Chapter 31: One Year In September
The next morning
Georg struggled as he woke, uncertain whether to stay in bed beside his young wife for the early morning hours or to seek the solace of a cup of bitter coffee from the dented percolator alongside a cigarette. To drag her up against his chest, angles and bones cutting into his muscles, or push her to the mattress's far edge as he rolled onto his back in the late August chill, and simply think. It was no longer just the dawn burning between the curtains, when he finally sat up, the pressure in his bladder making the decision for him. "Not too long, now," he muttered as he spun around and dropped his feet to the floor. He twisted his head over his shoulder, Maria's face buried in her pillow: mouth just open for the little raspy breaths of shallow sleep, hands beneath her jaw and legs curled up over her abdomen, though she must have tossed them around through the night. "For anything."
Relieving himself helped as did a few splashes of cool water across his cheeks after washing his hands, but when he returned to the small bedroom, Maria was still a little huddled mass under the summer blankets. Georg shifted the layers gently, the sheet still tucked beneath her elbows where he had left it a few minutes before. He ran one of his fingers over the back of her hand, wincing as her cold skin bit at him. "I wish I knew what to tell you." He sighed as he slipped his larger fingers between hers, thumb over her nails. "I don't know anymore."
It was easier now, the night of empty sleep had cleared his head just enough. So many nights, at least until these last just gone, Maria danced through his dreams, whether they were happy or sad. Nothing the last two nights, though, just darkness stretching out before him. I...Georg pulled his feet back up and atop the crumpled sheet shoved around the four corners of the bed. I just don't know what to think anymore, darling. As the summer had gone on little by little, some things had drifted to the back of his mind, especially as he buried himself in her every chance he had, whether it was her body late at night or her chatter that rang out in every corner of the flat. Somehow even...It's almost here, one year. Just one year ago, I still had...someone wonderful. He scowled down at the girl with her messy hair and dark patches beneath her eyes. Sometimes, I think I could be happy with you, Maria, but then I remember.
September and Sunday...It was warmer that day, Georg thought, gently extracting his hand from her sleepy touch. And she was still cold, just like you. But it was ending for her, and it's just beginning for you. God, I don't even know what, anymore. He pushed the blankets aside, the fair hair on her arm pricking up in the morning air as he slid her sleeve up. Still under his touch, his wife clenched her eyes, though they remained closed. And for us, if Leon is right. Georg pushed the blanket farther down her thin frame: over her small breasts, slim waist, and hips that would fight her best efforts once the months had passed and it was time for her to give birth.
She rolled onto her back, her right arm flying to the side, wrist and hand now invisible as they hung from the side of the bed. No one will see for ages, darling, not the way they could...He scowled again, though he couldn't resist touching her face, a little smile there like she felt him despite still being right at the edge of sleep. You did exactly what I needed you to do, darling, you distracted me. Georg pushed aside the little broken hairs around her forehead, a few dangling down against her eyelashes. Utterly. Maria licked her lips, and despite the still meager sunlight, he saw the dry cracks. "I'll be back again, love."
In the small kitchen with just the overhead light, Georg was happier than usual for his nightshirt; he hadn't bothered with it the last couple of months, both as a result of Austria's summer heat and...well, there didn't seem to be much point with Maria in his bed. Another scowl broke across his face as he found a fresh glass for her, quickly filling it to the brim with the lukewarm water the tap always gave. I hope you don't find yourself confined to the bed, he thought, snapping the light off with the side of his hand as he stepped back into the hallway. When the children are back, I won't be able to be here with you like this.
"God," he whispered, almost back into the bedroom. I'll have to send that telegram when I'm back in Aigen. I'm surprised she only sent one letter like that, though perhaps...Georg shook his head as he paused just at the threshold. It was still so odd, that letter finally in his package of letters after so many weeks. The thought had briefly tickled the back of his mind, one of the staff setting his mother-in-law's letter aside for some reason, but...No, he told himself. That's even more nonsensical than all of this.
He forced a smile as he stepped through the doorframe, his wife finally sitting up, one hand across her mouth as she pushed one shoulder back for a second. "Still tired, darling?" he asked, slowly getting closer.
Her face remained pale, but her eyes were bright as she looked up. Smiling back at him, like she had forgotten the night before. "Yes," she said, one leg rising up under the blanket still tucked around her, foot probably against her other knee, Georg decided.
"Here." He took one of her hands and pressed the glass into it, already a little damp on the outside from the warming breeze wafting through the window. "I thought you might want this."
Maria nodded, though she momentarily set the glass on her other palm, shaking the water from her fingers. "Thank you." She pressed it to her lips, taking one sip—then another and another in rapid succession. Her other leg was moving now, sliding up to join the other as she placed the tumbler's base on the blanket, a darker patch already spreading outward in fitful bursts. "Georg?"
He dropped onto the edge of the bed carefully, not wanting it to creak much; Maria was still embarrassed by each little moan, even in the middle of the day. "Hmm?"
"What was the matter—I mean…" She looked down, fingers tapping along the far side of the glass. Georg still saw it shaking, the surface of the remaining water shivering against the inside as a few drops fell from the rim. "What happened last—"
"You'll have to forgive me," he said loudly as he leaned back on one hand that landed right beside where one of her feet must be under all those layers. "I had a lot on my mind."
Her face went down, her second hand joining the first to steady the glass. "Was it—wherever you went? In the morning?"
Georg nodded. "Yes."
"Is everything all right?"
"Of course." His hand under her jaw, he brought her gaze up again, thumb brushing across her lip. "Not something for you to worry about." He took a deep breath, his pulse quickening. "I'd tell you if you needed to know." I can't tell you until I've run down every road for an answer, darling. But one way or another, I'll have to be free. And I can't be here after that day comes.
Maria was disappointed that evening when he told her he would be leaving the next day, sometime that morning, at least by the early afternoon. She didn't ask much as she sat across the table from him in the kitchen, only wondering how long it would be.
"I don't know when I'll be back," Georg answered as he braced himself for another mouthful of chewy noodles.
"But—"
"You'll be back in class starting Monday, you'll have your wages at the end of the week then." Georg tried not to think how Maria would have managed over the summer without her tutoring to see her through those months. "And I'll leave you enough you won't have to worry." His gaze rose, flicking over her for a moment. "Don't do anything foolish, darling."
"Foolish?"
"I won't be here to pick you up from the ground if you do." She must be far enough along—the child strong enough that the worst of the worries were past, he told himself as he looked away from her again. I know what I'll see in your eyes, Maria, that you'll be waiting until I'm back. And I can't let you know that I'd rather something had already gone wrong, something to leave me free to go.
His wife was simply pushing her own food around the plate. Her appetite was better than the day before, but uncertainty dampened it tonight. "Why do you have to go?" Sometimes, I feel like you're gone again before you're back.
Georg shrugged as he chewed, then swallowed before he finally allowed himself another tight smile. Just the way it was before, darling, leaving you with a baby you didn't know about, going off to a place I didn't want to go. "You know I still have things I have to look after," he muttered as he skewered one of the chunks of veal caught in the noodles spread across his plate. "Just...more than I have before."
"But—"
"Shh." He shook his head and prepared for another bite already scooped onto his fork. "I'll send you a telegram if I'll be gone for long."
Early afternoon, 13 September, Aigen
It had been years since he had walked out this far on the grounds, Georg decided. The villa loomed in the distance, the curling iron gates closing off the stone steps from the landing to the lake hardly more than dark specks just over the swell of the ground. And looming higher in the distance, leaving the villa and even the tallest trees with flushes of green leaves and overgrown shrubs with their blossoms mere dwarves scrabbling at the earth, stood the Untersberg. The mountain was still clad in its snowy crown, perhaps a little withdrawn after the end of winter and triumph of spring and summer, but as always beckoning.
"I suppose you'll be looking up at it, too, darling," Georg murmured as he turned to follow the dusty lane. His palm was sweaty around his riding crop's handle, salt probably seeping into the thin strips of brown leather. It had been nearly forgotten in the far corner of the—his wardrobe, coated in a fine layer of dust he had shaken away with a snap against the interior of one of the wardrobe's doors. He didn't need the thing, he never had, even when he had been a younger man; it was more of a trinket, really, now a memory of simpler days when the last few children weren't even a dream. A nurse to mind the children—Frau Bauer was yet to arrive in the household—and a summer spent just with her. She had laughed at his side on those walks through the countryside, her face buried in his shoulder whenever she felt it was too loud, too unrefined. You needn't have done that, love.
3 September came and went with no ceremony. Whether or not the household forgot or collectively held their tongues, Georg wasn't certain. Well, Franz and Frau Schmidt both must have remembered, neither of them saying anything more to him than was absolutely necessary. That afternoon, he dispatched the chauffeur to the local telegram office, just a quick note for Vienna. "Send the children next week at your leisure STOP Someone will talk to the school" By the time they returned, any sense of discipline long gone after an untamed summer, the entire first week of the term had already finished. Despite locking their noise away, the door to his study always firmly latched until they were sent off to the nursery wing for the evening, the rumors of Friedrich and the older girls' worries over what they had missed still slithered through the crack just over the threshold. If there had been any tears or frowns as the first year came to an end…
Well, it didn't really matter, Georg decided as a gust of air bit at the dirt beneath his polished shoes, sweeping the grit up and over the shined toes and up into the laces. Frau Schmidt would be imploring him to find another governess before long, and at least whether here or in the city, he wouldn't have to see them. He cleared his throat as another bit of wind brought the grime up against his face. None of it mattered, whether it was the children running about in the house, his wife soon to be exhausted by both a baby and more than a score of students with the papers to match, or the woman he loved in the graveyard down the lane. Not at all, he thought with a little cough against the dust in the wind. Maybe I'll finally believe it, now.
The last week and a half had been wetter than a typical September, but the last few days of bright sunshine had dried the older paths that ran the perimeter of the grounds. With a scowl, Georg brushed at one shoe with the flattened end of the crop, a little of the black now shining again in the sunshine. Bringing it up, he slapped it across his left hand, the thin shaft stinging his skin. He twisted the handle about with calloused fingers, then snapped it across his palm again. And again.
He took another turn on the path, just under the eaves of a few younger trees. So far from the gardens and fields and vines tended by the gardener and a few young men he hired whenever the summer arrived, none of the branches had seen a pair of shears. The bushes of wild roses here and there were a riot of color, petals open over their thorns on thickened stalks with leaves so thick, Georg didn't even think he would see a fawn scrounging for a few damp mouthfuls of grass before returning to its mother.
"He'll be looking for you someday," Georg muttered, not sure why he needed to keep his voice so low. He dropped the crop to his side again with a swish against his trouser, knocking a little of the dirt away. It tangled in a few of the taller grasses in the little thicket just to his side; he ripped it away with a quick crumble of soil and the little thud of a few clods as they tumbled away into the grass hiding beneath the twisting branches. "No," he hissed as he shook his head and walked a little faster. "Not now."
Nothing had followed him here. Neither from the villa nor the city just a short drive away. The quiet was so thick, it was almost a weight on his shoulders, a veil he almost needed to slice at rather than simply walk through. He wiped at his forehead, a few drops of sweat clinging to his fingertips that he shook away. The same perspiration dripped along his back already soaked into his shirt and threatening his heavier tailored jacket. I'm free here, Georg told himself again with a swat of his switch against a little vine dangling from a new canopy of branches overhead. Free from all of it.
Neither of them were here, the women who had him chained— "No," he hissed as he shook his head. The sweat had already saturated his collar and the sweat itched so viciously, it was almost scratching the skin at the base of his neck. "No pretending any longer, you damn fool." Not just a woman back there in the city, but his wife: his pregnant wife. So far, Salzburg had only called him back once on that first Monday in September, just a few days after he escaped. He sent another telegram on the way, this one to the flat he shared with Maria in that slightly grim corner of the city. Not home, Georg had thought as he scribbled out the note for the clerk and handed over the coins to pay for the cable. It wouldn't do to have it charged to his account in Aigen, a name she wouldn't entirely recognize at the very top. "I'm still busy darling STOP I don't quite know when I'll be back STOP Stay well Georg"
The lawyer he called on next hadn't mattered all that much; at least that morning, he hadn't arrived at the unfamiliar office expecting the slightest sympathy. This one was a younger man, probably only a few years past completing his law degree. And no memory of the war, he had told himself as he forced a smile in the stiff chair in front of this desk. But it was the same answer: no escape via divorce thanks to the power of the Catholic church, only an annulment if there was some fault in the marriage, some deception, something left unsaid. Georg had still refused to entertain the latter, still refused to answer why. This man at least entertained the schillings he was willing to hand over to move the divorce papers through the courthouse despite Maria's membership in the church. The young man couldn't stop himself, though, murmuring a warning that there was no guarantee the clerk who received the papers would be more eager to fill his bank account than spend a Sunday morning with a clean conscience. Georg didn't bother looking for another opinion.
"Maybe I'll understand some day. I didn't that day—and it would be your own sanctuary, that cemetery." Right ahead, a few fern fronds encroached on the worn path, but another switch of his riding crop cleared them away. "Just because you wouldn't understand me, and all of this…" There was a faint babbling somewhere close by, what must be a little brook making its way over a few pebbles and rocks that must feel like the Untersberg to something so small. "I just don't understand why, Maria. Why you?"
After another few paces and another twist, Georg frowned at a little fork, a dusty path before him either way: one twisting toward the east as though it might find its way back to the estate grounds that he could inspect from the lonely master suite, the other trudging into undergrowth that probably stank of mildew after the faintest rain. There's enough time to find my way back later, Georg thought as he veered farther into the feral trees.
It was no longer the saplings springing up as the forest marched outward little by little, all the trunks thicker and sturdier. With the thicker foliage above, it was dimmer and cooler; even if a breeze had rippled across the more pristine grass that surrounded the lake, the trees here would choke it out. Not even birdsong now, just the chirping of insects taking refuge from the sun, the rustling of rodents and croaking of toads in the leaf litter, and the same stream still trickling along, but where it was...Somewhere always just beyond another tree.
Georg swatted aside even more of the wild vines threatening the path, now more mud than dirt as it still wandered in gentle curves, like one hundred—two hundred years ago, someone must have run along it before the denser heart of the forest grew up around it. "Before your time," he said as he caught a first glimpse of that stream rippling in the little flecks of sunlight breaking through the branches and leaves. He walked a little faster, the crashing growing louder—louder…
It was finally a little clearing that he found, still sheltered and darkened by the branches overhead. The brook widened here, easy to mistake for a small pond if the water hadn't gently ebbed against the muddy banks, a few twigs and brown crinkled leaves floating along. It was still quiet, the air more stagnant than ever, but Georg's chest loosened as he approached the stream. "It never matters where it is." Dipping the tip of his crop into the water, he flicked a little across the way. Right where the trees parted to admit it at one end of the clearing, something rustled, perhaps one of those little rodents his youngest children would probably adore, rabbits and fox kits with twigs in their fur. He shook his head as he took another few steps along the way, one shoe sinking into darker mud at the very edge of the bank, a little beach of gravel beneath the sodden earth. "It's always the same."
Georg's eyes darted to the other end of the clearing, the brook languidly flowing out around an exposed nest of tree roots as thick as his forearm. "Calm," he murmured, just thinking about its end. A larger stream—a river he had probably never seen—perhaps to the Salzach, eventually the Danube, finally the Black Sea itself before it pushed and shoved its way into the ocean proper. "I suppose that's your end."
Would it be so bad? Well, I don't think that's the right question to ask, but I think I'll have to ask it nonetheless. It's here, Maria, I know that's the trouble. If I could just walk away and leave it all behind—take you with me to somewhere just on the coast that would be nothing like all of this...Georg sighed as he wiped away another palmful of sweat. "But it's just the same," he went on as he crouched down. He spun the crop around in his hand, now digging at the firmer mud a few inches from the lapping water. The rocks were bigger, not quite so smooth as the chunks of mud crumbled beneath a few already rotting leaves. You'd probably be delighted here, Kurt. More for your little collection you think I don't know about.
He dug the same end into the ground to push himself up, his vision swirling for a moment. The house had grown too oppressive to bother waiting for the midday meal, either in his study or the dining room; he had watched the clock's hands tick by, counting at least five minutes after one careless hand slammed the front door. He hadn't even bothered to find his hat, just seizing the crop he had brought from the master suit earlier, hurrying through the front hall—through the door at the far end onto the terrace—away...alone.
"You wouldn't like it here, Maria." Georg turned around; the path he had followed was hard to find, but even in the midday shade, his footsteps were simple to find in the mud. "You do like your mountains, the open air." The first of the trees bounding the clearing swallowed him, their branches and the vines gnawing at his hair and arms. "But where that river ends, would it be so terrible?" A swish of the crop beat back another pile of fern fronds as his steps were faster.
The damp scent of the first molding leaves was nothing like sweet salt drifting off the ocean; the birds' songs a world away from the bleating of gulls; and the echo of the frogs' hops through the grass and muck squelching whereas the crabs visiting the shore snapped their claws at any creatures foolish enough to stand in their way. It would be so different there. The light was already penetrating farther through the canopy, the air a little freer. Perhaps I—we could be happy there, Maria, all of us. Not just the two of us and the child I didn't mean to leave in your belly. Would it terrify you so much, learning the truth? A captain with seven children? A deep breath brought the first bits of dry dust into his nostrils, the scent of grass desperate for a drink of the water so nearby. And what of you, darling? Would that be enough for you? He tightened his hand on the leather handle. It would be what you asked for—demanded, right then. To love them for you. And what if...I found someone else who might love them just like you did.
The mud under his shoe soles was drying, no more footprints left in his wake. His hands and wrists were growing warm under his shift cuffs, the moist warmth of that clearing completely gone. But not just for them, darling, for me as well. Georg sneezed as a fresh swirl of dirt blew across his face through scraggly leaves. Sometimes, I think I could love her as well—maybe some day just as much. And I don't think it would be so terrible. She's nothing like you, but perhaps that's—
The sun was blinding as it seared his face, and he had to press one side of his free hand to his forehead. The small shadow was too late, everything just outside the copse suddenly smeared and dark despite the afternoon sunshine. And all those little thoughts beside that stream...They were slipping away away as though he had just dipped his fingers in the stream's cool water, a morning dew steaming away as morning dawned. It was the villa again, the Untersberg as it peered down at Aigen and Salzburg, and seven children inside with a lifetime's memories. The real world, Georg thought as the weight settled on him, shoulders rolling forward for a moment. Dreams don't belong in the real world, I know that well. He snapped the end of the crop at the final ferns around his ankles. And so does she, I think.
The path was dirt and dust again as he reached that fork again, now wandering straight ahead and alongside that still verdant forest, swirling away into the distance with the faint bite of the wind. The sun still hung high in the sky, a few little clouds he hadn't noticed before floating over the top frame of of the villa, behind the little turrets. "Maybe they weren't even—"
The shrill shriek of a bicycle bell cut Georg's thoughts short, pulled his eyes farther along the path toward someone coming his way along the path, still in the shadow of the hedge and a few trees. It was one of the final boundaries of the estate that hid it from the road despite the little patches here and there that the blasted gardener had never bothered to fill with younger growth. He must have come through one along the bend toward Salzburg, Georg thought. He drew the crop up, slapping it across his left hand as the rider emerged into the daylight.
It was a young man, bicycle teetering a little bit as the wheels slowed, the front one narrowly avoiding a rock peeking up from the earth. A black cap sat on his head, the brim shielding his face and hair, and the grey jacket hung loosely despite the leather strap of a messenger bag holding it to his chest. "What are you doing there?" Georg asked, pausing to let the young man stop as well. A telegram.
The boy dropped one foot to the ground before the bicycle wobbled again and dragged his other leg over the frame. "Oh, I—I didn't expect to see anyone here." He set the cycle against the hedge, a few of the wilder branches engulfing the nearest handle. "I'm sorry—sir."
"A little off the road, aren't you?"
The boy nodded, both of his hands now busy with his bag. "I didn't know—"
"I'm telling you that you are."
The young man's gaze was gone, down toward the ground. He had a number of little yellow papers in his hand, fingers shaking a little bit as he searched through them. "I'm sorry, I just have a telegram." One of them in his right hand, he stuffed the remainder back into his bag. "Georg von—"
"I'll take it." Georg didn't bother to wait before striding forward, not waiting for the boy who was probably just a few days into his job. Or at least on a new route, if he's thinking this is his best path to deliver a cable.
The boy wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand, pushing the cap—too far back and off his head, a crop of dark blond hair suddenly flailing free. He twisted around, stooped to retrieve it. "Is that you, sir?" he asked as he slammed it back on his head.
"Yes." Georg opened his hand, then shook it as the messenger stared at him. "Well, give it here."
"Yes, sir."
He snatched it away—had it open before the boy even had time to reach for his bicycle, his eyes running across the typed words, hardly needing to get to the end to know. I know you're still lonely there STOP Won't you come to Vienna for a few days STOP You need to get away STOP Elsa
"God," Georg whispered as the paper crinkled in his fingers. "You really never stop, do you? Always asking and hoping." There was rustling again—probably the young messenger and his bicycle— "Wait there, boy," he barked as he looked up. This can't be what you meant is it, Leon, that any woman would want to be my mistress. Someone in the light and on my arm while my wife lives in the shadows? He grunted as a short laugh died in his chest.
The boy nearly froze, the leg he nearly had over his bicycle seat now catching on the metal between the pedals. "Did I do something wrong, sir?"
Georg shook his head as he flipped the yellow paper over. "No. Do you have a pencil in that bag?"
His foot on the ground and one hand back in his bag. "Um…" A few of those telegrams were in his fist as his other hand rummaged away. It was just a few seconds before he had a pencil out of his leather satchel. "Yes, sir—"
"Well, I can see that now. Give it here." The boy nodded as he scampered across the dirt again, hand now shaking a little bit as Georg took the short pencil. He snorted a little as he laid the telegram across his left palm. It needn't be much, just enough to entice—to stoke her curiosity.
I can't come now
The children are here
Come to Salzburg if you can
I'll have Frau Schmidt prepare a guest room
"It's not right," Georg muttered as he added Elsa's address below those lines and folded the paper in half over the new note to protect the scribbled grey words. "I know it isn't after my visits to you in Vienna. But it's too much here—or in Salzburg. I thought somehow it would—could be something new, there, but now I'm—"
"Sir?" Georg shook his head as he held his hand out again, though the young man still stood at a distance. "Shall I take—"
"Yes," he hissed, offering the new message and the boy's pencil with a wave. "They'll know how to do the rest." The young man nodded, gently taking both the repurposed telegram and his pencil. "Charge it to my account. Just my name that's right there. And be especially careful not to smudge the address." He needed a deep breath to clear the tightness that had settled over him since he stepped out of those trees. "She'll know what I'm asking."
"Yes, sir." The messenger nodded, now fussing with the cover of his bag quickly, almost throwing both in. "Have a good—good day, sir." He was jittery as he pulled his bicycle from the hedge a second time and spun it around. He raised his foot, then put it down once before mounting the bicycle—Georg rolled his eyes as as the boy snagged his shoe on one of the bars—and didn't look back as he began to pedal away.
I can't think about her anymore, Elsa, either of them. Georg fell into a slow pace as the boy on his bicycle disappeared around a protrusion of the hedge, probably pedaling harder than before to find that outlet to the gravelly road. Especially not Maria, not now. Passing that lump in the greenery, he scowled at the little piece of the road he saw. Someday, you'll have to figure out how to fill that in, if you're really so good with plants as you seem. Passing it with an irritated swat of the riding crop, Georg continued on.
His mind was blank as the more manicured grounds appeared beneath his feet, the villa closer and the sounds of that little clearing finally fading from his mind. Not too long until I hear them again. He shuddered. The laughter, the little jokes, the screams of excitement and happiness. Almost like you when you forget yourself, Maria darling. I can't quite look at them right now and...perhaps...Maybe I can't look at you, either. He sighed with another swipe of sweat from the back of his neck. Christ, there must be some way to be free.
Georg strode on, still sweating a little around his collar and beneath his arms as the sun dropped lower. A breeze blew across the lake, probably a little of the cooler air autumn always threatened to bring that had come down from the mountain. Not for you these days, Maria. You already can't decide whether you're too warm or too cold. He shivered as he wandered past the landing. A few nights ago, outside under the moon and clouds as the villa was suddenly too heavy on his shoulders, the hinges had wailed as he yanked one open just enough to slip past it, the water's beckoning too strong. I'll have to tell them to look at that once they've ripped out the wilds back there.
The grass was parched even here, despite the gardener's attempts to bring back the green, especially now that the children were at home. And me. Just at the edge little landing at the base of the grey stone steps leading to the terrace, Georg scraped the sole of one shoe on the edge. A clod of mud came away, falling back into the grass where it belonged. The other was cleaner, though the dirt mainly clung to the rock.
He hurried up the steps, each bowed a little in the middle after the house's lifetime of shoes and feet hurrying up. The riding crop down at his side, Georg finally loosened his tie. It wouldn't do to spend much more time in this suit and shirt, both a little damp from the afternoon. Probably a few drips from leaves in that copse.
The villa was quieter than usual around him, most of the staff probably already preparing for dinner despite the early hour. He had never paid too much attention to the comings and goings of the maids, only really noticing when one was missing for whatever reason. It was just one or two of those young girls at the far end of the great hall when he finally stepped into its very back, shaking his head in the still air hanging from the beams across the ceiling. "You there!" he called. Both of the girls looked up, one from polishing a table flush against the wall, the other knocking dust from the upholstery of a chair just to the side of the steps from the front door. "Yes, you!" he snapped, beckoning the girl with the polishing cloth toward him.
She dropped it onto her work then wiped her hands on the apron down her front. As she scurried forward, her head dropped, red-brown curls of hair on the top of her head bouncing with each step. "Yes, sir?" she murmured with a short curtsy, hands now clutching either edge of that white apron.
"Find me—" Georg paused. You wouldn't like to hear that, Maria, I know you wouldn't. But I don't understand why that matters at all, here—now. "Could you please find me, Franz?"
Glancing up, the maid opened her mouth a little, though she was silent for another second. "I believe—I mean, I last saw him in the dining room. It will be time for—"
"I know this house's schedule. Whatever he is doing can wait."
She nodded, her eyes down again as she bent her knees in another small curtsy—nearly tumbling to her feet as she stepped back as well. "Yes, sir."
Georg was impatient as the girl rushed away into the bowels of the house, a little squeal encouraging the other to follow her, flat paddle brush leaving a little trail of dust behind her. It didn't matter, he knew as he approached one of the walls, it would be swept up the next morning before he awoke, let alone any of the children. A deep growl rose from his throat, and he was suddenly too tense to stand still. How does it all remind me of you, Maria? It's just a little corner of the estate grounds—you wouldn't even know this place despite the fact that I was foolish enough to bring you here all those months ago. You wouldn't know a thing. He tapped his fingers along the handle of the riding crop. You can't know a thing—and I can't stand to keep thinking of you here, not when I have her—them—
"Yes, sir?"
Georg started, teeth clamping hard on his lower lip as his butler's voice cut through the front hall. Somewhere from the back, either the same doorway where those young girls had vanished or its twin on the other side, the opposite end of the corridor that wrapped around the very back of the villa. "When was the last time the estate grounds were looked to?" he muttered as he turned around. He had lost himself in his thoughts so thoroughly—something he had found himself doing more and more often since he left Maria and Salzburg behind—not a single snap of Franz's shoes had drawn his attention.
"Within the last few weeks."
Georg frowned as he peered across the hall. The butler never had much of an expression, his dark eyes usually blank and his mouth pinched. He had been the same even in all those years aboard ships and submarines, though now he wore a black tie and matching waistcoat as his uniform rather than the blue coat of the navy. "I beg to differ."
"Has something been missed?"
Another few paces took Georg into the center of the large foyer beneath the chandelier, the electric bulbs within its dangling crystals casting the only light into the far corners. The windows of the front façade were hidden behind the false wall that ran along the back of either staircase that led the house's first floor, the last of the sun smothered by the paneling. "I know the groundskeeper has let part of the far edges sit fallow for the summer, but I don't recall him planning to let them go wild."
Franz clasped his hands behind his back, gently nodding. "There has been maintenance—"
"Not to my eyes," Georg said with another snap of the crop across his hand before he even realized it. "Or perhaps he simply thinks I'm not at home often enough to see it."
"My apologies—"
"When I was out this afternoon, I spent some time out by where the Salzburg road passes by. It's about as wild as I could imagine."
"I will speak to the groundskeeper this evening. I believe he already has things set out for the next few days, but I will let him know that he will have to look in on it."
Good, he thought as he walked toward Franz. I can't stand knowing it's there, now."I don't want any—of the children getting lost in there." His fingers were shaking, that little clearing on a different corner of the estate roaring from the darkness. "I'm used to standing over you when you're on your back with your dress tangled up around your legs...Not lying right on top of you…The things I would do to you if you were in my bed right now." He grunted as a couple of his fingernails cut at the leather he clutched at, the rod beneath unyielding. "And only that section. The rest can continue to sit."
Franz nodded again, stepping back. "As you say, Captain." He dipped one hand into the little pocket at the bottom of his waistcoat, pulling out a little pocket watch for a brief second. "And I shall talk to the gardener as well. I'm sure his help will be—appreciated after so much neglect."
"Quite."
"Is there anything else? I shall need to see to dinner preparations."
"No," Georg muttered. He shook his head as he loosened his hand on his riding crop, the ends of his fingertips almost tingling. Another thing to hold onto, even if the rest of it can all disappear. "That will be all."
A final nod of his head. "Very well, sir."
The butler was nearly to the edge of the corridor into the servants' realm when Georg called, "One more thing, Franz."
He turned around, giving another nod of his thin face. "Of course, Captain."
"Have Frau Schmidt prepare one of the guests rooms."
"I didn't know we were expecting visitors."
He shook his head as he shoved the riding crop under his arm, now loosening the buttons at the shirt cuff around his left wrist. "I wasn't." Pressing that arm harder to his side, he now slipped the same button free around his right, the heat trapped against his skin suddenly melding with the villa's cooler air. "But Baroness Schräder will be arriving from Vienna in a few days." I can have her here, darling, can't I? Never you, Maria, I know that now. You're just like that little forest, too unkempt to be tamed. "I'm sure Frau Schmidt will have an opinion on which room to put her in."
There was one more nod from his former orderly. "Whatever you want, Captain." Franz's footsteps were faster this time, as though he meant to disappear into the villa's hidden workings before another request echoed across the hall. Not that he had anything else to worry over, Georg knew as he rubbed his face as he started across the grand hall, reaching the shadows beneath the gallery's balcony above. There's nothing more to do tonight.
You never saw it when you were so close to here, he thought as he finally walked into his study, a bit of mud crushed into the deep red carpet when he took a first step onto it just in front of his mahogany desk. I wouldn't have let you that close. He didn't bother to take a seat as he tossed the riding crop onto his desk with the day's letters, instead removing the stopper from the brandy carafe on the small dark table beneath the window. It had been nearly full when he first arrived at the villa from Salzburg, each of the snifters wearing a thick coat of dust inside and out. Now, it was half full after at least one refill, one of those glasses now polished and cleaned when the door was unlocked for his daily escape when the children were in school.
A few glugs filled the snifter before he replaced the stopper with a gentle clank. Any other woman, he thought as he peered through the window. The trees here were tall, well-trimmed beside hedge that ran along this portion of the road to Salzburg. A quick sip of brandy burned down his throat almost as though he had swallowed one of his cigarettes. Any other woman would have been content to be my mistress, like Leon said. You should have been happy to just be the girl in my bed, but somehow...Another sip of brandy. You wanted more—and I still don't understand how I gave it to you. How you convinced me to give you whatever you wanted, when—Elsa would be satisfied with what she already had from me, at least right now. Someday, I'll know, Maria. You didn't—don't know anything about me, I understand that, but…
Dropping his head back, Georg gulped the remainder of the tumbler down. He couldn't think about her as the evening arrived, not anymore tonight.
O O O
That evening, Salzburg
Maria winced as the comb finally reached the end of her hair, still damp from her shower, the shorter strands still sticking to the back of her neck and exposed skin just below. She tugged the small knot of hair from the comb's teeth, then began again. It was hardly past sunset, but she already had her nightdress on; too late in the year for the lighter one she had worn for the first two or so months living in Georg's flat— She frowned, grunting slightly as she tore a few more hairs from her scalp. "At least I have school to take my mind off of things," she muttered, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
It had been more than a week since Georg left—nearer two!—still muttering something about looking after business again as he had the night before over dinner. "Go back to sleep, darling," he had whispered, then letting a kiss linger on her lips as he pushed her shoulder back into the pillow and sheets. "I have to go. I don't know how long I'll be gone—but you know how to look after yourself." Her mangled words of protest vanished beneath his fingers against her mouth. "Longer than I've been gone, I'm afraid, but not forever, darling." Georg had left another kiss against her cheek, one finger drawn along her chin. "I wouldn't dream of that."
"Well, it feels like forever," Maria said as she stood, the hem of her nightdress pulling the thicker cotton down to her ankles. She pulled the last bits of hair from her comb, her fingers working them into a ball as she hurried from the bedroom into the little washroom, flicking on the light with her elbow. It always whimpered a little more than either one overhead in the front room or kitchen, or even the small lamp on the table next to the gramophone. Opening her hand to drop the the knot of her hair into the little bin beneath the sink, Maria set the comb on the edge of the basin. She rubbed her fingers against her eyes, heels of both palms against her chin as she yawned. "At least I marked everything before I ate dinner."
Her stomach had settled these last few days, little by little until Maria hardly realized her appetite had returned when she heard the rumble in her belly after the first bite of her dinner. "At least one thing is better." She opened the basin's tap, grateful as she always was that this smaller one might gurgle but never ran brown at the start. Filling one palm with the lukewarm water, she took a sip, then another. The metal squealed as she turned it back, a shake of her hand spraying the last bit of water into the lightly stained ceramic. "But I can't go to sleep just yet, I know it's too early." In the nearly two weeks since Georg had left, she had found herself in bed earlier and earlier. She was always tired, at least a little, she couldn't deny that, but even more...Maria was lonely.
Her husband's farewell, as short as it had been late that Friday morning at the beginning of September, had been gentle and almost tender. You were so different than—that evening, she thought. And all I have from you right now is that telegram you sent from somewhere in Salzburg! It was tucked away at the top of her wardrobe beside Sonja's little doll, but she couldn't bear to look at it, even think about him. Wonder...what?
She ran her wet hand across her forehead, somehow a little too warm despite the cool of the evening. "I don't even know what happened. You didn't say what it was, that first night when you came home—or the day after. You left so early and...I can't say anything, I know, I was asleep when you came home." Maria didn't bother to dry her face with a corner of the towel she had used to squeeze the worst of the powder remnants from her hair. Even with the heat of the day broken, it wouldn't be too long before the air had her face dried on its own. "But you were so angry, and I didn't know why." She dropped her hand onto the switch, the very end of her palm catch it to extinguish the washroom light, her back now falling onto the doorframe. It knocked the air from her chest as she turned away, spinning against the corner digging against her spine and onto the hallway plaster.
I don't know what I've done, Georg, she thought as she pushed herself upright and hurried down the hall again and into the kitchen, squinting yet again as the electric light flared to life. Her stomach was calm, but her throat was dry and scratchy. "You'd probably think I'm silly, needing another glass of water. I feel like I need one every night, now." As she often did when Georg wasn't at home, or if she somehow slipped from bed without him waking as her weight disappeared, Maria always let the faucet run for a few seconds while she found a glass. The brown specks ran with the water far less than at the beginning of summer, but she still hated the taste of them. Settling her glass beneath the stream as she dampened the flow, a few drips of water on her fingers, Maria still swallowed against the cotton coating her mouth. "I suppose it will be better when it's really turning cooler," she whispered, a first gulp clearing the rest of the dryness on and under her tongue. "I'm sure you have blankets somewhere for winter," she added, her empty glass now sat beside the basin with a gentle clink.
Maria sighed as she turned back, one hand on the edge of the kitchen table as she passed. Though she felt far better than she had at the end of August and the start of this month, her head still spun now and then. Not terribly, but enough that she often reached for something to steady herself, just in case. But outside the kitchen, not yet bothering with the light switch, she clutched for the door frame once more. She wasn't tired, wasn't dizzy or worried about tripping over her own feet or the hem of her nightdress. Her chest was tightening—or it least it felt that it was, like a weight threatened to crush her to hundreds of little shards, ready to blow away into the wind.
"I still don't understand what was so different," Maria whispered. She didn't know why she was suddenly nervous, almost frightened of her voice reaching the far corners of the flat. "What is so different." Her fingers were already twisted in her damp hair, dancing up like they were tangled in a ladder of string as though she was a child again, sent to her room by her aunt. "Just stay there and don't get into any trouble, Maria!"
You didn't touch me after that evening you came back from...wherever you went, you didn't even look at me, she thought. Her fingers were wet again, a drop or two of water landing on one of her bare feet. And even now, I've hardly heard from you, even though you must be close by. But it's not that, Georg, not really. I just want to be close to you and I...I can't, not when you're suddenly so far away from me. Maria shook her hand free from her hair and wiped it along the other sleeve of her nightdress. And now...I don't know anything: where you are, how long you'll be gone. I guess you must have wanted me to know that you're all right, but all I'm doing now is wondering why. She let out a sigh as she slid both hands around her back, clasping them together against the scratched plaster. Is it how your mother and father felt when you first left for the navy? Oh, but you did tell me that you didn't have much time with your father and...She frowned. But you never said that much more about either of them.
She opened her hands and pushed herself up, needing a step forward to right herself. "Maybe I just need to get my mind off of things," she whispered, little and short and quiet footsteps taking her to the front room. It was almost ghostly at the end of the corridor, shelves and chairs and little tables all angles, either gleaming bones in the moonlight or tiny black patches in the shadows. She didn't wait to flip the light switch now, just blinking against it as her heart pounded for a second. "And you would say I'm being silly—or that I've read my father's books too many times."
Arms tucked below her breasts, Maria hurried across the room to those shelves. No matter how many times she opened that book of tales, even her favorites always sprang to life, like a long lost friend beckoning her home. "At least you won't laugh at me for spending my time with stories for children." One hand on the top of the frayed spine, she paused, her gaze drifting down to the stack of blank paper she had insisted upon. "Or I could do the best I can." Maria pushed the book back—not even flush with the others but an inch or two behind—and reached down for a paper and pen, this time not forgetting the pot of ink she needed. "At least I won't feel as though I'm just talking to myself," she whispered as she scurried back to the corridor, the front room's light an afterthought, now. Back to the kitchen and the same seat at the table where she had eaten her dinner alone, now smoothing a little wrinkle out of the top corner of the page before she nestled the pen between her thumb and index finger. "And some day, I'll be able to tell you all of it myself, when you're back home."
Georg,
It's so quiet here without you. I don't even want to set records on the gramophone, not really, even though I know you don't want the noise. Or...it's not quiet, but—there's so much space for just one person. Everywhere. I know our bed must be quite small for both of us—the one I had in my room before was almost the same—but it seems so large without you. And I wish you hadn't gone, that morning, though I know you have things to tend to outside of Salzburg. Or at least that you told me what was bothering you.
I wish you had been here, last week. I don't know if you counted, but I did. It was three months on Friday, three months ago we were married. I can't quite believe it's been that long, though sometimes it only seems like a few weeks. Well, it almost is just a few weeks. I don't know if I've ever decided how many "a few" is! But I'm going on without thinking, like when you tell me I haven't quite thought about what I should say first. Maybe I won't count the weeks and months later on when there are more of them, they're still just so unbelievable, just as how I've been in Salzburg for a year, something like that. Sometimes, I think I've just left Vienna behind.
It's late here—no, it seems late, I know it's not too long after sunset. I'm still tired earlier in the evenings than I used to be, but it's better. Especially while you're gone, I'm forcing myself to stay awake a little while longer. You won't be able to wake me up to be sure I don't miss the bus to be at the school on time. I don't think I'll be awake much longer. The nights are cooler—I'm sure they are for you, too—but they're still wearing me out so easily...I hope you'll be home soon. I've always missed you when you were gone for just a night or two, but it's already been too long, this time. Almost two weeks. You would probably laugh how I had to figure them, just counting on my fingers. Not even my students will do that in a few months, but I just can't keep my mind on anything, these days.
But I'm tired again, I know I should be going to bed, now. Please—please say you won't go for so long, the next time you have to be out of town. Sometimes I feel something inside of me isn't sure what is happening, but just that if I didn't already know I do, I would be certain that I do love you. I know I do, because sometimes my heart is breaking. I'll stop before I do cry, Georg, I know you wouldn't like that.
All my love,
Maria
Maria waved the paper through the air for a few seconds to dry the ink before she folded it into thirds, going back to the front room to tuck it into her father's book, though she still couldn't smile as she returned it to the shelf again. (A few tears came away on her hand as she rubbed at an itch, an lash caught beneath one of her eyelids.) She left it in line with its companions this time before she finally crawled into bed again. She slept easier that night despite still curling herself right against the far edge. She didn't toss and turn and reach out for him as though she had forgotten he wasn't there. It won't be too long until you're back, at least I know that. I hope you'll have things to tell me from wherever you are.
O O O
That night, Aigen
It was just the night birds, now, moonlight rippling on the lake in the middle of the grounds. Franz took the steps from the terrace slowly, the balls of his feet burning a little with each step and the very tip pinching his toes. The years were growing more noticeable. No longer just the lines on his face, the loosening of his neck, and the the retreating of his hairline. By the time evening arrived these last years, the aches and pains burned a little more in his limbs and joints. At least here there's an end in sight, he thought as the soles of his black polished shoes now hurried across the pale tiles gleaming in the night lights. Never quite an end on a ship, to say nothing of a submarine.
"Where are you hiding this time?" he muttered, hands clasped behind his back. They had to be quick—all while guarding against appearing too furtive. Not too much time left if the Captain decided to spend midnight walking rather than sleeping. There was no telling his officer's ways anymore, nothing like when he had first been assigned to the man when he was a mere lieutenant and they had both been trapped in the narrow corridors of a cruiser rather than the steel coffin of a—
Franz coughed, wafting the smoke from his face. Not too far away, then. Surprising you haven't set the entire grounds on fire since the last time it rained. It was unfortunate, really, having Stefan as his only compatriot in the household. Or at least the only one I know of, he added, now coughing into one fist. They had discussed other names here and there when they shared the latest pamphlets sold in some of those little hidden booths in the city, but never with any certainty. But it won't be too long before they see the new Chancellor for what he is and wants with us, why he wants to bring us into Greater Germany.
"I don't understand why it's always out here."
Franz wrinkled his nose as he turned, the smoke closer and denser. "We don't have too long," he said as he shoved a finger beneath his collar. At least being on a ship had that much, a breeze off the water.
"Hmm?" Stefan was still half in the shadow, his large body only caught by a smattering of the electric lights still waiting to be dimmed until morning, broken and scattered by the glass in the windows.
"Whenever he's at home, the Captain sometimes wanders the grounds, you know that." Franz wrinkled his nose, not bothering to beckon the groundskeeper any closer. The man would still be in his clothes from the day: torn here and there by branches and brambles, stained with mud and grass. Not even the man's hands would be clean, the fingernails caked with dirt and stained with tobacco. "Pity he's back to stay."
The larger man lumbered forward, the light from the villa landing on his face. The cigarette hung from one corner of his mouth and a scar cut across one of his cheeks and halfway across his nose. "Why would you think that?" he asked after a moment, just catching the cigarette before it escaped his lips.
"He had to return eventually." Franz waved his hand again, though he felt it form a film on his skin rather than clear from in front of his face.
"I still don't think you can know for—"
"Especially with the children back from Vienna," Franz snapped, hands behind his back again and fingers twisted together. If I didn't need you to be my eyes, I'd have sent you on your way a long time ago.
Stefan laughed, though it swiftly transformed into a cough erupting deep from in his chest. "They didn't stop him disappearing for days at a time over the past year."
"It wasn't quite the same."
A shrug now beneath his leather coat, the same one he always wore despite the heat. "Looked like it to me."
"It doesn't matter." Franz sighed, wrinkling his nose. "Could you stand a little farther away?"
"Never annoys you when the Captain does—"
"And I can't be eyes and ears if I find myself out of the house!"
With a deep breath and a final little glow, Stefan tossed his dying cigarette to the paving stones. "He wouldn't, not after so many years—and the navy."
"Well, let it be for the moment." The air was already clearer, though he wouldn't risk a deep breath until a bit of breeze swept the last of the grey cloud aside. "We have other things to talk about."
A twist of a muddy shoe ground the cigarette out, ash and dampened tobacco smeared on the large white bricks. "Then what?"
"The Captain wanted me to talk to you about something to take care of and…" Franz smiled for a moment, teeth now cutting into his bottom lip. "I think there is something we both might like to see to along with it."
"What?"
"One of those wooded areas out at the edge of the grounds," Franz muttered, jerking his head back toward the lake. "He wants them—well, at least one of them cleared."
"You mean what he wanted me to leave alone for the year?" Stefan stepped closer to him, though he must have already seen off his wine for the night, Franz concluded; the groundskeeper almost stumbled as he overstepped the edge of the stones at the bottom of the terrace steps.
Franz shrugged, black coat scratching against his hands as it briefly rose along his back. "Perhaps, but certainly the area running along the Salzburg road behind the lake."
"Didn't think anyone cared to look that far back."
"Well, he did today."
Stefan spun around from the villa toward the lake, though the trees and crawling bushes at the estate's edge were a blur of shadows in the twilight. "Finally looking forward on something. Fool's too stuck in the past, the way Austria once was." The groundskeeper laughed, though it soon turned into another cough rising up from deep in his chest. "And he isn't even Austrian, no matter what his neighbors think."
"An Italian, I know." Franz glanced back up to the villa, to the first floor windows over his head that looked out over the lake. The light is still on, but it won't be much longer if the Captain is too restless again. "One of my greatest regrets, serving with him." He shivered as he turned back to the groundskeeper. "Almost as bad as if he had been a Jew."
"Christ, don't even say that." Stefan thrust one hand into his pocket in search of another cigarette, but all he found was a hole in the bottom seam that caught his fingertip.
"Ask Kerecsen to help you," Franz said softly.
"The gardener?" He shook his hand as he pulled it free, a few bits of leaf falling to the ground. "Doesn't know a thing past growing a few flowers or beans on poles. And anyway, I hate that damnable Jew, you know I do."
"As do I. His wife with him."
"Then why bother with him?"
"You don't need him, I know that!" Franz cleared his throat, the last of smoke at last flitting away through the night air. "You'll have to bring in men and boys from town to clear it properly. Find a reason—anything I can cite to send him away."
Even in the faint light from the villa, he saw the groundskeeper grin, broken teeth peeking from behind his lips. "Do you have someone who could replace him?"
He shook his head. "Don't worry, it won't be that hard." The butler allowed himself another smile of his own. "There are more than enough men like him who know what's good for Austria even if the Captain doesn't anymore. And I'm sure Berlin wouldn't mind another set of eyes, even if they can't say a word yet."
The groundskeeper's smile vanished. "How long will it be?"
"How long?"
"Until we don't have to act like Austrians anymore!"
Franz shrugged again. "There's no telling right now. There aren't enough of us to make a difference right now, especially with people like the Captain around."
Stefan pulled his coat a little tighter, a fresh breeze swirling around the corner of the house. "I wish he hadn't come back so early—or that he'd sent for the children a little earlier."
Franz's eyes narrowed as he allowed another glance up to the villa, the lights in the family wing still burning for the moment. "What do you mean?"
"That Liesl. She's been a pretty girl all her life, I suppose, takes after her mother."
"No talk of that." God, if Stefan wasn't the only one he could trust at the moment, the man would have been out of the house years ago. It's beneath us to even think of that, he thought, a girl who is of good enough stock to have proper German children someday. "If there are any rumors of that, you'll be out of the house before you know it—and I can't keep watch over everyone myself."
"She's a useless girl with nothing—"
"If you need to keep yourself entertained, I'm sure one of the maids will be more than happy to be of service. Just worry about how you'll get that Jew out of this house." Pulling his hands apart, Franz straightened his tie at the base of his throat. It might be just an hour or so before he finally retired, but he still had his final rounds. With a final scowl, he couldn't stop himself looking over the groundskeeper again. A little dirt and mud, smudges from grass on his knees and elbows...All those he understood, but the old patches on the man's coat and rips in his trousers..."Someday, you'll have to sharpen your appearance."
O O O
The same night, Vienna
The telegram had arrived in the middle of dinner. At times, her butler waited until the table was cleared and a small glass of sweet wine was set before her, but not this evening. She had still been in the midst of her meat when he handed it to her on a small silver platter, the man still as quiet as if she had a companion at her side. But Elsa was more than happy for the interruption when the office of origin and the account charged appeared as she unfolded it.
Saturday, she decided as she folded it back up along the same creases. Enough time to set her household in order for a few days—her maids really didn't know what to do with themselves at times without someone to give them direction—to send notes to her own friends to let them know she would be out of town and not to call. And, as important, time to sort through her wardrobe.
Her face clean for an early night, Elsa pulled another pair of pins from her hair, adding them to the pile in the little crystal bowl that sat atop of ebony vanity table. "I'll have him send the telegram tomorrow morning," she muttered as the first wave of pale blond hair fell over her shoulders. "That will give you more than enough time to be ready for me, Georg." Now she reached for her enameled comb, small crystal flowers inlaid in a wooden handle just dark enough to match her tabletop. No tangles at the end tonight, at least.
She could be ready to leave by midday tomorrow, Elsa knew that well. But even retiring around ten or so, it would be a very early morning indeed to be prepared for one of the mid-afternoon trains to Salzburg. She never really rose before ten in the morning, sometimes later if a party had gone on well into the small hours of the morning. And just as she only trusted the elderly maid who had been with her in this house since the day she moved in to launder and press her clothes, she would only trust that woman to pack them away.
Setting down her comb, Elsa began picking at the pins on the other side of her head, curls dropping little by little. When she had another handful, she dropped them into the same glittering bowl. She stayed a yawn behind her hand before dragging her hands through her hair, still bearing the dents of the hours caught in large gentle curls as she dropped it down around her neck. "It won't matter to you," she went on, comb in her hand again to tease out the remaining little knots. "It's been long enough since you've been here—certainly since I've been to Salzburg. I don't think you even took to remembering Agathe's dresses and they were in your own suite!"
She paused, the comb's tines biting at an unexpected snarl before she tugged harder at the little lump. It was near enough time for her hairdresser to see to the little bits of grey following the vibrant blond of the rest of her hair, so time for the ends to be looked to as well. "You would understand, wouldn't you, Agi?" Comb down again, Elsa scrabbled toward the mirror directly in front of her. Her cigarettes in their case and their holder still huddled where she had left them before changing into her dinner attire after her afternoon out, her lighter shining in her bedroom lights right beside. Her little gold case opened with a flick of her thumb and one of the cigarettes was quickly fitted to the end of her already gently scratched holder. Exchanging the case for that lighter as the former snapped closed against her palm, she quickly had a gentle flame against the very tip of the tobacco and a growing warmth filling her mouth.
"I think it's what you would want, wouldn't you? You did always look after him—sometimes as much as your children." Elsa plucked the polished wooden holder from her lips and tapped away the ash into the tray tucked beneath one of the mirrors at the side of her table. She frowned, one finger running back from her chin along the underside of her mouth down to her neck. I shall have to be careful, however long I'm in Salzburg, if I don't even know my own cook's food like I should. "But it would be for the best, dear. I can look after him for you, at least if he'll let me." The end of that cigarette holder back in her mouth—she ignored the very last traces of lipstick at its end—Elsa smiled just a bit, the wine with dinner at last going to her head. "It would be lovely, Agi. I don't think anyone else would know what he needs better than I do. At least now. And wouldn't you like that, Agi?" Another cloud of smoke rose in front her face. "I know one or twice we fancied the same boy even if we couldn't tell anyone else without a scolding. I'll never be you for him, my dear, I know that. But I can look after him for you if he'll let me. I know you would."