Chapter 6: Not Quite the Very Beginning

Maria's coat was pulled tight against the lingering winter breeze, buttoned up from her waist to the base of her throat. The deepest chill of her first winter amongst the mountains might have broken—or at least she hoped so—but it had still worked its way under the hem, rising up along her spine. A thick woolen scarf was wrapped around her neck, not quite able to stop the cold from biting at all of her skin. Her hair was knotted at the back of her head as it always was when in her classroom or church, leaving only a thin strip of skin just atop her collar for the air to sting. If it had hung around her shoulders as it sometimes did when she was out on errands, at least the wind wouldn't be biting at her. But..."You can't always be running around in your play clothes with tangles in your hair and dirt on your nose," her foster mother had told her...Maria couldn't quite remember how old she was. "Someday, you'll have to look like a lady."

Her hands, at least, were warm in the gloves she had at last remembered to take with her this morning, admittedly after walking half a block from her boarding house before she turned around, almost running back—clamoring up the stairs and snatching them up before nearly tumbling down the stairs. They were already showing wear at the edges, but they were the only ones she had the money for when the first November snow blanketed Salzburg, made of the thinnest leather available in the shop. Hopefully I'll be able to put them aside in a few weeks and save enough for a better pair for next winter. And at least her boots and thick socks kept her warm beneath the hem of her dress. I don't know how long this afternoon might last. And there it was, the burning on her cheeks she had come to know well over the last days.

Today had loomed in her imagination since that Saturday a week ago. Even as her students battered her with questions—the worst of all when they asked after something in the maths assignments she handed to them, and somehow even more when it was their multiplication tables and subtraction figures—she was wondering what...he would be like in daylight. And even sitting in the pew at church hardly an hour or two gone, nothing had her quite distracted from the afternoon that waited for her. Not even the homily, more confusing than usual as she twisted her hands in the very ends of the thinner scarf then settled over the top of her head, one of the few things inherited from the mother she didn't remember. (Delicate black tatted lace, hidden as best she could throughout the last years of her childhood and the first of her youth. He never would have let her keep it if he knew.) She very nearly missed the priest's call for the congregation to rise and prepare to accept the Eucharist, half stumbling over her boots to join the line slowly moving toward the altar.

I told you after noon, she thought, spinning around, hands knitted together at the base of her spine. The chimes marking midday had already rung from every church in the city, almost echoing back from the mountains: thrown back, swatted aside...almost like it was a game they played with the city at their base. Why do I even think you'll be here at all? "Why am I here?" she muttered, loosening her hands before she pulled her woolen scarf tighter around her neck, trying not to tug at her mother's. At least around her neck, she wouldn't snag it with her nails when she went to pull it from her pocket and gently fold it ahead of mass next Sunday.

She had asked herself all those same questions the night before as she laid out her dress and best coat for church the following morning, just ahead of her shower, her first set of papers finally marked and set aside...another three stacked beside it. (Thank goodness it was their final German tests for the next while; those took almost as long as their maths papers!) The entire evening, she had wondered...Will you be there? Why do I want you to be there? Why do I want to be there? And what will the day be like?

The warm water had soothed the cold that had invaded her bones over the last months, drenching her hair in an instant. Until the hot water melted away and left a river of frigid water cascading over back—then her breasts as she turned around, scrabbling for the cold water knob and turning it off. It can only be a few seconds, Maria had told herself that, waiting until the water turned too hot to stand beneath. Another twist of the cold water—another chilly hit—a final turn back, at last finding something warm again.

It was washing her hair that always took longest, working the shampoo powder through from top to bottom, foaming bit by bit as she cut it in. The dry granules caught beneath her fingernails—they always did—and as the grease from the last half of the week smoldered beneath the soap, Maria picked at the little bits, rinsing them beneath the waterfall from the pipes, sometimes the white flakes from her scalp caught as well. It wasn't so different than the Viennese winters from her childhood and youth, but everything was somehow a little drier than she had expected.

She lingered a little longer than usual before she turned both knobs off, shivering in the sudden chill of the winter evening. The shrunken mane of hair clasped in her hands, Maria wrung as much water from it as she could. Fast as you can, she thought, the goose pimples already coating her arms. Once—twice—then a third gush of water pouring between her fingers around her legs would have to be enough. Shower curtain drawn back, Maria snatched up the towel hanging from the basin, pulling the curtain closed again to hold in the last of the heat clinging to the tiles. She scrubbed the last of the water away, leaving the towel damp before she wrapped it around herself, just beneath her shoulders. "At least now I won't freeze," she muttered as she drew the curtain back a final time and stepped back into the cold night air. "Well, I won't, but my hair might."

Through the door into her tiny room—dropping onto her small bed—Maria pulled her legs up, something twisting in her stomach. Almost as though she was frightened. "What's so frightening about a sailor?" she asked herself, mouth pressed to the towel around her legs. "He knows as well as I do that there's no navy anymore. It's just...his life."

She stood again, peeling the towel away for a moment before she wiped away the last drops of now tepid water on her arms and legs, across her collarbone, beneath her breasts and down to her stomach. For just another second, Maria tugged the towel around herself again, launching herself to the wardrobe to find her nightgown, folded right at the bottom beside her shoes and second chemise. The towel was useless, now, on the floor for a moment as she pulled the flannel over her head, drawing a quick breath before she found a fresh set of underwear. She needed to wash everything soon, another evening spent with towels, dresses, and everything else dunked in a tub of soapy water. "I wish I could just have it sent in like Mother used to," she murmured, already sliding her fingers through her hair. It was always so knotted when it was wet, as though she hadn't even tried to comb it properly before she washed it. "But I suppose I couldn't afford it, especially if it's only me."

Maria returned the towel to her little washroom—hanging it to dry despite the lingering damp—then after throwing her sheets and quilt over her legs, finally snatched up her comb from the side table, dragging it through the hair that seemed endless. Even after squeezing the worst of the water down the shower drain, her shoulders and nightgown were already damp. "At least I don't have anywhere to go until tomorrow."

Tomorrow. And him.

Most of the final knots were combed from her hair—she was already yawning behind a hand pressed to her mouth—and then she glanced down. It will look better when it's dry, Maria told herself, twisting the very last straggly ends through her fingers. And he won't see it, you'll have it up properly for church. But she was already on her feet—at her table—looking for the scissors she only ever used for cutting fabric when time and the elements—these days, really the wind and the snow—had worn out a dress. At least I'm used to doing this, she thought as she drew her chair back and collapsed onto it. It won't be horrible.

Maria pulled each handful of her hair around her shoulders, running her fingers through it from top to bottom. Only a few more tangles, though the feathery bits at the very end couldn't quite be hidden. Anyone would be able to see it hasn't been cut for years, she thought, scowling at the ragged edges.

"Not something you should do yourself, Maria," her foster mother had told her that just before she left the house for her uncle's before she was even a teenager, one afternoon after she found a handful of trimmings in the washroom's rubbish bin. "Ask me and I'll do it for you. You'll never know what it's going to look like, and you should always try to look your best."

Even as she remembered her mother shaking her head—then her uncle slapping her backside a few years later when it had grown so long again she couldn't manage to look after it—Maria snipped the worn ends from the left side, then the right. The latter was nearly an inch higher, so now she returned to the left, nearly cutting into one of her fingers, just twisting them away from the blades. It was better, now, still a little slanted, but at least the worst of the ragged ends were finally gone. And with it tied into a braid over her left shoulder—the thinning ends almost like wisps—Maria tossed her sheets aside, still shivering a little in the cool night air.

"What will tomorrow be like?" she whispered, pulling her legs up against her chest as she tied the band around the very end of her still damp hair. Maria squeezed her eyes closed, trying to remember the few glimpses she'd had of his face. Never yet a smile, nose and chin sharp beneath dark hair leaving him harsh and rough. Almost severe. In the light of day, would he be any happier? Now, it was mostly those brilliant blue eyes she remembered, running up and down her body and leaving her desperate to hide herself away. "I hope so. It would be so nice to talk to someone who saw all the things my father saw."

What time is it? she wondered, falling onto her side and reaching for the pocket watch that always sat on the table. Half past ten, she saw as she twisted the knob round, setting it for the next day. I suppose it wasn't really that bad, she thought, her hands folded together atop her knees. At least I was never worried, even...Maria closed her eyes again. It wasn't like that, it really wasn't. Even if his palms were rough—Georg's palms, she reminded herself; she still could hardly use his name whenever she thought of him. She'd felt the callouses even through her dress and worn jacket when he steadied her on her feet. Rough, a little harsh. But his touch hadn't been. If anything, it had been a little kind, not…

"Oh, why can't I stop thinking about all of it?" Her nightgown tangled around her feet, Maria yanked it up around her calves, almost falling out of bed. Best to make sure it's done before you're too tired. She tidied it around her legs as she scrambled back onto her knees—"God shouldn't see your backside, Maria." Her foster mother had handed her that lecture when she was hardly old enough to remember her prayers—her elbows on the edge of her bed, fingers knotted together against her forehead.

"Father, thank you for today," she murmured, "this week really." The acid was already churning in her stomach, but why? God already knew, He had to. I'm not telling Him anything He doesn't already know. But I just think I'll feel better if I do. "And, I don't understand...why. He's only a man. I know I'm just a girl, but I don't know why I feel almost frightened of it. Not him—I'm sure he knows how to be kind. But I can't quite get him out of my head. And I don't...I don't know if I like it or not."

Even if it was all foreign and new to Maria, she remembered the little whispers darting back and forth between her friends in college, the quiet words amongst her roommates when they thought everyone else was already asleep. Admiring one of their classmates, wondering what he would be like on his own, creeping out of bed and the dormitory where they slept side by side—always hoping the door clicked shut behind them as gently as possible. And once or twice a year over her time there, a girl disappearing—no reason given, just a classmate and all her possessions suddenly gone. No one—professors, administrators, even the other girls in the dorm—saying a word, really knowing anything at all, just the same quiet whispers through the darkness.

"He's three weeks, now. Do you think she'll send him away when he's old enough to be on his own?"

"She'll be back in a week or two, her parents had everything arranged months ago. Or at least it's what she said. She won't even know if it's a boy or a girl."

Young men and love and everything that went with it might be strange, but everyone in their dormitory and classes knew, even if the whispers were even more thoroughly hidden behind hands. It's not like that, she thought, her toes curling as she pushed herself up higher on her knees. But, I can't know if that's true. A sneeze welled at the top of her nose and Maria clenched her eyes against it, a few tears itching against the inner corners.

"Maybe I'm just worried I'll prove Uncle Josef was right all those years ago, everything he told me. No—no!—I won't, I promise I won't, but I'm confused, Father, I really am. And what will...Georg think of me, when I know I'm just a girl from Vienna and he must have seen so much more over the years." She sighed against her palms, shivering as a chilly breeze wafted through the tiny crack beneath the window she had rarely opened even in the fall. "It's all I want, Father, just to talk to someone like...my father. Someone who has seen more than just Austria. Or maybe that's all I want it to be. But I don't suppose there's anything I can do until...tomorrow. "

Following a last few babbled words of prayer and few moments to scrub the remnants of her dinner from her teeth, Maria threw herself back into bed, every limb tucked beneath her quilt, even her chin tucked away into the crook of her neck. At least I won't freeze tonight, she thought, another shudder wracking her spine. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the frigid pillow case against her cheek, just remembering the squat little dwarves with their hats and beards and staffs, the rough branches and thorns of the roses slumbering through the harsh winter, that mythical horse frozen until spring finally broke the ice for the new year.

"Don't think about him," she hissed, suddenly tugging all the bedclothes over her head, completely burying herself in the darkness. "Haven't you already done enough of that? And you don't even know him! You can't even know if you want to know him. But..." She threw all the layers cocooning her in her bed away again. "You can't know until you actually do."

Even after all the lectures she had for herself—her prayers—her empty dreams through the night—Maria still couldn't swallow back every bit of excitement...and worry. "What would anyone want to do with me?" she asked as she spun around again. Ever since the church bells across the city had declared the hour and the beginning of the afternoon, her stomach had tightened: whether it was hunger after her weekly fast ahead of mass, no money for even the simplest pastry after the priest's blessing and command to go in peace, or simply wondering...She couldn't be sure.

Turning around, it was only a few steps across the entrance gate before the clear winter day turned to shadow and she looked up as she always did. A man—a hero—one of gods from Greece or Rome—arm outstretched and reaching for what had to be his twin. Almost naked, but...I suppose people thought differently back then. I know they did in all the stories I know.

Another few steps past the entrance, a few more people wandering past on the sidewalk than she remembered last week, but last week...Maybe I just didn't see them, I wasn't looking for one person in the midst of them all. Another turn—her eyes rising for a moment from the pavement—and somehow, she found him amidst everyone going to and fro. Or...at least I think so, she thought, her hands suddenly tightening behind her back. Her own footsteps brought her closer, her gaze so trained on the distance that she almost bumped into an elderly woman, scarf still wrapped loosely over her hair as she mumbled something about "children these days" as she went by. And with the last of the crowd cleared from between them, Maria swallowed against the sudden pounding in her chest.

It was him, a long winter coat handing from his shoulders, his hands gloved today just like hers. Aren't we a pair fools, she thought, remembering gloves for the start of the afternoon and forgetting them when it's almost a black winter evening. A tie knotted at his throat—probably a suit jacket beneath that heavy coat as well, if she remembered properly. And with just a few moments left until she might be have to say something rather whisper it like a little girl, Maria saw the half-smile on his face, the same one she remembered as she looked up from the cobblestone...Not now, please.

Georg's eyes were still bright blue in the sunshine—at least the chill of early afternoon allowed her to see him better than either time before. His hair lay slightly rounded on the top of his head, and the closer he came, the more she noticed. The faintest shots of grey at his temples, a few lines across his forehead and cheeks, a thin scar beneath his mouth—she wouldn't have even noticed it if she hadn't been so eager to finally examine him in the daylight. I should have known, if you were in the navy before it vanished, but I suppose I didn't think about it at all. And if I'm teaching now, maybe you were hardly more than a boy when you boarded your first ship. But would they have really taken someone so young—

"Well, good afternoon, Fräulein," he said, finally meeting her on the path, though standing a foot or so back. His jaw and nose were still as sharp and harsh as she remembered, maybe more so now that they weren't buried in the evening shadows. And there was something gaunt—almost starved—about him, though even she knew he couldn't be so underfed as she sometimes was. I know I don't know much— "Cat got your tongue, Fräulein? Or your eyes?"

Maria shuddered, her hands clasped tighter behind her back as she shuddered, hoping yet another red flush didn't cover her cheeks. "You know my name, G—"

"And it might be impolite on a Salzburg street in the middle of the day, rather than when it's almost black."

"How is it any different?"

He was trying not to laugh, Maria knew that. "I would know you weren't quite twenty after that, even if you hadn't told me. You were the one who said we aren't quite strangers anymore. But if it's what you would prefer—"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Then you'll have to take everything that goes with it. But come along."

Georg was already setting a quick pace, and Maria almost had to run to catch up with him, then still walking faster than she liked, arms bouncing along either side to keep her balance. But she hadn't even said a thing before he slowed, almost as though he heard her boots sloshing through the lingering piles of snow that covered the gravel path between the barren rose bushes. Will there be anything else when it all comes back to life? "I'm sorry, Maria," he said after a moment, coming to a complete stop as he waited for her to catch up to him, his next few steps slower. "I'm not used to tarrying like that. A good way to die, even on the sea."

"Don't worry about it." Even with all her walking over Salzburg day to day—sometimes wandering to the mountains at the weekend, launching herself up the base of the hills if it wasn't too chilly—a slight stitch burned in her side. At least if she was struggling to catch her breath, she didn't have to admit that she didn't know what to say. I was so excited, I guess, and now I don't know what to do.

It was a few minutes of silence, just wandering the curves of the sleeping garden. Though Maria had discovered the castle and its gardens hardly more than a week after arriving in Salzburg—her trunk and carpetbag hadn't even been completely unpacked—it had already been too late to see the roses in bloom. What will they look like in the summer? In bloom and come back to life?

She was at his side, now, still lengthening each step to keep pace, though it was less of a struggle since he had slowed for her. Every few seconds, Maria's eyes darted over to him; for one brief moment, she thought she saw a white line along the curve of his jaw, rougher than the one on his chin. I suppose you must have had some horrible moments— And then his eyes came over to her, and she turned back, hoping she didn't look too embarrassed.

She tucked her hands behind her back once more; at least now, he wouldn't see her fingers twisted into her jacket. "I hope...I hope you had a lovely week, Georg," she said quietly, wincing as her own words hit her ears. "I just wish it wasn't quite so cold anymore."

He laughed as his pace slowed even more. "So it's the weather to start?"

"Why not?"

"I don't much about you, but you're not one to talk about the weather." And at last, he stopped, reaching for the bend of her jacket sleeve at her elbow—catching it and pausing her steps as well. "You just don't know where to begin, do you? At least at a time like this."

Maria's pulse rose for a moment, her heart throbbing once—twice—three times against her rib cage. "A time like this? Why are you talking in riddles?"

Georg tried not to laugh again. You really aren't much more than a child, he thought, stealing another glance down at her. Her hair might be tied back in a knot—more appropriate for church than the worn braid he remembered those from two Saturdays—and her dress far nicer than either she had worn before, but she really didn't understand. Though I'm not sure I do, either. I'm not even sure why I wanted to be here with her. "Oh, never mind," he said after a moment, finally letting her sleeve go. "This is a different look for you, though—Maria."

"What do you mean?"

Just like all those days and weeks ago, his eyes raked over her. It was a heavier coat she wore this afternoon, buttoned along her entire torso, dark and nearly pristine, as though it rarely left her closet. Your Sunday best? It hid the bodice of her dress and her tiny frame, leaving only her skirt fluttering about in the breeze, stained boots and thick stockings hiding what bit of her legs that dress didn't. "You look presentable this time, and not laid out on your back—"

"Please don't, it's already humiliating enough to remember!" The last bruises were still fading. I wasn't the only one distracted, was I? "And I could say the same about you."

"You could?"

She nodded. "Yes. You're not wearing a face like low tide today. Or at least not so much."

Georg laughed again, though he didn't sound all that happy to Maria. "Isn't that already more interesting than how cold it is?" he asked, nodding at her as he took another step along the path, deeper into the paths winding between the barren roses. Maria just nodded again. They rounded another curve, the hedges still lining the gravel way still bright green beneath the thin veil of snow still clinging to their scratchy leaves. They really must look after them through the spring and summer, she thought, almost stopping to brush a bit of it away. They always grew wild in the garden behind—

"You said you're from Vienna. Whatever brought you here?"

Maria jerked her head up, her feet stuck to the ground, almost blushing. He was looking back at her, a few feet ahead, still wearing the same frown she remembered so well. Almost as though he was...she wasn't quite sure what, though annoyed might be the closest she could think of. She scrambled to catch him again, the tiny pebbles marking the way crunching beneath her heavy boots. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize if you don't really want to. But why here, now?"

He was leading the way again, and this time, Maria kept her eyes on the path, her eyes only darting up to him once—and then away when he did the same, just like before. She swallowed against a sudden knot rising into her throat. "The way—the way you ask that, it sounds like you don't like Salzburg."

"That doesn't matter. But you made sure to tell me, so why?"

Maria tucked her hands into her elbows; even with her gloves this afternoon, the joints in her fingers were aching with the cold as a faint breeze whistled across her face. "I finished college in the middle of last year. I suppose, it was just...time to be somewhere else."

"So why here?"

"Why not?"

Georg caught her elbow once more, bringing them both to a halt. "And are you going to talk in riddles and questions, now?"

"No, but it's a lovely city, I know that now." She tugged her arm out of his grasp. "I'd hardly left Vienna before, and I needed to be away from..." Don't, Maria told herself, her eyes dropping to the path, the greying snow ground into the gravel. No one else needs to know why.

Something had changed, Georg saw it instantly. You didn't need to say it, Maria. You're running away from memories, too. "A very small world for someone who wants to see so much of it. You're putting up with me for the start of the afternoon to hear about it."

"I wouldn't call it that."

"You wouldn't?"

This time, Maria was certain the flush wasn't just on her cheeks but creeping down her neck as well. Why must you always say the first thing that goes through your head? I don't even know what I meant! "Well," she began, stumbling ahead of him with a few clumsy steps, "I suppose I'd heard about Salzburg a little when I was a child. My mother was from Tyrol, that's what my father told me. And like everyone from Tyrol, she loved the mountains. We aren't so very far from there."

Georg caught up to her with ease, his hands clasped around his back. "How very Austrian."

"What does that mean? We're all Austrian!"

He shook his head, already passing her with ease. "If you were born in Vienna at the start of the war, I don't think you understand how...complicated it all is."

Once more, Maria scrambled to catch him. "For you?"

"Not only me. Before the empire was broken, there was so much of Europe under its control. But Italy is Italy, now, not Austria-Hungary."

"So you're originally from Italy?"

"It's what they tell me, and I've the passport to prove it."

"So you were seeing the world from the start?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"But you were born there and you're here now. It's more than I've seen, you know that."

"I suppose."

They just walked for the next few minutes, Maria occasionally tucking herself into his side whenever another person or couple came along the other way on the path. But never too close, never quite letting herself brush up against him. What would he think? she wondered, every step larger than she was used to as she kept pace. I don't even know who...Oh, he doesn't matter anymore!

Maria's eyes still darted up to Georg every now and then, still so confused by the tiny patches of grey in his hair and the faint lines across his cheeks. I don't understand, I suppose. Why would you be at all interested in talking with me? I know you said you don't know why—I don't either—

She dropped her eyes back to the gravel instantly, his gaze drifting to her. I can't, I don't know why. "Georg?"

"Fräulein?" Maria didn't bother looking at him again; he would only be wearing the same smile he had both those evenings, just enjoying looking at her splayed out on her back.

"Why did you join the navy?" She scurried ahead. It's your turn to follow after me. "It seems so frightening to be out on the ocean."

The crunching of gravel followed her, no doubt Georg catching pace with her—and there he was beside her again, not the slightest struggle to catch up with her. "Hardly."

"But there's nowhere to go, if something goes wrong."

You wouldn't be the first woman to worry over that, he thought, not quite managing to strangle another laugh in his throat. "If you hadn't already told me you've never left Austria, I would already know you've never been on a ship."

"I didn't say that—"

"You didn't have to." A little farther along the path, just as it curved away—it wouldn't even be visible when the roses were in full flush—a bench loomed, just a faint dusting of the same snow they were crushing beneath their shoes covering the grey stone. "But...let's sit down, at least for a little while."

It can't be too much for you, this, Maria thought as she followed him, both of them brushing enough of the snow aside to sit without freezing to the bench, and not too close together, either, though he allowed her to take her seat and arrange her skirt for a few seconds first. I hope the damp isn't too much.

It was another few moments of silence: Georg finally at one end, her at the other; her legs and arms pulled in as she sat up perfectly straight, his looser and more open as he relaxed, just leaning forward as he peered at her again, all that distance between them. You can't be too old for this, Georg, not if I'm struggling to keep up with you. Unless you're even older than you look. She bit her lip, choking a little giggle back into her throat.

"Something amusing, Fräulein?"

"No, not really, I was just thinking."

"About?"

"It doesn't matter, really it doesn't." Her hands were suddenly playing with her skirt, trying to tug it even lower across her calves. "But you didn't answer my question. Why did you join the navy?"

Georg sighed, clapping his hands together, his elbows landing on his thighs. She really will be the death of me with her questions. "My father was a...member of the navy, too." That's all you need to know. "I respected him for that, as I was meant to."

"So it was expected of you?"

He shrugged. "I suppose. But I could ask you the same, yes? Why are you a teacher?"

Why? Maria dropped her eyes back to her lap, one of her hands rising to her mouth, chewing on a finger for a moment. "I had to get away...Well, not away, really...Oh maybe, I guess."

"It's a simple answer, Maria, not dithering one."

"There's not too much else for a woman to do." She bristled at his laughter, sitting even straighter than she already was. "What?"

"You can say whatever you want, you're still a child."

She was on her feet, her hands curled into tight little fists; without her gloves, Maria wondered if her fingernails might have actually cut into her palms. "Will you stop saying that? I am not!"

"Hardly more than one, then, if you insist."

"And how would you know?"

Girl, I have seven of my own, I know what a child is! "Does it matter?" Georg asked, pressing one of his hands to his mouth, almost just like she had. Seven children...If they had clung to him last night after dinner, he couldn't imagine the chaos of this morning if he hadn't managed to wind his way down the stairs before Gretl or even Marta began to wail for Frau Bauer. If they had all forgotten themselves last night at dinner, would it have been worse this morning, almost a dozen hands and arms clutching at him before he finally escaped into the morning sunlight? At least he had risen before the dawn, leaving with no fanfare, only carting a case of freshly laundered suits and white shirts and dark ties with hem. He occasionally sent pieces out for laundering when the thought of facing the children and the household was too much, but mostly, he just handed everything off to the maids; he was home often enough for that. And it was one of the things he paid—

"Maybe." Georg almost jumped as she turned back to him, a little flush on her cheeks. "You did say you were a sailor."

He laughed again, almost throwing his head back, eyes to the grey sky, suddenly back in Salzburg. "Then forget I said that about you, Maria. You've seen more than I thought."

She shook her head, wincing as the large knot of hair pinned to the back of her head wobbled this way and that; one of the pins had certainly loosened as the day wore on, even her trimmed mane a little too much to handle. "No, but I've read enough stories to know about sailors."

"I'll not ask where you read those, but I'll be certain..." "I'll be certain my children don't find those stories for themselves." She doesn't need to know that.

"What?"

Something else, Georg told himself, scratching at his collar as a fresh breeze bit everything in its path along the gravel lane. Anything but the children. "Just, I had far less of those leaves than you seem to think. Not every port is suitable for a submarine."

Maria finally sat again, a little more to the middle of the bench than before, Georg saw, trying not to glance down at the hem of her skirt, a tempting strip of pale skin exposed between the occasionally frayed edge and the furred top of the winter boots she had chosen for today. You were happy to wear simpler shoes earlier in the winter, Maria. Thinking it will be a long afternoon, are you?

Maria was chewing at her lip again, and he thought he saw her gulp down a mouth of air. "And that wasn't frightening?"

"Not having leave like that?"

"You know I didn't mean that!"

"Of course, but you're quite funny when you're put out—Maria."

She frowned, but didn't shift away from him. "No, being under the ocean. If you're on it, at least you can cling to something for a while and maybe someone will find you." If her hands twisted together on her lap told him anything, it was something that terrified her. "But I would be so frightened I wouldn't be able to breathe if...something went wrong."

A good thing the navy will never take women on its ships. "Do you always think of the worst thing that could happen? You don't seem to be that sort of...woman."

"No. Actually, my...mother would always tell me to have my head out of the clouds, thinking about the little things that made me happy."

"Yes?"

Maria rubbed at her face, a sudden itch rising beneath her left cheek. "Each winter, my aunt would knit me a new pair of mittens. Sometimes, she even asked me what color yarn she should use." It was often the only present for her on Christmas Day, bundled in tissue paper and shoved into her hands as she was sent to her room to peel away the wrapping and butcher's twine. But they were always warm, she thought, her fingers tensing in her lap and worn leather gloves. Maybe I should have learned to knit some of my own. "And, when my father was still traveling the world, every few months or so, he would send me something. Something small wrapped in a cloth or piece of fabric from wherever he was, in brown paper with some strange stamp marked with letters I didn't know, tied up with string."

"Your little treasures, I assume?" Over the years, his children had collected so many toys: dolls and cuddly animals, miniature trains and wooden blocks, paints and markers and colored pencils and paper. He still remembered all those years ago, Agathe— No. Their mother had tugged a little furry bear, bow-tie and all, from Louisa's hands, tucking it into Brigitta's arms for the first evening as she struggled to sleep in a proper bed of her own. Oh, how quickly the tears had followed, forgotten when the next morning dawned. After all, there were another two or three toys for her to hug to her chest the following night.

Sometimes, Maria still remembered them. They were nothing like the bric-a-brac that lined the shelves in her father's apartment, at least mostly. Most often, a postcard—blank on the back, usually a lovely painting on the front; sometimes, a little flag she didn't recognize or an embroidered cloth that must have meant something to him, certainly to whomever sat for she now knew must have been hours with a needle and thread, painting a tiny picture with embroidery floss and fabric. Once or twice a little blank journal, a note demanding her to keep a diary until the next time he was in Vienna. Was her father—so much older than her classmates'—wondering what little Viennese schoolgirls had in their heads? Worrying? Or hoping he wouldn't be ashamed?

It didn't matter, they were all gone, now, her half filled diaries the worst to see vanish. It was only the little set of painted wooden dolls she had managed to keep through the years, they were so tiny and easy to hide amongst her clothes just like her mother's church scarf, a set so much smaller than the one her father had in his own apartment. Banners and flags...well, those usually disappeared in a matter of days, probably sold by her uncle to a local collector. At least he didn't care anything for the worn books tucked beneath her bed. "They...they were, I couldn't keep them after..." "You don't need it anymore, girl, you're too old for toys." "But Father sent it to—" A slap against her backside, his palm lingering a little longer than needed for a brief punishment. And a little pinch before she squirmed away from him, arms clutched across her belly as he bent down, his face just a few inches from hers, his breath laden with coffee and cigarettes. "Girls like you don't need children's toys."

"Fräulein?" Georg's deep voice pulled her back to Salzburg and the winter air nipping at her skin. "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head again. "No, but why do you keep asking me so many questions?"

I don't understand, Maria, that's all. It sounds as though you were terribly unhappy as a child, but your eyes still light up in a moment, like it doesn't matter anymore. Please don't stop. You're distracting me, you're giving me what I need. "Didn't you just ask me as many?" he managed after a second. But you say whatever comes to your mind, and I'll ignore any question I can't stand to answer.

"About what you already talked about, not your family and everything that's in the past."

"Then I'll let you tell me the rest at your leisure, Fräulein." There was another flare of red on her cheeks, her hands knitted ever more tightly at her waist. You know what I just asked of you, Maria, don't pretend you don't.

"Won't...won't you tell me about the world you saw instead?"

"Will that make you happy?"

Maria nodded. "Why else would I be here?"

"As you will."

Leaning back on his hands, Georg let his mind wander through the past and happier times...Australia and bright blue waves along the coast, shining and brilliant even from the darker water farther out to sea. The arid sand and stones of the Holy Land under control of the Ottomans, a flurry of sounds and smells and tastes and tongues he didn't quite understand. A handful of European languages were of no use, unless one of the merchants in the bazaar had spent time in northern or central Africa and spoke the most battered French he had ever heard in the quest to sell a pouch of the most fragrant spices or dried herbs. There had even been a moment to visit the Jordan River, taking the time to scoop up a dozen bottles of the holy river's water. Seven had been used for the children's baptisms; one he had handed to the priest as he read Agathe the last rites, a final hope and prayer sent up to God, a final plea for mercy; the last four he had hurled into the fire in his study only a week later, shards of glass and cork scattered across the rug for the maids to find in the morning. Sometimes, he hated himself for that, but more often, he despised God instead. (But with the delicate lace scarf she had no doubt settled on her hair during mass just this morning, now lightly knotted over the thicker one around her neck—meant to actually do something—Maria didn't need to know that.)

He lingered in the Indian Ocean—open and sometimes violent as the crew escaped the worst of the storms heading to test the eastern lands they had just left behind, monsoons and gales with no mercy—then the coast of southern Africa, the water again crystal blue and clear, and if the ship he was on was able to draw closer to shore, Georg knew he would have been able to see the corals and fish swimming between their stalks. And finally the Atlantic, the cold water choppier as a few icebergs chased the frigate from the Antarctic through the frigid waves. Though the Strait of Gibraltar, past Spain and Europe to the north, Morocco and Africa to the south, back to his beloved Mediterranean.

Georg had to stop, there. It was too close, now, to both the beginning and the end. The great war lain only a month or two in the future, resentments in southeastern Europe simmering in the aftermath of the second Balkan war. But somehow, life had continued as it had always been, though a heavy fog of worry clung to every person with open eyes, the stench filling up the corridors and halls of Salzburg. Yet it had all vanished one evening, catching her dark eyes across that crowded ballroom: vibrant and fresh, something new and almost pure...and she belonged to the past, now. And not here, never here.

"...sounds lovely, Georg."

He nearly jumped again, crashing back into the clutter behind the Mirabell Palace on a cold winter's day, back to the chatter of a tiny girl who seemed unable to think before she spoke. "Hmm?" At least she was so wrapped up in her own thoughts, Maria must not have realized he had been gone.

"The ocean, when you describe it like that." She sniffed, hoping it wasn't the start of a cold; they always seemed to last so long, or maybe she was just always impatient to be well again. "You're right, you know, I've never seen it. I've hardly seen anything larger than a stream."

"And you won't see much more in Salzburg. But that shouldn't surprise you, Maria: you came for the mountains, not the sea."

"They are lovely, you can't pretend they aren't."

"You don't..." The rest of the sentence died on his tongue: "You don't know what lovely means."

I can't, he thought, turning his eyes to the rose bushes and brambles laden with snow. I can't let you do anything else, Maria. But the fine curve of her jaw, the gentle bump at the end of her nose—a remnant of some childhood accident?—the golden hair he remembered tumbling over her shoulder the other times they had met, and those bright blue eyes...Can you forgive me for thinking that, love, if it's only—

"Don't tell me I can't!"

"I wasn't about to—"

"It's so much of what you've said to me already."

Already? You really don't think about what you're about to say. "It wasn't, but never mind. Though I suppose there are a few lakes around here I could find for you, if you'd like that." Not even a year ago, he had often watched the dawn rising over the lake behind the villa, a few of the migrating birds risking a dip into the water for a mouthful of the fish the gamekeeper occasionally restocked when one too many vanished into the sky.

Another smile from Maria. "Oh, that would be wonderful, but I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"Why do you think it would?"

"Because you must have something else to do."

"Things to do and places to go, you mean?"

"I would hope so."

"Well then, Fräulein, consider yourself lucky to still have some strange ideas about life."

Maria's eyes dropped back to her lap, gloved fingers and hands squirming in her lap anew. I thought you were unhappy, but why does it sound like it's so much more than that? I might know a little about that, too. Another breeze against her cheek cut through her thoughts—and brought her gaze up to the sun already dipping toward the horizon. There must be a few hours of afternoon to go, but what time is it? Oh, it had to be later than when she usually left, the crowds she had become used to already dispersed and vanishing as the winter chill was finally too much.

"I'm sorry, Georg," Maria said softly, opening and then refastening the top button of her jacket just at the base of her throat. She couldn't quite face the street without it. "I have to go."

"After only two hours? After you were so eager to be here?"

"Yes, but I still have everything to prepare for tomorrow."

"That classroom you keep going on about and students who could be your younger siblings?"

"I still have their maths papers to— Why do you keep saying things like that?"

He swallowed a quiet laugh. "Because..."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure, if I'm honest, Maria." He knew, Georg knew perfectly well as he tugged his gloves tight down around his wrists. With the sun falling to the west across a clear Austrian winter sky, the cold would only grow deeper and harsher, maybe leaving an ache in his knee where he had twisted it decades earlier as he slipped in a puddle beneath a leaking pipe. (The ocean refusing to be held back by the steel cage wandering beneath its waves?) But, he knew. She was always so elegant even from the moment we met, a poised woman in every way. And now there's you...A girl so gangly and uncertain, almost willing to shout what's upsetting—

"So stop!"

"Does it matter that much to you?"

"Yes. Just please don't ask me why." "A girl like you..." And his eyes so often following her across the room, as though he fancied no one noticed his wandering gaze. Maria shivered, now twisting her hands in her skirt. You're going to follow me wherever I go, Uncle Josef, won't you? Her stomach was churning again—she had to close her eyes, but it was only his face there again, so she opened them again, almost gasping in the cold air. "Please?"

"I won't say a word about it next week, if that will make you happier." Georg stood, slapping the snow away from the backside of his coat before he offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

"Yes..." She must have finally seen it, reaching for his gloved palm almost hesitantly, but offering no resistance as he almost yanked her to her feet, nearly crushing her against his chest once again. She peered up at him, her mouth open for a deep breath, and those eyes so wide. "Next week?"

"You said you're here every Sunday."

"Well, yes, but I didn't think about...that."

His other hand found the curve of her back, not pulling her any closer to him, just holding her where she was. "And why do you think I wouldn't be happy to enjoy another Sunday afternoon like this?"

"I don't know, but—"

"Because I certainly think you would." He couldn't resist any longer, his palm pulling her a little closer, not quite right against his body, but near enough he could hear her breaths coming faster and faster. Would you be as warm as I remember—no. You have to stay here, just as I have to have her stay in Aigen. I can't have you there. "So I'll see you next Sunday?"

Still staring at his chest, Maria nodded. She almost needed her hand against him to keep her upright for second, at least until he drew her closer, his mouth almost against her ear, warm and damp. "That's not good enough. Yes or no?"

"Yes." There was the red in her cheeks again; she had nearly shouted it in his face.

"Good. So until then, all the best, Maria." He turned away from her, back along the path they had walked...was it an hour or two before? Other footsteps had certainly mussed the ones they had left, and as he cringed at the grinding beneath his shoes, Georg shoved his hand into his pocket, finally finding the cigarette and lighter he had been craving ever since he found her beyond the gates. How is it I can't quite get rid of you, or even know if...? A gentle parting of his mouth, a quick click of the wheel on the lighter that finally brought a gentle warmth to his gloved hands. Christ, the burn was delicious—but savoring it was interrupted by a flurry of steps behind him, faster than he thought she could walk. Or run?

"Georg—"

"What is it now?" he snapped, spinning around, back to her.

The knot at the back of her head was beginning to fray, loosened by her rush through the dry air, or maybe just the pins shifting as the hours passed; Maria felt the weight moving to and fro against her neck more than ever, threatening to come apart with all the pins lost in the pebbles. At least I don't have to worry about it much longer, she thought as she seized the loosest and shoved it back into her bun. "That's not much of a goodbye—" A cloud of smoke drifted across her face, just like all those years ago. She coughed as she squinted against the sting. "At least for..."

"For friends?" She nodded. "We might not be strangers, Maria, but we're barely acquaintances, not friends. At least for now."

"Now?"

"Don't you have someplace to be and things to do?" She nodded again. There was something so powerful in the way he spoke, as though he was used to being in command: accustomed to demanding obedience. "I told you I'll see you next week. And that's all you need to know."

This time, Maria didn't follow him, instead tightening her arms around her torso against the cold. I don't understand, she thought as his figure shrank away, the grey smoke trailing in the air. Everything was so wonderful, today, why are you suddenly so cold? She sank onto another of the benches along the path, not bothering to brush away the dusting of snow, just wincing at the cold against her backside. What is it you don't want to face? Will you be happier next week? She sighed as she clumsily tugged one of the top pins from her bun, struggling to find it with her fingers encased in gloves, lifting her still loosening hair before she shoved it back, almost scraping her scalp as she often did.

I don't think I can be too upset with you, though. I didn't want to answer all the questions you asked me, either, and I didn't think I was wrong for that. But I can't help wondering where you're going and what you're going to do. If you're retired from the navy, what do you do now? That can't be too hard to answer, can it? Oh, I don't know, I really don't. I might have been angry if he wouldn't stop asking after my family.

Maria sat for another few minutes, tightening the woolen scarf around her neck as she struggled not to touch the lace one atop it. I don't think I want to face him right now, it will be nicer to remember this afternoon the way it was until now. And, maybe...next week will be different? Next week...Even with Georg's sudden surliness, it was something to look forward to.

The walk home through the streets and market squares—far emptier than usual, as they always were on a Sunday—was a daze for Maria, the last hours still turning over in her mind as she shivered when a new breeze bit at her cheeks. She had to remember every moment of this early afternoon, yet another time wishing she had a good friend—a sister, even!—to whisper everything to, as though it had to be a secret, like it was something a little bit forbidden. Almost wicked. The way he had loomed so large in her mind this week...maybe it was.

"Whatever would Mother say?" she murmured, sniffing nose began to run again. She refused to rub it away against her jacket sleeve, though if she finally sneezed into the dry winter air against her itchy coat, there might not be a choice. "I don't think she would be very happy, she wasn't happy when I left Vienna on my own, even if I was already done with college!" She could almost hear them sparring back and forth, talking about Georg, just as they often had as she grew older under her uncle's care and she protested and whined about how he handled her.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, not really."

"Maybe, but it—he's something new in the world. Aren't I allowed to want that now?"

"You've always liked the idea of adventure, child, but don't forget who you are, and where you come from."

"I won't—"

"And what would your uncle think? Not much if you get yourself in trouble."

"Well, that's not my fault," Maria hissed, finally rubbing her nose with a gloved hand. "I haven't done anything foolish!" Another turn around a corner into a new lane, just a few more blocks from the boarding house and...Maria let out a deep breath. "But you would tell me I should have done more yesterday, I know you would."

"You see, Maria. You won't have me to look after you—"

She stumbled, almost falling onto her face on the street...in daylight, this time! What would he say? Or Uncle Josef? Oh, I need to stop asking myself that, I haven't even seen him since I left Vienna. What was that on her cheek, a bit of dirt from her palm? She smeared it away—then there was another, and another.

It was a few more raindrops, now, gentle as they plopped on her forehead. "But it's so clear," Maria murmured, wiping one out of her eyes. "How is it raining?" Another landed on the bridge of her nose, dripping over the bump that had been there since she was ten or eleven, another gift from her uncle, one of her first slaps across her face when her aunt hadn't been about to beg him to stop. "Who else is going to look after you if you're always running about—"

"Stop telling me what to do!" The words tumbled out of her mouth before she even had a chance to clasp her hand across her lips. And with another few raindrops, Maria tucked herself into a little nook, just avoiding the start of a sudden deluge. It was a curtain of rain suddenly falling from the sky, a shop door she didn't recognize suddenly her harbor in a storm she hadn't quite expected. Everything was suddenly grey, but just over the skyline, it was somehow still blue. Bright and brilliant...

"Well, at least it isn't snow," she whispered as she ripped her mother's lace scarf from around her neck. Stuffing it in her pocket might leave it with more wrinkles than she liked—maybe that tear she feared—but at least it wouldn't be sodden by the time she got home, and she feared washing it more than anything. "But if it isn't snow, at least everything won't be dirty when it finally dries out."

Every time the rain lessened and Maria prepared herself to take a first step back into the street, another fresh downpour broke from the sky. "I hope you made it home before all of this began, Georg. I don't think it would be very nice to be so cold and drenched all at once." She clutched her arms even tighter around her stomach.

I still not sure I completely understand, Johanna, Maria thought as another peal of rain fell from the eaves above her. You said he asked me because my mother and father weren't around for him to ask, but...why would—

Was it a sudden clap of thunder, Maria wondered, drawing her heavy scarf tighter, just chewing at the tip of her thumb. "I'm not scared of a thunderstorm," she said. "I don't think I have to be afraid of anything here—"

"I won't say a word about it next week, if that will make you happier." Next week…? Oh, but you can't have meant that, Johanna, you can't! But...why did you bother finally trimming your hair? Mother has been nagging you over doing that for years—that someone else could always do it better for you if you gave them time—and you knew you were going to tie it all back anyway...The red was back in her cheeks, Maria could feel the burn. "But this can't be happening to me," Maria murmured, biting harder at her thumb than ever. "It just happens in places far away—or horribly, at least for...girls like me. I know you would be the first person to tell me that, Uncle Josef."

The sun was breaking through the rain, the drops falling slower and slower. In a few months, it would bring a wash of steam and damp from the soaked street, a dozen foul smells coming up from the between the stones and from the sewers as well; but for now, Maria only wondered how many times she would almost slip along the way. It had to be freezing already.

But...you're not here, she reminded herself, though she still kept herself tucked into the storefront that had kept her dry for the last few minutes. You're not here to tell me what to think, what to do...She smiled around her hand. Or who to see. And you'll never know unless I tell you, so what does it matter? And he's ever so mysterious anyway, I don't think you would ever understand.

A/N: In case it isn't obvious, I've never been to Salzburg or Austria, so I'm very reliant on internet research for this. Suspension of disbelief, please, might revise descriptions later.

The background music for this chapter is "Tuileries" from the orchestral arrangement of Pictures At an Exhibition. Again, it feels very much like the light and the dark chasing after one another.