Prussian Blue

I'm not sure if he means his family's name or the fact he no longer has a son to inherit his business, but he probably means both. Like his father, Will grew up working leather from a young age and was fourteen when Ludwig decided to add the '& son' to his business' name, some nine years ago. I recall how proud Will was when he told us.

"Don't change it." It's all I can think to say.

"You should come in."

Ludwig closes the door behind me, flipping the open sign to closed. The shop front is immaculate, with fine looking saddles and stirrups and halters and bridles, saddlebags and other leather goods adorning hooks and tables, the leathery smell thick in my nose.

Past the counter, through a door, is the rear workshop. Surprisingly Gisela is here with a leather apron over her dress, sweeping the floor, hair still in a plait but even messier than this morning, her face having a reddish sheen with beads of sweat on her brow. She stops and looks to me when I enter the room behind her father, and he tells her, "Please go home and tell your Mother Alfred will be visiting for supper."

"Yes, Papa," she replies, glancing at me again before placing the broom against the wall.

"And clean yourself up before we arrive, you can't entertain guests looking like a dienstmädchen."

"Yes, Papa." This time Gisela frowns then turns and leaves through the back door, and Ludwig shakes his head, grumbling something I don't catch. He closes up, locking his shop and I follow him down the street, walking in silence, and soon we reach the Eichstaedt's house on the edge of town.

This house is familiar to me, yet it feels like my memories of the place were formed in another life. I note the fine horses grazing under the gum-trees in the paddock behind, including the grey on which Gisela rode to me this morning. And there's Chief, Will's fine chestnut gelding, biting a fence rail.

"Chief's cribbing," I say. "I don't recall him doing so before."

Ludwig tuts. "He started when Wilhelm left. We've tried all the tricks to stop him and we exercise him regularly, but he doesn't let up..."

We humans aren't the only ones who miss Will, poor creature.

Up the steps, across the veranda and through the door, Gisela's there already, without her apron but still in her grubby green dress.

Ludwig frowns but doesn't chastise her, gesturing to his rocking chair, offering it to me. "Sit, please."

"I can stand if you'd like to sit."

"You are my guest and...like a son to me. Please take it."

Those words hit the old heart strings. I've mucked about with Will since we were children, from the moment our fathers first met, the men drawn to one another, Ludwig an ex-calvary man back in Europe, and my own father ex-Light Horse, having served in the Boar War. They talked horses while Will and I raced cane hoops with sticks on the road, or played cricket and football, sometimes quoits and croquet, or rode horses down the paddock.

Our fathers sometimes watched our games and I recall them laughing, jovial times for two men who my memory mostly presents as somewhat gruff characters, where most interactions were of a serious nature, either to teach us something or punish us when we were in trouble. Where I'd always thought of Ludwig as a serious man now I can see he has a soft side and there could be no doubt where Will inherited his strong but caring nature from.

I stand in front of the seat without sitting, conscious of Gisela standing by the padded chair opposite, not sitting either. I meet her intense gaze, then look to Ludwig who stands next to her rather than taking the seat, and he says to her, "You could have put on a fresh dress, Gisa."

"Sorry, Papa, my other dresses are dirty."

Ludwig grunts and then he looks to me. "Please, Alfred, sit while we wait for Frieda and Martha."

As if on cue, Martha arrives, thin and prim and proper in her grey dress, light brown hair spilling attractively from her head, our eyes meeting, her smile somewhat shy I suppose, and her voice is quiet when she greets me. "Good afternoon, Alfred."

She sounds very formal and when I say, "Afternoon, Miss Martha," I'm reminded how I'd greeted Gisela this very morning before she'd reprimanded me because we were not mere acquaintances, knowing one another since we were much younger. The thought makes me smile and perhaps Martha misinterprets my smile because she smiles shyly again before taking the seat next to her father and sister, sitting straight-backed and resting her hands together in her lap.

There is a contrast between Martha and Gisela, where Martha is a little taller and she's slim and to be honest, to me she looks fragile, at least when compared to her younger sister, exhibiting the proper lady like manners expected of women, reminding me very much of her older sisters Anna and Ava.

Gisela, on the other hand, is undeniably robust. Although she's not a big girl by any stretch, she's curvier, inheriting more physical traits from her sturdy mother than tall and thin father. Yet some have said she has a masculinity about her, because she likes sport and can give many blokes a run for their money at various pursuits. Indeed, we all used to joke how Gisela was Will born as a girl, and he'd laugh and tell us she was like a little brother to him.

"The best little brother I never had..."

I must've been staring at both girls and see Martha flush and Gisela's shifting uncomfortably on the spot. Frieda, the matriarch of the family, enters the room, smiling bravely but there's a sadness about her, hair silver and lines etched on her face, new additions from when I saw her last. I'm halfway through standing when she enters but she waves at me to sit again. Looking me with the blue eyes her children inherited, she tells me, "Welcome home and welcome back to our home, Alfred."

Frieda's English is excellent with only a hint of an accent, having lived in Australia for more than half her life. I sit again, my heart racing a little with all their eyes on me, like this is an interrogation. "Thank you, and sorry about last night, I didn't inform Mum and Dad I was coming home and didn't bother to think they might have guests over. Please accept my apology."

"No need to apologise," Ludwig smiles. "Your mother and father are good people. Great people, even."

"Generous people," Frieda adds, sitting in the last empty seat.

"Yes, generous to the extreme. They have invited us over for dinner at least once a month. Your father has worked tirelessly to ensure German families are safe. Some people have come to see us German settlers as the enemy despite our long standing in the community."

"Mick...Michael O'Riordan, told me about people turning against their friends and neighbours."

Martha tut tuts and says, "Michael's a drunken lout," and Gisela frowns, giving Martha's shoulder a little tap.

Frieda frowns too and Ludwig turns to his seated daughter. "Michael has seen things only one person in this room can attest to, my dear Martha. And he was one of Wilhelm's closest friends too and as far as I know the O'Riordans have never said a bad thing about any German families, even when I know some of the families say terrible things about Irish ones like the O'Riordans."

Chastised, Martha mutters, "Sorry, Papa," casting her face to the floor.

My goodness she's pretty, beautiful more like it, graceful too, and I calculate her to be nineteen now. Having once hoped I might court and marry her older sister, Ava, my mind now wanders to Martha, and she looks up, catches my eye, blushing, and she looks away.

Gisela catches my eye too and speaks. "You're here to tell us about Will."

"Gisa," Frieda scolds her youngest softly, "Don't be so forward."

My heart's beating again because she's right and I know I have to tell them and it's going to be difficult to say the least. "Gisela spoke to me this morning. She said the Army wrote you a letter informing you...about..."

Frieda bites her bottom lip and nods, then speaks with fortitude. "The letter told us Wilhelm died of wounds, without any details. I honestly don't know if I want details, but I'd at least like to know..."

When Frieda hesitates, Gisela looks to her mother, waiting for her to continue, then turns to me. "You said you were with him?"

Her father frowns but when I nod the four of them face me again, their eyes interrogating my soul.

"I was there," I say with a nod. "Will and I made a pact to try and stick together as much as we could. Francis and Mick were part of our pact too...so me and Will...um, in October last year we were near a village in Belgium called Passchendaele. Our battalion was in a defensive position, but Army brass recognised Will's leadership qualities, making him our Sergeant and...so...I guess I'm not sure how much you need to know."

"Tell us whatever you think is right," Ludwig says, his voice soft.

The Eichstaedt's look at me expectantly and for a moment I gather my thoughts, looking around the room, noticing a photo of Will on the centre shelf of a bookcase with yellow flowers sprouting from vases placed either side. I was with him when the photograph was taken, before we sailed for Europe, where he's in his fresh army uniform, looking proud, young and noble, like he will be for the rest of time. I recall Francis, Mick and I trying to make him laugh but he managed a straight face, and now he's staring into the room, right at me, urging me to go on.

Taking a deep breath, I feel the air tickle my airways and lungs, but suppress my rising cough, the daily reminder of the most terrible morning.

"Because Will spoke German our section was often given the task of body snatchers...sorry, trench raiders. We'd cross no-mans-land in the night and try capture Jerrys, I mean German, enemy...sorry..." Looking away, I feel my face flush.

"Please," Ludwig says, "We understand."

"Yes, right, um, we did a raid and...we all made it back. Will...his respirator...it was damaged in a...well, it was damaged during the raid and he showed us afterwards. He said he'd make sure he'd get a new one..."

I see Ludwig swallow, his Adam's apple conspicuously bobbing up and down, his eyes meeting mine like he knows what's coming next, silently urging me to go on despite the pain.

"Will had responsibilities such as interrogating prisoners and reporting to the brass, and he must've left us for an hour or so, and I assumed he'd visit the battalion quartermaster...um...he returned...I'm sorry, but the, um, Germans dropped an artillery barrage near us...it was gas, chlorine, um, it gives off a yellowy green cloud...I assumed...I assumed Will got himself a functioning respirator when he was away with the officers, I really did...I really wish he did..."

I can't stop the tears forming and I look away, not wanting them to see, knowing my pain is their pain, my heart heavy, but I need to be strong because Frieda is sobbing softly, and Ludwig goes to her, putting his hand on her shoulder, and Gisela whispers, her hand to her mouth, "Oh, no, he was gassed."

Martha sobs, "Oh, Lord..." and when I look up she and Gisela are weeping too.

Wiping my eyes and sniffling, I tell them, "He was brave till the end. We could see it coming and he knew, but he called out a warning to the boys to get their masks on and helped...he helped calm one of the lads who was fumbling with his mask...made sure the fella put it on properly....I...um, called to Will to get his mask on too...he hadn't had a chance to replace the bloody thing..."

Ludwig nods and even he has a tear in his eye as he consoles his wife. "War is a terrible thing."

Gisela's openly crying with her hand on heart and voice almost frantic. "What does the gas do?"

She's biting her lip now when our eyes meet and I shake my head, unwilling to tell her.

Gisela steps forward, pleading, "Alfred, please tell us!"

"It chokes a man," Ludwig answers for me, "Suffocation."

"No..." Gisela buries her face in her hands.

Martha's face contorts with sadness. "And your mask worked?"

"Yes, it worked, but I didn't get it on quick enough. My lungs are burnt, terribly burnt like someone lit a fire inside my chest. I've spent the last year in a convalescent hospital. It's not as bad as it was before but it's not good. I haven't told my parents..."

"Dear, Alfred," Frieda says through tears with the voice and look of a concerned mother, "You should, you need to tell them."

"You should," Ludwig says. "And I thank you for telling us how Wilhelm died. It has not been easy on any of us and I can see how hard it is for you to be here."

"Yes, thank you," Frieda adds. "You must stay for supper. We haven't anything special tonight but I think the girls and I can put something together."

"Thank you," I tell them, "I don't want to impose, especially after this news."

"Don't be silly, you are no imposition, Alfred. You were one of Wilhelm's closest friends from the time you were little boys and your family are great friends of ours."

Wiping a tear, I nod, feeling I can't refuse. "I'd be honoured then."

Ludwig invites me to join him on the veranda while the women leave to make supper, offering me one of his pipes, but I decline, unable to smoke tobacco without being sent into a diabolical coughing fit.

"Do you know," he says, "If Frieda and I stayed in Prussia, Will would more than likely have become a cavalryman like I was, and potentially even fought against boys from this valley."

It's a strange thought and I tell him, "I've often wondered how each enemy I faced may have been a good friend if circumstances were greatly different."

Ludwig nods and puffs on his pipe, and soon Martha arrives on the veranda telling us supper is ready. In the darkness when I catch her eye I'm not sure if she blushes or if it's the tears she's shed making her face darker.

Supper is simple and light, consisting of bread and bacon with cheese and pickles and fruit, however no one appears to eat much. Around the table Martha and Gisela are quiet while Ludwig and Frieda tell me about goings on in the district.

Afterwards Ludwig asks, "Would you like a brandy?"

"No thank you, I better go. Thank you all for your hospitality."

"Thank you, Alfred," Frieda says, "I know it wasn't easy for you to tell us, but you've given us some closure."

"Yes," Martha says, her face still a little flushed. "I'm happy to know Wilhelm was with a friend when he was killed."

Gisela looks to her sister with mouth open like she might say something, but she then looks down and says, "Excuse me," stands and leaves the room, evidently in a huff.

With a confused look on her face Martha says, "I'm sorry, excuse me," and she stands and follows her sister.

"Poor Gisa," Ludwig whispers as he shows me out the door. "In some respects she has taken Wilhelm's death the hardest. Despite the five years difference between them she greatly looked up to him."

"I remember, she used to follow him about like a puppy."

"From the time she was tiny she played like a boy, kicking a ball about the yard and climbing trees, and you know how Wilhelm indulged her because he never had a brother, playing rough games, much to Frieda and my distress."

"I think it's her nature, she's...quite a lot like Will."

"Ja," Ludwig says in his native tongue and stops at the end of the veranda, crickets chirping in the darkness. "I worry about her, however, perhaps I need not. I trained Wilhelm so he would eventually take over the family business. Gisa preferred to work leather too, rather than dress making from her mother as her sisters did before her, and I confess her quality is higher than Wilhelm's ever was and her style, well, she's so much more creative. Where Wilhelm made saddles like I taught him, Gisa makes works of art, but I don't think she will do well in business once I'm too old to run the shop."

"I think she's more tenacious than you give her credit for, Mr Eichstaedt."

"I know, she's...brilliant. But she's a woman even if most of the time she doesn't act like one."

This makes me smile, remembering all the times Will brought Gisela along to watch us play cricket or hunting trips or mucking about down the creek, because she asked him to. We adopted her like our mascot and were protective of her without her realising, and she thrived, learning to bat and bowl, shoot and swim.

"She's fine, give her a chance."

"I know," he says with a sigh, packing his pipe, tamping down the tobacco. "Except we fear she will not make a wife. No man has shown interest in her, not like they do with her older sisters."

Despite the darkness I know he's looking at me now and I think of Ava and Martha, wondering how many men show interest in them, wanting to ask but not wanting to know the answer. "Gisela's eighteen now, right? Plenty of time. Martha's nineteen and she doesn't have any suitors...does she?"

I think Ludwig smiles because in the weak moonlight I barely perceive his bushy moustache rising. There's humour in his voice when he says, "There may be someone Martha has her eye on and perhaps he will call in on her sometime soon."

Not too subtle at all, at least I think I catch his meaning, my heart skipping several beats at the thought of courting Martha. "He should make a move then."

"He should, he most definitely should."

My mind wanders, thinking about a future with Martha who is perhaps the most beautiful of all the Eichstaedt women, she and I having children and a house here in town, and now the thoughts come, the dark thoughts, doubts of how I will make a living for my family with my damaged lungs when all I know is physical activity, which I can't do so well anymore.

Then I remember Mary. How could I have forgotten?

I wait for Ludwig to finish lighting his pipe, his face glowing in the match-light. "There's something I need to ask."

Smoke rises from the match when he shakes it out, and he places it on the veranda rail, more smoke coming from his mouth and nostrils. "Ja, ask away."

"I know Mary left town...I need to find her and tell her...about Will"

Ludwig takes a long puff on his pipe, savouring the smoke before releasing it into the night. "We haven't heard from Mary in some time. After the Army's letter arrived, she said she was travelling to visit her Aunt in Brisbane and it was the last time we saw her or Jack."

"You must be devastated."

"Frieda treated Mary like a daughter and the girls treated her like a sister. They especially loved playing with Jack. I must say Gisela took on this role more than her sister...because Jack was Will's I suppose, and more than once she has suggested going to Brisbane herself to find Mary and Jack. I've forbidden her, of course, she can't go off by herself scouring the city..."

"I made a promise..."

"To Wilhelm." He knows. "I went to Brisbane to look for her, all in vain."

"Dad has colleagues in the police there. I can ask them to help track her down."

Ludwig nods. "I am sure you will have more luck than I did."

After a moment's silence, I say, "I best go and tell my parents about my lungs."

~0~

Will visits me as he does most nights, the war crushing us when he tells me to, "Tell Mary I love her when you get back, won't you, and make sure she and Jack are provided for."

Right before he utters his last words, gripping my arm and begging me to put him out of his misery.

I'm drenched and coughing, the gas choking, but there's mosquitos buzzing in my ear and an owl is hooting. I can't get back to sleep, lying here thinking of Will and Mary and considering my next moves.

In the early twilight before dawn as the birds begin to chirp my father comes for a quick chat before heading to work for the day and I ask, "Do you know how I can track down Will's wife Mary? Everyone thinks she went to Brisbane."