Disclaimer: I don't own the Sound of Music ... except on DVD. No small animals were harmed in the writing of this fanfic.
Author's Notes: This is a bit of fluff I put together on Valentine's Day then polished up tonight to share with you. This vignette will never win the Pulitzer, but let me know if you like it all the same!
I don't know if Austrians in the 1930s did or did not celebrate Valentine's Day, but it's not something that I can imagine as part of our sea captain's Austrian existence. So, in the universe of this little tale, the von Trapps never celebrated Valentine's Day in Austria, nor had they necessarily even heard of it.
This is a oneshot.
Georg opened the front door of the apartment slowly, slipped inside, and closed the door behind him with equal stealth. He removed his hat, slid out of his coat, and hung both from their usual places on the coat rack. Stepping into the living room, he looked around him expectantly. A plush, slightly worn sofa with a knitted afghan hanging over its back rested against one wall. A secondhand upright piano sat in the corner. A collection of armchairs that did not quite match the sofa were arranged in such a way as to create an intimate circle when the family gathered in the evenings. The walls were largely bare, revealing in a few places hairline fissures in the paint. All in all, this was not a setting that Baron Georg von Trapp—a decorated captain of the Austrian navy with an expensive villa and lake-front property—ever expected to regard as home. He took in the scene ... and found himself to be very content indeed.
The source of this seemingly paradoxical contentment could not be far. He noticed her slippers sitting on the floor by one of the armchairs as if she had just stepped out of them. Her knitting needles and yarn had been deposited on the seat cushion. A sound in the kitchen drew his attention away from these signs of habitation. He moved softly across the carpeted room until he stood in the doorway leading into the kitchen. There she was, her back to him as she took a handful of flour and spread it liberally onto the counter top. She was humming a tune—his wife was the only person he knew who could hum as beautifully as she sang—and she punctuated each movement of her body with melody, her volume rising as she lifted a bowl from the counter top and turned it upside down, causing a round ball of dough to drop onto the floured surface.
He couldn't hold back any longer. "Maria," he said, the smile that had been tugging at his lips blossoming fully.
She jumped and whirled around. "OH!!" she exclaimed, her mouth hanging open as she rocked forward and her hand moved to rest over her thudding heart. "Oh, Georg!" she said, half chuckling, half gasping in shock, "you frightened me!"
Her floured hand had left a light print on her blouse and apron, which he found adorable. He took two large strides toward her, grabbed her by the waist, and twirled her around, lifting her off her feet. "I'll get flour all over you!" she protested, but her tone—punctuated with laughter—lacked conviction, and her powdered hands soon gripped his shoulders fully as he set her feet back down on the ground.
"Darling, when you wear a jacket as often as I do, taking it to the cleaners becomes a matter of course." He pressed his lips to hers, and as she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, he pulled her to him until her back arched. She sighed contentedly, and her hands moved up into his hair as he deepened the kiss.
When they broke apart, she gave him a dazzling smile. She could tell he had been wearing his hat; his hair had a slightly flattened look that she found endearing. And she could see flecks of white around his temples that had nothing to do with his graying hair. Reaching up, she tried to brush them away: "You have flour in your hair now." She met his gaze again, and he smiled with unconcern, his blue eyes flashing in a way that always made her feel desirable.
"Happy Valentine's Day," he replied.
She laughed. "I wasn't sure that you had remembered the holiday."
"Maria, you sent me to the store twice to buy pink paper for Marta and Gretl's valentines. I had to specifically request "pink paper" from the shopkeeper—two words I have never spoken aloud in my life, let alone to a stranger." His tone was one of exaggerated disbelief. "And Marta and Gretl have only been talking about Valentine's Day incessantly for a week."
"I've never heard them come back from school so excited about anything before," she mused happily.
"Yes. I wish they would get that excited about mathematics or history."
"Someday ... perhaps. But you may just have to content yourself with Brigitta's scholastic enthusiasm."
"Hm. At any rate," he continued, extracting one of her flour-dusted hands from his shoulder and bringing it to his lips. "All things considered, it seemed a holiday worthy of observance."
A warm glow suffused her cheeks. "I expected you to be at the academy all day," she said.
"Well, I don't have any classes on Tuesdays around midday, so I decided to bring you some lunch." Releasing her from his embrace, he walked back to the doorway and picked up a bag that he had deposited there.
She closed her eyes and inhaled appreciatively. "It smells like ..." she screwed up her face in concentration "... egg rolls!" In response, he pulled a small white box from the bag with a dramatic flourish. "Georg! You know that's my favorite of late."
He glanced downward at her slightly bulging abdomen. "But of course."
"Thank you! Let me get some plates."
"I'll do that, darling. I'm pampering you, you see."
She smiled and placed a final, quick kiss on his lips before turning to the sink and rinsing the flour from her hands as he retrieved the dishes and set them on the table. Then he pulled out her chair, gestured for her to sit, and pushed it back in before taking a seat perpendicular to her.
"How were your classes this morning?" she asked him as he unwrapped the parcel of food and passed it to her.
"Trying to explain the fine points of military strategy to 15-year-old boys is always more stimulating than I expected it to be." He chuckled. "They seem to stay interested as long as I throw in facts about numbers of casualties and the destructive power of advanced weaponry."
She laughed in reply as she bit gingerly into a piping-hot egg roll.
"Which, to be fair," he continued, "are exactly the kinds of things that kept my attention when I was in school."
"I should attend your class. Whenever you tell me about your time in the military, I always feel like you're making it sound less dangerous than it actually was," she teased.
"War stories are always embellished to make them sound more dramatic—more heroic—than the events actually warrant. I give you the plain facts, madam." He winked playfully, and she smiled back at him, pride evident in her eyes.
"What heroic exploits have you been up to this morning?" he asked her, changing the subject. "I noticed you braved the knitting needles again."
She sighed and rolled her eyes. "For some reason I thought that knitting would be easy for me—just like sewing. If I ever knit a decent article of clothing, it will be cause for real celebration."
"We shall make a point, then, of celebrating it," he pronounced as he extracted another egg roll from the box.
The egg rolls were delicious, as usual—crusty, hot, and full of shredded vegetables. Maria had become a loyal patron of the Chinese restaurant around the corner, and the frequency of her visits had only increased since her pregnancy. They had discovered the restaurant one evening when she and Georg were out for a stroll in the neighborhood and came across a young Asian girl in tears. When Maria approached her, squatting down to greet the child at eye level, the girl had held up her hand to show a skinned palm—she had evidently taken a fall. Five minutes later, Maria had delivered the child to her mother and had made a new friend: a Chinese woman of about her age who spoke even less English than she did. This Chinese family were owners of the small restaurant.
Watching Maria savor the food prepared by her friend, Georg marveled again that he had convinced such a woman to marry him. She noticed him watching her intently, and she glanced downward, then chuckled suddenly.
"What?" Georg inquired with a gentle smile as she met his gaze."I was just thinking. If anyone had told me a year ago that I would find myself sitting across a table from a sea captain and eating a Chinese dish in an apartment in New York City ..."
"I suppose the entire convent would have thought you should be committed. And if you had told them that you would be carrying the sea captain's child ... ?"
"Scandal," she chortled. Then, sighing happily, she wiped her fingers on a napkin. "Thank you again for the lunch, Georg. It's a perfect gift. I love seeing you during the day."
"Well, I can't claim that my motives were entirely selfless," he confessed. "In a way this is a Valentine's gift to myself as well—to have you alone, all to myself, in an empty apartment ..."
"That thought had also crossed my mind," she admitted gravely with a hint of a raised eyebrow.
He took her hand and, standing, pulled her up with him, her body flush against his. He ran his lips from her temple down across her cheek. Her arms slid around his waist.
"You know, if I put it off for much longer, I may not be able to finish my Valentine's gift to you," she said in a tone of mock concern.
"Oh? And what was that?"
"Mary next door told me that everyone makes heart-shaped cookies for Valentine's Day. I was giving them a try when you came in."
"Hmm, I suppose I am creating a bit of a distraction. It wouldn't do to neglect your project entirely." He placed a kiss on her forehead. "However, I think they will be just as delicious later when the apartment is packed with children ... or even tomorrow, don't you?"
"Undoubtedly—" The words were lost in her surprised intake of breath as he swept her up in his arms and kissed her.
"Yes, they can wait," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Without another word he carried her unceremoniously from the kitchen.