Chapter Nine
Karl was bursting to tell someone. Not his Onkel or Tante, of course, they would talk him out of it. Now that summer was here, his guiding compatriots had returned to Zermatt. They would be meeting up in a few days to compare notes, expedition groups, and weather theories in order to discuss routes. It would be unbearable for so many parties to be on the Matterhorn at one time.
He finished splitting the lumber rounds in front of him and kicked them about to separate the pieces. They would need to cure and dry out for another year at least. He still had to pick out the kindling-sized wood and then stack the other logs into their off-season woodpile. It was never-ending work, but he didn’t care today, because his heart had wings.
He was going to marry a British girl. Him, married! It would be quite a strange change. They would need their own cottage in Zermatt. He couldn’t have her sleeping on the dining room floor with him. Or even the unfinished caretaker’s room. His Onkel and Tante had their own cottage just steps away from the inn, but there was a room off the lobby that had yet to be finished that was supposed to be his.
No one thought about Karl marrying—including himself—because he rarely encountered women. But Justine Brewer was a different kind of woman entirely. Would she be content to stay in Zermatt? Would she travel with him if he were hired to be a guide in a different country? Would she return to England to be with her family if he left?
Or, he could take his father up on his offer to be a part of his trade. It was an option, but one that would take him out of the mountains. Out of the snow and wilderness. And that’s not what he wanted. Nor what Justine seemed to want either.
There were many things to think about. He lined up another round, and it gave easily under the weight of his axe. They would be leaving for a long day’s hike in a few more minutes, but he had enough time to split a few more logs. Better to get a few done every day than leave the entire chore never started.
Indeed, the thought of their marriage made him energetic, despite his lack of sleep. He had taken himself in hand after she’d left. He’d gone outside, not wanting to do such a deed in the inn’s dining room. But no sooner had he allowed himself to think about her on his lap, moaning into his kisses, than it was over. She was all he could think of, all he wanted to think of.
But first, they had to climb the Matterhorn. He could focus on that task without difficulty. He finished with what splitting he had time for, hearing the church bell ring its single bell to mark the quarter hour, and returned to the inn. At the tool storage shed, Karl oiled the axe before stowing it, which was where Mr. Brewer found him.
“I don’t know what is happening between you and my sister, but I need to make it clear, nothing will happen. Do you understand?”
The Englishman spoke the last words slowly, as if Karl didn’t speak English.
But Karl couldn’t help himself. He knew he couldn’t headbutt the man, which was his impulse, given his hands were occupied. “I find it best to not threaten a man who holds a weapon.”
Mr. Brewer’s brown eyes—the same shade as Justine’s—widened as he looked down to see the axe in Karl’s hands. Had he not noticed as he approached, what Karl was doing? Single-minded to a fault, it seemed. “I am not threatening,”
Mr. Brewer said, his tone much softened. “I am reassuring you that Miss Brewer’s family will protect her at all costs. As will Lord Rascomb. With the full force of English law.”
Karl did not like being threatened. It was cheap, especially in a place like this where law and family were secondary very much to the forces of weather and nature. Family was important here, yes, of course, but it was a broader sense. The entire community had to function as family, otherwise they would not survive. “I am sure that means something where you come from. But where we stand now, we respect other things more than English law.”
This was perhaps the wrong thing to say or, depending on what Karl wanted, exactly the correct thing to say, for Mr. Brewer’s face went purple.
“I will have you stay away from my sister, sir. Make no mistake, I will brook no trespass upon her person.”
“What if she marries me?”
Karl could not resist a taunt.
“Be careful of what slander you speak, sir,”
Mr. Brewer spat. His face was becoming a rather concerning shade of purple. If he were an older man, Karl would have advised him to sit down.
“I speak no slander.”
Karl finished with axe, tucking the metal head inside its leather case and stowing the tool inside the shed. “Excuse me, I need to ready for today’s trek.”
He smiled and left Mr. Brewer heaving angry breaths behind the inn. It shouldn’t please him so much to make his betrothed’s brother mad, but it did. He would apologize later, when they were brothers, and could perhaps laugh about this moment.
After that remark, the urge to tell others subsided. Days passed without him wanting to blurt out the news every time he saw Onkel Peter. Even when he met with the other climbing men of Zermatt at the tavern, he felt no urge to speak about his pending nuptials. They drank and ate and joked, and all was as it usually was.
It was night, but warm, and the grass was healthy and green. He swayed as he walked up to the inn, full of beer and camaraderie. His body was warm too, and the smell of the fresh grass that would eventually be reaped into hay at the end of the summer felt like home in the best way possible.
They might even try an early climb, in mid-July rather than late July or early August, as the weather was improving faster than anyone had anticipated. It would make it easier for more teams to have a crack at the mountain this season.
Still. Preparations first, then climb the mountain. Climb the mountain, then marry the girl. Yes. Then bed her. He fumbled with the door latch. The place was dark as it should be at the late hour. He hoped that perhaps his Onkel or Tante had laid out his pallet. He stowed his hat and boots in the closet by the door and entered the dining room to find . . . her.
Delightful, yes, but difficult. He was in no presence of mind to keep his hands to himself, or the rest of his body in control.
“What did you say to my brother?”
she demanded.
Oh, her eyes were very angry. He stopped and blinked, trying very hard to clear his mind and focus on her. Hair was down and flying about. Eyes: very passionate, but not in a way that beckoned him. Cheeks: pink. Lips: thin and pressed together.
“You,”
he declared, very sure of himself, “are mad at me.”
She threw her arms in the air. He was fairly certain that was disgust. But should he not be proud to have discovered her anger? He thought it was well done of him, considering his inebriated state.
“You told my brother that we are engaged.”
He took a breath to respond, but his English wouldn’t come out. Nor would it process her words either. Her words stuck in a circle, running over and over on a loop that he couldn’t comprehend.
“Marriage, Mr. Vogel. You told my brother I was marrying you.”
Marriage. Yes! He understood that one. “Ja, gut. Das ist richtig.”
“I don’t know what you are saying. So yes, you told my brother I would marry you?”
Karl decided gestures were better than words, so he nodded his head, which was largely a mistake. The room tilted and he stepped sideways to keep himself up right. He found the wall and leaned against it for safety.
“Why would you say that? What am I supposed to do?”
She began to pace.
“Du bist sehr schon,”
he said, sighing. It was true. Simple, but true.
“English Karl, English. I don’t speak German. Dear God, I wish I did.”
She put her hands on her hips, which accented the curve of her waist. It made him think of her sitting on his lap, and the feeling of cradling her ass in his palm, and how nicely it fit there.
“Englisch, ja.”
He would teach her German at some point. Not now. It was night, and he was drunk. “You.”
Why was his mouth so dry? “You are very pretty.”
She looked at him as if he had just said the most outlandish thing possible. But he was quite certain of his conviction.
“It’s true.”
He slid his back down the wall to the floor, which was much safer.
“Get some sleep,”
she said, shaking her head. She disappeared, and he closed his eyes, not caring if he slept on his pallet or not.
But then she was in front of him again, holding a cup out towards him. “Drink some water first.”
He glugged the water down, grateful, watching her as he did so, unable to be ashamed or coy about his love for her. Oh, did he love her? He had not thought of it yet. But perhaps yes? This was also very fun to think about.
When the cup was empty, he handed it back to her.
“I’ll get you another, and then I’m leaving. Do you understand? And you go to sleep. We’ll speak in the morning.”
“Ja,”
he said, his tongue suddenly feeling very thick in his mouth. His eyes closed, and when he awoke, stiff from sitting upright on the floor, the cup of water was next to him, and his pallet was spread out next to the fire.
**
Justine was exhausted and confused. She had assiduously avoided her brother for days, which wasn’t too hard since he was always down at the other hotels, looking for someone to play cards with. Her mind kept going over that confrontation where Francis had asked if it were true.
She didn’t know what the it was, until he clarified—was she engaged to Karl Vogel? She had been gratified to see how mortified Francis looked at the prospect, and so she had half a mind to let him believe it, but given the speed at which her mother would show up in Zermatt, she told him that she was not engaged to Karl or anyone else.
That was when Francis told her Karl was the one who told him that she’d agreed to marry him. Justine’s whole body went cold and then hot. So she waited up for Karl, knowing he was at a mountain guide meeting or something of the sort, since he missed dinner. But he didn’t come and didn’t come, and then when he did arrive, he was stinking drunk and made no sense whatsoever.
But that softening bit of her wondered if it was a translation issue. When she had said they would begin their torrid affair after the climb, did he then assume marriage because she had money?
Her gut churned with impatience. The idea that men were off making assumptions about her made her want to tear her hair out. How dare they? As if either Karl or Francis had any say over what happened to her. The very idea of it had made her want to smash every piece of glass in the entire inn for the past week. Which, of course, she didn’t and wouldn’t actually do.
This seemed like something she should talk to Prudence about. Without Mr. Moon lurking around, if she could manage. But Ophelia was right here, and they were reinforcing the window shade pull lines of their skirts to ensure they wouldn’t break or snap.
Despite the hikes and climbs, marriage had changed their group. It felt even more divided in halves, Eleanor and Prudence on one side, her and Ophelia on the other. Especially now that those two women were paired up. She would call Prudence and Mr. Moon married, even if officially, they were not, but honestly, it was obvious that they would be in time.
“Justine, are you listening to me?”
Ophelia asked, putting down her mending.
“Yes. I am now. I am.”
“This is serious.”
“I know,”
Justine said, looking over her last line of stitches. When she got distracted, so did her sewing. “It’s fine.”
Ophelia looked at her, knowing that she’d done something but not yet understanding Justine’s state of mind. She didn’t know that Karl had told Francis that she was marrying the mountain guide. And Justine didn’t know if Karl had said it to make her brother furious, which honestly, she would have done herself, or if he really believed that she had somehow agreed to marry him.
Was it something he’d said to her when he was speaking German, and she didn’t understand? Or was it some cultural context she didn’t know about? If a girl danced three dances with the same man, people would assume they were courting. Was it the same here, as if you climbed three mountains with a man, you were engaged? Well then, Karl was engaged to the whole pack of them.
“Fee.”
Justine looked up at her best friend in the entire world, hoping she would not yell at her. She loved Ophelia more than her parents, but right now, she couldn’t handle Ophelia’s nervous chatter. Justine leaned back and rested herself against the bed. She wasn’t wearing a corset—she was wearing the jumps they wore when they took their exercise—and she might never go back. The feeling of her spine slightly rounded and resting against the bed felt good. Easy. Free.
“You’re so pretty,”
Justine said, sincerely meaning it, even if the comment had no bearing on the situation at hand. It was true, and Justine didn’t even feel envious about it. Her golden hair was braided pinned up—the braids kept the hair from tangling further, and would be better suited for sleeping on the side of a mountain. She was like an illustration for women’s mountaineering.
But Ophelia was used to Justine’s aesthetic non-sequiturs. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,”
Justine said, groaning. She both wanted to talk about Karl and wanted to forget him entirely and go climb a fucking mountain. “Nothing.”
Ophelia sank to the ground, her big blue eyes trained on Justine. Some strange man would fall in love with her someday, and if Ophelia could let him love her, she would be so happy. But that day might never come, and she might marry for convenience, or perhaps not at all. Justine could be a spinster with her, living in their own townhouse, having adventures together. Ophelia would write her papers and give lectures, and Justine would bully places into allowing her to do so.
“Something happened?”
Ophelia guessed, slipping her hand into Justine’s.
“No. Well, yes, but really no.”
Ophelia hummed appreciatively, as if this answer told her anything at all.
Justine sighed. “Karl told Francis we were getting married.”
Ophelia was silent a moment. Then she asked, “Who is the we? You and me? You and Francis? Or you and Karl?”
Justine laughed, because only Ophelia would ever be confused about a sentence like that. “Me and Karl, of course.”
“Ah.”
Ophelia nodded. “Why would he say that?”
Justine could tell Ophelia was doing her best to step carefully in the conversation.
“I don’t know, and I tried to ask him, but there hasn’t been a good time.”
Justine squeezed her eyes shut. “I know I shouldn’t care, I know I should be focused on the Matterhorn, but every time I try to shut out the memory of Francis demanding why I’m marrying Karl, it just swirls around in me, and I can’t focus on anything at all.”
Ophelia nodded, and straightened her back: Expedition Leader Time. Justine would bet Ophelia didn’t even know her posture changed when she switched from being Justine’s best friend to Ladies’ Alpine Society Expedition Leader. “What can we do to resolve the situation with Francis and Mr. Vogel? Because we should resolve it before we start up the mountain. I can’t have your attention divided.”
“I know, but I don’t know.”
“You haven’t been able to speak with Mr. Vogel, correct?”
Justine unstitched her last bit of seam and redid it straighter this time. “Correct.”
Ophelia nodded and then stood, dusting off her skirts out of habit. “Who else knows about this?”
“As far as I know just you, me, Karl, and Francis.”
Justine put down the skirt. “I thought I might talk to Prudence about this.”
Ophelia nodded. “Excellent idea. We shall call an emergency meeting of the Ladies' Alpine Society. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
In true Ophelia form, she swirled out the door to make preparations. Justine smiled and tucked away the mending. She gathered up the other two women from their rooms and herded them down to the corner of the dining room, nearest to the stove that still churned out a delightfully low heat, despite the declaration of summer by the calendar.
Mrs. Brunner brought out a tea pot and cups early for them, along with leftover plum cake, which none of them minded. And when Mr. Moon came round, Prudence shooed him away with both hands.
“Away with you. Go play with the other men.”
“I don’t know where they are,”
Mr. Moon protested.
“Then go find them,”
Eleanor chastised. “I think mine is in the barn, pretending to know about livestock.”
Mr. Moon sighed, but dutifully trudged out of the dining room.
“I’ve a problem,”
Justine said in a low voice, once Mr. Moon cleared out.
Ophelia made a sound halfway between a grunt and a sigh.
“Is what your brother said true?”
Eleanor asked.
“Ooh, what did he say?”
Prudence’s eyes were wide with curiosity.
“Apparently—”
Mrs. Brunner walked over to their table, and to be safe, Justine stopped talking. She didn’t think the woman knew too many words in English, but she certainly didn’t want to chance it when talking about the woman’s nephew.
“Good, yes?”
Mrs. Brunner asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Delicious,”
Prudence answered with a wide smile that the Swiss woman returned in kind.
“More?”
Mrs. Brunner pointed to the tea pot.
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to trouble you,”
Ophelia said, displaying that knack for sounding kind while also asking for more. Justine also knew Ophelia well enough to know that she copied her mother’s mannerisms down to the crinkle of an eyebrow and the exact pitch of the opening oh .
Mrs. Brunner waved her hand and picked up the pot. “Hot water,”
she said and bustled off to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of the room, the Ladies' Alpine Society huddled together again.
“Apparently,”
Justine continued, “Francis confronted Karl about what’s been going on between us—”
Eleanor’s eyes went wide and Prudence’s smile grew wider. “What has been going on?”
Prudence asked with a saucy tone that Justine wasn’t sure she appreciated.
“Nothing much,”
Justine protested.
“Kissing,”
Ophelia supplied. “Clandestine midnight meetings.”
“And lots of walking in the woods without speaking,”
Justine protested.
Eleanor and Prudence exchanged looks, as if this was the obvious path to becoming one of them: married .
“Anyhow,”
Justine said, wresting their attention back. “Karl told Francis that we are engaged to be married.”
Eleanor gasped. Prudence gushed.
Justine held up her hand. “But he never asked me if I wanted to marry him.”
That stopped short Prudence’s tumbling congratulations.
“Do you want to marry him?”
Eleanor asked.
“I would like to have been consulted,”
Justine said.
“Of course,”
Ophelia said. “But that’s not the question, is it? Nor is this the whole truth.”
Justine rolled her eyes at Ophelia. She didn’t feel like laying the entire midnight conversation with Karl bare in the dining room. Even if, technically, it had happened in this very room only a few feet away from where she now sat. This room was different at night. As if they were in another world entirely, made for just the two of them, where nothing else mattered.
“I had suggested that we, er,”
Justine struggled. Was she going to blush? Was this the fate of Bad News Brewer? Brought to blushing maiden status by a Bavarian mountain climber. “I suggested that we let our passions go after we climb the Matterhorn.”
“Passions?”
Prudence asked with raised eyebrows.
“That seems better than before the mountain?”
Eleanor squeaked.
“It’s no way to judge a time frame,”
Ophelia said. “For that might be a day, a week, or never, depending on what the weather does.”
Tristan burst into the room. “Just got word from another guide coming down from Monte Rosa. The clouds have shifted. We’re climbing the Matterhorn tomorrow!”
The Ladies' Alpine Society sat in shock.
“Didn’t you hear me?”
Tristan asked, clearly put out by their reaction. “I wanted to be the one who told you.”
“This is wonderful!”
Prudence clapped.
“I have so much to do—”
Ophelia said, a smile creeping onto her face.
“Tomorrow?”
Eleanor asked.
The excitement boiled in Justine’s stomach, the joy becoming almost intolerable. She had to stand. Had to walk. Had to move.
As she stood, Prudence leaned over and whispered, “Better get your passions ready.”
The rest of the ladies heard her and they all giggled, moving to ready the hours of preparation it would take.
“What did you say?”
Tristan asked. When Prudence didn’t answer, he looked to his wife. “What did she say?”
“Not to worry, love,”
Eleanor said, taking his arm. “Let’s go pack.”
Ophelia was giddy with excitement as they checked the equipment. This time though, they were packing it up on donkeys. The next day, they would hike up the Matterhorn as far as the start of the Hornli Ridge and make camp early. They would need their sleep, as they would awaken at three in the morning to start their climb. The climb that had defined their lives. That perhaps would always define their lives.
“This is it, Justine! Aren’t you excited?”
Ophelia was fairly quivering. “We should be able to pack fairly quickly since we’ve been so organized,”
Ophelia said, waiting on Justine to finish her task so that she could then double-check her work, as Justine would double-check hers.
“I know,”
Justine said.
“It should be no problem to leave out exactly on time.”
“I’m aware.”
“Some of the others have asked to walk us to the church, which is kind of them.”
“Yes.”
Justine gritted her teeth. She’d been there at breakfast when Mr. Moon and Francis had asked to accompany them. It had been a given that Lady Rascomb would accompany them, but on a donkey due to her leg injury.
They finished the equipment check, and Tristan brought in the canvas satchel that would lay over the back of the donkey, like modified saddlebags. Together, they packed the ropes and harnesses, metal pitons, and other carefully designed gadgets they may or may not use on the adventure.
“It seems as though—”
Justine said, just to fill the silence, when Ophelia interrupted.
“Tristan, have you seen Mr. Vogel this morning?”
Ophelia asked.
“I believe he is fetching Luc Meynet. The cheese maker has agreed to help us as far as the Hornli ridge. But they may have returned by now. Should I tell him you are looking for him?”
Tristan hefted the canvas bag and groaned under the weight.
“No, I’m sure I’ll see him.”
Ophelia looked sympathetically at Tristan as he staggered out their door.
“Do you think we need all those things?”
Justine asked.
Ophelia nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ve made everything as light as possible. I don’t know how we could shed any more weight. But, distributed amongst the eight of us, it should be a bearable load for one day.”
Tomorrow. Tomorrow they would go where no woman had ever stepped foot. A thrill went through her. They were really climbing the Matterhorn. A mountain that had already killed many men. Hopefully, it felt more positively about women.
**