Chapter 37: A New Chance

Vermont, July 1939

The little farmhouse kitchen was hotter than usual, little dribbles of sweat soaking into Maria's thin cotton dress. Nearly every window in the house had been thrown open last evening against the sudden heat blanketing the fields and town. Without any wind overnight, the heat had lain heavily on her even despite her light nightdress, the bedclothes tossed aside. Beside her as she struggled to rest, Georg still had no trouble sleeping. However, he was too warm with the night like a rainstorm that refused to be born, leaving everything sticky and damp instead.

I never really slept, that's more like it, she thought, scraping her wooden spoon against the bottom of the bubbling porridge. She didn't really care for it, neither did Georg nor any of the children, but...Needs must, really. Edith and George are still kind enough to share what they have when they can, I know they can't do so all the time. Even the bland bread from the town's shop was preferable. But the last visit to the doctor had tightened their budget even further, and Maria had reluctantly dusted off the package earlier in the week. And at least we have some things from the garden, even if they're better for dinner. Another scrape along the pot's base brought up a darker brown patch, so she pulled it forward from the flat burner, now half off and a little farther from the still smoldering wood underneath—

With the pot balanced on the stove's front edge, Maria stood a little straighter, one hand against the curve of her lower back. It ached more these days, most often when she just sat up in bed. It popped gently, the pressure easing. Dr. Vaughn did say it would only grow worse. She swayed for a moment as her head spun, almost reaching out to brace herself against the front of the stove, but she stopped in time. She had made that mistake only a few days after they moved in, a painful red mark lasting at least a week. I know you have me go so often because of what happened before— She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath—

"Mother?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to sit down?" As with most mornings, Liesl was awake as well, already laying the breakfast table while a dozen other footsteps drummed on the floor overhead. Mismatched knives and forks and spoons, glasses and plates and bowls with little nicks and cracks. Most had been offered through the parish to supplement what had been left in the cupboards, the last few from a shipment the local shop owner couldn't sell.

"If I could," Maria said softly as she turned around with a quick step away from the hiss of another of those hot bubbles.

"Of course."

As Liesl took her place at the stove, Maria dropped heavily into her chair beside the head of the table: Georg's seat. Especially now in the summer, the children tended to sit wherever was free as they swarmed about like hungry fledglings. Through the second part of the school year—abbreviated by their old tours, much to Brigitta's dismay—they had clustered by age, leaving in smaller groups depending on their classes. She licked her lips, suddenly dry; her throat was scratchy as well. "Liesl?"

Her eldest daughter glanced over her shoulder, her hair in a mussed braid halfway down her back. "Hmm?"

"Could you bring me a glass of water, please?"

Liesl nodded, stirring the porridge one more time before hurrying across the room for a glass. Maria leaned back in her chair, one of her shoulder blades cracking against it as she settled her hands on her abdomen. Over the last weeks, the slow swelling of her belly had accelerated, what had once been a gentle bump now rounded. The morning before—the house silent and still with just the dawn—Maria had let out the seams of her final dresses. It had almost happened overnight, the weight and pressure of their son descending from her ribs onto her bladder.

One of his little limbs thumped against her, Maria again wishing she knew if it was a hand or foot. I already want to know everything about you, she thought, slipping her right hand beneath him, her dress rising up over her knee as her knuckles dragged it along the top of her thigh. It's already been so long— That hand or fist pounded on her palm, then thrashed again a little to the side as she smiled. I know we won't be certain until you're here, but I can't believe you're another girl.

"There you are, Mother."

"Thank you," Maria said softly with a nod for Liesl. She brought it up with her left hand for a quick sip, her right hand still feeling her baby's morning ire. It was warmer than she wished due to the pipes, but it soothed the cracks on her lips. "Could you stir that again for me?"

"Of course." Turning around, Liesl returned to the counter, wiping her hands with the towel folded beside the stove before she pushed the pot back to the center of the burner. She ran the wooden spoon around the pot's interior, a few hardened chunks coming away and mixing back in. I wonder who thought this was good to eat, she thought, another gentler scrape of the bottom edge catching here and there. Even if Ethan says his mother cooks it most mornings.

A breeze finally drifted across her face through the window just over the stove, the first of the morning. Liesl was often downstairs first, almost certainly had been a month or two ago when Mother was too tired to look after breakfast. At least you're feeling better, she went on to herself as she pushed an untamed lock of hair from her face with her forearm. You know I always want to help, but sometimes I'm not certain what I should be doing, with anything really.

Outside, something moved. Is that you on the lane already? You've come this way sometimes, but it's too early for that. Liesl squinted, but it just clouded her vision, so she turned her gaze back to the porridge, a little dry across the surface. The spoon clattered against the edge as she wrapped both hands around the pot's long handle—and then she pulled them back with a hiss. It was too hot to hold, a mistake she made more often than she liked, so she shook them both for a moment before swaddling the handle with that same towel to take it from the heat. A few drops of water was enough; after a few more seconds, she was back at the stove, stirring in the pool of tepid water.

Liesl peered through the window again. The grasses around the farmhouse were growing higher and faster in the summer heat and humidity, probably rolling softly along the distant hills. The little path along the house had been clearer with the remnants of winter, though it was nearly always lonely. It was only her siblings running back from an afternoon outside when she stayed home to help her mother with the house—or Ethan. Liesl bit down a smile, a rough stir sending another swell of now warm water out and onto her skin. I don't think it can be too much longer. Father will have to leave soon, and I know you always go by—

"Liesl?"

"Yes?" she answered quickly, standing straight as her eyes returned to the pot she had been stirring.

"Something's on your mind."

"No…" Now, her teeth cut into her lip. "Well, maybe a little."

Maria smiled as she took another sip of water, then one more to empty her glass before she set it back on the scratched table. "Do you want to take that off the heat for a few minutes?"

"Will it be all right?" Liesl asked, already seizing that same towel to wrap around the handle.

"I hope so. I probably began it too early anyway. But bring it here." As her daughter turned around, arms stretched out to keep the hot pot away from her, Maria nodded to the center of the table, already laden with jam and margarine. "Just in the middle. We can put it back on later." A few steps brought Liesl to the edge of the table and she leaned over the row of plates carefully, the metal base clattering onto the ragged towel already folded and waiting to stop a fresh scorch mark.

"Are you…" Liesl wiped her right hand on her skirt, warm from both the spoon and the pot handle. "Well, I thought I might go look in—"

"Sit down, please. Just for a little while," Maria said quietly—then winced. There was another little kick or slap, though this one was against her back, almost as though her son had grown bored with battering her front. I still have to remember that I won't know until I meet you.

With a squeal along the old tile floor, Liesl dragged out her father's chair at the head of the table, dropping onto the wooden seat with a little sigh. She frowned as she ran her hand over a wrinkle in her skirt that wasn't really there. "Did you want to talk about something?" she muttered. There's so much about life here I don't understand, and sometimes, I don't know if I'll ever, really.

"Are you worried you'll miss him today?"

Liesl pressed her lips together, then nodded, her messy braid hardly rustling. "Maybe."

"There's no need to be shy, Liesl," Maria said as she peeled her hand from her stomach before she scratched an itch beneath one of her stockings against one of the table legs. The little smacks and slaps now back against her front were slowing, almost as though the little boy had decided it was time for a nap. She had to bite down a yawn; joining her son in bed might be what she needed. "Your head's been turned since you met him at church—even more so in the last few weeks."

"Brigitta and Marta have loved teasing me about him."

Maria laughed, almost giggled really—until one of those limbs rose up against the base of her stomach and sent a volley of acid up into her chest. "Do you…" Wishing she hadn't emptied her water glass, Maria gulped down a mouthful of spit to hold it down. I've had enough upset stomachs from you already. "Did you expect anything less of your sisters?"

"No. But...Mother?"

He was still moving like always, dancing to some song only he could hear. I know it's normal, but I'm getting weary of it. Maria knitted her fingers together atop of latest place where he squirmed, prodding him cautiously to try to calm him. You said once you think he'll be as stubborn as I am—

"Mother?"

"What is it?" she asked softly, her gaze on Liesl again.

Liesl folded her hands behind her father's place setting; just like the lovely dining room in Austria, their father always sat at the head of the table. She braced her scuffed shoes on the floor and pushed herself forward to the edge of her chair. "I know you and Father don't really talk about it, how you met at first."

Maria shook her head, hair bouncing about against her shoulders. "No, and for good reason, you know that more than the—"

"And you've never quite told us all of what happened. Any of us."

"Some things are meant for just the two of us, Liesl." A fresh sickening surged up in her stomach, this time having nothing to do with the wriggling baby under her palm. "I'm sure you'll understand ...Well, you will someday." Even hints of the truth had been harsh for the older children, confusion and anger bubbling up from Liesl, Friedrich, and especially Louisa. Georg hadn't wanted to tell Louisa any more than the younger children, but Maria had insisted. "You don't know how hurt she was." Even now, in those rare moments when they talked about those first months just between themselves, it was a story carefully crafted to dart around the harsher and crueler times.

"You were my age, weren't you?" Liesl leaned over a bit, peering around her mother into the darkened front room. The staircase from above spilled down beside the front door and she thought she saw someone moving at the far end...No, she decided as she relaxed into the chair again. "When you and Father were married?"

Maria nodded as she scratched at another itch against her lowest rib. At least the burning just under her skin as it stretched for her son wasn't so bad anymore, or perhaps she was simply accustomed to it. "I was, but what does that have to do with Ethan?"

Liesl flushed instantly. "I just mean, could it be that simple, even if I'm just as young as you were?"

A quiet sigh whistled through Maria's lips as she glanced up at the ceiling. She hadn't noticed the patter of little feet, but the thud of heavy work shoes caught her ears. "I was your age, but…" She reached for her water glass—lifted it, then settled it back on the table; she had forgotten it was empty. "You're asking me things I would need to talk with your father about."

"But you love Father very much, and you're happy."

"We're happy now." Maria's fingers were jittery, one palm itchy as she rubbed it harshly along the edge of the table. "We weren't always."

"I know Father must have been unhappy himself when—you first met. I know we—"

"Liesl—"

"But you were happy. Weren't you?"

"Please don't ask me, darling." Already caught between her fingertips, her growing locks of hair were tangling into the same little knots it had years ago before she sliced it off. "You still haven't said what that has to do with Ethan," she murmured. You don't really need to know. But it will be different for you, that much I know. You know a little more of men than I did, then, and Ethan is kinder than your father could have ever been in those months.

"Sometimes, I just wonder if it could just be so simple, being happy."

"It wasn't that long ago you were wondering that about Rolfe."

"Maybe." Standing with another scrape of the chair's feet on the kitchen floor, Liesl picked up her mother's water glass and the one that sat opposite the table where she usually sat at her father's other side. Back at the large sink, she set both on the bottom amidst a few marks in the battered ceramic. Twisting the tap open flooded the basin for a second—occasionally, the water stuck somewhere in the pipe—and she filled both to the top. "But…"

"Yes?"

Liesl forced a little smile as she twisted the tap back, swiftly walking back to the table. "I don't like to think about him much anymore"—she set both down—"but he was right about one thing. I didn't know much at all about the world."

"You still don't," Maria said as she took a quick sip, adding "Thank you" just before she did. It was all she could manage as one of those little arms flailed against her insides again. "I'm afraid I didn't, either."

Liesl didn't say anything, content to drink her own water as the noise above grew louder. Probably Marta and Gretl finally really waking up, I'm sure everyone else has been awake for at least a little while. I don't really think if I should ask, but...She almost nicked her plate as she placed her glass back on the table. You knew we would ask more someday when you told us. "But..."

"What is it?"

"You've never really said what happened, why you and Father went your separate ways—"

Maria sighed, nervousness twisting again in her stomach. "Liesl, please."

Liesl leaned forward, words beginning to tumble out before she could think. "But if you're together now, then—"

"Liesl."

She fell silent, just hearing her pulse throbbing in her ears. Her mother's eyes were down at the table and place settings, one finger tracing the edge of a chipped plate. "I'm sorry, Mother," Liesl whispered, suddenly happier that she hadn't asked more. "I didn't mean to pry."

"I know you didn't—"

Heavy hands landed on her shoulders—clad with a few callouses—despite the new weight holding her still, Maria started. "Georg!" she gasped as she twisted her head around and up. She couldn't quite see his whole face even though she knew he was gazing down at her, probably smiling. It was mostly the underside of his nose and his chin, freshly shaven a few minutes before the way he always did.

He bent down, a quick kiss pressed to the crown of her head as he slid his fingers through the waves of hair floating around her neck. "You're still insisting on being awake before me, darling."

The uneasiness in her stomach lessened, though Maria settled her left hand back against her rounded belly to search for the next little attack against her insides. She was quickly rewarded with a weak punch. You're getting tired, aren't you? "Liesl and I were just talking." Across from her, still slightly flushed, Liesl nodded again.

"You do like to do that."

"Mother always said we would be good friends, right at the very beginning."

"You weren't too happy to have me," Maria said, lifting her right hand up and settling it atop her husband's. He flipped his own around, fingers curling around hers, tightening and squeezing as his other drifted to the top of her back. Sometimes in the evenings as she tried to sleep—often unsuccessfully—Georg did his best to soothe the growing aches, usually able to drive it away for a short time.

Liesl grinned. Sometimes—many times—it was almost impossible to understand, the joy always simmering between them. It didn't make any sense then, how angry you were with her right then—and how distant you still were for a while. "Well, we didn't know that you would stay—"

"No, you didn't," Georg said quickly, his hand tightening. His wife hissed and her thin wedding ring cut into his skin. "A favor, Liesl?"

"Yes, Father?"

He jerked his head back down the darker corridor, the daylight not quite high enough to catch the window in the front room. "Will you go look after Marta and Gretl?"

Maria turned her face up again, though this time she only saw her husband's neck and the bottom of his jaw. "Brigitta and Louisa can—"

"They've been a little more idle than they should for the summer."

"They need some time—"

"And they'll have more than enough time," he went on with another squeeze of her hand. "I'm sure you'll see to that once I'm on my way down to the camp."

Liesl's face brightened, the tiny lines at the edge of her mouth disappearing as she smiled and picked her glass up again. You'll probably be waiting at the end of the drive for me, if I can get there. There was only another sip or two at the very bottom, so she tipped it back and drained it quickly, setting it back down in line with the the other three on her side of the table. At least you saw to it that we don't have to stand in line anymore, Mother.

"You might as well remind them to look at their English books," Maria added, humming a little as her husband's thumb ran lazily over the back of her hand. "Or that they'll need to once we've all finished breakfast, I suppose."

"I never liked them much either," Liesl muttered as she shoved her chair back and stood, smoothing away any fresh creases in her dress. "I'll put the porridge back on the stove for you, Mother." The handle had cooled, but Liesl kept the old towel wrapped around it, still wary of the heat. The wood beneath the elements was still smoldering, a little lower than when her mother must have tossed the kindling in amidst the bulkier wood her father always saw to in the evenings.

"Thank you," Maria whispered.

We keep putting it off, Georg, Maria thought as Liesl's footsteps faded, reappearing with a faint rapping on the hollow wooden steps. Even the eldest don't know the whole truth. There was too much to worry about, even if we were mostly just waiting for the Germans to march over the border to know exactly what would have to happen. But we already said we can't hide it from them forever, no matter how unpleasant it is.

Georg's hands were gone, just cooler patches of skin now as he stepped around her, taking his seat at the head of the table. "How are you this morning, love?" he asked, peeling her hand away from her dress, bringing it down against his knee as he knitted his fingers together with hers. "You were awake early today."

"I couldn't quite sleep." Another little kick from inside her womb brought her gaze down to her rounded stomach, this weaker—then one more, strong as ever. "It's still hard."

Georg pulled her chin up again, leaned closer to her to brush his lips right against hers. "Is he still bothering you?"

"Mm hmm."

"Still the same?" Georg released her face, his hand settling on hers, fingers searching and waiting for some sign of his son to chase. He was rewarded with a few little thumps beneath her dress. "We'll have to teach you something about rising early once you're here."

"It's my feet, too. And sometimes, they won't stop itching—my hands, too."

Georg laughed, tapping her face lightly. His wife was warm; she often was, now, almost feverish when she woke some mornings, though at the moment, he simply blamed it on the heat and humidity. I know you aren't actually unwell, darling. He dragged a thumb along her cheek, down the edge of her jaw. You always ask me never to leave you again, I wish I felt I could ask you the same. He swallowed, a harsh lump now at the back of his throat. "Now you know why I don't want you wandering the hills the way I know you want to." I don't think you'd lose your way, darling, but I don't think I could say anything if you did.

Maria shook her head away from his touch. "We both know that isn't really why."

"It certainly is—"

"Then not entirely."

"Perhaps," Georg murmured as he his hand fell away. Sometimes, even now, I can't understand how you're here, my love. Wiping his hand along his trousers, a little wrinkled and wearing a thin layer of dust from the prior day atop of the little patch at the knee, he stood, his wife's gaze following him up. There wasn't much milk in their icebox and the sugar dish was quite low— But you can't quite stand the taste of it right now anyway, he reminded himself as he stepped back, turning around to the small cupboard beside the stove, a little smoke rising from the blackening wood and embers beneath that sat atop the small box of an oven. Lovely smell, he thought as he took a deep breath, the hinges squeaking as he pulled the cupboard door open. "Would it bother you if I make a cup of coffee?"

Maria shook her head. "You know it doesn't."

"It will eventually."

Georg dropped a scoop of the grounds into the filter of the percolator he pulled out with the tin; they smelled old and a little rank as always. The coffee pot had long been battered before they ever saw it, probably from years of use on the same stove. "Every time I have to put this damnable thing back together, I want to apologize for every time I thought badly of it back then."

"The coffee?" Maria asked. "In Salzburg?" Though his back was to her, she saw him now, probably not noticing the little tear just below his shirt's collar. "I didn't always enjoy it either."

"You had something to blunt it if it was wrong." He rapped the metal filter against the counter to level the grounds before he placed the pot itself beneath the tap, filling it with a stream of warm water nearly to top. The metal of the filter scraped as always as he fitted it to the very top and snapped the lid closed before setting it on one of the stove's back burners. "I'm sorry there's not quite enough for that now, at least for Liesl and Friedrich—when he's here."

"Don't worry about it." She hadn't quite been listening, both her hands atop her abdomen and her baby again. Our baby. I suppose that's all they'll need to know, really. Brigitta and Kurt may wonder, but I don't know if they'll ask anything for a while—and the little girls are just happy to have a proper family again. She smiled despite the gentle weight now back on her bladder, like their son had moved again. Impatient like me, ready to see the world...Her smile vanished. Maybe I shouldn't think like that. When I look back and think about it—really think—I might have been able to stand it, that night, letting you walk away if you hadn't—

"Maria? You've gone quiet."

"Could you stir that pot, please?" The low hiss of the coffee pot vanished beneath the louder slapping of porridge against the pot's sides, her husband even less experienced with such things than Liesl or her. But if you hadn't said you were a sailor—if I hadn't been so curious about how you must have seen the world...I probably could have let you walk away into the darkness instead of it all suddenly beginning. "Georg?"

"Hmm?" It wasn't very appetizing, he decided, certainly less so than even the eggs their neighbors sometimes had to spare for them. But if nothing else, Maria, you've taught me to be grateful. I know it's all quite fragile in so many—

"When will we tell them?" Maria blurted out, not quite sure how the words finally spilled out of her mouth as she seized for a bit of her hair, her fingers shaking—needing something to hold. "Really tell them?"

Georg grunted, his stirring now a little more vicious. "About before?" Even in the privacy of their own bedroom—no little ears to overhear things they would rather not know—the very start of their life together rarely emerged from the darkness. And whenever they stumbled through those weeks and months, the past finally meeting up with the present, Georg hated himself a little more.

"Yes," she answered softly, one hand now under her son to lift him up just a bit and lessen the sudden need to relieve herself. "There was so much all at once, back in Austria. Then crossing the Atlantic, all the concerts, and now the baby." The cities and concert halls had blended together through those first months in the United States, still not certain where to go and what to do. "I know we told Liesl, Friedrich, and Louisa what we had to, but even the little girls deserve the truth." Her fingers kept moving, twisting and tugging at her hair's splitting ends. We always knew it would have to happen—we couldn't lie to them forever. "Brigitta and Kurt will have questions of their own—their older siblings aren't that good with secrets—and Liesl…"

The bubbling in the pot was calming, as was the hissing of the percolator as the aroma of slightly stale coffee filled the kitchen, probably the last of the fuel already burnt past the end of its life. "What about Liesl?" Turning back to his wife and the table they had been fortunate enough to find shoved into the far corner of the barn on the property's edge, Georg fought to smile...and failed.

"She's already asking—well, asking more because of Ethan." Despite the growing scowl on her husband's face, Maria smiled herself. We're alike that way, Liesl. "She tries to hide how fond she is of him, I know—"

"Not very well," Georg muttered as he sat again, crossing his legs with one ankle atop his knee as he reached over to her and dragged her hand from her hair. "Rather like someone else, darling."

"You didn't make it very difficult to be fond of you."

Georg's eyes rose, the drumming of shoes in the corridor above louder than ever. Seven children. You said it wouldn't have changed anything for you, knowing about seven children. But somehow, I don't know if I can really believe you, no matter how much you believe yourself. "You and I have very different memories of—"

"No, Georg, I remember quite well." Maria leaned forward as she tugged her hand free, her elbow on the table's edge as she still held their baby up from her lap with her other hand. "I told you before—and I still believe it. Only God can forgive and forget."

"And there you go, bringing God into it again," Georg muttered as he began to drum his fingers across his thigh.

"You have to stop saying that."

"Do I?"

Maria caught a few tears with the back of her hand, both eyes squeezed shut. I don't even know why we're talking about this. We never talk about it when the children might hear. "You were so unhappy, you'd forgotten everything!"

"Maria—"

"I still can't understand it, Georg, walking away from them like you did."

"I told you why." He was too restless to sit, shoving his chair back to climb to his feet. Her face rose with him; Georg saw her chewing her lip, cheeks already glistening. "It was the same reason I had to walk away from you for a time—"

"Then to her?" Maria snapped. I don't even want to be here right now, Georg. If my back and feet didn't hurt so much, I think I'd be out there, just trying to think like I did before. "You didn't have to do that—"

"I've told you why—"

"Yes, but…" I don't know why. I'm not angry with you, I haven't been for so long. But my mind is...She sighed. Oh, I just don't know.

Georg crouched down before her, one of his trouser seams complaining as it tightened around his knee. He cupped one hand around her chin, rubbing his fingertips along her jaw as he felt her shudder—gasp for air. "And I've never denied it, love."

"You didn't say anything about her, ever," she whispered. Why can't I stop right now? I don't want to talk about this again—I never want to talk about this. "Not once, and you already knew her."

Georg ran his thumb along her lips. "Do you think Elsa made me happy?"

Maria shook her face out of his grasp. "I can't ever know, not really."

He stood again, stepping around his wife's chair as he laid a hand on her shoulder and the gentle waves of her hair. It was difficult to look at her when the past circled back, to see the pain that always glimmered behind the tears she tried to hide and the sobs that had dried up over the years. "She didn't," Georg said softly, leaning down and setting his chin lightly on the crown of her head. "I've told you that—"

"Neither did I!" Maria twisted her hand up, desperate to turn and see him again. It's all right again when I can see you, Georg. Sometimes, I just always remember that morning whenever you walk out the door, even though I know why you have to go. I'm not angry, and I know I won't feel any better, but…She shoved her thumb under his fingers, seizing hold of him. "You told me!"

"I could have told you right then." Georg slipped his other arm around her chest, just below her collarbone. Pulling her against the back of the chair, he felt her breathing hasten beneath his arms. "But you wouldn't have wanted me to tell you, even if you wanted the truth."

"I know," Maria said quietly. A few more blinks began to clear the tears, though a few clung to her eyelashes. Almost like I couldn't help thinking as I sat there trying to decide what to do. Just trying to think about anything else—and somehow, it came back to you. "I didn't want you to tell me a lot of things. I know that now."

Deep in her belly, the baby was squirming again, perhaps struggling to untangle his arms and legs as Maria's stomach turned. You do make things hard, sometimes. I hope you don't too much when—the time finally comes. She wrapped her hand around Georg's wrist, almost yanking it forward and down. "I don't have that much longer to decide what to do," she said to herself, Georg's fingers atop the curve of her belly. "And I don't need to really get used to you where you are now—"

"Hmm?"

Maria shook her head, her hair scratching at the back of her neck as Georg lifted his jaw. "I still don't understand, Georg."

"What?" he asked quietly. I know what you'll say. You always do.

It always followed whenever her mind drifted into the past years; it had all been the same in the end. It could have been so much different, so much earlier. Hidden behind the abbey wall—counting to ten once, then again...It was harder than that morning, Georg, watching you walk away. "You didn't stop me—ask me—"

"Maria—"

"You didn't—" One more thorough kick knocked the breath from her lungs, a short coughing fit erupting from her chest. Georg's arm still lingering around her shoulders tightened, almost holding her right against him despite the chair between them. "You didn't stop me."

Leaning down—ignoring a little twinge in the middle of his back—he kissed her cheek as he peeled his arm back, running his fingers through end of her hair. "I didn't think you wanted me to. You know that—and I gave you just what you wanted at the end of that summer." Maria nodded, rubbing at her eyes again—but Georg dragged her hand away, pressed it to his face before he engulfed it with his own larger one. "None of that, Maria. You've had enough of those because—for your next life as well." Standing straight for a moment and stepping back in front of her, he crouched down again, clasping her face with both of his palms before kissing her lightly. "But what's brought—"

They were thundering overhead, now, footsteps swelling in a cacophonous din, a dozen feet already clad in shoes, Liesl or Louisa probably leading the way with the other at the back of the column. It was already a little quieter, missing Friedrich's heavier steps almost slowing the advance. Their eldest son didn't always make his way home once the work day ended, staying the night with one of the parish families when he was dismissed from the masonry yard too late. (There had been no openings at the electrification camp when the school year ended.) But you have worried over him a little more than the others for the last few years, and I don't think I can fault you for that, darling. "What's brought this on again?" he went on as he grazed his thumb over her chin, nose wrinkling as his toes twitched against the cracking leather inside his boots. "It won't be too long before they're all down and talking over each other, telling everyone else to be quiet."

"I've told you, I'm frightened." Maria relaxed her face into his right palm. "And what if—I'm not ready. I wasn't then, even if I would have told myself otherwise."

"I wouldn't have been either, despite that brood."

"More than me. You knew it then."

"Perhaps." Georg kissed her once more, a little harder—a little longer. "But it won't be too long, darling." He jerked his head up toward the ceiling's warped beams, though the sound was now coming down the stairwell, the clattering muffled by the steps and the wall that cut the kitchen off from the front room. "For them—or for him."

"It seems like it's been forever," Maria said quietly, now smoothing her hair down around her shoulders and trying to ignore the thin film of grease on her fingers and now under her nails as she scratched at the base of her hand again. When their child refused to allow her to sleep, she took advantage of the quiet to shower before the morning queue formed. As the summer dawned, bringing the sun and humidity and heat with it, the pipes had been lovely and warm. But this morning, the mere thought had repulsed her. Some time today, she decided.

Georg glanced over her shoulder, shadows in the still front room approaching, the noise and chatter coming as well. "Yes," he whispered as he stood. Stepping around her, he opened his arms wide as Marta galloped into the kitchen, already throwing herself into his embrace, ever longer dark curls burying his hands as they ran over her back for a moment. Somehow, I thought it would never really be true, Maria. Any of it.

The rest of the children filed in behind her, Louisa, Kurt, and Brigitta mostly calling over the little girls' shouts. Did anything else need to come to the table, what was for breakfast, would there be any singing before lunch? They always asked the latter now that school had concluded for the season, a usually failed attempt to avoid their English lessons, especially Marta and Gretl. At least you won't struggle with that, little one, Maria thought as chairs scraped and glasses clanked about as they were grabbed two at a time to be filled. There's so much you won't have to live through—and maybe that's for the best.

The conversation back and forth across the table wasn't much of anything, but somehow everything: little complaints and jabs across the porridge and margarine and Edith's homemade jam, laughter and jokes as the still hot percolator was passed between Georg, Liesl, and Louisa. The way it should be, he decided as he gulped down another mouthful of hot porridge faster than usual, followed by a long sip of coffee. With just the sun drifting across the wall, he could see the time ticking past; it would be earlier than his normal time to leave, but...I suppose it is time, he thought, a quick drink of water soothing the little burn at the back of his throat.

The children were still eating, many of them already with a second helping in their bowls as Georg stood, reaching down for his coffee cup to drain the black brew. (He noticed the grit clinging to the far side in time to leave the last dregs and grounds.) "I'll see you tonight, love," he whispered, his hand on his wife's shoulder. She leaned back with a faint hum—glanced up at him with a little grin as he squeezed his fingers gently over the end of her collarbone. Georg had to smile as well, not quite able to feel the very end of the bone. These last weeks as the baby had finally begun to drop from beneath her ribs, her arms and legs had grown plumper, to say nothing of her breasts that already leaked occasionally. I don't know if you could have managed it years ago, he thought. He pushed her hair aside, dropping down to kiss her cheek as she moved toward him. "All right?"

"Yes."

Georg shoved his chair back under the table's end, already feeling the sweat running down his arms under his shirt sleeves. It was too warm for even the lightest jacket; he would probably have to loosen the buttons at the cuffs and roll them up before the day—

"But—it's so early!"

Just at his throat to open the very top button against the heat that would wash over him when he stepped through the door, Georg's fingers paused as he glanced down. Just beside him, Liesl's hands were flat on the table beside her bowl, eyes a little wide. "Something wrong, Liesl?" he muttered as the button popped free.

His eldest daughter shook her head, now chewing on her lip as she reached for her spoon, stirring the last of her porridge. "No, but—you're leaving early today."

"Is there any reason I shouldn't?"

"No…"

Next to Liesl—blushing again—Marta grinned into her breakfast. "You just want to say good morning to Ethan—"

"Quiet, darling," Maria said, reaching into the center of the table for another spoonful of strawberry jam. "Don't talk out of turn like that."

"But it's true!" Gretl shouted before she scraped the last bite from the sides of her bowl. "You say good morning to him every day! And you're unhappy when you can't!" Sitting across from one another—hair still mussed and dresses a little wrinkled ahead of laundry in the next day or two—Louisa and Brigitta grinned, the elder girl hiding hers behind the coffee cup that only recently sat in front of her seat at the breakfast table.

"Hmm?" Kurt muttered, finally looking up from his meal. His face was a little red, particularly his nose and forehead; most days, unless he had been set a specific task to do around the house, he disappeared into the hills around the farmhouse before anyone thought he was idle enough to borrow for a time. It often was well past midday when he returned, his bag heavy with interesting rocks and branches he found along his hike, his stomach grumbling as he ate whatever was left from lunch.

Liesl frowned, a scoop of porridge plopping back into her bowl. "Don't worry about it."

Gretl grinned as she licked her spoon a final time. "Even at church—"

"That's not—"

"Yes it is," Louisa interrupted.

You knew there would be something like this, Maria thought as she hurried through what remained of her own meal. Your brothers and sisters love you—you know that, Liesl—but you knew what they would say. What they would have said if they knew about Rolfe. Especially your sisters. With a glance across the table, she could see her daughter's face glowing red. "Enough of that. We all have enough to do without gossiping as well."

Still standing behind his wife, Georg leaned down again, one more kiss brushed against her cheek; her face was finally cooling despite the heat. "Well played, darling," he muttered with a final squeeze of her shoulder. "I'll see you this evening."

With Georg gone—disappearing into the darkened front room—the conversation and the teasing calmed. Louisa and Brigitta were bickering gently over something from late last night; Marta and Gretl kept asking for little chores, no doubt to avoid their English primers; only Liesl was quiet, the flush in her cheeks finally fading a little. There had been no clink of spoon against bowl for a few minutes when Maria pushed her chair back from the table, not trying to stand; her breathing was difficult after eating these days. "Marta, Gretl, could you clear the table please?"

Gretl pouted across the way; the table quivered briefly, probably one of her feet knocking a leg as it often did, like she always had a surge of restless energy desperate to be set free. "Why do we—"

"Because we did it yesterday," Brigitta said. But the older girl was already gathering the spoons she could reach along with the knife jutting from the block of margarine; a speck of grey peeked through the cut where the coloring hadn't been mixed properly. "When you were already outside getting dirt on your nose."

"It won't take too long if you work together, girls," Maria said loudly. She pressed one hand to the top of her chest, a little hint of acid rising for a moment before it vanished just as easily. A quick brush of the heel of her palm against her dress relieved a hint of the itching surging right there, now back on the sole of her right foot as well. "Your English primers will wait a for little while."

It was a stack of sticky bowls that first landed in the sink, splashing in the lingering pool of water left from filling nine glasses. A mere year ago, Marta would have been too short to reach the tap; even now, she had to stretch her arms out entirely to reach them. Gretl—still unable to see into the basin—mostly handed her the other dishes that didn't quite fit without knocking noisily against the sides. She had nearly gone to help them, finally ready to try standing, but her head had been turned by the dizziness even with a hand to steady herself and left her back in her chair. We'll probably have to look after them before midday anyway, she thought as Brigitta dried the bowls Marta handed off, Liesl and Kurt still organizing the chairs and wiping away the crumbs and rings of water before they had a chance to leave new marks.

With the mess from breakfast seen to, the children vanished as they usually did. Louisa and Brigitta had more household chores to look after; Kurt took the stairs two at a time, probably to find his satchel and pen and notes from his walk the day before; and Marta and Gretl, grumbling to themselves, trudged up the stairs to their lessons. "You're not going to prison, girls," Maria whispered, laughing a little as well.

Liesl pulled the chair at the head of the table out, settling herself there again. "They always come around in the end. I think they remember it will be easier to talk to their new friends at church."

Maria nodded, nails digging into the skin behind her neck, another itch she couldn't quite rid herself of. Sweat was growing thicker beneath her hair, so she pushed it down over her shoulder again. "We'll see how well they did when it's time for lunch."

Her daughter snorted a little, likely trying not to laugh. "Probably not too well, if it's anything like yesterday."

"They'll learn."

"Maybe."

You're all growing up so quickly, Maria thought, her arms already around her own baby again. I know it's been a few years since we first met over that summer, but the time doesn't feel real. Like it was just the blink of an eye, sometimes, but I know it hasn't been. But the years without you don't feel real either. And it's so strange, sometimes, if I really think about it. Like God kept trying to tell me where I belonged even if I didn't— One more sluggish thump against her muscles. I suppose you really are getting ready for a nap. But sometimes I think you'll be growing up just as fast—

"Mother?"

"I—I'm sorry." Maria shook her head, then pulled her hair away from her sticky neck again. "I was just thinking. But could you bring the mending in from the other room?" Liesl rolled her eyes, but still pushed her chair back. "We'll have another chat while we work on it."

O O O

Georg's fingers were twitching, his lips pinched together as he took a deep breath of hot, fresh morning air. It had been a few days since he had allowed himself a cigarette, the rush of nicotine into his lungs almost a relief. They were tucked away into the very far corner of the old bureau, another piece of the house's previous life.

He still wasn't certain of the time, just that it was earlier than his usual departure. By the time he reached the entrance to the electrification camp most days, work was in high gear: younger men with equipment going this way and that, trucks laden with tools filled with other workers ready to scale poles erected in the last weeks and string wires to and from freshly constructed transformers. But it has to happen sometime, Georg thought as he tucked his hands into his back trouser pockets. There's no avoiding it much longer. He hadn't missed the looks between the young man and Liesl even in the midst of Sunday church services, the conversations his daughter always tried to drag out before the time came to walk home. Some Sundays, the young man's father kindly drove Maria home, though many days, she was too stubborn to admit to the swelling in her feet. His wife always needed to rest after those long walks, the little girls quieter than usual if they joined her on the old couch in the front room.

Georg took a step farther into the road, no echo of one of the older cars that seemed to predominate this little part of the world floating up along the way. It was just the crunching of gravel, measured and slow as it drifted up along one of the slopes that eventually gave way to the larger rolling hills in the distance. I really didn't see it before, he thought as he scratched at a little spot on his neck. Maria might not have noticed, but his hand had slipped in his rush to shave, yielding a little scratch just below his jaw. It was already topped with a thin scab, probably small enough to vanish before his wife had a chance to see it. How she was growing up then, and even more now.

He took another step into the road, just wide enough for one car; the trucks from the camp struggled on the rural lanes, tires sometimes with nowhere to go but the dirt and mud to the side. The rustling was louder, now clear footsteps coming up the way. Perhaps you'll be better for her than...Maria had told him the boy's name, but he had banished it from his memory long ago. Lifting his hand further, Georg wiped away a thin layer of sweat that had formed just above his lip. You were right then, darling, just like you were about so many things. She wasn't a child. A shape was peeking over that hill, wavering in the shimmering air. He swallowed a growl. I know why you said it that way. Perhaps that was the only way to force me to see her as she really was. Larger now, that young man's lanky frame emerging into the sunlight. Is.

Ethan's pace slowed as he descended the crest of the hill, Georg noticed: his face and eyes suddenly down on the path and shoes scrabbling in the gravel and his already ruffled dark hair fluttering despite the staid air. You can't put it off forever. One more chance, you fool, he went on as he strode out into the road, not patient enough to wait for the boy— No, the young man, Georg reminded himself. Just to do something right from the start this time. And at least it won't turn out the way it did before, if you don't leave yourself something to fix.

There was just a few feet between them now, Ethan's hands behind his back and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And the same little embarrassed flush on his face as Liesl's, Georg saw, finally smiling a little. We both want something different for you, Liesl. "Good morning," he said quietly, pulling his hand from his pocket and thrusting it across the distance. Palm open and expectant.

Ethan cleared his throat, hand slowly emerging—and Georg seized it before either of them had a moment to think. "Mr. von Trapp—sir." The younger man dragged his hand back as soon as Georg loosened his, shoes scraping against the tiny stones under their feet. "How is—um, how are—"

"Liesl is well, if that was what you were about to ask," Georg said.

Ethan bit at his lip. "Ah, yes."

Georg took a first step down the road and the hill still rolling away into the flatter earth in the distance. It's not too far, we both know that Ethan. There was just silence behind him, so he waved a hand to beckon the boy forward without glancing back, rather like he had a lifetime ago with his sailors. "I'm a little early today," he muttered with another jerk of his hand. This time, he heard the young man's shoes moving in the little rocks, growing louder as Ethan caught up with him. "But I think we may have something to talk about."

A/N: Think I might have mentioned it before, but the electrification camp is artistic license. It is inspired a little bit by the public works projects in the early Depression era and my limited knowledge of my grandfather's experience as a CCC foreman around the same time.