Epilogue: One Year Later, Vermont USA

"Admit it, Georg. You were wrong."

"I'm never wrong," he huffed, but there was a smile on his face as he reached for the picnic basket. "Is there any more of that cake?"

"First the apology, then cake," she admonished him.

"All right, all right. It was a good idea, to spend a day on the mountain like this, all of us together. Even if the chores are piling up, along with the bills."

Maria watched him dig through the basket until, with a triumphant flourish, he unearthed the last piece of cake.

"I can see it on your face, Georg. You haven't looked this relaxed in months. I know there's a lot of work to do back on the farm, and I haven't been much help lately. But we needed a day off to be a family again. We've all been working so hard for so long, and the children especially deserve a treat. A day to enjoy being children, after everything they've been through. If we waited until all the chores were done and the bills were paid to give them a treat, well – you know what they say about farm work never ending."

"All true, I suppose. Though as for carrying the load, I'd say you've worked harder than anyone," he disagreed, licking the last few cake crumbs from his thumb.

Maria looked down at the pink-and-white lump that lay curled against her chest, sleeping peacefully. "Acquiring the ninth one did take a little more effort on my part, it's true," she laughed, and then paused to kiss the top of her daughter's fuzzy head, inhaling her new-baby smell.

A year ago, Maria had believed marriage and motherhood would be her safe destination, the end of a long and difficult journey. The events of the last year had shown her that, instead, there was no end to the changes life could bring, no destination where the road permanently straightened and smoothed out. The fearful turmoil of their flight from Austria, the long journey to their new lives in America, and a difficult pregnancy all along the way had taught her that. She still savored the occasional blissfully ordinary day when it came. But Maria had learned that life's true blessing was the bonds woven between husband and wife, and with their children, bonds that grew stronger every day.

"You were right about something else, too," he declared. He paused to take a long look around them, at the tree-covered mountains reaching toward the brilliant blue sky. "I miss Austria terribly. But it is beautiful, here in Vermont. Peaceful. It was a good decision to come here, after all."

She followed his gaze down the steep slope that lay before them. At the bottom of the hill, a stony brook rushed its way toward a deep valley. The older children wielded fishing poles, while the youngest ones tossed a ball around. Stefan was in constant motion, weaving back and forth from one group to the other. Time after time, he came perilously close to tumbling into the brook, only to be rescued by one or another of his older siblings who would grab him around the waist and set him at a secure, but temporary, distance from the water.

"Are you sure he's safe down there?" Maria asked nervously. " Perhaps he ought to be up here with us. We've got to be getting back soon anyway."

"Oh, he'll be all right," Georg reassured her, but after she sent him a pleading look, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Stefan! Viens ici!"

Instantly, the boy's face lit up. He changed course and began toiling his way up the steep hill, his plump legs churning industriously in between brief stops to examine a stray bug or interesting blade of grass. Stefan had grown taller and sturdier than the boy who had arrived at the villa a year ago, Maria reflected, but one thing hadn't changed: he was his father's son, completely in thrall to his Papa, and the feeling was clearly mutual.

"Georg? Why do you do that?"

"Hm? Do what, darling?"

"Speak French to Stefan. He was chattering away in German within weeks of coming to Austria. And his English is much better than mine."

"Oh. That." Georg said slowly. "You're going to hate me for this."

"Go ahead," she said warily.

"It's because of his mother. I mean, you are his mother, but I am talking about Aurora. Aurora Duchamps," he repeated, although Maria needed no reminder of who he meant. She'd thought of the opera singer often this past year. "Someday, Maria, he's going to figure it all out, and I just thought that-"

"There's nothing for him to figure out!" she interrupted. "We agreed we'd be honest with him from the start. Just like his brothers and sisters, he has his mother in heaven who gave him life, and me, his mother here on earth."

"Maria. He's going to see that it's not the same. Most of the children remember Agathe. They talk about her all the time. Even Gretl and Marta can understand something about her. And don't think I don't know I have you to thank for that," he paused to send a grateful smile her way. "You were the one who reminded Louisa to slip that picture into her backpack the night we left. You're the one who taught them her favorite songs. While Aurora…"

He looked down at the ground. "He's going to ask us and the truth is, I know almost nothing about her. Her birthday. Her favorite song. The color of her eyes, for God's sake. And when he realizes that, then someday when he's grown, he's going to figure out the rest of the sordid truth. I won't lie to him. By then, if this infernal war ever ends, I'll be able to take him back to Paris and we can find out more. But for now, a few words of French – it's the only thing of hers I can think of to give him. Please try to understand."

"I understand," Maria whispered, blinking back tears and holding her daughter close. "I understand that you've done what you promised to do."

He looked up at her, a question on his face.

"Honor. You said that you would face your troubles with honor rather than anger. In the last year, you've lost so much, Georg. Your home, your wealth, your title. Your country. You're a poor farmer in a strange land. And the most honorable man on earth."

There was a long silence between them, filled only with the sound of a gentle breeze ruffling the trees, the tumbling brook, and the cries of their children.

"I have you to thank for that," he said quietly. "For all of it."

Before any more could be said, Stefan's head popped into sight as he neared the end of his long climb up the hill. "We ought to be going," Georg said regretfully.

He called to the other children and then, as Maria stood holding their daughter, he packed up blankets and baskets. She turned to watch the children at the bottom of the hill as they gathered their belongings and began their upward climb: Liesl hand-in-hand with Marta; Kurt and Brigitta hauling the fishing gear; Friedrich carrying Gretl on his back; Louisa bringing up the rear, a ball tucked under her arm.

Maria turned back toward her husband, watching as he scooped Stefan into his arms and flung the boy, shrieking with glee, over his shoulder. And then Georg von Trapp led his family back toward home.

THE END

Thank you for leaving me so many thoughtful reviews! I hope you liked my story. I don't own anything about the Sound of Music but am so grateful for the inspiration it provides. Hats off to the midnight PM-er who told me to write this! I'll be back soon with something new and interesting.