AN: Here's another piece to this one. There will be at least one more piece to come soon.
I hope you enjoy the chapter! If you do enjoy, please do consider leaving me a comment or review to let me know!
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Maria was the lady of the house and, as such, she needn't run to arrive anywhere—no matter how late she found herself, since she was often late for everything, regardless of her best intentions—and Georg somewhat teasingly reminded her of that often. There was no need for her to come galloping into a room, he teased, breathing like a horse that's been running wild.
When he teased her like that, it always made her feel warm—her face burned, but she enjoyed the sensation. Of course, she was willing to accept that she felt that way simply because everything about Georg made her feel warm and happy—and his teasing always made her heart race in a wonderful way.
On the way to dinner, however, he wouldn't have had to tell her to walk slowly or properly. He would have had no reason to tease her about rushing to try to avoid the tardiness that she couldn't outrun.
She felt tired and drained in a way that made her feel as though she were practically melting. Her entire body felt heavy and, of all its parts, her heart felt the heaviest.
She walked as perfectly slowly and serenely to the dining room as anyone ever had, dragging the sensation of sadness like shackling irons. Outside the door, she paused a moment, gathered herself, and put on the happiest expression she could for the sake of her family.
Everyone was seated at the table. Plates were being served, as Maria entered. Georg stood, and all the children followed suit. Maria had told Georg, already, that this wasn't a practice that she expected, but he enjoyed it, and the children seemed to like it as well, and so they did it regardless of Maria's insistence that she need not be greeted with any such fanfare, if she arrived late to a meal.
And, she had to admit, even to herself, that it did her heart good to see them all look at her with genuine smiles. Her throat ached in response, and she felt like her own smile was a little more real, and a little less of a struggle to wear.
Georg met her, catching her arms, and he immediately pressed a kiss to her forehead, as he was wont to do when she entered a room after him.
"My love," he said, softly—his only words of greeting and, yet, they said so much.
"I'm—sorry I'm late," Maria said. "I lost track of time."
Georg laughed. He was not unaccustomed to hearing her say some variation of that. Sometimes, she was alone when she said it, apologizing only for herself and, sometimes, their children were with her.
Georg followed her to pull out her seat at the table, before taking his own seat again.
"The meal has hardly been served," he said, as a way of saying her tardiness hadn't ruined anything. "And Friedrich was just telling me about a…a very interesting and exciting game. Something with cards. It seems the children have created it, and we're being recruited to play it, this evening, following our after-dinner stroll."
Maria renewed her smile.
"You created the game?" She asked Friedrich.
"I had help," he said.
"We made the cards," Kurt offered.
"I can't wait to play it," Maria said.
"Nor can I," Georg said, catching Maria's eye across the table.
Her heart beat rapidly in her chest just to catch his eye. The slightest raise of his eyebrow and the touch of a smirk at his lips seemed to say everything—not that he hadn't said it to her, with words in the past. Her heart could hear it, now. He was thanking her for this—for bringing him and the children closer together and for making their family a place where, once again, he could play games with his children and spend time with them.
He credited Maria with bringing love back into his home. She assured him that the love had always been there, he just needed a little help accepting it again.
Her cheeks burned warm just to think of it—and to think of all the feelings that had been coursing through her veins all afternoon, as she'd worked at the dresses that nearly made her want to weep, even now.
He hadn't said anything about her dress, and neither had the children.
She dropped her eyes and turned her face, pretending to be distracted by something for a moment. She hoped Georg wouldn't notice. She hoped he would think that she'd just had something that caught her attention—a sight of something, a thought, or an insect, perhaps. She hoped he wouldn't realize that she'd broken eye contact with him on purpose.
When she glanced back at him, though, her face burned again. He was looking at her. Heavens—he was looking at her so intently that it felt as if he could look directly into her soul. She turned her eyes quickly toward Frau Schmidt, as the woman approached her.
"Mistress," Frau Schmidt said, her voice already much softer than Maria recalled it being when she'd first come to the house as a governess, "there is some stew and bread—if you might find it more pleasing?"
Maria felt the back of her throat ache at the kindness in Frau Schmidt's voice and the kindness behind the gesture. Georg, no doubt, had told her to have something ready for Maria—something that was more appealing to her, perhaps, than the dinner in front of everyone else—but Maria also believed that the woman would have chosen to do so, without being told to do so.
"It really isn't necessary to prepare anything special for me," Maria said. "Really—I do appreciate the effort, but…I don't want anyone to go to any trouble."
"It's no trouble at all," Frau Schmidt said, sounding like she meant that.
"It's only—well—it seems like a lot of unnecessary effort to prepare something special for only one person," Maria said. "And I don't want a fuss to be made over me. I can find something…"
"It isn't any trouble," Georg said, interrupting Maria. He spoke loudly, with that sort of booming tone that he reserved for the moments when he seemed to want to make it clear to everyone that he wasn't going to be disputed. Maria jumped, and she noticed that several of the children did, as well. They hadn't expected the volume or the tone.
Georg apparently noticed, as well, because he cleared his throat and straightened the collar of his shirt.
"My apologies," he said, lowering his volume while still, somehow, retaining the tone that suggested that he wasn't leaving this up for discussion. "It isn't any trouble. You shouldn't have to…to rummage through a plate of food in search of something that appeals to your appetite, just to keep yourself and our child fed and well."
Maria tensed and glanced at the children. Their attention was divided between herself and Georg, but every child had an eye on one of them.
Of course, they did. He had mentioned her being well—which, of course, indicated that the opposite possibility was that she would be "unwell,"—and that was something that never failed to get the attention of every one of their children.
They had lost their mother. Gretl was the only one who had no clear memory of her mother, though she swore that she retained some memories, and Maria encouraged her to talk about them and be happy with them, even though Maria was sure they were more likely fabrications of her imagination. They were happy thoughts, based on stories that she'd been told by the other children, which she believed to be memories. That belief, however, hurt no one and it made Gretl happy. It gave her some sense of connection to the woman who had given her life. Maria would never do anything except to try to nurture those feelings.
Every one of their children, however, held plenty of feelings about losing their mother, whether they be about the loss, itself, the space left by such a loss, or the effect that it had on their father and their home.
Any mention of Maria's health led to a certain amount of indigestion and emotion among all the children.
Maria gave Georg the best warning look she could across the table. He gave her one in return.
"I am quite well," she said, putting on a smile that she offered to the children.
"And we should like to see that you remain that way," Georg said in the somewhat matter-of-fact tone that usually meant he considered a conversation finished. As if he needed any more bolstering, a chorus rose up from the children in which they agreed with him and rallied around him. Whatever he said, they would agree with, as long as each of them believe that the alternative would cause some failing in Maria's health.
"The stew, Frau Schmidt, I think," Georg said, calmly but with authority. "Bread. At least two slices. A decent offering of butter. Tea. And—are you still craving fruit?"
"Well…I…" Maria started, surprised at the question and the way it was asked.
Georg smiled.
"Whatever fruit we have," he said. "A good selection, if we have it."
"Georg…" Maria protested, trying to at least appear angry with him.
He found it amusing. He laughed, quietly, and he laughed a little louder when Frau Schmidt agreed with him and said it sounded like a delightful idea.
"And…please…a small portion for myself, as well," Georg said. "If my wife is uncomfortable eating something that isn't for the entire table, then I will join her."
"Some for me, too!" Friedrich said quickly and loudly, putting as much authority behind his words as he could.
"Oh—yes! For me, as well!" Liesl said, as though she'd been waiting for the chance to eat more for her dinner.
And, somewhat predictably, the other children chimed in with the same requests. Maria closed her eyes and shook her head, sorry for putting more work on Frau Schmidt—she always felt sorry about putting more work on the household staff—but the woman seemed rather upbeat about the whole thing.
"Are you pleased?" She asked Georg, when Frau Schmidt had left to work toward the rest of her job serving their dinner.
"Immensely," he said, looking every bit as pleased with himself as he professed to be.
"At least eat what you have," Maria said. "There's no reason for everyone's food to go cold while we're waiting."
"We have been waiting on you to bless the meal," he said. "Unless, you would rather that I do the honors?"
Maria smiled at him.
"Would you?" She asked.
"Very well," he agreed. She bowed her head. He did bless the food. He also blessed their family, and Maria noticed that he added in a few lines about blessing her, specifically, and the baby she carried—and leading her not to be unnecessarily contrary where their children were involved.
Maria said nothing about the added lines to his blessing, but she did catch his eyes afterward. He smiled at her, and she shook her head gently at him. He knew her disapproval wasn't too serious, though, and so he wasn't bothered.
"We will need to go tomorrow to see the headmaster," Georg said. "We will need to finalize a few things about the children's studies. I usually see to these things myself, but…would you be willing to accompany tomorrow?"
Maria smiled at the thought. She was so newly Georg's wife and the children's mother, that she'd hardly had any chance to do anything "official" as either. The thought of publicly acting as their mother made her heart seem to skip a beat.
"I would love to," she said. "And, perhaps, we could see about…some new material for the children? I could help them each prepare something new for the first day of school."
Georg smiled.
"You'll have anything you need," he assured her. "There is also a matter of a dinner to which we've been invited…and a bit of a private conversation that might come from that."
"What kind of private conversation?" Louisa asked.
"If I were to share that with you," Georg said, "then it would hardly be private."
"Perhaps we ought not to discuss private conversations in less-than-private locations," Maria offered.
The children giggled.
"You are right," Georg said, agreeing sincerely, instead of looking cross. "In addition, we might talk about something else. We have discussed it before, but I believe it may be time to bring it up again. I think it may be time that we start discussing the possibility of hiring another governess."
Maria felt, for a moment, as though all the blood ran from her body and pooled in her feet. She might have even believed that it ran out onto the floor, for all the good it was doing her. Frau Schmidt brought her dinner and placed it in front of her. Suddenly, Maria couldn't even imagine stomaching the food in front of her, even though it had been made specially for her and was made to be what had been most appealing to her for the past week or two.
Still, she was grateful for the distraction, for a moment, so that she could begin to feel like her heart was pumping once more—and like it had any blood available to pump through her body.
"I don't think that's really necessary…" Maria said, when she found her voice.
"It will take a great deal off your plate," Georg said. He sounded like he'd already made up his mind and the discussion with Maria was only one that was meant to let her know what was taking place.
"I don't know that…I need anything taken off my plate," Maria said, hoping that her voice didn't give away that she wasn't feeling nearly as steady and confident as she was pretending to be.
"With the children, and the household, and the baby to come," Georg said, half-waving away what she'd said, "a governess will keep you from feeling strained."
"Georg…I don't…" Maria started, not sure exactly what she wanted to use, at the moment, as an argument against a governess, particularly with the children at the table.
"Don't concern yourself with it, for now," Georg said. "We'll discuss it later."
Maria felt like the conversation was closed for now—and she was grateful it was. They would, she was sure, discuss it later, in private, the same as they would discuss any number of things. For now, though, they would discuss something different. Already, Georg was beginning to ask the children about their interests, and already the conversation was picking up around the table, as it seemed like everyone had something to share or a request to make.
And Maria sat, half-listening, hoping that nobody had any way of knowing that she was feeling something of a pervading sadness that she couldn't quite push back and would have been hard-pressed to explain.
Perhaps, she thought, they would talk about that later, too, in private.