Chapter Seven

"I don't understand it. He has seven children who need a father. What could he be doing in Belgium for such a long time? Did you see that little girl's face? She was crushed, and he hardly even noticed!"

The Baroness watches me from her throne, which I suppose is actually a high velvet chair, but it looks to me like a throne, and the rest of her room looks like a chamber inside a fairy-tale palace. Every piece of fabric in trimmed in lace, from her long white curtains to her frilly bed, and the oversized vanity in the corner of the room has more bottles than most apothecaries I've seen. "If you'd care to have a seat, Fr?ulein, I'll try to explain."

I take the velvet bench across from her and wait. Outside, the sun has already set, and in the dim light of the room the Baroness's cream taffeta gown gleams like moonlight.

"The Captain must seem quiet and aloof to you, but he was not always this way." She rings a little bell and a maid appears with a tray of tea. With one hand behind her back, she fills our cups, then offers us sugar and milk and retreats. What a strange place, I think, where people come and go without saying a word. I might as well be in Nonnberg.

"Long before the Captain met his wife," she explains, "he was a sailor. He joined the navy at sixteen and by eighteen was already decorated for his role in the Boxer Rebellion."

And I had mistaken him for a butler. I try not to dwell on this mortifying blunder and take a sip of my tea instead.

"The Captain understood from a very young age that technology would be the key to Austria's future, and when the opportunity arose to work on a new type of underwater craft, he leaped at it," the Baroness continues. "At that time, submarines were completely new. I've heard the Baron tell stories of how the periscopes couldn't turn and gas fumes would fill the entire boat until the men would be choking nearly to death. He was incredibly brave. So they gave him the command of his own submarine.

"This was how he met Fr?ulein Agathe. She was there at his submarine's christening. Her grandfather was Robert Whitehead, the inventor of the torpedo. Images of their wedding were carried in all the papers. They should have had a wonderful life." The Baroness pauses to sip her tea and her eyes grow distant.

"The war?" I ask.

She nods. "They had two small children by then. She stayed with her mother, and by the time he returned he'd earned every possible medal, including the Military Order of Maria Theresa."

Even I know what this means. The Maria Theresa cross is the highest award an Austrian officer can receive. It's only given for a truly unbelievable act of bravery.

"And this is why he was given his baronetcy," the Baroness explains. "He returned home a hero and then had two more children. After that, the war ended."

And Austria was defeated. The Treaty of Versailles made sure that Austria would remain landlocked, without a navy or access to the Adriatic Sea. I lower my teacup. "And his career?"

"Finished. There had been talk of making him lord admiral. Then suddenly, there was nothing. Not a single ship left in the imperial navy."

So everything the Captain had ever known was taken away. "What did he do?"

"Some men might have fallen into drink. But he began writing about submarines, and when he wasn't writing he helped his wife raise their children. They taught them music, art, literature…."

I can't imagine Uncle Franz and Anni working together this way.

The Baroness's eyes darken. "Then the fever came."

I hold my breath, willing the story to end differently, though I know it can't. I'd had scarlet fever as a child and remembered the delirium.

"Fr?ulein Agathe was gone within weeks. Little Mitzi was struck next, but it was God's will that she survive. As for the Captain…It had been a terrible blow to lose his career, but his wife…" She shakes her head, and her large pearl earrings glow dully in the low light. "After her death, he moved his family to this estate."

"This isn't where they used to live?" I exclaim.

"Oh, no. He came here to escape the memories. But he never stays long. Seeing his children without their mother is too much."

"So he hires governesses instead."

"An entire staff," she says proudly. "A governess for each child."

"But why would each child need their own governess?"

"Well, you can't have the older children with the younger ones."

"Why not?"

The Baroness places her teacup on the table. "Because that's how the aristocracy wants it." She rises.

I stand as well, placing my teacup on the table. "So each governess just takes a child and goes about their own business?"

For the first time, the Baroness laughs. "If their business is fighting with the other governesses, then yes. The Captain grew so upset over the bickering that he fired them all last month. Fourteen of them. I was trying to manage seven children on my own before you came."

I can see the weariness in her face. She's not old, like the Reverend Mother, but I suspect her size makes it difficult to hurry up and down three flights of stairs after so many children.

"Starting tomorrow, you will be in charge of both Mitzi's and Johanna's education," she says, walking me to the door.

"Johanna?" I think of the pretty child with pale skin and black curls. No one could be a clearer picture of health.

"The girl is too young to make the long walk to school."

I think she's joking at first, but when her face remains serious I point out, "But it's only two miles. And isn't Johanna seven years old?"

"Perhaps you're forgetting how small your legs were at seven." The Baroness smiles.

No. At seven, I was hiking across Kagran with heavy pails of water from the wells. But I don't say anything.

"Martina, of course, will remain at home as well. At her age, I doubt she requires much teaching. You will also see that the remaining four children are ready for school each morning and that they go to their separate rooms to finish their schoolwork in the evenings. When you're not teaching, it would be of great help if you could also take on some sewing and tidying."

"I assume the Captain told you that I'm only being loaned from the convent?" I ask, hesitating at the door.

"Oh, yes. Until August."

I wonder if anyone has also told her that I'm not being paid. That the abbey has sent me here to teach, not to clean rooms or darn socks. I step into the hall and ask my last question. "So why does the Captain only need help for ten months? What does he think will change? Martina will still be too young for school."

The Baroness's eyes go wide. "You haven't heard? The Captain is engaged to the Princess Yvonne. They are hoping to be married this summer."

My heart does a somersault in my chest. Then there will be no chance of needing me for longer! His wife will hire new governesses, women she'll approve of and will be here to oversee. A feeling of euphoria sweeps over me.

The next morning I'm awake with the light. For several moments I panic, trying to remember where I am, then I catch sight of the heavy chandelier above my bed and my shoulders relax. The villa seems quiet. I put on my dress and begin my morning prayers, adding to the usual list of people I ask God to protect a new set of names, most of them children. When I'm finished, I stand at the window and look out.

The trees look to be wrapped in red and gold, and a wide, beautiful lawn stretches impossibly far toward the foot of the mountain. Such a wonderful place for children to grow up. Perhaps later we'll go for a hike or play volleyball in the garden.

I hear a bell ring downstairs and think that this must be the breakfast bell, but when I reach the dining hall, only the Baroness is at the table.

"Am I early?" I ask.

"Not at all. I take my breakfast at sunrise. That bell was for the children, instructing them to get dressed. They'll be down shortly."

I cross the room and notice that the Captain's place is not set.

"He left early this morning," the Baroness explains.

"Without saying goodbye to the children?"

Hans appears with another servant and meets my gaze briefly, and I can see the agreement in his eyes as he pours my tea. But the Baroness just sighs. "He feels it's better that way. However, he left something for you." There's a mischievous look on her face, and she nods toward a heavy box that's been left on my dining-room chair.

I have no idea what it might be. It's too heavy to be a Bible, too light to be a cross for my room. I lift the lid and stare.

"Some suitable clothes," the Baroness says, and I suspect she's had something to do with this.

"You mean, no one likes this?" I tease, holding up the edge of my brown dress. I see Hans stifling a laugh.

"Burlap is perfectly fine in the kitchen. For the rest of the house, these will do."

I return to my room with the heavy package as quickly as I can, and discover that there's an entire wardrobe inside. Five dirndl skirts in different colors, three beautiful embroidered vests, six white blouses, and a soft boxy coat in wool tweed. I choose the red skirt and a black vest embroidered with poppies, then finish the outfit with a thin white belt I find tucked between the blouses. I'm late for breakfast, but the children are amazed at my transformation.

"What happened to your dress?" Johanna asks.

"Oh, do you miss it? I can go and change."

There's a firm chorus of "No"s and Rupert can barely contain his laughter. "It did look a bit like a potato sack, Fr?ulein."

"But one you wore very well," Agathe pipes in.

Everyone begins laughing again and the Baroness clears her throat. "Enough. Let Fr?ulein Maria eat."

The children seem freer without the Captain, as if a storm cloud has passed and they can laugh again. Then the house descends into chaos as breakfast ends and four children search for shoes, hats, bookbags, and coats. The Baroness retreats to her room upstairs, leaving me to fix the problems of Agathe's missing leather glove, Rupert's misplaced bookbag, and Johanna's tears over the unfairness of everyone going to school except her.

"Next year it will be your turn," I promise, guiding her out of the way to a bench near the door. "And not everyone is going," I remind her, retrieving Agathe's leather glove from the inside of a boot. "Mitzi will be here."

"But Mitzi has to stay in bed," she wails, fat tears rolling into her long black curls.

"Martina will be here, too."

"Martina is a baby! I never get to do anything fun." She crosses her arms over her chest and I laugh, opening the door. "You wait here, and I bet we can find something fun for you today as soon as I get back."

I'm wrong. When I return from walking the children to school, the Baroness is waiting with Martina and Johanna in the hall. The three of them are arranged on the padded bench, and I wonder how long the children have been asked to wait for me this way, in total silence. All three rise as soon as they see me, and the Baroness says, "Come. There's quite a bit to do, Fr?ulein."

I suppress my irritation that I should be expected to do anything but teach, and I try to remember that I am doing this for the Captain. His wife may have died four years ago, but for him and the children it might as well have been yesterday. I peel off my gloves and put away my boots, then follow the Baroness across the manor to the nursery.

It's a large, bright room with windows overlooking the sunny meadows outside. There are mechanical horses and rockers, but nothing I can see for older children.

The Baroness explains, "This room is for the younger children. Martina and Johanna will spend their day here. You may teach them in this room once you return from taking the older children to school. At midday, while Martina and Johanna are napping, you will return to the school and escort the older children home for lunch. They will stay until two, at which point you will need to walk them to school again. When you return, you may go upstairs to teach Mitzi while I care for Martina and Johanna in here."

So there will be three trips to the school and three back. Twelve miles a day will take up a great deal of time. Plus teaching. I nod. "And their schoolbooks?"

The Baroness walks me to a large white desk and indicates the bookcase next to it. "You'll find everything you need in here. While Johanna is working and Martina is playing, there is a basket of mending on that shelf. The children's gloves are in terrible shape."

"So why not use mittens? They're cheap. If they're lost or damaged, you can simply get new ones."

"My dear, he may ask that we call him Captain, but Georg von Trapp is a Baron and his children must look the part."

I wait until she leaves to look down at Johanna. "Sounds like we have our orders." I wink. "Shall we get to work?"

"How about we play first?" Johanna begs.

I turn to Martina, trying to include her. "I don't know. What do you think?"

But Martina hides behind her sister. She's the shyest of all the children, and also the most solemn. She was just one when her mother died, and since then has only known a series of governesses. Of all the children, she will benefit the most from the Baron's marriage. When the Princess Yvonne arrives, she will have someone to stay with her and finally some stability. I think back to my own childhood with Mutti. As terrible as it was to live with Uncle Franz, at least I always knew I had her and Anni.

The little girl whispers something in her sister's ear, and Johanna says, "Martina wants you to know she doesn't want to play games. She wishes to color by herself instead."

The request tugs at my heart, but it will be some time before the child trusts me. "All right." I nod, and she runs off to hide inside a little white tent. "How about you and I play backgammon?"

We haven't played for very long before the Baroness is back, watching us from the doorway. Martina, in her white sailor's uniform and blue bow, is nowhere to be seen, while Johanna and I are sprawled out on the rug, cheering after every roll of the dice. Her bow is on the floor and her own pristine sailor suit is now a wrinkled mess.

The Baroness clears her throat and Johanna immediately scrambles to a sitting position. "It is almost eleven," she says.

"Is it?" I rise. I have no way of telling the time. "Then I suppose I should get to work with Mitzi."

"May I suggest you begin by reading the paper?"

"Of course."

—

I pick up the newspaper on Mitzi's nightstand and make a big show of opening it. The headlines are all predictable. Tension in the north. Economy worsening. Something about Hitler publicly agreeing to respect the law and seek political power only through the nation's democratic process. The Baroness leaves and I hand Mitzi the paper.

"Do you normally read this?" I ask.

"Every morning," she says. "Right now all the papers are talking about Hitler. Have you heard of him?"

"Oh, yes." He's the leader of the National Socialist German Workers' Party, or Nazis for short. They're a group of disaffected citizens, still angry about losing the war and determined to see Germany rise again. They call for ludicrous things like conquering Eastern Europe and ridding Germany of its "Jewish government." Last year, Hitler and his band of misfits staged a coup to overthrow the German government. Predictably, it ended with his arrest. But the judge had sympathized with his cause, and instead of deporting him back to Austria, he allowed Hitler to carry out a token sentence in Germany. Nine months later, Hitler emerged from prison as both a martyr and an author. The book he'd written while in jail, Mein Kampf, is apparently a bestseller now in Germany, even with its passages about the "Aryan" race being superior to all others.

"I just can't understand it," Mitzi says.

"None of us can," I confide. "Best to simply ignore news like this." I take back the paper and fold it in half, returning it to her nightstand. "How about something a little more cheerful," I suggest.

Mitzi's face brightens. "Math?"

I laugh, because that wasn't what I was thinking. "All right."

We start with math, then German, and by the time we've done twenty minutes of French it's already noon and I must leave to retrieve the other children. Lunch is chaos with the cook coming out from the kitchen to see what all the fuss is about. Hedwig, who is nine, cannot stand sausage, and nothing on earth will compel her to eat it. Werner, who is twelve and should certainly know better, joins in the refusal and won't eat either. Within minutes it's a full-scale mutiny and the cook is telling everyone it's either sausage or porridge. Hedwig accepts porridge while everyone else is suddenly fine with meat.

The afternoon is not much more successful. Upstairs in her room with nothing to do but read, Mitzi has turned herself into a dedicated student. But this is the extent of her life—books. We sit together while she scribbles away at her poetry and solves algebraic equations, and as the hours drag on the silence becomes oppressive. In Nonnberg there was always the sound of singing, or church bells, or mass. But this slow drip of time while this poor girl solves equation after equation is just intolerable.

"I know!" I exclaim, causing Mitzi to jump in her bed. "Why don't I go and fetch a game?"

She wrinkles her freckled nose. "A game?"

"Sure. Like chess or checkers," I say from her bedside. There's no use in looking over her last few math problems. They'll all be correct.

But Mitzi doesn't look convinced. "I…I think I'd rather just do some more math."

"Mitzi, endless work isn't good for you."

The girl looks shocked. "But I can't do anything else."

"I know you can't go outside, but what about inside? Wasn't there anything you liked to do before this?"

"I did love to play the piano. But I'm not allowed to get up to practice anymore."

"Well, what about the violin? I saw a violin downstairs in the study."

A shadow crosses her face. "That was Mutti's. She used to play with my father. But he put his away four years ago." Tears gather and I hesitate.

"I think your mother would love to know someone is carrying on her passion for music."

Mitzi wipes away the tears with the back of her hand and her shoulders sag. "I don't think the Baroness will agree."

"Well, how about I ask her after dinner? If she says yes, we can start tomorrow."

But that yes begins to seem unlikely as the children gather in the hall after school and prepare to take off their coats and gloves.

"Wait!" I cry, and everyone freezes. "Before we get down to your homework, who would like to go outside and play?"

A chorus of happy voices is raised before the Baroness asks, "I'm afraid what Fr?ulein Maria means to say is, who would like to take a brief walk outside?"

All around me hands are still raised, and I take a deep breath. "All right, a walk."

The Baroness nods approvingly and everyone makes for the door.

"Are we all going together?" Rupert asks.

"What do you mean?" I open the door and the youngest children run past me into the garden. It's a beautiful fall day, crisp with a cloudless blue sky.

"I'm wondering if the older ones will be walking with the younger ones?" he asks, uncertain if he should follow.

I turn to stare at him. At sixteen, he's already taller than I am, with a crop of strawberry blond hair and light eyes. There's a steadiness to Rupert, and I suspect he'll make a fine doctor or engineer. "Of course we're walking together." I hesitate at his surprise. "Don't you go for walks with one another?"

"No."

I look at Agathe, who is hovering near the door as well. She has darker coloring than her brother and is just as striking. "We take our walks in separate groups," she explains. "The eldest and the youngest."

So the children do their work separately, walk separately, play separately. I'm surprised they even eat in the same room. "Well, for as long as I'm here, we all walk together."

The six of them hurry out into the garden, and everyone has something different they want to show me. Werner, who is twelve, with broad shoulders and giant hands, guides me down the gravel path, naming the trees and autumn flowers that we pass. He's a little botanist, with a name for almost everything.

"But no one knows what that is," he says, pointing to a cluster of yellow and white flowers.

I squat down and smile. "Glacier buttercups," I tell him. "We have them in the fell-fields around Tyrol. But I've seen them around the Kitzsteinhorn glacier as well."

Werner studies me with openmouthed fascination. "How do you know this?"

I stand and Johanna slips her hand into mine, pulling me toward a courtyard in the center of the garden. "Oh, I did a great deal of hiking when I was your age. I was part of the Austrian Catholic Youth Movement. We'd travel throughout the Alps collecting folk songs and writing them down for future generations."

Agathe gives a little gasp. "Do you know any of them still?"

"Dozens. We would sing them at night while camping and I would play the guitar."

The children exchange glances.

"Oh, please, will you play some for us?" Agathe asks.

I laugh. "Of course."

The gravel path curves through the garden and ends at the verge of the meadow. This is where the children should be out running free, playing volleyball or tag. Instead, they're walking primly over the stones, quietly discussing the changing leaves. Johanna points out different clusters of wildflowers in between the beds of blush-pink roses, and Werner shows me the tall, showy flowers of a purple monkshood. But when we reach the verge of the meadow, everyone stops.

"This is where we always turn around," Rupert says.

That evening, I seek out the Baroness. She's not in her room, surrounded by ruffles and lace. She's not in the kitchen either. Instead, I find her by the fire in the Captain's library, sewing a dirndl. On her lap is a small dog I've never seen before, with curly white fur and expressive black eyes. His ears perk up as I approach, and the Baroness smiles.

"Fr?ulein Maria. Care to join me in some sewing?"

"Oh, no. No thank you, Baroness."

She indicates the leather couch across from her and I take a seat, wondering where to start. "Do you know why I work for the Captain, Fr?ulein?"

The question has never occurred to me.

"As a boy, the Captain was raised in a household that was probably very similar to your own."

I want to ask if he, too, slept in the attic, but I let her continue.

"However, as the Captain's fortunes grew, he married the daughter of a countess. When Fr?ulein Agathe was alive, she would tell the story of how the emperor used to visit her home. Fr?ulein Agathe understood the kind of expectations that would be placed on their children. Manners, education, dress…"

"But they're not living at court," I point out. "So why not let them be children?"

"Well, of course they're children." She looks affronted.

"I've never seen a quieter group walking past a meadow. They should have been climbing trees or playing tag."

"And ruin their clothes?" The Baroness is aghast. Even the dog struggles to a sitting position to stare at me.

"We could always get them some Wetterfleck, " I suggest.

She makes a face. " Wetterfleck? "

"You know, short capes for playing. Then they won't have to carry around those ridiculous umbrellas. And if they get dirty…"

"Fr?ulein, an umbrella is a sign of good taste."

What a curse to be an aristocrat. "But who are they impressing in the garden?"

"Anyone in the village who might pass by! Imagine if someone comes and the Captain's children are dressed in waterflick."

" Wetterfleck, " I correct.

She stands and puts down her sewing. "I am afraid the Captain would never approve."

She moves toward the door and I rise. "Then what about a violin teacher for Mitzi?"

The Baroness sighs. "Fine. Yes."

When Mitzi hears the news, she is almost in tears. "How did you do it? How did you convince her to say yes?"

I tidy up the papers around her bed and laugh. "By asking her for something that gave her heartburn first."

Mitzi is delighted. She pushes aside the pillows and asks to hear the story. When I'm finished, she pouts. "Well, I thought buying Wetterflecks was a wonderful idea. Even if I couldn't have used one."

"Of course you would have! Do you think you'll be sitting up here forever?"

Mitzi's face brightens and I can see her warming to the idea of being outside and playing for the first time in months. "So what will you do now?" she asks in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Well, it won't start raining for another few weeks. Until then, perhaps all we need are some playclothes."

"But what will the Baroness say? And where will you find them?"

I take the chair next to her bed to have a think when a movement in the center of the room catches my eye. The doors to the balcony have been left slightly open and the sheer curtains are dancing in the breeze. Mitzi's room has been decorated for airiness and light. But whoever decorated my room decided on curtains of heavy damask. I watch the curtains move and twist in the breeze, then a wild idea comes to me.