The gardens of the von Trapp estate stretched wide, a maze of carefully trimmed hedges, bright flower beds, and towering trees that whispered secrets in the breeze. Eight-year-old Georg von Trapp was no stranger to their endless corners, having explored them countless times, yet they always seemed lonelier these days.
His older brother, Werner, had left some time ago, called away by the grim duties of war. Hede, his sister, was around, but she preferred the company of books and her paints, retreating to the studio for hours at a time. To her, a game of hide-and-seek or chasing imaginary pirates through the garden paths seemed childish and dull.
So, Georg was alone.
Today, he had found his usual hiding spot beneath the tall azalea bushes near the butterfly garden. The sun filtered through the leaves in dappled patterns, warm on his back as he crouched, trying to amuse himself by crafting adventures in his head. A twig snapped nearby, and Georg froze, his thoughts interrupted. Peering through the leaves, he spotted movement—a flash of color darting through the flowers.
It was a little girl.
She ran with her arms outstretched, her laughter mingling with the sound of the rustling leaves. A butterfly flitted just out of her reach, and she twirled after it, her golden hair catching the sunlight. Georg bit his lip to stifle a giggle, his curiosity piqued by this unexpected visitor.
But the sound escaped him.
The girl froze, her head whipping toward the bushes. Georg ducked instinctively, heart pounding, but it was too late.
"Who's there?" she called, her voice clear and bright.
Georg considered running, but before he could dart away, she spoke again, more gently this time. "It's all right—I won't tell anyone you're hiding. Come out!"
Her words carried a kindness he hadn't expected, and despite himself, Georg poked his head out of the foliage. Their eyes met for the first time.
She smiled, wide and genuine, and something about her expression made Georg hesitate less.
"I'm Maria," she said confidently, stepping closer. She had dirt smudged on her cheek and a wildflower stuck in her hair, but she looked utterly unbothered by it. "What's your name?"
Georg straightened up, brushing the leaves off his shirt. "Georg," he mumbled shyly, eyes darting down to the grass.
"Well, Georg," Maria said brightly, "I think you need a friend. Want to play with me?"
A friend? Georg blinked at her, caught off guard. He had never thought much about friends before, especially not a girl. But Maria's energy was infectious, and something about the way she stood there, so sure and so ready to include him, made him smile despite himself.
He nodded.
Maria grinned back, grabbing his hand. "Come on! I saw a whole bunch of butterflies by the lake!"
And just like that, Georg von Trapp discovered that loneliness in the garden wasn't the only option after all.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The gardens, once filled with the laughter of children chasing butterflies and playing hide-and-seek, had become a quieter place over the years. Georg and Maria no longer darted between the hedges or climbed the old oak tree by the stables. Instead, they spent their time talking about the future, walking along the paths they once raced through as children. The estate, with its grand halls and sprawling grounds, had always felt lonely to Georg—until Maria came into his life.
For ten years, Maria had been his constant. From her shy smiles when they first met to her mischievous laughter when she convinced him to sneak away from his studies, Maria had been a bright spot in Georg's world. Even Hede, who initially treated Maria with cool politeness—reflecting their father's disapproval of her presence—had softened. Over time, Hede had come to appreciate Maria's warmth and honesty, and the three of them had formed a bond that even their father's disapproval could not break.
It was nearing sunset when Georg led Maria to the lake, the water reflecting streaks of pink and orange across its surface. The air was still, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds settling in for the night. Georg's hands felt clammy, and his heart raced with every step they took. He had thought about this moment for weeks, rehearsing the words over and over, yet now they all seemed to vanish from his mind.
Maria walked beside him, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. She glanced at him curiously. "You're quiet today," she said softly.
Georg stopped at the edge of the lake, the sunlight catching in his dark eyes as he turned to face her. "Maria," he began, his voice steady despite the storm of nerves in his chest. "I need to tell you something."
She tilted her head, her expression open and patient.
He swallowed hard and looked out at the water before meeting her gaze. "I... I've been in love with you for a long time."
Maria's eyes widened, her lips parting slightly in surprise.
Georg pressed on, his words tumbling out as if he feared losing his nerve. "I think it started the day Hede and I snuck you into the music room. Do you remember?" He gave a small, nervous laugh. "I didn't want Father to find out, but you were so excited to see the piano. And then... you sang."
Maria blinked, her hands moving to her mouth as tears filled her eyes.
"It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard," Georg continued, his voice soft. "At that moment, I knew. I knew you were going to be the one I wanted to spend my life with." He hesitated, then took a step closer. "I want to take care of you, Maria. Always."
Maria's tears spilled over as she dropped her hands, her voice trembling. "Georg... I don't know what to say."
He smiled gently. "You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know."
Maria shook her head, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "No, I do. Georg, you've been the only one who's ever treated me with kindness. You've always made me feel like I mattered, even when I didn't believe it myself." Her voice broke, but she forced herself to go on. "I have feelings for you too. For so long, I just never thought..."
Her words trailed off, but the meaning behind them was clear.
Georg stared at her, his heart clenching at the vulnerability in her voice. "Maria," he said softly, reaching for her hands. "I promise you, no matter what happens, I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you're never alone again."
The world around them seemed to fade as they stood by the lake, the sun dipping below the horizon, their hearts laid bare.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The gardener's cottage sat in quiet stillness, illuminated only by the faint glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Maria's modest room smelled faintly of lavender and dried herbs, and the soft sound of crickets filled the air outside. Georg climbed through the window with practiced ease, his heart pounding—not from fear of being caught, but from the thought of what lay ahead.
Maria sat up in her bed as soon as he entered, her eyes wide with surprise and worry. "Georg, what are you doing here?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He stepped closer, his tall frame casting a shadow across the room. "I needed to see you," he said softly. "Before... before I leave."
Maria froze, her breath hitching. "Leave? What do you mean?"
Georg sat on the edge of her bed, his shoulders heavy with the weight of what he was about to say. "Father has decided it's time for me to go to the naval academy," he explained. His voice was steady, but Maria could hear the bitterness beneath the calm. "He's been planning it for years. I can't avoid it anymore."
Maria's lips trembled as tears welled in her eyes. "Georg..."
He reached for her hand, his grip firm yet gentle. "I don't want to leave you," he said earnestly. "But I have no choice." His dark eyes searched hers, desperate to convey what words could not. "Will you wait for me, Maria? Write to me? I'll write back. Every chance I get."
He stood, crossing the small room to her desk, and picked up a pen and a scrap of paper. The candlelight flickered as he scribbled something down, then handed it to her. "This is the address," he said. "Promise me you'll send your letters here."
Maria took the paper with trembling fingers, her tears finally spilling over. She clutched it to her chest, her sobs quiet but heartbreaking.
Georg sat beside her on the bed, his hands cupping her face. "Hey, don't cry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll come back to you, Maria. I swear I will."
Her sobs quieted as she gazed at him, her heart aching with both love and fear. "I'll wait for you," she said, her voice trembling but firm.
Georg leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers in a tender, lingering kiss. When they pulled away, Maria rested her head against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as the weight of the moment settled over them.
"I'll miss you," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt.
"And I'll miss you," he murmured, stroking her hair.
Eventually, her breathing slowed, and she fell asleep in his arms. Georg stayed awake, staring down at her peaceful face. Her warmth against him, the way her golden hair fell across her cheek, the soft rise and fall of her chest—he wanted to remember it all.
As dawn approached, Georg carefully slid away from her, moving slowly to avoid waking her. He stood by the bed for a moment, watching her as if to commit her to memory. His eyes fell on the wooden rosary hanging from the bedpost, its surface dusty and worn. Gently, he took it in his hand, brushing away the dust.
"It looks like she barely uses this," he thought, his lips quirking into a bittersweet smile. He slipped the rosary into his pocket, holding it tightly for a moment as if it were her hand.
Georg glanced at Maria one last time before slipping out through the window. The morning air was cool as he crossed the grounds, heading back to the main house. When he reached the tall oak tree near his room, he climbed it with ease, swinging himself through the window and landing silently on the floor.
He was unaware of the shadow in the hallway, of the figure standing just out of sight. Johann von Trapp had seen everything—the furtive glance towards the gardener's cottage, the climb through the window, and the quiet return to his room.
The older man's face was unreadable in the dim light, but his fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his jaw betraying his thoughts. He turned away silently, his footsteps echoing faintly as he walked down the corridor.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Johann von Trapp stood in his study, the dim light of dawn filtering through the heavy curtains. His hands rested on the edge of the desk, fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood as he mulled over the events of the previous morning. The image of his son sneaking back into the house, climbing through the window like a common thief, lingered in his mind. His jaw tightened, a mix of anger and unease twisting in his chest.
There was only one explanation for where Georg had been, and Johann was determined to confirm it.
He rang the bell, summoning the footman to bring the gardener to his study.
The gardener arrived moments later, his hat in hand and a nervous look on his face. Franz was a man with a rugged appearance, his clothes worn and his hands calloused from work. His reputation as a gambler preceded him, but Johann had found use for such a man. Franz owed him too much—far more than just the roof over his head. Johann knew he could be bought, and more importantly, controlled.
"Franz," Johann began, his voice cold and steady, "I need your help with a delicate matter."
Franz shifted uncomfortably, sensing the gravity in Johann's tone. "Of course, sir. What do you need?"
Johann leaned forward, his piercing gaze fixed on the gardener. "Yesterday, I saw my son returning to the house at an ungodly hour. Climbing through his bedroom window, no less."
Franz raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for Johann to continue.
"I believe he spent the night in the gardener's cottage," Johann said sharply, his words heavy with implication.
Franz's eyes flickered with surprise, but he quickly masked it. "I never saw him there, sir," he replied cautiously.
Johann's lips thinned. "Which only confirms my suspicions. He wasn't there to visit you, Franz. He was there for your niece."
Franz froze, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the brim of his hat. "Maria?"
Johann nodded, his expression hard. "You will prove it. I want evidence—solid evidence—that my son was in her room. I need to know what happened." He paused, his face darkening. "And pray that foolish boy hasn't done something irreparable. I will not have this family's name dragged through the mud because of a servant girl."
Franz opened his mouth to protest, but Johann cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Second," Johann continued, his tone colder than before, "you will speak to your niece. Tell her that Georg will not be returning after his time at the academy. Tell her he is bound for Italy, that he has no intention of coming back to her."
Franz hesitated, his conscience warring with his desperation. "Sir, with all due respect—"
"Franz," Johann interrupted, his voice low and menacing. "Do not forget who provides for you. Who allowed you to stay when your debts made you a liability to anyone else. Do not forget what you owe me."
Franz swallowed hard, the weight of his debts pressing down on him like a vice. He knew Johann's threats weren't empty. He depended on the stability this job provided, and he couldn't afford to lose it.
"Yes, sir," Franz said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Johann's expression softened just enough to show he was satisfied. "Good. I expect results soon. Do not disappoint me."
Franz nodded, clutching his hat tightly as he backed out of the study.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The month since Georg's departure had been an agonizing blur for Maria. Each day stretched long and hollow, her hope tethered to the letters she sent. She had poured her heart into every word, carefully writing out the address she was certain she knew by heart. But as the days turned to weeks without a response, doubt began to creep in.
Had she written it wrong?
The paper with the address—her only tangible link to him—was nowhere to be found. Maria had searched every inch of her small room, pulling open drawers, overturning boxes, even lifting the corner of the rug in desperation. Her frustration grew with each fruitless attempt, tears stinging her eyes as she questioned herself.
When a knock sounded at her door, Maria barely looked up, her heart too heavy to care who it might be. "Come in," she called, her voice flat.
The door creaked open, and she turned, startled to see her uncle standing there. Franz had never entered her room before; in fact, he rarely sought her out at all.
"Uncle Franz," she said, quickly wiping at her eyes. "Is something wrong? Do you need anything?"
Franz hesitated at the threshold, his hat in his hands, twisting it nervously. "I came to talk to you," he said, his voice unusually subdued.
Maria tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. "About what?"
Franz stepped into the room, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. "I might need to start looking for new work soon," he said, avoiding her gaze.
Maria blinked. "New work? Why? What happened?"
Franz let out a weary sigh, running a hand over his face. "The family's leaving the villa," he explained. "And Johann said he won't need me here anymore."
Maria sat up straighter, alarmed. "Leaving? Where are they going? And what about the gardens?"
Franz shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Johann says the gardens won't need maintaining. He told me they won't be coming back to Aigen for a long time." He paused, his tone growing heavier. "Hede's going to an art school in France. And the boy…" He hesitated, glancing at Maria as if gauging her reaction. "Georg's heading to Italy after he finishes at the naval academy."
Maria froze. The room seemed to tilt around her, her pulse roaring in her ears. Italy?
Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she had just heard. Georg had promised he would return. He had looked her in the eyes, held her close, and sworn it. He had kissed her, and she had believed him.
And now…
Maria felt her chest tighten, her emotions threatening to spill over. But she forced herself to remain calm, her hands gripping the edge of her chair until her knuckles turned white. "I see," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.
Franz raised an eyebrow, studying her for a moment. "You all right?" he asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
Maria nodded quickly, schooling her features into a mask of indifference. "Of course," she said, forcing a small smile. "If the family's leaving, then I suppose we'll have to leave too."
Franz seemed to relax, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer. "Good," he said. "Start packing your things. We need to leave as soon as possible."
He turned and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
As soon as he was gone, Maria's composure crumbled. She sank to the floor, clutching her knees to her chest as silent tears spilled down her cheeks. Her mind replayed Franz's words over and over, each repetition slicing deeper into her heart.
Georg wasn't coming back.
Her letters would go unanswered.
And the future she had dared to imagine—the future he had promised her—was slipping away like sand through her fingers.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The warmth of the holidays felt hollow to Georg as he sat at the long dining table with his parents in Vienna. The fine china and gleaming silverware reflected the soft glow of the chandelier above, but the atmosphere was cold and strained. Conversations were polite, formal, and void of substance—a sharp contrast to the vibrant, genuine moments Georg cherished with Maria back in Aigen.
The weight of her absence pressed heavily on his chest. He had written to her countless times, yet no reply ever came. Georg couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
As the evening stretched on, he broached the subject he had been turning over in his mind for weeks. "I'd like to stop by Aigen before the holidays are over," he said casually, though his heart pounded in his chest.
Johann, seated at the head of the table, set his wine glass down with deliberate precision. "And why would you need to go to Aigen?"
Georg shrugged, forcing himself to appear nonchalant. "I left a few things there before I started training. I'd like to retrieve them."
The room fell silent, save for the clinking of silverware as Hede and their mother, Hedwig, glanced between the father and son. Georg felt his father's sharp gaze bore into him, but he refused to meet it.
After dinner, Johann called for Georg to join him in the study. The moment Georg entered, he was greeted by the sight of his father seated behind his desk, his expression dark and unreadable.
"Close the door," Johann said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Georg obeyed, his heart sinking as the click of the door echoed in the room.
"Now," Johann began, folding his hands on the desk in front of him, "tell me the truth. Is your sudden desire to return to Aigen because of Maria?"
Georg felt his anger flare, a spark igniting deep within him. His father's question struck a nerve, dragging up the bitter memory of their last fight. Before he had left for the naval academy, they had argued fiercely about Maria. Johann's words had been cruel and cutting, laced with prejudice that had stunned Georg. No matter how much Georg defended her, Johann refused to see Maria as anything other than an opportunist.
Clenching his jaw, Georg replied evenly, "Why would you assume that?"
Johann leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Don't play coy with me, Georg. I know what you're thinking. And before you waste your time chasing after her, you should know that Maria and her uncle are no longer in Aigen."
Georg's stomach dropped, though he kept his face carefully neutral. "What do you mean?"
Johann stood, pacing slowly behind the desk. "The household staff told me they left. Apparently, Maria ran off with another man. Her uncle left shortly after to track her down, but neither of them has been seen at the villa since."
Georg's fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. The words didn't just hurt—they enraged him. He knew his father's disdain for Maria ran deep, but this… this was something else entirely.
"She wouldn't do that," Georg said firmly, his voice trembling with barely restrained anger. "Maria isn't like that."
Johann stopped pacing, his expression unreadable. "Believe what you will. But you'd be better off forgetting about her, Georg. There's no place for her in your future."
Georg had heard enough. He stormed out of the study, his heart pounding as a mix of fury and determination surged through him. His father was lying—he was certain of it.
The moment he reached his room, Georg began throwing clothes into his bag with hurried movements. He didn't care about his father's disapproval or the consequences of defying him. Maria needed him, and he needed to know the truth.
By the time Johann realized what was happening, it was too late. Georg was already boarding the train to Aigen, his mind fixed on one thing: finding Maria.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The villa in Aigen was eerily quiet when Georg arrived in the early morning hours, his footsteps echoing faintly against the stone floors of the grand house. The butler blinked in surprise at the unexpected sight of the young master but asked no questions, simply bowing his head and stepping aside.
Georg dropped his bags in the entryway and wasted no time. His heart thudded in his chest as he made his way to the gardener's cottage, the place that had been Maria's refuge for so many years.
He hesitated at the door before pushing it open. A wave of cold, stale air greeted him. The sight inside struck him like a physical blow—dusty furniture, empty shelves, and a heavy, suffocating stillness. It was as if the life that once filled this place had been drained away.
Maria was gone.
Pushing back the lump forming in his throat, Georg returned to the main house and sought out the household staff. Sleep-deprived and filled with desperation, he pressed them for answers, asking if anyone had any idea where Franz, the gardener, had gone. Most of them shook their heads, offering nothing but sympathy or shrugs.
It wasn't until the chauffeur spoke up that Georg caught a glimmer of hope.
"I think I saw him working as a mechanic in Tyrol," the man said.
Georg turned sharply, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Do you know where exactly?"
The chauffeur gave him an address, and without wasting another second, Georg was off.
The journey to Tyrol was a blur. By the time Georg arrived at the mechanic's workshop, his exhaustion weighed heavily on him, but his resolve remained unshaken. He spotted Franz immediately, crouched beside a car with grease-streaked hands.
Georg didn't bother with formalities. He marched straight to Franz, his voice carrying across the workshop. "Where is Maria?"
Franz looked up, startled, before his face settled into a frown. "I don't know," he said flatly, wiping his hands on a rag. "Why are you asking me?"
Georg ignored the other workers glancing curiously at the commotion. "You're lying," he said, stepping closer. "You were her guardian. You must know where she is. Tell me where she is!"
Franz sighed and stood, towering over Georg. "I told you, I don't know. She left with her man. Haven't seen her since."
The words felt like a slap. "Her man?" Georg repeated, his voice rising. "She doesn't have a man!"
Franz smirked faintly, though his eyes betrayed unease. "Believe what you want, boy."
Georg saw red. Without thinking, he raised a hand, his fist trembling with the urge to strike Franz. Before he could, a few of the other mechanics intervened, pulling him back.
"Calm down, kid," one of them said gruffly.
Georg struggled for a moment before breaking free, his chest heaving with anger and frustration. He glared at Franz, his voice cutting through the workshop. "You're lying. I know you're lying."
Franz didn't respond, only turning back to his work.
Georg returned to his car, his mind racing as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. He couldn't shake the feeling that his father and Franz had conspired against him, but the pieces didn't quite fit. Johann rarely spoke to those he considered beneath him, so why would he involve Franz in anything?
Still, something about Franz's story didn't add up. Maria wouldn't leave him—she couldn't have.
His chest ached with uncertainty, and the weight of his failure to find her pressed heavily on him. Seeking solace or maybe just numbness, Georg found himself at the nearest pub.
He drank heavily, glass after glass, until the buzzing haze of alcohol dulled his thoughts. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to stop thinking, even if only for a little while.