Chapter 40: Almost Familiar

As the bus and its fresh passengers pulled away from the little bench atop its sputtering engine, Maria slumped back against the seat: one elbow on the edge of her guitar case, the other banging against the bus's metal siding. With the very end of her sleeve wrapped up in her fingertips, she rubbed at a little patch on the glass, but whatever was on the inside of the window just smeared. She closed her eyes, her stomach roiling as the tires jolted and something beneath the floorboards creaked, like the driver had accidentally gone over a bit of curb just enough to anger—well, whatever it was that held the wheels where they belonged. But he must know what he's doing. He seemed comfortable enough when I climbed on.

Maria pulled her elbow down before it had another chance to be tossed about, arms crossed atop her lap as the heat of something pinched built at the top of her back. It can't be that frightening, she told herself as she scratched at an itch under her dress's dark sleeve. A captain with seven children—but he's never at home. So really just seven children, that's all.

She snapped her head quickly and grimaced, a pop rising from the base of her neck up to her jaw. The worry had kept her tossing most of the night, and she had only really still whenever she feared the sound of her bed would awaken one of her roommates. In those silent moments, she had curled herself up with her back pressed to the wall and her chin against her chest, the stone's chill permeating her blanket despite the sweat still trickling down her spine. Probably the last thing I should—

Another harsh bump threw her into her guitar case before she could grasp at the window, and she coughed as one of the hinges dug into her ribs. Her eyes open again as she glanced back at the window, Maria shoved herself up to look through the top half. It was cleaner, like hundreds of tired men and women hadn't lain against it for "just a moment". The scarcer buildings of Salzburg peeked through, the street lamps were fewer as well, like the city was giving way to the wilder countryside. One more jolt tossed her onto her backside and she pulled her guitar closer before it slid onto her carpetbag and into the narrow aisle. "Excuse me?" she said softly, but her question was drowned out by the engine's whining. Louder now for the driver: "Excuse me?"

The bus groaned as the wheels slowed, a hiss flitting through the air as it shuddered and stalled before the narrow door opened. Another man hurried up the metal steps with just a pause to add his coins to the day's collection, fortunately walking on to find another seat. (Her guitar too bulky to move very much.) "Something bothering you?" the bus driver asked, the lever now in his hand closing the door and the engine rumbled back to life.

Maria shook her head as she slid toward the edge of her seat. "No. But is it much farther?"

He snorted. "That eager?"

Eager? Maria thought, her fingers drumming along her guitar case's top hinge. If I could do anything, I'd jump off at the next stop and turn back. "I'm…" She snatched her hand free to scratch at an itch in the middle of her thigh, more viciously than she meant to. But I can't—I won't. "I just don't want to be late," she said, suddenly giggling to herself. She had almost found herself on the other side of the iron gate more than one Saturday evening as the sun clung to the sky later into the night. "I often am."

The driver nodded under his hat as he turned the steering wheel a little harder around the corner before he pulled the bus straight again. "Aigen, that's what you said?"

"Yes."

"I'll let you know when we're nearly there."

"Thank you."

Wincing as her shoulder grazed her seat's metal frame, Maria closed her eyes once more. There's nothing to be frightened of, not really. Maybe if I tell it all to myself again, I'll believe it. Just a sea captain with seven children, and he's rarely at home. She bit down on her lip, one of her teeth caught on a dry flap of skin. But I suppose I'll be used to it. You weren't home very often either, Father. Maybe that's why you decided to send me, Reverend Mother. Despite her measured answers in those early days at the abbey, the loneliness of her childhood had emerged now and then, especially when she chatted with her roommates late at night. I'll know what they're feeling, waiting for their father to come home.

The tires climbed over another bump: smaller, like it merely a rough patch in the road where the stones occasionally jutted up. Another swipe of her sleeve finally cleared a little patch of glass at the window's base, though it wasn't as helpful as Maria had hoped. The bus was kicking up little waves of dust, the bumps under the tires now just a gravel country road rather than the cobblestones of a city street. Crowded rows of houses and little shops had given way to fields filled with wild grasses and little trees bold and sure enough to manage themselves in the shadows of the Alps. I almost think— Maria coughed, her throat scratchy like she had swallowed some dust. Maybe I'll ask for some water when I arrive, instead of worrying all the way.

A few minutes later—the bus slowed once or twice—the grasses and trees now transformed to hedges, the very top of a large estate just visible overtop. At a break in the dense shrubs, an ornate gate shielded an enormous house, the deep green paint of front façade punctuated by large shining white pillars that gleamed in the sunshine. It was almost blinding even through the dirty glass, Maria's eyes stinging as she looked away and buried a gentle sneeze in her elbow. But the bus still rolled on, the hedges refusing to follow the road as it curved away, probably running back along the far edges of the estate.

I've never seen anything like this before, she thought, an iron fence now dashing by with faint glimpses of a similar house just behind, this house a dark brown that huddled closer to the earth. Not even in my grandest dreams, except...A shudder ran down her back, even down her arms. I know it was this way, Georg, even if you didn't take us anywhere quite like this. I could never find my way there, maybe someplace with a road to show me where to go is too sensible. I don't think I would lose myself on the mountain, even if I didn't grow up with—

"Oi!"

"Yes?" Maria gasped. Oh, don't be silly. There must be other roads out of Salzburg than the ones we drove.

The driver threw one arm toward the door. "Just about there, if you don't want to miss it."

With one hand braced against the top of her case, Maria stood with a gentle sway as the bus slowed, peering through the front window more marked with leaf litter and insects too slow to flee. Untamed fields and rogue trees as far as she could see, apart from a little break in the rippling grass at the road's edge. "But there isn't a thing out here."

"I told you, don't go all the way there." The wheels squealed—then stopped as the bus itself lurched forward a few more inches and tossed Maria's hip against the metal siding. "Right here," he added, tossing his head toward the door as the hinges squealed. "Best I can do."

Lifting up her case, Maria shoved her carpetbag along the pilling floor into the aisle. "One more thing?" she asked quickly as her guitar snagged on the vacant seat across the way.

"If I can."

"The Villa Trapp—which way is it?"

He glanced over his shoulder, frowning around that old toothpick. "Oh, interesting."

A hard shake of her guitar freed it only for it to slap against her calf. "What do you mean?"

"Just—I don't ever hear anyone asking for there anymore. Used to a few years ago, but not much even then." His eyes narrowed, but he shrugged before he turned back to the windshield and the dust settling on the road. "Can't get you any closer, I'm afraid."

"I'm not worried. The walk will probably be good for me."

Leaning out of his seat, he pointed through the door. "Just down that lane, not quite a mile, probably." He waved her forward. "You'll see it coming up behind the hedges before too long."

Maria hurried the few steps to the end of the aisle, her carpetbag still in front of her as her guitar case hit the back of her leg again. "Thank you."

"Nothing to it," he said, his hand on the edge of his cap to tip it up, his brown eyes sparkling under eyebrows as grey as his mustache. "It's my job to get people where they need to go—and you look a little lost."

"Not really. I've just never been here before, and I'm still—not certain what to do."

"My son said the same thing a few years ago while he was finishing up his training."

Maria took a deep breath of fresh air wafting through the open door, laden with touches of dirt, from both the road and the fields. And somewhere down that way..."A few years ago, I was just starting."

"He needed some time to find his way. A girl caught his attention a little too much—took him some time to sort himself out." He coughed, the toothpick dropping from his mouth and into his lap. "Well, then...Good luck, whatever it is."

A few quick steps and knocks of her knees against her things found Maria on the dirty road. Setting her carpetbag on the gravel, she waved as the small bus rolled away, dust and exhaust kicking up like a fog as the crunching of the tires faded. The breeze blew it into the tangle of grass and wild bushes across the way, the bus already a small dot on the last hill she could see at the eastern horizon. And...Bending forward a little, she set down her guitar case as well. Now what?

Maria spun around, a new trickle of sweat dripping down the back of her leg as the bottom hem of her dress swung back in line. A few small trees grew at the head of the lane before it too turned away out of her sight toward a final destination somewhere unknown. "I guess I'm not that different than your son, then." Her fingers were shaking again, rising up along the side of her face and into her hair—until she yanked them away before she had a chance to twist them into the short locks. "But I'm starting again. So...start."

Seizing her bags, Maria began her walk down the lane, small wooden fences soon rising on either side, though there were neither grand mansions or little cottages hiding behind them. The trees were taller, their canopies larger and thicker; the wiry twigs of those saplings were gone, replaced by branches probably as thick as her arm. Any lingering noise of the main road vanished as well, a thick silence settling on her shoulders. Even the dust was disappearing, gravel taking its place to dig into her shoes' soles. Something snapped at her ear with a little buzz, disappearing along with a faint itch as she shook her head. But then she was left with the silence only to be broken by her own scuffling footsteps and a quiet ringing.

Well, what will I do? she thought as her carpetbag twisted at her side, perhaps one of her heavier shoes shifting into a corner. If I'm going to be here, then I should give it my best. Her pace quickened. After all, these poor children haven't asked for their father to leave, just like I didn't. A brief run now, though Maria forced herself to slow just as quickly. Not quite yet. I think I need a few more minutes—but I don't even know how much farther it is to the...villa.

As the road before her grew shorter and the path behind her more forgotten, Maria tossed ideas to and fro...at least for a few short steps at a time. Whenever an idea concluded, her mind immediately drifted to the children she awaiting her at the Villa Trapp. Sixteen to five, she thought as she skipped up and over a larger rock in the road that had hidden itself behind a tuft of hardy weeds. The youngest must not even remember her if it was nearly four years ago— One of her arms slammed into her chest, she stopped so suddenly in the middle of a step. The Reverend Mother didn't tell me, though she probably didn't know either if...Frau Schmidt, that was her name! If she only knew what Frau Schmidt's letter said. I'm putting words into her mouth, thinking that.

She began again, now settling into one of the little ruts in the gravel: too thin and light for a car, so perhaps a cart? Maybe. Maria set one foot right in front of the other, heel set flush to her toes before she took a wide step and now dropped this foot directly before the other. Or maybe not. Another step bunched her dress between her knees and thighs and she slid her foot forward to try to free it. But I won't know until I'm there. The wide pleats were still piled on one another, so crouching down just enough to set her carpetbag into the gravel, Maria tugged it loose. She tightened her hand around the hem for a second to dry her palm, but then reached for her bag's shiny handles and was off again.

Is anything off limits? I'll have to ask, not just wonder. The shadows were sparser as the trees began to thin on one side of the road, a welcome breeze creeping through narrow gaps between the trunks. But if Frau Schmidt decided to write to Nonnberg Abbey, she can't be too surprised if I bring a little bit of it with me. I can't think it would be wrong. And this might be a little adventure for me, a summer in your—a sea captain's home, but it might be the best thing for them.

The trees on that same side of the road suddenly gave way, a stone wall replacing them. Scuffling to a stop, Maria turned back, almost squinting as the branches and leaves woven together well over her head melted together and left her dizzy when the sun found a way through the foliage. It might take me a while, but I could be back at the abbey—oh, I don't know when, but it didn't take too long to get here, today or then…

She shuddered, all the skin along the back of her neck wrinkling like something had just drifted past. And again! She whirled around—took a step back as the weight of her carpetbag pulled her forward and her breathing quickened...No one, not even a bird flitting between the trees or a ray of golden sunshine weaving through the greenery. Just the quiet out ahead of her—a little wind whistling down the lane and kicking up the dust as it pulled a few leaves alone. The bend in the lane was so far away, almost like it was shrinking back, threatening to drag her, too—

"You'll always be what you are, you little wretch."

Maria dropped down onto her knees, a dry cough rippling up through her chest as the little stones scraped her knees and she shook her sticky hands free of her things' handles. Stop following me—I left you behind years ago! Scraping her hands down along her legs, Maria clasped them around her thighs—trembling, almost ready to shake free—

"You'll never really get away from me."

"Yes I will," she whispered as her knuckles grew white. "I did. It's why I came here in the first place. Even…" Her nose was suddenly stuffy, her cheekbones aching beneath her eyes. Even if I wish it had all been different. But it can't, and I'm here now. I can't forget that. A deep breath loosened the pressure in her head and the tension in her chest. It's not the way it was then, I've tried to remember that for almost three years. She took one more breath, the buttons along her back digging at her muscles as her ribcage swelled and she pulled her hands apart. You broke me once when I ran away from it all, Georg, I won't ever let you do it again. Not in any way!

She drove her left hand into the gravel, covering it with dirt and fine rocks as she slid her right leg up, her heel digging down as she braced her other hand on that knee. And now, she shoved herself up, her face tightening as her vision swarmed like a flurry of gnats. "Not again," she hissed as her she spun around with a spray of gravel up along her ankles, her things swinging at her sides again. "I won't let you."

As she ran the last few feet, that tan stone gave way to a pair of plain grey stone pillars topped with spires and ivy. They anchored the hinges for an enormous iron gate, its bars tall and ornate with handles that sat right at her eyes, the latter large enough she would struggle to turn them! It wasn't too different than the one that sealed off the abbey from the modern city bustling about, but this one shone in the bright sun instead of shivering in the darkness and hadn't even a speck of tarnish. "Maybe…" Her forehead dropped against one of those bars, but she straightened herself instantly, the metal searing hot in the midday sun. "Oh my."

Behind the iron gate wasn't a house but a mansion instead, larger and grander than any house she had ever seen, even those that had peeked at the road along the way. A façade of the same yellow stone rose up from manicured gravel, a round patch of grass bounded by a short hedge in front. A pair of trees stood at either side of the courtyard, planted just in front of masonry walls that ran back from the road. Beyond their small shadows, the sun still gleamed across so many windows, two tall rows and then one squat row just below the terracotta shingles. Where I'll be for the summer. Up under the eaves like that, no matter where those children are. And in the midst of it all, no greenery or flowers to blunt her future, two doors flanked by more stone pillars, a carved stone arch over top.

It doesn't look all that happy to see me, like it would rather me go back, too. Even some of the windows hid behind their own iron bars! But it's not what I'm afraid of, Maria told herself as she threw her guitar beneath her arm and reached up for one enormous handle. It somehow turned under her grasp without much trouble though she had to push it open with one shoulder, and swung closed on its own after she slipped through, almost on the back corner of her bag. I left it all behind in Salzburg a long time ago, she thought, leaning back against the latch to catch her breath. It shuddered against her—screeched as it snapped closed. I'm in here and it's out there. I'll say that until I believe it myself.

She took one step away from the gate—and then Maria was running again, arms swinging at her sides and legs so loose, she almost tripped just beside that little patch of green. Somehow, she pushed herself straight and went on, only stumbling to a stop when she saw what must be the bell gleaming to the right of the door, a little brass circle with a button in the middle. Her guitar now on the ground—a little paved area lay in front of the pair of doors—she slammed it down with a finger, only then gulping for air as a little ache sprouted under her ribs as something dull rang deep within the house. "Ah," she sighed as she fell back against the stone, rubbing a hand against the top of her chest as a little sting sparked under her skin. "And now, I don't think there's anything else—"

The hinges groaned beside her and Maria sprang up straight, arms right at her sides as she turned to the door. "Here I am!"

"May I help you?"

"I'm from the convent," she said quickly, almost too loudly as she tried to see who had answered. "I'm the new governess, Captain!"

He was looking her up and down, and he was nothing like Maria had expected to see as he stepped out. Hardly taller than her with a black waistcoat buttoned along his front, he was a little wiry with a few lines on his face, his flattened hair flecked with a few spots of grey. Not at all like a sea captain— "And I'm the old butler, Fräulein," he said softly. "Franz."

Biting her lip, Maria looked down, hoping her cheeks weren't glowing red. "Oh."

"I suppose—"

"But how do you do?" she blurted out as she seized his hand, shaking it vigorously before he could step back.

"I suppose you'll have to do for the summer," he murmured after a second as he pulled his hand free. "The Captain ran out of patience before he left for Vienna on Saturday. But come in."

She hurried over the threshold onto a small polished landing...then stopped, her mouth opening in awe. It was hardly a foyer, but a grand hall. Columns sprouted from the gleaming tile up to a gallery lined with yet more, some sort of ornate railing between, probably iron painted white to match the pillars beside them. The windows that had shone in the sunlight were gone, like they were tucked behind a wall she hadn't seen, apart from the windows right at the top. The ceiling seemed higher up than anything she had ever seen except perhaps the grand cathedral at the abbey, a chandelier in the center of the hall sparkling like little diamonds as the electric lights shimmered. I've...never seen anything like this before. Her eyes darted to her left, then she turned her face to the right. Twin staircases rising to either side of that gallery, vanishing into gentle shadows and hallways she couldn't quite see. Nothing I'm meant to see.

"You'll...wait here, please," the butler—Franz—said quietly as he stepped past her. He walked across a carpet she hadn't seen at first, as ornate and curling as those railings above, just looking back at her once before he disappeared through one of the doors at the hall's far end, the gleam from above following him into the darkness.

Maria took a timid step down the same little set of stairs with just the far away snap of a latch for company. With the butler gone, It was almost like the rough lane that had lead down from the main road, the silence so thick, it felt like a weight on her shoulders. But...Her worn shoes almost slipped down the front of the steps, her left foot just off the edge of the rug running down to the tile. At least I'm not looking for where to go right now.

Setting her things on the floor, Maria turned around as she took a careless step off that larger carpet. If the abbey sometimes felt heavy—like it kept God close in the quiet—this hall felt like it would open to the skies if the smallest crack opened between the gold lined beams. Whirling around, she tried to count the doors rushing past her eyes. One, two...No, I think I missed one. When she was back where she began, she turned again, now facing the wall to her right. Three closed doors, a pair of dark side tables in between, a few small statues of bronze and ebony sitting atop. Not a speck of dust, Maria saw as she quickly walked to the one in the middle, wiping her clammy hands along her dress before she turned one of the carved white knobs. What? she wondered with a squint, pushing the door open just enough to slip through a narrow crack. What's that?

There was light she didn't expect banishing the darkness into the corners, ornate glass in tall doors letting in the afternoon sun. Unlike the cream colored walls of the grand hall just behind her, these walls were laden with murals and panels that glittered. A pair of smaller chandeliers hung wrapped in cloth, and to the side, chairs under heavy cotton covers waited on the tiles. Spinning back to the door, the golden molding was almost blinding. The stories you could tell, Maria thought as she followed one of the panel's edges to the ceiling. More molding rising on the upper curve of the wall, almost like scales. Parties and balls, maybe, something that should happen in a naval officer's home or a prince's palace. Curling her fingers into her dress, Maria bent her knees in a short curtsy to no one. It almost sounds like something my father told me about, something from when he went to Russia before—

"Ah—Fräulein?"

Maria stood straight, shaking her hands free of her dress as she turned back to the doors to the hall, one thrown fully open—and someone standing there, shadow stretching out toward her. "Oh!"

Whoever was there waved at her before stepping back into the hall; a woman, Maria decided as she the round silhouette grew clearer, the voice sounding a little older. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to stay out of this room."

Maria rushed forward, back into the hall as the woman pulled the door closed, pausing to fuss with the knob, almost like she was wiping it with the corner of her apron. "It looks lovely," she said softly, "or like it would be."

The woman slapped her hands together before she turned around, perhaps a little bit of the ballroom's stagnant dust stuck to her palms. "It was. But Fräulein...Maria?"

"Yes. Maria—Kutschera." It had been months since she said her full name and it almost stuck on her tongue. It's not mine anymore, not really, but no one else has to know that.

"Thank you for coming. I'm Frau Schmidt, the housekeeper." Now just a foot away, the older woman held out her hand; Maria took it for a quick handshake with a smile. The housekeeper had a grey crop of hair tied up at the back of her head and wore a darker grey jacket over top a white blouse and even darker grey apron. You're even greyer than the abbey, she thought as she bit back a giggle— "Goodness, what did you do to your hand?"

She had forgotten the gravel from the road digging into her hand, hadn't even thought about the flecks of dirt ground in, though the red bumps had faded. "I…" She scraped it along her dress, a few clinks of debris echoing from the shining tile. "I—tripped once as I was walking down the lane. Just caught myself with it, that's all."

"Oh …" The older woman's gaze ran over her, almost like she was examining her, Maria decided. "How much did the Reverend Mother tell you?"

"She had me read your letter."

"So you know there are seven children."

Maria nodded as she dipped one of her hands into her pocket. It was empty, but at least Frau Schmidt wouldn't see it tremble as she freed the last bits of gravel. There's no more running away, no matter what I learn now. "Yes. And you said the—Captain believes in discipline?"

"Quite. Though I think he would probably say he wants things in order, even if it's the children's time off from school."

"But there must be some other way."

"There probably is. I think you'll find this household is more troubled than most."

"I always try to give my troubles to God when I don't know what to do."

"I would expect that, Fräulein Maria, but the church hasn't really been in this house for almost four years."

Almost when...A scuff of her shoe loosened a chunk of gravel lodged deep in the sole's tread. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"We're all accustomed to it," the housekeeper said, now beckoning over Maria's shoulder. "Uta?"

A young girl hurried past her, her mass of blond curls quivering as she curtsied. "Yes, Frau Schmidt?"

"Will you please go ask the children to join us? I need them to meet their new governess."

The girl glanced back at her: a maid, Maria assumed. Her blue eyes darted from Maria's shoes up to her face, her nose wrinkling and mouth twisting briefly. "Yes, Frau Schmidt," she whispered as she turned back to offer another curtsy, then hurried up the steps to the small landing and up one of the gently winding staircases, shoes dully thumping all the way.

"But to remind you"—Maria spun back to Frau Schmidt—"there are seven children. Liesl is the eldest; she is sixteen years old. And then Gretl is only five."

"I'm sure they were all young, but Gretl must not have even known her."

Frau Schmidt's face tightened, her eyebrows crinkling over her eyes. "Her—oh, the Baroness," she said with a nod. "We rarely speak of her, unfortunately, even when the Captain is away."

Maria peered up, a faint rumble from somewhere up in the gallery beginning. "But he—" There it was again, growing louder and then fading. "He is often, you said that."

Frau Schmidt nodded. "He avoids anything that reminds of her, at least when he can. Even the children."

"But it's so wrong."

"Perhaps, though I don't know if you'll see him much, if at all. He's mostly in Vienna these days."

Maybe that's for the best, Maria thought as she shuffled back, still searching for the cacophony. At least if he's there, I'll never have to find out.

Children were darting out of a corridor, one or two just a little flurry of arms and legs she could only see through the railing. If that's two, then...Three, four, five...

"They're not easy children, Fräulein Maria, but given the circumstances, we've always made a few allowances."

"I suppose," Maria whispered, still struggling to count. Boys in short pants and girls in neatly pleated skirts, all the same color with socks to their knees. Six and seven, if I just can't see two of them. The youngest, I expect. The rumbling began again and any semblance of order disappeared, more than a dozen feet pounding on the stairs as they all rushed around the gentle curve onto the landing. And their voices, all going back and forth as they looked at one another—then at her, a few eyebrows rising and grins sprouting.

Frau Schmidt clapped her hands and waved them forward down the small staircase from the landing in front of the doors. "Come now, children, you know what your father would say." A few grumbles now as they swarmed down. "In your line."

"Line?"

The housekeeper didn't have a chance to answer her question, the children scurrying into some sort of order. Age, Maria decided. Right in front of her was the tallest—and she had to look away, suddenly busying herself with a few invisible specks of dust and a faint crease in her own dress. I know I heard your name—I've forgotten it. But you…She glanced up, blushing at the girl's scowl. That frown—deep blue eyes—dark hair—even her nose, strong and sharp...You're paler, but—you look just like him. The nose on one of the boys, the same dark hair on other of the girls—

"... best if you don't have the Captain introduce you," Frau Schmidt was saying as she stepped behind her, Maria snapping her face over her shoulder before she hurried to the housekeeper's side. "He prefers to call them down with a whistle."

"A whistle?" she said softly.

"Yes. Everyone in this house answers to one—you as well, if he's at home."

"I don't know if could. Whistles are for dogs and cats and other animals, but not for children—and definitely not for me."

Maria thought she heard Frau Schmidt laugh quietly. "We leave that to the Captain. But let me introduce you, Fräulein."

The names and ages came quickly: the former were easy, the latter would probably slip her mind until she finally escaped back to the abbey. Following the housekeeper down the line, Maria struggled to smile at each of them whenever she heard their names, though she had none in return until they stood before the two little girls. Marta waved up at her, her little ropes of pigtails quivering as she did, and Gretl giggled as Frau Schmidt straightened the kerchief around her neck. I'll probably call the older girls by one another's names until I leave.

Turning back to her as she patted the littlest girl's shoulder—Gretl, Maria reminded herself—Frau Schmidt clapped her hands again. "But go on, children, it's time for your walk."

The children were already looking at one another down the line, and Maria noticed one of the girls in the middle smirking her way, hands behind her back. You still haven't said why you haven't been able to keep a governess, she thought, one of her shoes scuffing on the floor as she reached for Frau Schmidt's arm. "May I have a—few minutes with the children, Frau Schmidt?"

"You'll have more than enough time over the next months."

"Please?"

"If you want. But out on your walk after that, children." A muddled chorus of "Yes, Frau Schmidt" rose up from the children. "I'll be back in a few minutes. I do need to know where that girl went."

The line the children had formed was suddenly ragged, the three eldest already whispering amongst themselves, the two in the middle still just looking at her, and the littlest girls giggling as the youngest pointed. As she walked along the line and a little farther back from the group, Maria wiped her hands along her dress, still trying to stop herself from shoving them into her pockets. "Well," she said softly as she turned back to them, "now that it's just us, will you please tell me all your names and how old you are again? I'm afraid it was all so quick before."

Their names and ages came and went once more, now punctuated with a few brusque comments that left Maria more wary than comfortable with them.

Liesl was sixteen, and certain she did not need a governess. Maria just tried to say they could be good friends, but something about the phrase made her shudder—or perhaps it was the girl's solemn, familiar face. I'll have to come to terms with that before too long. She just tried to smile as she walked past. But I shouldn't—won't be frightened by something I'm imagining.

Friedrich was fourteen and claimed he was impossible; Maria thought it couldn't quite be that, no matter what another governess told him. You probably just need someone to show you how to grow up. We all do.

Louisa—hands still behind her back—first called herself by one of her sister's names, though Maria remembered that much. I still need to ask Frau Schmidt about why the governesses come and go so often, but maybe I know that now. Brigitta was quick to claim her own name and age—ten—and remind her that Louisa was thirteen...and declare that the dress she had worn for the last day and a half was the ugliest she had ever seen. I didn't have too much choice, even if I didn't have to give away everything I had when I arrived at the abbey.

Kurt was eleven and incorrigible, or so someone must have told him as he admitted he didn't quite know what that meant. I might have done that when I was your age, too.

Marta was six, set to turn seven the following week, quiet as she said she wanted a pink parasol, Maria's favorite color as well. And her pale face and dark hair in looped braids...You'll trouble me more than your sister, and I wish you wouldn't.

Gretl didn't say anything at all, simply stamping one of her feet for Maria's attention with one hand in the air for her age. You're probably as eager to grow up as I was.

Maria surprised herself, not stumbling over any of her words. She was a teacher, not a governess—she had taught children for several years, but younger children—she could lead them in many of their lessons, but she would struggle with some of the older children's more complicated work. But as the minutes ticked past and the children's line completely disappeared, Maria talked a little faster, held her arms a little closer, turned around to keep an eye here and there as they circled—

"All right, children, now out for your walk!" Frau Schmidt called as she marched up from the back of the hall, right where the butler had disappeared a while before to find her. Another low grumbling chorus rose up from them, but their little swarm dissipated, what must be their small groups forming again as they whispered amongst themselves on the short journey to the door, only Liesl and Louisa looking back before they disappeared into the afternoon sunshine.

The closing door rattled up along the front wall, probably to those hidden windows, hanging in the air like a deep bass note in the Salzburg music hall. Maria tucked her hands behind her waist, smiling a little as she glanced over to the housekeeper who was now shaking her head. "You'll learn," she said as she motioned Maria forward, not waiting before she picked up the old carpetbag sitting on the floor.

Maria followed, slowing to pick up her guitar and wincing as the hinges scraped along the gleaming coppery tiles. She glanced up, her head falling against the top of her back as her gaze followed the tops of the pillars lining the gallery. Narrow whitewashed beams clung to the curve of the ceiling, and wherever the shadows grew, blossoms and shells carved from the plaster brightened them. Learn? I've already learned I don't belong here—but I didn't expect that I would. But it is nice, how open it—

"Fräulein Maria?"

"Yes?" She whirled around, peered up the staircase she had somehow already begun to climb—but the question came from behind her. "Yes?" she asked again as she turned back, the head of her guitar knocking against her knee.

"This way," Frau Schmidt said, paused at the base of the other staircase.

"Over here?" Maria asked as she hurried back down to follow the housekeeper, already making her way up the other stairs.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I just assumed I would be with the children."

Frau Schmidt's knot of hair quivered as she shook her head, her heavy steps continuing. "The Captain doesn't want it that way." The staircase leveled off along the path that wrapped around the gallery, a plush creamy carpet pushing up against Maria's shoes as she followed Frau Schmidt down one of the side corridors, a little darker now that the light from the chandelier broke instead of bending around the corner. A smaller light in the midst of the ceiling and smaller sconces along the wall weren't nearly so bright; at the far end of the hallway, even the windows hid behind gauzy curtains. "And...there wasn't a governess in the house at all until the Baroness died." They reached the very end of the hall, Frau Schmidt now turning the knob on one of the few doorways. "But I hope you'll find it comfortable here."

Sunshine flooded over Maria as the door opened, streaming through windows on the far wall despite yet more filmy white curtains and patterned draperies tied back with small sashes. A golden satin quilt was thrown across a wide bed, white metal posts at its head and foot banded with brass here and there. I'm sure it's not actually satin, Maria thought as she followed Frau Schmidt through the doorway. The household must be generous, but I can't see the—Captain sparing that much. Taking a few steps inside just to the edge of her bed for the summer, she set her guitar on the floor and turned to take in more of the bright room. A white cupboard stood against another wall, the molding a little stained by hands over the years, and farther along another door, probably to her own washroom. Even my room in Innsbruck wasn't so large. More than one small table flanked the walls all around her, one accompanied by a chair and a vase of fresh flowers. Or as nice.

Frau Schmidt dropped her carpetbag right at the foot of the bed, the metal rods clanging gently as the handles fell apart. "It's less cramped than some of the other rooms right up under the rafters."

"I'm sure I'll be just fine. It's the biggest room I've ever had, even when I've—lived on my own."

The housekeeper folded her hands together at the top of her apron. "I'd have thought you're too young to have done that."

"I left home—early." Maria's fingers were twitching again, eager for anything to steady them. "What did you mean downstairs?" she asked with a few quick steps around the edge of her bed to pick up her bag. "That you've had to make allowances for the children?"

Frau Schmidt sighed. "I had one of the other girls go through here while the children were at lunch." Though Maria meant to set her bag atop the bedspread, it dropped quickly and hard from her hands. "One of the boys—Kurt—is always finding new and interesting rocks out on their walks, or when he can be out on his own. They'd already buried a few under your mattress."

"What?"

"It's nothing against you—well, they don't know you anyway. But it's really just to get their father's attention."

"I understand." Maria loosened the latches along her bag's top seam. "My father was away quite a lot when I was a child too, after my mother died."

"Maybe you'll all understand one another better, then, though I wish you didn't share their unhappiness."

"It was so many years ago, at least for me." A hand down along the side of her carpetbag, Maria found the dressing gown she had packed earlier. Dragging it free, she tossed it toward the white pillows at the bed's head. "I don't think about it—well, him very often now. I spent more time with my foster mother, then my aunt and—uncle."

"I wouldn't tell the children that last bit. They always want their uncle comes to visit."

Her bottom lip between her teeth, Maria dropped her eyes, now searching for a book buried long ago. "I'm sure most children do."

"But I'll give you a little while to settle in before dinner."

"Thank you." Pulling that book free, Maria suddenly called, "Frau Schmidt?"

Already at the door, the housekeeper turned around. "Yes?"

"Why does—the Captain go Vienna so often? If you don't mind me asking."

She was silent for a moment, just taking a short step forward. "I don't know how much," Frau Schmidt began quietly before she paused, her mouth tightening like she was considering something. "Well, the maids do like to chatter about it, at least the girls who have been here for very long. Sometimes for business—checking on his late wife's accounts—but mainly to see Baroness Schräder."

"Who?"

"A close friend of the late Baroness." The housekeeper briefly glanced over her shoulder toward the door still open to the hallway, like she expected to see someone there. "I keep expecting to hear news of their engagement whenever he returns or sends us instructions. She's on his arm whenever he's in the city."

But if that's true, then it can't be what I'm afraid of—there isn't anything to be afraid of. "So the children will have a mother again?"

"I suppose," Frau Schmidt answered, though Maria thought she heard her laugh quietly.

"You don't think so?"

"She rarely visits, if that, only once I can remember for certain, at least after...the funeral. She prefers Vienna."

The book finally came free: one of her father's old histories, the covers' corners turned in and broken around the yellowed pages she had thumbed through endlessly over the years. "What do the children think of her?" she asked as she set this down carefully.

"I don't think she's really met them."

"That only makes me feel worse for them."

"It's the way of this house, unfortunately. But please, take some time to settle yourself. Dinner will be at 7:30."

The housekeeper was nearly in the hallway when Maria asked again, "Frau Schmidt?"

"Yes?" she answered lowly as she turned around once more.

"Will—the Captain be at home? This summer?"

"Are you eager to meet him?"

Maria shook her head harshly. "No, it's not that. I'm just curious, if I'm to be here until the end of the summer."

"He's gone for weeks or months at a time. It's been this way for years, since his poor wife died."

Walking away from the side of her bed, Maria wrapped her hands around one of the knobs on the posts at the bottom of the frame. "When was that?"

Frau Schmidt tilted her head for a moment, like she was counting. "Four years ago this September. I don't think he was even home for Christmas that year."

"That's terrible."

"Quite. But that's more than I should have said."

"I didn't mean to pry."

"I know, my dear. I doubt it will matter, though. The Captain avoids the house even more over the summer."

Tapping her fingers along that small brass knob, Maria murmured, "Because the children are at home."

Frau Schmidt nodded solemnly. "He comes and goes as he pleases. But don't worry about him, Fräulein Maria."

"Of course."

"We'll talk more tomorrow. I don't think the children will trouble you too much the rest of the day."

With Frau Schmidt gone—Maria listened at the door for a few moments until the muffled footsteps were gone—the first thing she did was fling back the bedclothes and shove aside the pillows. Nothing there to be seen, she knelt beside the bed, shoved her hands beneath the mattress up to her elbows, and...felt nothing. At least I won't have to worry about anything today, she thought as she pulled her sleeves back down. The narrow cuffs were cutting into her upper arms, though at least the bottom of the mattress licked away a little bit of the sweat that had spread along her skin as the day wore on.

"Well…" Maria twisted around, slumping against her bed. The satiny fabric was cool against the back of her neck, wicking away more of that perspiration as she folded her hands atop her knees and her eyes rose up to the far corners of her little room. "Here I am."

A/N: Sorry...This has actually been finished for a while, but in a whirlwind decision after months of contemplating, I moved from mile marker 170 to 1 in Washington in about a 1.5 weeks. A cat and a boy had most of my attention, and my old landlord just loves me.