The Baron and the Ballroom: II

Georg began to undress, and he stepped into a pair of dark navy pajama bottoms. The air was still too stuffy to wear a shirt. As he settled into bed and turned off the bedside lamp, he stared at the ceiling for a time before closing his eyes, trying to focus on tomorrow. In the morning he would rise at dawn, finish packing, and then head off to Vienna to see Elsa. He'd have to pick up Max on the way as they were all scheduled to attend a party that Elsa was hosting the day after tomorrow. Georg hated parties. Elsa loved them.

Elsa: his saviour. She was the one who helped him crack the shell of despair that had enveloped him. She was the one who got him out and about. Helped him crawl away from the pain of seeing Agathe every day in each of his children. She never asked for more than he could give, and never took more than she gave back. Yet, somehow, he knew she was hoping for more. He knew she would be expecting a proposal soon, they had been together long enough that it should be the next logical step.

The children also needed a mother; however, he was not certain that he wanted a wife, although he did appreciate Elsa's company. The wife he needed and wanted was no longer here, and no one could ever take her place in his heart.

No matter how hard he tried to focus on Elsa, his thoughts kept coming back to the damn governess. He threw himself onto his side and with his right arm he scooped up the pillow from the empty space beside him and embraced it, tucking it under his chin. For so long after her passing, Georg could still smell her. No more, however, too much time had passed.

Looking out towards the window he recalled the moment when the Fraulein blew the whistle at him. Lying in bed, Georg rolled his hands up into two tight fists – the same posture he took when her whistle sounded. "Not only was the whole thing insulting, everything about her little maneuver was wrong! All wrong! Her form was bad, she didn't hold the whistle right! Air flow was undisciplined. But what would you expect from someone who causes trouble in an Abbey?"

For a moment he gloated at her shortcomings, however, all at once the wind was knocked right out of him. It was a strong as if someone punched him in the stomach. It wasn't so much the impertinence of her using a whistle on him, that alone was border-line unforgivable, but it was the look she gave him as he turned to face her. Beguiling eyes that seemed to betray her innocence. He recalled her holding the whistle against her lower lip for just a moment too long, an expression that he'd seen many times before in completely different circumstances. He had turned away from her, but he just had to look again to confirm that she really was looking at him that way.

All at once a shot of desire headed straight for his groin. "Damn-it" he cursed out loud.

Forcing himself away from the path his thoughts were taking him, he contemplated the conversations that went on in the foyer between himself and the little Fraulein. He vaguely remembered cutting her down to size with his gaze before turning on his heel and marching off into the salon.

After the unsettling encounter, what he needed was some Dutch Courage. Pouring a glass of cognac, he listened carefully to the interactions between his seven and the new Governess. Although Georg remembered hearing the conversations in the foyer while he hid in the salon, his mind at that moment kept drifting back to the exchanges with the Fraulein before the children had arrived.

No! She did not look like a governess. She was much too young, too spritely! Georg recalled how he had to see her from all angles to better assess what the Von Trapp household was in for. He was expecting some hard-faced, habit-wearing nun and what did he get instead? Chaos!

The dress she wore was indeed awful, but the reason for it made perfect sense. How utterly fascinating that she was a seamstress! Georg realized that he would have to get on that quickly. How often does a Captain get to select the uniforms of the household's first mate? This was new territory for him: all eleven of the previous governesses had arrived in their traditional tweed and grey drab, looking stern and matronly. If this one did survive the children's antics that day (surely the pinecone trick was on the card?), he could at least ensure she dressed the part of a governess.

Shaking his head, Georg was so flustered by the Fraulein, he realized it was simply not possible for her to look like a governess, at least not like the ones he was used to.

It would have been much easier to visualize this Fraulein Maria as the new governess if she had looked a little more like his old aunt or a young-ish grandmother to his children. Perhaps something like the frumpy, middle-aged vibe that he had grown accustomed to with the previous eleven? Because of it, or in spite of it, as he downed the last of his Courvoisier, he found himself musing over the colours that would look the best with her ivory complexion. Her strawberry blond hair. Her crystal blue eyes.

Georg recalled how his ears had drifted back to the conversation in the hall, and he had been straining to take in who was saying what. The children were becoming pathetically predictable in their welcome routine. Based on the track record of the past 10 governesses (the first one didn't count as she had been here when Agathe was alive), by this point in their formal introductions, he would have expected to hear voices being raised and the white flags would be waving. This one, he remarked, was holding the front lines.

He flipped over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, folding his hands behind his head. What was it about #12, he pondered? She was smart, cunning, and deceivingly crafty. Her military strategy and focus were very impressive. "Where did she learn to carry herself this way? How could someone so flighty be so unwavering at the same time?" he mused. A mass of contradictions, she was! Oh, it seemed that there was much to uncover about Governess 12, should she last long enough to permit it.

"Fraulein...um...yes, Maria…that's her name". Georg could not understand how he was having such a hard time keeping it all straight. Indeed, there had been so many governesses, it was no wonder. He had fallen into the habit of referring to them by their number rather than their proper name! Let's see…Josephine, Helga…Dora, Anna, and now Maria. Georg was also much too distracted by her eyes to recall her name! She would always be #12 with the azure blue eyes. Like the skies over the Strait of Otranto in summertime.

The little Fraulein had made her way through her introduction to all seven children, even ambushing Louisa's feeble attempt at impersonation. He was impressed, but also angry, annoyed, irritated, and generally thrown into turmoil.

He knew a good seaman when he met one, but he was hopeless when it came to governesses. Each one he thought could be the one always seemed to be a dud. This one certainly had good wit, but infuriating habits -no pun intended. Georg giggled to himself at his feeble attempts at nunnery humour.

Georg recalled the animation of her conversation with the children in the foyer, and the longer she resisted their barrage, the more likely it seemed that this Fraulein would hold her own. But alas... then there was a moment of weakness! She had made a fatal mistake! He recalled how he had winced outwardly. Had a similar error been made on the high seas, the ship would have sunk. The crew would be lost. The cargo spoiled. "Why in God's name did you tell them you had not been a governess before, Fraulein? They will eat you alive!".

Straining his ears, the foyer became quiet until he heard the voice of his own little firecracker: Gretl. Personality-wise, she was so much like himself: cheeky, outspoken, passionate - although she would surely grow up to be a spitting image of her mother. He could hear Gretl announce that she liked #12 and was quite proud to tell all her older siblings that this was the case.

Georg was beginning to wish that he was in his study so he could make a few phone calls and order some fabric for this governess. Maybe she would have the fortitude to weather the children and their pranks. Perhaps. The only remaining rite of passage that the Von Trapp 7 had left to inflict on the poor governess was the strategic application of a reptile, insect, or some sort of amphibian. Each of the previous 10 governesses had shown up at his study door on at least one occasion, lecturing him on the behavior of the children. It was always the same: how could he, as a father, stand for this nonsense, AND what was he going to do about it? Snakes, spiders, snails, toads, been there - done that...

Finally, he heard the scream, and based on the pitch, it most certainly sounded like an amphibian!

All at once the foyer was quiet, the children were likely scurrying outdoors for their walk, and the Fraulein would be off to settle in her room. Draining his glass and setting his tumbler down on the side table, Georg took quick strides to his study to use the phone. A quick call to Frau Heineman, the best seamstress in Salzburg, to place an order for fabric. He had already pondered the colours over his cognac as he listened to the goings-on in the hall.

Ringing Frau Heineman, Georg asked for bolts of orange, brown and tan. Undoubtedly these would suit her complexion, accentuate the colour in her cheeks? Wait, no, he chose them for their practicality, simplicity, and to make a statement that she was the proud governess of the Family Von Trapp!

Regardless of his actual motives, the little Fraulein did not need bold colour or frills to command attention. Like a firefly, she generated her own light. Well, of course, her clothes must be complimentary to the children's uniforms; so, he settled on the basics and asked Frau Heineman to have some bolts sent out to the villa after dinner.

Hanging up the phone, Georg realized that he seemed to be much too invested in the colour of the Fraulein's dresses. He could not figure out what had come over him, and why he had insisted on these fabrics being sent out tonight at extra cost? Would she even be here after dinner? Will the children send her packing back to the Abbey? She had survived the challenges presented to her so far today. The children were tough, but Georg knew he was even tougher. Yet those blue eyes seemed to drown him in their depths and challenge him in a way that made his blood boil. He hated not being in control.

Sitting up in his bed, Georg moved his pillows so he could lean somewhat upright against the headboard. He decided at that moment that Fraulein Maria would ride out the storm, at least for the next little while. Hopefully long enough for him to get away to Vienna. He needed a respite from the memories that haunted him here and reminded him of how good life used to be.