Chapter 43: Growing Up

Wednesday, 8 July

Oh, how much longer? Maria slid forward on her chair, a couple wooden slivers scratching at her thigh as her brown dress bunched up. Squirming to loosen it from her damp thigh, she patted the skin above her lip dry. Glancing up from Kurt's history paper, she waved at Marta, hoping she understood to turn her attention back to the work on her desk rather than scribble at another drawing. I can't blame her, especially when I can hear everyone else whispering, too. One of her own shoes was tapping impatiently on the rug her desk pinned to the hardwood floor and Kurt's work—along with the other papers she had already marked—had more than one line of her own red pencil scratched out. She simply couldn't help it; she had lost focus more than once as she looked up to see if the clouds were thinning...and remembered how solid the walls were, cutting them off from the world outside. There was nothing to do except wait for the clock's deep chime to echo through the house.

Maria hadn't even tried to pretend otherwise: she was just as excited. The house had grown less suffocating as the daily routine of lessons and marching rotted away, but sometimes the last vestiges chafed. And I suppose it wouldn't really be me if I didn't try to run away for a moment, Maria thought as she circled a misspelled word. But with all the children, at least I won't have trouble getting back in like I did at the abbey when I forgot myself at the weekend!

After she turned to the next page discussing Salzburg a century ago, Maria swatted at a thin stream of sweat dribbling down the back of her neck. Despite the summery dresses she had sewn those first evenings, everything was hot and sticky, whether it was her skirt clinging to her legs or the perspiration itching at the back of her knee. She reached for one of the little handkerchiefs neatly stacked to her side, swiping a patch of sweat away from the bottom of her jaw and up to her ear, then back beneath her hairline. She had quickly stitched them together out of the fabric left from her dresses, once it the heat put down its roots. Franz had kept his word, several bolts of material appearing the following afternoon, several bolts too many. I only need a few dresses, she had thought as she murmured her thanks to Frau Schmidt and her arms quivered under the material's bulk.

Maria wiped the sweat away from the other half of her face as well, a touch of cooler air finally wriggling beneath her limp hair. I'll have to cut it soon. It's getting too long. Over the last years, she had rarely tolerated it growing this long, much to the dismay of the woman who let her a room in Innsbruck. "You're such a pretty girl, Maria," her landlady said more than once—and Maria shuddered. Don't think about that, she thought as her hair scraped down over the middle of her neck. After all, it's going to be a lovely afternoon.

Kurt would need reread that chapter, Maria decided with a final note. Not that you would pay attention to it very much right now. As she added his paper to the pile she had marked during the extended lesson period today, the whispers were louder. And finally looking up again, no one's attention was on their work any longer, not even Brigitta's. Everyone was twisted this way and that, chattering about something...But it is something new, Maria reminded herself. The old order of the schoolroom—youngest in the front, eldest in the back—was mostly gone. Marta and Gretl still sat toward the front, always eager for help with a word or simple subtraction fact, though Maria also knew they simply liked being by her side. The other girls and Kurt simply sat wherever they felt each morning, Louisa especially sometimes sitting off by herself with her sketches. Maria hated reminding her that she needed to study sometimes.

The only one who seemed to remember how things had been just a few weeks ago, the only one who wasn't excited for today's picnic, was Friedrich. He never sat anywhere but the far back row, face down and hidden by his blond hair, textbooks and work right where they belonged. Even yesterday as Maria showed Louisa and Liesl a few guitar chords, then patiently helped Kurt and his younger sisters refine those first notes...Friedrich was rigid in his chair, just his papers crinkling and book covers slamming closed louder than they needed to be. You're the only one who still dresses in uniform, Maria thought as she dropped her red pencil atop the finished assignments, though you don't look very comfortable. While the others were like a palette of muted colors suitable for children in such a grand house, Friedrich's uniform still gleamed white beneath the faint buzz of the lamps. Like it probably would on a submarine—

The clock was finally chiming deep within the house, just a pair of them to mark the early afternoon. And in front of her, chair legs thudded on the rug—books closed—pencils clattered onto desks—all order finally vanished. "Is it time to go?" Kurt shouted while he scrambled to his feet and shoved his chair beneath his desk. "It's two—that's how long you told us to wait!"

"Yes," Maria said, almost coughing on a laugh. "But let's still tidy things up a little bit."

The children each gathered up their things, a task still fairly new to them after their old seating arrangements had fallen to the wayside. Rather than organizing everything where they sat, everything was gathered up and stacked on Maria's desk instead. It was a little storm of children in front of her, dropping things here and there in haphazard mountains ready to crumble with a gentle nudge, and everyone looking at Louisa's latest drawing.

"Where is it?" Brigitta asked, her head tilted a little. "Is it here?"

"We haven't gone anywhere!" Gretl shouted, the bump of her ponytail peeking through Kurt and Brigitta's shoulders as she bounced up on her toes.

"So?" Liesl asked as she handed it back to Louisa. This one she had painted the day before: a brilliant orange sunrise veiled behind broken clouds, a small flock of birds just rising up from the forest at the paper's edge. "It's very pretty, Louisa."

"You should be proud of it," Maria said, now pushing aside her pile of papers still to be marked. Louisa shuffled it to the bottom. The one on top was still a faint sketch, just ovals, blocks, and lines all in grey, a few darker as though to bring them forward. One, two, three, four, five..."What will that be?" she added softly as she squinted through the gaggle of children. She still couldn't see either of the boys.

"Nothing!" Louisa said quickly, this drawing vanishing to the bottom as well. "And...I'm not sure if I'll finish it anyway."

"Fräulein Maria?" Kurt asked, up on his toes to peer over Louisa's shoulder, too.

"Yes?" That's six.

"Can't we—"

"Yes, you can all start downstairs. Just into the hall. You know we still need to pack everything for our picnic."

A dull thunder rose from six pairs of feet rushing for the door, melting into a sudden chatter of excitement. Liesl was a little slower than the rest, waiting for Marta and Gretl to tumble past as they whispered excitedly to one another, but even she was plainly keen to be out of the house. The roar only grew louder despite the snap as the door to the corridor closed, like a cello's final note hanging in the air of the Salzburg music hall.

I wish they weren't so excited for something so simple, Maria thought as she finally stood, her dress still sticking to her leg. It just seems like something they should know. With a shake to free her dress from her knee, she finally looked up...I really shouldn't be surprised.

Friedrich was still in the back, still bowed over his desk. And with his siblings gone, she still heard his pencil scratching on his paper. "Friedrich?" He didn't move, didn't even look up. "Friedrich?" Maria said, louder this time as she stepped around her desk, down the short aisle of desks. "Friedrich?"

The writing was faster, almost furious as she reached the front of his desk. "What?" he muttered, still staring down at his work. His fingers were white and tight, and his face lay balanced on his other hand, elbow pinning his crisp kerchief's hem to the desk.

"It's time to go," Maria whispered.

"I know."

"May I—have your—"

"Here," he snapped, his face coming up twisted into a snarl. Crushing the pencil down against his paper, the lead snapping while he ripped his work free. "If you still want it."

Maria's hand shook, but she still reached out for it, light shining through a long narrow tear over his last words. "What's the—"

"Don't ask me," he said, just sliding out from his chair. He was breathing hard Maria saw as his shoes slammed against the rug like he was trying to march in place for a moment. His eyes were right in line with hers, narrowed as he simply stared.

"Don't ask you—what?" she asked, returning the ripped paper to his desk. I forget how old you are when you're amongst the rest of them. Liesl, too, but I remember what it was like to be Liesl's age, even if I was already in college. A girl ready to be grown up. But I don't know—

"Anything," Friedrich said after a moment, hands in his trouser pockets after he ripped his kerchief from the base of his throat. "May I leave?"

"Yes," Maria said with a nod. "I'll—be down in a moment."

I don't know how to help you, she thought as he walked away, his long, slow footsteps scraping on the rug. He only freed his right hand from his pocket to open the door to the hallway—didn't bother to close it afterward, just letting it swing free. After counting a few more steps, Maria dropped onto the edge of the desk, steadying her sweaty hands as she bent forward for a moment. I don't know what you need, just that you should have your father. She wiped the back of her neck, damp again in the heat. I just don't, but…

Maria peered up. Something was echoing, like the singing she remembered from the last few months, high and clear...But it was just the whitewashed ceiling above, not the old arches and crackling wooden lattice windows of Nonnberg Abbey. And despite the stickiness coating her hands, Maria finally folded them together in her lap. Perhaps this is what you meant, Reverend Mother, that the Lord might use my life to His advantage. You always seem to know the Lord's will more than I do.

She still waited for a few minutes before leaving the schoolroom and hurrying down the stairs, desperate for her pulse to slow and her fingers to stop trembling. Just help, Father, she thought as she stepped through the first shallow rainbows scattered by the chandelier in the hall. More than ever.

O O O

As the breeze whipped past her face—the last few minutes in the schoolroom now forgotten—Maria leaned back on her hands, legs stretched as far as they could go across the picnic blanket. The heat was still thick over the grass and over the lake. It shimmered like a haze, the dense patches of weeds and cattails sometimes disappearing in a ripple if she blinked too fast. The air remained damp as well, or maybe it just was the perspiration soaking into everything and desperately clinging to her skin. Picking her left hand up with a gentle crunch from the grass under the old blanket, she rolled her shoulder back, freeing another trickle of sweat to run down her sleeve. She was delightfully full, having built and devoured her own share of sandwiches alongside the children; Kurt had managed at least one more than anyone else while the rest of them enjoyed the first summer apricots and a few sweets the cook had set out. And all of the children, especially the three younger girls, were still surprised—almost in awe of the novelty of a meal on the grass rather than at a table, their hands damp from the grass as they feasted.

Even packing the basket was something new for them, Maria thought as she twisted her leg around. Sitting right at the brown quilt's edge, she had already shaken a few ants chasing leftover crumbs and felt another climbing up. But at least we really just had to be careful with the lemonade bottles and napkins. They seemed to have never set foot in the kitchen, they kept looking this way and that: at the stove still filled with smoldering embers from lunch that would feed the fire for dinner; the knives and bowls shining after a thorough scrub; even the knotted garlic and onions hanging in the far corner past the table where the staff ate their meals. But that's probably another thing the Captain doesn't want. Frau Schmidt acted like she'd never heard of children doing such a thing—

The shriek of strings floated across the dark blanket, and Maria winced. At the other edge of the blanket thrown across the grass on the far side of the lake, Liesl and Louisa sat huddled around her guitar. Both had their sleeves around their elbows and skirts hiked up to their knees, hair messily tied up away from their necks. Just like yesterday, she thought as she licked the last drip of apricot nectar from her mouth. And Liesl is still impatient for her turn. But at least Frau Schmidt won't interrupt us with something so small.

"We could have talked about it later," she muttered as she pushed herself forward, digging her heels into the blanket and soft ground to brace herself. "If the Captain can't be bothered to visit his children for a day, then I can give you an update for him when I'm not with them." It had only taken a few minutes to pass along the children's progress—apparently, their father had finally sent a telegram showing some interest—but it soured Maria's mood. She had pulled the guitar from Liesl a little roughly despite the pleasant notes she heard as she stepped back into the schoolroom, just saying it was time to leave for their walk—that there would be more time tomorrow. Well, today, Maria thought as she swept her hands forward, running her fingers through the grass as the wind licked over her skin.

A few feet from Liesl and Louisa, Kurt and Brigitta were sprawled on their stomachs, their bare calves and shoes hanging off the picnic blanket. One of them had brought a book along from the schoolroom. Brigitta, but I'm just not sure what. You're both so curious, but about such different things. Bringing one hand over her eyes to blunt the sun, Maria squinted, now leaning a few inches to her left to find the last of the children.

Marta and Gretl were darting here and there, occasionally pouncing onto something hidden in the grass, just far enough from their little picnic that they were more shadows than children. Not that they can get in too much trouble so close to the house. But past them was just the villa's empty grounds, rolling up and sloping and down however it wished as it ran away from the house and the lake to the woods that encircled them all. As a weaker breeze wandered down from the water, Maria twisted around. And where could you have gone, Friedrich?

She should have expected his mood, Maria knew. While the others had eagerly planned their afternoon while swallowing large bites of sandwiches—a ball game was voted down because no one wanted to run after it in the blazing sun—Friedrich had eaten in silence, barely speaking except when he wanted another sandwich. Even when they had all smacked the last crumbs from their hands, he still sat quietly. Scowling while he rubbed at something behind his knee as Maria finally told Marta and Gretl to run off for a few minutes, then fidgeting as Kurt and Brigitta settled down to read their book.

It must have been when I was handing them my guitar again. I don't know when else. Twisting to her other side, Maria hissed at a little stitch above her waist. Oh, she thought, pressing her hair down as another gentle wind pushed it to the side. But at least I know where you are.

A lanky column of white, he was walking as he often did toward the far end of the lake and away from stone landing that led from the lake to the terrace. Slowly and carelessly, shoes kicking at the soil. Hands thrust into his pockets, shoulders slouched forward—then yanked back upright as his steps steadied as the old path around the lake sharpened into a curve. "Friedrich?" she called, but it died in the air as he vanished behind a tall nest of weeds and cattails rising up from the stagnant water along the bank. I know you wouldn't turn back even if you heard. I wish you would tell me what's wrong. I can ask, but I don't think you'll tell me if I do. I never would have when I was younger—

"Fräulein Maria!"

Maria drew a sharp breath, her heart pounding for a moment. "Yes?" she asked softly. She rolled her weight onto one of her hips, then forward to try to see a little more of the lake. That path and even Friedrich reappeared for a second, the trail still a patch of mud—but he disappeared again.

"We made you this!" Marta shouted behind her.

Something dropped onto her head and then down around her ears. Feathery, like delicate flowers. She could feel the little blossoms, strung along with clumsy knots tied in the young stems. The same as Monday, she decided as she straightened it, then pushed it farther down, right atop her ears. "Thank you." Even before she could wave them around, the little girls were chasing one another again in a little circle, running around her at least twice before she caught Marta's wrist gently. She giggled at the sudden stop, her pair of long braids wiggling over her shoulders as she turned back and almost into Gretl. "But sit down," Maria said as she tugged on her arm gently. "And you, too."

They were easy to persuade, nestling on either side of her with more fistfuls of those happy flowers as they wheezed for air. "Are you going to make another one for Liesl, like you did on Monday?" Maria asked.

"Yes!" Gretl said as she tossed her flowers onto the brown blanket, just holding onto one half-finished knot. They were all bright white crowns on their green stems, a few of the petals crumpled by her fingers and some of them with their roots still attached in little clods of dirt. "We picked so many!"

"Look," Maria said softly as she pointed to the muddy clumps, a gentle prod breaking a piece free. "You'll have to be careful—"

"Can we make them all summer?" Marta said from her other side, her little knobbly knees hitting Maria's thighs as she squirmed and finally sat down right on top of her muddy shoes. Her own bouquet of white flowers dropped from her hands as well.

"They probably won't be here until the end—especially if you're picking them like that every day."

"What?"

"That," Maria whispered, knocking more mud from the roots' slender ends. "They won't grow back if pull them all the way up."

"Will you?" Gretl asked as she dropped her eyes back to the flowers.

"Hmm?"

"Will you be here until the end of summer?"

Maria nodded as she picked up one of the flowers strewn next to her. "That's what the Reverend Mother told me."

"Who is she?" Marta asked as she toppled forward onto her belly.

"Well...She's the one who looks after everyone at the abbey."

"Even you?"

"Especially me," Maria said as she smoothed down a lump in the blanket, the earth still damp enough to give way. "But sometimes, Sister Berthe does it for her."

Marta rolled away onto her back, a quick kick of her leg loosening her shoe from the blanket. "Who is that?"

"The Mistress of Novices. She looks after women who are joining the abbey."

"Are you?" Gretl asked from her other side as she pulled her next flower from Maria's hand.

"Joining them?"

"Yes."

"Maybe someday," Maria said softly as she picked up another of those blossoms. Someday. I guess I can always tell myself that, even if it might never come. With a quick pinch of her thumbnail against her finger, Maria snapped the muddy roots from the stem she held. It's nice to think that, or at least that maybe it will all change somehow. Another whistle of the wind from the house rolled across the grounds, nipping at her hair and face. She brushed it all back around her face as Gretl grabbed that next flower, her chunky fingers already clumsily knotting it to the end of the crown growing in her hands. But I don't have to think—

"Would you have to leave us?" Marta asked, back on her stomach again.

"I have to leave when you start school again—"

"And stay away?"

Maria pushed one of the braids away from Marta's cheek, back over her neck. "I suppose I would. I wouldn't be able to be here and there."

"I guess," Marta muttered as she plucked a few petals from the head of one of the flowers in front of her. "I wish you didn't have to."

Maria didn't answer, just brushed her hand over Marta's hair instead as her skin flushed. You do notice things, all of you. I didn't want to be here at first—just how I'm sure you didn't want me to be here. Her hand settled on Marta's shoulder, nudging the girl right up against her leg. But now if I thought about it, I won't want to leave when the time comes. "I know. But I—"

"No, don't do it that way—"

"What do you mean?"

"That's not how Fräulein Maria showed us yesterday—"

"I'm not doing anything different!"

"Then why doesn't it sound the same?"

Maria sighed. "Could you help Gretl?" she whispered as Marta propped herself up with her elbows. Throwing herself forward, Maria pushed herself up, her first step wobbly as she found her balance.

"Yes, Fräulein Maria," Marta said as she nodded—but gazed across the way as the faint argument continued.

"I don't know—"

"So let me show you!"

Maybe it isn't surprising, Maria thought as Marta curled up beside Gretl, already reaching for what her sister had already woven. You're older, Liesl, but Louisa will be the first to tell you she knows best. She had nearly found herself down on her backside as she walked across the old blanket, one of her shoes twisting on a lump of grass or a rock. Not that I think the children would think much of it, she told herself as she walked past Kurt and Brigitta. They were still engrossed in the book, Brigitta hurrying to turn a page while Kurt tried to push it back. But a couple of weeks ago, perhaps not.

The same mismatched notes rose through the air again, and now just a couple feet away, Maria heard the sharp snap of one of the strings against the guitar. If Louisa had plucked the strings with the body across her lap, Liesl was tugging at her hands—trying to move them somewhere else. "May I show you again, Louisa?" Maria asked.

"You did yesterday," Louisa mumbled, her fingers growing white as she tightened her left hand on the guitar's neck.

Maria pushed her dress beneath her legs as she sat beside the girls, already feeling the itch as her sweaty stockings rubbed against her leg. "That was only once."

"But that's just what you did."

"Not quite."

"Then what did I do wrong?"

On Louisa's other side, Liesl slipped her thumb beneath her sister's fingers, bending them up and out to form a faint arch. "Your fingers are too flat." Maria nodded gently. "No, don't do that—"

"Don't do what?" Louisa snapped as she plucked at the strings with her right hand—and the fingers of her left flattened against all of the strings.

"You won't have anything right if you're pressing down on too many strings."

"I'm glad you know so much, now."

"I remember some!"

"Let's...leave this for a moment," Maria said as she peeled Louisa's hand from the guitar's neck. She twisted the head gently, bringing it down onto her lap. "What do you mean, Liesl?"

"When we were—younger, Father would play," Liesl said. She stretched one of her arms up—suddenly waving over Maria's head. "Mother would sing."

"Oh?" Something thumped behind her—Maria turned—only to see Brigitta and Kurt running across the picnic blanket. I should have expected it, she thought as the two younger children tumbled down to join them. They're all a little happier these days, and they're all happier together, I think.

"They used to in the afternoons when we weren't in school," Brigitta said as crossed her legs beneath her dress.

Kurt shrugged, his finger still holding their place in the book that was now in his lap. "They must have when we were at school—"

"Well, of course!" Louisa said. She was still running her fingers along the guitar's strings, a faint twang following her hand. "They didn't disappear when we were at school!"

"Is that why he doesn't like to have you sing?"

"Yes," Liesl said with a nod. "At first, we thought it might be different someday, but Father's never really come back."

"I understand." Maria tried to peer around the end of the lake, her hand wrapped in a fistful of the blanket and grass beneath. The weeds enveloping the bank waved in the fading breeze, probably higher than her head, a few broken ripples making their way from the stalks growing up from the water. Slowly—and then another larger—and another, faster and biting at the one before until the thickest cattails finally broke them apart. And maybe…"Liesl?"

"Yes?"

"Can you keep an eye on the little girls, if you have to?"

"Is something wrong?"

"No," Maria said, a little push and a jump putting her on her feet once more. "I'm just going to find Friedrich."

O O O

I shouldn't have come here, Friedrich thought as he slung another rock into the thicket of weeds. It stank of mildew, and the air was dense and stagnant as the taller weeds swallowed any hint of a breeze. He swung his one of his feet from the end of the wooden landing jutting out across the lake and holding the weeds at bay, his heel scraping through the water as he threw the next rock. It plopped down into the water before it had a chance to skip, the rings sprouting up out of his sight. But I wouldn't know where else to go if I didn't want to be with the rest of them.

Friedrich snatched another from the bowed landing, wet and slimy, then flung it as hard as he could. It arced up over highest weeds then splashed somewhere as a little cloud of dark insects swarmed up out of the muck. I shouldn't have done that if I don't want them here. He wiped his hand along his short trousers, the damp green mold staining the fabric and his knee. At least I can hear myself think here. I used to— One of the tiny insects whined past his face, then back again. Friedrich swatted at it, but only caught a handful of sticky air, so he lobbed another stone into the distance instead.

He slapped his hands down on the wooden beam running around the small landing, the slivers beneath the spiderwebs and moss stabbing into his palms. At least...Tightening his grip, Friedrich glanced over his shoulder. Was something rustling? He shrugged as he turned back to the veil of weeds swaying above the lapping water. I can hear myself think here. Another tiny whine in the sticky air drew another useless swipe of his hand. We used to always think we would see Father now and then. If he didn't want to be here, he had to have someone look after us. But there's no reason for her to leave, or for Father to leave Vienna—

"Friedrich?" Turning around again, Friedrich still didn't see anyone, only the brush shivering with more than the breeze. "Friedrich?" Louder and closer, like it was just behind the last row of cattails. I suppose it wasn't too long until you came, he thought, lazily twisting back around. "Friedrich?" Fräulein Maria's call came again. It wasn't muffled anymore, clearer as the brush around him snapped and shifted in the mud. "Won't you—"

"Go away," he muttered as he picked up one more stone. He spun it around his hand as the muck smeared, finally pulling his arm back and tossing it toward the lake he couldn't see. He heard her footsteps, now, the drop of the rock into the water lost in them as he grabbed the next stone. "Didn't you hear me? Go—"

"I did hear you."

"Oh." He swung his feet down through the lake water again, flicking a flew globs of algae away. "No one else…" He wiped a thick layer of sweat out from beneath the hair on his forehead. "No one else seems to."

The boards creaked behind him, short measured steps closing in on him. "I didn't know this was here."

"No one does." He wiped another stream of sweat from his cheek. "Mother always wanted the cattails left the way they were. It's always been like this."

Still a couple feet behind Friedrich, Maria glanced down at the rocks she had collected from the weeds that grew where the sun was fainter. He must not have heard her the first time she gently pushed aside the overgrown cattails, so tall that she couldn't even see the villa as it glowered down over the lake. And with him not even paying attention to the world around him, it had been easy enough to slip back the way she had come to find the best skipping stones she could. They'll be wasted here, she thought as she took a few more steps. No matter how good you are—but I think you need these now.

Just to his left, Maria crouched down behind Friedrich. "You might like these."

"What?" Friedrich glanced toward Fräulein Maria, then down—and saw the rocks in her hand. Small and flat, they were all filthy, coated with moss or mud. Just like her hands.

"I don't think yours are the best anymore."

"Thank you," he muttered.

Friedrich scraped the stones onto the dock between them, just on top of the last ones he had collected—and a little of the mud from her hands as well, brown and green as it clung to his fingers. Seizing one of those new rocks, he flung the first one across the water. It jumped in short bursts and bent the first patches of cattails to its will before finally vanishing into the lake. He launched another—then another...but Fräulein Maria was still there, just rocking gently on her feet as she still crouched nest to him. "What?"

"May I sit down?"

Friedrich shrugged as he tossed a rock up above his lap. "You'll do what you want. All our governesses do."

Maria settled herself beside him, the burn in her thighs ebbing as her feet slipped over the edge of the short dock. One of her shoes splashed into the dark water beneath, spraying warm water up across her other leg. You probably won't want to talk, she thought as she picked up one of the stones still sitting between them. But you've got to, Friedrich. With a snap of her wrist, she slung her own stone out across the water; it dropped under the gentle ripples after only one skip. "You miss him," she said softly.

"What?"

"You're missing him, I know you are."

Friedrich shrugged again, his knuckles growing white. "He'll be back once school starts, he always is. When we aren't here."

"That's not what I meant to—"

"I don't care what you meant," he snapped, this time just throwing the rock straight through the weeds.

As the rock splashed into the lake a short world away, Maria licked her lips, a little cut stinging. Maybe it's the only way I can really reach you. I don't know if you'll really understand otherwise. She kicked one of her feet forward, her toe skimming through the water and algae, a little ripple rolling out toward the cattails. "Can I tell you a story?" she asked as the wave broke.

Yet another shrug. "I know you will, you tell the girls stories all the time."

She folded her hands in her lap, the better to stop their shaking. "There was a little girl—"

"Can't you save this for them?"

"May I?" Friedrich glanced toward Fräulein Maria—hardly turned his head—then nodded faintly. "There was a little girl in Vienna, in the middle of the Great War."

Picking up the next rock, Friedrich tossed it between his hands with a dull thud against his palm. "Father fought in that," he muttered. He scraped the thickening layer of mud from his hand on the top edge of the dock, then along one already dirty trouser leg.

"I supposed he did, Frau Schmidt said he was a submarine commander in her letter."

"Sometimes I think he wishes he could go back to it."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"How would I know?" Friedrich dropped the stone onto the very end of dock, then pushed it off the edge with a splash of tepid water up around their ankles. "I don't know anything about him—and he doesn't know anything about me. But what does a little girl have to do with anything?"

Leaning down, Maria pulled her stocking away from her left ankle, a few large drops of water rolling down into her shoe. "Well, her parents were happy when she was very young." Her chest tightened; it often did whenever her thoughts drifted back to her earliest memories and what she imagined must have happened before then. "But unfortunately, her mother died before she really had a chance to know her."

Friedrich turned toward her, sharp and quick. "How? How did she die?"

Her palms were wet, Maria realized, patting one of them heavily on her dress and leaving a dark hand print. "Pneumonia," she whispered as the goose pimples spread up along her arms. Friedrich didn't say anything, so Maria went on. "But her father had to leave as well, and he left her in Vienna with family."

"Was it better than a governess?"

"I—" She snapped her mouth shut as she curled her fingers into her dress. Even if he'll know before I'm done. "She wouldn't know."

"Why did he leave?"

"He had too much he had to do outside of Vienna. And..."

"Can't I come with you, Papa?"

Her father grunted as he dropped another armful of clothes into his trunk. She had trailed after him all around the apartment, at least when she remembered to. Her eyes were always wide open when she spent an afternoon or weekend with her father as she gazed anywhere and everywhere. The strangest instruments in their cases: some gleaming silver or brass, others polished wood with strings worn shiny by fingers or bows. And endless rows of books. "The road's no place for a little girl."

Shoving herself up on her toes, Maria snagged her hand around the trunk on the end of her father's bed. "Papa!" He turned his eyes toward her, thick grey eyebrows knitting together above his nose. "Then why do you have to go?"

One spotted hand on her shoulder, he pushed her down onto her feet. "Do me a favor, Maria, and go find that book you like. And don't pretend you don't know which one."

In her father's study, Maria's eyes were again agape as she shuffled through the spines. It's not where I left it! she thought as she pushed one of his books back. The next was thrust to the back of the shelf as well, still not the one she wanted. But maybe Papa likes to read them, too. And now, there was the crack she remembered from the last time she sat on his knee as he read her a story, a few threads loosening around the base of the binding. And with her beloved book in her hand and loose blond hair fluttering about her face, Maria flew back into her father's quiet bedroom.

Maybe he has everything he needs until he comes back, she thought as her run slowed to a ragged walk. Her father was no longer packing shirts and coats and notebooks into the cracked leather trunk, but sitting at his bed's foot and leaning back against it. His eyes were closed as a slow labored breath whistled from his mouth, white hair plastered to his forehead. "Papa?" she asked, her stories clutched against her chest and right beneath her chin. He didn't answer, just nodded slowly as he took a long breath. "Papa?" Right beside him, Maria peeled one of her hands free from her book—touched his sleeve—

He coughed as his eyes opened and the wrinkles etched into his skin deepened. "Oh, yes," he rasped with a tap of his hand on his knee before he plucked the book free. "Come here, Gusti—Maria." Giggling, she climbed up his leg with her little hands knotted in his black trousers as her dark striped dress bunched around her. "And not that same one you always want about the soldier and his odd friends," he added with a groan as she sat heavily on his thigh.

"Why not?"

"You've heard it often—"

"Fräulein Maria?"

"I'm sorry, Friedrich," Maria whispered, the world shimmering and blurry before she blinked. "I lost my thought for a moment."

"But what about that little girl?"

"She reminded him too much of her mother."

They were silent for a minute, just listening to the muffled sound of a game that must have sprouted on the other side of the walls of weeds and the faint noise of a frog and the whine of insect wings. Friedrich's gaze was out over the water, though he looked up at his governess once or twice. You aren't like the rest of them were. As a fly scratched his forehead, he slapped at it—but as quietly as he could. I can't think of Frau Wimmer or Fräulein Helga ever telling us anything like that. "That little girl," he said as he finally unknotted his kerchief. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Maria nodded slowly. "A long time ago, yes."

"Did he come back after that trip?"

"Yes, but it was his last."

Friedrich pulled his kerchief away, the fabric settling into a puddle in his lap. "Why are you telling me?"

Maria loosened her fingers; they were suddenly too hot wrapped up in her dress. "You can't...You can't make your father stay—and you can't make him come back."

"You couldn't?"

She shook her head as she pulled a foot up from the lake and onto her other knee. The itch inside her damp stocking was strengthening; a few scratches of her fingernails through the wool relieved it at least for a moment. "I always wanted to know what I could do," she said as she followed the itch up her calf. "I wish I had realized…"

"What the hell am I supposed to do with her? Hannah and I can hardly afford the house even with her father sending something to help us look after her. And I don't want to watch a scrawny girl like her for—"

"There will be some after they settle his estate—"

"And that should just be for the frustration of looking after the little brat!"

"Fräulein Maria?"

Maria shoved herself back from the dock's edge, her dress stretching down well past her knees. "Just that there was nothing I could do, if he didn't want to be at home with me." She pulled the snagged hem free, a few slivers of damp wood woven into the stitches. "I'm sure your father loves you very much—just like my father did—but you can't make him stay. Sometimes, all you can do is cherish the time you have with him."

"Just like you did?"

"Perhaps. But I think you'll have more time with him than I did with my father."

"Maybe," Friedrich said, his feet swinging free. "Someday."

"It might be different before you realize. Whether he changes or...you learn how to love him just as he is."

"Why can't he do the same?"

"If I had an answer, I'd share it." Maria swallowed around the thick knot swelling in her throat. "I wondered that a lot when I was little."

Friedrich slapped at his leg, another fly trying to bite him. "Did you ever have an answer?"

"I still don't know," Maria answered. "But sometimes, I don't know if it matters. Even if I grew up wishing it had all been different, I still have those good memories. No matter what happened afterward. And you're going to have to figure out most of it yourself as you grow up, even if it's just a little bit every day." Dragging her shoes on the landing—mucky water pooling around both—she pushed herself up to her feet. And it's not just about you, Father, she thought as she stamped her heels. "But, shall we go join the others?"

Friedrich nodded as he crumpled his kerchief into a ball and tossed it to the side. "I suppose," he muttered. One hand on the wooden dock to help himself to his feet alongside Fräulein Maria, it fell from his legs to his side—then into the lake with a splash. I guess that doesn't matter all that much. I shouldn't worry about it either way, making Father happy wearing it—or unhappy by not. That's what she was trying to say, after all. "I—I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For earlier today. I shouldn't have...shouted."

Maria shook her head as he fell in line with her, their feet just out of step. "There's nothing to forgive."

They were back where the old wooden dock burrowed into the wild weeds before either of them noticed how filthy they were. "Well, we're in quite a state," Maria said as they looked down at their clothes. Her stockings and the bottom of her dress were damp and stained with the muck floating on the water, and Friedrich's trousers wore stripes of the mud that had covered the stones now shivering at the lake's bottom. "You'll have to have those cleaned tonight before it stains. And—you don't have to wear that every day if—"

"Yes, I do!" Friedrich said loudly, a swat of his arm breaking a few of the drier stalks before them.

"You want to?"

"No, but...I don't have anything else during the day."

The weeds snapped back behind them, a little breeze whistling across the back of Maria's neck. "But your brother and sisters—"

"I'm growing faster than they do and...all Father expects us to wear during the day are our uniforms."

"Oh," Maria whispered as she followed Friedrich along some sort of path she couldn't quite see, the first shouts and laughs of the other children trickling through the thicket. Somehow, I think he must know this place well. You're so quiet, Friedrich, and even I know it isn't always so quiet with so many siblings. "But that's easy enough to fix. It's just a little needlework."

O O O

The sun was falling toward the western horizon by the time Maria and the children made their way back to the house. Hot and sweaty, dirty and dusty, faces and arms gleaming red from the sun as the picnic basket was passed between Liesl, Friedrich, and Louisa, the blanket amongst the rest of the children. After battering their way through the weeds, Maria and Friedrich had quickly been drawn into a wild game of tag already in progress, despite the heat and humidity. Friedrich didn't even know he had stepped into it until Marta and Gretl slapped him together and all his siblings suddenly swung away from him.

Louisa snapped the picnic basket closed as they reached the terrace steps erupting up from the grass, at last certain there was nothing left. Even with their late lunch of sandwiches and fruit and finally biscuits, she was still hungry. "Fräulein Maria?"

"Hmm?" her governess mumbled, more worried about corralling Marta and Gretl before they wandered off around the house.

"Can we do this every day?"

Maria laughed quietly, dragging Gretl back before she darted off, like she still thought they were all chasing each other about rather than preparing to step back into their father's house. "Don't you think you'd soon get tired of it, Louisa?"

"I suppose so…" Louisa pushed the basket's handles farther back into the bend of her elbow as Brigitta hurried past her, long dark hair flying loose from her frazzled braid. "Every other day?"

"You do still need to spend some time studying."

"Do we?" Kurt asked, just beside his sister with the wrinkled and muddy blanket folded between his hands.

"Yes," Maria said as she rushed up those last few steps to the terrace. "At least while it's so warm." She stamped her feet to knock a few clumps of mud free from her shoes—then turned toward the doorway that led into the villa. Even with the chatter of the children still climbing the stone steps, there was a growing din within the villa, a wild chorus of voices with no harmony. And a silhouette rushing out from the corridor running from the large hall, the electric lights almost grey compared to the afternoon sunshine.

"Goodness, I thought you would never be back!" Frau Schmidt shouted as her shoes banged on the grey stones. Her dark red jacket was wrinkled and bubbling up from her apron band, her little brooch askew and her hair flying as loose as Brigitta's. "You'll have to get ready—the children can see to themselves."

"What's happening?" Glancing back, Maria counted the little bobbing heads as she had become used to. Five—six if she counted Brigitta who was running back and reaching for one of Marta's hands—and now seven as Friedrich stumbled over the top step, his face just as pink as his siblings'. At least you've been a little happier these last few hours.

"The Countess just arrived."

Maria spun back around. "Who?"

Seizing her arm, Frau Schmidt pulled Maria a few feet away from the children. "The children's grandmother, the Countess." Her eyes darting over Maria's shoulder, she clicked her tongue with a gentle shake of her head. "I told you, she's rarely here. I'm surprised we didn't hear from her before she came, but…" She dropped Maria's arm and snapped around, waving her hand at an unfamiliar maid before the young woman said anything. "She has asked to meet you."

Maria's pulse rose and a new coat of sweat broke out on her hands. "Me?" she asked softly as she wiped her palms along her dress, already tugging at a few wrinkles to try to smooth them away. "But—why? She doesn't even know me—"

Frau Schmidt was already pulling her forward again. "She asked for you by name, Fräulein Maria."

"But she can't—"

"Not out here, Benedict!" Frau Schmidt moaned, Maria forgotten again as she almost ran back to the house. An elderly man Maria didn't know was looking this way and that as he squinted in the afternoon sun, a long grey beard burying a row of buttons along his black jacket. Frau Schmidt whispered something to him—she was rewarded with a faint nod wrinkling the already creased and spotty skin beneath the neatly trimmed end of that beard at the back of his jaw—before he bowed gently and stepped back into the hallway.

Frau Schmidt waved Maria closer as she let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm afraid I'll have to go look after him, he hasn't been here for years. I told Franz to see you in."

"But what about—"

"I told you, they can see to themselves, at least for a while."

"I'm not suitably dressed—"

"I told you, she asked for you specifically. Now." Frau Schmidt leaned a little closer to Maria, adding quietly, "We do fuss over her, but it only befits a woman of her title. And don't worry about the children. I've looked after them often enough."

With a nod of her own and a quick wave of farewell, Maria stumbled into the corridor. She opened her eyes wide, everything suddenly too dark without the sun. But it was a short hallway, quickly opening into the large foyer bathed with light trickling through the chandelier's crystals. (The rainbows of the early afternoon were long gone.) The maids she recognized in the villa's dresses and aprons were busy talking with maids she didn't know, mostly still wearing light jackets to keep out the wind and dust from the journey. Did Frau Schmidt say where she came from? Maria wondered as she smiled at the handful of unfamiliar women. I don't remember if she did.

She hadn't meant to linger in the gleaming hall after she and the children deemed their adventures for the day done. Just run through with them as they tried to leave as little mud and muck on the coppery tiles and heavy rugs, send them off to their rooms to clean up and dress for dinner while she did the same. But looking down...Her dress wasn't dark enough to hide the mud or the scum she had wiped off her hand when it was too sticky or the little patches of sweat that had begun to itch. It was wrinkled from the time spent lazily sprawled on the picnic blanket and her stockings hung slouched over the top of her shoes, heavy and soggy with the lake water. I can't meet a countess like this—even if she is the children's grandmother. Turning over one of her hands, Maria winced. Right along her wrist, some of the slime from the skipping stones had dried and was already flaking away. I can't imagine what Mother would—

"Well, come along, Fräulein." Her face jerked up, following Franz's voice across the hall. He was waiting in front of what Frau Schmidt had told her was the salon—a door Maria had never seen opened—hands behind his back and polished shoe tapping on the tile. "Don't just stand there."

She almost ran, one of the villa's maids almost stepping into her and murmuring something as she scowled. "Oh, I'm so—"

"Not now!" Franz snapped.

A few last steps brought Maria right in front of him, hands knotted in her dress. I know you're thinking what you always think, she thought as Franz hissed. Her face was as red as all the children's—her hair tangled after running about for the afternoon—and she probably had a few smudges she didn't know about. You would rather I wasn't here and there was a proper governess instead.

"Someday you'll smarten your appearance," he muttered as he twisted the knob open. A sliver of sunlight rippled across the floor from one of the windows that must line the wall. "But she was quite eager to meet you, though I don't know why."

"If you can give me a minute, I'll change—"

"It's not up to me—Fräulein." He jerked his head toward the door. "Before she decides she to change her mind."