Chapter Ten
Justine could hear the rest of the expedition before she could see them. She remained perched on an exposed rock face outside of the squat, white-washed walls of the church, not wanting to go inside where Karl was, chatting with whoever was in there. The slate-roofed building was modest—not near what she pictured when Ophelia marked it as a waypoint on their journey. The lake in front of the church was crystal clear, reflecting the rocks and grass and blue, blue sky. The illusion was so complete, one could easily wander into the lake, believing it to be a continuation of the trail.
The rest of the team arrived: the Ladies’ Alpine Society, Luc, and the pack donkey, with Lady Rascomb riding primly sidesaddle on another creature, her cane tucked across her lap. After them came a crowd, with Francis sulking in the back of the group. Even Frau and Herr Brunner came to wish them luck. She enjoyed them so very much during the months they’d stayed there. Herr Brunner’s brotli-offering kindness would forever lodge in her heart.
The crowd felt almost like a party. Karl emerged from the church, his face bland and expressionless. Was this a Bavarian sort of thing, or was this only Karl, keeping himself bottled up so she couldn’t read him this way or that? She wondered if he would tell Francis about retracting his proposal.
Mr. Moon shook Karl’s hand. Lord Rascomb helped his wife off the donkey. Tristan and Eleanor untied the ropes lashing the cargo to the donkey. Luc smiled at everyone, seeming happy to be amongst them.
Their spirits buoyed Justine. She wouldn’t let Karl take this from her. No, she couldn’t think of it like that—he wasn’t taking anything from her. She was letting her feelings interfere with what would be an accomplishment of a lifetime. Something that would put them in history books and newspapers worldwide. They even might help the burgeoning women’s rights movements, the push for suffrage. The Ladies’ Alpine Society would prove to the world that women were capable of so much more than Queen Victoria believed.
The sunshine was warm on her face, and she closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun. This was her path. Her earth-shattering, world-shaking path. Ophelia’s telltale purposeful steps approached, and Justine didn’t bother opening her eyes. Her friend sat down on the rock next to her and threaded her arm through Justine’s. This was right. This was true. She and Ophelia would take over the world.
“All is well?”
Ophelia asked, her voice low so the others wouldn’t overhear.
Justine opened her eyes and looked at her friend. She didn’t need to even say anything. Ophelia nodded her head and gave a slight shrug. “We tried?”
Justine nodded. “I tried.”
“Are we still letting him guide us up the mountain?”
Justine laughed. As if they could get a replacement guide at this moment! But Ophelia’s loyalty warmed her. “Yes. We are still letting him guide us.”
Ophelia sighed with relief. “Oh good. That makes logistics much easier.”
Justine snorted.
Tristan looked over and smiled, his face brilliant with happiness. Justine returned the expression, and he acted as if he were falling over from shock. She could only imagine the level of happiness Eleanor and Prudence had experienced in the last few months. They were tucked away in a gorgeous part of the world, sharing a room with the men they loved.
And Justine was sort of envious. She looked at Ophelia. At least they had each other?
“Oh, I must help sort. That bag needs to stay at the church.”
Ophelia hurried over to the donkey.
Lady Rascomb came to stand next to Justine, out of the way of the packing and unpacking that was happening now that Ophelia was involved. A man came out of the church, and Justine didn’t know if he was a man of God or a caretaker, but he offered a flask to Luc, who was more than happy to wander over to a wooden bench and chat.
“Is all well in your world, Justine?”
Lady Rascomb surveyed their troupe but asked in the same low tones that Ophelia had used.
“Yes, my lady.”
The older woman tsked. Despite her bonnet, bits of her shiny blonde hair caught the summer sun, showcasing the telltale trait of the Bridewell children. “Then I know something is amiss. I can’t remember the last time you remembered to use my honorific.”
“We’re in mixed company,”
Justine protested. The my lady had rolled off her tongue without thinking. Well, not thinking about Ophelia’s mother anyway. She was still roiling, and it would be good to feel her body, let her mind go blank for the next hour or two it took to hike up to the shoulder called Hornli where they would make camp for the night. Karl had teased her about her pronunciation until she gave up entirely.
But he wouldn’t be teasing her anymore. Correcting her terrible pronunciation. Running ahead on a trail to see if she could keep up.
“It seems Mr. Vogel is out of sorts as well,”
she said, nodding toward Karl, who frowned at the packing and unpacking antics. Then she looked over to the other side, where Francis had sat down on a rock, picking grass strands up and shredding them. “Not to mention Francis.”
“There was a misunderstanding,”
Justine said.
“Is this a misunderstanding that your mother will snub me over?”
To her credit, Lady Rascomb didn’t sound the least bit bothered by it.
“No,”
Justine said hurriedly. “At least, not if I get to share my point of view. Francis is very judgmental.”
“He only wants to keep you safe.”
Justine harrumphed at that. Francis wanted to control her, just like every other man in her life, excepting her father and Karl. They understood she needed to run and chatter and be unfettered.
“Well,”
Lady Rascomb said, turning toward her. “I’m going to say the same thing to you that I said to Ophelia. Be safe. Mountains are unpredictable. Be alert, stay roped up, and enjoy your misery.”
Justine took her hand, feeling for the first time something like uncertainty. Lady Rascomb used a cane because of an avalanche on a mountain. Tristan had dug her out, but her leg was so badly fractured that it never healed quite right. She’d never climbed another mountain afterwards. On some days, she knew that it pained Lady Rascomb, causing her back to spasm, and leading to days in bed.
Hers was a cautionary tale. As were the six failed ascents by Edward Whymper. Justine looked up past the Hornli ridge where the Matterhorn’s iconic scooped-out peak hid in afternoon clouds. They had done everything they could to stack the odds in their favor. They were more well prepared than any other expedition, according to Karl. They’d trained. They’d developed their own tools and devices to help themselves.
But weather was unpredictable. Misty fog obscured routes. Avalanches were possible. Rock falls were guaranteed. Cliffs abounded and crevasses gaped beneath snowfields. Wind and cold would blister them. And what could they do? Nothing but try.
“We’ll come back safe and sound. You watch.”
Justine put her hands on her hips, trying to feel more certain of their attempt.
“You are all very capable young women. I know you’ll do your best.”
Lady Rascomb placed her hand on Justine’s shoulder, towering over her as all the Bridewells did.
Lord Rascomb collected his wife, escorting her to the recently vacated wooden bench in front of the church, assuredly a more comfortable seat. Karl approached the man with the flask and Luc, no doubt discussing where their post-mountain bags would be stashed. While it was merely extra rations and changes of clothing, it was still more than they wanted to carry up to their campsite.
After they sorted everything and retied the lighter luggage to the donkey, the other women gathered with Justine. Luc waved at them and headed up the trail. It was a gradual incline ahead of them, and soon they would catch and pass by him.
Mr. Moon and Lady Rascomb said their goodbyes. Francis loitered a ways away from Justine, but when it became clear that the others were leaving, he apparently got over his qualms.
He hugged her close. “Stay safe.”
Justine nodded, her throat closing as she remembered what Lady Rascomb said: he only wants to protect you. And she was doing something that no one could protect her from. But she was proud of that. She wanted that.
Francis walked over to Tristan and clapped him on the shoulder, and Tristan did the same in return. Then he followed Mr. Moon and Lady Rascomb. Herr and Frau Brunner stood side by side, tanned and slightly plump, smiling and waving them off. Perhaps they had the same affection for them as Justine had for the couple. She hoped so.
“Skirts?”
Ophelia suggested. They all pulled at their strings to raise up their skirts far enough to allow a good stride and tied them off. Justine grinned at how they all had slightly different lengths, given their different strides. Eleanor was so clever. Justine felt a burst of pride to be amongst these brilliant people. Her friends.
Tristan, Lord Rascomb, and Karl joined their cluster. With Luc up ahead, they made eight on this two-day trail to the summit.
They couldn’t see the top from where they stood, mists obscuring their path. But Justine could almost see that red line Ophelia had slashed onto their maps, the route that she deemed their best bet. She and Karl had debated it day after day in the last months, looking at almanacs and adjusting for the temperatures and weather patterns that emerged from the weeks they’d spent in Zermatt.
Still Karl had warned them that the mountain did what it wanted and adhered to no man’s—or woman’s—wishes.
“Is everyone prepared?”
Lord Rascomb asked in his commanding voice. A voice that led their family, sat in Parliament, and encouraged the dreams of his youngest daughter.
Justine scanned their group as they all looked at each other as well.
“Then off we go,”
Ophelia said, taking the lead from her father.
They easily fell into their walking order, something that was second nature to them now. Karl in the lead, then Ophelia, then Justine.
With the gentle incline ahead of them, they would not need ropes or spikes or any of the other aid devices Eleanor and Tristan had dreamed up. At least, not today. Today was a rolling walk, one that kept the blood pumping, but allowed conversation. Justine didn’t feel like chatting, but she listened to Prudence and Eleanor talk about the desserts they were looking forward to when they returned. Frau Brunner had promised chocolates arriving from Zurich and an apple cake from a recipe she’d learned as a girl.
She glanced up at Karl, his broad shoulders hunched as he walked. Rarely did Karl hunch over like that. Typically when he hiked, he was so upright he could be mistaken for a weathervane. She felt a pang of guilt. This was her fault. She’d made him feel not only rejected, which was true, yes, but likely also a fool.
The part of hiking that she adored was moving her body, partly because it helped her think. Sitting still made it infinitely harder. But here she was, with the fresh air, the sun shining, on the path she had so longed for—wishing she weren’t thinking.
Instead of lingering over her own feelings, she listened to the scuff of her boots on the pebbled dirt trail. She listened to her friends’ chatter. Ophelia was too in her own head to speak, Justine knew that. Even towards the back, she could hear the low tones of Tristan speaking with his father. They all sounded happy, spirits buoyed by their imminent accomplishment, by how beautiful the weather was, how certain that by tomorrow at this time they would be shouting out from the summit.
They skirted around Luc and the donkey, giving the animal cheerful pats as they passed. The walk became steep enough that the conversations ceased and they shuffled on over the rocky ridge in silence. Justine’s feet slipped on the piles of rock, sending pebbles down one side of the ridge, while lush, green Alpine meadows stretched out on the other. The wind was strong, and it battered their woolen skirts between their legs as they walked. Justine was grateful for the curtain-lifting ingenuity from Eleanor, as it helped keep her balance.
They reached the Hornli peak in early afternoon. It wasn’t much to look at: a scree field with patches of snow still lingering in certain shadows, but directly in front of them loomed their goal. The massive, almost fifteen-thousand-foot-tall Matterhorn. Killer of men.
“It is majestic,”
Ophelia said, breathless.
It took longer than normal for Justine’s heart to quit hammering. The winds picked up, battering them, but Ophelia didn’t seem daunted. Karl was surveying the land, no doubt looking for the ideal spot to set up camp.
Justine walked closer to the sharp descent into the saddle between their wide spot on the Hornli Ridge and the Matterhorn. It was that line they would take to the top. That ridge would bring them success. The wind pushed her one direction, and then the next, and she stumbled.
“Careful.”
A voice in her ear said, big hands closing around her shoulders. Karl stood next to her, closer than he’d been in a week. The warmth of him was startling, and she appreciated his willingness to block the wind from one side.
“It seems so daunting,”
Justine said, finally saying what she never wanted to say to Ophelia. And it did. That pyramid-shaped peak was so far away. So high up in the sky. The tallest peak in Europe. And, if one listened to any of the Zermatt locals, the highest in the world, even though she knew that wasn’t true.
“Some people say there is a city of the gods up there on the peak,”
Karl said. “That to arrive there is to disturb their ruins and invite their displeasure.”
“Is there?”
Justine asked, doubting every moment of the story.
“No, just more rocks.”
She nodded. “How disappointing.”
“I would not call the view disappointing. But you shall see for yourself, perhaps tomorrow.”
He left her then, going to help Ophelia set up and organize camp. His conversation made it feel like he forgave her for her meanness, her insults. She needed to make peace with herself. To ask herself if she was lying when she said she didn’t want to marry someone like Karl. All right, not someone like him, but rather him exactly. It was definitely an unknown adventure. And he knew her strengths. Knew them better than anyone.
By the time Justine tore her eyes away from the mountain, Karl and Tristan were moving what rocks they could into a wind barrier. She returned to the group. Everyone huddled down inside the short rock wall, hoping to speak and be heard over the constant wind.
“Is everyone still feeling well enough for this venture?”
Ophelia asked, looking around at the group. Luc was not a part of the circle, but rather was returning the donkey back down to the lake by the church, where the creature would be more comfortable. Luc would return the next morning to maintain camp and fix them food whenever they returned from their summit.
Every single member of the circle had the rosy cheeks of wind burn, the wild hair of gusts, and the bright gleam of anticipation in their eyes.
“I’m hungry,”
said Tristan.
“I don’t doubt it,”
Eleanor said to her husband, squeezing his hand.
“We have plenty of food to eat tonight, but first let’s talk about tomorrow’s plan.”
Ophelia smiled. This was her project to lead, and everyone respected it, even her father and her brother. Perhaps especially so. It wasn’t the first time Justine was envious of her friend’s family. While it was all fine and good for an aristocratic family to be eccentric, Justine’s mother wanted her only daughter to be better behaved. More daughter-like, and not the ruffian she got at the end of four boys. But here she was. Her father and brothers nowhere in sight, unwilling or unable to take up this journey. Even Francis.
“Tomorrow we will try to take the summit in one day. However, I want to make sure you understand that most ascent attempts took several days, and many got close to the top before having to turn back due to weather. So far, we’ve only spoken of other expeditions’ experiences, but we are here now, and you can see exactly where we mean to go.”
She gestured to the ridge that Justine had gazed at earlier.
“I hope to make it past the first camp of Whymper’s, which is just under four thousand meters. In order to do that, we must awake at three in the morning. We will be descending this ridge, traversing the saddle in the dark. We will rope up here and maintain that rope contact until we return here tomorrow night. We have been told the descent is more dangerous than the ascent, which is why we are leaving so early in the morning. We do not want to descend in the dark.”
They all nodded, and Eleanor again looked to Tristan. During their ascent of Ben Nevis, they’d gotten arrogant about their success and not maintained their rope tether. Eleanor and Tristan had tumbled off a cornice because of it.
“We all have our equipment and our packs, which have our emergency gear. I want us to be more prepared than other teams. We must make it to the top.”
Their murmurings of agreement took only a wordless shape of encouragement. When Ophelia seemed done talking, Karl looked to her for permission to speak.
“This will likely be the hardest thing you have ever done,”
Karl said.
Gooseflesh prickled along Justine’s arms. There was something about this that felt wrong suddenly. Felt like the mountain didn’t want them on it. But she was likely catastrophizing in her head. Nerves were to be expected at a juncture like this. She could see the glaciers, the cliffs, all the hazards that lay between them and their goal.
“The descent is harder than the ascent. I know you will feel like celebrating at the top. As you should. But concentration needs to be maintained on the way down as well. Remember, that is where the deaths most often occur.”
They nodded, somber in their reflection of the lives lost on this rock.
“Lovely mood, excellent speeches, let’s eat.”
Tristan looked at the group brightly, pulling one of the bags over.
Justine laughed, joined by a few others. The anticipation was palpable amongst all of them. Knowing they would not be able to pitch a tent here, as the winds were far too strong, they created their own nests next to the short rock wall Tristan and Karl had hastily dragged together.
Karl built a fire, difficult as it was, but given the rock wall, it smoldered on, heating the kettle full of melted snow, meat and vegetables. It wasn’t the tastiest meal Justine had ever eaten, but it was somehow the best she’d had so far, warming her from the inside out.
After dinner, they lazed about on their blanket bags, ignoring the wind. Ophelia sorted gear; Tristan smoked, one arm around Eleanor. Prudence pulled out a small pocket-sized sketch pad. When Justine looked at her in curiosity, since she had never before sketched anything, Prudence’s cheeks colored.
“Leo’s teaching me to draw.”
She flipped open to a blank page. “I’m not very good, but he asked to me to capture what I could.”
Justine wished she had something to fiddle with, but she didn’t, so she watched everyone else, pointedly not looking at Karl, who cleaned and packed away the dinner utensils. Surprisingly, Luc reappeared at camp, carrying a pack of tobacco and spirits. He said something to Karl that the rest of them couldn’t understand. But Karl looked around as Luc made himself at home, asking, “Would anyone like a nip of brandy?”
Tristan reached for it, as did Prudence, which surprised Justine. And while normally Justine would say yes, something about this felt so off and wrong to her that she abstained. She wanted to be as clear-headed as possible. Not long after dark, they smothered the fire and tried to sleep. Luc seemed very much put out, no doubt hoping the English would stay up and drink and smoke, carouse into the wee hours. Perhaps other expeditions did. But not theirs. For them, too much was at stake.
To fail, at worst, was to be openly ridiculed. At best, it allowed them time to recover and try again. But as she was dropping off to sleep, Justine realized that failing was far more likely. And the worst of that would not be open ridicule. It would be death.
**