A/N: This is a long one, so grab a snack and a coffee, if that's your thing.

Chapter 32: Into the Light

Late evening, 16 September, Aigen

Their nighttime had begun earlier than usual Louisa felt as the brushed her hair, growling to herself as a few strands broke on the bristles here and there. Liesl was still in the washroom, probably looking after some spot on her nose only she could see. On the far side, almost tucked up against the outer wall with its window and drapes, Brigitta's face was buried in a notebook, a pencil scratching away furiously. She was still fighting with the knots at the very end when she heard her little sister's voice. "Louisa?"

"Hmm?" She dropped the brush onto the thin quilt on her lap, turning to her fingers instead to work out the last of the tangles at the very end.

"Someone's here," Brigitta hissed.

"Why are you worrying about it now?"

Brigitta snapped her diary closed. "Liesl would say it's silly for someone to come—and she's not here for me to ask!"

Louisa scowled even as she glanced to the nearby door. The lights still burned brightly through the little crack beneath, just dulled by carpet that rose up from the floor. "You're still being silly." Reaching for her brush again, she grabbed a fistful of hair before attacking those same tangles at the very bottom. "Who would want to visit?"

"I don't know—"

"It's probably just one of Father's friends."

Louisa started, sitting up straight—looking up—and squealing quietly as she yanked on her hair. Liesl had finally abandoned the washroom, snapping the door closed as she stepped back into their shared bedroom. She squinted across the way, and yes, there was a spot on her older sister's nose, though it was a little red, something she hadn't noticed before Liesl vanished. Probably rubbed it like that, she thought, another stroke of her brush relieving those last knots. "Father doesn't have friends anymore."

As she so often did at nights now, Brigitta had her feet on the carpet, hurrying past the wardrobes and bookcases along the far wall, past Liesl's bed to hers. "What about Uncle Max?"

Louisa slid back, already knowing where her sister would land at the foot her her bed; most nights, especially as the days had grown longer with the summer, she spent probably an hour either with her or Liesl, just talking as twilight turned to night. Even in Vienna, some of the beds in their grandmother's large townhouse shifted this way and that to the rooms closest to hers, their little nightly conversations had gone on. Really, they had waxed on even longer without a governess or Frau Schmidt to insist they at least try to sleep. Their grandmother's housekeeper seemed to have left them alone, never bothering—

She grunted as Brigitta knocked into her, up on her knees as she scrambled across the summer quilt, nightdress up around her calves. "I don't know why you said anything about him."

Liesl was there as well, just on the very edge, almost where Brigitta had first pounced. "Don't say that."

"Father doesn't really like him."

Liesl scooched closer, the same quilt rumpling against her backside. "You can't know that. He was here at Christmas—"

"Only because Father wasn't!"

"Is it Aunt Hede?" Brigitta asked. "She was here at Christmas, too!"

Liesl shook her head. "She's usually too busy to visit."

Louisa bit down a little smirk as she dropped her brush on her little table atop her latest book, already filled with rabbits with watches and a grinning cat. Liesl must have been so focused on that little spot, she hadn't noticed the pins still in her hair from that morning, straggly and loose after the day. "She was here for Christmas, too!" Brigitta went on, now crossing her legs, elbows on her knees and chin in her palms as her small feet peeked from beneath her cotton nightdress.

"But why would Father send us to bed so early if it was Aunt Hede?" Liesl asked as she scratched at the back of her head, one of the pins finally tumbling from her hair."She likes to see us whenever she can leave her studio."

"Yes!"

"It felt like we were run off this afternoon."

Louisa just shook her head, now wincing as the crown of her head smacked against the wall just beneath one of the little pictures that she always remembered. "Father's been doing that ever since we got home."

"He did that before—"

"He doesn't want to be here," Louisa said. She pushed a hand up under her short mane of hair, fingers rubbing at the little patch throbbing in the middle, right where her mother occasionally scraped her skull with hairpins when one of the younger children running about in the years past shouted and cried.

Brigitta sniffled. "Does he have somewhere else to go?" she whispered as she pulled one hand from under her chin to run her fingers beneath her nose before it began to run.

"He must—"

"Don't be silly," Louisa muttered

"Louisa!" her older sister snapped. She twisted around on the bed, her backside tugging the quilt into a knot. "You shouldn't say that!"

Louisa shook her head again, fingers already breaking her hair into three thick strands just below her ear. First the one from the front over the chunk in the middle, now the one from the back...Again and again with just a bump or two against her shoulder. "Then where has he been?"

Brigitta had given up, it seemed, her knees now crushed into her chest, arms wrapped around as she just pushed the side of her face into her nightdress. "Father has friends!"

Louisa sat up—leaned to the side to peer over to her table. Where did I put it? "Don't you remember what she said?"

Liesl groaned, both hands shoved into the blanket as she stood. She shook out the wrinkles in her nightdress, now pushing it further down her legs. "You couldn't stand her, why do you care what she thought?"

"Because she was right, at least once!" She snatched up the band, finally found tucked behind her lamp, twisting it around the very end of her braid. Dropping it against her shoulder with a gentle slap, Louisa fell back against the wall with a dull thump. She wrapped one arm around her chest to rub at her shoulder, a little ache already growing. "He doesn't…" She yanked one of her legs up, the blanket tightening between her feet and where Brigitta sat toward the end. "He doesn't want to see us."

Brigitta lifted her face. Despite the harsh light hardly bright enough to cut through the twilight drifting through the window across the room, Louisa still saw the dark patch on her nightdress, the red circles around her eyes. "But—"

"Shh," Liesl murmured, sitting back down and sliding an arm around her younger sister's back. "You'll just upset yourself."

"But why wouldn't…" Brigitta sniffed again as she pushed herself into Liesl's chest. "I miss Father almost as much."

"I know—you know that," Liesl went on, her own face now buried in her sister's darker hair.

At the head of the bed, Louisa twisted around—away from them, teeth cutting down hard into her bottom lip. Don't, she thought as she shuffled her feet up on the sheet exposed from beneath her own blanket, unexpectedly shivering. The quilt from her childhood was far away, past her sisters and folded from the morning. The first night back in their own beds, she had thrown it up around her shoulders. She hadn't been cold, hadn't needed it—had tossed it aside in the middle of the night as she tossed and turned against the newly unfamiliar sounds—but she had missed it. It was a silly little thing, really, a few of the pink stitches here and there lumpy, especially in the middle. "Give me that," she said suddenly.

"What?" Liesl asked, though her words were muffled.

"My quilt."

"You're not even cold—"

"I want it tonight."

"It will just end up on—"

"I don't care!" Louisa snapped, one arm already outstretched, her hand opened and waiting.

"You're being silly," Liesl went as she let Brigitta go. She stretched out, one elbow digging into the bed as she grabbed for the folded quilt with the other. She didn't even sit up to hand it to her, just tossed it across instead. "There, if you want it so badly."

"Mmm." Louisa tucked it around her legs, up over her knees with arms tight against the wool despite the faint itching. It hadn't even been washed over the last year; after begging—almost crying—for it to be left alone, she had hidden it in her wardrobe when it came time for the bedding to be laundered. After a few weeks, the beginning of last year's October nipping through the lighter summer blanket, the maids hadn't asked after it, why it wasn't amongst the rest of the sheets and quilts the girls had stripped from their own beds.

We weren't even here that day, she thought. As she moved her face against her legs, the pink wool scratching at her cheek, Louisa swallowed—cleared her nose as well against her sleeve. That's how much you don't want us anymore.

"Louisa?"

"Hmm?" She looked up, Brigitta suddenly a little closer.

"What's wrong?"

"Go away," she whispered, now wiping her eyes on her sleeve as well. "Go away and leave me alone."

O O O

The study was laden with smoke, all of it locked within the four walls behind the latched door. Georg never really had anyone in here with him—he never had—but after the last year, it was his only sanctuary at the villa. So rather than the library or the sitting room, the former with several plush chairs dotted about and the latter with other chairs and settees upholstered with gold brocade and cream brocade, now dusty pale wood lining the rounded arms and backs. A little taste of what once was, Georg knew as he wafted a handful of the smoke cloud away from his face. It will have to do, here.

But Elsa hadn't complained, despite the shuffling of chairs about the room and the scuffing of the rug. He was certain she remembered some of the gaiety of years past, though nothing like the parties in Vienna. He and Agathe had preferred to keep to themselves far too much to fill the villa with string quartets, women dressed up in finery that would never be worn amongst the same friends ever again, and men with their naval and army medals pinned to their tuxedos. Elsa wasn't dressed for one either, though she had taken the time to change for dinner, despite her train's delayed arrival. Her thicker traveling coat had been discarded for a lighter red one that matched a freshly pressed skirt, an ornate white blouse peeking between the lapels below a string of shining pearls.

You do always dress to impress, Georg went on to himself, smiling tightly at her as he sipped at the wine Franz had decanted after they retired from the dining room. His own jacket from the day hung in his wardrobe, all his little trinkets and vices still in his pockets, a little dust demanding a wash clinging to the fine linen. He had kept the same trousers after a quick swat of his hand to shake the dirt the bottom cuffs had captured against the bottom leg. The dark green jacket with lighter velvet edging at the pockets had no space for anything, not his cigarettes or lighter or the whistle— Well, it could make room for that, he thought with a stronger sip of wine. His jacket was always that ring's home, whether in the pocket on his hip or the one against his breast. Someplace to keep it safe. Secret.

Despite the growing dusk outside, the dark blue drapes were drawn tightly across the windows. The staff hadn't bothered touching them throughout the summer, he had come and gone so quickly. For the last two weeks or so, they had avoided the room altogether apart from when one of the maids nervously brought his tray for lunch or dinner, the newer girls almost appearing frightened.

"It's been years since I've been here, Georg," Elsa said suddenly as she reached out to tap away the ash from her cigarette at the end of its long black holder. In addition to dragging the chairs here and there—churning up the carpet's lighter weave with the legs—one of those young girls had managed to shift one of the tables as well though she did ask another for help, the pair settling it between them without much more trouble. He had waved them away before they had a chance to trip over their own apron strings. "Far too long."

"Has it?" he asked. His glass clinked on the lacquered wood as he set it down, more interested in the end of his cigarette than one of the wine cellar's least interesting vintages.

"You know it has been."

"The years blur together."

"Well, then, a little reminder." Elsa smiled as she reached for her own wine, dark red manicured nails scratching gently at the glass. "Agathe was on your arm and I had Hans's* to hold myself the last time."

Georg snorted as he held back a laugh. "It wasn't that many years ago. He hardly left Vienna after you were married."

"He accompanied me several times, even though he always preferred to stay in town."

"That I do remember—"

"You don't need to remind me why." Elsa gulped down a mouthful of wine.

"I thought it didn't bother you."

"It didn't—doesn't, darling." She drank another mouthful, though this was one was slower, more delicate. Through all the years with Hans, there had hardly been friendship, let alone affection. Resting her right elbow onto the chair's armrest, Elsa leaned a little toward Georg as she returned her glass to that table. It would do no good to muddle her mind with wine; he was already a confusing enough man at the best of times. "You know how I felt about him." Not much at all, she thought with another deep breath on the very end of her cigarette holder. "And the many reasons why."

Georg nodded, falling a little farther back into his own seat. "Oh yes."

"He was never quite as much to me as Agathe was—"

"Please don't say anymore," he whispered, now nearly crumpled against the stiff fabric rubbing against his heavy coat.

"She was my friend as well."

He scowled, just picking up his glass for another sip of wine. "Friend?"

Elsa nodded, her hand freed from her glass now sliding across the little table toward his. "Yes, even though I know you don't like to remember that I knew her longer than you." He didn't answer, just shook his head instead as he set down his glass, the round foot right in front of her hand. She opened her mouth for a moment, then closed it again, her fingers now drumming away on the polished tabletop, her wine splashing up against the half-empty sides of her own glass. You really do make everything so complicated, Georg, she thought as she set her still smoldering cigarette on the edge of the ash tray. "You…" She ran a finger along the back of his hand, across his knuckles with their rough patches of skin and little scars from the corners of ships and pipes of submarines. "You haven't been answering my telegrams."

His eyes darted to her. "I haven't been here very often, Elsa."

"Then what of all your children?" she asked, her fingers now curling around the top of his hand.

"I sent them to their grandmother—her mother."

"Vienna?"

Georg nodded. "All summer."

Her other hand joined her first, one of them sliding beneath his palm. "Then what have you been doing with your time? I know you've been in Salzburg more than here, and you take a very long time to answer my telegrams, if you do."

Georg still didn't move—didn't quite look at her. After all, it was the same game he had seen played out across many a Vienna ballroom. "It's a different world, I'm afraid."

A little click of the tongue escaped her mouth, Elsa just hoping it hadn't smeared the smooth interior edge of her lipstick or, worse yet, left a trace on one of her teeth. "I know it is."

"Do you?"

You're always the same, aren't you, Elsa? he thought. She was a little closer, Georg saw, the cushion crackling beneath the brocade, her knees together and leaning against one of the spindly legs of that little table, the front toes of her dark heels buried in the carpet. Here or Vienna. The only time I suppose you were much different was when you were on the edge of a party with Hans. You said it never bothered you, but you always seemed to be ready to be away from him—and you never seem to be ready to say farewell—

"I sometimes wonder how you ever heard a word she said, Georg, you're so focused on being right at times."

"Hmm?" He shook his head once more—blinked heavily to clear the first hint of fuzziness from the wine and...Yes, she was a little closer, fair eyes wide open beneath her blond hair, still piled in large curls even after the longer than expected journey from Vienna. If she was much closer, Georg knew he would see the little pock marks on her cheeks beneath the face powder and rouge, the same he had seen months ago when her façade was gone, her true self laid bare before him— He drew a quick breath. Never quite the same underneath, Elsa, I knew that about you long ago. Nothing like you, Maria.

"Really, Georg, how am I going to learn anything about your life here if you're off living in the past."

"It's not the past," he muttered as he dragged his hand from her grasp. Each palm on the edge of an armrest, Georg shoved himself up onto his feet, a few quick steps taking him to the front corner of his desk. He pushed aside the small stack of papers and letters—tossed a book on top of the scattered pile—before he perched himself there, arms across his chest. "Not at all, darling." God, sometimes I want to know what you're doing through the day—Maria. But...not here, not like this.

Whenever she drifted across his thoughts during the day, he was able to thrust her aside—send her back to Salzburg where she belonged with her students' papers and her fantastical stories, her guitar and the gramophone she adored. At night, though, more difficult to ignore: the large bed in the master suite with its dark furniture vanished, replaced by a tiny mattress with lumps that dug into his back despite the smooth cotton sheets. And always, his young wife at his side, her hair somehow wild and untamed and delicate all at once. Arms and legs drawn up against her stomach and breasts as though she meant to shield and protect the child she didn't yet know. Just like my—my first wife, darling, you're the same wherever you go and whatever you do, without even—

"You and she had something I never had with Hans, I do understand that." A gentle laugh that was a little louder. "You're still married, aren't you?"

Georg started, standing up from the corner of his desk, straight and tall—but her glittering red fingernails cut into his elbow through his dark coat to hold him right where he was. "I beg your pardon?" he muttered as he relaxed despite her hold.

"To Agathe," Elsa whispered. It was moments like these she really didn't understand him. Despite the years dedicated to being alert and aware, decisive and calculating, at times Georg just allowed himself to grow so lost. "Even after the last year. Nothing will change until you let her go." She caught his hand with her free one. "You'll always be searching for your way out until you do."

He sighed, his gaze dropping as he collapsed onto his desk again. On his thigh, their hands now lay entwined, fingers knotted together like a mess that could never come apart. "And you know that for me?"

"I can suppose, Georg, even if I can't quite now." Elsa licked her lips, not worrying about her lipstick now as she settled herself beside him. One of her knees knocked against his, the toes of her shoes grinding into the carpet once more as she slid a little closer to him. One of the little ornaments on the desk cut into her back, maybe a book end, and she dug her shoulder into his chest as she flinched, suddenly sliding away from whatever it was. "I didn't need much to leave Hans behind. There wasn't much left there for me, unlike you." She twisted her fingers around his, a few of the little hairs across his hand rough and scratching at her palm. "Maybe some day, there will be for you again—and for me, for the first time." You know how I adored Agathe, almost as much as you did. She would be happier to see me with you than...Elsa shook her head; she hadn't eaten too much for dinner, the train journey leaving her stomach a little unhappy, and the wine with half touched meal and the glass just now were addling her brain quickly. She would think you would be better off with me than someone else.

"Maybe—" Georg almost heard the fingernails on her other hand grazing his skin. He hardly felt them, though he felt the tips of her fingers running along his jaw, something he had done to Maria so many times as she lay in their bed struggling against him and her own desires. "It's everything you want and won't. The way you still…" He couldn't say it out loud, not here with Elsa beside him, her body ready to melt into his. The way you still flush like it's the first time I've seen you stripped of everything, like you're still a girl, and I could never have a girl here like I have you there. Just a girl in my bed, Maria, it's all you'll ever be.

"You miss her." He said something, but I couldn't quite hear—and I think for a moment he forgot I was here.

"Yes." Those little laughs, her humming and quiet singing whenever she thought he wasn't paying attention, her cries in the darkness when she couldn't quite stand it any longer. "More than you can ever know."

"As do—"

"No, you don't."

"What—"

Georg dragged Elsa closer, his mouth molded against hers before he even had a chance to catch his breath. Her hand was forcing its way beneath his collar, the top of his tie now mussed by the heel of her palm. I won't hurt you, will I, Elsa? You've seen it—felt it yourself even if it was—nothing like this. She had his bottom lip caught in hers for a moment, now peering up a little as her fingers dropped along his shirt: clicking on the buttons one by one, crumpling the softer velvet here and there. And you, darling...A short blink brought back those bright blue eyes, haunting—desperate—almost hopeful whenever he pulled her into his arms. I'll break you, won't I, Maria? No matter what you've imagined you want...He pressed another kiss to Elsa's mouth, refusing to wait long enough for her lips to part in the slightest. It will be the end of you.

O O O

The same evening, Salzburg

Kneeling at the bathtub in the washroom, soapy water to her elbows and her two dresses from last week sodden with the warm water, Maria had to cover her mouth with her hand. She sputtered at the bitter washing as she smeared her damp face against her shoulder, trying not to lick her lips despite her palm. It wasn't because of anything suddenly roiling at the back of her mouth, but out of habit as her stomach complained as it often did these days. She hadn't bothered to eat this evening, hadn't even gone to the butcher's or greengrocer's; there was enough in the flat's kitchen if she found herself hungry later in the evening. Not that that happened very often these days. Sometimes, she didn't even manage to finish the entire lunch she nestled at the bottom of her bag for the middle of the school day.

Despite the lack of a full mirror to see her entire reflection, Maria knew her dresses were looser. Around her wrists, the cuffs allowed larger gusts of air than before, and the darts at her waist that had once kept the middle snug against her belly—nothing like the white and pale blue dress that hung on the far side of the wardrobe—were now nowhere near her skin. Her shifts and nightdress refused to cling to her skin, even at her shoulders and down her arms. Sometimes, her wedding ring twisted on her finger, so now whenever she curled herself into one of the seats on the bus, she folded her hands together in case it would be the day it slipped away. Here at home, she had left it on the basin's edge beside the tap, already seeing a little nightmare of it rolling and clanking along the— Maria coughed, her breasts hitting the damp ceramic before her, a thin dark line now marking her chest.

"Just an early flu," she told herself as she dropped her hand back in the washtub of warm soap suds. Two fistfuls of one dress's dark skirt caught, she scrubbed them together, another little mountain of small white bubbles erupting between them. It was better than the washing powder she had used in her old room, she knew that much, quickly turning her head to scratch her cheek against her shoulder. "A few of my students were ill earlier this week." Maria pushed her hands farther into the warm water, both of her sleeves held back by the rim. A small wave rose around her wrists, rushing to the opposite side that ran against the wall before bouncing back. It rose up against the wall of the bathtub beneath her arms, most of it falling back into the little sea but a few little surges splashed up onto her forearms.

She groaned as she dropped her head, pressing her warm forehead against the cold porcelain. A deep breath soothed a few scratches at the very top of her throat, but it was too warm. She closed her eyes, pushed her face forward as she rolled her cheek onto the ceramic now, almost a little feverish in the humid little room. "Oh, I'm nearly done," Maria whispered as she shoved her knees closer to the bathtub, the little towel she had set down as the water ran sliding on the tile. She groaned again as one of her thighs scraped against the coarser unfinished ceramic; the bathtub was set a few inches off the floor, its feet always somehow reminding her of an animal's little paws and the divots running their length ending in a few sharp claws.

Pulling her forehead up, Maria let out a deep breath through her nose. It was really just the skirt that needed laundering; the dry weather had left dust blowing about even in the Salzburg streets. "I suppose it's the same wherever you are, Georg," she muttered as she shoved one arm—then the other—deep into the water. It rinsed away the worst of the soap, though the foam was already fading. "I just hope you do come back soon, it's only lonelier without you here."

Maria shook one hand dry as she pulled the dress out of the water with the other, the garment heavier than she expected. Reaching for a second handful of fabric, she twisted it—spun the bundle between her fingers to tighten it—and turned her face away as a sheet of water fell away with another splash into the bathtub. Tossing that bit just over the bathtub's edge, she moved her hands upward to where it would now sit loosely at her waist, squeezing the water from there as well. She folded the sleeves together, a few firm pumps of one hand from the shoulder to the bottom hem releasing another small waterfall filled with the last tiny bubbles. "Well, at least that was the second one to clean."

Reaching up to basin's edge just to her side, Maria flattened her hand against the enamel, turning this way and that— There, she thought, the thin gold band finally in her grasp again, hardly even glanced at before she thrust it back onto her finger. Well, that would be what I would do, see to it when I leave the flat and lose it when I'm here alone! She tossed the dress across the sink, almost turning too fast and grazing her head against the underside. I know you wouldn't like that, Maria thought, moving one knee and then the other away as the remaining water dripped onto the scratched tile. I did that last week and I was lucky the knot wasn't that bad. She frowned, her arms already back in the warm water searching for the second dress, the cloth already scrubbed and rinsed as best she could. This one she folded in half after wringing out the worst of the water, bottom of the skirt to the top of the neckline and then in half again to keep it up and out. With a final thrust of her hand into the water, Maria found the small plug shoved into the drain at the end and yanked it free. Setting it on the very edge for the meantime, she shook her hand once more before wrapping both around the rounded porcelain edge and pushing herself up.

Her vision blurred for a second and she spun around with a frantic search for the basin, not caring as she heard the squelch of her damp dress. She had to close her eyes, just finding her breaths one after another. Her stomach might be happier most of the time, but it had always troubled her whenever she stood up a little too fast. "I was kneeling for too long." Her shoulders rolled forward for a second before she straightened, wincing at the crack just above her hips. "I know I shouldn't do that. I've known it all my life."

Maria stood still for a while, at least a minute while a throbbing sprouted just behind her eyes; fortunately it faded in a few seconds. A quick blink and then another cleared the last of the fog, though she was still careful as she turned around and reached for the first hanger she had brought from the wardrobe. She forced each of them between the front and back of her dresses, the wet fabric still sticking together, then settled each of the hooks over the shower rod. Glancing down, she frowned: the water was still gurgling in a little pool around that drain. It had been getting worse over the two weeks since Georg had left, probably her hair as it occasionally melted into the water those nights she laced it with shampoo powder during her shower. She had occasionally needed to clear the one in the bathtub in the washroom of her old room, and now either she or her husband had to clear the basin drain as well. "Not now," she whispered as she opened her eyes, peering into the mirror over the small faucet. "It's only what's left after you shave, Georg."

She didn't want to look at herself, biting her lip as she turned away from her reflection; she knew what was there, what had been staring back at her for the last few days. Her skin was paler than usual and beneath her eyes, half moons of blue and grey. Just busy—worried over the start of the term...Maria had told herself that so many times since Georg disappeared through the front door. I don't want to think about it, but I know what it is, I just didn't want to believe it at first. Closing her eyes again, she rubbed them at her shoulder, her hands on the edge of the basin once more. I'm depressed, Georg. You've been gone too long time. I'm happy that school year has started, it's something to take up my time—more than those summer lessons. I'm there and then I'm home—and you aren't here.

Maria shook her head, one hand against her nose as she sniffed, the tightness in her chest just a sob she struggled to choke back down. There just isn't much right now, Georg. Not money, you left me more than enough, I think more than I've ever had. But when I'm here and I look around...It's so lonely, always wanting you here instead of—wherever you are. All I have are Mass and my prayers, and then those times when I write you those letters and I imagine I'm just telling you what has happened over the day. Reaching to the rod hanging beside the mirror, Maria toweled off her hands, though she still wiped one along her dress to dry the last drops of water. "That will have to be enough for tonight," she whispered, her fingers snapping the switch down to extinguish the light overhead. (She forgot herself for a moment, closing the door before turning back to let the flat's drier air in.)

Back in their bedroom, Maria didn't even peel away her dress though the fabric clung to her like it was just as wet as the ones that would hang overnight. She simply threw aside the blankets on her bed—their bed—and dropped onto the mattress right at its head. Even after spending the entire day around the flat just tidying and cleaning in between marking a few papers, she was too tired for anything else. Even a short reach for her father's watch on the side table stoked an ache along her flank, though the little hands spinning away were the only permission she needed to begin unknotting her braid; she hadn't even bothered to tie it up this morning.

I might as well write you another one, she thought, now reaching for that book of tales, the pin with its ink drop on the nib, and a piece of blank paper instead. At least it's still light enough to see, not like last night. Maria laughed quietly, though she wasn't certain why she felt she needed to keep it to herself. She was alone in the flat and had long ago realized the neighbors on either side of their walls or down the hall didn't care what happened in the flat, so long as there was no noise to speak of. Pulling her legs up to her chest—she didn't bother to toss the blankets over her legs, her dress heavy enough for now—Maria set the book on her knees, already scribbling her husband's name at the very top.

After her first little break from the real world on Wednesday when the solitude had finally grown too heavy, her pile of letters to her husband was growing. Thursday and Friday evening after dinner, she had filled an entire page front and back, the last few words at the bottom smearing each time as she flipped the paper over, too impatient to be bothered for the ink to dry. Even at school wasn't quite an escape, now, she had scribbled one that first day as her students read through their primers with just a few whispers between them—two on Friday. But whether she wrote them here or in her classroom, she always folded and tucked them away into her father's book. In case you come home when I'm at school, she thought as she paused. I feel like I would have to explain why, even though I know you will understand, you— Maria shook her head and the thought away. Maybe I should say that I hope you will understand. Her hand shook, the pen nib striking the second half of his name through. She whistled a sigh, another little throbbing starting behind her eyes, but she scratched out her first attempt and started again.

Georg,

I'm lonely. I know you said you wouldn't be gone forever, but it feels like it has been. My classes just go too fast and before I know it I'm home again. And it's so long since you sent that telegram, I wish you would send another one. If I thought you would, it might be something to look forward to.

I'm feeling better than I was those last nights you were home. I'm still feeling tired, though, just like I was. Maybe it shouldn't surprise me, now that the term has started. At least there's less than over the summer, those weeks just went so fast.

Maria stopped, the pen's nib scratching along the paper, a large bead of black ink growing at the very tip. She turned her head, rubbing the side of her face against her shoulder and the top sleeve of her dress, her thick waves of hair tossed over the other. The thick cotton scratched on her skin, but she still yawned. Her head up again, she rolled it about side to side, one of the bones cracking against the bottom of her skull. A gentle breath rushed through her nose as she pulled her legs closer, just tossing the book and her letter aside to where Georg was meant to sleep. The pen was caught between her thighs and belly, and Maria felt a sudden damp there. Ink, she thought, now moaning. I'll have to be happy that I finally have everything washed for the start of the week.

Her head lolled once more, now against the wall, her gaze just catching her half written letter and her father's book beneath it. "I just don't understand," she murmured. She stretched out her legs and grabbed for that pen, sat in the middle of the ink stain she had expected from her waist to the middle of her thighs. Picking it up from the very top—the worst of the ink was at the other end—she dropped it onto the table at her side and shook her hand, the wettest bits of ink flying away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that." Now, Maria wiped her hand on her skirt; it was already filthy enough she wouldn't be able to wear it again without washing it, if she could even hope to scrub the mark out at all. "I probably won't be able to. But…" She tightened her hand in the dress's folds, rubbing her fingers into the coarse weave. "I suppose it's time to make another, though you would probably tell me there's no need to sew one myself, that I should simply buy one instead."

Maria pushed herself forward on her backside, her back sliding against the wall: down onto her pillow and then onto the mattress, the bumps a little harsher than the night before. Rolling onto her side, she pulled her hair around, now almost a little curtain across her face, each breath bringing the linger smell of washing powder from earlier, like she had dropped the very ends into the suds. I can finish it tonight, I know I can. She stretched out her hand—just caught the edge of the letter—then dropped it onto the bed.

"I wish you were here." Her hand empty, Maria grabbed a fistful of the fitted sheet, the far corner near the edge of Georg's pillow loosening from where she had tucked it beneath the mattress. "Even just for a day if you had to go again, wherever it is Salzburg you have to. The first week was long enough, but now it feels like a lifetime." She pulled harder on the sheet and it flew free, falling into a little pile just beside her atop her partially written letter and book of tales. Letting go of the white sheet, Maria ran a finger along the book's spine, a few of the worn fibers bending under her touch. "I have so much to tell you, but I can't do it right now."

She pulled them all closer: book and letter, wrinkled sheet and Georg's pillow. "I didn't let myself think it, not really, that you were like one of the characters in my stories. A prince in disguise or something like that. I saw enough of your troubles even that first night, even when you tried to run away so quickly." Maria threw her hair aside, hand under her dress's neckline to pull it away from her skin; she was suddenly too warm, woozy as she pushed her head even further into her pillow.

"I don't know why I don't feel well." Rolling onto her back, she grimaced. The very ragged ends of her hair were caught under her rib cage, tugging on her scalp. "I still don't know what it is but the flu, just earlier than I thought I might catch it." Up on her elbow, Maria pulled her hair free then fell back down, gasping as the air fled from her lungs. She sniffled as she tried to breathe again—and something deep in her belly twisted, a fresh ache much sharper than any torment her cycle had ever brought. I know it's almost time, just in the next few days, she thought, pressing the tops of her legs up against her abdomen hard as she could. But not so much— "Agh!" she shrieked into her pillow, almost biting down on the dry cotton wrapped around it. "I've never felt—" Her next squeal was muffled into the pillow, her nose almost crushed as well. "It's never—" Again, lower now. "It's never been so bad before."

Breathe, Maria told herself as the hours melted into the night. Please, Father, help me. Whatever it is, I cannot do it, not on my own. One more twist of pain under her skin drew another cry, quieter after the time that had already passed. Please, Father. Where is he? "This isn't how the stories go," she whispered, the ache deepening and settling into something now constant and dull. "You weren't supposed to be like this, Georg." She shoved her face higher on the pillow, someplace dry. "You weren't supposed to go to somewhere far away, you were supposed to stay." She caught the tip of her nose with her hand, the edge of her wedding ring scraping her hot damp skin. "With me."

The next morning, Aigen

Elsa had to turn over, away from the little sounds of the birds outside and some smell she couldn't quite name, wishing the satin coverlet was a little heavier. It was damp, wet, almost like a fog had settled overnight. Not quite dirt or mud, something earthier and heavier. She opened her eyes, closed them against sunlight shattering through a window on the opposite side of the room. A little sigh rushing through her lips, she threw her tousled hair aside; she hadn't bothered to set it as she often did for the night, instead letting the white-blond hair twist and turn around her neck through the night.

Sitting up, she stretched her right arm out in front of herself. The thin strap of her pale red negligee slipped along her shoulder, and Elsa shoved it to the top of her arm. She frowned as she settled her left hand atop her right, now noticing the fresh chips in her nails' polish. I shall have to see to that before we dress for the evening, she thought, though she tucked both hands beneath the satin bedclothes as she peered around the room. Somehow, it wasn't quite what she expected. "Or maybe I should have supposed something at all about what a sea captain's master bedroom might look like."

The furniture was dark and heavy—mahogany or ebony, she presumed—but not too much of it, leaving most of the room rather empty. Too long cramped up on a submarine? The window at the opposite end of the room was open, a few little creaks echoing from the hinges as a morning breeze drifted through, probably bringing...well, Elsa still wasn't quite certain what she was smelling. No curtains to soften the edges and hide the harsher window frame with its ornate carvings, but a thick dark rod with finials lined with gold or brass hung on brackets just above, almost waiting for a woman's touch. And that odd chair in one of the far corners, cushioned and dusty, probably where Agathe had spent many a day with a baby in her arms. You've been too long without her, darling, without a woman, she thought as she lay back down and burrowed into the pale blue sheets under the white satin coverlet. We'll talk about it soon, Georg, she went on to herself, rolling onto her side.

Georg hadn't moved much through the night, not surprising her in the least. The handful of times he had shared her bed in Vienna, he might as well have been wrapped in an invisible vice. But more so than those short moments together—the man escaping from her bed well before she would even consider beginning her own day—he had been a world away even beside her, turned onto his side away from her. Farther away than usual.

Elsa turned onto her back again, throwing an arm over her head, her eyes suddenly caught on a little line in the ceiling above. It ran the length of the room: from the edge that met the wall behind them to the little rosettes cut from plaster in the very center, petals and thorns dropping an inch or so down, their little shadows darkening the white beneath. I wouldn't think you would allow that. I certainly wouldn't, but...She dragged her arm down over her eyes, a few last crispy remnants of mascara probably coloring her pale skin. I do know you haven't entirely been yourself. Not even last night.

It had been strange, almost stilted, making love with Georg last night, her arms and legs wrapped around him while he almost looked right through her. Whatever little spark that had flared between them in his study—nearly another flame feeding the smoke that clung to the air like incense from a censer—had disappeared in the short walk to his study. Up along the stairs to the family's wing of the house, his polished shoes and her daintier heels muffled by rugs rather than caution. Past a long hallway, the lights in their sconces already partially dimmed for the night. He had left her at the door of her guestroom just a handful of paces from what must be the door to the master suite, she decided, the frame darker wood and as far along the corridor as could be, away from everything. It was just a gentle kiss on her cheek, a whisper to see to herself for end of the evening, to bring whatever she needed for overnight into the morning, not to even bother knocking. And when she finally did open the door—carefully, quietly, not wanting to chance drawing notice from the rest of the household—Georg had been sat on one edge of the bed, the side where he now slept, fingers twitching as he leaned forward with his arms on his knees. Dressing gown open, tanned skin and dark hair peeking through from his chest. Waiting, frowning…

There had been no joy in Georg's face as she set her dressing gown aside, no happiness as she sat beside him with another kiss, this one lingering longer than those she allowed in his study. No passion at all as they were both stripped bare and he buried himself between her legs, his face against the pillow as her body writhed up against his. Not even a word as he pulled himself from her, semen spilling against the jut of her hipbone as he collapsed onto his back, his breathing still as even as when she stepped into the room.

We really will have to sort that out shortly. It won't do for very long. But...it wasn't like that before, Elsa thought, one finger running along his back as she blinked harder at the little crusts still in the corners of her eyes. The last time you were in Vienna, you were at least happy to be with me. I don't even know if you saw me at all, last night, almost like you looked right through me, not at me.

Beside her, Georg stirred, stretching his legs out toward the very bottom of the bed, an actual wooden frame rising from the end of the mattress unlike the little bed in the Salzburg flat. And even despite Elsa beside him, he had enough room to turn as he pushed the sheet and coverlet aside. Elsa, he thought as he swallowed. His throat had dried overnight, the wine in his study leaving a scratchy film on his tongue as well. The cravings were already rising, but at least his cigarettes were in his jacket pocket from the day before with all the rest of it, his wife not here to insist on them remaining banished from their bedroom.

"Wife," he whispered as he licked his lips. "It's not you, not anymore." Georg swallowed again as he closed his eyes again. "Not here." He took a deep breath, a struggle as though it was a real weight cracking his ribs. Not here, Maria. I'll destroy all of you if you have to be here, in all of my unhappiness.

Elsa slid away from him with a frown, sitting up once again as she slipped her feet and legs from beneath the layers. The red silk of her ornate nightdress slithered down along her thighs, a little of the lace hem tangling with the bedclothes. Even that had been so odd, what had been a delightful aftermath in her bedroom in Vienna. Georg had almost pushed her from his bed with a gentle mutter about dressing for bed, before her heart had even begun to slow! Almost as though their had been no pleasure in those minutes of tangled limbs.

I don't know what you're talking about right now, she thought as she stood, the little callouses on the balls of her feet and heels catching the carpet's creamy fibers. Going on about Agathe. And maybe you don't either. I know you would rather her be here than me, darling, but she isn't—she can't. Oh, where had she put her dressing gown? Peering around, the room almost as dark as it had been the night before despite the morning light from the window, she just spotted it folded atop the bureau that sat along the wall. Right where she had placed it the night before.

Nothing last night had been as she anticipated Elsa decided as she eased her arms into the gown's sleeves, the sash dangling around her waist. It had been ordered at the same time as the negligee now beneath it, cut from a heavier silk dyed deeper red, tailored just to her curves two or three years ago. Only a small handful of lovers had seen her wear it, let alone watch her peel it away from her skin. And hopefully no one else but you, Georg, though I hope you won't begrudge me a bit of fun in the past years. Even before then, Hans never did.

Her small travel case sat on the bureau as well, placed there before she folded her dressing gown. Not much, but just what she needed to make herself presentable for the morning, though perhaps it wasn't necessary. After all, she wouldn't be able to linger too long without the staff asking questions, let alone the children probably still sleeping down the hall. "It is Sunday," she muttered, the case's front clasp opening as she pushed the little latch up with her thumb and its chipped red nail. "No one will be about too early." The clasp clicking against the silver plating, Elsa pushed the lid onto its hinges. Everything she needed for a morning when she was on a journey, whether on a train across Europe or in a hotel for a few weeks whenever Paris or the like called her name. She reached for her mother of pearl brush, the first few strokes of the teeth finding the snarls from the night. "You'll have to explain it to me, because I surely don't understand."

One section of her hair now lay straighter over her shoulders, Elsa moving on to another to another chunk that hung along the back of her neck. This section was more tangled, a little rat's nest on the crown of her head. Returning her brush to the case, she reached for the matching comb instead. The little curve in its handle was shinier, worn by the years wrapped up in her palm. She had to lean forward, the top of her breasts appearing as the bust of her negligee dropped a little, her dressing gown still untied around her waist. Her other hand in a fist in the middle of this section, Elsa dragged the teeth through the very end, now pulling the closer teeth away and then higher up, almost to the base of her thumb. A couple tugs cleared these tangles, so she let this section go, moved her hand higher—

In her mirror—high up in the glass, she was bent so far forward—Georg was finally getting to his feet, his back to her with the muscles she had felt under her fingers the night before. Though she had tugged all her clothes on after she caught her breath, he had only reached for the trousers he wore at night. His bare chest was just as she remembered as he turned around, a tight smile on his face as he walked around the end of the bed, vanishing from her little mirror for a moment—almost startling her as he reappeared, his hand on top of her shoulder, fingers squeezing the muscle at the top of her arm.

Elsa dropped the gleaming comb into her tote with a little clatter, reaching up to cover his hand with her palm as she craned her face up and around to him. "Good morning, darling." Georg didn't answer, though he took his hand back, running it along his face with its scratchy and short morning beard. Curling her fingers under his, Elsa pushed his hand up—now spinning around to him as her hair fluttered down over her bare shoulders, almost as fair as her skin. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek softly, his beard itchy on her lips, though this early in the morning, she had no lipstick to leave even the faintest mark. Georg didn't move, didn't answer, just peering at her once more as though he didn't quite see her.

"Good morning," he murmured as he dragged his hand back, scratching at an itch on his other.

"Whatever is the matter, Georg?"

Now he shook his head, rumpled hair waving this way and that. "Nothing—darling."

She ran a finger along his face, down his jaw onto the top of his neck. "I know you're not always a man of many words, but I don't expect you to be this quiet." The little stubble of his beard faded along the bottom of his chin, now just the longer coarser hairs sprouting from his skin as she reached his chest— Elsa snorted back a little bit of laughter as her hand slid further, now atop his left shoulder. "You still haven't told me about that."

"Hmm?" Georg dropped his face, just seeing a couple of her fingers tapping at the long faded small bluish patch.

"I'm sure it must have a story you'll have to tell me someday."

Georg pulled Maria into his lap in the small chair beside the gramophone, his oversized shirt hiding her from the shallow outline of her top ribs to the middle of her thighs. (Happily, she hadn't quite buttoned it to the top.) Her legs splayed apart, he dragged her against him, her breasts hitting his chest hard. Despite his dressing gown, half open to allow the warm morning hair to slick the last of the water from his skin and little curls of dark hair, her nipples weren't as hard as he expected. Her cleavage was rising and falling, just visible beneath the final open button, and her mouth was open, each exhaled breath a little huff against his skin. He didn't hesitate to stroke the just visible skin on her thigh, his fingers kneading as they rose higher—even pinching the inside right at the top of her leg, right up to the hollow that belonged to him…

It wasn't those fine curls of hair he had claimed the night before and this morning, but silk instead, tight against her. "Why ever would you do that, darling?" he murmured. He could still feel the heat burning right there, a little of wetness pooling as well.

"Do—" Her eyes closed—her head jerked back for a second as she gulped down a mouthful of air and seized his shoulders to steady herself. "Do what?" she whispered, eyes blank as she lazily opened them.

"Get dressed."

The girl shook her head, a wave of tangled hair flowing over her shoulders, uneven ends tickling his chest. "I'm not dressed—"

"You certainly are," Georg murmured. He dropped a kiss against the base of her neck, licking them for a quick taste of the soap still coating her skin, even a hint of the salt from the last day. Not even that, he reminded himself as his hand continued caressing her skin, now wandering to her belly, just below her navel.

Maria dropped her head, her chin almost catching his nose. "I couldn't—" She giggled, Georg's fingers slipping beneath the waist band of her silk underwear. "I couldn't just walk around bare—"

"Why not?"

"Why not!" She raised her face, eyebrows knitted together over the top of her nose, a few of the shorter broken hairs around her face stuck between her lips. "It's not something you do! Or at least—I don't."

"I don't make a habit of it, but you are quite lovely." He kissed the bottom of her jaw. "Tempting."

"Georg—"

His hand dove under that thin band, down into those coarse fair hairs. The folds of skin were still damp from her own shower and her attempts to clean away his semen, he knew, but the moisture between them was slick, sticking to his fingers as only she could. I could have my way with you right here in a few hours, just like this, he thought as she snapped her eyes shut, struggled to clamp her legs together against his little torment. "We haven't even been married for twenty-four hours and it's only the two of us—"

"That doesn't matter," Maria rasped, hands gripping his shoulders more tightly than ever. "You—you can't—"

"Not even—God would be upset, I think." He tugged his hand free from her underwear, now climbing up along her the little ladder of her ribs; his fingers left a few wet prints along her flank. "But you've already worn me out this morning, Maria." Now just at bottom band of her brassiere, Georg clenched his hand around her left breast—hard—and her mouth opened in a short sigh, eyes still closed, the skin at the outer corner of each eye wrinkled, as though she was fighting not to open them. "Otherwise, I'd show you the lazy man's way to make love."

Her hands loosened on his shoulders. "The...lazy man's way?"

Georg nodded, not sure why. Trailing his fingers back down along her spine, he cupped half of her backside, then wrapped his other hand in a fistful of her hair. "I'll make you do all the work."

Eyes opening again, Maria's gaze was slack, almost unfocused. "The work?"

"Yes." His hand tightening around her bottom, he dragged her forward, spreading her legs wider about his hips. Those slender knees tugged at his dressing gown, opening it loosely to his waist, though a brief gust of air wasn't enough to coax an erection from his groin. "And I won't look away for even a moment while you do."

His wife released his shoulders—there was certainly a mark on either side—only to grunt as she wrapped her arms around the top of his back and buried her face into the hollow atop his collarbone. Her breathing was rough and it was only a moment before her cheek fell onto the very top edge of his cotton dressing gown. "So...soon?" she whispered.

"Yes." He nodded, another flicker of excitement rushing between his legs as he saw her bite down a little grin. Georg wrapped his arms around the middle of her back and a little flush flooding her face. "As soon as I can."

Maria relaxed into his arms, her little breaths a faint, warm shudder against him. You don't know what you're doing, darling. Her hands drifted under his dressing gown—half pushing it from his shoulders—and now and then, she pushed herself into his groin, the blood somehow stirring a fresh ache right beneath her. If I was a younger man, I'd have you right here and now. You'll be the death of—

"Georg?"

"Hmm?"

Her gaze was down, eyes narrowed, her fingers just below his collarbone. "What's that?" she asked quickly.

"What is—"

"That!" Maria asked again. She had the dressing gown down from his shoulder almost to his elbow before he realized and grabbed for her face, bringing her gaze back to him.

"Young sailors aren't known for being particularly wise, Maria."

"But wherever did you get it?"

Georg kissed her again, biting at her bottom lip—hearing her little gasp as she pushed her body against his harder than ever. "Leave isn't always a good thing—" He hissed, his new wife surely not realizing she had shifted back on the tops of his thighs before pushing herself back against him. The blood rushed down between his legs, throbbing as the beginnings of a new erection began to grow despite making love to her twice already. "Particularly when you have a few other cadets with you, and each of you is encouraging one more glass. Sometimes, you wake up with ink etched into your skin."

Maria snorted against his neck, laughing too, he decided by the scraping of her hidden breasts against his bare chest. "You should have known better." She laced her fingers behind his neck. "What did anyone say?"

"My mother wasn't all that happy when she finally saw it."

She shook her head, another wave of hair fluttering against his skin. "I don't know how I didn't see it," she said softly, peeling one hand away from his neck, fingers dancing over the little patch, old lines almost melted into something that might as well have been a bruise.

I'm sure it looks like nothing to you, he thought. I could never say myself even that next morning. "I would have been surprised if you had, your eyes were a little full of—other parts of me."

The red flooded her cheeks again. "Georg—"

"You won't be embarrassed in too long."

"But—"

"You'll know my bed very well," he whispered. One hand around her right wrist, Georg gently pushed her hand down between the two of them. He was still growing as her fingers landed on his dressing gown, the cotton so thin that even the tips of her nails were a torment. Her eyes followed for a moment, though now open wide when she returned them to him. "Never forget that after yesterday—last night, this morning, now—you belong to me."

"Georg? Georg?"

"Hmm?"

Elsa slapped his cheek lightly, scraping her fingers against his skin and thin beard. "You really need to learn to stop running away. Especially in your own home."

Georg stepped back as her hand fell away. "It often doesn't feel like one. That disappeared long ago."

"Oh, it can't be that bad, darling. Perhaps...it's all just a little bit...Well, it hasn't changed for years, has it?"

"What, here?"

"Yes, all of this." She waved a hand in the air, from the heavy door leading to the hallway to the spare window peering out over the lake and the rippling lawn still struggling to come back from the dry summer. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to change everything, not even now—"

"Even?" he snapped as he slapped his arms across his chest for a moment before his fought with the sash at his waist. The knot came apart in his hands for a second, then he fastened it a little tighter, twisting the soft belt over an extra couple of times.

"Forgive me, Georg," Elsa said quietly as she turned around, back to her little tote. The hair pins must be in here somewhere; at least a couple would hold her hair up and off her neck, already a little too warm and sweaty, particularly after last night. "You know I don't normally wake this early. I'm afraid I never rise with the sun out on an ocean." She pushed aside a little pearl brooch; a pair of earrings holding a center stone of black agate surrounded by tiny shimmering diamonds; now even a decorative jeweled comb adorned with pale lilac crystal she must have tucked away after a visit to one of her brief lovers in the last years, forgotten beneath a handful of simple gold chains. No pins, but at least a half full package of cigarettes, still wrapped in the battered paper instead of a sparkling case. The cardboard in one hand, she turned it over—tapped it hard on the bottom to drop one cigarette into her other, balancing it between her middle and index finger as she dropped it back.

"May I borrow your lighter?" Elsa asked as she turned around with a swish of red silk. Hair gathered into one hand, she threw it over one shoulder, all she could do for the moment. "And where do you keep your ashtray? I really must have—"

"There aren't any," Georg said with a shake of his head. "Agathe never wanted the smell in here."

"I'm sure she didn't" she whispered, twisting around with half a step to drop the cigarette back into her case. I'll see to it all soon enough, she told herself as she righted herself, taking a few steps across the pale rug and reaching for Georg's right hand. She smiled as his fingers wrapped around hers as well. "All I meant, then, darling, was it's a little too heavy in here, for anyone. So much dark wood—not even any curtains at the windows. It won't be too hard to see to, I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard to find someone—"

His grasp tightened. Another time, one of her little decorative rings with their precious stones would have drawn a few drops of blood from his palm, he knew. "Elsa."

"I can't be here in Salzburg too long now, unfortunately—"

"Aigen."

"Yes, Aigen," she said, a shake of her head tossing her hair across her neck and upper back again. "But not for too long, a few of my cousins are arriving for a visit this week."

Georg turned his face away, his mouth wide to take a deep breath. "From where?" God, what time was it? The gleaming clock on the bureau was blurry in his early morning vision, half of it behind Elsa's crumpled hair, a few grey patches peeking through the waves. You'll have to be on your way soon, he thought as he opened his hand and pulled it loose, fingers cracking as he stretched them.

"From Budapest—well, two of them—"

"And where else?" It really won't do for the household to find you here.

"One of them lives in Paris these days, and the other is coming from Berlin—"

"They're already invading," Georg growled, spinning around—walking away. "I didn't realize you would invite them—"

"Oh, Georg, please." It was just a few quick trotted steps for her to catch him as the silk rustled around her calves—and now she had her hand on his shoulder, almost slipping from his dressing gown. "Not everything in the world is meant to slight you these days."

"I know."

"I certainly don't intend to." Elsa tapped her fingers along the top of his back, unable to stay still as her fingers trembled, the traces of her final cigarettes from the night before long gone. "Why don't we take a little time to go into the city this afternoon? I know you said you haven't been here very much, but it's a little too much for you, isn't it?" He didn't answer, just shook his head a little. "And it might be time for me to see the corners of this city you love so much."

"Elsa—"

"It's lucky that you keep to yourself and you always have," she went on faster. Another step brought her right up behind him. Craning her head up, she settled her chin against the very top of his back, one of her arms around his waist, hand over the large knot in that sash. "Your friends in the city might be talking, if they heard I was here with you on my own."

"Would they?" he asked, the words rumbling against her chest.

"I suppose they would. I'll need a chaperone the next time I—"

"It won't be necessary."

Her arm tightened, rising up along his chest, onto the bare skin high up between the gown's lapels. "Won't it?"

"No." Georg turned around to her again, almost a man she didn't quite know anymore as she struggled to smile at him. The faint lines beginning to fill out his cheeks were etched deeper, the circles under his looked almost black rather than the sort of blue-grey she knew how to hide on herself, and perhaps...was there a little bit of skin bare at his temples. No, Elsa told herself, a dry cough climbing up through her chest. It's just your imagination. He's still the same man he was last name, with all the same troubles.

"There's something you have to understand." Georg settled his hands on his hips—then pulled them back, no pockets to hide his fingers and hands like there were on his suit coats, no place to hide his little vices, his little anchors. No, that wasn't quite right, the right thing to call those little trinkets from two different women, both hidden away in his side table, thrown in there almost like her diary had been the moment he dared to look at it. "You were right, last night, when you said I was still married." Christ, what was that? I can't remember it, it was so long ago. One of those silly little stories you would probably know yourself, Maria, something a governess read us from the Bible.

"It was just a little joke, Georg, you're much too serious at times." Elsa laughed—the cough finally escaped as well—but it died in the warm, still air. "It's like you still think you're on one of your submarines."

"Please, just give me a moment."

"I know you still miss Agathe, so do I," Elsa whispered as she pulled one of his hand away from his side, in between both of hers. "I knew her longer—"

"It's not her!"

Elsa loosened her fingers, just now woven together around Georg's palm, both of her hands dropping to her side. She even needed to step away from him, that flash of anger had surged from some depth she didn't recognize. "Then—then I don't understand."

He shook his head and waved her aside. "Just out of my way, Elsa, it's in here somewhere."

"It?"

"I think I need a cigarette as much as you do."

Elsa hurried aside, old cigarette package in her hand, Georg not worrying while her tote and the gold plated clock jostled about on the polished mahogany as he pulled the second drawer open. The sides screeched against the wood that butted up against the beveled edges and he thrust one hand deep into a far corner. She pushed herself up onto her toes, curious at the little muffled thuds. He leaned forward as though he was reaching to the very back, a few dark stockings rippling over his arm—but he was already settling something on the bureau top with a clatter. "And you said you didn't have any in here," she whispered.

The dark ashtray was nestled between his hands as he turned back to her, some sort of varnished wood, she decided, something to match the furniture despite the hidden corner where it had been banished. "I hid it long ago, away from her. I told you, she didn't want it." Both hands on the front of the dark drawer, Georg pushed it closed slowly, the scraping gentler than before. "But...It's where I've been when I'm—in Salzburg." One of his hands cut through the air—a wave toward the large bed in the center of the room—though a little breeze had finally drifted through the window. "Sit down—darling."

Elsa nodded, and as she settled herself on the edge—closer to the foot than the head—she crossed her ankles, tugging her dressing gown across her knees. Georg dropped the ashtray onto the bedside table before he hurried around the bed. She twisted around to follow him; he was at the wardrobe, one door thrown open and now rummaging at the top—then lower, like he was searching for something in one of the coats that hung from the road running the length of armoire. Half of what she could see was dark, probably the black and deep grey suits Georg preferred, she assumed, the other half filled with colorful frocks, the top shelf a few equally colorful baubles. You'll have to let her go eventually, Elsa thought, the wardrobe door snapping closed before he turned back toward her. Even her dresses and the jewelry I'm sure you've hidden away a little better.

Now sitting beside her, Georg didn't even try to smile, something dropping with a little rattle from his left hand onto his dressing gown into the little valley where his legs met, the skin and hair of his knee and lower calf visible just above the rug. It was a small box of matches tucked into his other against his palm, the tray opening with a quick shove of his finger. It was one strike of the match's head against the side to bring it to life, lighting the top of her cigarette before his own. He shook the flame away before dropping into the empty bowl on the table.

The nicotine flooded Elsa's lungs, that little burn she craved, only a few minutes ahead of when it would rush into her bloodstream. "I know how you feel about matches, Georg, you must have hidden those long ago." The first hints of grey smoke escaped from her mouth, she couldn't resist drawing a deep breath before the bedclothes and few bits of upholstery had a chance to drink it in. "But you should tell me: what's so troubling in Salzburg." Tucking the cigarette back between her lips, Elsa took another breath. I'll have to be careful, it won't do to have those yellow marks on my skin. "I think I should know."

Georg shook his head again, the cigarette between his fingers already forgotten and the orange end dimming. "It's not Salzburg. It's who I've been with."

Elsa reached for him, fingernails grazing the sleeve of his dressing gown—and now he slid a few inches from her, grabbing for whatever had now fallen down to the satin coverlet beneath them. "Tell me."

He tightened his hand, the metal cutting into his skin here and there. "Tell you what?"

"Something, since I don't know a thing now!"

Georg sighed as he opened his hand, everything tumbling from his grasp: the heavier whistle rolling down first, his wedding ring quickly following after. It had been hidden since he arrived at the villa, more than two weeks! Always in his pocket with the other, a talisman and his shackle. "Everything," he murmured as he folded his hand back over them. "My own demons, Elsa."

She paused for a moment, her cigarette midair and her fingers still shaking faintly—but then she dropped her elbow onto her knee, steadying her arm as she slid her other hand from his arm to his clenched fist. "What are those, darling?" she whispered. I really don't understand. That's quite different from the one I know Agathe gave you years ago.

"I wasn't thinking, not at all."

Elsa laughed quietly, though it was short. "I'm sure that's not quite true."

He turned his head quickly, gaze still unfocused. "Isn't it?"

"It's fools who rush in without thinking, not men like you."

"For God's sake, Elsa, don't talk about something you don't quite know—"

"Yet."

"Yet?" he snapped.

"That's what you're doing, talking around whatever it is so that you don't have to tell me." She tried to smile now, but it withered on her lips; Elsa set her cigarette there instead, ready for another mouthful of smoke. "I'm afraid I'll need that in a moment," she said with a nod of her head toward the ashtray on the side table.

"Of course," Georg muttered. He slid his top hand aside, reaching a little for the empty bowl, setting his own still gleaming cigarette there to grab it between his fingertips. As he sat straight again, he moved just far enough away from her to open a patch of the shining coverlet, dropping it without any grace in exchange for his cigarette. "I forgot, here."

Elsa tapped away the gathered ash, her other arm now falling across her legs as she leaned forward as she looked up at him. "You're talking around it all very well. Don't forget I've spent more time alone in a Vienna ballroom or parlor than you."

"Quite." He finally brought his own cigarette up to his mouth, taking a quick breath before he dropped his hand again, the heel of his palm on his thigh. "Would you even believe me?"

"I can't know, Georg, not if you're talking like that. What is it?"

"It was only a few weeks after that first—weekend I spent with you, there. Maybe even just one."

Elsa nodded. "I was confused, I'll admit that. You did disappear for...at least a month, I think. And you were quite reserved when I saw you then."

Georg nodded again, his cigarette briefly returning to his lips before he set it in the ashtray, balanced with the back half over the edge to keep it up and out of the tiny pile of cooling white ash. "Yes."

"Are you frightened of telling me?"

"No." He pressed his empty hand overtop his other, both of them atop his knees. "But somehow I think—Agathe would have approved of it, if I made a new future with you."

"She would have. And don't you want that, darling?" Elsa licked her lips, now wishing for a glass of water more than her cigarette or even a coffee. "I certainly do."

"I know."

"I haven't missed Hans much at all since he died—I don't think even he would believe me if he could somehow hear me claim I did. It wasn't for love, anything between us, but it does grow lonely in that townhouse. I'm sure it does here, too, even with the children—"

"Don't talk about them." God, that little patch of forest couldn't disappear quickly enough, the wildness at the edge of his orderly world with its daydreams and little imaginings. Maria and the children, his wife and his children, soon to be his newest child. "Please."

"If you want it that way, but it doesn't change that I'm sure you're just as lonely here."

"I was, it's why I left."

"Why didn't you come back to Vienna?"

"I did—"

"Once."

"More than once—"

"Then only once to see me," Elsa said as she ran her nails along his leg, the scratch of them against the silk audible. "Until earlier this week, I can't recall the last time you answered one of my telegrams."

"For a while, darling, while I was here...I found a distraction."

"I beg your pardon?"

He nodded. "I tried to tell you about her once."

"Did you?"

"That last time I visited you in Vienna—"

"Months ago," Elsa said quickly, sitting straight again.

"Yes."

Elsa flicked the next chunk of ash away, her arms tucked tighter into her side and thighs pressed harder together. "And she struck you that much?"

"I don't even know, not really. But perhaps she—"

"Please don't—"

"If you want to see me again in Vienna, Elsa, I need you to understand everything."

"How much can there be, it sounds like you hardly know—"

"Just—quiet!" he finally shouted, wincing as he finally opened his hand again. The whistles curves were too gentle and soft—it landed in his lap with a muffled thud—but the ring had left a white mark against his palm. "Christ—"

"I'm not one of your sailors, don't you dare talk to me like one!"

Georg picked up that small ring, the thin band dancing back and forth between his fingertips. It might as well be a trinket in a corner shop for all it meant to him. "I know that very well." "You're married to her for life."

Elsa swallowed, her gaze following the ring as rolled this way and that, shining bright like one of the many diamond rings slumbering on velvet in the jewelry case in the dressing room of her Vienna townhouse, all waiting their turn to be worn again. "Then what about...What about her?"

The ring dropped onto his index finger, too tight to slide down over his knuckle as it did on the proper one. "Just what you said last night," he whispered, a quick twist of his other finger and thumb pulling it back off, burying it in his fist again.

"Georg—"

"I told you just now that you were right, that—I'm still married."

Elsa didn't answer, instead listening to the blood throbbing in her ears—tapping her toes now, then digging them into the carpet—putting the cigarette back between her lips. I don't...What do you mean, still, Georg? Agathe's months in the grave—a year, I think, I'm hopeless with dates. But that other girl, you didn't even tell me her name when you tried to tell me—something about her long ago. "Who is she?"

"Just a girl.That girl."

"Just?" She ripped the cigarette away, thrust it into the ashtray between them so harshly, the tip broke away just beneath her fingers. "I don't believe—"

"What do you want?"

"An answer, before I go!" She stood, reaching down with her hands to tighten her dressing gown around her waist, to pull both halves together to hide her pale legs and lightly wrinkled knees. "It sounds as though I don't belong here! No matter how easily you—"

"Dammit, don't put words in my mouth!"

"I won't be the—" Elsa stepped away in a little flurry of silk, the bottom hem swirling as she spun back around. "I won't be another woman who has to live in the shadows!"

"Do you think that's why I finally answered your telegram?"

"Yes!"

"Well, it isn't!" Georg growled. On his own feet as the whistle clattered onto the pale carpet—a shrug of his shoulder righting the sleeve slipping down his upper arm—he hurled the ring aside into the mussed sheets.

"Isn't it?"

"No—"

"Then why her? Why not me?"

"Didn't you listen at all?" he hissed, seizing her hand and spinning her around, those nails she often painted bright red scraping and scratching as she struggled against his hold. "To anything I said?"

"Yes—"

"Then you heard why. I needed…right then." He let her hand go, not gazing down as it slapped against her side. "Something you could never be, darling. A mere distraction. You're too much for that—and I could break her like a twig if I wanted." I'm afraid I will.

Her heart had been racing, Elsa realized, the pulsing deep in her ears suddenly subsiding. You really do think she's...nothing, I guess. "You wouldn't—"

"No." Georg collapsed onto the mattress's edge again, first leaning forward to pick up the whistle; he shook it for a moment, though no dust fell away. Sitting straight again, now he shoved his hand into the bedclothes to find that ring. No good having to explain if the talk ever filters up from the maids. "You know me better than that. And she's—nothing like you." Christ, he went on to himself as he pushed aside one of the lumps of wrinkled sheets, the satin coverlet now just as crumpled. But it wasn't buried, at least, just hidden beneath a small tent of fine coffin. Sometimes, I think anyone will do, so long as she isn't like you, love. "You won't be in the shadows, Elsa, you'll be on my arm whenever I'm in Vienna, just how you want to be."

"You'll leave her be?"

Georg nodded, a sudden lump in his chest vanishing as he swallowed. "As best I can." He scrubbed away a little film of sweat from his forehead. "She doesn't even know my full name." He wiped it onto the sheets; they would be stripped off and laundered in a day or two anyway. "It's all I can give you, if you want it."

They've already been wondering, at least a little, Elsa thought, squinting against the growing morning sunlight. Oh, last night's wine really was still lingering in her skull, and she brushed her nicked fingernails to her temple, a fresh ache flaring beneath them. At least some day in Vienna...She moaned quietly, the ache throbbing harsher for a second. Some day we'll be able to talk about it all, away from here and—whomever she is. She still only managed to open her eyes halfway; Georg hadn't moved, simply had his arms across his chest, fingers rolling on one elbow. "When...When will you be in Vienna next, darling?" It won't be that different, after all, Hans always more interested in the young men at his club while he mostly came home to me, though that wasn't much of a secret. But if not even that girl really knows...

His eyes rose. "I'm not sure, probably the next time I have to look after the larger investments and Agathe's trust."

Returning to the bed—sliding the ashtray aside—Elsa sat again, her leg pressed up against his, one bare calf grazing the smooth coverlet, the other twining itself around his. "Will I see you when you're in town?" He nodded, mouth still tight. "Shall I make sure there's a guestroom waiting for you?"

"If you want."

"And if I don't?"

"Where would you have me stay?"

Elsa giggled softly with a quick kiss on Georg's cheek, her fingernails scraping along his jaw. "I would prefer that you stay with me, just like before."

Georg nodded again, eyes down as he twisted that whistle through his fingers. Gentle and curving, like the waves on a restless sea, always ready to break and sweep him back again. It's no longer just a wave, a tide, it's a riptide, now. The longer I struggle against it, the less I can battle it. "As you wish, darling."

O O O

Mid-afternoon the same day, Salzburg

Georg,

I'm not well now, I really know that. It's not just my appetite or being tired anymore. I'm hot for just a few minutes before I'm shivering again. Each day at school is worse, sometimes I worry I won't make it to the end of my day. You would probably tell me to go to the doctor, but I don't even remember the last time I did even in Vienna. Uncle Josef never really thought—

Maria stopped, her pen scratching across the paper. It was another pain in her abdomen, not so strong as many the night before; they had dulled into a constant torment, then. Perhaps they weren't actually so easy, but I simply got used to them. She shoved the book and her letter— No, it's not even that, not yet, she thought, the pen following. It dug through the sheet drawn tight over the mattress, a little black trail where it ran across the clean white cotton, possibly right into the thicker sheet that protected her from the worst of the lumps under her back. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her knees drawn up as they had been so many times these last few days. "I just can't, right now."

She hadn't eaten breakfast, still shivering in bed as the church bells rang out over Salzburg announcing midday. Even finding her feet—stumbling to the hallway to find a glass of water—had been a task, her hand flat along the plastered wall from the bedroom to the empty doorframe leading into the kitchen. The empty glass was a dead weight in her grasp, nearly falling through her fingers before she pressed her palm to the bottom; even with both of her hands to hold it, the glass was almost too heavy after filling it from the tap. I don't know why I bothered, Maria thought as she lifted it with both hands. The water still spilled around her lips—ran down her chin and clung to her neck until it soaked into her dress's neckline, and the glass chipped against the basin as she flung the last dregs of water down the drain.

"It's so hot, somehow," she whispered. She shoved one of her arms beneath her pillow, pulled Georg's pillow closer. Sliding both of her legs back down toward the bed's foot, she pressed it up against her belly as she pulled her knees back. Through last night, the pain had occasionally been too great without the quilt against her stomach—and now even the curve of her knees was too harsh. "It's so hot, but why do I feel so cold?" She loosened her fingers from his pillow—a little handful of white cotton and feathers had gotten crumpled in her fist—and pressed the back of her palm to her forehead. "That's silly." She pulled her hand away, let it fall onto her own pillow. Turning it over, she wiped the sweat away. "You know you can't do—"

Another pain cut through her stomach, a little shriek out of her mouth before she could bite it back. "I should—" There was another, a little higher—a little closer to her side, now. The stitching at the waist of her dress was too tight, the darts too much as it shot through her again, her arm shoving her face into that pillow. Breathe, that's all you can do. Breathe.

A few minutes saw the discomfort ebb away, leaving the muscle beneath her skin taut and twitching whenever she moved at all. Her breathing was easier and shallower; much beyond a gentle gasp was pure misery. "I should see the doctor, I know that's what you would tell me, Georg. And I know I should." Another ache rippled across her stomach. "But I wouldn't no what to say, I think a doctor would only tell me it's in my head."

Maybe he would be right, Maria thought as she took another gentle breath. That I'm just too lonely right now, not that I can do anything. Pushing Georg's pillow aside, she turned onto her back slowly, digging her elbow in a little to cushion herself against the jostling. Or I only suppose that's what a doctor would say. Long ago, Father told me I needed to go to the doctor when I was hardly on my feet, just because I didn't talk. Maria smiled, though it quickly became a wince, that same spot on her side burning again. "I don't think you would believe I never talked when I was so young—" She hissed, the air searing the dry patches on her lips. "I'm sure it wouldn't seem right to—"

"What is it now, Maria?" Uncle Josef snapped, slapping his morning newspaper onto the kitchen table.

Maria swallowed, her stomach churning as she tried not to look at him, to hear his chair scrape on the broken tile. His coffee had sloshed up and onto the table as his chair caught on one of the legs. She would probably have to scrub it down as soon as he cleared his plate. "I don't—"

"Eyes up when you're talking to me, girl." He wrapped his stained fingers around her chin, dragging her face up as she coughed against the stench of tobacco under his fingernails.

"I don't feel well—"

"Too many sweets from that stupid woman down the lane," he grumbled. He threw a hand against her shoulder like he meant to push her away, but it lingered before his fingers danced down along her chest, onto her side before she stumbled back and away from his touch. "It will ruin your dinner."

Maria shook her head with another step away, messy pigtails swinging down along her bare arms, the goose pimples rushing across her skin. "No, she didn't—"

"You think I don't see her spoiling you when she has a free coin?" Her uncle picked up his coffee cup, a quick sneer across his face as he put it down again and shook the coffee away. "Get me a rag. And talk to my wife if you're that sick."

"She's at Mother's," Maria whispered as she reached for one of her braids. It was first her fingers in the broken ends, then the thicker plait around her right hand as she suddenly covered her mouth with her left. "Didn't you—hear her—"

"I don't listen to everything that silly woman says. And where is that cloth, unless you think I should use your dress instead?"

Maria scurried to the cupboard beside the stove, the door instantly open as she crouched down. She wheezed gently, a cough gurgling in her throat as her legs tightened and she rifled through the little boxes scouring powder and soap for the dishes. Aunt Hannah always makes sure there are enough—we both know how Uncle Josef likes the house kept. The first she dragged from the dusty corner was full of holes and open patches of cotton thread. That won't do. The next was better—no holes shot along the edge—but she pushed it back when she saw the stain in the middle. He'll just say we don't take care of what he buys us to look after the house. But it has stains after so long— "Maria!" She grabbed one without looking and pushed herself back onto her feet—

She had to clutch at the counter, dizzy and shaking and finally unable to hold her cough back as she almost dropped the rag. Kneeling down again, Maria had to reach for the little knob on the cabinet door to stop herself from falling. I know you'll just be upset if I do, even though no one will see— "Don't be so slow and stupid, girl, or someday I'll see to it that you earn your keep—better."

Maria sniffed, wiping away something dripping from the very end of her nose. It can't be so bad as that. It probably should have been more than just the doctor when it was someone, I was coughing so badly. She pressed a hand to her stomach, for a second wondering if her muscles were rippling under her skin. "It's not anything like that, I'm just not well." She winced, digging her fingers into her dress—lifting it up from her belly as even the light fabric was too much—

Something rushed between her legs, sticky and warm right at the stop of her thighs. She dragged her arm back—the fold of her dress still clutched in her hand—this elbow digging into the sheet and mattress as well. It was moving, trickling down her thighs toward her knees and around the swell of the tops of her legs into the sheets. I suppose I should have expected it, she thought, quickly shoving her elbows farther into the lumpy bedding under back. She groaned, the first rivulets of blood just past the dress hem. I was so lucky this summer, not having to worry about anything too much.

Maria collapsed back onto the bed, hissing as another ache cut across her abdomen. "If it's this much so fast, then it can wait for a minute for one of my cloths. It's already too late." She rolled to one side—fell back—then pushed herself up again, now finally reaching one side. I'll see to it...She grimaced, legs coming up and against her middle before she even thought about it, the warm blood suddenly smeared on one of her calves, her other ankle dragged through the patch. I'm sorry, Georg, I know it's a mess—and you couldn't have done a thing even if you were here. But at least now I know, if I didn't before. But it would be lovely, someday.

Closing her eyes, Maria just listened to her breaths: in, then out, almost like a wave against the wet sand Georg must have known well over his years in the navy. Just a few more minutes, please. I still don't know if I can stand right now. A long breath now whistled through her nose, one curled hand beside her face—and she winced again, the pain newer and stinging a little stronger. Just a little longer, before I have to know. And if someday I know it's not nothing, that it isn't just in my head, I'll have to tell you someday as well. Burying her face in her pillow, Maria swallowed a shuddered sob. But it's nice to want it, Georg, just something as lovely as that, a child of our own. I know we haven't said a thing about—that, but...Another sob. Wouldn't it, Georg?

* Hans is Elsa's deceased husband; their marriage was one of convenience to infuse her family with money. And again, this scenario is not a good way to avoid pregnancy, despite popular belief.