Into the Breach With You (The Ladies Alpine Society #3)

Chapter Three

Goats were first on his chore list, only because the longer they were ignored, the louder they became. Tante Greta was sensitive to goats’ incessant bleating, so he did his best to keep them happy. He’d mucked out their enclosure, put down fresh hay, and checked each animal for overall health, which mostly meant leaning against the fence and letting the curious animals work their hungry lips around his clothing.

He’d taken off his outer coat and laid it across the fence rail. Still, the cool sweat made his shirt stick to his back. The goats nibbled at his fingers and then investigated the cotton shirt that Karl pulled at. While he was in the pen, he checked the fence beams, pulling and pushing at them to test how well placed they were, and if they would stand up to a determined goat.

He tidied away the implements and patted the goats on their heads before leaving the pen. Next up were the fences at the edge of the grazing pasture. He swung by the shed behind the inn, and that was where they found him.

“Mr. Vogel,”

Fr?ulein Bridewell greeted. She wore a plain bonnet, but still far more lace adorned it than graced any of the women in the valley here.

Karl winced and shut the shed door. “Guten Morgen, Fr?ulein Bridewell.”

Then he noticed the girl behind her. “Fr?ulein Brewer.”

The cool air had pinked her cheeks. She looked in perfect health, even if she was staring at him with murder in her eyes. It made him grin before he remembered that he should not show too much interest. He tempered his expression and hefted the long-handled hatchet over his shoulder. “I must repair a fence before the light leaves. If you have need of something, perhaps you will walk with me?”

“Thank you, we’d be glad to accompany you.”

Fr?ulein Bridewell glanced over her shoulder to Fr?ulein Brewer, who rolled her eyes with such drama, he’d think he was transported to the theater in Munich.

Karl turned, smothering another smile as he led them up the trail. The snow was thin and crusty from the wind and sun. There would likely be one more snowfall before summer, but the valley did not receive as much snow as the surrounding mountains. The town was protected by its geographical arrangement, not that Karl needed to persuade anyone of the natural idyll Zermatt possessed. Indeed, its virtue in his mind was that it was difficult to get to, making any traveler more predisposed to fall in love. It was the reward at the end of a harrowing trail, not unlike reaching the peak of an Alpine ascent.

They trudged behind him, and he was pleased that their breathing sounded even as they continued up the side of the valley.

“I didn’t realize you were taking us on a hike,”

Fr?ulein Brewer grumbled behind him. The snow made for a perfect sound carrier. He could hear her as if she were speaking directly into his ear. A flash of remembrance from the night before hit him, when he’d been so tempted to kiss her, so close to her, smelling her, her unbound hair brushing his arm.

“In other languages, we say this is a walk, as any walk. We don’t make distinctions. It is the English who have to prepare themselves. The rest of us, we expect hills.”

“Hills?”

Fr?ulein Brewer protested. “This is an actual mountain.”

Fr?ulein Bridewell huffed a laugh. “Where are you taking us, Mr. Vogel?”

“The edge of the grazing pasture. It is not too far now.”

Karl glanced back at them. Neither of them was bent at the waist or fatigued. Good sign. They continued without speaking, him listening to their rhythmic breathing and clear steps. Perhaps taking them up a mountain wouldn’t be so bad after all. But surely, even with three months of preparation, they could not be serious about the Matterhorn.

The downed fence was easy to find. The split-rail fence abutted the forest. It was obvious from the arrangement that snowmelt had pushed a boulder down the hill, crashing it into the fence, and irreparably cracked the wooden rails. It would only take a dry day to make the wood split and crack even further, allowing the boulder to continue its path downward.

After assessing the damage, Karl leaned the hatchet against the trunk of a tree. “So,”

he said, and then set to rolling the boulder to a copse of trees that would easily hold its weight. He returned to the damaged fence, getting his breath under control. “What questions do you have for me?”

**

Justine had nothing in her head, which was unusual. Typically, she had a ticker tape of constant reminders, worries, thoughts, and tasks scrolling through her head. But here, watching Karl Vogel push a boulder, Justine could not remember a single one.

Thighs. That’s what she thought. Those massive thighs flexing as he pushed away the boulder. Then, when he returned, broad chest heaving, she had to push herself to think. Thankfully, Ophelia took the opportunity to speak, because Justine was lost.

“Mr. Vogel, we would like to arrange to climb several of the surrounding mountains over the coming weeks, as preparation for the Matterhorn come summer.”

Ophelia stepped forward. “We would very much like to have your expertise in knowing which mountains and terrain would be best for acclimation to the Alpine environment.”

Justine finally came to herself long enough to realize Ophelia was using her obsequious voice. Was that really necessary? He was their guide. She paid him. He had to do what he was told. Why was she flattering him?

A breeze came up and chilled her. She pulled at her woolen cape and marveled at Mr. Vogel’s work without a coat. Was he impervious to the cold, as he’d been impervious to the altitude? It was hard for her to concentrate on the words they were exchanging, and Justine looked away to clear the space Karl took up in her mind. The vista was beyond words she could string together. Scotland had been beautiful, but so was this, in an entirely different way. The white crimping of the surrounding mountains fairly glowed a bone-bleached white in the morning light.

“Wait for the alpenglow this evening,”

he called to her. “That is even more beautiful.”

She glanced back at him, surprised he noticed her lack of attention. Surprised anyone noticed her when Ophelia was around. Honestly, it shocked Justine how many suitors she had, being short, reckless, talkative, and, according to her mother, foolhardy. Mostly because she always stood next to Ophelia, who was tall, regal, intelligent, ambitious, aristocratic, and logical. And blonde.

And Justine didn’t think that just because they’d been friends since leading strings. Ophelia was all of those things, and yet, men didn’t flock to her. They cleared their throats, bowed deeply at the waist, and asked her to dance, where they rarely spoke, apparently. Ophelia reported not enjoying dancing because her partners were so quiet. Justine, on the other hand, couldn’t make any of them shut their pitiful gobs.

So the fact that Karl Vogel called over to her was surprising. Shouldn’t he be scraping and bowing to Ophelia?

“Then it’s settled?”

Ophelia asked. Karl nodded his head once, and then Ophelia turned around and looked at Justine, beaming.

That told Justine she should have been paying attention. The sound of the hatchet made her jump. She whirled around to find Ophelia stepping lightly down the path to where Justine stood, and Karl cutting down a tree.

It was, in a word, magnificent. But it didn’t stop there. With two hard cuts, one from either side, the thin tree fell right to where the broken fence sat. He cut it to size, and with every swing, Justine’s mouth grew drier.

“We should get back,”

Ophelia said.

Justine nodded in agreement, but she could not make her feet move. Not as Karl stood up the tree trunk on its end and stripped the bark from it. She had believed, not knowing exactly how a fence was mended, that it was a project that took a long time. She expected twine or wire, or nails or something. But no. None of those things. Only the broad-shouldered blond Karl Vogel with his long-handled hatchet.

“Good thing you aren’t the fainting type,”

Ophelia said.

“Good thing,”

Justine managed.

Karl looked up, noticing them still standing there. “Did you need something further, Fr?ulein Bridewell?”

“Not at all, but Fr?ulein Brewer had a question.”

Ophelia elbowed Justine in the ribs.

“I hate you,”

Justine whispered to her friend.

“Ja, Fr?ulein?”

His bright blue eyes landed on hers, and she had never felt as utterly stupid as she did right then.

Her mind fumbled for something, anything. “What time will we be going on our walk tomorrow?”

“One in the afternoon,”

he said, wiping sweat from his brow. There was amusement in his face. And it made her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Then I’ll see you at six.”

Justine turned her back to him with every ounce of willpower she had.

“Thank you, Herr Vogel. Dankeschon .”

Justine couldn’t help but give Ophelia side-eye as they descended the mountain. “Did you really thank him in German?”

“Of course,”

Ophelia countered. “It’s polite. We are in Switzerland; we should do our best to learn the language of our location.”

“It’s pointless. We’ll be gone in a few months, and he speaks English.”

Justine balled her fists. Why did she feel so irritated suddenly?

“We may be gone from this trip, but the German climbers are some of the most successful. If I want to continue to climb and have a decent reputation, I need to learn as many languages as I can.”

“I thought you already knew French,”

Justine said.

It was Ophelia’s turn to give side-eye. “Which is helpful, but French and German are not at all alike.”

Justine shrugged. They’d gone to the same ladies’ boarding school, but Justine had always skipped French. The class was held at four o’clock in the afternoon, an hour that Justine could not stay awake for. The comfort of a drowse in the meager sunshine that landed on her bed during that time was unarguable.

Dinner came quickly after they got down the trail. The inn supplied a cup of tea and a slice of apple cake at three, and then it was seven, and they were expected to sit down and eat again. The meal felt early to her, but then, she would have to shift her waking and sleeping hours if she was to beat Karl Vogel at his own game. She eyed him at dinner. After serving everyone, he sat at another table, speaking German or Swiss, or whatever language everyone but her spoke, laughing. He drank from a tankard, which she supposed was full of ale or beer. What did she know of the drinking habits of Swiss mountain guides?

Good, she thought. Drink up. Because tomorrow morning, she was prepared to run faster and harder and make him keep up with her .

She went to bed early that night, surprising Ophelia with a simple goodnight before turning down her oil lamp. Normally, she couldn’t fall sleep quickly, but with the Alpine walks combined with the lack of sleep the night before, she fell deep and fast.

Periodically through the night, she awoke, each time checking the small timepiece she’d bought to wear on her breast. The green ribbon was bright enough to pick off her nightstand, and the portable brazier glowed enough for her to see the timepiece. When it was finally five in the morning, Justine got dressed.

She crept down the stairs, her hair braided, her boots double tied, knit cap in hand. There was a creak on the third stair, and again on the fifth—she would have to learn these. After all, didn’t Karl sleep in the dining room? At least, he did last night. She wouldn’t want to wake him and alert him to her presence before it was time. At a quarter till six, she thought she was safe, until she rounded the corner to find Karl bouncing on his toes.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

A stab of disappointment hit her. Bloody hell. She’d meant to surprise him, and there he was, bright-eyed, ready to run. “I am.”

“Any others?”

he asked, glancing up the stairs.

“No, just us.”

Justine grimaced. Fine, he got her today, but tomorrow, she would be down there at half past, just to prove a point.

**

He took her up the goat trail first. The sky was dark, but she didn’t complain. What starlight there was reflected on the snow, and the trail they left in the crusty snow was easy to spot. Karl knew she wouldn’t get lost on the only trail, and sound travelled well on snow, and he’d hear her if she fell too far behind.

When they reached the repaired fence, he walked them along it until they got to the gate. He pushed down the latch, which moved the rock that served as the weight to keep the latch down and the gate closed.

“That’s a clever thing,”

she murmured as she passed through the gate.

Karl inwardly fumed at the audacity of the English. Of course it was clever. People had been living here forever. It wasn’t just the English who invented. There were plenty of scientists and inventors and philosophers from the German provinces and Switzerland as well as other places. Without the Germans, England would have no composers, since they liked to pick their favorites from other countries and then call them their own. But as he led her higher up the goat path, and the sun crested the mountain ridge, he realized that she had only complimented a gate. He had no reason to hold centuries of history over her head, as if she alone were responsible for the actions of an empire.

He listened to her breathing growing more and more labored. She was unaccustomed to hills such as these. There was no replacement for this simple act of walking up a mountain.

With her comfort in mind, he stopped at an overlook to let her catch her breath. She pulled up short next to him, gulping in air. The wind had loosened her braids, and a dark brown strand crossed her neck like a velvet ribbon. She was very pretty with her dark brown eyes, large and searching as she took in the sight of the valley below and mountains.

She made a lilting high-pitched noise in her throat, still too winded to speak. But Karl took that as an affirmation that she found the view as beautiful as he did.

“Are you well?”

he asked her, concerned at how long it took her to catch her breath. The cold air could push into a person’s lungs and make them feel icy cold from the inside out.

She swallowed hard, gulping more air before clearing her throat. “I’m well, thank you.”

“Good,”

he said. “Eat some snow.”

Her breath stopped laboring as she looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“You cannot be coughing your way up a mountain. It takes too long. Have some snow to wet your throat.”

Did she not have basic sense? Her cheeks were bright red from exertion, and she needed to clear herself of the excess heat that a woolen dress kept close. And while he didn’t think she had wet lung—they were not that high in elevation, and the way he might check was to put his ear to her breast, and he didn’t think that would be permitted—eating snow would be helpful.

She stared at him more. “From the ground.”

“From wherever,”

he said, gesturing to the trees that dripped ice from their needles. “Are you so blue-blooded that you cannot drink your own water?”

Her eyebrows raised up so far that they disappeared underneath her knit cap. “I beg. Your pardon.”

“You have a need. Take the snow that is available to you.”

Karl gestured at the tree again. Maybe he could blame her for all of the ignorance the English brought with them. Treating the Swiss as if they were backward yokels, stupid and barely deserving respect. Throw money at them, and they jump at the chance to carry supplies, show them trails, help them achieve the impossible.

She didn’t move to scoop any snow or shake ice from the tree. No, she stared at him as if he were a naughty schoolboy. He did not like it.

“Who do you think I am?”

she asked, placing her fists on her hips, accenting how tiny her waist was in a way that made him wonder what it would feel like to have his own hand there, in the dip of her waist. Wonder what it would feel like to pull her closer to him while his hand was there.

He shrugged as if he did not care, and not that he did not know. Because he didn’t. “A spoiled aristocrat from England.”

She laughed so loud and so suddenly he worried about an avalanche. He didn’t know why she was laughing other than a possibility of frost-induced lunacy, if there was such a thing.

“I’m no aristocrat. If only my father could have heard that!”

Her voice was still laced with humor. She shook her head. “Me, on the same plane as Ophelia?”

She cooed out a last chuckle.

He was dumbstruck. Apparently he was incorrect about her social standing, but why was that a cause of such humor? It put him into even more of a dark mood. He turned to head up the next path, where there were three choices, three branches to choose, all of different difficulty.

Over his shoulder, he watched as she drew her woolen mitten under her nose. So not a blue blood. He gritted his teeth and started up the steepest path. Let her prove how hardy she was.

**

At half past noon, Ophelia touched her shoulder to wake her.

That man wanted to kill her. Murder by mountain. Justine peeled open one eye. “Do you have any food?”

Worry creased Ophelia’s face. “I could go ask the kitchen . . . ?”

Justine held up her hand to stop her friend. At least she was still dressed. Even her boots. She’d returned from their hike as breakfast was being served and gone up to the room to wash her face and hands, but instead had fallen asleep on the bed. Her feet were swollen and hot in her boots, but she didn’t care.

In her fatigue, she rolled off the bed, landing on the floor on all fours.

“Goodness,”

Ophelia commented, jumping back.

Justine used her hands to climb up to standing. “I’m fine. Some bread and cheese, and water, I’ll be ready for the next round.”

Lots of water.

Ophelia was ready to go downstairs, so they left the room together. Justine’s thighs felt shaky on the stairs, but she’d manage. She needed some food, and after that, all would be correct.

Sure enough, the innkeeper handed her a circular roll with cheese and dried meat stuffed inside of it. The episode took some pantomiming, but they got through it. And as they waited for Eleanor and Tristan to join them, Herr Brunner came to her holding a tankard so full it splashed onto the floor.

Justine accepted it gratefully. The bread was delicious, but she was parched. “Apple?”

she asked, as the aroma made it unmistakable.

“Apfel, ja,”

Herr Brunner said, nodding.

“Does it have alcohol?”

Ophelia asked, peering into the tankard.

“No idea. Drinking it anyway,”

Justine said, keeping a smile plastered on her face to appease Herr Brunner. She gulped it down, the sugar hitting her bloodstream almost instantly.

Karl Vogel appeared in the doorway, looking nearly a foot wider than his uncle. She turned away from him and scarfed her roll down as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to show any weakness, and that included hunger.

The two men talked, and Justine kept her face averted as she chewed. Tristan and Eleanor descended, followed by Prudence, who looked flushed and hurried. Justine risked a glance back at Karl, who was counting the group with a nod of his head. She swallowed the knot of bread, and it got stuck in her throat.

She downed the rest of the apple cider, the wide mouth of the tankard allowing the liquid to splash down the side of her chin. Great look. Just bloody adorable. Couldn’t even eat without covering herself in it.

Wiping her mouth and dabbing at her neckline where the apple cider landed, she turned forward, only to find him watching her. Embarrassment burned through her again. Just a bloody goddess over here, ready to scale to the highest of heights, even though she couldn’t manage to put food and drink in her mouth correctly.

“Have I missed anything?”

Prudence asked, hurriedly finishing a plait in her hair.

Justine shook her head, still feeling the lump in her throat from the bread. Why couldn’t she be a normal person, the kind of normal person that didn’t care if Karl Vogel saw her eating?

“Are all people here?”

Karl called to the group.

Ophelia turned around, assessed their cadre, and nodded affirmative.

“Then we go,”

he announced, and turned on his heel, leaving the rest of them to fall in line.

He trucked them up the same goat path they’d taken earlier that morning. The back of Justine’s thighs burned, and she dragged, waiting for that second wind to lift her into the bliss of a working body. They passed the mended fence and went through the gate, to which the other women and Tristan murmured their appreciation of its ingenuity.

Stopped, Justine had time to look at Karl. His face was mostly impassive. Mostly. Something about the group’s comments on the gate seemed to rile him. His expression changed subtly, and if she hadn’t watched him so closely, she would have missed it. Something about that gate made him mad. What an odd man. Who cared about a gate?

Well, if goats were a person’s only company, that could put things in a very different perspective. He settled his features, and his eyes met hers. She thought she should look away, but she wasn’t a bashful girl. Lady. Woman. What was she now? A Fr?ulein? Whatever anyone called her was what she would be. As her mind flipped through this progression, Karl’s blue eyes stared her down. She smiled at him, which might have been flirtatious, or simply polite. She honestly couldn’t tell, so she did it anyway.

Karl didn’t return the smile, instead turning and continuing up the goat path. Justine anticipated revisiting the steep climb he’d taken her on earlier that morning, and even looked forward to it. The view had been wonderful, but now at the divergent paths, he chose the one to the right instead of the far left.

Justine frowned, but went along. Was this to be even more challenging? But no, it wasn’t. In fact, it was a far easier amble up a gentle slope. This time, Justine was distracted by the wonderful crispness of the air, countered by the warmth of the sun as it crested out above the trees.

Ahead of them was a wooden building. What would she call it? It certainly could not be considered a house, though, from the children spilling out of it, that was its purpose. The children clambered their welcome to Karl as he approached. He scooped up the littlest girl in one arm and the littlest boy in the other. The rest danced around him as if he were a hero in a folk story.

Karl was treated like a prince among men by these children. In the doorway, the shortest man Justine had ever seen appeared. No, he wasn’t short. His back hunched over so severely, he appeared as if he were permanently bowing. But the man didn’t seem to be in pain or otherwise troubled. Karl ushered their group inside, crowding an already-crowded hut.

It was dark, for the windows were closed, and the air was stale and musty, smelling of overripe cheese and bodies and hay. Soon they found out why. This man was a cheesemaker. There was a pen of goats in the back, separated by a wooden wall and a closed door, but their incessant curious maa maa made for funny pauses in conversation. The cheesemaker only spoke in Swiss, as did the children. Karl translated.

They were ushered to the long table, where they sat obediently, unsure of what to do or say, since none of them spoke Swiss German. Ophelia focused on the cheesemaker and Karl, ignoring the rest of them, clearly trying to lead by example. Or lead in some kind of way. Justine exchanged looks with Prudence, who smiled, because Prudence not smiling was a strange event. Even Justine, who smiled an obscene amount, could not out-smile Prudence. Eleanor and Tristan held hands beneath the table’s edge, and that made Justine feel happy for them. Even if Tristan was objectively the worst person in the entire world. She’d forgiven him enough that she'd blessed his and Eleanor’s marriage. Not that they’d asked her.

Light spilled around the room in edges—some from a window frosted along the bottom frame, which had been scratched through by a child’s nail at some point. The canvas curtains were thinned and old, but hemmed nicely. There was a loft that overlooked the table where they sat, and Justine could make out two sets of eyes from beneath a blanket. The shyest of them all, no doubt.

The rest of the children either returned to their tasks or played with the strangers. The littlest girl and boy still sat on Karl’s lap, content to be held. It was such a strange sight, she thought. Her father had never held them on his lap. And she’d never seen any other father do that either. But it looked so natural for him. As if he actually liked them. Did he? Did someone actually like children? What an appalling thought.

The two men talked, then Karl translated for the rest of them. She’d better pay attention to this, but she couldn’t. There were too many things to look at, and all these children to watch. What were they doing? At least she figured out one of the girls was mending a piece of clothing. Another was hauling a pail of water through the door to the goat pen. For a moment, the bleating of the goats was louder when the door opened, then muted as the girl closed the door behind her.

But Justine’s observations were cut short by a plate offered to them all: dark bread smeared with cheese and a dab of honey. There was enough for a slice for each of them. She held her piece aloft while she waited for all of them to get a slice. The same as her friends, because manners taught them to wait until everyone had their share, and then they could eat.

But the cheesemaker gestured to all of them, emphatically. She knew that gesture: “Eat, eat!”

Apparently, the table manners drilled into her did not apply in Swiss cheese huts. So she bit into the hunk of black bread, and fell in love. The sweet honey balanced the tangy cheese, and the lightness of that contrasted with the dry, dense bread.

“He says that he planned to give you dried apricots also, but the children got into them and ate them all.”

Karl looked around at them as he translates, ruffling the bright hair of the children on his lap.

Justine looked closer and saw that the children watched them eat. They were thin children, not emaciated, but certainly not plump like she or her siblings had been. This was a great extravagance to share with them. Suddenly, she no longer wanted to eat anymore, but didn’t want to offend anyone by not eating. Still, she chewed. And her stomach growled loud enough for everyone to hear.

Rather than be embarrassed, she played it up, grabbing her middle with her non-bread filled hand and making wide eyes at the children on Karl’s lap. They no doubt knew the sound of a hungry belly. Those children giggled, and her stomach growled again, as if on cue. She looked up at the two sets of eyes in the loft, her eyes wide with alarm. And she hunched over and scarfed down the rest of her bread as if she were a starving mouse, and all of the children laughed then, even the girl mending the clothes in the corner.

With the children giggling, her friends looked on with amusement. The little girl on Karl’s lap slid off and came over to stand next to Justine. When Justine turned to face her, the little girl put one small, hot hand on her belly. When it didn’t growl, the girl nodded with approval, and then climbed onto the bench, pushing Prudence further down the way.

It wasn’t a bad way to spend an afternoon.

**