Chapter 29: An Inevitable Problem With Maria

29 August, 1933

Maria wasn't very hungry this evening despite a meager lunch early in the afternoon. More than eating her dinner—a plate of noodles, one of the few things she had learned to cook well—she picked at them little by little, cutting them into smaller pieces before bothering to take a cautious bite. She took a sip of water every now and then, but that wasn't settling in her stomach either. Nothing had been really appetizing the last few days. Well, maybe dinner the evening of her birthday last Saturday had been, but she still thought that was simply because Georg was with her.

He had wished her a good morning on Sunday—well, a very good morning, if she was honest—and then whispered that he would see her in a few days. At least I had Mass after...Oh, somehow it had felt wrong as she sat in the pew, listening to the homily and sermon as her mind still drifted back to those final delightful minutes with her husband. But it was rather like many Sundays, sitting by herself toward the back of the church with her hair covered with her mother's black lace scarf. Every now and then, she persuaded Georg to come with her, but he nearly always declined, sometimes muttering that he could find bread and wine on his own without having to listen to a priest for an hour or so. But more often than Maria liked to admit, he simply refused to let her out of their small bed Sunday mornings. Whenever she attended confession, she never admitted how she enjoyed those slow mornings of making love, the pure joy of her husband taking his time to build an almost agonizing pleasure that consumed her from head to toe. After all, wasn't it what God had ordained as right and holy?

She sighed as she sank back into her chair, a hand pressed to her forehead. "I have to eat something, I know," she said quietly as now she scraped her palm across her cheek. "It won't be too long until I have to be ready for school to begin."

The letter confirming her next year at the school had arrived earlier in the month, the headmaster's name scrawled at the very end. A few words lay beneath it, though he had thoroughly scratched them out; she couldn't even make them out when she held it up to the electric light over the kitchen table. A warning not to be late, Maria assumed. She flushed with embarrassment, remembering her mornings scrambling for her bus, but then...she wondered what Georg would think. Did he want her to continue with her job? She wasn't quite certain and they had never discussed it, not with the summer term already set before he decided on the date for their wedding. I suppose there are a number of things we haven't talked about. But we're already here now.

I'll have to tell them, she had thought as she read through it again. Though the address had changed—she had remembered that much one Friday afternoon as the headmaster handed her her wages—she had never quite told them her new surname. It didn't really matter to anyone at the school, and her students all knew her as Fräulein Maria; it was easier to wait to the beginning of the fall term, already nearly here.

Turning her attention back to her buttered noodles, Maria swallowed. Her mouth was coated with a metallic film and every bite tasted wrong. She sat straighter and slid forward on the chair, the new cushion tied to the back slats moving under her backside as well, a little luxury she had persuaded Georg to buy. Digging her fork in, she brought it to her mouth—and pulled it back. I can't, I just can't, she thought, finally dropping the fork and knife to the plate with a clatter.

"I'm sorry," Maria whispered as she pushed it away. "I just don't know if I can right now. You always say not to worry about those things, but I can't stop myself." Her glass in her hand again, she gulped down the rest of the water, hoping just to clear the taste before she was sick. It had come and gone the last week or so, most often at night when she was over hungry until she sat down at the table, suddenly struggling for a mouthful. Georg rarely said anything when she played with her food, just peering at her from across the table.

Just a little more, Maria thought, the glass back on the table before she pulled the plate back. She left the knife where it was on the rim, just twirling a few thick strands onto the fork tines instead as she winced each time the very ends clanked against the ceramic. She coughed into her elbow, then forced herself to take another bite. The butter was cloying, catching on her tongue—the sides of mouth—the back of her throat. "I can't," she said, the fork falling onto the table this time. "I'm just worried I'll be sick if I do."

Her chair scraped on the floor as she shoved it back and stood, grabbing for the table's rounded edge with one hand. She closed her eyes for a second, her vision swimming as the blood rushed away from her head. She needed the other hand to steady herself, arms stiff to hold herself upright. A heavy breath rushed through her nostrils—she gulped down another that nearly whistled through her nose. I'm fine, she told herself as she opened her eyes. She had to blink before the overhead light stoked the nausea. I just stood up too fast. I'm fine.

Maria was cautious as she rounded the table, giving it a wider berth than usual as she gathered her silverware in her left hand. It would have to wait to be washed until the next morning, she decided as she settled her fork and knife into the bottom of the basin. The rubbish bin always sat beside the kitchen basin, nearly bare after she emptied it Monday morning. "We'll have to wash it out the next time," Maria said as she lifted the lid. She shook the remnants of her dinner in, close to half of what she had prepared for herself. With just a quick rinse to wipe away the worst of the butter—in the end, the cold water only left it more solid—she put it onto the bottom before stacking the silverware atop it. She didn't bother rinsing her glass, but left it on the kitchen table instead. She would need it again through the rest of the evening, at least if tonight was the same as the last few.

She walked slowly into the front room, rubbing at the base of her throat. It was too early to go to sleep, the lonely little clock on the bookshelf only reading half past seven. Catching the cuffs of her dress's sleeves with her fingers, she tugged them down, almost halfway over her hands. "I don't know why it's so cold." Nestling herself in one of the cushioned chairs, Maria tucked her hands into her elbows. "I hope Georg has more quilts for winter than the one at the end right now." Even their bed with the two of them would be too cold when December and January howled at their fiercest, chilly winds slipping through the cracks around the windows.

Freeing her hands, she began to pluck out the pins holding her hair in its simple bun. It fell little by little down around her shoulders, along her back, and over the chair when she tossed it aside to reach the next pin. With them tucked into her right palm, Maria propped her other elbow onto the chair's arm, forehead against her hand. "I know I can't go to sleep yet, I'll just be awake early and tired in the afternoon." She bit back a yawn, her jaw nearly aching like the rest of her body often did these last few days. It would only leave her with that sick threatening her throat again.

"Well, I can't just sit here." Maria dropped the pins into her lap with a faint clanking as they disappeared into the folds of her brown dress. "Or I'll just fall asleep right here." She rolled her head around, already feeling a little ache at the top of her neck. She pulled her hair forward, catching all of it in her right hand for a second, not quite able to stop herself from twisting a finger in the ends. Round and around until she was almost halfway to her head. "You always did say that whenever I didn't want to do something, Mother. But…" She let her strand of hair fall away as she snatched the pins up again. "I suppose I could always do that for you."

Across the room, the bookshelf was still mostly bare. Georg's small collection of books didn't even cover one of the wooden shelves; her father's books and smattering of sheet music hardly filled the rest of the same. But the shelf below, Maria had insisted on leaving a stack of paper along with a pen or two.

"What if you leave when I'm not home?" she asked as Georg rolled his eyes.

"You know everything here well enough."

"But I want to know where you've gone."

"It's always to look after business, darling, you know that."

"What if you need to write a note for me? Or a letter?"

"It's easy enough to send a telegram"—he pinched her cheek—"you know those well enough when they're delivered for—"

"What if I need to write a letter?"

"If you didn't even have anyone you wanted at our—wedding, to whom?"

"It's not the same thing," she muttered as she dug her pins from beneath the hollow of her dress between her thighs. She had only bought this packet a few months ago, but they were already warping under the weight of her hair. "And you know it, Georg." She shook her head as she crossed the room, one of her thin socks snagging a floorboard. "I can write to whomever I want. After all, I never know where those telegrams come from."

She took a sheet of paper as well as one of the pens, trying not to crinkle it against her fistful of pins. Turning around, Maria's eyes darted across the room. Even though the flat had filled little by little in the two months she had lived with Georg, it was still ever so empty. I still don't understand, how there's nothing of your life here, she thought as she returned to the kitchen. There was nowhere else to write a letter, and her throat was growing dry again.

After refilling her water glass—the water was still stained with a few flecks of brown whenever the tap was opened—Maria settled herself at the table again. Her stomach and throat had calmed over the last ten or so minutes, now leaving her hungry enough she wished she hadn't scraped half her dinner off her plate. Even with her back to the kitchen entrance where she always sat across from Georg, she had to turn and peer out into the short hallway as she heard a little creak. You're always away looking after business. You take your satchel, I know that, but it can't always be enough. She turned back to the table, taking a sip of fresh water. I don't think I could understand any of it, whatever you're always worrying over. But I'm confused. I can't imagine—but...She sighed and took another sip of water. But I suppose I wish you would tell me not to worry about that, too.

Maria shook the pen; she had forgotten to reach for the ink huddling next to the it and stack of paper. "I just hope all the ink hasn't gone dry." She sighed as she shook her head, hair flying about her shoulders. It had been too long since she took a few minutes to write a letter to her foster mother, not even a quick note to tell her that she would be teaching in Salzburg for another year. Not since I told her...She bit down on her lip, trying not to smile. Not since I told her Georg and I were to be married.

Mother,

I know it's been too long since I've written. Sometimes, it feels like life just comes and goes so strangely, now. Between my tutoring, Georg needing to look after some sort of business, and trying to find time to spend with him, it feels like there's no time left over.

I worry about him, sometimes. He's quieter than I wish, as though there's something he doesn't want to face or think about. I hope he'll tell me soon. He's been gone since yesterday morning, he should be home some time this evening. It's one of my favorite times, when he comes home at night if he's been gone. He doesn't come and go nearly so much as Father, but it does get lonesome at nights when I'm waiting—

A pair arms were suddenly around her chest, clutching her roughly against the hard back of the wooden chair. Maria dropped the pen as she squealed gently—then winced as a dull ache bloomed in her breasts. But she knew those hands even without glancing down: large, powerful, a little darkened from the sun. And the smell of him right beside her face, a mix of cigarettes and the cologne he wore whenever he was out and about. "And what are you writing, darling?"

"Georg..."

He kissed her cheek, raised one hand and ran a finger along her jaw then back to her scalp. She sighed, her head falling back for a moment as he combed his fingers through her hair, the shiver running along her spine as it always did. "You always like to know when I'm back home."

"But you can't do that to me, please." Maria squirmed against his hold, but she just scraped her back against the chair; she thought she felt a sliver of wood bite at the back of her dress. "I don't feel well—"

"I'll do exactly as I please with you, like I always have." Releasing her, Georg took hold of the slats at the back of the chair, spinning it and his wife around with a scrape of the legs on the wooden floor. Her hair flitted about for a moment before it caught on her dress's neckline, her pale face now veiled by some of the broken strands. "Just the way you like it."

"Yes, but—" She frowned, the ache in her breasts stinging again as she swallowed against that same acid threatening her throat.

Georg brushed the hair from her face, now frowning himself. As fair as Maria was, now her skin was pallid and almost gaunt in the electric light. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she said as she grabbed for his hand, pulling it into her lap with her own. Oh, how does he always do this to me? she wondered. The nausea in her stomach had already disappeared, replaced by the nervousness—the anticipation he had stoked in her for months."I wasn't feeling...That—that just hurt."

He crouched down in front of her, opening the center button of his coat with his free hand and ignoring the crumpling of the hem against his knees. "Did it?"

"Yes."

"It's never bothered you before." Her grip on him was nearly a vice now, but he was stronger, and Georg tugged her hand back to him—pressed a kiss to her knuckles. God, what are you doing?

Whenever he had to endure the villa, Georg planned for at least a full day, enough time to answer the staff's questions, check the accounts to be certain everything remained in order, direct this and that around the grounds. He preferred to leave Salzburg early in the morning, sometimes kissing his wife goodbye, but often giving her a simple farewell instead. Some days, that was enough time to be done with Aigen for a week or two and be back in town for Maria's dinner of overcooked noodles or rubbery chicken. But spending night in Aigen, more often as the summer tasks around the estate intensified...Well, it was a night tossing and turning on one side of the large bed in the master suite, hot and sweating beneath the light summer sheets, always navy blue, until he couldn't stand it any longer. Through those nights stranded at the villa, Georg rarely slept after he finally roused himself with the heat. Sometimes, he simply peered out the window toward the back grounds, the lake shimmering in the moonlight whenever the moon shone full. Other nights, the heat—the weight of the memories in that bedroom—was simply too much: too stuffy, too still. Even the villa was too confining at times and he had to be out, wandering the grounds as he had wandered through the streets of Salzburg for weeks. Feeling the little breeze from the lake while the night birds howled and screeched overhead, sometimes into the little stand of trees at the far edge of the grounds, just where…

It was only there—outside the villa walls—Georg allowed himself to think of her, his young wife in Salzburg. "I suppose we're under the same sky," he had muttered to himself late one evening as he stood on the stone landing at the lake, just beyond the iron gates. The glow from his cigarette was the only light for what looked to be miles but for the moon and stars, the warmth of the smoke clinging to him as the breeze drifted from the water lapping at the shore. "Just like the night we met." But as he flicked his cigarette aside and stepped back into the villa, she vanished like a ghost into the depths of the haunted halls. And it would only be worse whenever the children returned from Vienna ahead of the start of the school year to fill the house with the chatter their grandmother was surely allowing to run wild. I still won't be able to look at you. And whenever he finally escaped to begin his trip down the dusty west road—his hat askew on his head—he always had a bundle of letters beside him, knotted into a package with twine. He never knew what to expect when he finally cut the strings, the envelopes spilling across the table. But there was always time to examine them at leisure, either while Maria was at her summer tutoring sessions or in bed. Personal letters—every now and then, one from one of Agathe's old correspondents who seemed not to care how their words stung—notes on investments and accounts...Never that much to stoke concern.

This evening was no different with the package of letters, but...That can all wait, he thought as he pushed Maria's face up. I may have left them in the front room with everything else, but...That was there, and this is here. "If anything, you adore it, darling."

"Yes, but the last week…" Maria sighed; sometimes, Georg talked in riddles she didn't quite understand. But at least her hand was warm, now, her chin as well in his grasp. "Nothing, but you scared me."

"Then forgive me?"

Her breathing was even faster, and she knew he would see it. You notice everything, Georg, you always do. "You know I have—"

"So show me you have," he muttered as he pulled her forward for a soft kiss, nearly dragging her off the chair before he stood. "Just the way you always have."

He drew her to her feet, pulling her along the hallway to their bedroom—but Maria was right behind him, hurrying just as much. In spite of her upset stomach a little while before and the gentle gnawing of hunger now, the burning just for him was suddenly too much. They were hardly through the door when Georg had his hands around her jaw dragging her to him for a kiss that was rougher—stronger—longer as her hands were already fighting with the knot in his tie. It was hardly tossed to the floor when he yanked her hair aside to find the back of her dress, already dragging it over her head.

"God, Maria." He groaned, another of those dingy shifts appearing as her dress joined his tie, still more grey than white. "You have to get rid of these things some day."

She was already fiddling with his shirt buttons, as always struggling with the first; she always had to remember which said they lay on. "There hasn't been time to make any more—"

"You don't have to make them, love, it's easy enough to buy them." He knocked her hands away—she had paused, her fingers tangled in the little patch of hair she had already exposed—and stripped the old thing away. What lay beneath was rather different than he expected: the same silken undergarments he had uncovered on their wedding night, shining in the electric light and leaving everything in his trousers instantly tight and painful. Maria seemed not to understand what her bright eyes, fair hair, and tiny body did to him day in and day out, but the rare moments when she donned those...Well, somehow it was even worse. "And though I am very happy whenever I see you in these, you're far more beautiful without your knickers."

Maria had her fingers on those buttons again as Georg pulled her back toward the bed, almost giggling as she struggled to keep pace. "Maria—" He was on his back on the bed before he realized, peering up at his wife. Her long blond hair hung about her face casting a shadow across her face and covered most of her small breasts, though he could still see some of them over the top of brassiere. "Maria—"

"No," she murmured, already climbing atop him and curling down to kiss him as roughly. She threaded her hands through his hair, almost holding him down as he sometimes did to her. Reaching up, Georg couldn't stop himself from seizing one of her breasts, his hand kneading and searching beneath that silk. "Please don't!" she hissed, reaching back to pull his hand away. "Please—" As Georg complied, she moaned against his mouth, his other hand already diving between her legs.

"You see, Maria?" he whispered, now pinching the inside of her thigh before rising up to stroke the outer layer of her silk underwear again.

"Yes?"

"You have learned, just like I told you you would."

"How…" She couldn't keep herself upright, half collapsing onto Georg with another wince as her chest flattened against his—but his fingers were too much of a torment to withstand. "How to greet my husband?" She moaned as he twisted his fingers in the thin layer of flesh across her backside, here and there pinching at her skin. "How—"

"And only me," Georg hissed into her ear. "But you wouldn't do that, darling."

"No, you..." Maria swallowed again, though any of the indigestion and hunger in her stomach had calmed. "You taught me."

"Yes."

O O O

Maria lay huddled beneath the sheet when Georg roused himself later that night, still not dressed for sleep after he had finally pushed her exhausted frame off of him. It was pulled right up to her chin, both hands curled around the very edge, probably just as much due to her lingering embarrassment as well as keeping out the air. Though he had been gone the last two nights, she had complained of the cold for at least a week. "Well, then I'm sure I'll come back to see you entirely wrapped in it," he muttered as he walked to the wardrobe. Everything in the case he had taken to the villa was still in the satchel he had dropped beside the flat's door, more eager to find Maria than unpack clothes that would just need to be sent out for laundering.

He dug out a pair of trousers for the night from his half of the wardrobe and slipped them over his legs, not bothering to find another pair of underwear. As he knotted the tie of the dark blue trousers around his waist, Georg sighed as he turned back. His wife had turned beneath the sheet, her hands now knotted together in her long hair. "You must be tired," he said. Returning to the bed, he ran one hand over the crown of her head and through the loose hair that bubbled up against her neck. "Already fast asleep without bothering to braid your hair." He trailed a finger over her folded hands. "I don't think you've forgotten that since the first night I had you here."

No need for a shirt, Georg decided as he slipped through the doorway into the hall, pausing only to find his half empty package of cigarettes and lighter in his coat pocket. His wife might be taking a summer chill, but it was still more than warm enough for him as he made his way through the corridor and stepped into the front room. More eager to find Maria, the bundle of letters Franz had handed to him that afternoon simply landed on the bookshelf beside that silly stack of paper she had insisted on her imaginary letters. More than usual, he thought as he strayed into the kitchen with his fingers caught in the string holding the stack together. Franz had muttered something about the fact that a few had been mislaid over the last weeks as he handed them over.

Letters, Georg thought as he sat in the same chair he had almost yanked his wife from. He didn't quite know what Maria had been scribbling across that paper when he surprised her, only certain that her hand was probably going ahead of her mind just the way her tongue always did. Not bothering to look at it, Georg pushed it to the other side of the table.

There was a cigarette between his lips before he clipped the top string, the familiar cloud and scent of smoke enveloping him. I suppose I should thank you for not saying a thing after you had a couple of days without it, he thought as he slit open the top of the first letter. One of the many accounts for the vendors that serviced the villa, nothing much of concern. The balance to start, the payment, the note that nothing else was owed. The next several were the same: more accounts, a pair of postcards from distant cousins somewhere in the far corners of what had once been the eastern half of the empire, and...

Georg scowled around the cigarette as he gulped down a long mouthful of smoke and picked up the next letter. He knew that handwriting: delicate and sloping here and there, nearly the same as Agathe's, never a loop or swirl out of place. He flicked the precarious collection of ash into the ashtray—settled the still glowing cigarette on its side—then tore into the envelope. It was more worn than the others, he decided, almost snagging a finger on one of the rough edges as he pulled the letter free: a little crinkled with a few pen marks here and there, one through the mark canceling the stamp. Just like the envelope, the corners were slightly bent, though at least it had been protected. "Christ, what do you have to say now, woman?" he muttered as he unfolded the paper before he reached for his cigarette again.

8 July

He stopped, reading that date again as he drew a harsh breath of smoke. Early July, handed over to him when August was nearly at its end. For God's sake, that's nearly two months ago. You said a few were mislaid, Franz, but if I didn't know you better after so many years on board with you, I would think you hid it for that time. It crumpled in his fingers as he stretched it further open.

8 July

Georg,

What on earth is happening? Karl didn't have time to tell me before you left yesterday. You didn't give him time to find me after he opened the door, you didn't even stay long enough to see your children! It's been weeks since they came to Vienna, and there's still been no word from you except for just then when you ran away from them! I'm delighted to have them here, I haven't been able to spend enough time with them, especially in the last several months. But they can't stay here forever, you must know that. You'll have to sort yourself out by the time school is set to begin in the fall. Or do you expect to hide from them for the rest of your life? Agathe would never forgive you for that! And the longer you hide from them, neither will I! They're your children, and they don't have anyone left but you! They no longer have their mother, you must be their father! It broke my heart to see her buried, I almost felt I died with her, just as I know you did. But you didn't, Georg. You're still here, and you have to love them, you have to live for them and stop hiding wherever you are these days.

Please, Georg. I know you lost your father when you were just a child, don't do the same to your children right after they just lost their mother.

Agathe*

Georg rolled his cigarette between his lips, now biting down on the very end of the filter. "Foolish woman, I didn't need to wait for your butler to come back with them." He folded the letter again—no, crumpled it up as he leaned back against the chair's wooden slats. "I'll send for them later this week, I can't imagine it will take you long to reserve the train car." Another cloud of smoke erupted from his mouth as he lodged the cigarette's end between his fingers again. God, he missed those days: the very end of last year—the beginning of this—alone in the front room with his cigarettes and brandy as his only companions. It was all so much quieter and simpler—

"Georg?" He sat straight, the chair's legs scraping on the wooden floor as he twisted around. Maria was just in the doorway: one hand on the frame, almost leaning against the scratched wood with her elbow propped atop one of the bare hinges that must have once anchored a door, like she was too tired to stand straight by herself. She was finally dressed for bed—clad in her light summer nightdress with its short sleeves—and had braided her hair, though it was messier than usual. She dropped her head against the scratched molding with a yawn, her eyes closing for a moment.

He turned back to the table, placing his cigarette on the ashtray's edge again with a glance at the crumpled letter. Nothing to do with you. "What are you doing?"

"My stomach is bothering me," she whispered with another step into the kitchen then falling back against the wall. "It has been the last days you've been gone like—"

"It was before."

"Yes, but I can't sleep now—"

"How is that different than last week?"

"I just need a glass—"

"Then get your water and go!" Georg slammed the smoldering end of his cigarette into the ashtray, a little spray of grey-white ash onto the table. Your endless talk will be the death of me, you stupid girl.

She took another step forward, one hand against the base of her throat. "Georg—"

"Now!"

Maria didn't say anything else, just hurried past him to the cupboard beside the basin, only slowing to pick up her glass. She didn't want to look at her husband as he sat, his fingers drumming away at the edge of the table. He must have been looking at those letters, she thought as she opened the top to fill the glass with water. They lay scattered across the table, a few of them opened beside the torn envelops. But he never looks so upset. He never tells me what it is. She brought the glass to her mouth for a quick drink with a shudder, the water still warm from the pipes.

It only took a few sips to drain most of the glass, and she tipped the last few drops down the drain. Leaving the glass beside the basin, Maria turned around—back to Georg—her arms across her torso just below her breasts, hands tucked into her elbows. You have so much to worry about that you don't talk about, but you're so far away right now. She caught the very end of her braid with her right hand, the long ragged ends running between her fingers. He was drumming away faster, she saw. You do that when you're worried. She swallowed, both against the faint sickness in her stomach and a strange little fear. "Will you be coming to—"

"Wasn't it enough for you earlier?" he snapped, the chair scraping the floor again as he forced it around with his feet and his hand pressed hard against the table. Her blue eyes were wide, and her hand was trembling at the very end of her hair. Confused, he knew as a shiver of his own ran across his chest. Perhaps even frightened.

"I—I didn't mean—"

"I know," Georg whispered with another shiver. At least the patches of hair across his bare chest hid the goose pimples rising along his skin. Lifting one hand, he beckoned her toward him with a finger. "Come here, darling." Maria took one cautious, then another— Georg seized her wrist, gently pulling her into his lap. Her arms were already around him, her face buried in his neck. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Forgive me."

She nodded against him as she took a deep breath. "Did something happen?"

Her question was muffled, but Georg just heard it. "Hmm?"

"With your…" Maria loosened her hold, now sitting up and peering at him, just a few inches away. "Your business? You're so upset now."

"Don't worry about it." Georg dragged a finger along her side, up to her ribs and around to her front just beneath her breasts. God, to hold you again..."Are you feeling better?"

She nodded, her braid slapping at her arm. "Yes. The water was warmer than I expected."

"Probably better for your stomach if it's troubling you."

"Perhaps."

Really, darling, if you're taking this ill in the summer, I won't know what to do with you come fall and winter. Georg winced. The cooler months were too far away to consider, not even without worrying about the children. Agathe is right, he knew as he returned his attention to Maria and the little tremors under his touch. The children will be back—and I can't stay away forever. Even when I don't know how I can stay with you. His hand rose to her chin, thumb against her bottom lip. It was still damp from the tap water. Stay...I don't know what the next month brings, darling. She squirmed in his lap, and if he hadn't made love to her an hour or so earlier, Georg would have had her crushed into the bed beneath him in a matter of moments. It's too often, far too often. You love me, darling, I know you do—you couldn't hide it even if you wanted. He kissed her cheek again. But the fall and winter will be here before either of us are ready, and I can't tell you what that means—I don't know what to think, and there's no way you can. "But go to bed, Maria. I'll be along in a few minutes."

"Will you?"

"Don't you believe me?" Maria smiled—just a little grin—before she scrambled from his lap, nearly tangling one of her feet in the bottom hem of her nightdress. "Really, Maria, you'll be the death of yourself before the cold gets you." He slapped lightly at the top of one of her thighs, suddenly wishing she hadn't bothered to dress, though her modesty left that only a dream. "But yes. Just—a few minutes to organize my papers." She smoothed her nightdress—brought it back down from her waist where it had bunched—and bit her lip in a little grin. Don't think I don't have an idea what you're thinking. Not saying anything, Maria hurried to the kitchen entrance, only looking back for a second before she disappeared into the hallway, a mere flutter of white cotton and long blond braid.

Alone again, Georg let out a sigh as he shuffled the opened letters and invoices together. Well, he started to. Dropping the new stack he had built, he opened Agathe's crumpled letter—flattened it beneath his palm as her voice jumped from the paper. Agathe would never forgive you for that! And the longer you hide from them, neither will I! "It doesn't matter in the end, does it?" He thrust the wrinkled paper into the middle of the stack; Maria had never troubled his papers before and he knew she wouldn't now, but...You wouldn't understand, not really. You think too highly of me, love.

He didn't bother to return the letters to his satchel, he was always the first one to rise in the morning. And you'll probably be too tired to try anyway, Maria, he thought as he glanced to his ashtray, pleased that even the lingering embers were no longer glowing. Georg frowned as he walked to the edge of the kitchen, turning into the hallway with just a brief pause to flip the switch and plunge the room into flickering twilight—then darkness. Really, there's many a day you have the stamina to climb mountains—had it after a day of teaching. His feet slowed as the door to the bedroom approached. I know it's too often, but...No. He shook his head, grateful again for the window open to the summer night, a breeze tickling the curtains. The moon and last lights of Salzburg were enough to guide him across the room to the bed. His wife. You might be cold, but you know I would be far too warm.

The sheet was tight up about her chin once more, and Maria had her legs curled against her torso, at least he thought so given the lump beside her chest. As always, she huddled on the far side of the bed, her little body not needing any more room. Georg tried to slip into the bed as quickly as possible, cringing as the mattress still groaned under his weight. His own arms laying atop the lone sheet—he pushed it down between them against her back—he settled one around her waist, gently tugging her to him. Her head lolled for a second, half turning back to him before she settled again, cheek against her messy braid.

Georg sighed, his own head almost on her pillow as he tucked his fingers beneath the far side of her waist, tightening them a little against her. You didn't know anything, that night we met. You still don't know anything, at least about me, only the slightest things I've told you. He kissed the back of her neck, though this time she didn't stir. And somehow, you trust me. With everything. I don't know what is in the future, for you and...He closed his eyes, head bowed forward against the sheet, between her shoulder blades. I can't tell you, Maria. Anything. What would you say now?

Carefully pulling his hand away, Georg rolled onto his back, one arm now under his neck as he stared up at the ceiling. If he blinked slowly enough—closed his eyes firmly enough—it was almost the deep blue sky of a cloudless night, just the midnight lights that shimmered on the rippling water beneath his ship. Give me the sea and sky, I could always find my way, but this...It's almost like trying follow the stars from a hundred feet below the surface. She's right, Agathe, I know she is, but...Georg pushed himself up onto his elbow, peering down at the girl beside him. "You'll never trust me again if you know, will you?" Back down onto the bed, not so gentle this time. The children will never forgive me—and they can't stay in Vienna forever. I can't stay here in Salzburg forever, never go to Aigen unless they're with their grandmother. He slammed his other hand down against the mattress's lumps, fingers in a fist he knew was turning his knuckles white. "Christ, Maria, why did you make it so difficult?" he hissed. "It could have been so much simpler, if you just…" Why did you have to be my wife? Why couldn't you just distract me the way I needed you to?

O O O

Despite the cool sheets and the pillowcase, Maria was suddenly too warm. The duvet was folded at the foot of the bed, too warm in August with her crushed against Georg in the tiny bed. It was just the thin sheet laying over them both, the window open for the cooler night air and hopefully a faint breeze...She was almost sweating despite the lighter nightdress she wore in the summer; the sweat had trickled down her back even sitting up long enough to swiftly plait her hair before escaping the bedroom for a fresh glass of water, leaving her skin tacky. The burn was rising, not staying right in her stomach as it had the nights before, like she was a child struggling not to be sick.

She rubbed a hand across her chest, her breaths staggered against the bile she suddenly tasted. I can't, she thought as she tossed she sheet aside, hands shoved into the mattress to push herself up. A hand at the base of her throat, Maria tried to massage the bile away. "Oh, please, why won't you just stop?"

Everything hurt a little now as she stayed still for a minute, waiting and hoping for the sick to finally ebb away. Her arms and legs, elbows and knees, especially her breasts. As she lay back down—turned onto her side to try and sleep again, she winced as her weight landed on her breast against the mattress. Not pain, really, but a new ache she had never felt before. Maria needed to push her messy braid from the back of her neck, the sweat collecting on her skin and fine hairs—

The back of her hand against her mouth was all Maria could do to stop the bile in her mouth as she shoved herself up once more. She dragged up her legs up, desperate for something against her chest—anything to calm her stomach. Her forehead against her knees, she just tried to breathe. Every gasp for air was ragged, catching in her throat. She groaned against her legs. "I just want to sleep—"

"What is it now, Maria?" Georg asked as he rolled toward her beneath his half of the sheet. She couldn't see him in the dark, the moon wasn't quite full enough to illuminate the room and bustle of Salzburg at night drowned out the stars. "You already wake up late enough with a proper night's sleep if I don't rouse you myself."

"I don't know." She still couldn't move, afraid one little motion would bring it all undone before she could dash out of the bed. "I can't breathe, I don't know why."

Maria heard him sitting up—heard him stand, padding across the room—and then moaned as the overhead light came to life, almost burning her eyes despite hiding them against her legs. It was so bright, suddenly, her ears were filled with a strange buzzing. It deafened her—she didn't hear him coming closer, only heard the familiar groaning of the mattress as it dipped beneath his weight. "Georg?"

He stroked her forearm, his hand just visible between her nightdress's sleeves. "You were complaining of that a few nights ago," he murmured. Right about that last time you stopped bleeding for the month. Georg frowned, though he knew Maria didn't see. You were confused, just like she was, more than once. You're still so new to my bed, but you said it was strange, like my wife did.

She tried to lift her head, but the light still scorched her eyes—the heartburn began again—and she pushed her face right back into her legs. "I know, but—" She gulped at the pain rising behind her ribs. "It's worse." He ran another finger along her back, the cotton sticking to her skin as he did—and Maria jerked away from his hand on her shoulder. "You can't, everything just aches." She shook his hand away from her arm as well. "I can't lie down right now, I'm afraid everything will—go wrong, I suppose."

"Wrong? Odd thing to say."

"I don't know how else!"

"Maria—"

"What do you want?" she snapped. Finally sitting up straight, Maria dropped her knees, now crossing her legs, her arms across her chest—until she winced and snatched them away. Another hiss broke from her mouth as she reached for her braid instead, a few fingers tangled in the ragged tendrils at the bottom.

"What—is it?" Georg asked slowly.

"I just don't feel good."

"No?"

She shook her head. "No, not for days. Not really."

Georg struggled to hold his hand still as it landed on the sheet between them. Goddammit, you fool, he thought as Maria dragged one leg up again, cheek against her knee. I knew I could, darling, more than anyone. I fathered seven children before. More than you ever could, I knew I could get you with child. I knew what I needed from you, but you distracted me from everything, even something as simple as that. He clenched a handful of the bedding, hoping she didn't glance down. Or maybe I supposed after seven, there couldn't be another—

"Georg?"

"What?" he barked.

"May—may I—" Maria stopped, needing to swallow against the burn in her throat once more. "Could you get me a glass of water?"

"Wasn't the one earlier tonight enough?" Maria didn't answer, but Georg heard her sobs against her cotton nightdress. He reached for her shoulder, but she writhed away as she wrapped her arms about her knees. "Forgive me, darling," he murmured, stroking the crown of her head and the hair knotted into her braid. "I'll be back."

Shuffling through the hallway into the kitchen—almost not quite certain where to go and nearly forgetting the light—Georg turned over the memories. It wasn't quite like any of the children, the discomfort starting so early except perhaps for Marta, another girl rather than the next boy they always hoped for. "Agathe never quite had any relief from it until she was born." He pushed Maria's glass from earlier in the evening under the tap to fill it again, though he paused to drink half of it himself, then filled it again for his wife—

"No!" Just thinking that now left a churning in his stomach. "You do not—" "Please, Georg, you have to look after Brigitta. I can't get up yet. He's still troubling me. He's been troubling me all night." "Christ, not again!" he hissed, now leaving the kitchen with a sharp flick of the switch. "Not here—especially right now."

Back in their bedroom, Maria was still half buried beneath the sheet wit her legs up against her chest. Her hands were know folded together knees, face turned away from the doorway as she peered out the window. Walking around the bed to her, Georg crouched down—he ignored the brief flash of pain in his knees—before reaching for her hands, teasing one out. "Here," he said as he pressed the glass into her palm.

Maria coughed as she slowly seized it. "Thank you," she whispered.

Her voice was raspy, Georg noticed as took a first sip, one of her feet slipping forward under the silky sheet for a second before she dropped her knee against the mattress. She pressed her other hand to her forehead before running it along the back of her neck, almost as though she was trying to wipe away a bit of sweat. She can't possibly know, I know she can't, he thought as she took a larger gulp from the glass. The way she follows every one of God's commands—talks before she takes a moment to collect her thoughts...It would be the only thing she chattered about tonight. But even after Liesl, Friedrich, and Louisa, we only knew of Kurt when your belly started to swell, didn't we, darling?

Georg stood again, now sitting beside her and settling a palm on her leg folded beneath the sheet. It was always a dangerous game, I knew that. If it was just a night or two, Maria, a week, even...I could have avoided doing this to you—stopped myself. And who would you ask anyway, if you even had a thought? I know you complained of your cycle really just a few days ago, but you were so happy it came and went without much substance. If you didn't even care to have someone from Vienna that afternoon—you wanted to be alone, just like me—no one could tell you a thing, I think. And you don't know a thing.

Beside him, Maria craned her head back to drain the glass, twirling the last few drops about at the bottom as she brought her face forward again. "Are you done, darling?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Here." Georg plucked it from her grasp as he stood. "Go back to sleep. You don't want to be—tired in the morning."

"Will you be long?"

"No," he said with a short stroke of the top of her head. "Not too long."

Georg walked back to the kitchen slowly, a sliver of wood on the bare floor biting at his foot once. If Maria had been cold earlier this evening, it was his turn to feel the chill. "Would you believe me if I told you, darling?" he asked as he flipped the switch just to the side of the doorway. He set it beside the basin, then ran both hands through his hair after splashing them with a few drops of water from the tap. "If I don't tell you, you might not know for months. She didn't at—"

"You have to love them for me." He slammed his hands onto the edge of the counter, biting down on his lip and nearly growling. I can't—I can't. Not when they look just like you!

Georg lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes, wishing more than he possibly ever had for a cigarette. Anything to calm his nerves, his shaking hands. There's no time, he told himself without taking a step toward the hallway, you told Maria you wouldn't be long. And with just the time he needed for a cigarette to burn from the tip to his lips, he would be sitting—examining that letter, pondering its date—today's date. "Tomorrow," he murmured as he finally reached the hallway and reached back to extinguish the light. "More than enough time tomorrow."

By the time he crawled into bed beside her again, all Georg wanted was sleep. Something blank and dreamless, empty. Something to sweep away the last minutes and understanding, the girl dozing next to him though she tossed and turned more than usual. Already tormenting you? he wondered as he tugged the end of her braid from beneath her shoulder. You'll learn to endure it.

Sleep overwhelmed him, but it brought the memories as well. A young woman—first on his arm on a dance floor as other couples twirled around them, too caught in their own little romances to to spare a glance—on a gravel path between slumbering trees and roses, some day months later surrounded by nearly the same beginning to bloom—then in his bed. And soon, a child in her lap, face blurred from so far away, just a white dress dangling past tiny feet stark against the dark dress she wore. And as she looked up, a smile, the call of his name, though her voice was so distant—muted—he couldn't know who.

It was a sad dream.


The next morning

Maria was still sleeping when Georg slipped from their bed, as always tucking the sheet back around her. Though the August heat was already wafting through the window, he took particular care today. It won't get any better, darling. And you can't be taking cold now. It was rather like any other morning: a brief shower in the washroom just a few steps from the bedroom door in the hallway—a few minutes to shave, though he nearly nicked the top of his lip when he heard her moving about in his bed, perhaps even yawn as well—and he turned about to see if she had struggled to her feet. A quick moment to drag a comb through his hair to bring it back along the top of his head before he extinguished the overhead light and returned to the bedroom where his wife was still in bed—asleep, he assumed—though now on her other side.

He already had his tie knotted and his arms threaded through his jacket sleeves when he heard her stir properly, just dropping that precious whistle into his pocket. Some days, especially those he either didn't stray from the flat or simply walked about the city to fill his lungs with what must have once been fresh air, he didn't pull it from its hiding place. It was the creak of the mattress and the rustling of the sheet, a little cough that drew his attention and a glance as he again reached toward the very back of the top shelf on his side of the wardrobe, blindly searching for the bottle of cologne in the far corner. His wife was working her way onto her elbows, her back against her pillow as she struggled to catch her breath. It was earlier than she usually woke, and Georg had expected her to be abed for quite awhile after the night before. "Maria?"

"Hmm?" She was sitting up now, fingers scrubbing at the corners of her eyes with one hand, her other hand scrabbling beneath the top sheet.

Probably pulling her nightdress down around her knees, Georg thought as he unscrewed the little cap from that glass bottle, one of the more expensive gifts his wife had ever offered him on their wedding anniversary. Heavy and thick, the amber liquid had dwindled for the last year and a half—well, nearer two than that, he allowed as he pressed his index finger to the open neck; with a quick shake, he turned it upside down, a little bubble of that fragrance blossoming on his skin. Despite packing it in his satchel the evening ahead of his first weeks away from the villa and the children, Georg rarely dragged it from the dusty corner. He only bothered with it on the days he returned to Aigen and the memories that the mere smell conjured like incense from a priest's censer. A quick dab of his finger left a drop or two on one side of his neck, another smeared what remained on the opposite. "I didn't expect you to see you awake," he muttered as he capped it and shoved it back into the darkness. A swat of his other hand closed the wardrobe door before he straightened his suit coat across his shoulders and fastened the middle button across his abdomen. "Not as long as you were awake through the night."

Maria yawned again, and Georg thought he heard her groan, almost like an ache had sprouted over night. "I didn't want to, but...I couldn't sleep any longer." Even across the room, he saw her shifting beneath the sheet, likely stretching against some pain in one of her legs. "I don't know why," she murmured as she pulled the band from the end of her braid.

You won't be able to for much longer, at least not well. "I have to go now."

Her fingers were unraveling the plait, combing through the ends little by little and loosening her hair in crimped waves that almost brushed the sheet around her waist. "Must you? It's so early."

"Not as early as you think." He walked back to her, a hand on her shoulder gently easing her down against the pillow onto her back. "Go back to sleep."

She yawned yet again even as Georg felt her struggling, trying to work her way up once more. "But you've just come back! Where—are you going?"

"Later, darling." He bent down, a quick kiss pressed to her mouth; he couldn't linger, not this morning. There wouldn't be much time before Leon's office was filled with men who had made appointments weeks before. "I'll see you this afternoon and...You'll know soon enough."

"But—"

"I have something I have to do," he said with a tap against her nose, rewarded with that same little smile that would probably have another man chained to his bed with her just now. Not now, Maria. He would have to take his mother-in-law's letter with him, throw it into his pocket next to his little talisman. She wouldn't think anything of it, Georg knew as he stepped away, nothing else he needed left in the bedroom; he had abandoned his cigarettes and lighter on the table with the stack of papers last night. It was only his hat he needed now, and that was settled on an empty spot on the bookshelf in the front room rather than the top of his wardrobe where it hid that bottle of cologne and whistle. He had been more eager to see to her after his short exile to a world he had left behind than put it in its proper place."Nothing you need to worry about." Not yet, Maria.

O O O

The Salzburg streets weren't crowded quite yet, mostly buses rather than cars crowding the roads. And even the sidewalks were a little empty, more men hurrying to their shops and offices than women worrying about the day's shopping or taking in the laundry. I don't think you'll be seeing this part of the day in short order, Georg thought with a harsh turn around a corner he had forgotten. If you're like her— He grunted and bore down on the accelerator. You'll be struggling to rouse yourself at all.

He had to pause here and there, though the delays were nothing like driving about in the late morning or afternoon. A few of the children running about simply dashed in front of him, whether playing before sitting most of the day in some summer class like Maria had taught or before their mothers set them chores for the day…

Children. As the summer passed, Georg had tried not to think about the children, safe in Vienna and away from...what, exactly? And after that afternoon, just waiting for a few minutes as the thundering of nearly a dozen small feet echoed overhead...Well, after that—especially as that weekend went on—he had buried himself in his new little life, almost drinking Maria in like a parched man desperate for water, any thought of children banished, past and future. And now it's a problem of its own. You are, darling.

Georg tried not to think along the rest of the drive as the old city loomed larger ahead of the car, more relieved than he would admit to see Leon's office in the distance, a small place on the corner. The buildings were older but more ornate, more majestic, almost like they had seen the turn of the wheel and time: the richer and leaner as states and nations and empires rose and decayed. And then the men—and now a few women—walking along the sidewalks...all better dressed than those he was used to seeing around the flat he shared with Maria, their eyes following his battered car. The other vehicles lining the road were more like the convertible he had left at the villa, too much to stand out to…

Christ, what a mess, he thought as he nudged the worn car with its scratches and dings here and there into an open place, the steering wheel clutched a little more tightly than usual as the tires slowly turned. In an hour or so, he knew, there would be nothing left. Too many men visiting banks, other lawyers' offices...The world I left behind. Flicking the ignition off, Georg opened the door, only taking one quick moment to glance for any other of those fancier vehicles barreling a little too fast along the street. It was wider than those in his far corner of Salzburg, the change gradual as the city turned nicer and wealthier. He grabbed his hat from the passenger seat, though perhaps it was pointless, it would be off his head the moment he was inside. Decorum, he thought as he set it a little askew. Something I've left behind these last months.

He didn't want to walk that quickly, not quite ready to step into his lawyer's office at the end of the block. Instead, Georg ambled along, almost dawdling in the midst of the still small crowd, a few of the wealthy women in their tailored dresses already fanning themselves in the morning heat. You might be doing the same, darling, he thought as he stepped aside for one of those women to pass. I don't think you'll take too well to it for much longer— God, he couldn't think about her, not right now! His left hand quickly wrapped around his right, Georg wrenched that plain gold ring off—shoved it into his pocket right along with his cigarettes, his lighter, and...His chest tightened, one or two doors long ago cut in the weathered masonry sliding past just at the edge of his vision. Might as well be lost on the sea, he went on to himself as he at last reached the corner, not even pausing to knock despite the early hour.

Leon was bent forward at his desk when Georg opened the heavy wooden door, a stack of papers at his side as he scribbled across another until his face came up with the squeal of the rusty hinges. The years had changed the man little by little: his once sandy brown hair was now shot through with grey and already disappearing from the top of his forehead from what Georg could see, his face lined across his cheeks and beneath his eyes. His mustache was almost completely grey as well, though the man's spectacles were still propped at the end of his nose, waistcoat buttoned up over a white shirt and black tie, no suit coat in sight.

"Georg!" he said as he shoved his chair back, a few steps taking him around the edge of the dark wooden desk. He stretched out his hand, fingers still as lean and wiry as ever. "It's been far too long."

Georg nodded as he accepted the handshake, firm and enthusiastic. "Quite."

Dropping his hand, Leon waved at the chair in front of the desk, dark and polished just as well. "Well, please sit! This is an unexpect—"

"I don't have time to chat, Leon, not this morning."

"Then what can I do for you?"


* This is Agathe's mother, not her, obviously. Just a shared given name.