Chapter Text
AN: This can absolutely be read alone, but it’s better in my little universe. It would follow “Take Care,” if you’re interested. This story is AU and does not include the Ausschluss. If I write anything in the future, I’ll never promise to be historically accurate or entirely canon compliant.
There will be another chapter to come as soon as possible.
I own nothing from the Sound of Music or anything/anyone related to it. This is just a work of fiction for entertainment value.
I hope you enjoy! If you do, please consider leaving a comment or review to let me know!
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Maria drew in a breath and opened her eyes, trying to give herself a more accurate “first look” at her appearance. Georg had chosen the patterns for the dresses that she’d made. He had made the trip, himself, to do a little shopping and surprise her. Without a doubt, he’d asked for opinions and assistance, but he’d assured her that he’d had the final say in what he thought would be most beguiling on her.
He had chosen three patterns for her, and he’d brought her enough material for six dresses—more than enough, but he was clearly feeling rather indulgent. There were new nightclothes, not that she needed them, and new underclothes that didn’t fit, but he assured her that she would grow into everything—as well as have more, when and if she required it.
Two of the patterns were very similar. They had ties that ran just under Maria’s breasts and flowed downward from there, never daring to hug her figure again. Of those, one was to be made with some very nice material, so that Maria could wear the garment for any sort of social gathering where she might need to look a bit more presentable than she did just around their home or out somewhere with Georg. The third pattern began its flow from her shoulders, practically. It was two pieces, and the skirt that accompanied it was made in such a way that it would be forgiving as Maria’s body grew to accommodate their little one—and, likely, for others that would be to come, very soon if their seven children were any indication of how quickly their family may grow. Maria had made one dress, in that style, with buttons that Georg had chosen going all the way down the front of its top. The other was solid and without adornment.
All of the dresses were finally complete now, and they were ready for everyone to see them for the first time.
Maria was quite good at sewing. She was also quite quick, without sacrificing quality. She could easily sew any of the dresses in a day, which she knew was far faster than many could manage. She had put off finishing them, honestly, for a bit. She’d sewn here and there, in spurts, but she hadn’t truly dedicated herself to her work like she might have in the past. The children needed her attention, after all, and their classes would be beginning soon. She wanted to enjoy the last bit of their break with them. Georg had insisted that she finish the dresses, though, and the sooner the better.
Babies were delicate, he’d reminded her. Mothers were delicate, too, when they were in her condition. He’d feared that the dresses she was wearing, in the meantime, would be too binding. They would limit the little one’s growth and, perhaps, even lead to a tragedy that could have been prevented.
The very real fear that he might be right, especially now that her own dresses were starting to feel tight, had been the only thing that had driven Maria to finish the dresses as quickly as she had, devoting more hours than she would have liked to sewing them. They were done, now, though, and Georg would be happier for it.
At least, she assumed that he would be.
Standing in front of the mirror, Maria was wearing one of the dresses that belted under her breasts. It was made in shades of blue, and the material was truly beautiful. Still, Maria felt her throat tighten and her eyes prickle at the sight of it.
“Crying over a dress,” she scolded herself, in a hissing whisper, to be sure that she heard her own admonishment. “Vanity is a sin,” she reminded herself, in the same hushed tone. “Besides—you’re a grown woman. A married woman. A mother of seven! And expecting, no less. It’s time to stop being foolish and…and childish.”
Still, her throat ached. She closed her eyes for a moment. She drew in a breath and stilled herself. She opened her eyes again, to look at herself once more.
She was still quite newly married. She and Georg had only been married two and a half months, now, and it would seem that she might have even taken this little one aboard, so to speak, the very first time that the were together. Georg had teasingly called it his wedding present to her.
She was very happy, of course, and she did want the baby desperately. She had a husband, now, that she loved dearly—a husband who loved her and made her feel as though she were the most important thing in the world. She felt treasured, loved, accepted, and important. She felt everything that she’d never felt before. She had a family—a real family, all her own—and she had seven beautiful children. Though the children were not her biological children, and though she was very careful to help them keep the memory of their real mother alive, she loved them as dearly as she ever could imagine loving any child.
And, now, she was carrying a baby created from the love that she and Georg held for each other. It would be her biological child—the first that she would carry and deliver into the world. The first, she accepted, of what was likely to be many, should God will that for her as he had for Agathe.
It was a new chapter, following so closely after so many other new chapters, and she was, she supposed, simply feeling a bit overwhelmed.
It felt as if she and Georg were only just beginning to get to know each other’s bodies. It was likely that she’d come to be expecting this little one the very first time that Georg had touched her in the way that, as her husband, only he was ever allowed to touch her. She was just beginning to truly feel comfortable and relaxed with their lovemaking—less nervous than she’d been, at first. She was only beginning to trust that she truly didn’t disappoint him. She was only starting to believe that she knew what he liked, and that she could offer him pleasure. She was only just beginning to understand what she truly enjoyed, and she was only just finding her voice when it came to making requests and guiding him toward what pleased her most.
And, now, she was facing the very visible proof that she was already opening the page on a new chapter in which her body, without a doubt, would be very different.
The body she dressed and presented to her husband would look very different than the one that he had fallen in love with. The body that he would take to bed would be very different. She would be living, from here out, in a body that was quite unlike the one she’d known before she’d become a mother.
It would be very different from the body that Georg had first made love to—and the one in which he had planted the seed that had created this new life that she was now growing.
Georg would look at her differently—he must, because she would be different—but it was foolish to think that different meant that he would necessarily see her as less attractive. After all, he was the father of seven—eight, as he preferred to say, now that they were aware of the little one that Maria carried—and there was no doubt that he had loved Agathe dearly. He hadn’t stopped loving her because she’d carried Liesl, and he hadn’t stopped loving her because she’d carried every other one of their children. If she hadn’t died, as she had, perhaps they would have had more children after Gretl.
Still, looking at her body as it was now, not much different, yet robed in a dress that—although made from beautiful material—seemed to be made from excessive lengths of fabric…more, even, it seemed than the most modest of the habits she’d seen in the convent, it was hard to believe that Georg could find this attractive. It was hard to believe that he could find her attractive. And the thought that, one day, there would be enough of her to make the amount of fabric she’d used necessary, made it even more impossible to think that he could find her attractive.
He may love her, but she felt as if she were suddenly feeling the realization melt over her that there was a difference between love and attraction. There must be, especially when it came to wives, who were always expected to look and act in such particular ways, just to be acceptable.
It all seemed very overwhelming as it crashed over Maria, standing in front of her own reflection. And, as Gretl was fond of saying, usually just before she did so, it made Maria want to cry.
She indulged herself only for a few moments, and she kept her handkerchief handy to mop away the large, hot tears as they rolled down her face. She was being silly, she knew. It was childish and inappropriate—as a mother of seven, and a married woman, no less—to cry over the fact that she doubted, sincerely, that her husband would find her attractive for much longer, and she’d had so little time to enjoy their time together when he did. Still, Maria knew that allowing herself to shed a few tears, here, would help to keep them from escaping her at an inopportune time, when she might be less able to control them.
When she looked at her reflection again, her tears and face dry, she frowned at it once more. Her cheeks were red. Her eyes were red. Her nose was red. It was clear that she’d been crying, and she fought against the unexpected sensation that she might cry again, rising up in her the same way that other things seemed to rise up in her—quite beyond her control—when she was offered food that, for whatever reason, was unappealing these days.
She fought it back.
She turned sideways and took in her reflection from that angle. She smoothed the dress down and pressed her hand to her tummy. There was only the slightest change there—likely imagined or the result of the digestive upset that seemed to be plaguing her since the little one had taken up residence in her body.
Her reflection was bringing her no joy, at the moment, and she felt so entirely overwhelmed with sadness at the thought that Georg might no longer find her attractive, that she was finding it nearly impossible to find a happy thought in all the things that she had so often used to distract herself from any of the misery that she’d experienced in life.
“Stop it,” she said to herself, aloud. “This baby is a blessing. A treasure, as Georg says. The creation of our love.” She smiled at the thought. Her reflection, red-eyed, red-nosed, and red-cheeked, smiled back at her. “God’s gift to us. A living sign of our love, for all the world to see. A new life—so full hope, and promise, and love.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out. The smile felt a bit more natural, now, on her lips. “Our baby. Oh—this is our baby. And babies must grow…and mothers must sacrifice. It’s God’s will. I will grow so that our baby has all that it needs. I would never deny any of the children anything that they need, and that includes this…this precious little one who trusts me for…for everything.”
She pressed her hands to her tummy. She closed her eyes. She imagined that she could hug the little thing, pressing gently on herself. She imagined that she could soothe any hurt she might have caused her baby by feeling at all bitter for any part of its existence, as she came to terms with what that existence meant for her.
“I will do better, God,” she breathed out. “I will be a better mother. Please—help me to be a better mother.”
She finished her prayer, crossed herself, and opened her eyes again.
“And I’ll be the best wife that I can be,” she said, to herself this time. “Even if I may be disappointing to him so soon after our marriage.” She shook her head. “No. I…won’t put words in his mouth. That’s unfair to Georg, and he deserves better than that. I will…let him see me. I will let him tell me what he thinks, and how he feels. And…I will simply be prepared to accept it, whatever it may be.”
“Mistress…”
Maria jumped when she heard Frau Schmidt outside the door. There was a light tapping on the door.
Maria cleared her throat, hoping that her voice wouldn’t tremble and give away her recent tears, though she was quite sure that her face might give her away—at least to anyone who paid close attention.
“The family has gathered to eat, and the captain sent me to see if you require anything…”
Maria smiled at the gentle request from Frau Schmidt. The woman could be abrupt and, at times, even a bit harsh. She could also be quite gentle, too.
“Please tell the captain that I’m coming now,” Maria said. “I don’t need anything.”
“Very well,” Frau Schmidt said.
Maria smiled to herself. Her pulse sped up at the very mention of Georg. The thought of seeing him at a meal still thrilled her, as though she weren’t married to him and hadn’t spent much of the day in his presence. She loved him beyond reason, and she believed that he loved her just as completely.
There was love. No matter what else there was or wasn’t—or what may come or go between them—there was great love. That would have to be enough.
And though it made her quite nervous to face the possibility that anything else might not be as it had been since he’d first confessed his love to her, Maria knew that she had to face it, and she had to let him be the one to speak for himself. She wasn’t going to put words in his mouth.
She could only hope to hear what she wanted, and not what she feared.