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"Attention, attention everyone! I have an announcement to make!"
Like everyone else, Jemma's eyes were immediately trained on Phil. She watched with interest as he corralled all seven children into the space in front of him.
"Surprise, surprise," he continued, "today, after a long and desperate search, I have finally found a most exciting entry for the Salzburg Science Festival."
The double doors closed a little louder than strictly necessary, heralding the entrance of Captain von Fitz.
"Congratulations," he said with a frown instead of the smile Jemma would have anticipated, "and who will you be exploiting this time?"
Jemma pursed her lips despite her best efforts to keep her expression neutral. Even after the months she'd spent teaching the Von Fitz children, she still felt like a newcomer in this house, and even moreso when it came to the guests that the captain saw fit to bring back from Vienna. If Phil was untrustworthy, why would a man such as the captain bring him into his home?
But then, she hardly understood anything Captain von Fitz did, and she wasn't sure why it bothered her so much.
"The Richards Group," guessed Baroness Nathan, and Jemma had to blink once or twice to before she remembered that there had, indeed, been a question. Phil pointed a finger at the baroness, clearly amused by her answer.
"Guess again," said Phil.
"Hmm."
Another thing that Jemma did not understand was how the captain could draw the attention of the entire room with one thoughtful syllable. The children practically worshiped him of course, but why did she have the same response?
"Oh, let me see now," he mused, closing the distance between himself and Phil, "umm . . . the Quinn Group."
That had been the answer on the tip of Jemma's tongue, and she felt an odd sense of relief when he supplied it. When Phil told him this answer was also wrong, the captain resumed pacing without a hint of the surprise Jemma was feeling.
"Tell us," begged Daisy.
Phil regarded her kindly. "It's a group of scientists all in one family." He turned to the captain. "You'll never guess, Leopold."
"Ah," the captain replied, "well, that should be interesting. Whose family?"
Phil clasped his hands behind his back and offered a mischievous grin. "Yours."
Jemma had no idea what the captain would do, and she was surprised when he merely smiled and walked away.
"No."
He left the room, but the children, of course, followed him. Everyone did.
"But you saw what they can do," argued Phil, "they'll be a sensation!"
"No, Phil," said the captain, inciting a chorus of groans from the children. "My mother's children do not perform in public."
A look of understanding passed between Phil and the captain, and Phil took a gracious step back.
"Well," he said, "you can't blame me for trying."
Jemma was so curious about the secret looks between the two men that she almost exploded with questions. Did Phil know the captain's dearly departed mother? Why do they seem to think she would have frowned on something as innocuous as a science festival? But her questions died on the top of her tongue as she recognized the lingering tension in the room and realized that it was up to her to break it.
"Children," she called out as cheerfully as possible, "who should we hear from next?"
She loved the way they lit up, with Lance and Bobbi dashing to her sides while the rest of the children followed. Even little Robin poked her head in as they all conferred, signaling her when they came to a quick agreement. It was Daisy who whispered their answer into her ear, and she had to ask them if they were sure before seven beaming faces confirmed it for her.
She cleared her throat, walking over to where the captain was pouring out sherry for Phil and the baroness. "The vote is unanimous. The children want to hear from you, captain."
He froze, eyes growing wide as his jaw dropped. "Me?" His eyes darted to Phil, then back to her. "I don't understand. Wha- what do I do?"
Jemma opened her mouth to answer when Callie shouted it out. "Show us something you made!"
He was obviously flustered—Jemma could tell by the way his ears turned pink—and she felt her lips stretch out into a smile.
"Oh, no," said the captain, "no, I don't think—surely Donald or Barbara could . . ."
"I'm told that a long time ago, you were quite good," Jemma interjected. "A great inventor."
The captain waved it off, walking to a corner of the room and taking the rest of them with him. "Well, that was a very, very long time ago."
But really, it couldn't be that long ago, could it? Jemma thought the captain must be her own age, and if so, it must have only been a few years since he left naval engineering for command. Daisy expressed the same sentiment, saying she remembered the days of his incessant tinkering, and soon he was seized by a half-dozen entreaties. What man could withstand them? As it turned out, not even the great Captain Leopold von Fitz could resist their charms, and she liked him all the better for it.
The captain disappeared into the hallway, then returned with a small, tubular device that he called the Mouse Hole. He didn't waste any time before he went into a detailed explanation of how it worked, using sophisticated jargon until Kara tugged on his suit coat and he relented, using simpler words.
"Why didn't you tell me," whispered Baroness Nathan.
Phil raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"To bring my periodic table," she answered with a smirk.
Jemma stood behind them, just as any governess should, careful to be out of anyone's way. She didn't mind, though, because she could clearly see the glow of excitement in the captain's eyes. It was the same glow she often saw in the children, and it was so rare to see past childhood, particularly in a man, that she had the strange desire to wrap him up and put him in her pocket for safe keeping. Only a few weeks ago, this man had been a stranger to them, but one would never know it now, with the way the children sat at his feet and hung on his every word. Of course, she couldn't blame them; she'd heard stories about how he'd excelled academically, but she wasn't prepared for the sheer brilliance that poured out of his mouth. She was just as enchanted as the children were, and when she caught herself and cleared her throat, she saw the baroness looking at her with an odd expression.
The lecture was over far too soon, but the baroness wasted no time congratulating him.
"Any time you say the word, Leopold," added Phil, "you can be part of my new act: the Von Fitz Group."
The captain laughed at that, and Jemma wondered if he was laughing with Phil or at himself when the baroness stood up.
"I have a wonderful idea, Leopold," she said, and Jemma could swear he winced at the sound of his name. "Let's really fill this house with wonder. You must give a grand and glorious party for me while I'm here."
That was enough to make the children gasp in delight, but Jemma shrank. A party? There'd be no place for a governess at a party, not that she'd want one. Parties were a waste of time, and avoiding such distractions was one of the reasons Jemma had decided to become a nun in the first place. Of course, it was Mother May's opinion that the strategy wasn't working, and in the end, Jemma was just as powerless to resist the party as she was to sneaking outside to dissect rats before morning mass.
She leaned against the door to the kitchen and visually sifted through the crowd of guests, feeling frightfully under-dressed at the same time she reminded herself that her clothes were necessary to denote her station. She was surrounded by gentlemen in suits and fine ladies in gowns—all, she presumed, were friends or at least peers of Captain Von Fitz. She couldn't imagine knowing this many people in the first place, much less people as elegant as this. And there he was, standing in the midst of them and easily outshining them all. He didn't seem comfortable, exactly, but he had a certain confidence about him that he must have gotten from commanding men in battle, and she thought he looked positively regal. Herr Sitwell, a bald man who looked down his nose at the proudly-displayed Austrian flag, looked like a lizard in comparison.
It wasn't until someone brushed past her that she remembered she was in the middle of grabbing snacks for the children. She soon returned with a tray in hand and froze in place when she saw Daisy and Donnie dancing in the courtyard.
"Why didn't you children tell me you could dance?"
She set the tray aside with a smile as the children stopped immediately, as if caught in the commission of a crime.
It was Lance who dared to answer her. "We were afraid you were going to make us all dance together," he confessed, "the Von Fitz Dancing Group!"
She joined the children in laughing at the joke, more comfortable here than she would be in the ballroom, and possibly anywhere else. Why had she been so scared to come here? The weary postulate who had left the abbey had no idea of the sheer joy she had in store for her, for these children had captured her heart in a most miraculous way.
Behind them, the music shifted into something else, and young Lance stood on his toes to see past her.
"What's that they're playing?" asked Robin, her eyes sparkling in wonder.
"It's the laendler," Jemma explained, "it's an Austrian folk dance."
Jemma had seen the laendler performed countless times at parties and festivals, but she had never seen it look quite so glamorous before. She got so lost in the dresses and suits that she almost missed it when Lance asked her to teach him.
"Oh," she replied, shaking her head, "I haven't danced that since I was a little girl."
And yet somehow, despite her protests, she found that she could not deny Lance's entreaty when his six siblings joined in. It turned out though, that she was a better science teacher than dance instructor, and it certainly didn't help that she was almost a full head taller than Lance. It was during one particularly hard turn that Jemma heard the muttering of a low, soft voice, and she finished her turn to see that the captain had taken Lance's place. As flustered as she was, she was too caught up in the music to do anything more than take his proffered hand and continue to dance with him.
Jemma had meant it when she said that she hadn't danced the laendler since she was a little girl. In truth, she hadn't danced at all since she started preparing to take her vows, and she had certainly never danced with a grown man before. Why then, did it feel so natural? They fell into step and never lost count, each movement flowing easily into the next until it seemed that this was something they'd always meant to do. Had they always been dancing?
She didn't know how long they'd been at it—it could have been a few moments or a lifetime—when he lead her to spin with him, their hands raised above them and their faces close enough for her to see the stunning blue in his eyes. It took her breath away. Just as she had an impulse to surge forward (to do what, she did not know), she saw the baroness over the captain's shoulder and stopped cold.
She looked back into his eyes and found she could not look away, though she could let go of his hand and take a few steps backward. When a question glinted in his eye, she told him she didn't remember any more of the dance, and it was true in the sense that her mind was too full. She kept staring at him in helpless shame.
"Your face is all red," observed Callie, and her hands few up to her face to test the warmth in her cheeks.
"Is it?" His eyes stayed with hers, filled with a blunt surprise she felt herself. There had to be a way out of this. "I suppose I'm not used to dancing."
His gaze only left hers when the baroness appeared behind them, overflowing with praise and warmth. Jemma's shame hardened into guilt, and when the captain suggested that it was time for the children to say goodbye, she seized her opportunity to escape. She threw herself into her charges—watching their steps, keeping count of them, making sure they stayed quiet enough to leave the adults undisturbed. She loved these children, she realized. It was something she'd recognized many times before, but never with such ferocity. Surely, this was what it meant to be at home, to have a family. This was something like what she'd been searching for with the sisters at the abbey, but it was richer and more fulfilling than anything she'd ever dreamed.
These children didn't belong to her and never would, but it was a privilege just to be around them, to teach and inspire them, to watch them grow. They'd blossomed in such a short amount of time that she knew she could only have God to thank for it. Still, she had a lot of work to do.
She ushered them all to the kitchen and put them straight to work. Daisy collected bowls, Bobbi got out a jar of candles, and little Robin simply watched the bustling of her siblings. When they told her they were ready, all seven faces glowing with excitement, Jemma went to make her announcement.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she called, "the children of Captain von Fitz would like to say good night to you."
Jemma did not, and would not, look out to see how the captain reacted to such news. And if she caught a flash of surprise from a pair of clear, blue eyes, it was completely by accident.
When the guests followed her to the part of the foyer just past the grand staircase, they found a long table with seven small stations.
"The Von Fitz children share the same love of science that the captain has," she explained, "and tonight, they'd like to share it with you."
The crowd barely looked at her, and she knew why: they were mesmerized by the wall of fog behind them. The curtain of clouds started at the floor and reached all the way up, where tiny wisps of smoke danced along the ceiling.
"Ah," Jemma exclaimed, "I see that you've noticed my experiment. It's a pretty simple one, actually. I put a few blocks of solid carbon dioxide—or dry ice, as it is commonly known—in warm water. The water melts the carbon dioxide into a gas, fans blow the gas upward, and voila! A wall you can walk through."
When the crowd burst into applause, she gave a small curtsy and directed the audience's attention to Bobbi, who crushed some dry ice into the bottom of a wide vase. When she put a lit candle in the vase, the flame was snuffed out.
"Would you care to relight it, Father?" asked Bobbi, and after a little nudging, the captain obliged. Bobbi handed him a long match, but no matter how much the crowd cheered him on, he failed to reignite the flame.
"Psst!" exclaimed little Robin, tugging on Jemma's dress. "You have to help me with my part!"
While the audience was distracted by the antics of the captain and Bobbi, Jemma carefully placed a good-sized chunk of dry ice into an uninflated balloon.
"Some sorceress you are," the captain teased, but Jemma caught the recognition in his eyes. He understood the science completely, and was simply playing along for Bobbi's sake. Jemma almost missed her cue, but she recovered at the last second when Daisy gave a little curtsy and disappeared into the mist.
Jemma let each child have their turn with their own dry ice experiment—Daisy put a coin into it and let the crowd squeal in delight as it shook, Donnie used it to freeze things, and Lance created a small explosion. After each short demonstration, each child bowed and disappeared until only Robin was left. As she proudly held out her blown-up balloon, Jemma couldn't help but feel a little pride herself. Surely, each one of these children was beyond precious, and they deserved every bit of applause as Daisy reappeared through the fog, picked up Robin, and carried her off to bed.
Jemma gave another curtsy and was about to follow them up when a hand latched into her arm. She turned around to find no one other than Phil looking back at her.
"Leopold," he called, pulling Jemma towards the captain no matter how much she protested, "you're not going to let this fräulein get away. She has to join the party!"
Jemma wanted nothing more than to run, and strangely enough, she thought she saw the same feelings mirrored in the captain's expression. It quickly vanished, though, as he was distracted by something the baroness said. She couldn't fathom why she suddenly felt so small.
She continued to protest, but Phil would have none of it, and when the captain's opinion was asked, he merely turned to them and said she could stay if she wanted to.
Did she want to?
No, of course not. But she got lost between Phil's persistence and the captain's disinterest, and before she knew it, everything was settled. The only thing she could think to say was that she wasn't dressed for dinner, but the captain waved it off, sending her to her room to change.
She found herself walking up the staircase, blown about by the winds of emotion. She was happy and proud with the children, yet so easily crushed, and now she was preparing to dine with the most glamorous people in all of Salzburg. It gave her a headache. She sat on her bed with her head in her hands until there was a soft knock on the door, and the baroness appeared.
"I thought you could use a little help," the baroness explained.
Jemma tried to smile. "That's very kind of you." She pinched her eyes shut and shook her head. "I really don't think I have anything that would be appropriate."
She took off her dress anyway, and the baroness offered a warm smile.
"Well," she said, opening Jemma's closet, "what about that little thing you were wearing the other evening, when the captain couldn't keep his eyes off you?"
Jemma stepped back as if the baroness had struck her. But the baroness was joking, wasn't she? THere was too much kindness shining in her eyes. Jemma looked down and decided to play along.
"Couldn't keep his eyes off me?"
"Oh, come my dear," the baroness soothed, "we are women. Let's not pretend we don't know when a man notices us."
After a quick review of her entire life, Jemma was quite certain that no man had ever noticed her, at least not in the way the baroness was implying. When she tried to find clues in Baroness Nathan's face, she was surprised to find a sliver of sadness, carefully hidden by a smile. Clearly, the baroness also knew when she was being ignored.
But surely, Captain von Fitz was too smart to do such a thing.
"The captain notices everybody and everything," she heard herself say.
"There's no need to be so defensive, Jemma."
She wasn't quite sure who she was defending. Maybe it was herself and the captain at once. If he noticed everyone, surely the baroness would feel that she'd not been forgotten, and no one could say Jemma'd been singled out. She looked out her bedroom window, past the grounds and the lake, and found her gaze fixed on the great mountains beyond.
"You are quite attractive, you know," said the baroness. "I'm sure the captain couldn't help but notice."
Jemma's focus shifted to the reflection in the glass, where she saw something glisten on Baroness Nathan's cheek. She turned around immediately and threw her arms around her.
"Life's so funny sometimes," the baroness said, "you think one thing makes sense, but you can't make it work. Then, before you know it, something you never expected simply slots into place."
"I never . . ." said Jemma, "I never did a thing to . . ."
"You don't have to," the baroness said as she pushed Jemma away and stood up straight, wiping away the tears that still came. "There's nothing more irresistible to a man a woman who's in love with him."
Jemma had never been struck by lightning, she could imagine that it would feel exactly like the shock that surged through her.
"In love with him?
"Of course." The baroness offered her a weak smile. "And what makes it so nice is that he thinks he's in love with you."
It couldn't be true, and Jemma said as much, but the baroness had evidence prepared. It was the way he looked into her eyes, the way Jemma could goad him into playing with the children, and a thousand other little things that Jemma had never noticed. Had the baroness been watching her? This whole time, as Jemma had endeavored to prepare the children to accept the baroness as their new mother, had the baroness assumed that Jemma intended to take her place?
"And you know," the baroness said, "you blushed in his arms when you were dancing just now."
Jemma put her hands on her cheeks. Was she still blushing? Was her own physiology betraying her every time she thought about him? Guilt weighed heavily on her chest, and she simply couldn't abide the failure etched across the Baroness Nathan's face.
"Don't take it to heart," the baroness said, "he'll get over it soon enough, I should think. Men do, you know."
In the midst of her own confusion, Jemma could only wonder how the baroness could say such a thing with such confidence. At the same time, she didn't want to know; she already knew far more than she'd like. If only she could just go back to ten minutes earlier, and find the courage to tell Phil she didn't want to go to dinner. Clearly, the moment she let someone pull her out of her station, everything fell apart.
The captain couldn't love her; that was a fact. She'd worked her whole life to become the exact kind of person who couldn't marry anybody, much less him. But there was a swishing in her stomach that scared her, there was the memory of feeling warm around him, of watching him when she had no reason to. Somehow, she'd missed it until it snuck up and pinned her down.
"I have to go," she said, moving at once to gather her things. "I mustn't stay here."
"Jemma, I didn't mean to . . . you don't have to go."
But Jemma couldn't listen to the baroness just then, not when the panic surged through her, making her hands work faster.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Yes!" Jemma leaned on the wood of the wardrobe for strength and let herself catch her breath. "Please don't say a word about this to the captain."
The baroness stared at her for a moment, and Jemma thought her mind must be miles away.
"No," she finally said, "no, I wouldn't dream of it."
As the baroness said her goodbyes, Jemma quickly wondered just what the baroness dreamed of as she stuffed the last bit of clothing into her bag. She'd sneak out now, while the children were asleep and everyone was distracted with dinner. She'd be far away before anyone could dare stop her, and she'd leave a note to make sure they didn't follow.
Yes, she decided, it had to be done.
She had to clamp a hand over her mouth to muffle the sobbing as she passed the children's rooms. She'd never loved them more than she did just then, remembering the life and unadulterated curiosity that coursed through each one of them. Could they ever forgive her?
But no, they must, for she had to leave. She never wanted this hurricane of emotions she couldn't name, and she'd outrun it if she could. In fact, she did run as soon as she stepped out the door, flying through the courtyard, past the gate, and down the street that had brought her here months ago.
Somehow, she thought she heard a voice behind her, carried by the wind.
"Excuse me, fräulein. I want you to stay."
Jemma kept going.