Prussian Blue

After a moment's thought, he says, "Have a chinwag with Matthew. He's a Brisbane lad and was a policeman there before the war. He'll know someone you can maybe see. Someone needs to talk sense into Mary and it may as well be her husband's best mate."

To be honest I'm not sure if I have any sense to talk into Mary, even if I do find her, even if she wants to listen. I've learnt enough about human nature to know what we might think is right for someone isn't what's actually right for them, or at least what they think is right for them, and maybe Mary doesn't want to hear other people's opinions anyhow.

Sure, I'm angry she's abandoned Will's family, but maybe she has reasons? After all, she and Will were only together for a year before he left for the war, being only eighteen when they married. Then again, abandoning her husband's family who'd taken her in, taking their grandson away too without further contact, is dog act in anyone's book, no matter how young and naïve.

With these thoughts swirling around my head, the birds are twittering and singing, the sky lightening, and I'd be kidding myself if I think I might get back to sleep, so I go to the kitchen where I find Mum cleaning up after fixing breakfast for Dad, starting the day in the manner she always has. She smiles and tells me, "You're up early, you going somewhere?"

"Can't sleep."

Mum returns her attention to the tub, scrubbing our old cast iron frypan. "Your father said you might have a few troubles. He and I also struggled to sleep last night after what you told us about your lungs. We had no idea you inhaled gas. You should've written to us about it."

"Didn't want to worry you or Dad and it probably wouldn't have passed the censor anyhow."

"We were plenty worried, I didn't want you to go to war in the first place."

"I know, I don't need the lecture."

"So many boys lost...and Poor Ludwig and Frieda, how did they take it when you told them about Will?"

I take the frypan from her, placing it on the hot range top to dry. "Sad, but they're a tenacious family."

"It's true but they haven't had it easy."

"Gisela is taking it harder than most."

"Yes, I heard she accosted you in our yard yesterday morning."

"She's the one who told me her family didn't know how Will died. That's why I went over there last night."

Mum sighs. "Poor Gisela, she's lost. A free spirit if there ever was one but doesn't know what's good for her. Practically worshiped her brother who indulged her like she was his little brother. And Ludwig has indulged her too, treating her like a son most of the time."

Shaking my head, I say, "I don't think she's lost, and in fact, I think the complete opposite. She wants to make saddles rather than dresses, and her father even tells me she's better at working leather than Will was. I think he should train her to run the business but I reckon he's too traditional to pass it on to his daughter."

"Maybe she's capable but would the business do well?"

With a shrug I say, "Her work is exceptional so I don't see why not."

"Maybe." Mum sighs again, handing me a plate which I begin to dry with a tea-towel. "Privately Ludwig and Frieda despair for her future, worrying she'll end up a spinster. But you didn't hear this from me, Alfie. Anyway, it's a shame because she's such a natural with children. You should've seen her with baby Jack when Mary was still around. Lord knows Gisela adores the boy."

Again my heart is heavy at the mention of Will's wife and son, and now I'm sighing, thinking aloud, "How could she up an' leave?"

Mum shakes her head. "Mary's a silly thing, but I s'pose it wasn't easy on her either. Her husband at war and living with her German in-laws while some people thought the war was something to be fought against their neighbours here in town. You wouldn't believe the nastiness hurled at German families, including the Eichstaedts. Didn't matter all our sons were born and bred here in this valley or region, no matter what their backgrounds, fighting alongside their mates for Australia and Great Britain."

"I know, I've heard the stories."

"You'd think with so many young lads away your father would have less work, but quite the opposite he's been extra busy. It's why he took on Matthew when he arrived in town looking for work."

I think about the new Constable for a moment before asking, "Is he a good man?"

"Yes," she says without hesitation. "Your father speaks highly of him."

"As does Priscilla."

"And you know she's a good judge of character."

And so she is, because soon Matthew and Priscilla arrive for breakfast, along with Reggie and Ivy. Reggie sits at the table and asks, "What was it like going on a trench raid?"

Part of me wishes Reggie wasn't present when I told my family about the gas attack after I'd arrived home from the Eichstaedt's. However my family were together in the dining room, so I thought it best to get it over and done with.

"Don't bother your brother," Priscilla tells him, aiming to clip him over the ear, which he dodges.

Matthew laughs as he sits opposite. "Get used to it, he was asking me many similar questions when I was first invited into your house."

He's a tough looking man, not as tall as me but he has the build of a hard man, a boxer perhaps, similar to Will come to think of it. His face is still bruised and I give him a smile to put him at ease. "Dad says you're from Brisbane."

"Yep, grew up at Ascot, backing onto Eagle Farm Racecourse." He smirks with a twinkle in his brown eyes. "Fancied meself as becoming a jockey when I was a kid, but grew too big!"

"You were a policeman there before you joined up?"

"I certainly was, I joined to ride with the mounted police and thought I might get to see the state, but ended up posted in the dead-centre of town only a few miles from Mum and Dad's. Glad I've gotten away though," he says, putting his arm around Priscilla who's taken the seat at his side, "Moving to the country was the best thing I've done."

Priscilla smiles and looks at her fiancé and I know she's happy, making me smile too. Her green eyes catch mine and I know she knows I know how happy she is, making us smile even more.

Looking back to Matthew, I ask, "I need to track someone down, do you reckon it's possible?"

"Depends," he says. "Old Army mate?"

"No. Mary Eichstaedt, or Mary Hamilton as she's reverted to."

Priscilla frowns when she hears Mary's name and Reggie utters, "The cow," earning a genuine clip over the ear from Mum who's been silently listening.

Matthew nods. "Wilhelm's wife? I get it, I know the story. I told you I came here to see Arthur Coleman's missus, right?"

"I know," I say, "Did you make a promise to Arty?"

"I did," Matthew says, steel and sadness in his eyes, "I made Arty a promise."

"I promised Will," I nod, saying no more.

Matthew nods too. "I'll tell you what, I'll write a letter of introduction for you to my old sergeant who's now based at Roma Street. If there's a fella who can track anyone down, it's him."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"What are you going to do, Alfie," Priscilla asks, "Waltz in and announce to Mary you're there to tell her how Will died? You're aware she may not want to see you or hear about Will's death?"

Shaking my head, I tell her, "Will asked me to see her and make sure she...to tell her..."

Mum walks over and places her hand on my shoulder. "It's fine, Alfie, you do what you need to do. I'm sure Mary will appreciate the gesture."

Ivy walks over with breakfast plates of toast and boiled eggs, and she asks, "Do you know anyone in Brisbane? Where will you stay?"

"Thanks," I tell her when she palaces the plate in front of me. "Dunno where I'll stay, little Sis. I'll find somewhere."

"I'll write a letter to me folks," Matthew says. "They're good people and told me if any of my cobbers needs a place to stay in Brisbane, they have a spare bed. It's my old bed, actually."

"I couldn't possibly..."

"I'll give you their address and you decide if you want to write to them too, no worries."

"You're a good man," Priscilla tells Matthew and they smile, and I'm finding myself smiling too.

~0~

"I'm going to the Big Smoke to track down Mary, wanna come with me?"

Mick puts his empty glass on the bar and shakes his head. "She'll fuckin' run a mile when she sees us."

"Why would she run?"

"Dunno, we're Will's mates. I'd run if I saw us comin' from a mile away."

"Suit yourself but I'm goin' next week."

"Right before Christmas. Be bloody busy in town."

"So?"

"Mary will be with family I expect."

"She should consider Will's family too. After all, she did marry him."

"Yeah, well, if you're goin' you should see Ludwig and Frieda first. They might want you to pass on a message or somethin'. Maybe you can coax Mary back here."

"Doubt it."

"Maybe she'll take pity on ya instead and invite you in for some Christmas cheer. You can give her yer famous Christmas pud."

"Piss off."

"You want her," Mick laughs. "Everyone wants a piece of Mary, you'd be bloody strange not to. Who'd have thought such an angel would be such a bitch."

"Don't call her that word, mate. Will would ask you to step outside if he were here, he'd expect his mates to respect her no matter what."

"He ain't here, is he, and maybe he didn't know what bitch she was."

"Doesn't matter because Will loved her and if the fucking war never happened he'd still be here helping his old man in their shop and Mary would be at their home raising young Jack and probably another kid or two. She and Jack were foremost on his mind when the gas rolled in and he asked me to tell her he loved her and I made a promise to him and also to meself I'd tell her even if it's the last thing I do."

"She'll be dead grateful, I'm sure, and tell ya, oh, Alfie, it's so wonderful you dropped by to inform me..."

"Go to hell, mate." For the first time since we were boys playing rough games like Rugby I want to punch Mick's face in.

"Told ya I went there to hell and they didn't want me. Bastards took me brother and left me here with the scars and memories. So settle yer fuckin' horses, cobber. Another drink?"

After a deep breath then another, I nod. "Why not."

Mick winks. "Good lad. And later I reckon we find your future brother-in-law and use him as a punching bag."

"Nah, mate, he's a good bloke."

"Oh, fuck off, he's got to you like he got to yer sister."

"Priscilla's happy. Like, she's glowing, never seen anything like it. I'm happy for them."

"Bloody hell, what's this world coming to. All this talk about love and happiness...fuck it, hey, Danny, over here, mate! Another beer for Flash and whatever that other shit is you call whisky for me."

Danny the barman frowns but fills our glasses. We go through this ritual a couple of times a week, where later Mick tries to pick fights and Danny kicks us out, so I take him home to his parent's dairy a mile out of town, avoiding the police station before heading back to collapse on my cot under the mosquito net.

~0~

A minute or so after knocking on the timber door to the Eichstaedt's house I hear footsteps on floorboards, a shadow briefly covers the dim light through the door's little frosted glass panels, then it opens. Martha stands with her hair unpinned, long and brown and spilling over her shoulders down her white blouse, a bright yellow skirt below, and she's seemingly lost for words, staring at me, her face flushing.

"Good afternoon, Martha."

"Hello, Alfred." She smiles, seemingly uncertain, then tells me, "Papa's still at work if you're looking for him, and Mama's out back."

"I thought your Father might be home by now?"

I'm looking into her eyes, causing her to flush a deeper shade of red, but she steps aside and says, "You can wait here if you like?"

"Splendid," I say in the manner of one of the English doctors at the convalescent hospital when he spoke to all the nurses, and Martha giggles.

After a long moment, she asks, "Would you like to see my dress?"

"I can see your dress, Miss Martha, and it's very beautiful."

She looks away and suddenly I feel self-conscious, for I've never been particularly good at this flirtation game, but I'm enjoying it immensely. Finding her voice again, she says, "I'm...making a dress for Elizabeth Lewis. For her wedding."

"I don't think I know Elizabeth, is she a relation of Donald Lewis?"

"They're cousins, I think. She's marrying a boy from up north, an Italian cane grower but he's moved down here after he left the army and bought a property in the district to run some cattle. Handsome fellow too, but he's a bit rude for my liking...gosh, I'm rambling aren't I?" She looks down and begins fidgeting.

With a laugh, I say, "Not at all."

Martha leads me through to a back room ringed with open casement windows of frosted glass, illuminating a beautiful white dress spread across a timber table, pins sticking it over a pattern on brown. She stands beside her Singer sewing machine in silence, beaming.

"It's beautiful," I whisper, knowing nothing about dress making. "You have a fine little business here, Martha."

Her face turns red and she smiles. "I'm considering taking some of my dresses to Brisbane to see if I can work in a department store as a draper or seamstress."

"I reckon you could open your own dress making shop."

She's still blushing. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"Speak to your father, he'd know. And your sister too, she's helped him for long enough."

"Gisela? She makes beautiful leatherwork but what would she know about running a dress making business?"

"I'd wager she's picked up a few things or two about business from yer Dad, she's remarkably resourceful."

"If I went to Brisbane I'd not even know where to start. I've only visited the city twice and I was a little girl then."

"I'm going there soon. Actually, that's what I'm here to see your Mother and Father about."

"Oh? Why would you want to speak with them about Brisbane?"

For a moment I hesitate, then spill the beans. "I'm going to find Mary."

Martha's eyes widen and she gasps, "Mary! She left us with hardly a goodbye, I hate her! Why do you want to see her?"

There's movement behind me, someone stepping into the room, a voice, Gisela, saying, "Because someone has to talk sense into the wench! If you're going to track Mary down, I'm coming with you."

She steps to the side of the room and I turn, telling her, "No you're not."

Martha's frowning and she asks her sister, "How long were you listening to us?"

"Long enough to know Alfred's going to go looking for Mary, and if he won't take me, I'll go on my own."

Shaking my head, I ask, "How are you going to do that, Gisela?"

"Same as you, get on a train to Brisbane."

Her declaration makes me smile. "Then what? Are you going to knock on every door in town?"

"And where would you stay?" Martha adds. "You don't even know Brisbane."

"I'll work it out," Gisela says. "Haven't you heard, I'm remarkably resourceful."

She heard more of our conversation than we realised, but it's time to call her bluff. "How's a pretty young lady like yourself going to travel to the big smoke on your own to track down a needle in a haystack, having no where to stay and no clue where to start looking?"

"The city's dangerous..." Martha whispers, placing her hand on Gisela's. "There's bad men there."

"There's bad men everywhere," Gisela says, her voice defiant. "I'll dress as a boy and cut my hair off, no one will bother me then. People say I act like a boy anyway."

"Good plan," I say with a smirk, then gesture vaguely at her chest. "One problem, actually two problems because you don't look like a boy, how are you going to hide these?"

Despite Gisela's apparent robust and tomboyish demeanour, her figure is undeniably a woman's, the swelling of her curvaceous bust under her grubby green dress is most noticeable, more so than any of her sisters. Not gigantic pendulous bosoms like Carmel McCotter's, the woman I billeted with in Melbourne for the previous month, or Carmel's daughter Susannah's fine round breasts, but even if Gisela wore a suit and tie and cut her hair fine, she'd not hide her chest enough to pass as a man.

Martha giggles and it's Gisela's turn to blush, holding her hands to her breast as if she's exposed and trying to hide her nakedness, and Martha giggles some more.

Shaking my head, I'm starting to feel sorry for Gisela, wishing I'd not spoken thus, thinking of all the teasing she's received and people talking about her behind her back because of her boyish nature, and now I've pointed out her womanly figure in a disparaging manner, and my Mother's words pop into my head, "She's such a natural with children. You should've seen her with baby Jack when Mary was still around...Lord knows Gisela adores the boy."

The house is filled with other noises now, Frieda and Ludwig, and Gisela runs from the room, leaving Martha and I awkward, and she's blushing again in the waning light.

~0~

A summer storm rolls in off the ranges bringing a deluge turning the streets to mud, my boot sliding into water flowing like rivers in the gutters, the flash of light and almost instantaneous ear-splitting crack and rumble fills my ears.

I near dive through the door, a little bell ringing somewhere, my heart and nerves on frenzied edge. Breathing hard I'm looking for cover, anywhere, like a madman, and when I look up there's Will behind the counter asking me, "Alfie? Are you alright, do you need help?"

It's not Will, it can't be, no, it's his sister Gisela, her eyes the same as his, but it's definitely Gisela and she looks worried, perhaps even startled, but she approaches, taking my hand. "It's only a storm, don't be frightened."

Deep breaths, the overwhelming smell of leather, the air burning my lungs, I'm retching and coughing, trying to keep the contents of my stomach down, falling to my knees.

"Alfie, what's happening with you?" Gisela is saying, her hand between my shoulder blades.

With a cough and a sputter, I tell her, "I'm so sorry. The thunder...it...it's..."

"Don't be frightened."

"I'm not..."

"I won't tell anyone," she whispers. "Come out back and I'll get you some tea."

I follow her through to the workshop, noting she's wearing the same grubby green dress I've seen her in most days, wearing her leather apron over the top. A blue ribbon holds her long hair in a loose bun with messy strands scattering at all angles, this way and that. She goes to the stove in the corner on which she places a kettle and feeds some kindling through the little door, into the coals, then turns to me and we're silent for a moment, staring at one another.

I've never thought of Gisela as anything other than Will's little tomboyish sister, but here in her Father's workshop, surrounded by the tools and materials of their trade, I think she's grown into a beautiful young woman like her older sisters, except she's rough around the edges, unrefined perhaps. But beautiful all the same and after an eternity of eye contact, there's another flash and crack, making me flinch, ducking, the thunder's echo rumbling long and loud down the valley, shaking the building.

"I used to love summer thunderstorms," I say, "But I think the war has made me adverse to loud bangs."

"I still do love them," she says with a smile. "When they come through at night I sometimes go onto the veranda to watch the lightning. Mama hates it when I do, telling me to come inside because I might get hit. Martha too, she's a scaredy cat. Please, take a seat."

Taking a stool between workbenches, I note her little frown when she mentions Martha. The closest workbench is covered in several saddlebags neatly lined up, and soon the kettle whistles and she pours two cups of tea, handing one to me. "Thanks. What if someone comes into the shop while you're back here?"