AN: I have never written for this movie before. I wanted to try my hand at a piece, though, so that's what this is. It's AU and does not include the Ausschluss. If I write anything in the future, I'll never promise to be historically accurate or entirely canon compliant. I take a lot of liberties when I write things. I do this for the enjoyment of it, and I share it in case you might want to enjoy it, as well.
I own nothing from the Sound of Music or anything/anyone related to it. This is just a work of fiction for entertainment value.
I hope you enjoy! If you do, please consider leaving a comment or review to let me know!
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The sunlight spilled in through the windows. Georg would have left the drapes closed, insisting that Maria sleep as late as she wished, if he were to wake before her and leave their bed, but she had quickly asked him to eschew that practice in the mornings.
She liked waking with the sunlight entering the room to greet her. It was like waking to immediately see God's promise for a new day.
It was the promise of something new and wonderful.
In every day, after all, there was an element of something new and wonderful. Maria had always felt that, deep in her chest. When she was very young, and life had sometimes seemed so suffocatingly cruel, she'd often survived some of her hardest moments by telling herself that new and wonderful things awaited her each day, and each day was a step toward a future that was brighter than she could even imagine.
Even when hidden behind the clouds, after all, the sun did rise every single day. It was God's promise that there was always something wonderful coming.
Of course, for years, Maria thought those wonderful days would be days spent serving God in the convent. She'd imagined that, there, she would find that beautiful, wonderful, life that she'd felt that God was promising her was coming. She imagined, at times, that she would be of service to those around her, finding her meaning and purpose in serving others as a nun.
The life that Maria had imagined was very different than the life she lived, now. This life that she lived now, was still so very new to her that, at times, it seemed as though it might only be a dream—a wonderful dream.
The life she had been given was new, exciting, wonderful…and so full of promise.
Maria smiled to herself when she woke to see the sunlight spilling in through the windows. She stretched in bed, letting her arm run over the soft sheets where Georg had slept. The sheets were cool. He'd left them some time ago, but she hadn't woken at all. The indention on his pillow, where he'd laid his head, was still there. Alone, and less embarrassed, then, by giving into her flights of fancy, than she might have been with any kind of audience, Maria moved to rest her face where his had been. She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent.
For a moment, she indulged simply in the moment, enjoying the scent of her husband and the man she loved with every fiber of her being. Her throat and her chest ached, even now, just to think of him and how truly grateful she was to simply be his wife and to share his life—their life, now.
She had never imagined that this life, with a husband that she adored so very much, could have possibly been part of that life that God had held in store for her. Even more than that, she never would have dared to dream that she might be blessed to have a husband who loved her so very much, even when she hardly felt like she deserved it at all.
And, yet, no matter how undeserving she might feel at times, Georg always made her feel worthy and loved. He called her his greatest treasure and, honestly, she was starting to believe him.
Maria nuzzled her face once more against Georg's pillow and, then, she sat up in bed. Immediately, her world swam slightly and her stomach felt well and truly unsettled. She pressed her eyes closed and ran her fingers through her hair, reminding herself to breathe in and out with focus and intention—the breathing, she knew, could help calm things.
This wasn't the first morning that she'd woken this way. The first morning that she'd woken this way, she'd been entirely unprepared for the strange feeling that was slowly becoming something normal and expected. That first morning, she'd practically leapt out of bed, so excited for another day of the life that had been given to her, that she could hardly stand to wait long enough to properly dress and get downstairs to find her family.
When she'd sprang from the bed, her world had spun, and it had also gone quite black. She hadn't stopped herself from falling, but mercifully, she hadn't been hurt beyond a few bruises. She'd been so embarrassed by the whole thing, that she'd fabricated a story about it, rather than confess the truth. When she'd gotten down to breakfast, and found that her entire family—something she was thankful, constantly, to say that she had now—had heard the commotion, she'd told them that she'd simply been clumsy and tripped, unsure how to explain, even to herself, why that explanation felt less humiliating than saying that she'd fainted upon rising from her bed.
Her stomach had been unsettled, too, for days. She had contributed it all to too much excitement. It was the only obvious explanation that she had for herself. She was overwhelmed in the greatest way possible. She was, after all, a new bride to a man that she loved dearly, and a brand-new mother to seven children that she couldn't imagine possibly being able to love more, no matter their circumstances.
Maria had never actually been intoxicated before, but she was fully aware that intoxication could cause one to experience certain digestive upsets. She half felt as though she were suffering from some sort of emotional intoxication, and she'd heard of such things being possible in stories that she'd read—so it wasn't impossible to believe that she might be suffering from something like that.
It was a bit embarrassing, perhaps, to admit that she was so overwhelmed—even if it was with happiness—that her body seemed to be struggling to cope with all of her feelings. For that reason, she hadn't chosen to speak to Georg about it.
He had, some days ago, mentioned the possibility of looking for a governess. Maria knew that his intention, in bringing up the thought, was only to try to relieve any burdens that she may be carrying, and was possibly in response to something that he may have noticed but failed to bring up to her, as surely as she'd failed to discuss things with him, but just hearing the suggestion had practically made her head swim as she'd felt the blood rush from her face.
She'd changed the subject, not quite finding the words to tell Georg how very much she didn't care for the idea—not because she thought that her disagreeing with him would upset him but, rather, because she'd found that she needed a little time to process her own feelings.
She felt, at the very least, more prepared to have the conversation with Georg now, whenever he might broach the topic again.
Still, she worried that he might reject her argument against a governess, were he to find out that she was so very out of control of herself and still struggling to get her own feelings truly regulated, to the point that it was causing her physical symptoms.
A deep breath more, and Maria was feeling much steadier than she had. She threw off the covers and eased out of bed, carefully rising to her feet with her hand on the mattress, ready to quickly sit if the world should spin around her. Pleased to find that she felt quite in control of her head and her feet, she willed her stomach—which was still quite insistent on churning uncomfortably—to settle.
She wanted Georg to see that she could handle everything. She wanted him to be absolutely confident in her abilities as a wife and a mother.
More than anything—she never wanted him to regret that choice that he'd made to marry her.
Maria dressed in a simple, light blue dress. At this hour, most of the house was likely to have risen. They would hold breakfast for her, despite the fact that she'd insisted that wasn't necessary, especially since Georg refused to wake her when she was sleeping for far too long.
Feeling that she was presentable and composed enough, Maria made her way to the dining room. As she expected, Georg was there, already, drinking coffee and reading. As soon as he noticed her, he got to his feet and greeted her with a smile that immediately warmed her entire body and made her already unsettled stomach flutter with butterflies.
"You look beautiful, my love," he said, reaching her. He squeezed her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She sank into him, sighing with the contentment of being close to him once more.
"I've hardly done anything special, Georg," Maria offered. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her more tightly against him. She closed her eyes and dared to nuzzle his body with her cheek in the same way she'd nuzzled his pillow earlier. She swallowed against the lump that formed in her throat.
Of course—all these feelings must be coming from being overwhelmed. And who could possibly blame her, when she felt enough love for a lifetime each and every time that Georg took her in his arms?
"You hardly need to do a thing at all to take my breath away," Georg responded.
She pulled away from him enough to smile at him.
"When you say things like that—it's as if I can hardly breathe, and my stomach is nothing but butterflies."
Georg laughed quietly.
"Well…we'd better feed the butterflies, at least, and the children, too, perhaps," Georg said, giving her something a mischievous smile. "The children have already inquired about breakfast once. Sit—I'll tell Frau Schmidt we're ready to be served."
"Oh—Georg...I'm not very hungry," Maria said. "I'll just…keep you and the children company while you eat."
"Nonsense," Georg said, dismissing Maria quite entirely. He left her to sit, as he'd suggested, and he went quickly to rouse the children for breakfast and to let Frau Schmidt know that they were ready to eat.
Maria did sit, but it was with the same feeling of unease that she'd had at this table for the past few days. Ignoring all decorum, she rested her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. She closed her eyes and practiced the steady inhaling and exhaling that had helped her find some semblance of relief during the past few days.
She straightened herself up, however, the moment that she heard the heavy footsteps of the children approaching. She put on her best smile for them, and for their father, who had come back into the dining room. She accepted good morning kisses from each of them, and she greeted them each by name, taking a moment to ask at least one personal question to each of them and, most importantly, to listen to their response.
By the time she'd made the rounds with the questions, breakfast was being served.
The smell of the meal was, honestly, nearly intolerable. Maria wasn't opposed to any of the food on offer—at least not on principle—but she simply couldn't imagine putting it in her mouth, chewing it, and attempting to swallow it. The very thought of it, in fact, made her body convulse slightly, and she feared that she might make quite the spectacle of herself.
"None for me, thank you," she said, when a plate was offered to her.
Frau Schmidt froze and looked to Georg for some instruction on what to do. Maria felt a flush of frustration at the fact that, as a married woman, she was expected not to even be in control of whether or not she ate. Georg, she knew, didn't wish to be all-controlling, but he did have some very rigid ideas. He wouldn't scold her too much for being contrary—having told her, at least once, that it was one of the things that he loved about her…that she would challenge him—but she didn't truly want to be contrary over small things, thus making it less impactful when she truly had something to say.
Georg looked at her and frowned.
"You must eat," he said.
"Bread and butter, then," Maria offered. "Oh—and tea, if it's not too much to ask? I really don't care for coffee this morning."
She knew better than to say she'd get what she wanted, herself. She'd done that before and found that Frau Schmidt had been quite offended and, perhaps, genuinely hurt. Maria wouldn't dream of hurting the woman's feelings on purpose, so she would allow her to serve her, even when it wasn't necessary.
"You've hardly eaten a thing beyond bread for days," Georg said. "Something far more substantial will do you well. Eat, Maria."
There was a hint of concern to Georg's tone. The children picked up on it, because Maria saw eight stern brows looking at her from absolutely every part of the table. The children created their own chorus of insistence that she eat the breakfast that she could hardly stand to smell, and she allowed the plate to be placed in front of her, so that there was no need for explanation or further insistence.
Satisfied that she took the plate, everyone returned to their own food.
Maria put on her best smile, and she carefully ate her bread and butter—really the only thing that seemed to settle her stomach at all—and sipped her tea, and she was careful to keep the conversation lively so that nobody focused on the fact that the rest of her breakfast remained untouched.
That was—until the end of the meal, when the children began to ask if they could be excused.
"Your mother hasn't finished," Georg said.
"Oh, Georg—let them go," Maria insisted.
"Maria—I do wish you would…eat more than what you've had," Georg said.
"And I do wish that you wouldn't insist that I take food that I've already said that I don't care to eat," Maria countered.
Half their children giggled. The other half looked concerned.
"What's wrong, Mother?" Liesl asked. "Aren't you well?"
"You're not ill, are you, Mother?" Brigitta asked.
"Ill?" Kurt asked. He'd been one of the gigglers, before, but now he was concerned at the prospect that Maria might be unwell.
And, slowly, Maria sensed an absolute unease descending over each and every last member of her happy family. It half made her want to cry, and half made her want to part company with the bread and tea that, to this point, she'd managed to conquer.
Georg stood up rather suddenly.
Maria saw the look on his face—it was a look that made her heart feel like it stopped. She felt slightly dizzy once more.
"Children—you may be dismissed," Georg said.
There was a rumble of questions and arguments against their dismissal. Maria heard no individual argument clearly, and she was quite sure that Georg hadn't heard any of them, either. For the moment, he wasn't listening.
"We will join you shortly," he reiterated. "You are dismissed."
When the rumble continued, Georg's frustration mixed with whatever emotion was clearly showing on his face—something to which she was nervous to try to give a name, but which made her chest tighten.
"Go!" He said, leaving no room for argument.
"Georg…" Maria said, meaning to argue on behalf of the children, who left the room very quickly at his final command.
She started to stand, but he was already beside her, his hand coming to put just enough weight on her shoulder that it was quite clear that he intended for her to stay put. He pulled out the chair closest to hers, angling it so that he could face her. He took her hand in his left hand and squeezed it, brushing his right hand across her face.
"Something has not been quite right for days. Tell me what's wrong," he said.
It wasn't stern, and it wasn't scolding. In fact, it was so absolutely affectionate, that Maria felt her eyes prickle with tears that immediately spilled over her bottom lashes, just to hear him speak to her with so much love and concern. He wiped away the few stray tears, delicately, with the pads of his fingers.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I believe—I may be…overwhelmed. Everything is just so wonderful. Maybe…I'm simply having a hard time adjusting. My head swims and, once, I fainted dead away for what I imagine must have been a few moments."
"You fainted?" Georg interrupted; his tone harsh.
"I'm fine," Maria said quickly, wishing to soothe the expression on his face. "I wasn't hurt, and I haven't fainted again, but the dizziness isn't uncommon, and my stomach is quite unsettled. My head is practically swimming—I feel like I can barely hold onto a thought before another one has taken its place."
His expression softened. Everything about him softened. She saw his shoulders relax. She saw his jaw relax. The only thing that seemed to move rather stiffly, suddenly, was his Adam's apple as he swallowed.
He gave her a soft, teasing smile, and she felt a rush of affection that distracted her from everything else for a moment.
"More than usual," Maria said, practically feeling as if she could read his mind. "It's harder than usual to hold onto what I'm thinking."
"I'm sure it is," Georg said. "And—I'm sure it will be."
She felt her stomach tighten slightly. She felt the unease of feeling like there was a joke that she wasn't understanding—something where she had missed the punchline. Still, he suddenly looked so relaxed and unconcerned that she practically felt the tension dissolve from her own body.
"Oh…" She sighed out, touching her own head, half-feeling like she needed to hold it up with her hands, where her neck might suddenly, somehow, be too tired and weak to do its job. "I sleep soundly…far later than I should. And, still, I'm tired. Georg…do you think there's something wrong?"
"Oh—I think there's definitely something there," Georg said. He raised an eyebrow. A hint of a smile still turned up his lips, and he didn't try to force it away.
"Should I—tell the children? I don't want them to worry, but…"
He laughed, then, and touched her chin. He tipped her face slightly and leaned toward her. She was a bit confused by his reaction, but she wouldn't turn down his kiss. She hungered for his affection far more than she hungered for food—even for the bread and butter that, admittedly, made her stomach grumble with desire to eat, whereas everything else seemed to turn it.
Maria closed her eyes and sank into the kiss. She might have asked if they should kiss like this at the breakfast table, when they might be disturbed at any moment, but she had the feeling that they wouldn't be disturbed. She also had no desire to cut short the delicious kiss they shared by even a fraction of a second.
She groaned when he broke the kiss, aching for more.
His smile renewed and grew, this time. His cheeks pinkened slightly, and Maria felt her own face burn warm. She was smiling. She couldn't help it. No matter how poorly she might feel, she couldn't help but smile at him when he looked at her like that.
"We will tell the children," Georg said. "It'll hardly be kept a secret, at any rate, and they'll want to know. They'll want to help, as much as they can."
"Help?" Maria said. "But…with what?"
She shook her head, confused and frustrated. She didn't understand. There was clearly something that Georg understood, but she didn't.
He smiled again.
"My darling, Maria," he said. "Sometimes, I forget that…you're so young, and…so much of the world is still quite new to you."
"Well…I…" Maria stammered, unsure how to respond.
He kissed her again, to stop her. This kiss was softer, and sweeter, and lasted just long enough to steal her words and calm some of her concerns.
"Do you really not know?" Georg asked.
"Know what?" Maria asked, her heart beginning to pound in anticipation of something, though she may not know quite what.
"You have been a wonderful mother of seven, Maria," Georg said. "And—I imagine that you will be no less skilled at mothering eight."
"Eight?" Maria asked.
Even as she said it, though, realization came crashing down around her, along with a warm sensation that flooded her cheeks.
"Oh…oh…how could I not have known?" She asked.
"It's not unusual for us to be blind to things," Georg said. "You have had a great deal to adjust to in a short period of time."
"Well…I mean…certainly, I imagined we might," Maria said, hardly able to find the words that she wanted and to form them into some statement that said exactly what she hoped they would. "But…it's so soon."
Georg laughed quietly.
"Quite soon," he agreed. "Of course…I can't say that my experience would leave me to believe that it would take us some great deal of time to add another to our numbers."
Maria felt her cheeks grow warm.
"Are you angry?" She asked.
"Have I given you any indication that I might be?" He asked, looking surprised and amused.
"But…eight…so soon…we've only just married, and…we hadn't really talked about it," Maria said.
"The assumption was there," Georg said. "I believe we both knew it was possible."
"But so soon…" Maria said.
"Maybe I should ask you if you're unhappy," Georg said.
Maria stopped for a moment. She thought about it. She let her mind truly ponder what they were discussing. Instinctively, she dropped her hand and pressed it to her stomach, understanding now why it had been so very disagreeable as of late.
The children called her "Mother." Even Liesl, who was not too much younger than Maria, honestly, called her "Mother." It was a beautiful word. It was a word so full of love—a word so full of hope and promise. Maria treasured hearing it. It made her heart ache with happiness each and every time one of them said it.
She had never imagined herself a mother, before, when she was sure that her life would be one that was spent in the convent. Now, she couldn't bear to think of her life without this most precious of roles.
Certainly, she'd imagined that she and Georg might have children born from their love. Perhaps, even, she'd imagined that they might have seven or more additional children, should God will it. After all, there was something of a precedence. And, when she'd considered that, she'd never been truly bothered by it. She loved Georg. She loved the children. She was confident that love was something she had in abundance—it was truly infinite.
The love that she and Georg shared was precious and infinite, as well.
And, now, that love had created a life. The first, perhaps, of many.
Maria was going to be a mother, again—though this was the first time that she would go about it in quite this way.
Georg caught her face and tipped it toward him again. She hadn't even realized that she'd taken to somewhat analyzing the floor beyond him.
"Maria?" He asked.
Everything he could possibly ask was wrapped up in her name. It was all there in the sound of his voice.
"I love you," Maria said.
He relaxed a little. She saw his throat bob—somewhat stiff, again, like before. He swallowed twice more in rapid succession.
"And I, you," he assured her. "But—I'm afraid that you haven't quite answered my question. Are you…happy, Maria?"
"I couldn't possibly be happier," Maria said, knowing that she meant the answer entirely. "Are you certain that…"
"Ecstatic," Georg said, quickly enough that Maria couldn't even finish the question.
"It can hardly be exciting to you," Maria said.
"I have a great many feelings, Maria. All of them I will share with you in due time. I promise. For now, know that I am very in love with you. I am very…very happy. And I'm every bit as excited as I have ever been…or will ever be, for that matter, no matter how many times we share this same revelation."
"Really?" Maria asked.
"I promise," Georg said. He leaned once more and kissed her. This one was long, and sweet, and tender. Maria savored it, and she was thankful that, upon breaking the kiss, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to her feet, squeezing her. She squeezed him back, rubbing her face against him and inhaling his scent.
She felt safe and calm in his arms. She felt like everything in the world was right, and would always be so, as long as they had each other.
Better than right, everything in the world was wonderful.
This new day—this new life—was so much more than she'd ever dreamed it could be, and it only seemed to get better with every breath. She didn't know what she'd done to deserve so much of God's kindness, but she was thankful for it with every beat of her heart.
She smiled to herself as she listened to the beating of Georg's heart and felt his hands rubbing over her back, soothing away any lingering tension she might feel.
"Come," Georg said, catching her arms and pushing her from him, just enough. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled at her. "We'll have to tell the children."
"How do you think they'll react?" Maria asked.
"I hardly think the older ones will be surprised," Georg said. "And I believe the younger ones will be excited. No matter how they react, though, we know that…this is a blessing. The first of our union."
"A new life," Maria said.
"Very new," Georg agreed. "And, yet, already loved and treasured immensely."