It has been weeks since you wrote to say that you thought you might be setting out for Italy any day as you had finally been issued with your white-coated uniform and musket and still we have had no word of what has become of you or any of the other boys from our valley.
I am not sure that I can share your confidence that all will be well - though I know you will fight like a lion and give your all for your Emperor whatever the cost.
There are rumours in the village that things are not going well in Lombardy. Old Friedrich at the bakery says that Emperor Franz-Josef is wet-behind-the-ears and too hasty taking on those rascals from Piedmont-Sardinia now that they have support from Napoleon. And I heard from Frau Grüber’s daughter Inge who is in service in Vienna, that all the fine ladies in the salons are rolling bandages for the wounded and supplies to the Front are in chaos so the soldiers must fight without bread in their stomachs. I cannot bear to think of you facing such hardship.
Mama insists that with no official word from the provinces we must assume that the emperor’s decision to command the army himself and quell these uprisings was the right one and all is going to plan. She tells me Friedrich has not been the same since he heard from family in Salzburg that his Great-nephew was killed at the Battle of Magenta but she is firm that I must not lose heart.
But my heart feels damned up and can only be released by the knowledge that are safe. You know how it is when summer breaks suddenly...the rains come ... and the mountain waterfalls turn the gurgling stream at the bottom of our field in a moment to a fierce torrent? The days before the storm when the air is thick and heavy and it’s impossible to breathe. This... This is how I feel.
Pieter, until you left in that rickety cart that took you away over the mountain pass to the south to join all those thousands of other young men in Austria’s Imperial army, we had spent every day of our childhood together and almost every moment since. I cannot remember a day without seeing your beloved face, as wide open as a summer day and honest as it is long with every thought displayed there for all to see.
Liebling, you are my daybreak and my dusk. The breeze from the south in winter, the silence of a snow flurry at Candlemas and the dew on the mountain grass at dawn. I remember playing hide and seek crawling between the pews in church when we were three years old. You kissed me, I smacked you and we were both roundly spanked for making such a commotion in God’s own house. Perhaps I should feel shame when I think of the touch of your fingers on my skin? But I don't and how thankful I am for these memories now.
Many people are in despair and there are shortages of everything it seems. Mama reminds us that we must be thankful that we have our own milk and cheese and meat which is more than many in the big towns have. The taxes have gone sky-high so everyone says, to pay for a war that nobody wants! And with all the young men gone most families are sorely lacking their strong muscles and broad shoulders to keep things going.
Whoever is left, old and young alike must pitch in to do all the heavy work on the farms. Despite it being summer, the day seems so short with the chopping and clearing, feeding, milking and slaughtering of the animals. This morning, we moved the herds up to the high pastures and made a start on repairing the stone-walling on the south scree where the goats have kicked it down. If only you were here. I’m not complaining of the work, but I think of how you manage to find the laughter and fun in every chore, however hard the toil. When I am churning butter I think of you. When I hear cow-bells echo around the valley I think of you. When I swing an axe to chop logs I think of you. Everything reminds me of you.
Even the little ones have no time for games. Mama tries not to allow me to dwell and scolds me roundly if she catches me weeping over the cheese-making. But I can’t help it. I think that's why she finds me one task after another. You would think with such labor I would fall into a sound slumber the second I fall onto my bed but instead all I can see is the outline of your face in the rafters, like the pale shadow of a perfect memory. Sometimes I lie there until dawn and I wonder if something happens to you, how will I bear it?
I know that things are so much worse for you, wherever you are than anything I could imagine. And all of this and more I willingly endure if only you are spared.
I think… No, I am sure that I am with child. Your child. I hope it will give you some comfort to know that I do not regret a single moment. I have always been yours and in giving myself to you I am yours forever.
Every day without you is an eternity, but as you are now a brave and loyal soldier, I am resolved to be as brave and loyal as you and trust that all will be well and that you will come home to us.
Your loving
Liesl
Laxenberg Palace
Vienna
25th June, 1859
Dear Liesl,
By the time you receive this missive the news may have reached you that that tragically, your beloved Pieter succumbed to wounds sustained at the Battle of Solferino whilst fighting bravely for his Emperor.
I am writing in the hope that knowledge of the circumstances in which your young man passed onto the next life may afford you a tiny sliver of comfort in the midst of your despair. Something that perhaps in time, although your hopes and dreams lie in tatters, you may take hold of in the difficult days and months ahead.
You see, I want you to know that I was with your brave Pieter during his last hour. I encountered him on a military train bringing wounded soldiers back from the battlefields.
I stopped and sat with him awhile and held his hand. He asked me to read your letter to him aloud and I was privileged to be able to do so.
Thus, I can tell you Liesl, without any doubt, that your precious Pieter left this earth with the vision of your face in his mind’s eye, your loving words in his ears and the knowledge that you are carrying his child into a brighter future.
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