have heard), you will indeed understand the metaphor: wings, time, myself. The gift should arrive by coach before the week is out.
Until another day.
Yours,
Karl Ludwig
Mummi folded the paper and tucked it back into the envelope. “Ah,” she said. “It’s the younger archduke. Little Karl. I was not aware you’d even had a conversation with him. Green eyes, however? Not very observant.”
Karl who? I had had no conversation with the young archduke, but when I searched my memory of the horrid visit, I’d seen, on the grounds, a boy clad in the military uniform befitting an Austrian royal. His skin, I recalled, was a mass of bumps and rash. “That boy with the pustule face? The archduchess’s younger son? He wrote to me? But why?”
Mummi sighed. “Evidently, my dear, he was quite bewitched by you. Charming. But certainly nothing to take seriously. He’s still so young. Has yet to do his time in the military. I wonder if my sister knows of this note?”
The note gave me pause. If the younger brother had been so bold as to write me, what of the future emperor? This, of course, was more important. “Has Nené heard from Archduke Franz Joseph?”
Mummi shook her head. “And it worries me. Between us, I hoped that he would have written of his intentions by now. But with the Revolution and all …”
“Karl,” I whispered to myself. Karl. Karl. Karl. In the journal in my head, I was already building verse:
I hasten to the realm of dreams, my Karl, there are you,
My soul, my heart, they jubilate, for you and only you.
I would amend the second you , certainly, once I was alone with my journal. Or possibly the first you would change. At any rate, Karl was destined (Oh, how I loved that word, destined ) to be my first love, the first man to court me. And why not? Now that I was forbidden fun, freedom and fresh air, Karl would be the substitute. Certainly, his face was difficult to look upon, but, now that I was lady, such shallow thoughts must banish themselves. What was most important was the possibility of love. As if by some spell, suddenly, I could not wait until his gift arrived. My very first gift from a suitor! Beneath the corset-squeezing pains, the blood of this wretched affliction called womanhood, I would find a way to escape after all. As always.
There was plenty of opportunity to write, rewrite, and write some more with regard to my new obsession, the young archduke. Sitting on my throne of cloth while the three days of stillness leaked away, I composed my journal entries, sketched my daydreams and, more to the point, wrote Karl Ludwig a return note.
His gift of alpine chocolates arrived, though the under-governess and the scullery maid had pinched them “to ensure their safety,” they’d said, but I knew they couldn’t resist the sweets. Shortly thereafter, Gackl came bounding through the nursery with a wrapped box for me. Certainly my little brother was hoping for a ball or a rope or maybe even a set of building blocks. After unknotting the silk ribbon and ripping the rice paper, Gackl’s face deflated like a pin-stuck balloon. Instead of something that would appeal to a child, there lay tarnished copper feathers, which jutted from a rose-painted locket timepiece, all of which hung from a modest silver chain. “Your admirer sent you a pocket watch?”
It was lovely, with a snap hinge revealing the time on the front and a small photo of Karl, dressed in uniform, on the inside. I now wore it around my neck day and night, winding it every morning, happily hearing the tick, tick, and imagining that far off in Vienna, Karl’s heart made that same sound. In his photograph, I saw the man he would soon grow into. Perhaps he was still a boy, but barely a boy. I could love him. Certainly I could.
Dear Karl , I began. And then crumpled the paper. Again: Dearest Karl . No. Another try: My darling Karl. Karl, my dearest. That one I ripped to shreds.
Gackl was happily frolicking with his new
Until another day.
Yours,
Karl Ludwig
Mummi folded the paper and tucked it back into the envelope. “Ah,” she said. “It’s the younger archduke. Little Karl. I was not aware you’d even had a conversation with him. Green eyes, however? Not very observant.”
Karl who? I had had no conversation with the young archduke, but when I searched my memory of the horrid visit, I’d seen, on the grounds, a boy clad in the military uniform befitting an Austrian royal. His skin, I recalled, was a mass of bumps and rash. “That boy with the pustule face? The archduchess’s younger son? He wrote to me? But why?”
Mummi sighed. “Evidently, my dear, he was quite bewitched by you. Charming. But certainly nothing to take seriously. He’s still so young. Has yet to do his time in the military. I wonder if my sister knows of this note?”
The note gave me pause. If the younger brother had been so bold as to write me, what of the future emperor? This, of course, was more important. “Has Nené heard from Archduke Franz Joseph?”
Mummi shook her head. “And it worries me. Between us, I hoped that he would have written of his intentions by now. But with the Revolution and all …”
“Karl,” I whispered to myself. Karl. Karl. Karl. In the journal in my head, I was already building verse:
I hasten to the realm of dreams, my Karl, there are you,
My soul, my heart, they jubilate, for you and only you.
I would amend the second you , certainly, once I was alone with my journal. Or possibly the first you would change. At any rate, Karl was destined (Oh, how I loved that word, destined ) to be my first love, the first man to court me. And why not? Now that I was forbidden fun, freedom and fresh air, Karl would be the substitute. Certainly, his face was difficult to look upon, but, now that I was lady, such shallow thoughts must banish themselves. What was most important was the possibility of love. As if by some spell, suddenly, I could not wait until his gift arrived. My very first gift from a suitor! Beneath the corset-squeezing pains, the blood of this wretched affliction called womanhood, I would find a way to escape after all. As always.
There was plenty of opportunity to write, rewrite, and write some more with regard to my new obsession, the young archduke. Sitting on my throne of cloth while the three days of stillness leaked away, I composed my journal entries, sketched my daydreams and, more to the point, wrote Karl Ludwig a return note.
His gift of alpine chocolates arrived, though the under-governess and the scullery maid had pinched them “to ensure their safety,” they’d said, but I knew they couldn’t resist the sweets. Shortly thereafter, Gackl came bounding through the nursery with a wrapped box for me. Certainly my little brother was hoping for a ball or a rope or maybe even a set of building blocks. After unknotting the silk ribbon and ripping the rice paper, Gackl’s face deflated like a pin-stuck balloon. Instead of something that would appeal to a child, there lay tarnished copper feathers, which jutted from a rose-painted locket timepiece, all of which hung from a modest silver chain. “Your admirer sent you a pocket watch?”
It was lovely, with a snap hinge revealing the time on the front and a small photo of Karl, dressed in uniform, on the inside. I now wore it around my neck day and night, winding it every morning, happily hearing the tick, tick, and imagining that far off in Vienna, Karl’s heart made that same sound. In his photograph, I saw the man he would soon grow into. Perhaps he was still a boy, but barely a boy. I could love him. Certainly I could.
Dear Karl , I began. And then crumpled the paper. Again: Dearest Karl . No. Another try: My darling Karl. Karl, my dearest. That one I ripped to shreds.
Gackl was happily frolicking with his new
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