shooting star - practically gone before you noticed they were even there in the first place. She had managed to successfully shut down the emotion on her face, but a blush crept over her neck and face as she tried to look everywhere but at him.

Georg also found that the whole conversation about her ending up in the Abbey to be a bit of a mystery. How could a mountain girl end up at a Benedictine Abbey when she had so much more to offer the world? She was obviously holding something back and there was likely much more to this story. Yet, Georg more than anyone appreciated how hard it was to talk through painful memories, and as a result, he didn't push her. It was just so strange that she would find solace in an Abbey.

Why would a beautiful young woman who was apparently very skilled in pedagogy and dressmaking want to lock herself up behind those walls? Georg sighed and ran his hands over his jaw. "Beautiful, what am I thinking? She's definitely spritely, but not conventionally beautiful". His mind continued to line up adjectives to describe her. A wee bit eccentric. An ignis fatuus. A Flibbertigibbet. The list could go on and on. The worst part was Georg could never predict what she would say or do next! Enemy warships were far more predictable.

Her personality was wild, almost as wild as her physical presence. Her haircut, her freckles, those long lashes that flanked her eyes. Eyes like the Mediterranean... He shook his head – "no, it's her methods that are causing the fire to burn in my belly, nothing more!"

Georg had to give her some credit. When he pushed the Governess' how-to manual across the desk towards her, she seemed captivated by his Empress Maria paper weight, a small trinket that came as part of a larger package of honour: The Austro-Hungarian Empire's Knight's Cross and the Military Order of Maria Theresa. While the Fraulein peered at the paperweight in awe, turning it and watching the light bend in the crystal, his mind had drifted back to that long day in 1915 when he and his comrades had successfully sunk the Leon Gambetta under the cover of darkness and a silver moon [1]. There were interesting parallels between that fateful day and today's events. Perhaps the Fraulein had an interest in Naval history? It was the most focused he had seen her all day.

The little Fraulein had, indeed, managed to finally pay attention to something, and the paper weight seemed to ground her as well. With it in her hand, she came back to the present, focused on his words, and seemed genuinely interested in what the previous governesses had achieved. He liked that in a first mate. The story of #10 appeared to have thrown her off, but isn't that is to be expected when you're in training to be a Nun?

A nun… Georg still could not imagine this Fraulein and the Nunnery. It was like mixing oil and water. He wasn't sure how he could arrive at this assessment after so little time, but he was good with first impressions, his instinct was as sharp as a tiger's claw. Surely, she would do better for herself to find a teaching job and settle down like a normal girl? "Damn!" he mumbled into his pillow. Why was he finding himself so invested in her life choices?

Georg closed his eyes and imagined her, not in the Nunnery, but in front of a classroom in Salzburg. Lively and energetic, using her magic to charm a class and fill their heads with the knowledge they would need to be outstanding Österreich. She would look up from her desk and those eyes would burn into the faces of the children in her class and they would be better for it.

As he drifted off to sleep, the images of her commanding a classroom soon took him in another direction. Instead of rows of children in the class, he was the only one. He was sitting at the back of the room at a desk, in the middle of the class, watching her as she studied the works of Rilke, no doubt preparing her lesson plans. Just like tonight at the dinner table, her eyelashes fluttered over her cheeks, dancing amidst her freckles.

Georg sat in the classroom, watching her intently. All at once she looked up at him, her crystal blue eyes so wide, so expressive. She seemed shocked to see him sitting there. She picked up her fountain pen and held it against her lower lip, and just like with the whistle, held it there just a bit too long. She was stoking his fire without even trying. Tilting her chin down and looking up with her eyes only, he noticed a gleam in those azure eyes, and she seemed to be tempting him with her beguiling mix of innocence, charm, and energy.

"Captain, what are you doing here? The children left for home some time ago" she asked as she turned her head to the side.

Georg rose from the desk and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He walked over to the window and looked out at the falling snow. "I had to come to see you." He eventually managed to look away from the window and back to her spot where she had stood - and then rooted herself - beside her desk.

"Me? Captain, did you need to talk to me about the children?" she asked. Her eyes told him that she was interested in more than the simply the well-being of the children.

The next thing he knew he was not in a classroom anymore. He was standing outside the gates of the Abbey. The little Fraulein was there and she was waving to the sisters. He didn't want her to stay there with them. It would be such a waste.

Maria hugged several of them and then turned back to him with a tender smile on her face. She quickly scampered over to where he was standing. While she was walking towards him, she took off her wimple and tossed it over her shoulder, instead, placing a large straw hat with a blue bow on her head. She held out her guitar case towards him and he took it. Relief…that was the emotion that overcame him at that moment. She would not waste what she had to offer being locked up in the tower on the massif.

Maria held out her empty hand and reached for Georg's free one. She wrapped her dainty fingers around his bigger ones. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze: they were so soft and gentle. Her touch made the hairs on his neck stand on end. They walked together down the hill, hand-in-hand towards town. They walked about together, stopping at the gardens, walking by the Salzach. It was so easy to be with her. They talked about anything and everything.

The next thing he knew he was back in his study, and she was now sitting in his desk chair. On the desk was the "governess manual" and his paperweight. When he looked up at her, she saw that she held a baby in her lap. She didn't speak but held his gaze. He felt the knots of pain and misery that had filled his life since Agathe had passed away beginning to unravel. He stood up from his chair and walked to her side. He took the baby from her and picked her up, looking upon her elfin face. A wee girl with auburn hair and blue eyes. He had seen this baby somewhere before, but he couldn't remember where.

He turned towards the big rows of bookshelves along the wall by the window. Locating a photo album, he picked it up and set it on the desk in front of Maria. He turned the baby so she could sit on his left hip while he held her gently around her waist. He stood over the desk as the little Fraulein began to flip through the pages. At once she stopped and looked up at him. Really looked at him.

"You know, Captain, she looks just like you in this picture!". Georg looked down at the sepia image and ended up looking himself square in the eye. It was a photo of his mother and an infant: a very small Georg Von Trapp. He studied the photo intently; he looked at the Fraulein's baby and then back at the Fraulein. As he began to put the different pieces of information together, his eyes widened in disbelief. What was going on?

Maria, sensing something was amiss remarked: "Captain, is something wrong?" She got up from her chair and walked over to him, affectionately rubbing the auburn curls on the baby's head, dropping a tender kiss on her cheek. She looked up into Georg's eyes with a combination of intrigue, mystery, and verve. He reached out to touch her hair and he tucked a stray strand behind her ear. He rested his hand along her jaw and then ran his thumb along her lower lip. Maria's eyelids fluttered closed as he tilted his head and very gently kissed her.

The Fraulein responded in kind, snaking her arms around his neck, and teasing the hairs at his nape with her fingers. They were both awash in love and the tenderness of that moment. Alas, the baby began to fuss and got louder and louder. Georg just wanted to keep kissing Maria, the sensation was one he had not experienced for so long. He pulled her as close as he could despite the baby in his arms.

The baby continued to cry, getting louder and louder. Pulling away from Maria, they stared into each other's eyes, with the baby still wailing. Oh, the noise! It had been so long since heard a baby cry. When would it stop!

With a gasp, he sat up and looked around and tried to get a sense of where he was. In his arms he held his pillow, just like one would cradle an infant. The twilight was coming through the windows and the alarm clock alongside his bed was ringing, its piercing alarm reverberating off the walls. He threw his hand over to the side table and hit the alarm clock so it would stop its infernal noise. He dropped back onto his bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. As he regained some level of consciousness, he understood that he was in his room. There was no baby. There was no Fraulein. But the evidence of his desire for her remained.

What was happening to him? Images from the day before which had been so innocent, suddenly took on new meaning. Not understanding if he should be angry or intrigued, he tossed back the bedclothes, threw his legs over the side of the bed, and headed off to the ensuite for a cold shower. He ran his hands through his hair as he tried to make sense of the images in the dream he just had.

Georg definitely needed to get away to Vienna and the madness that had come over him in the past 18 hours.

[1] I am hardly a military historian, but the Real Georg's book ("To the Last Salute") is a gem if you haven't read it. In that book, he recounts in detail how in 1915, he had planned to attack the French ship, the Leon Gambetta, letting her pass safely one evening while he studied her behaviour and the way the moonlight fell in the channel. Despite the fact that this was the event that resulted in him receiving the Maria Theresa cross, he doesn't crow about it much. He was a very humble man. Instead, he lamented the unnecessary loss of so many seamen and the impact it had on his own crew. Shortly after the sinking, a crew member on his submarine went on to develop "war psychosis" and had to be granted leave.