Through the Peaks

My Dearest Darling Theodor,

If there’s any taint in the snow-white assurance in your mind that I’m coming to you, let this letter quell any fear. 

Yes, my love, as I’m penning you this little message, I am attempting to stuff my beat-up mauve suitcase with a fraction of the rainbow of clothes that always made you shake your head and elicit that low, velvety chuckle that cocoons me with warmth instantly. I leaf through the soft, watercolour renditions of the dew-kissed, blush roses at the Schloss Mirabell that have, a myriad of times, painted a constellation of pride in your cornflower eyes. I earmark a corner in my baggage for Tolstoy, Austen, Shakespeare, and Hugo --- friends with whom we have shared many an afternoon lost in both the words they wave and the honey-tinged smiles we exchanged. Wish me luck, I guess. You know I need it.

Oh, I could just picture your poppy-petal mouth stretched to a sly grin. Your mellifluous voice would nickname me ‘Your Collector’ yet again, and your toned arms would enfold me, create the most tranquil sanctuary with one embrace. Well, I’m doing it, my darling. Despite my propensity to tightly grip even the smallest, most mundane bus ticket, I’m bundling up but one bag to meet you through the Alpine peaks. When I cross the rugged, mountainous border into Switzerland, you would see just me and that single piece of luggage. You did mention that I should pack light, so I shall follow you like a sherpa leads an Everest climber to the roof of the Earth. Don’t say I don’t listen to you. 

I know. What could lead a woman whose room is practically a curio shop, who has curated a treasure trove of tomes, trinkets, and taffeta, to try to fit her entire life in a carry-on shell? Well, the answer is quite simple; it’s you. My darling Theodor, I would carry the world on my delicate little shoulders, climb every single summit, if it meant being by your side. It’s your soft, gold waves and your shy, elfin grin that power every step through every crest and trough of this existence.

And worry not, my love. I know you’d want me to bring the following items into our new home:

1. My Diamond and Emerald Edelweiss Drop Earrings – How can I not carry with me a symbol of our home, a representation of how we, as a people thrive even in the toughest of terrains? More importantly, how can I not keep the very piece of jewelry that led me to the limestone solidity of your love?

I must admit that at first, I had no idea why I had this pull in me that made me decide to visit the Volksgarten with my easel and paints rather than my usual haunts. However, when I laid eyes on you beaming at a vivid, taffy-hued alpenrose, my heart was immediately caught up in an avalanche of emotion. I must have been so focused on you, my fingers on my brushes so tempted to colour your blonde tresses with caresses, that I didn’t notice one of my earrings had fallen off. 

When you approached me, bent down, and gazed at me with those cerulean gems, I felt as if I were on higher ground. Even then, I knew I’d go through every peak for you.

2. The Copy of ‘Sense and Sensibility’ You Gave Me for My 25th Birthday- What else do you expect, my darling, from the number one fan of those love sonnets you’ve written in that weathered cobalt blue journal that only I have read, apart from you? Would you be shocked if your partner in crime in banter about The Bard would choose to throw in a novel to take to her new country? Is it so odd for the girl whose library you helped build to opt to pack some of her beloved books?

Of course, of all the titles I own, it’s that seafoam green copy of my most read Austen novel --- the same one you shyly handed to me at that velvet seat-filled theatre box --- that I consider my favourite. 

Like sparkling snow globe crystals, it all dances and swirls around in my mind. We’d just viewed a magnificent staging of the ballet ‘Romeo and Juliet’ when your trembling hands retrieved an amethyst-wrapped gift with a long, ivory silk ribbon from the chocolate leather satchel you carried. I gasped as I saw Elinor and Marianne’s beautiful, angelic faces radiating from the cover. Before I could even thank you, you mumbled out a request to turn the first page. There, a bergamot-scented lilac envelope with my name in your loopy cursive was tucked.

As soon as I read the brief but sincere paragraph palaces you’ve built me, I couldn’t help running up to you and giving you the softest of kisses. Even then, I knew I’d go through every peak for you.

3. That Peach Ruffled Dress You Love and Its Matching Watercolour – How could I leave that flouncy little frock, its silky fabric a kaleidoscope of colour when the sun hits it at the right angle, when you and I have made so many memories as it graced my body?

Every single afternoon as we promenaded by the Salzach River, the dress floating in a spring breeze, flows in my consciousness every moment. Every night where I swayed in your arms, my outfit billowing with each spin, I pirouette in remembrance of. 

I suppose you adored seeing me in that light, almost salmon number so much that one day, during a picnic with you, you rubbed small circles onto my milky palm, then took out a large sketchbook. When I stared at your gleaming blue eyes in confusion, you only nodded at me to open it. To my surprise, on the very first page was me, my long mahogany hair coiffed in an elaborate French twist and a peach rose as attire. Apparently, you asked David from the art supplies store I usually frequent for lessons on painting.

As you whispered that I was your flower with that Mozart concerto of a voice, I was a fountain of happy tears. Even then, I knew I’d go through every peak for you.

4. My Oval-Cut Diamond Engagement Ring – From the very second you first handed to me my lost accessory at the park, I knew that, just like the pinkest tulips of May would inevitably lead to ivory-blanketed streets, you would eventually ask me to be your bride. What I didn’t expect was how much my soul would always find its way back to that night, much like every gaze in our city leads to the towering white-capped Alps.

You had asked me to meet you at David’s gallery on the Altstadt. I should have known it wasn’t just a private exhibition I was strolling to when you’d asked me to don a snow blush-coloured frock and those pumps with the crystal buckle. How was I to know that with every step, I was closer to a display of around thirty portraits of me in a spectrum of hues….as well as a 1 X 2 metre canvas displaying the question ‘Will you marry me, Adelheid?’

Before a river of happy tears that could shame the Danube tributary flowing through our commune even erupted, you knelt on one knee, quakingly took my left hand, and whispered ‘I love you’ as the frost turned your breath into a billowing cloud. Frozen in utter joy, I could only just nod and beam as you slipped that mark of being, from now until eternity, yours. When you stood up and I leapt into your waiting embrace, I imagined an entire future, solid as limestone, by your side. Even then, I knew I’d go through every peak for you.

I can not wait to be with you, my sweet Theodor, to feel as though I’m on top of the world simply because I feel you around me.

…if only you could be physically there to hold me. Like a blizzard, the frigid scenes keep pummelling the paths of my memory: you coming home and leading David and his family --- sudden 'foreigners' made to wear a star on their chests --- to our underground cellar to hide from soldiers from the other side of the border, building a fortress as impenetrable as the Hohensalzburg to shield the thump of your heart when those grey-suited SS officers knocked on your door, them dragging you outside of our house during a surprise inspection and glaring at those cornflower eyes with a serpentine look of betrayal, the crimson spots staining the slushy backyard and my teardrops instantly joining them. Each time, with every memory flurrying in my head, the air around me grows thin until I could no longer breathe. 

However, as I make my way to Switzerland, a single suitcase filled with us in my hand, I know this to be true. You, my love, will be in the mountain streams, the milky tops. Your honeyed-voice will echo in the valleys and the passes. Theodor, I will go through the peaks, through anything, as long as you’re at the pinnacle of my heart.

Loving you as immovably as the Alps,

Your Adelheid