Chapter 33: Just For a While
Mid-afternoon, 20 September, 1933, Salzburg
Maria pressed her left hand to her abdomen, her other scratching a little harder at the blackboard hanging from the wall. The last emperor, just think about that. That's the lesson. The very tip of the chalk between her fingers chipped away, a fingernail running against the slate. The quick grating ran down her spine, and a little murmur of groans wound its way through the sea of desks behind her. She was swaying, she realized, her weight lolling onto the back of her right foot, the heel of her boot snagging on a nail protruding from a floorboard—
She winced—bit down a groan of pain as she stumbled into her chair, the crack cushioned by her coat. Righting herself, she began again; the first try was so messy, the letters so slanted, she couldn't read it. Oh, why isn't it getting any better? she thought, her hand against the old dust on the board. It's always better by now. Sometimes, I don't even remember it by this time.
With the onset of her monthly bleeding on Sunday, Maria had waited for the pain to ebb away, finally fade the way it always had. It was worse than ever, deep in her belly. Worse than when she wiped away the little clots of blood she hadn't caught right at the beginning, thicker and ropy as they soaked into the first rag she needed that afternoon. (She had scrubbed her hands for nearly five minutes to clean the worst from beneath her fingernails, long after the water ran mostly clear.) It must not have been what Georg meant when he left, that he would leave her enough so she didn't have to worry, but the already nearly empty bottle of aspirin she found in the back of one of the kitchen cupboards was dwindling even further. The entire week, she had intended to stop at the chemist's on her way home. But each afternoon, all she could do was collapse into her seat on the bus, hoping not to moan as it bounced this way and that over the uneven cobblestones, hoping that the rag between her legs would still hold the blood.
Maria closed her eyes, dropped her face to one side as she gulped down a breath of warm afternoon air. I'll feel better when I sit down, she told herself as she opened her eyes. She blinked slowly—then again, a milky white veil over her eyes. One more heavy blink cleared some of it and Maria pulled her hand from her stomach, steadying herself further against the board.
What was the next lesson? she asked herself as she took another half step back, her dress swishing gently as she turned back to her desk. We already had spelling and vocabulary this morning, and I had them read their history primers for an hour or so before they ran home for lunch. Maria swallowed, a little taste of bile in the back of her throat. Her face was suddenly hot, probably red as she slumped down onto the edge of her desk. I don't even quite remember what I was writing. Her hair was too loose at the base of her head, and Maria pushed one of the pins in tighter, probably leaving a white mark at the back neckline of her dress. You might laugh at me even today, Georg.
The telegram had arrived Monday evening, the messenger knocking hard a second time as she crept across the room. He was a bored young man, Maria decided as she reached for the little folded paper, her other hand clutching the door handle a little tighter than she needed as she whispered her thanks. In the rough chair beside the gramophone that was covered with dust, her fingers were shaking as she tugged the edges apart. She had accepted a few for Georg over the summer, but never had one just for her; she would have to tuck it away with the little things left from her father. Maria I'll be home Wednesday afternoon STOP I trust all is well STOP Georg It wasn't much, not even a greeting, but she had still smiled as she leaned back against the chair's hard wooden back despite the pain still radiating through her midsection. It's been too long, Georg, she thought. I can't even quite remember what day you left.
"I can't quite believe you'll be home when I'm there," she murmured as she stood back up from her classroom desk with a swipe of her arm across her forehead. Her dress sleeve was damp as she dropped her arm despite another shiver beneath the heavy cotton. She hadn't worn this frock since last winter when a thick coat of snow blanketed Salzburg and the winds tumbling down the Untersberg tested every stitch of her coat and the soles of her boots. "Maybe I'll just feel better seeing you—"
Her knees buckled beneath her, setting her on the edge of her desk again. The chalk tumbled from her fingers—shattering with a clatter on the broken tile floor as one of her shoes slipped on the floor. I probably need to have them looked— Something was tugging on her wrist, like little fingers pulling on the very end of her sleeve. "Frau Trapp?" With another sigh, Maria looked down. "Yes?" The little girl let go and scurried back, almost hitting the blackboard as her dark brown pigtails bounced on her shoulders. Almost like...She shook her head, a hard blink wiping away the sight of that little doll in its handmade dress. "What is it?"
"Are you…" The little girl looked down, her hands knotted behind her back, a rumpled sweater on her shoulders. "Are you well, Frau Trapp?"
"Of course." Maria nodded, blinking again as the writing scrawled across the board swirled. Her palms were tingling, wrapped too tightly around the edge of her desk; she loosened one, shaking it to waken her fingers. "Why?"
"We're still waiting. You asked us to wait while you wrote—it there."
"It?"
The little girl nodded, taking small steps away from the board and Maria, faster as she passed the edge of the desk. "You asked us a while ago. And we don't…" She looked back to the class, Maria glancing to the remaining students as well. A few were nodding along, two or three boys standing by the door, whispering to themselves behind their hands—but standing straight when one of them pointed at her. "We don't know."
Maria turned back to the blackboard, breathing heavily as she squinted, trying to make sense of whatever she had written. There was no sense, the words not even a proper sentence, some of the letters so smudged she couldn't tell where one ended and the next began. "Just...Just a moment." She stood again, her hand now on her chair to push herself toward the board. "Could you take your seat again?"
"But—"
"Please!" Maria said, louder now. "Just have your…" She laid her hand across her abdomen again, following the little nodule of pain up her left side below her waist. "Just have your notebooks ready, please."
"You already asked—"
"Please!"
"Yes, Frau Trapp," the girl said quietly, half tripping over her shoes as she spun around.
She probably doesn't know one's untied. Or at least I thought that's what I saw, Maria thought, closing her eyes. It stopped her head from spinning, but now it was her body twirling this way and that. Snapping them open again, the board danced across the wall for a second before it shuddered and stopped. Even with it finally still, her handwriting was just a blurry mess. I'll write it again. She wiped her face again again as she bent down for the broken chalk—
Someone slapped her face—pinched her nose—then slapped her cheek again. "Frau Trapp?"
"Why is it so cold?" Maria murmured, rolling her head up— "Ow!" she hissed, something cutting at her forehead.
"Don't do that." She tried to shake her head, the back of her skull knocking against something hard—now the knot of hair she had fastened up that morning jabbing the pins into her skull. "Or that. You there, go to…" The voice faded—quieter as the words jumbled together, something pattering almost like a feral cat. "Frau Trapp!"
"No—"
"Oh, sit up. You, come here!" Someone seized each of her hands, though one was almost engulfed while it felt like another round of child's fingers scrabbling against her other. "Up…" Her head was throbbing, not at the back where those little pricks of the pins remained an irritation, but at the front and off to one side just above her temple. "Up!" The little hands fell away, the larger hand as well—and now someone shoved her back. Her shoulder blades cracked against something and she moaned quietly as her chin dropped down a bit, her bun hitting whatever sat behind her instead of the top of her head.
"Well, bring it here!"
"Yes, Headmaster—"
"You don't need to dawdle. Back to your desk."
"Yes, Headmaster—sir."
Maria opened her eyes only to turn her head to the side. "It's too…" She gulped for air, the breath scratching in her throat. "It's too bright," she managed as she closed her eyes. There was a little valley in whatever she had been propped against, just big enough for her cheekbone.
"It's just the light. Turn this way."
"Mmm…" Maria rolled her head around, one eye opening. A little squint was still too much and everything in front of her was still out of focus. Someone was crouched in front of her, the plain white wall of her classroom behind and...Is that my board? she wondered as she needed to close that eye again. It looked like the black slate right above that person's head. Where am I?
"Here." Something hard slammed against her bottom lip, so hard Maria hoped it didn't leave a bruise. Something cold, curved, a little wet...Water, she thought, a thin stream dribbling into her mouth, though quite a bit spilled onto her face. It ran down either cheek, onto her arms; even through her dress's thick sleeves, she felt the chill. "Well, at least open your mouth, Frau Trapp." The glass knocked against her teeth—yes, that must be what it was, a glass—and what felt like a stronger push splashed yet more water from its top. Some she managed to gulp down, but almost as much lay on her shoulders and splashed along her neck.
"Please don't." Who is that? Maria wondered, hands scrabbling against the tile. One of her palms ground into the tile though it slipped a little in the small pool of water; the other couldn't find purchase, more her knuckles sliding here and there, one of her fingernails scraping harshly against something in her grasp. That's me, isn't it? With her single hand, she pushed harder, her backside now off the cool tile—someone wouldn't let her knees move—
"No, not yet." A strong hand pushed her back down, a little moan coming from her mouth as she crashed onto her bottom again and another one of those pains seared across her abdomen.
Maria hissed, now struggling to free her legs, to bring them back against her belly and chest. "I have to, I have to make it stop—I can't—"
The hand now landed on her shoulder, gentler as it pushed her back against her desk. And then what must be that person's other hand—a man's, surely—bringing that glass of water up for her again, another tip of the tumbler pouring a fresh river of water into her mouth. But not for long. It vanished—that man said something she didn't understand—and now someone slapped her cheek once more. Then again. "Are you finally back with us, Fräulein—Frau Trapp?"
Maria opened her eyes again, though this time the bright light from overhead wasn't quite so painful. She still needed to blink, everything a little smeared like those scales on Paul's eyes, she decided. Or was he Saul, then?
"Frau Trapp? Are you going to be able to stay sitting up?" She nodded, her knot of hair the only thing to stop her head from smacking against one of those drawers. Who again— Her cheeks flamed bright red, but it wasn't really a surprise; one of her students had said something about him. The school's headmaster was crouched before her, half filled glass cupped in one hand and balanced on his knee, wizened face drawn a little tighter than normal under his grey mustache. "I'll believe that in a few minutes." The red on her face was only getting worse, Maria knew, though thankfully the headmaster turned away for a moment to set the glass on the floor. He must have noticed how wet his trousers are, Maria thought, a deep breath pressing her back against the drawer handles, knob cutting into her spine and ribs. "You'll have to be more careful," he continued as he turned back, now stretching one arm out over her head, the headmaster grasped the very edge of her desk to pull himself upward. "At least for their sake."
She pushed her head back carefully to follow him as he righted himself, suit coat brushed of a little bit of dust and one foot stamped. "What?"
The headmaster pounded his other shoe against the floor, like he was struggling against the same tingling that had risen up her shins to her knees. "The children," he said, slapping his hands like they were covered in dirt as well. "They said you tripped over something."
"I don't…" Maria shook her head as she dug the heels into a line of grout, almost pinning the hem of her dress as well. She pulled herself forward a few inches—pushed herself with her open hand...What is that again? she asked herself as she picked her other hand up from the floor. Chalk? It was broken, a few crumbles cutting into her palm, her skin white. "I must have…" Maria peered up, past the headmaster with his arms across his chest pinning his dark tie to his shirt. "I don't remember."
"For god's sake!"
"I don't!" Maria wrapped her arms around her legs, almost tumbling backward at first; she had forgotten her desk was now a few inches away. "I was just in the middle of a lesson—"
"Yes, I know. The children told me that much."
"I'm sorry—"
"Quiet. Give me a minute," the headmaster snapped. He stepped away, past the edge of the old desk covered with her papers to grade—her copies of each of the primers—a book of her own—and then out of her sight for a second before his footsteps returned louder than before. It was a slow a snap snap snap that throbbed in her head with each beat like a drum."All right for a moment?"
Maria nodded, wincing as her cheek scratched on her skirt. "Yes."
"Then please stay out of trouble for once, Fräulein—Frau Trapp."
She just sat, just breathed as the headmaster leaned over the far edge of her desk. She blinked as his shadow slithered across her face, breaking up the sunlight from the window. Her ears were full of cotton, it felt, the rustling of papers dull like they were on the other side of the world. Something thumped above—then again as the headmaster groaned. "Don't you have anything prepared?"
Lifting her head and happy for the rush of cool air, Maria nodded. History, mathematics, German, everything normal for this early. "Last night, sir."
"Then where is it?"
Squirming on the floor, she loosened one arm—turned to reach up for the desk's edge—caught it with her fingertips—then collapsed back down onto the floor. Her legs were full of pins and needles, her feet and calves most of all; at the very bottom of her thighs, her muscles simply burned. "Isn't it there?" She dug both of her hands into her dress, trying to massage it away. "It must—"
"No."
Maria gulped down a breath, one leg now a little less pained. "Then I must have left them in my bag."
"This one?" the headmaster asked as he walked around her desk again, only his pleated dark level at her eye level. It hurt too much to lift her head to find his eyes. Her rough wooden chair jostled next to her, her bag slung on the bag moving as well.
"Yes—" She bit down on her lip; after all, it wasn't just her forgotten lesson notes and the sparse lunch she hadn't wanted to touch. Just like Monday and Tuesday, she had a small number of those menstrual rags shoved into one of the corners, some of them long ago stained. Despite her fears, none of them had succumbed to the blood, not even on the bus. "I can—" I don't want you to see them, even though I don't know why. I can't do anything about it. "I can find it for you, sir."
"You can hardly hold yourself—"
"Please, sir!"
Above her, the headmaster sighed, her bag suddenly falling into her lap, heavier corners hitting the tops of her legs with a thump. "If that will make you happier."
"Thank you." Maria stretched out one of her legs as the headmaster stepped away, shaking her foot again to loosen some of the numbing pain. She thrust one hand into the canvas bag, a few of the papers brushing her fingers but fortunately not leaving a stinging nick. Her hand at the very bottom to grab for her entire jumble of notes, Maria brushed against the bread and cheese in one corner—all she had bothered to bring the entire week—and the knot of rags in the other. The bag dropped back into her lap as she pulled her papers out and thrust out her arm toward the headmaster. "Here," she said, her voice finally a little louder. Her hand wasn't shaking, Maria noticed, and even her legs already felt less painful. He didn't say anything as he took the pile of papers, a gentle rustling floating down to her. "I hope that—"
"Useless," he muttered, the little pile crashing onto her desk. "You'll really have to learn to be more detailed, Frau Trapp." He stepped away from her: around the corner, footsteps fading before he spoke, more muffled than before. "Collect your things." Is it that late? she wondered as she sat up, the stuffiness in her head and ears lessening. I didn't think so— "Read the next chapter in your primer tonight, be here tomorrow on time."
A cacophony flooded Maria's ears, from the stamping of dozens of shoes to the scraping of chairs to the fluttering of winter coats. And the little voices already rising in a swell, a mess she couldn't disentangle despite her hearing sharpening. But it just as quickly fading, running away down the hall in a flurry of excitement over an early release. I would have felt the same on a nice autumn day myself—
A pair of hands seized her, one underneath each arm, hauling her up even as her heels grabbed for a line of stained grout to brace themselves. "Up, on your feet," the headmaster grumbled as he pushed her back onto the edge of the desk to prop her up. Maria blinked again and swayed into the chair for a moment, though she stayed upright despite her dizziness and a fresh shot of pain through her belly; she had nearly forgotten it, she had been so focused on how badly her head had been spinning. He grabbed her elbow, probably afraid she would be on the ground again, she decided. "Will you be all right for the journey home?"
Maria nodded a little, not wanting to move much at all. "Yes, I think so."
"Do you want to sit down again?"
"I think—yes," she said with another nod.
"Here." He pushed her a little to the side as he dragged the chair out, one or two of its feet snagging on the tile. "I'll find someone to help you out," he muttered, pulling her over and nearly pushing her down. The sting vibrated through her backside, down her legs and up her back, nearly knocking her breath away. "How did you come this morning?"
"The bus." A deep breath to fill her lungs relieved the burn, but the pressure simply shot down through her hips, almost down to her legs. "My husband sometimes brings me—or he did over the summer—but he's been out of town this month."
"Quiet, Frau Trapp, at least for a minute." Turning around, he stalked toward the door into the hallway, just grumbling, "I'll be back."
Alone in her schoolroom as the silence descended, Maria ran her hand over her face. It was clammy and almost sticky with a thin layer of perspiration. She couldn't tell if her skin was warm underneath. "I've made a fool of myself, all because I can't keep my balance." Leaning forward, she crossed her arms on her desk—dropped her face against her sleeves. Closing her eyes, her eyelashes scrape the cotton, dragging something into one of the corners. She scrubbed at it with a finger and brought her face up just enough to blink in the struggle to sweep it from her eye. "Once I'm home, I'll be able to sleep," she whispered as she sat up again. "At least for a little while." And you'll be there, I should feel better just from that—
A little knock cut off her thoughts and pulled her gaze back to the door. The headmaster was there again, but he wasn't alone. A young woman stood behind him, half of her frame concealed by his, dark red hair swept over the top of her head. Stepping into the schoolroom, the headmaster waved her forward, a little swish of a blue cotton dress muffling her shoes. "Fräulein Lena"—he nodded to the woman—"could you see Fräulein—Frau Trapp to the closest stop for her bus home?"
She nodded, clasping her hands together at the front of her waist. "Of course. What is—"
"Just see her outside." He strode across the room quickly, stopping just in front of her desk. He frowned as he peered down at her, almost as though he was worried. "Please take the time you need until you're well again," he said, "providing…" He paused, one of his hands on the front edge and fingers now drumming away. "Providing you won't be better off at home for the next few months."
Maria sat up a little taller, just able to watch Fräulein Lena come behind him, her head just peeking around the headmaster's shoulder. "No, I'm sure I'll be fine in a—"
"Yes, what are you—"
"Quiet," he snapped, both of them falling silent even as the other woman still walked around him, stopping at the far edge of Maria's desk. Fräulein Lena nodded down at her, though she didn't say anything. "Have your husband call, send a telegram, something when you won't find yourself on the floor again." The headmaster tucked both of his hands into his pockets as he peered down. "I'm surprised he even let you come in," Maria just heard him say before he added, louder, "Good afternoon."
Neither Maria nor the other teacher—Fräulein Lena, she reminded herself—spoke as he walked away, just listening to the snap of his shoes instead until their echo in the hall had faded. The other teacher unclasped her hands, offering one as she stepped closer. "Do you think you can stand, Frau Trapp?"
"Maria." She was cold suddenly, though a line of sweat was dripping down the center of her back.
"I can help you—Maria, but you'll be on your own soon enough."
Maria nodded as she wiped her hands on her dress. Shoes on the tile and hands against her desk, she pushed the chair back with a wince at the squeal. Now she pushed herself up, fingers tighter to hold herself straight, but her head was clearer now. One slow step took her away from her desk and chair, then another couple turned her around. She reached for her coat on the chair back...She sighed, now remembering her bag in a pile on the floor. "Could you help me, Fräulein Lena?"
"Of course."
"Hand me that, please?" Maria nodded down at the mess of canvas. The other woman knelt down, finding the straps of the bag and standing before she offered it to her. "Thank you." Maria dropped it onto the desk, one hand pushing the top open while she gathered her papers with the other. She didn't bother to stack them neatly, instead shoving them away rustling and crinkling. Now she picked up her coat and slid her arms through the sleeves. She didn't fasten the buttons; even if there was a breeze outside, the air inside the bus would be too stuffy. She slung the bag over her shoulder, her untouched lunch weighing down one corner as Fräulein Lena took her hand.
With her fingers folded into the other teacher's, Maria's steps were surer and her legs were steadier, though she wouldn't dare go any faster than the slow pace the young woman beside set. Every now and then after they passed through the doorway and began to walk down the hall, she glanced at the closed doors lining each side. It was only faint whispers through the heavy wooden doors, only one or two even cracked open. Teachers with their wits about them, I suppose.
There was a bit of a breeze to nip at her arms and legs as Fräulein Lena pushed the school's front door open. But it wasn't too far to the corner where the bus would roll past on its route, probably in few minutes. "You're sure you'll be all right?" Fräulein Lena asked as they took the first few steps down the narrow sidewalk. One of the paving stone jutted up in front of them and Maria felt the other woman's fingers tighten a little.
She nodded, not fighting the arm now snaked around her waist to lead them around the stone. "Yes, my husband should be home when I'm there."
"Good. What's his name?"
"Georg." Somehow, saying his name tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"Georg Trapp?" Maria nodded again. Fräulein Lena steered them around another chip in the sidewalk's stones, now just a few paces from the small cluster of other men and women waiting for the bus to take them home. "Hmm. Well, I'm glad you'll have someone to look after you."
Fräulein Lena glanced up the road; there was no bus behind the stream of cars quite yet, but it couldn't be much longer. "I can't stay. My students will be a terror when I'm back. Some of the boys might need the army to discipline them."
"Perhaps." Did the navy do that for you? Maria wondered as she slipped her hand from her fellow teacher's. Sometimes I wonder with how you come and go.
"It really might be the best for some of them."
She just nodded again. "Please don't worry about me. I'm far better than I was." It was mostly true, at least; her head had completely cleared and any traces of the shakiness from earlier was fading. "Really," Maria added. But the rest of it disappearing just left the pain.
"All right." Fräulein Lena leaned forward, her head turned and red bun almost identical to Maria's fairer one bouncing a bit as she peered down the road. "That's yours?" she asked as she turned back. "I think I see it just there." Maria nodded once more in return, though she didn't say anything, not daring to open her mouth. Her entire abdomen still remained unhappy with her; she wasn't certain she was ready to chance another word, even though it wasn't the sick she had almost given into over the past weeks. "Just—please be careful with yourself." The other young woman swished her skirt against the dust of the road, probably a little palm print of sweat left behind as well. "I hope you're better the next time I see you."
"So do I," Maria bit out quickly, her mouth closed again as soon as she could manage it. "Thank you."
With just that short farewell, she fell back against the wall of the building just behind her, her half empty bag cushioning her elbow as she tried not to count the seconds. The bus's wheels creaked and squealed as the slowed, something deep in the vehicle grinding so sharply, Maria winced as she took a few steps toward the road.
She just smiled as she stepped up the small set of steps on the shuddering bus and pressed her coins into the old driver's wrinkled hand. She didn't worry about where she chose to sit, didn't really glance down at the elderly man already pressed up to the window beside her. He was snoring lightly, Maria realized as she folded her hands gingerly across her abdomen, one half of her coat sliding to her side. She was right, though. The air was too warm and still to button her coat despite the few windows cracked open along the top metal frames, above the coating of dust and exhaust.
The bumps and jolts between the pauses for passengers to embark and depart weren't quite so bad as the days before, at least at the start. She still bit down her lip a few times when it was too hard, something deep in her body almost moving as though it had a life of its own, the pain growing harsher again as she looked over the man's hat for where to get off. Once or twice, her arm sagged to the side, brushing his heavier overcoat, but she yanked it back before he had a chance to do anything other than turn his head against the glass with another faint snore.
Despite the growing pain, the ride seemed far shorter, almost like...She laughed quietly to herself. Almost like that man who has to take off his legs, he'll run so fast if he— Another lurch of the bus brought another even sharper pain through her stomach. It can't be that much farther, Maria thought with a hiss. And at least no one else has bothered to say anything. I wouldn't want to be any more trouble over nothing.
Well, I know it's not just nothing, Maria told herself as the bus slowed yet again. It isn't normal to have this pain, to worry like this. She shivered as the wheels screeched with another push of the driver's foot against the accelerator. I shouldn't feel like I have to choose between eating and being ill. A palm against her stomach, Maria swallowed against a little bit of the sick rising into her throat. But I just don't quite understand. I know, Georg, I really do, that maybe someday...A steeper bump in the pavement half threw the bus into the air, a few of the passengers around her grumbling in surprise and the old man beside her lifting his head and blinking for a moment. But it doesn't seem like it could be true, she thought, almost thinking she heard a little whistle drifting back from the driver. Not after bleeding like I did through the summer. And you've been gone so long.
The bus slowed again; Maria gathered her bag under her arm and tugged her coat closed with her other. (Whatever a relief an open coat had been for the last twenty minutes or so would be an unhappy realization when the cooling winds of Salzburg made their way through her dress to her bones.) With the final squeal of the rubber tires and metal axles, she stood, steadying herself with her hand on the back of her seat. She couldn't stop herself from glancing at the cars parked along road's edge. Most days since the school year, even knowing Georg was out of town— No, even that wasn't quite right: his telegram had originated in Salzburg itself, that was the office! She sighed as the bus finally shuddered and fell still, her balance faltering with her first step toward the front. She didn't tell the driver farewell or wish him a good afternoon as she usually did, instead simply nodding as she dropped heavily onto each step and then onto the cobblestone.
The bus sputtered here and there as Maria fastened a few of her coat's buttons and she jumped out of the way of a little spray of city street's fine gravel. One arm tighter over her bag, she made her way along the road, slipping between a pair of cars to reach the sidewalk. Her belly was a little happier, now, though once on her walk to the flat as she had to cover her mouth with her elbow with a cough against the pale grey haze flickering across the road, it threatened to roil up into her throat. But it didn't, she told herself with a wipe of her palm on the inside of her coat pocket.
At the end of the road, just waiting for the cars rolling through the bumpy intersection to pause, Maria's eyes finally began their daily flit through the columns of parked vehicles. These last three weeks, she hadn't been able to help herself, her gaze always dancing from car to car and their little tags, always hoping and wanting to see his. Dark and a little battered with those dings here and there, touches of motor oil where she didn't know to expect them. It has never quite suited you, she thought as she hurried into the intersection with the other pedestrians, the pain in her left side suddenly worse than ever. The next few cars along the road bore the same scratches and sadness of the years, but none of them had the right curve of the back bumper or the specific dent along the metal in front of the passenger door. I always imagine you in something grander even if it's something I've never seen. I don't even know what they would be called— No, that one there wasn't quite right either, she decided with a turn onto the next street, the pain blooming and her pace slowing. It must be here somewhere, I know you're a man of your word, Georg, the way you expected to see me when I said—
She smiled, at last noticing the dark car halfway from the intersection to the entrance to the building, almost dropping her hand along its flank as she passed. The little scratches, the headlight on the driver's side with a tiny chip in the glass, the little gap in the rubber around the back window...At least I know you're home.
Maria hurried along the remainder of the street, choosing her steps carefully where the pavement turned up sharply. She had nearly forgotten the little patch over the summer, a part of the sidewalk almost buckled under its own weight and looking more like a poorly laid collection of stones with no mortar to hold them together. "Like it thought this was where the sidewalk ended," she whispered as she stepped around it, her right foot missing the edge of the walk and landing on the road instead, the crash sharpening everything. But I always have wondered where it does. (She couldn't quite talk for a moment.) But she pulled her foot back onto the sidewalk and pushed herself onto her toes—dropping down immediately—but the Untersberg with its snow glistening in the sun wasn't to be seen. Sometimes, it always seems to go on into the sun. But…She bit down on her lip, hard. I don't think it matters so much, even if it does go all the way to the mountain peak.
It had changed since stepping onto the bus, whatever ached. What had suddenly ebbed away in her classroom, or maybe she could only think about the rest of the pain. Even with the door to their flat's building looming ahead, she had to walk slower, a shiver of pain everywhere with each step. But at least when I'm at home— She stopped, closed her eyes as she took a deep breath through her nose. Then another. It will all be fine then.
The door to the flat lobby opened for her with no trouble, though Maria walked through it slowly. She wrapped her hand tight around the banister, almost pulled herself up with it. I don't know how this is so much harder, but it...She paused as she foundered to the side for a second and lost her breath when the wooden bar along the wall crushed against her waist, breath brought back with a little cry. It's not that far, she told herself as the first switchback of the staircase appeared.
The key was long forgotten in her bag at the bottom as she fell against the wall with a struggle for breath; it was buried beneath her untouched lunch. Once or twice, she had forgotten to lock the door as she hurried out. But you always remember to do that, I suppose it must be from your time in the navy. It only took one try to fit the key into the first of the tumblers, though Maria suspected she added to the collection of little scratches just to the side of the lock with a little shake of her hand.
The hinges were quiet as the door opened, just enough for her to slip through. As it closed, she fell back, wincing as her shoulder blades cracked on the wood. Well, at least I'm back for a while. A small breath escaped through her lips, already dipped into a frown, something fresh burning. But I just wish— She hissed as another pain shot across her stomach. It isn't so bad as it was this weekend, I know that, but I really— Now it was a gentle moan rushing through her nostrils as she pressed her splayed fingers to her belly. I still don't understand what is— Another grimace, another little moan as she shoved her bag off her shoulder to the floor. "I just don't know," she whispered with a lean forward, the pressure on her belly finally relieving a bit of the pain. "It doesn't—"
Something—she didn't know what it was, but something across the flat made noise. Probably a chair moving over the floor, the feet not lifting from the tile in the kitchen, it sounded so far away. That's you, isn't it? Maybe it's just being here, and I know you're—
"A little earlier than I remember— Maria?"
"What?" she asked as her gaze came up again. "What do you…" She gulped down the next words as he stepped into the front room from the corridor, one hand in his front pocket. "Georg…" She rushed forward for a few steps—unwise, each shooting pain across her torso—then stopped, her balance suddenly wavering. "You've…" A deep breath now as she stumbled forward—
"Sit down, darling."
"What?" She turned around, wasn't something there behind? "I'm fine, really—"
"You are not." His hands were on her wrists, tightening to steady her. "You're barely on your feet."
"How would—you…" Maria shook her head, loose hair scratching against her neck. "You haven't even been…" Her knees buckled—she heard his feet on floorboards—and then his hands tight around the top of her arms, her body rolling up toward him. "You haven't even been here," she whispered as his arm tightened around her.
"I haven't wanted—" Georg had to stop. No. No, darling. I know what the look will be on your face. He licked his lips as he dragged her closer, a quick affair as one of her shoes snagged along the ground. "This would be a first, you tripping over your own feet in here. You seem to be better about it here, at least."
"Hmm?" Her face dropped onto his jacket—limbs drooped—
"You really aren't well, are you?" he whispered. Maria shook her head with a push of her hand against Georg's chest. Her breaths were coming a little slower suddenly, fingers shaking as she clawed the very tips into his suit. "Here."
"No!"
His hand under her backside, Georg already had her off her feet, his arm sliding down along her thighs to the crook of her knees, dress and coat bunched up against his arm. "You're so…" He cleared his throat, turning his face so Maria couldn't quite hear him do so. "You're so small."
Her head fell back over his elbow, a little cry coming from her mouth as her belly folded and the new pain intensified. "Please don't—"
"Don't fight against me."
"I'm not"—she just managed to shove a hand through the folds of her dress, something to stop the pressure that was suddenly ravaging her—"but that hurts."
"What?"
He must be walking, Maria knew, her head jolting and rising and falling every second or two in time with the aches. "My stomach, no not that—"
"I told you to eat, that you'd need it."
She shook her head again, biting down a little squeal as one of his steps was harsher. "It's not that—"
"We're nearly there." Georg lifted her a little higher, one of his hands rising along her hip to keep her closer. "Just another few more seconds, darling."
"May I—" She couldn't stand it any longer. "I need aspirin. I've needed it all week. It's been so much worse. And now."
"What has?" He slid his hands down along her body as he reached one side of their small bed, wincing as her dirty shoes smudged across the white cotton sheets. His hand back under her waist, he pushed her to the middle, now leaving her to claim a little of their shared space. She rolled away from him for a second, then back in a search for his wrist—catching it before he could move away.
"My…" How do I even say it? It's just so...It's so embarrassing. It's what— A fresh hiss escaped her lips. And I don't know what to do. "My monthly cycle," she muttered, dragging her shoes up along the bedclothes.
"Has it? Aspirin? And a glass of water with it?"
"Yes...I think it's almost gone."
"Your pain?"
"No, not…" Something was rising up in her chest. Harsh, burning. "No, just—"
"What?"
"Aspirin, please!" Her nose was running. Maria rubbed at it with the back of her hand, a new slimy film spreading over her skin. "I already asked you!"
"You stupid—"
"What do you—"
"Don't ask me." You stupid girl. Honor and obey, you said those words, even if you were too besotted to hear yourself in that clerk's office. I'm still not sure how much you actually heard, let alone remember now.
"But what…" She curled her arm into her face, another large sniff running into her dress. She rolled over onto her back, eyes wide as she stared up. "What do you mean?" she asked almost lazily.
"Don't you...Never mind, Maria," Georg whispered as he pushed himself closer to her, folding his legs up against her. "Are you...are you warm, darling?"
"Not before."
"That's not what I asked. But is it almost—" He had to stop. I can't ask you, I really can't. His fingers were twitching, but Georg shoved them into his wife's hair, the end of a hairpin stabbing beneath his fingernail. He tugged the first away, then another, the first sections of her long golden hair falling into his hands. He made his way around her to the back of her head, discarded pins slipping away onto the bed. At least let me help you right now. I'm not sure I want to think anymore about what I've done to you for a while.
Maria folded her arms up into her chest, knees following as she turned onto her back. "What are you doing?"
"You won't be comfortable with them."
"I know, but you don't have to."
"I know that."
"Then why—" A tug of another pin released a further wave of hair, his fingers now running almost to the very tips. She hummed a little and pushed her back into his legs, finally smiling. "Then why are you?"
He pulled a little harder on her hair, a handful wrapped around his palm. "Can't I want to? And…" Georg smoothed a little chunk of her hair down over the crown of her head. No, he told himself, now pressing a kiss to her forehead. It will just make everything harder. "Just for a while?" he whispered.
Georg didn't listen to her any longer as he slipped off her dusty shoes then opened the buttons along the back of her dress, the little metal discs confounding his larger fingers occasionally as they caught in the buttonholes. The back open and her own exposed, he pushed the top seam away from her shoulders and the sleeves half down her arms. It was just her shift now, as faded and stained as ever, that dingy white that made him scowl. Perhaps I should have asked more what...He shoved her mane of hair aside, her neck glistening with a thin veil of sweat. Asked what I needed from—
"Georg?"
"Hmm?" He shook his hand, a few drops of perspiration flying away.
"Could you…" His wife pushed herself up, the rest of her dress falling away to leave shift that cut across the top of her chest—and then fell back, a groan coming up through her throat. Her hand was over her belly again: not even her stomach, but lower, right where her womb probably was. She turned toward him, her cheek crushing her hair. She thrashed a little, both arms and hands clawing and flailing against her dress, then turning over to him, her face rolling into his leg.
"What?"
"Could you help me to the washroom? It's even worse than before."
"Of course."
Georg twisted around, his feet stomping onto the floor. He walked around their bed to Maria's side, though it was so small didn't really matter but for habit. It was nothing like the bed in the master suite in Aigen, something that had felt like an enormous ocean after— No! He shoved his arms under hers, dragged her up to her feet as he tried not to scowl with her dark dress tumbling down her frame. And now she tumbled forward into his arms. "Maria?"
"What?"
"You have to stand, darling. Or I'll have to do what I did earlier, and I don't think you'd like that."
She stood a little straighter though she didn't answer, even threw the waves of hair over her shoulder and wiped away the next layer of sweat on her neck. She moaned quietly and almost tumbled if it weren't for his hands around her to keep her on her feet. Christ, you say so often that you love me, why do you make this so hard? And it would have been so much easier if you didn't, at least Elsa knows when to stop talking like—
"Georg?"
"What now?"
She frowned, leaning her face into his shoulder harder than before as they walked through the door of their bedroom. She stumbled a little again, but just tightened her hand on his. "I need my—" Maria pulled down on his arm, trying to slow him down. "I need those rags."
"Rags?" he asked as he looked down to her pallid face.
"The ones in my bag—out there." Maria pushed herself up from him, shoving herself down from his arms. "Let me go—"
"I will not."
"Then what…" She smeared her face against her arm. "Why even ask? Ask now?"
"Ask what?"
"Rags for—I know you...you know!"
"What do I know?"
"You can't!" Maria snapped, her legs and shoes now scraping against his legs. "You know what…" She stumbled anew with a fall back into his arms.
God, you have to sit down, Maria, he thought, gently lowering her to the warped floor of the washroom. And I don't think you have the balance for anywhere else. "What? You haven't said—"
"It's too much." She grimaced again, now both hands on her belly. "And I don't know why. I…" She turned her face into his elbow, suddenly loving a fresh breath of the washing powder he preferred from the laundromat she didn't know. "Why I didn't tell you. I wrote all—"
"What?" he asked again, kneeling down to the ground.
"They're in—"
"What?"
"I don't know!" The pain had suddenly turned worse, almost a knife across her abdomen like nothing before. How can it be...She sobbed as she rolled over onto the ground. "I have to have it."
"What are—"
"Don't ask me that!" She dragged her arm closer, only opening the back of her dress more. "Please." Maria clutched at her belly harder than before. "Please, I need it."
Georg knelt down, knees of his trousers on the tile. "What," he whispered, another chunk of her hair in his hand as he pushed it away.
Maria squinted, turned over as her dress opened across her chest. Her eyes were dancing, he saw, across the wall, not really seeing anything at all. "Aspirin. Please. I asked you before."
"Then you'll have to stay—"
"Now!"
"Then—"
Her hand jumped up around his elbow. "Please…It hurts!" she shouted as she turned back the other way.
"What?" He shook his head and ran his fingers along his collar. "I can't help—"
"Stop!" She rolled back. "I just…" She reached up, one hand in his jacket's buttons. "Aspirin and water. I have—" Maria coughed, a little bang on the tile—on the trunk of the toilet—as her head hit the floor. "To take it."
Georg scrambled to his feet; he had to adjust his jacket as he stood. "Don't worry."
"But how…" She thrust her body up, and immediately dropped it back. There were tears now, Georg could see that. "How can you be sure?" Her head cracked against the toilet again, he hadn't quite remembered where it was as he stood. "I don't know—"
Georg smashed a kiss to her mouth, a fresh breath opening to his. "Don't worry, Maria."
He hurried over the threshold into the kitchen, his jacket suddenly too hot. It wasn't his jacket, now, it was his shirt too. Christ, where was the bottle? He remembered where the glasses were, but where was that?
"You would have emptied it, girl." He slammed the cabinet door closed, opened the next. Slammed that one—opened the next— There at least was the tall bottle of aspirin, less dusty than he remembered and rattling at the bottom as he reached for it. "You really did," he said as he turned to the faucet. There's nothing left, he thought as he opened the tap, water splashing halfway up the glass. Of course you couldn't handle…He walked back into the corridor again, just scowling as he snapped down the switch. I knew what a child do to you, no matter how I think you wanted one.
Georg was back in the bathroom, a little scuff of one shoe on the sill. He dropped both bottle and glass on the tank of the toilet; there was no space on either the basin or the bathtub for them. "Here." He knelt down alongside his wife, scowling at her old dress, now even further down her arms. He had to reach back up for the aspirin, stopper refusing to burst its vacuum despite his wrenching. But it came open, the top a little sticky against his palm. Probably your cooking grease, he thought while one of the tablets tumbled out. "I'll have to go find you some more—tomorrow. But right now, sit up."
Maria forced herself up, a slow journey that had her hair tumbling over her shoulders, wrinkled as though she had slept on it. He offered her the tablet though he didn't reach for the glass until she upright and the aspirin already in her mouth. He still had to hold the glass himself, tip it out for her even as it dribbled down either side of her mouth as well. She coughed and pushed her head back, away from the glass's edge. "Thank you," she whispered, finally able to bring up her knees. Why does it feel this way, like earlier today? Shouldn't it be different if you're looking after me?
"Of—of course." He forced a smile as he returned both to the top of the toilet's tank. "Can you stand?"
"For a little. I'll have to." It's almost the same. "But I need another—one of my rags before I go."
"Ah." His wife was never particularly comfortable with her cycles, always so embarrassed when they started, perhaps even more so than when she woke the morning after their wedding to the blood on the sheets. He never particularly cared for them—hadn't for Agathe's either, though perhaps there hadn't been that many to notice. He still sometimes cursed himself for not paying attention to Maria right then. It hadn't been until that night she couldn't sleep he really remembered her relief at how light they had been. "Do you—need help?"
"No," she said quickly with a shake of her head, cheeks already glowing. "I'll be fine for a little while."
Though he helped her stand—gave into her protests to leave her alone for a minute or two with a quick demand that she let him know when she was ready—Georg didn't go far. He didn't even quite close the door as he leaned against the wall. It will be for the best, darling. After this, there's nothing to tie you to me anymore, except for that. He glanced down at his right hand, that little glistening ring. But a baron and a baroness, not a baron and...well, I shouldn't call you a girl now, after every time you could hardly move after I had my way with you. He dropped his head back with a crack against the plaster. I know that I should have known—
Georg stood straighter at the first stirring in the washroom. But that's neither here nor there right now. He smiled again, the door creaking open. "Better, darling?"
Maria nodded, her dress righted on her shoulders, though he knew she hadn't managed the buttons. "Yes. But I don't know what to do with that…" She grabbed his arm, Georg almost wincing at the strength of her fingers and the sudden weight of her body almost pulling him down. "It's soaked through."
"Don't worry about it."
It was a slow walk back to their bedroom, Maria steadier though still wincing with each step. You're through the worst it, I hope, Georg thought. It's far too early for that aspirin to do a thing. They still stopped once or twice, Maria with a hand against the wall. It was a loud sigh as she finally sat on the mattress, almost covering the creak. She dragged her legs up one by one—stretched them out despite the little dusty marks on the sheets as she turned onto her side toward him, arms against her stomach again. "I still don't know what happened, Georg."
"Don't you?" he whispered. She shook her head. He sighed himself as he brushed a first chunk of her hair away from her neck.
"No." I just can't imagine how it could be that. I've had my cycle...three times since we've been married, and then you were just gone for so long. So even if I wonder why it would be so terrible this time, I can't think of how. And I don't think I could ask you. She bit a grin back despite the lingering pain, just hoping the aspirin would begin to ease it soon. You don't seem to know very much about children. So how would you know?
"Feeling better?"
She just nodded, still squirming on the quilt. "But where were you?"
"What?" he asked, fingers now combing through the crinkles in her hair stopping.
"All that time?"
"I told you I had something to look after—"
"But you've been gone before, never like this. This long."
He continued to twist his fingers through her hair, a little wince on Maria's face as he tugged a little harder to loosen her hair from under her side. Between the children and Elsa and the time of year, the first year. "It was more than I expected—"
"But why?"
"Don't ask me questions I can't answer," he said softly. He nearly had all of her hair freed, now covering her breasts. You won't have to worry about those aching now.
"Can't you?" She dropped her chin down, almost against her chest. "Why didn't you write—"
"You must be feeling a little better, Fräulein—"
"Don't change—and why are you calling me that?"
"A little bit of fun, Maria." He would have to go get her another glass of water soon, and more aspirin if she liked. Her face was too warm under the back of his hand. "I like seeing that spirit in you, that's all. It's…"
"Yes?"
It's what I first saw in you, darling, that second night when you wouldn't even let me walk away without knowing my name. You did me good, Maria, but...it would never be quite right. I hated myself that morning, what I needed and what I could never give you. "Nothing. It doesn't matter," he murmured.
"But answer me, something that simple? Why didn't you write me at all? Last week, I…" She turned away. I think I'd just feel foolish, all those letters I wrote you because I was lonely.
"What?"
"Nothing." A fresh wince on her face, Maria unwrapped her arms and rolled onto her back. She pushed her elbows down just enough to bend her waist and bring her shoulders up. "But why, Georg?"
He pushed her back down gently; she didn't resist, another little grimace of pain on her face. "I'll tell you someday."
O O O
Georg rarely left her side for the afternoon. Every now and then, he went to fill her another glass of water, the first time stopping in the washroom to retrieve the sticky bottle of aspirin. Maria mostly slept for the remainder of the day, mostly only sitting up long enough to drink those glasses of water and take more of the aspirin. Later in the evening, though she claimed she wasn't hungry, he at least helped her stand to peel away her dress and shift to exchange them for her nightgown. (Georg didn't mention the stain of blood on her already dingy shift, though fortunately it wasn't so large as he feared.)
As he sat next to her—she had simply dropped onto the first side of their bed, where he normally slept simply from habit—Georg mostly just thought. Once or twice, he found himself so deep in his worries, he started when she shifted. I still have to decide what to do, darling. I wouldn't walk away from you now, but it can't be too long. You'll start to wonder, and I don't know if I'll be able to resist you, all that lingering freshness.
He stripped away his jacket almost as soon as Maria was asleep, not worrying about folding it or his tie. You would rather hate me, I think, if you knew. Any of it, all of it. Though I wonder if I'll hate myself as well. But at least I know how to think well in this moment, I did it often enough when Agathe had a few fevers before...
With the last of the sunset through the window, Georg exchanged his shirt and trousers for his nightclothes, still unconcerned about the former. He wasn't hungry, either, and his mind was still swirling with the afternoon. He had realized it—assumed Maria didn't know about her child—but what he saw walk through his front door was beyond anything he could have expected. Except his twisted relief. I saw my wife lose another child after Gretl, Maria, but nothing like this. He had to pull her closer, right into his side so he could feel her breathe despite the mess of her hair between them. You're still too warm. Maria hadn't bothered asking for the bedclothes and he was more than accustomed to the cold of a submarine that he didn't reach for them either.
He didn't want to move much to disturb her, but Georg still turned onto his back. His own arms across his chest to peer up at the ceiling. Sky and stars past there. The sea is too far away, but...He groaned a little, though quietly. I thought about you once or twice in Aigen, under the same sky, not even just now when I was gone. But I worry it's not enough. He turned back to her. You belong here, I belong there. And I wonder if you'll listen to your god enough to ever forgive me.
The next morning
Georg dressed just after sunrise the following morning, first wishing he had been more careful with suit coat and trousers the night before. But they were a mess of wrinkles, so he folded them and set them at the bottom of the wardrobe after he pulled out the constant contents of his pockets. We'll send enough to be laundered, I think, Maria, it won't matter at all. He didn't bother with coffee at first, but instead sat back on the mattress beside Maria, still feeling odd on the other side of the bed. She remained fast asleep and when he pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, not nearly as warm as the night before. Still breathing slowly, her hair now dropped down over her shoulder like she had managed to move about through the night.
After a gentle movement of the sun across the horizon, he walked to the kitchen, finally desperate for coffee after the night before. He had to search for a moment to find everything. He hardly remembered where anything in the kitchen was sometimes; all of it had come because of Maria. Many times, the pot and grounds simply waited on the work surface beside the stove, but this morning, he couldn't find either. You must have put away with the coffee. At least it was a quick search in the cupboard just above its normal place.
Maybe I shouldn't have criticized it so harshly, he thought, the parts of the percolator a little confusing. He had never used the thing before, only watched her on an occasional slow morning; even the dent in the side was the result of her hands. But at least it wasn't that troublesome to decipher, and Georg soon had a pot of coffee bubbling on the stove. The stove was still unfamiliar to him, he had rarely stepped into it except for a glass of water, but even that was sometimes from the tap in the washroom.
His first cigarette craving was already rising, but it would have to wait. Not this morning, he thought as the little pot gurgled. Besides, there was enough to think about without the first rush of nicotine to possibly cloud his head. He would have to wait until she was awake to leave, until she was well enough to be left alone, he decided that as he twitched his fingers against the counter as he waited. After all, it wouldn't be forever. Not yet.
He needed to arrive at the bank early, that much was obvious. Though his credit was sound—the account filled with more than enough schillings—somehow it just seemed right. Fewer people milling about, perhaps even fewer tellers to ask questions, and he planned to withdraw enough that even the head teller would likely need permission.
The pot was whistling now, a thin stream of steam rising from the spout with the smell of coffee close behind. Another morning, it might disturb her, but unlikely now. He would need to visit the chemist's as well; she would probably need aspirin for days, probably until the bleeding finally stopped. How long was it after that baby she lost after Gretl? he wondered as he rifled through the cupboards in search of a coffee cup. Another one of the kitchen items he had never touched.
He turned off the burner, then filled the cup almost to the brim, a number of the grounds coming along. Just like yours, Maria. With the percolator back on the burner, Georg took a seat at the table sipping at his coffee. Exactly like hers. More than ever, he wanted to fish out his cigarettes, but he still couldn't. There was enough time along the drive.
With half the cup gone, Georg pushed back his chair and hurried into the corridor, down to the bedroom. His wife hadn't moved, apart from turning over onto her back. It still wasn't too bright, not so late in September, so that at least hadn't troubled her. Striding across the room, he settled himself beside her again, pushing a handful of hair out of the way. Now, at least, he heard a sigh rising up from her and the rustling of the sheets beneath her as she turned even farther towards him.
"Where were you? I thought I heard you move, but I was too tired."
"Just to the kitchen to start some coffee. But I'm guessing you wouldn't be too fond of it this morning." Even though she could hardly move against the bed, Georg just saw her shake her head; she hadn't bothered to open her eyes. "How are you?"
"Tired and it…" She frowned, wrinkled her nose. "It's still painful, but not as much as yesterday."
"Water?" he asked, and Maria nodded. "And another aspirin?" Another nod. "Then I'll be back with water."
Her water glass hadn't moved after he went to the washroom for her the final time last night, nor had the now almost empty bottle of pain medication. Rather than washroom, he took the extra few steps to the kitchen, still eager for the rest of his coffee. When he took the first sip, he almost shuddered. Some of the remaining grounds were floating on the top, more bitter than ever. But he still took another couple before he continued to the basin, now filling the glass to the top. On his way back to the door, he reached for his coffee cup again for just a couple more mouthfuls.
By the time he was back at the threshold of the bedroom door, Maria had gotten herself upright. She already had his half of the quilt and sheets folded over her legs, hands running over her half bare arms. "Too cold?" he asked as he walked over to her, this time handing the glass to her. She nodded as she brought it to her mouth with a shaking hand. "I can get you something heavier in a moment." He stepped around the bed to the other table, the aspirin bottle already in his hand as he joined her on the bed. There was no helping the stickiness clinging to his hand as it had all last night, but when he tipped one of the tablets out for her, Georg saw only one or two others at the bottom.
"Here." He offered it to her, and she opened her hand for it, already swallowing it down before she had another sip of water. As he picked up the lid he had dropped on the little table, Georg rattled it a little harder than he needed to. "I'll have to go out today. There are only a couple left."
She glanced up from water. "What?"
"You took a few yesterday, darling, and there weren't many to begin. Will you be fine for a little while?"
Maria nodded, but he saw her frown behind her glass."I think so."
"Just for a while. But I'll get you a blanket, and leave this right there with you."
Fortunately, there was a heavier quilt buried right at the far top of the wardrobe—he remembered it from the winter when even he had been too cold—so after Georg handed her the greasy pill bottle, he pulled it down from the cupboard. He took the glass from her hand and set it on her table, then unfolded it with a little shake a couple feet away from her. It was a little dusty from being folded away for months, but a gentle airing was enough.
Turning back to Maria, Georg settled it on her shoulders, only tucking it loosely around her body to leave her hands free to reach for her water and the aspirin. "I'll bring you another glass as well." He winced as he spun away from her, walking faster than usual. There wouldn't be too much time to be at the bank when he wanted, not to get there—stop by the chemist's on the journey back—all before Maria needed something else. He strode into the kitchen, not even bothering for the dregs of his coffee, wrenching the cabinet door open and almost chipping the glass on the tap.
A better man would take you to the doctor now, darling. Or have taken another woman into his bed. He twisted it to off, water sloshing over the edge as he turned around. Or done this to you at all, any of it. Not anything after that evening at the end of January. He hurried down the little corridor, a new smile forced as he walked into the bedroom, his wife already looking up just at the sound of his shoes. I would have ignored you and walked away. "There you are," he muttered as he set it beside her now half empty glass and her medicine.
"Thank you."
You won't thank me soon, I just don't know when. I made that choice already, but you've set me free, no need to wait much longer. "Of course. Go to sleep and I'll be back before you wake up."
A/N: Maria's experience here is some artistic license, but the starting point was two reproductive issues: an ectopic pregnancy and a septic miscarriage, both of which have happened my personal female relations. (My grandmother almost died because of the latter.) I very recently saw the Leavenworth Summer Theater put on the stage production. That has just inspired me to destroy this story even more…
Also, not trying to make Maria out to be stupid about what's happening to her. She has basically convinced herself that it couldn't be true because it doesn't make sense with the basic knowledge she has about pregnancy, plus her embarrassment over menstruation.