ETA: Apologies, this seems to have been a little confusing, especially since the entire story isn't published. This chapter is just dropping back into the frame narrative and I promise, everything that Maria and Georg are discussing has been mentioned in some way before, just a really long time ago. The woes of knowing your own story inside and out.

Chapter 16: A New Morning

Vermont, June 1939

Georg shifted beneath the sheet, away from the Saturday morning sunlight beginning to stream through the window and closer to his wife. There wasn't too much light yet—it couldn't be that far into the morning—but it was already struggling to rouse him. He could almost hear the birds chirping, singing, Maria would probably say. "You always do see the best in the world," he murmured as he slipped his fingers through her hair. "Perhaps I should be envious." Like most nights, she had curled herself into his chest; but even compared to a month ago, her growing stomach was now an inevitable barrier between them. "At least I can feel him, sometimes," he murmured. "But I'm more eager to see you with him in your arms, to see us melded together in his face."

Now his hand wandered down along the back of her neck—around to the front and across her collarbone. I know you do like it so short just it around your ears, but it is lovely the longer it is. Though I suppose you won't ever allow it to grow so long as it was years ago. He smiled for a moment. I have no doubt my child would make short work of it then. He couldn't stop his hand, slowly drifting down between her breasts. You probably shouldn't, really, now. You aren't a girl anymore. I might have teased you over it for so long, but you've never been a girl in all the time you've been mine. He pressed a brief kiss against her hair, her head so far bent down against his bare skin, there was no hope to reach her face. But I suppose I had enough chances to do that last evening when we were certain it was only the newest child who might trouble us.

He had tugged her atop him last night as sleep failed them both, all their clothes somehow vanishing in a moment. He had to resist pulling her down against him, hard and almost rough, his need for her had bloomed so suddenly. Like it always has, he thought, his finger running along her jaw. He almost grinned, seeing and feel her take a deep breath just at his light touch. Not much longer, darling. Her belly might not yet be fully rounded, the baby still tucked up under her ribs rather like Liesl and Friedrich had been for Agathe, but there was already too much of her. Far too much to drag her down against him, his arms so tight around her back, she could never get away if she even wanted to leave. Someday, he would have her buried beneath him again. His breath started at the back of his throat, the vision of her moaning beneath him still seared into his memory since that first night he had her stripped bare. But it wouldn't be much longer until his newest child shifted, its descent beginning little by little despite the months the doctor had estimated until he or she finally arrived. You might still enjoy it now, but it won't be too long until you'll turn away from my touch, he'll be too insistent. He frowned, just watching his fingers slide down across her skin. "I think it has to be that way, our child is probably too stubborn for anything else." Georg let himself smile again. "Not if he's the result of you and me."

Him, Georg told himself again, his hand wandering across the swell of her belly, skin still bare and tacky. I'll love another little girl, Maria, but I still can't help but hope for a new son. He continued his exploration little by little, her body sliding closer to his. I don't even need to see you anymore, darling, I can see you in my dreams—have done so for years.

They hadn't bothered searching for their clothes in the dark, just listening to their breathing calm instead, Maria sounding more exhausted than ever. He had learned to be gentle with her over the last months, even when he felt her desperation for him in her harsher breathing. There had been no reason to dress for bed again, not even Gretl knocked on their door these days. Did Liesl talk to you? he wondered, his hand slipping along her back, the curve a little gentler than before. But I don't suppose I'll complain all that much about not holding you, especially once the baby has made his appearance. Down along her backside, plumper than it had been even a year ago, still nothing like when he first had a chance to feel her body against his. Or at least not too much. In the midst of the night as he gently rolled her off of him after they were both sated, her little sighs were louder than ever as her bottom hit their old, lumpy mattress and the bedclothes that had been laundered a little less often in the last weeks. She had never had any hand in helping Frau Schmidt apart from looking after the children at first, and the housekeeper would have been mortified to have the new Baroness von Trapp's hands dirtied with running the household after their second wedding, though Frau Schmidt had never known about the first, or at least he hoped she hadn't. Really, any of the staff who had managed the details of their past life in Austria. It would be a little too humiliating, darling, at least for me.

He stared down at his wife again, her face drifting up along his breastbone. I suppose you always have something other than the washing up on your mind these days, darling. Her hand had knotted in his hair so quickly once she could breathe last night, almost as though she might want him to take her again almost instantaneously. He had needed a moment to pull her fingers away, though they were almost instantly raking through the curling hair across his chest. "Go to sleep, darling," he murmured against her ear, a quick kiss against her cheek as well. It would be a long time before he made love to her again, Georg knew, at least with the reckless abandon he had embraced these last years. Whenever she was truly ready for him again, he would certainly take her with an eagerness that would leave her breathless, exhausted, and almost certainly sick again in a matter of months.

"I know it wouldn't be right," he said as he squinted in the faint light, "leaving you with my next child so soon. And perhaps not, it did take ever so long..." He kissed the top of her head again. "Despite our best efforts. I know you're still sometimes embarrassed by the thought of the children hearing. But they'll understand someday."

Her silhouette was appearing as the first rays of the sun replaced the weaker moonlight and the little drops from the stars. Even in the last few weeks, the curves of her hips had blossomed, Georg supposed it was some combination of her increased appetite and her bones already preparing to open for their child. "I know I couldn't resist her, even when the last baby was still in the crib in our bedroom, before she allowed me to hire the nurse." His hand rose up along her spine. "I'm sure that wasn't quite right either. But perhaps it was the same as it is with you, trying to make up for the time we didn't have." I don't want to wake you, love. Even having you in my arms is more than I deserve.

Georg squinted through the growing sunlight, desperate to see her despite his intimate knowledge of her body. Every mark and scar, every little change this pregnancy had wrought in her. The skin around her nipples had already darkened, though he had quickly learned to avoid her breasts as the baby grew. God, I can't quite ever see enough of you.

Her breathing was low, whistling against his skin, and her face was tucked right into his neck now, her hand just against his chest. I know you like to hold me against you. Almost as much as I want to hold you. Her lengthening hair had fallen down around her face, a little tangled after...He smiled, almost laughing a little. Even after this long, you are still a little embarrassed at how carried away we are, sometimes. But at least only when you're thinking back on it. He pulled his hand from her back, shoving the hair back from her face. I think you're too...preoccupied to remember to be embarrassed when I'm making love to you.

Just beside him, Maria coughed, and Georg jolted at the noise. It had frustrated her, he knew, how he hardly let her leave his sight the moment they both understood there was no other answer to her discomfort, the next von Trapp child. Still frustrated her. "You can't be ill now, darling."

He drew her a little closer, her swelling belly clapping gently against his stomach though it was still hardly anything to notice; the little girls still forgot occasionally, embracing her somewhat viciously right where the baby was growing, as high as they could reach. In the year since they had left Austria, he had noticed his own waist shrinking somewhat, though perhaps it wasn't the worst thing to happen. "And I'm certainly not like you, darling, or how you were all those years ago."

It was the walk to the camp these days, really, there was always enough to go around the table, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But there wasn't much in the kitchen they didn't need—no cakes like the ones the cook back in Austria took such pride in, no little luxuries. Some days, there was hardly enough coffee for the smallest pot, though Maria didn't care for it much now, complaining a month or two ago that it was suddenly horrible. ("To be expected, love," he had murmured as she pushed her cup away.) Georg refused to allow it for the younger children; they were already wild enough now that their schooldays were behind them for the year, but both Liesl and Friedrich had a taste for it by now. Liesl was the same as her mother, filling it with milk and sugar whenever either was affordable. It seemed another lifetime, now, how they had lived in Austria. There was always a café, a restaurant, somewhere to go even in the middle of a little seaside town.

Georg laughed to himself. Well, it wasn't a seaside town, you made sure I remembered that. Just a lake, though I know you thought it was a little more, you had hardly seen more than a pond in a Vienna park. He pulled her even closer, no longer mindful of the pain she would complain about regarding her breasts. If you aren't awake, you can't say anything, darling—

A low grown slipped from her mouth and he loosened his arm. At least I didn't wake you just now, I realize that. A few minutes before, he had had to creep from their bed to relieve himself, the pressure in his bladder too strong to stay in her arms any longer. It was the only reason he wore his night trousers right now, too desperate to touch her again to bother pulling them off. In the privacy of their own bedroom—larger than the one in their small Salzburg flat for that short time and hardly the size of the washroom attached to their bedroom in the Aigen villa—there was no worry, both of them always eager to seek comfort in the other's naked body. Nothing left to hide, is there, darling, he thought, twisting a finger into her hair. You do always love to do that yourself. Or let me do that to you, even after you cut it all off.

God, he couldn't think about it these days, simply loving to watch his newest child grow beneath her skin, happier to live now rather than all those years ago. She hummed against him, one of her legs suddenly shoved between his nighttime trousers. He had hated leaving her for even those short minutes. "You really will be the death of me."

Georg ran a finger along her nose, the bump he remembered from those first months long gone. He had to draw a long breath, still almost sick when he remembered what she told him how it vanished. And everything else. He couldn't resist a gentle touch against one of her breasts again. I know you wouldn't say it yourself, but I know why you were there. And I can't ever let that go, darling, no matter how you claim everything is fine, now—

Her face moved into his chest again, a hand tightening around his bare back as she pushed herself into him harder than ever. She must have forgotten the baby between them, her breasts already growing heavy with his milk; even now, her nightgown was occasionally stained with the first drops. She hadn't understood what was happening, not imagining that it might start already. Her eyes opened—she blinked once, then twice, still half dazed in the dawning morning. "I missed you."

His eyes narrowed as he pulled her closer and drew the sheet higher up to their shoulders. "You missed me?"

She nodded before she shoved her face back into his chest. "Where were you?"

"Here."

Her hands slid along his back; if he had thought her skin was still sticky from the night before, Georg couldn't deny the sweat slick under her hands. "I felt you leave just now," she whispered.

"Is it your turn to ask that? Do you always know where I am?"

"I want to now." He felt a shuddering breath rise in her chest. "More than ever."

His eyes narrowed as he squinted harder in the odd mixture of moon and starlight as the sunlight swallowed them both whole. "What's wrong?"

Her fingers dug into his skin, almost like she was afraid she would wake up to an empty bed again. "I—I'm frightened."

"Frightened?"

She tried to nod, more scraping her face against the curled hair across his chest. "It just always—feels there's something new every day, and I don't know what to do."

Georg eased her away from him, carefully rolling her onto her back. She might still be hidden beneath the sheet, but he could picture every scar he had ever located on her skin, and there were many to remember. Sometimes, I think I know you better than you know yourself, darling. "I don't ever leave you if I have can avoid it, now more than ever. I was just in the washroom. You find yourself there frequently, don't you?"

Her mouth opened, suddenly hidden behind the back of her palm to hide the yawn. "Yes—"

"What is it worrying you now?" He caught her hand as it fell away, his fingers twisted through hers in a moment. "You haven't been like this since you got used to the idea, not really." He pressed them to his mouth, nearly smiling as he felt her shiver. I knew you would. "I know you were worried once you realized—"

"You don't need to tell me that you understood before I did." She sighed. "Again."

"I haven't for months."

"Days, Georg."

"A little detail, love, I did understand before you—"

"And without saying anything."

"It was only an hour or so. You were a little busy being sick before I could tell you how foolish I had been, not realizing it earlier."

"I know." She pushed her head back into the pillow, a deep breath forcing her breasts up beneath the white wrinkled sheet. Georg tried not to think about how scratchy it was, though nothing compared to the furnished flat they had been letting when he and Maria finally realized what all those nights together had created. "It's not going away," she murmured, her words half slurred, as though she was ready to fall asleep again.

I know I shouldn't keep you up the way I sometimes do, Georg thought, running his fingers through her hair again. The children don't trouble us at night anymore. Though I suppose if they did, it wouldn't matter. I wouldn't let you look after them the way you did, then, the way I know you still want to—

"Georg?"

He almost jumped, crashing into the present anew, to his wife buried in their bed beside him. He let out a little sigh. "There's a lot that won't be—"

"Not until I have your baby in my arms?"

"Perhaps. And I'm sure I'll never forget the first moment I see it. But what is it?"

She tugged an arm from beneath the sheet, resting it atop her stomach as more of her breast peeked from their bedding. "It's still burning, all down the front of my stomach. Not as bad as yesterday—well, I hardly feel it right now—but it won't quite stop."

Georg sighed again, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he twisted his fingers tighter in her still growing hair. "I think you're right, darling." He didn't need to see her to know there was fear in her eyes. "You won't be happy when it—"

"Please don't say that."

"Wouldn't you rather have the truth from me?" Maria nodded, rolling back toward him, her belly pulling her around despite how tightly it still held their child. Even though there was still a bit of the sheet separating him from her naked body, Georg felt the rush of pleasure in simply touching his wife. If there had finally been more of her when they exchanged wedding vows a second time, he could hardly find the bottom of her ribcage, now, their child's demanding hunger driving her own. "He's still right up there. If we hadn't enjoyed one another so often, I don't think you would have even thought about it, you still complain over a little bleeding occasionally." Georg had to close his eyes for a moment, the vision of her beneath him suddenly overwhelming, knotted together with every bit of her he could reach: happy in the memory but more worried than he would let himself admit. And she was blushing now, he knew that as well. "I know you've felt him kicking at you, finally."

"I still don't know if it is—him, sometimes, or just my stomach upsetting me." Maria hadn't quite known what to expect, only that at some point, she would feel him moving. It had begun with a strange discomfort one day as she cut some fruit as a treat for Marta and Gretl while they waited for their father to return home for dinner, her right hand trembling so badly, she nicked her thumb with the tip of the knife. Though she was still occasionally sick in the afternoon, something about it was different: lower and gentler than the nausea that had haunted her for months. It was only when it transformed into a sharp slap striking from the inside of her belly that she realized.

"You will soon. Kurt hardly stopped moving once he started."

Maria giggled—then clamped her mouth closed as a gentle burp rose into the back of her mouth. Even though it was easier to bear now that she knew it was him beginning to twist and fidget, her stomach still hadn't fully settled. "Somehow, I think I expected to hear that."

"Yes. But if you're feeling it already when he's still under—"

"Did—she?" They still spoke about Georg's first wife often, but in moments like these...Something about it felt so strange, almost as though she was doing something wrong, being with him. But I know it's not.

Georg sighed, rubbing his hand along her back again, shuddering against the hum of her breath against his chest. I wish I could feel you properly again, the way you prefer. But I know I would just hurt you if I tried. "Yes. But not until Louisa was almost ready to make her appearance." His hand ceased its exploration, his fingers just digging into her back instead. There was even a slightly thicker layer of fat along her spine, thank God, the bumps of the bones more difficult to find. And I'll never hurt you again, darling, I can't imagine doing it. I'd throw myself in the lake I walk past each day before I did. "I know you would look after the children for me," he whispered into her hair.

She began to turn her face up, her cheek scraping against his chest hair and the top of her head bumped into his chin before she wrenched herself back to gaze at him. "What?"

"Don't worry about it." He kissed her again. You would hate to hear it, but it would be true. "You really haven't had any good times with this."

Maria pulled back from him, finally peering up. "I know you said something—"

"And it isn't anything."

"Will it get worse?"

Georg nodded, just stroking his hand along her hair again. "I'm sorry, but I think it will. He'll have to come down eventually, and you're still barely showing as it is." He bit back a laugh, though it had to still rumble against his wife's chest. "The women haven't begun bothering you about the baby every Sunday when you insist we all go to church, it's still mostly Marta and Gretl asking after him." Or at least they haven't said anything to your face.

She splayed a hand across his chest, pushing herself away from him, the shape of her body a little less clear beneath the sheet. There still wasn't quite enough sunlight. "Insist?"

"Don't leave me, love—"

"It's not all that much to ask—"

"You can talk to God on your own—"

"It's not the same!" she whispered as she pressed her face back into his skin and dug her fingers into his shoulder. "You know it isn't."

"I hear you murmuring your prayers day and night, don't think I don't."

"I'm sure—and I know it would still do you some good to say some of your own."

"I do, darling." He pulled her hard against him again, trying to ignore her fresh hiss as he crushed her against him anew. "You know what I've had to ask forgiveness for, more than I wish you did."

Maria just lay against him for a moment, ignoring the pain in her breasts and smiling against his skin when another little foot or hand smacked the inside of her womb. Then again, a little to her left...and the smile began to fade. I know I thought once that everything is a little too wonderful to worry about much, but...It really isn't that long until...She gulped down another breath of air, her heart suddenly pounding. "Georg?"

"Hmm?"

"You won't leave me when it happens, will you?"

He glanced down at her, finally letting her go long enough to pull her eyes up to him, his hand curled around her jaw. "When what happens?"

"When the baby comes. I told you I'm frightened. I know we have seven children and I had science classes in college, but I don't know...anything, really." Sometimes, it seemed a lifetime ago, learning how babies came to be. She blushed for a moment in the grey light, remembering how often she and Georg made love before it was apparent that another von Trapp child was waiting to be born. Before they had to leave Austria, it sometimes felt it was every night she wasn't bleeding. And she knew how babies came into the world: pushed through her hips, possibly as she screamed with the pain like Eve must have as her child finally had his first taste of chilly autumn air. "You can't leave me, I couldn't stand it."

"Whatever would make you think I would? Surely the doctor doesn't want that for you?"

Maria hadn't told him everything, all the little comments Dr. Vaughn made as he examined her, his hands sometimes a little rougher than she wished they were. Never cruel, but not always nice. At some of her appointments, he didn't even try to keep his thoughts quiet, clearly aware her English was still poor and perhaps thinking her that dim. Mutterings over Huns, how no man needed eight children in 1939, his eyes raking over her and mumbling something more that she could quite understand before he reached for...she still didn't know what it was called, pressing the cold metal disc to her chest and then to her belly. My heartbeat and the baby's, when it's loud enough. Georg had been able to come with her twice before finding himself the foreman at one of the local electrification engineering camps, and Dr. Vaughn had been kinder. Or at least he had grumbled more quietly. Even the nurse who looked after her until he stepped into the little exam room was gentler, seeing Georg at her side. He had almost bullied his way into the room with her, refusing the demands of the doctor's wife to stay outside.

It has to be like that when he comes, she thought, shivering as his hand ran along her back again. "No, but I know a few of the women at church and what they've told me, even though they have to talk to me like a child." At least whenever they bothered to talk to her at all; if Maria was honest, she always wanted to hurry the children home rather than talk with women she didn't quite know. It was something she still didn't understand, how Americans always seemed to want to talk about anything and everything. The first Sunday at their local church, the women had stolen her from Georg and the children, slowly asking her this and that, endless questions over the small herd of children with them and gentle inquiries as to how she had found herself with such a family. She couldn't imagine telling them everything. I don't think anyone would believe it, or they would think so horribly of you, they wouldn't understand.

"Darling?"

"But only when I ask them," Maria finished with a gasp. The past is in the past, she told herself, we have each other now. I know only God is good enough to forgive and forget. "Edith still can't quite believe that it's only three or so months even though George drove me into town to see the doctor for my last appointment."

"I was grateful he was so kind."

Their friends were still few and far between, many of their acquaintances in the local town still wary of a German-speaking family as the news grew darker, not caring that they were Austrian even if some people in Europe thought they ought to be German. But Edith and George, the neighbors immediately down the road...Somehow, they were different.

In the earliest days, there was really nothing in the farmhouse, only the furniture that had been left when the previous owners were forced to turn it over to the bank, not even able to afford a wagon or truck to take anything but what was on their backs. Maria didn't think about it too often; after all, her family had crossed the Atlantic with almost nothing. The clothes they were wearing and what truly treasured possessions could fit into rucksacks for Georg, herself, and the older children. (Marta and Gretl had often asked after their stuffed toys despite her insisting they were safe with their brothers and sisters.)

Those first days, Edith had been the only one to greet them, traipsing a half mile or so along the rural road many a day to insist they accept a cake she had baked that morning. To take a basket of eggs she had collected the day before, claiming their hens were a little too productive for her family with only three children, their son only living with them because he hadn't earned enough money at the electrification camp to afford a room of his own in town. I don't think I believe you, but we do thank you for your kindness. And then there was George, happy to drive her into town over the last month when it was time to see the doctor if she was too tired to walk, or have Ethan—their eldest, and only son—do so when he was at work. George was still a little amazed by a family with seven children and expecting another. Curious over how the little girls had fared in school, wondering if an afternoon with his own two daughters would help them with their English, the girls far younger than their son. "God really did bless us," she whispered against her husband's neck, "them being so close."

Georg laughed again, pressing a kiss to her neck, hearing the immediate draw of breath against his ear. He slid a little closer to her. "You always do bring it back to Him. Lucky for you the priest still does most of the nonsense in Latin like they did...then. If it was all in English, I don't think you would care to go."

"You don't have to say it again."

Georg turned her face up, kissing her again. "Forgive me."

"Yes." She shuddered in his arms, already feeling his body hardening against her. I wondered once if it would always be like this, but I don't know if I believed you when you said it would. "But so many of the women there, their babies have been born in the hospital, and at least one said the doctor wouldn't let her husband be with her."

Georg shook his head, another deep breath filling his nose with the smell of her hair. The same smell of cheap shampoo powder he remembered from the start. "No, love. He will be born right here."* There was no question of it being any other way, really. Not just his promise to never leave her again, but there was no money for the hospital. In the last few weeks, money had been more consistent as he barked fresh orders at the men on the lines of the camp, ignoring the scowls whenever his accented English couldn't quite be hidden. And just in time, really: Maria was often too tired to travel about the new landscape where they had found themselves, so their concerts had happily come to an end. The children missed the singing—hearing the applause of American audiences—but Georg was more than happy to see them out of the spotlight and living a quiet life again. But it left money tighter than ever. We couldn't afford it, love, even if it's what you wanted. Sometimes, I wonder if I'll have to catch him myself. The job Friedrich had taken for the summer a couple of weeks ago helped, but a hospital bed might be too much of a strain.

"I know I shouldn't worry too much, you've said all the other children were born at home."

He nodded, his chin grazing the rat's nest of hair forming on the pillow. "Every one of them. And I was there, apart from Liesl. There was still too much of the navy to demolish."

She nestled her face back into his bare chest. "Sometimes I forget the life you had. I can hardly remember a moment of that time."

He tightened his arm around her back again. "I forget sometimes, love, that you don't know it. You were never were a girl, even that winter evening."

She sighed, twisting one arm from between them to tug the thin sheet higher. It must have been white once, but someday before they stepped over the threshold, it had begun to take on a grey tinge, probably in the last few years when Edith and George said the house had begun to fall into disrepair. But it was clean. And along with the quilt now folded at their feet for the summer, it kept them warm at night even with the stains long soaked into the cotton. "You still talk about that sometimes—"

"If you think you know what the women say in our little church, I know what the men say."

Maria never quite understood the words that sometimes went from one of their fellow churchgoers to another. Even with her college certificate, her English was still fairly poor; he and the elder children were fine on their own—particularly Liesl and Friedrich, whether it was because of school or family—but everyone else needed someone to find the words in German. The first Sunday they attended, Maria's breathing had suddenly softened, the Latin liturgy she remembered from Nonnberg and her own childhood beginning. He wouldn't admit it to her, but Georg would still rather spend a Sunday morning curled up with her despite the lumps in their mattress, or listening to the littlest girls talk on and on about the brother or sister they were waiting to meet.

The men at their small parish church were far less vicious than the women might be, Georg had come to understand, rather like the women at many a Viennese party could become when the champagne had gone to their heads. The quiet words he heard murmured through the crowd were difficult enough for him to understand. His English was tarnished over the years since his first wife died, though improved these days, but the vowels were twisted in a way that was still almost impossible to understand.

"How young she is."

"Seven children!" Georg saw the man shake his head looking down the pew. "And—I don't know if your wife told you—she's expecting the next one."

"Hazel told me almost as soon as they started coming, it's the first of her own, apparently."

"That much older than her...How you get a girl like that—"

"But you'll be here?"

His arm finally loosening from around her body, Georg wound his fingers through her hair once more. When it was fresh and clean, he could almost feel how long it had been all those years ago, slipping through his fingers through strands of hair that never seemed to end. Irresistible. "How many times have I told I'll never leave you again?"

She was smiling again, he felt her lips moving against his skin. "More often than I can remember."

These were some of the happiest moments in his life, now, nestled in his bed with his wife. Arms and legs tangled together, feeling his need for her grow minute by minute until he somehow buried himself in her. But all her little fears these last few months—her anxieties over the remaining weeks, her worries over being along when she finally had to give birth to their son, how now she always asked what would happen, having no real idea herself—they always stoked his memories. How he peered down at her all those years ago, hardly able to see her in the same dim morning light that hid her from him now. Her body sated and exhausted by him as he threw on his underwear, his trousers and shirt and jacket, not troubling with a tie so early in the morning, not even bothering with any of the clean clothes hanging in the wardrobe, for once content with the wrinkled clothing he had viciously tossed aside.

Just for you, Maria. I want to rip myself away, sometimes, I don't think I deserve you now. And it wasn't for you, then, just for me. It wasn't right, but I didn't quite see that, love. I would have changed everything, then, if I knew..."I've never forgotten, darling, what happened—after that."

Her body tightened, one of her legs curling around his calf. "Please don't say anything else. I don't think about it that much anymore."

"I'm sorry, I don't want to make you think about it. But you wouldn't have gone there if—"

She pressed a rough kiss to his mouth, silencing him instantly. "Don't," she murmured after a second. "I love you, isn't that enough, now?"

He let his fingers run down her neck, along her collarbone and around the lower curve of her breast—instantly down to her waist when she squirmed against him as she often did when her breasts were tender. "Some days."

"No, every day!"

"You're far too kind to me, darling. I'll never quite forgive myself—"

"Shh, Georg." Maria grabbed for his hand, tugging it from the side of her waist to stomach, the half closer to the mattress, though she didn't let him touch the skin around her navel. It was still too tender, but on the curve dipping into the greying sheet, she had to have him feel it. She never knew when the little thumps would come—where exactly they would be—only that she craved them, now that they mostly transformed from yet another moment of miserable nausea to the clear hit of a little boy's hand or foot. "That's him moving again. He's yours, Georg."

"Yes." The little bumps against Maria's belly were already moving: higher and closer to her ribs, now twisting around to her other side. He lifted his hand rather than following his son to avoid the patch of skin and muscles that hurt. It was only a moment before there was another swat against their palms. "I never thought I would feel this again."

"You didn't?" She winced, biting down hard on her lip. "He's always moving this time of day—and don't tell me anything silly, I know there's nothing we can do about him."

Georg shook his head, his hand running lower to follow the little kicks. "You remember how I was when we first met, Maria. I know we don't talk about that now, but it did happen. And I never thought I would marry again—at least not for love—let alone have a wife excited to have my child beating against her belly."

"It hasn't been that bad."

"You just told me about the burning on your stomach, why should I believe you now?"

"I'm your wife—you just said it—so shouldn't you?"

Georg left the little movements of his son. I know he'll have blue eyes, he thought as his hand moved to the swell of her backside—not missing how she shivered as he clenched at one of her buttocks, unable to resist. You really wear your heart on your sleeve, Maria. He breathed deep, closing his eyes for a second. He had long ago memorized how it felt and looked to make love to Maria: all the little sounds she tried to bite down, even if it was just her rough gasps. "I'll miss you, these next few months. I think you'll be too uncomfortable, now."

I'll miss feeling that close to you, darling. She squirmed a little closer to him, and for once, he hoped she didn't feel how hard his body had become. The morning had bloomed more and more as they lay entwined together, the proper sunlight burning through the last of the grey dawn. He pushed the sheet away from her torso, needing to see her again. His memories weren't enough—and she grabbed his hand. You know where it will be soon.

"We have to get up, we both know that. The younger children will be wanting breakfast."

"Liesl can look after them—"

"No, she shouldn't have to. I know she's almost twenty, but they aren't her children."

"One last time, darling," he whispered against her ear. He didn't miss her shiver against him. "You know I'm a selfish man."

"You aren't—"

"I am, Maria. You would be married to God if I hadn't stolen you away."

"But I came back to you." She rasped every word, her eyes darting down his body briefly, gaze almost ashamed when it came back to his face. I don't think it's right, so late, but I can't quite stop myself, and I think at least now, you can't either .

"You did, darling, but I don't know if I could have left you there to be unhappy. I would have found my way back to you."

Maria shook her head against him, feeling how tense his muscles were beneath his skin. "I wouldn't have been unhappy, Georg—or at least I wasn't so unhappy to be there the day you took me back—"

"The day I left you there, you mean."

"I didn't ask to stay—and I was happy to be there, at least most of the time, but...Oh, you would have haunted me the rest of my life."

"Do you think I would have been free of you?" Maria shook her head again. "One more time, before you can't stand me touching you?"

"I won't ever—"

"Yes, you will, Maria. You've already—"

She already had her arms around his neck, fingers laced through his hair—her face buried in his neck, not resisting his hands around her widening hips lifting her atop him. One leg on either side of him, opening her to him as he slid the old sheet fully aside to expose every inch of her pale body to the still early morning sunlight as he pushed her upright. His pajama trousers surely hid nothing from her, not when he felt his breathing hasten and saw her own respond in kind, already seeing her glassy eyes as she nodded. "Yes."

Liesl frowned, one more egg in the pan of boiling water rattling as another little crack ran along its shell. She wasn't very good at this, she had learned that quite quickly over the last weeks. Mother's nausea had mostly vanished, but now she was more tired than ill, sometimes in bed long after Father had started his morning walk to the electrification camp. Although their house and the houses along the road were close enough to town that the wires had long ago made an appearance, much farther out into the countryside, life was still lived according to the sun with only candles or oil lamps to break through the night.

Another egg popped under the water. She hated cooking eggs for breakfast like this, but there wasn't much else to do. Father might have finally found a job to support them all as the last of the money from...home finally faded and their concerts came to an end, but there wasn't anything extra to go around, especially with the baby only a few months away. She glanced off to the far side of the kitchen: Louisa and Brigitta were readying endless slices of bread for a pan to go into the oven to toast, ready to spread with the margarine they had instead of butter, now. Since Mother had become so tired, either she or Louisa had taken over mixing the color into the fat—always in a smaller corner of the kitchen, away from the rest of their siblings—the initial white or grey color leaving all of them less happy to have it on their food.

Liesl glanced up at the clock hanging on the opposite wall, one of the many legacies of the family who had loved and left this house. Long enough, she decided, dipping the only large spoon they had into the still simmering water and catching two—no, three!—and dropping them into her bowl filled with cold water...well, as cold as it could be from the tap. Everything had been frigid when they first moved into this old house that still sometimes sounded that it was about to fall down around them. (It didn't really worry her, no one here seemed to know what an earthquake was.)

They would probably be grey inside, Liesl knew that even as she stirred them about. Her spoon had already cracked a few of them though she had tried so many times these past weeks to learn to be careful. It wasn't something they were used to, the sort of breakfasts Americans seemed to enjoy. Kurt especially complained about missing the old breakfast table, meat and cheese more normal, the nicer bread bought from the bakery in town rather than the bland white loaves they could afford—

A little hand tugged on her skirt and Liesl looked down. Dark hair and dark eyes peering up at her, though perhaps it was wrong to think of Marta as little any longer. She would be ten in just a few days. "Liesl?" she whispered.

"Yes?" Her eyes darting across the kitchen, she found Gretl running across the stained tile floor, still loving the little yellow dress Father had bought for her when they were in New York, the dress she had worn for so long as journeyed from Italy to the United States so tight as she grew, there was no denying the need for a new one any longer. Friedrich and Kurt desperately needed new clothes as well, growing as she supposed boys did—she sighed to herself—but both were old enough to make do with what they had without saying much. Mother had let out the seems as well she could.

"Where are Mother and Father?"

"Yes!" Gretl shouted, her thin voice still almost loud enough to wake the saints, sometimes.

Brigitta spun back to them, slices of bread frozen in her hands and her long braid slapping around to the front of her chest. "She's not feeling well, you know that."

Gretl glanced to Brigitta, then back to Liesl, a hand in her darkening curls, pushing them out of her face; she spat them from her mouth often enough. As their journey from Austria went on, Father had thought they were stained somehow: the air on the ship laden with smoke and grease, something like that. But even with thorough washings, it was just turning to brown.They'll be just like Mother's, even if our mother now is so different."Is it the baby?"

She nodded and turned back to the bowl of eggs. I should be grateful to have them, I know, but I don't want to peel all of these.** Especially since they've come from Ethan's parents, and they don't seem to care that we're hardly out of Europe—not like anyone else here I know—

"Liesl?"

"Hmm?"

"You didn't say." Gretl slammed her hands on her hips; she often did now when she wanted someone's attention, especially when Father was at the camp and Mother was busy or tired.

Liesl reached for an egg in the bowl. Her thumb almost went through the shell, so she decided they needed to sit a few minutes longer. "I think so."

"But why would the baby want to make Mother unwell?"

Marta nodded, her hair still unkempt from her night's sleep in the tiny bed she shared with Gretl. It was more a pallet than a bed, still on the floor with the sheets just tucked around the thin mattress found in the attic. "That's not very nice of...whatever they name him."

"And for so long!"

Louisa ran across the kitchen, curling hair loose over her shoulders as she grabbed their youngest sister's hand and pulled her to the worn counter where she and Brigitta were still their racks. "You'll understand when you're older."

Gretl stomped her foot, bring Louisa's attention back to her and away from breakfast. "You always say things like that!"

"It's true—"

"So did Liesl and Friedrich say the same things to you?" Marta asked. She already had one of the eggs in her hands, the shells somehow already in large pieces, though she wasn't quite tall enough to put it back in the bowl to clean the shards away in the tepid water. Liesl simply gave her another one in exchange for the mostly peeled one after she ran to drop the shards in the bin.

"Liesl!" Gretl shouted again.

"No—"

"Yes!" It was a joint chorus across the room, Gretl suddenly stopping as she tore a slice of bread in half, neither Louisa or Brigitta reaching down to stop her little hands.

Liesl took a deep breath. "Can't we just finish making breakfast? The boys will want it when they're back in from tidying the garden and I'm sure Mother especially won't want to be bothered with cooking it. You know how tired she's been."

Father, Friedrich, and Kurt had all planted a garden when the last frost was gone, though the book Father had purchased had called to wait another week or so. The Farmer's Almanac, she thought it was, though the sound of it was so strange, she couldn't think it was quite right. There wasn't much outside to pick now, just a few early herbs. The tomatoes and peppers were already sprouting, and the one berry plant Mother had insisted Father purchase was already full of unripe fruit. But the peas and squash were already curling up along their poles, something Father must have remembered from the gardener who looked after the little farm behind the villa. And if Ethan was right— She dug her finger into the egg she meant to peel, a piece of white coming away and exposing the yolk. I suppose that one will be mine.

"But where is Father, then?" Gretl said, tugging on her dress just like Marta had a few minutes earlier. "Doesn't he want to be here with us—he'll have to be back at that camp on Monday—"

"He's looking after Mother just how she looks after us. You know he has more than ever since they told us the baby was coming."

Marta frowned as the last pieces of eggshells came away her second egg, a few of them falling to the floor before she could catch them. "But I heard them when we were coming downstairs to help you—"

"And you know to leave them alone!" Louisa snapped from across the room.

At least you didn't leave it to me, Liesl thought, dropping another cleaned egg back into the bowl of water. They've never had that much time to themselves, really, with seven of us. At least once they got back from all that time in Paris—and then they've had to worry over everything while we were coming here.

She took the bowl to the table and sat Marta down at the end to finish with the eggs with Gretl, though she supposed her youngest sister would probably shred the whites more than take off the peel. Or maybe not, she told herself as she pulled the remnants of the previous evening's ham from the refrigerator.Really, she's not a little girl anymore. I've been annoyed with Father—and Mother, too—they seem to forget I'm not a child, now. At the board on the counter, she carved the ham into slices as thin as she could manage, still nothing like what they had at the table in Aigen. She hadn't spent much time in the kitchen with their cook, then; well, any, really, Father would never have let her, even if she had wanted to. But sometimes the only knives they had in the drawers mashed rather than sliced—

"Brigitta, it's burning!" Louisa shouted, reaching for one of the worn towels and opening the oven door, a gentle hint of singed bread flooding the small kitchen.

"No, it's not—"

"So why are those turning black?"

"It's the same even when Mother makes it!"

Liesl grinned as she returned to the ham, already reduced to a pile of slices on one of the largest plates she could find in the cupboards. She turned the very end on its side, slicing through the other way, less worried about the ends of her fingers with it flat. If she didn't get to it, Kurt would probably snatch it from the board as a treat ahead of breakfast. Mother wouldn't be happy, she thought, now opening the tin of coffee on the counter. There wasn't that much, but it would be enough for the next few days before she and Mother did the next shop in town. She does worry over you for that, you're always eating if you can. And Father, too, I know.

She sighed. You still look at her the same way you always have, just the same way you looked at...I still don't know how to say it, but how you looked at our first mother. It never changed with her, either. I know you still love her, and we're all just so happy that you and Mother found one another, even if Marta and Gretl don't quite understand everything that happened yet—even Brigitta, really, though I don't think she'll ever admit she doesn't quite know it all. She reached for the percolator, always sat on the back of the counter beside the coffee tin. One, two, three...she added a fourth scoop, just in case Kurt reached for someone else's cup like he had last Saturday, only Father's words stopping him.

Turning on the tap, Liesl filled the pot almost to the top with water. Mother was always better at this; but whenever she was tasked without looking after the pot in the morning, a few coffee grounds always spat onto the scratched white stovetop.

"I'll go," Brigitta said.

"What?"

"Someone knocked on the door," Louisa said. She had one of the table knives in her hand, scraping a few blackened spots from the edges of the bread, now and then shaking her hand fling them onto the floor.

"What?" Liesl dropped the pot on the burner, turning the knob up halfway. At least it wouldn't boil too hard that way. "It's too early—"

"Liesl, it's Ethan!" Brigitta shouted.***

"Ethan?" Gretl said. She was already rushing down the hallway, Marta just a few seconds behind, the last of their eggs abandoned.

Liesl glanced down at her dress, the pot of coffee long forgotten. It was the same from yesterday: there was no reason to choose a new one for a Saturday, it would only add to the washing up she, Louisa, and Brigitta would have to help Mother with on Monday. It wasn't that bad, but maybe not the one she wished she had on. Mother had made them all a few outfits for their concerts initially, long before the baby had begun to exhaust her. They still wore them occasionally, but the rest of their clothes had been acquired from inexpensive stores across New York City and Boston—even Baltimore, once—wherever their tours took them across the east coast, as they called it here.

"Where are you going!" she shouted, finally running after her little sisters. Down the hall—past the worn walls still a little dirty despite Mother's attempts to clean them in the early days—over the carpet Father despised and wanted to rip up when he had the time—to the front door, already open to the morning—

He was handsome, tall with dark brown hair, maybe even taller than Father. Certainly taller than Friedrich, though her oldest brother still complained that he hurt, sometimes, and always seemed to outgrow his trousers in a matter of weeks. The only son of their favorite neighbors down the road—the same who sometimes drove Mother the short way into town when she couldn't manage the walk—he had always had a smile for her since they first met in church.

"Ethan!" she said, both of her hands trembling as she pulled the door farther back. Oh, why now? I haven't even had time to comb my hair this morning, I was too late getting out of bed to look after the little ones and start breakfast. But...

She loved his dark brown eyes—nothing like hers—how he talked of short summer trips to Maine as a child when his parents could afford it, not so much anymore now that money was so tight. Visiting family in Quebec who had accidentally moved across the border ages ago, hearing the little lilts in their English as their words changed in a mass of neighbors who spoke French, though he had told her once as they found one another while the congregation dispersed, it didn't sound anything like what the teacher in school taught them. ("Doesn't anyone learn German here?" she once asked him. "Not after the war.")

But...Ethan. Liesl smiled, pushed her way through her little sisters. At least my brothers are out doing something else, I think Kurt would just make fun of me. "What are you doing here?"

"You're lucky Father isn't down yet, Ethan," Gretl said as she grinned at him. "He wouldn't be happy."

He smiled and rustled one hand through her hair, nudging her back into the front hallway. And looked back up, smiling at her. "I know it's early, but my mother sent me into town and I thought it—"

"Yes, he would be happy, you know he likes Ethan!" Marta said, running outside for a moment. I'm so sorry, Liesl thought for a second, Ethan just looking at her, waiting patiently as he stepped back.

"Marta!" she shouted, and her little sister with her unfurled hair came running back. "You can't go out there like that."

"But—"

"Now it's my chance to tell you that you'll understand when you're older," Brigitta murmured as she pulled the little girls away from the threshold. "Come on, there's still breakfast to finish."

"Not here," Liesl whispered as she hurried through the door, almost slamming it closed behind her. And reaching for Ethan's hand as soon as she could. It was always so warm, and so soft, even though he worked in the same camp Father oversaw.

He didn't protest, just letting her pull him along the front façade of the farmhouse, past the battered beams worn by winter storms and summer winds. It didn't feel quite right, so early in the morning, at least until they were out of sight.

"I couldn't even understand what they were saying, but are they always like that?"

Liesl shook her head, at last dragging him around the corner. There was no door here, only the windows of their bedrooms above. "No, they've just been—I don't know if the word is the same in English, hyperaktiv.

"That sounds right."

She relaxed against the wood, trying to ignore the scratches against her upper arms, the sleeves of her dress too short to hide them. "They've had so much more time on their hands since the school term ended."

Ethan ran his fingers through her hair, twisting the very end around one before he ran it down along her face. "They're just like my younger sisters."

"And Marta and Gretl love them, even if they're only chasing each other around when they have a chance instead of listening to how they talk. And I know my sisters sometimes forget themselves and are shouting nonsense at yours, it seems. Like they were just now."

"They're only young, Liesl."

"Aren't we?"

"Not so much, anymore."

Liesl shivered under his touch, her head falling back against the wall. He really was so lovely: at least his dark hair was just like hers—his nose sharp beneath skin just as pale. She hadn't meant to look for him, that first Sunday at church, simply walking and talking with him as Mother and Father were caught with the local parishioners, their fellow churchgoers less worried over their accents and past than the town itself. After all, they were Catholic as well. They still don't know what to think of us outside of church, she thought as his hand ran along her neck—then vanished. It feels so nice. "Ethan?"

"What is it?"

"Why are you here?"

"Going into town for my mother—"

"No, here," Liesl whispered as she reached for his hand again. She always loved touching him, he always seemed so gentle. And always looked just a little rumpled, his shirt wrinkled like he had worn it one day too long—but he never cared.

"I just came by on the way to see you. You know I'll make the time for that even if I have to leave earlier. I'm not the—mail boy you remember."

"Telegrams." There hadn't been a single telegram since they moved here, only one even when they were in New York. She still sometimes laughed at herself, remembering how she waited for them, always hoping...But that's gone, and I'm glad it is, I know I was so young, then, and...You just said it, Ethan, we're not so young anymore.

"Whatever it was, I won't wait for a reason to see you, even if it was just an errand today." He folded his hand around her cheek, suddenly closer to her—and then his lips were pressed against hers—her arms around his back—but just for a moment. So soft, she almost thought she imagined it.

"Ethan…" It was always so short, these little moments, stolen touches and kisses when none of their parents were looking and likely disapproving—though, really, she was just as old as Mother was. But maybe more important was no little sisters milling about cringe and squeal. And she knew what he was about to say.

"I have to go," he murmured, another kiss against her face—then another, though he didn't linger. "But I'll see you tomorrow?"

Liesl nodded, gasping for breath as she reached for Ethan's hand. "Yes, but can't you stay a little longer?"

He laughed for a second—Liesl couldn't quite miss his chest moving under his shirt. "My mother has family from Maine she's looking after, so she expects me back shortly. She has everything to prepare for them."

Liesl sighed, was certain she was frowning. "Do you really?"

Ethan glanced up, though it was still only the barren wall greeting his dark brown eyes. "Besides, I think your father will be about soon. Your brothers are almost done in the garden, that's a good enough indication of the time."

"Indication? I don't know what that means." So many words still confused her, despite a few years of English in school and the letters from aunts and uncles and distant cousins still living in England.

"Sense," he said softly, a thumb running across her cheekbone. "Or guess, maybe that's easier."

"Oh, probably." She tightened her hand on his.

His eyes darted down to their entwined fingers, back up again so quickly, she wondered if he thought she hadn't noticed.I notice everything about you, Ethan, I can't help it. "He likes me well enough at the camp, but I don't know how he would feel if...he saw me here with you."

"He's seen us talking at church!"

"That's a little different."

"Just like Mother would say." He slid his fingers from hers before she could clench her own tighter, holding onto him for a few more seconds. You can't go quite yet! "But I think Mother doesn't know what to do with the berries when they come in." She was almost tripping over her words, ready to drop back into the German Ethan surely didn't know; no one nearby did, not anything but French, sometimes just the sort he had told her so often was mangled. Even Father knew when people from north of the border were passing through town. "Our old cook knew how to jam nearly everything, but Mother doesn't do that well in the kitchen." She seized his hand again before he could step away. "She tries to with all of us, but she never really learned. I'm sure we'll have extra, will she want—"

"Are you asking to meet my mother?"

Liesl didn't know what to say, just staring at him instead. She could look into his eyes for ages, she'd never known anything quite like it. "I've met her before, and your father has been so nice driving Mother into town when she can't walk—"

"I know, but from how you're talking you want to meet her. Properly." He curled his fingers into her hair again and she leaned into him so quickly...it didn't seem that she had made a choice. "As Liesl, not a neighbor's daughter down the lane. The road, I'm sorry. If I'm used to anything, it's my family up north using that French I don't understand—"

"Yes," Liesl said as she nodded. "I'd like that."

"I would, too." He was almost grinning, now. "But tonight, at the bottom of the drive leading to the road?" She nodded again. "As long as your father won't have my head on Monday, if you vanish for an hour or two—probably for dinner as well, my mother cooks enough for the whole town when we have family visiting!"

"The cook at our home in Austria had more people to worry over every day—"

"And I just, I think—I just asked you, could you come for dinner tonight? Six o'clock, right where I said?"

She nodded, hearing the blood pulsing faster in her ears. "I think so."

"Good." He kissed her cheek again before he at last took a step back. "But I do have to go, now."

He was on the road and fading out of sight far too soon, Liesl shouting at herself not to follow him down the drive. She just crept along the front wall to keep him in sight as long as she could, finally turning the corner to go back to her mother and father and siblings, just like every Saturday morning. At least it won't be that far to town, and I know you walk so fast—

Even with the front door closed, she heard the complaining—her brothers' voices melded with her sisters'. Hopefully they had scrubbed the dirt from beneath their fingernails by now. Walking back along the wall of the house and turning the corner, she didn't want to go back inside quite yet. Ethan's fingers were still on her face—so delicate and gentle, she sometimes couldn't be certain if she felt them or simply imagined them in what always felt like the short seconds they had together.

The front door crashed open, Louisa's face and wild hair leaning out. She always hated being left alone to finish Liesl's tasks whenever she was distracted by Ethan. This morning, at least Brigitta could watch the coffee and the boys could lay the table if they could stop sniping at one another. "Liesl, what are you waiting for?" she hissed.

Despite the burn in her eyes, she couldn't resist peering up into the sky. Why was the sun so far in the east, not even really starting to climb into the sky, almost lingering on the horizon?

"Liesl!"

"Tonight," she whispered. "Just tonight."

* A quick bit of research indicates about half the babies born in the US around this time were still born at home, so this would have been quite normal.

** One of the things we have on the menu at work is deviled eggs, often done in a x2 batch. That's 36 eggs, I always do 40 because the eggs commercially available in this area are not good quality right now. Some are perfect, some are difficult, and some are borderline inedible. So...I hate peeling boiled eggs, it is my personal source of torment.

*** This is an interpretation of my grandmother's experience when my grandfather would come to take her out, apparently at a point when she was back at home. "Velma! Henry's here!" Needless to say, she was embarrassed.

A/N: The next chapter may take some time, I will need to do a lot of research for the outing mentioned a little while ago. Also, I really enjoyed writing this whole thing, but I really liked the second half more.