Sequel to "Somewhere (in my childhood)"
Many years ago, I wrote a whimsical little thing where a young Maria meets Agathe and Georg. So many of you left reviews and messages wanting a sequel of M and G meeting in the future - but every time I tried, it never felt right (though some of those meetings found their way into other M/G meet-cutes.) When I eventually realized the direction this story needed to take (funny how these things seem to develop minds of their own) it took a very very very long time to get off the ground because, well... *everything* about it was difficult. :P This is not exactly an AU - I suppose it's the same U, but the SOM timeline has been turned on its head.
It's not strictly necessary to read "Somewhere" beforehand, but it does set the scene (and it's a short read!) Take special note of the genre, as I know it's not going to be everyone's cup of tea. (But there are 2 more instalments planned, because boy, do those genres change!) I hope you'll join me on this new adventure! xo
"Things might be hard for you now, but I believe you have a great capacity to love. And one day, as you told me, you'll find that love again."
- Georg von Trapp, "Somewhere"
xxx
Chapter One
Seven!
Maria Rainer liked children, of course.
Her uncle had been Maria's only family, and when he had died, Maria had been placed in a home for girls. She'd gone from longing for playmates to being surrounded by children. She'd gone from silence to chaos – at least as chaotic as one could get in a home run by nuns.
How sad, people had said about her. But Maria hadn't been sad. The very opposite, she'd found a comfort, a strength, a calling, if you will, living in the home she'd never felt before. She hadn't stayed long, only a few years, but Maria had been one of the oldest girls. She'd looked after many children. She was good with children, the nuns said approvingly, and Maria found herself filled with pride. Perhaps she was a nobody to the world, but at least here, she could do some good. And so Maria had worked hard. She had taken the most menial of jobs – sometimes more than one at a time – had scrimped and saved to put herself through the local teacher's course last year. She'd held on to the thought that one day, she might be able to offer those poor children more than she once had.
But, God in Heaven, seven children!
The Baroness never left all seven of her children in their care, of course. And she was never gone long, but sometimes, even five felt like five too many for the tired nuns who taught school to the poor during the day and woke before dawn to pray.
The Baroness's children attended another school in town, but they would come to the nuns during after school hours. The family was new to Salzburg. The Baroness had not secured a governess, and she had a newborn at home. They were doing the Lord's work, Sister Augusta assured them.
"They've only been here an hour, and I'm already counting down the minutes," Sister Sophia sighed. She glanced up at the clock, while simultaneously intercepting a paintbrush before the boy could paint a lock of his sister's nutbrown hair a bright orange. Liesl shrieked, and Friedrich snatched his hand back before she could smack it. Sister Sophia, normally so composed Maria envied her, shook her head helplessly.
Before Maria could do more than open her mouth, little Louisa tugged at her starched grey pinafore. "Fraulein, I need help." She waved the delicate paper flower she was supposed to be cutting in the air. Maria knelt next to her, rescuing the artwork before it crumpled in Louisa's small hands.
Across the table, Sister Sophia was saying to Friedrich, hands on her matronly hips, "that was a bit naughty of you, wasn't it?"
"Yes it was, Sister Sophia," Friedrich replied, quite cheerfully and very unrepentantly.
Maria looked down to hide a smile. "What's happening here, Louisa?" She examined the partially cut page of squiggles. Louisa was the youngest of the three, but she had been the most determined and made the most progress. "Are we to cut along here…" Maria drew her finger down one squiggle, " – or here…" she traced another line. "Or maybe here?" She jabbed yet another squiggle, sending mischievous Louisa giggling. "Let's ask Sister Sophia."
The nun held up her hands in surrender. "I teach algebra."
Maria was the one who taught primary at their little abbey schoolhouse. She taught numbers and letters, singing and art – nothing she really needed a degree for. But the nuns had been all too happy to hire her on after she graduated her course, all of them grateful not to be the one assigned to entertaining the little ones, with their boundless energy and never-ending questions. Maria was decidedly not patient by nature, but she had no problem with the children. She understood the children. She had once been the child who could not sit still, who would daydream the lesson away, who was punished even when she already had so little. Maria wanted these children of the poor to know that in her classroom, they had a safe space. A place where they could be children. Everything she never had, and desperately wanted.
But perhaps the children of Baronesses did not need those things. Perhaps they had expectations to meet, impressionism artwork to complete.
And so Sister Sophia watched the clock, and Maria watched Sister Sophia. Watched her brows draw together as Louisa complained over her paper cut-out, watched them crease as Liesl sighed over hers, watched her purse her lips as Friedrich accidentally dipped his orange paintbrush into the green paint can.
The children had been in their care for two weeks now, and every afternoon unfolded this way.
Maria bit her lip. She imagined she would be much the same in the children's place. If only they could – "Don't you think perhaps all this art after school is really a little too much for the children?" She wondered out loud. "Maybe if we can take them out, into the garden – "
The room charged instantaneously.
"Yes! Can we Fraulein?" Louisa threw down her paper, blood pigtails bouncing.
"Please?" Friedrich chimed in from across the table, his nose scrunching in excitement. Beside him, Liesl, the eldest of the three, looked at her hopefully.
"Well – " Maria exchanged looks with Sister Sophia.
"Now you've done it," Sister Sophia said.
"Well – " She started again, looking into three sets of pleading eyes, all varying shades of blue. Children of Baronesses they might be, but in that moment, Maria Rainer had no problem understanding them.
"Right now? Please?"
Maria gave in. "Well, alright children. I don't see why not. Go get your coats."
All three raced to find their jackets, enthusiasm restored. Friedrich and Liesl even remembered to tuck in their chairs.
Sister Sophia tsked at her side. "You give in far too easily to those young scallywags."
"Oh, Sister Sophia," Maria coaxed, "look at how lovely it is outside."
Sister Sophia gave a cursory glance out the window. "It looks like any average spring day to me," she sniffed, but her lips twitched. Maria seemed to have that effect on people, although she didn't seem to know it.
"The sky is so blue, and everything is so green." Maria inhaled, closing her eyes. "I don't think I could sit still on a beautiful day like this. Don't you think children need time to just play?"
The nun shook her head affectionately. The girl was exasperating much of the time, but it was impossible not be taken in by her enthusiasm. "You are hardly more than a child yourself," she chided.
"I'm 18." Maria laughed. "What's so childish about that?" It had been a long time since she'd felt like a child. It had been even longer since she'd been treated like one. But nothing had changed her love of being outdoors over the years. If there was a problem that could not be solved by going outside, Maria Rainer had yet to find it.
Friedrich and the girls returned with their coats, all cut from the same cloth in a dusty shade of blue. Liesl had on a jaunty matching little hat, looking very much like the little lady she was at 10 years old.
"Mind you don't get those smart jackets covered in dirt," Sister Sophia called after them as they hurtled through the door.
The children were fetchingly dressed. The girls were in stockings and dainty slippers. Friedrich's trouser shorts were primly creased. Maria pictured the Baroness carefully attiring each child, and felt a sudden stab of misgiving.
"Sister Augusta told the Baroness we would be working on the children's artwork." Sister Sophia sighed in resignation as they followed the children outside.
Maria sighed, too. Had she let excitement get the better of her? Would the Baroness be upset when she came to pick up her children? Maria always seemed to be acting before she thought. Well, it was too late, now. "Well, change of agenda to physical education."
The days had gotten longer, and the sun was still high above their little garden. Early spring flowers had begun to bloom. The air that blew down from the mountains was fresh, with the barest hint of winter. The children were already in action. Liesl and Louisa set about creating a hopping game out of the gravel along the path. Friedrich chasing after something in the grass. ("Fraulein, look what I found!" He said moments later, showing them the grasshopper he'd captured. "Did you know, Fraulein, that grasshoppers sing with their legs?")
There was nothing wrong with the children. Even Maria felt suddenly lighter, happier, now that they were outside. In a sudden moment of clarity, Maria thought perhaps seven children couldn't be so very bad, after all.
As though she'd summoned them, she saw Sister Catherine's tall form making her way toward them from the far end of the garden. A young boy was hanging on to her skirts, a wailing toddler in her arms. Sister Catherine had been overseeing the Baroness's two younger children.
"Change of plans," Sister Catherine called, thrusting the toddler toward Maria. That was evidently a recurring theme today, Maria thought, accepting the child.
"This youngster says he is hungry." Sister Catherine caught Kurt by the hand with one hand as she straightened her glasses with the other.
Sister Sophia raised a brow. "Didn't you give – "
"We had fruit."
" – but, " the boy cut in, cherubic face in a pout, "Marta knocked my apple slices onto the floor."
"Yes, alright Kurt, I said I would get you a piece of buttered bread. But it was not a kind thing to shout at your sister." Sister Catherine looked beseechingly at Maria. "Would you be so helpful – " she gestured to the fussing toddler in Maria's arms.
"Yes of course." Maria clutched the little girl threatening to wriggle loose.
Sister Sophia shook her head as Sister Catherine led Kurt away.
Maria looked down at little Marta, shifting her solid weight against her hip so she could wipe the tears and hair away from her face. "There, there Marta," she soothed, rocking her from side to side as the toddler fussed and tried to push away.
Liesl and Louisa came over. "Marta cries a lot," Louisa explained, with patient seven-year-old wisdom. "She'll be alright soon." She waved a fistful of daffodils she had picked in front of Marta's face.
"She likes it when you rub her back." Liesl patted Marta's back gently. "Like this."
"Thank you, girls," Maria said quietly. In her arms, she could feel Marta calming, responding to the familiarity and comfort of her sisters. "What good big sisters you are."
Marta reached for her sister's flowers as Louisa held them out. Instead of grabbing them as Maria expected the toddler to do, she brushed a chubby hand across the petals. "Pretty," she said in an adorable lisp.
"Let's pick more," Louisa said to Liesl. "We can make a bouquet for mama." The girls plunged back into the garden, and Marta watched them from Maria's arms. She was tired, Maria realized, seeing her lids flutter. She swayed back and forth on the spot. Slowly, Marta's head drooped onto her shoulder, and within moments, she was asleep.
Maria and Sister Sophia stood in silence, watching the children play. Maria, cradling little Marta, didn't see the way Sister Sophia looked over from time to time, as though surprised and a little proud to see that Maria could, in her own fashion, manage the children.
Marta was sleeping so soundly, even the peeling bell at the gate didn't wake her. Sister Sophia went to answer it.
Moments later, she showed in an exquisitely dressed woman with an armful of baby. She was trailed by a small, dark-haired girl with an elfin face and a serious expression. Maria had never met the Baroness, but she knew Brigitta, the quietest of all the siblings. Even at her tender not-quite-five years, she spent all her time buried in the little schoolhouse's book collection.
"I'm so sorry we ran late, Sister Sophia," Maria could hear the Baroness as they came closer. Against their humble garden and stone buildings, she looked like a painting in her white skirt and silky blouse, honey-brown hair piled into a loose knot held in place by a delicate band. Maria could see where the children acquired their sense of fashion. "Brigitta took a little longer than we expected." She turned to look at her young daughter. "Brigitta, tell Sister Sophia what you were doing this afternoon."
Brigitta's eyes lit up. She bounced forward, long braid swinging behind her. "Mama took me to write a telegram for – "
"Mama! Mama!"
"Mama! You're back!"
All four of the Baroness's older children emerged from different parts of the garden at the same time, rushing toward their mother.
"Children – " Maria stepped forward, but it was too late.
"Oh! Darlings, you…!" The Baroness bent down, engulfed in hugs and dirty fingers. When she straightened, her dress was smudged, covered in fingerprints, and in Kurt's case, what appeared suspiciously like a smear of jam. Sister Sophia froze at her side, and Maria winced.
"We picked these for you, mama!" Louisa held out a bouquet of flowers, considerably bigger than the one she'd shown Marta just a short while ago.
"How lovely! I've never seen such bright narcissi. These would look beautiful in that yellow pot cook has." To Maria's relief, the Baroness didn't seem to mind the mess. She looked from one child to the next. "What have you been getting up to?"
"Look what I caught!" Friedrich showed his mother the prized grasshopper. "Do we have a jar to keep him in, mama?"
"I rather think you could use that jar from the peaches you snuck this morning." The Baroness said, adopting a stern expression even as she peaked into his cupped hands to admire his specimen. Beside her, Sister Sophia covered a smile with her arm.
"Mama, I missed you! Sister Catherine gave me a piece of toast."
"Kurt, look at you!" The Baroness shook her head and laughed. She sounded young and merry. She shifted the baby against her and drew out a white handkerchief, wiping the jam off her son's face.
"We were having a marvelous time!"
"I believe you." Her eyes met Maria's, still standing with Marta asleep in her arms. "Thank you, for looking after the…" They words died on her lips.
"Oh!" Maria breathed.
They stared at each other. Maria had never met a Baroness, she was sure. Had never met anyone with such perfect hair, wearing such beautiful pearls, lips stained such a becoming shade of red. But there was something so familiar about those eyes; wide, gray eyes fringed with long dark lashes. Maria knew that expression – a well-bred politeness which didn't quite hide the curiosity and eagerness beneath – framed by a different facial structure, a different hairstyle, anchored in a different time, a different age.
The moment stretched on, each searching their memory, grasping for something only just out of reach.
"Have we met before?" Agathe asked, brows furrowing. The same moment, Sister Sophia, looking nervously from one to the other, ventured, "it wasn't all Maria's fault – you mustn't blame her, Baroness von Trapp..."
Maria gasped out loud.
von Trapp.
She knew that name. She'd met someone by that name, many years ago, one warm summer evening when she lived with her uncle in Vienna. When her recklessness had propelled her to crash an illustrious gala armed with only a name – Captain Georg von Trapp. When it didn't even occur to her that sneaking into the gardens of a wealthy villa might be considered trespassing. She'd run into a dashing young war captain, who really ought to have turned her in. Not only had he not, he'd managed to put her at ease, let down his guard so she saw that decorated naval hero though he was, perhaps they were not so very different.
She had been a young girl then, younger than Liesl, even.
"… Maria?"
She had been wearing her skirt with the tear at the hem, had ripped her stockings earlier that day. She'd followed a beautiful girl in an iridescent white dress with a blue satin sash into a clearing, no less impulsive than she was now. Even then, they couldn't have been more different. But somehow, they'd found themselves friends, exchanging confidences. Each offered something the other needed, and each gave it unreservedly.
"Agathe? Agathe…von Trapp?"
Baroness Agathe von Trapp nodded.
The last time Maria had seen her, Agathe had been crying, believing her young Captain no longer cared for her. It was Maria herself who had pursued Georg von Trapp to the party, Maria who had made the captain see sense, who'd convinced him that a love so great was worth the risk.
That entire evening had been a dizzying dance, one where she didn't know the steps but he'd let her lead anyway, one where she really didn't belong but Agathe and Captain von Trapp made her feel she could do anything.
That magical evening became a bright point in a miserable past.
Maria had never dared hope the memory might have a sequel. But so many times during her darkest moments she'd wondered if somewhere out there, there might still be a love worth all the world.
She had hoped so. Had convinced herself it must be so.
The story between Agathe and Captain von Trapp had to have a happy ending.
But seeing the Baroness alone, sending her children to be minded by nuns who ran a school for the poor, Maria felt a sudden pang of dread. Had what the Captain had dreaded come true as well?
Without realizing it, Maria took a few steps forward. "Your Captain," Maria started. "Is he – did he…?"
Had Captain von Trapp perished in battle like he so feared, leaving behind his wife and his children?
The Baroness rushed to shake her head. She'd understood immediately. "No, no. He led his men through the war. Quite victoriously. He's retired now."
Maria sagged in relief. "Oh, I see." It took a few moments for her to let herself believe the storybook ending – one she had helped write. Let herself believe that her heroine was here, was standing before her very eyes.
Agathe's expression had lost some of its incredulity as they looked each other over. Suddenly, she grinned, cheeks flushing a rosy red. "Maria." Agathe came forward and embraced her. Maria returned the hug. It didn't matter than Agathe was all pressed powder and silks against Maria freckles and rough spun wool. It didn't matter that Agathe was a Baroness and Maria was a teacher for the poor, all but poor herself. All awkwardness of maneuvering around two sleeping children was erased by the sheer delight of finding a kindred spirit they never expected to see again.
Maria drew back, squeezing Agathe's arm. "You married him!"
Agathe's grey eyes danced with merriment. "Yes!"
Marta stirred, and Maria lowered her voice to an excited whisper. "And had children!"
"Seven!" She clasped Maria back warmly, grey eyes sparkling. "I cannot bring myself to believe all these weeks they've been under your care. I cannot believe it's really you." The Agathe Maria remembered meeting was poised, composed even in heartbreak, every inch a proper young lady. She might have become a wife and a Baroness, but this Agathe was as giddy as Maria felt, as excited as undignified schoolgirls.
Sister Sophia gaped at the reunion unfolding before her. "Maria, you and the Baroness von Trapp know each other?"
They exchanged glances, laughed, and Agathe explained, "we met, a long time ago."
"I wanted to come after you," Agathe admitted as Maria accompanied her and the von Trapp children to their waiting car. The children skipped ahead, unconcerned at the news that their mother and the Fraulein who'd been looking after them knew each other, as though it were the most natural development in the world. "That evening. Georg told me how you found him – "
" – I believe he found me," Maria mused. She had been lost, stumbling about a vast garden without the slightest clue or plan how she would get inside the mansion and into the party. In the end, she hadn't needed to. Captain von Trapp had been outside. He'd been waiting for someone, he'd said. Of course, he hadn't expected to meet her. "I was so afraid he was going to turn me out from the ball. Humiliate me in front of all the guests."
"I was afraid of that very thing. I was trying to tell you as much, but would you listen? If it had been Count Bittner or General Wenzl, you really would have been in for it." Agathe smiled. Maria all those years ago had been a scrap of a girl, all heart and fire. "However you managed to find each other, it was providential."
"I could hardly believe it. I can't even remember how I got the Captain to listen to what I had to say!"
"Listen, and I believe Georg was also inspired by you."
"Inspired?" Maria echoed, confused.
Agathe's grin softened in response to Maria's furrowed brows. "I loved him before," she explained, "but I didn't know all of him. He was careful. There was always a part of him he kept in reserve, a little bit of a mystery. But since that night, he never held anything back of himself." She glanced sideways at Maria. "Did you know, the first thing he said to me after he found me in the clearing was call himself a damnable fool – well, damnable wasn't the exact word he used – and ask me to marry him?"
Maria exhaled an exasperated laugh. She could still picture him from all those years ago, formidable in military regalia, his eyes warm even as she'd called him a chicken. "Now that doesn't sound very romantic."
"No, but I said yes anyway." Agathe laughed. "Afterward, I wanted him to go after you. I foolishly hoped we could do something for you like you had done for us."
"I didn't tell Captain von Trapp where I lived." Maria had not mentioned her uncle or her home. She never did. But of course Agathe could tell, the Captain could tell, anyone could tell by her dress worn almost to rags that Maria did not come from fortunate circumstances.
"And Georg would not have asked even if he could. He said you had your own story to write, and we were to leave you alone."
Maria smiled. Captain von Trapp had understood her. It was not that she was ashamed – even then, she knew it wasn't her fault – it was a part of her story, but oh, not nearly all!
Agathe looked pensive, a little wistful. "I knew it was the sensible thing to do, but I was selfishly sorry to lose you."
"I always thought of you as a friend," Maria said honestly. "The Captain, too." That incident had shown her that friendship could be found in the most unlikely of places, between the most unlikely of companions. And that knowledge that sustained her over many years, for she was more likely than not to see kindhearted people everywhere.
"I have often thought about you." Agathe smiled. "Whenever I felt down, or small, I would say to myself, 'I must live as boldly as Maria.' And that gives me the strength to get on with it."
Maria laughed. "The nuns would call that 'acting before you think'."
"Well, I think there's quite a lot of bravery in grasping happiness by the horns like you did for me that evening."
Maria considered this, a little taken aback by how Agathe put it. Happiness. She supposed she did help Agathe and Captain von Trapp find happiness. But there had been so very few chances in her life to think about that, much less grab it by the horns.
Her uncle had not been a good man, Maria knew that now. When she had been a young girl, she only knew to be grateful that he had taken her in after her parents died, that he had not left her behind in Vienna when he's escaped to Salzburg after his body began to cave under the weight of years of drinking.
She had not known just how neglectful he had been until she lived under the neat and orderly care of the nuns. Until she realized just how much more she could be with just a little encouragement, and her basic needs met. But while Maria might have been content at the girls home with the nuns, she had found her sanctuary in the mountains. It was at once peaceful, and safe, wild, and… exultant, like she was closer to God. She might have been alone, but she never felt lonely up in the mountains. She could not say if she was happy, but Maria could never be truly unhappy, so long as she had her mountains.
But how could Maria explain this to Baroness von Trapp? Would Agathe pity her?
"Maria?" Agathe asked gently.
"I was just thinking of the mountains," Maria said, for this much was true. "It's a place that has always brought me happiness." After all, did it truly matter whether Maria had been chasing happiness, or whether she had stumbled upon it as an escape, more than anything?
Agathe nodded. She hesitated for a moment, sensing Maria's reluctance, and wisely chose to say nothing more. "We haven't been in Salzburg long," she said instead. "I'm afraid we haven't had very much time to explore the area. But the children do like it here. Georg does, too."
As they approached the sleek black car that awaited them, a man with sharp angles and a receding hairline came around to open the door for them. "Thank you, Franz," Agathe said.
The man greeted them with a curt nod. His brusqueness looked so cartoonish Maria had to quickly cover a laugh with her hand. "Is the Captain away?"
Agathe nodded, shepherding her brood into the car. "Georg's become a rather renowned figure since the war. He spends most of his time consulting for shipping companies and sits on more advisory boards and counsels than I can count. And in his spare time, he helps my grandfather run his business." She laughed, but her look was one of pride. "I suppose I've gotten used to sharing him with the world."
That look and that easy laugh, Maria reflected, must have been hard won. It couldn't be easy, caring for seven children, wondering when your husband would return. At least Agathe no longer had to wonder if he would return.
Agathe slid into the backseat of the car with the children, reaching out so Maria could nestle Marta, still fast asleep, against the crook of her arm. "Thank you, Maria."
"You're welcome." Maria smoothed the girl's loose brown curls off her sleeping face.
Agathe made a face. "Not for Marta, my dear Maria. For today. And for that evening. And for – oh, everything. I haven't felt so worked up in months – in the best possible way. We must arrange to meet again."
Maria had to grin. "I'll be here every day with the children." Agathe's enthusiasm was catching, even though Maria thought Agathe could not possible really mean everything. She was a Baroness after all, married to a famous war hero.
Agathe shook her head decidedly. "I'd be too jealous of the children." Her smile was mischievous. "Perhaps you could show me around sometime. Introduce me to all your favourite spots in Salzburg."
Maria's smile matched hers. "Have you been up to the mountains?"