Page 15 of Into the Sky With You (The Ladies Alpine Society #4)

Z ermatt was even lovelier than Ophelia remembered. June was warm and sweet-smelling. The donkey ride from the Zurich train station was far more pleasant this time, given the superior weather. Entering the village proper, with its close cobbled streets and small shops, felt like entering a party already in progress.

Both the citizens and tourists from all over Europe sat in chairs lining the walls of hotels and at cafes with tables outside. They smoked and laughed, drank beer and extended their legs, clad in calf-hugging gators and ending in heavy, hobnailed boots.

Ophelia’s heart felt lighter to be amongst them. With Karl’s presence, they would be able to enter those groups and discuss routes and tell stories, if they wanted. This was a consolation. She didn’t have to be a lady here, where she had to keep her ankles crossed, keep her voice soft and look up through her lashes. Here she could obsess about everyone’s climbing innovations, everyone proudly unloading their packs to show off how they had modified an ice ax, or pack, or harnesses.

They discussed rope fibers and dimensions. Disputes over how to shed weight on an ascent often erupted. By the time the long summer sunset finally faded, they would settle in to listen to the harrowing stories told by seasoned guides and climbers.

It was not the first time that Ophelia envied the ease with which men were allowed to move in the world. She would give everything up if she could enter a tavern without the entire place coming to a halt to stare at her.

Justine tried to convince her this happened because of her beauty. Perhaps this was true, but Ophelia thought it was something else entirely. They sensed her aloofness. They could feel her snobbish manners that were so engrained in her from an early age. There was no possibility of fitting in anywhere. But if she surrounded herself with friends, it didn’t matter if she stuck out or not. Because they were all extraordinary.

On the lead donkey, Karl called out to friends on every street corner. He waved and shouted, and they shouted back at him. Being a mountain guide was a good life. At least, it seemed so to Ophelia.

Arriving at the inn, located further up on the hillside, above town, was another joyous reunion. Herr and Frau Brunner came out, practically pulling them off their donkeys to embrace them. A gangly young man appeared to take their trunks up to their rooms. A new cast of faces were there to help the couple since Karl had moved back to Augsburg. Frau Brunner cupped Justine’s face in her hands and spoke affection and pleasure in German. Justine cackled in laughter and responded in kind.

Ophelia’s German had been decent their first time in Zermatt, but it had certainly atrophied. The words no longer flowed in understanding. Rather, she had to translate it in her head, word for word.

During her stay in Augsburg, everyone had spoken English around her—no doubt as a signal of welcome. They settled into the hotel and Ophelia bathed to wash the donkey scent off of her. Dinner was as good as she’d remembered. Unlike two years ago, now the dining room of the inn was crowded, full of tourists from all over. The table next to them were speaking a dialect of Italian she didn’t recognize. And as they entered, she heard a mix of French and Spanish and Swedish from various groups.

This inn was no longer their secret. Clearly, Herr and Frau Brunner prospered. Meals came out on time, whisked into place by an efficient young woman only a few years younger than Ophelia. The young porter they’d encountered earlier was taking finished plates and refilling glasses with beer or wine around the various tables.

Their hosts reappeared during the last course, delivering dessert and small etched liqueur glasses around the tables. At their table, the young woman brought apfelkuchen for Ophelia and Karl, with a cheese plate for Justine, knowing she preferred it. Here, Herr Brunner sat down to chat and pat Karl on the shoulder. This time, the conversation flowed in German. Ophelia was tired enough that she didn’t bother to try to follow along.

When they settled in for the night, Justine and Karl retiring to their room, and Ophelia to hers alone, she felt that sucking vacuum in her chest again. It felt cold in her room, which was the same sparsely decorated one from two years ago. But it felt more bare than before. Perhaps because last time she had Justine in the bed next to her, while this time she was alone.

And she realized finally what everyone else had known for months: that Julian wasn’t coming. He would not be here. As soon as the idea formed, the last months of waiting for him made her feel all the more ridiculous. Any normal person would have known he wasn’t coming. But she couldn’t let herself give up the hope that he might care about her. She had, after all, given over to animal desires with him, how much clearer could she have been?

But then came his painful dismissal of her attempts to get closer. His easy teasing and mockery, as if what had passed between them was nothing more than a brush of a hand. Oh, she had humiliated herself in so many ways. How stupid could she be?

She’d gone to him in Paris, caught up in a beautiful city, full of wine and success. Of course he hadn’t stopped her, because what man would turn away a willing woman? Hadn’t she been taught that from her earliest years? A woman had to safeguard herself at every age, for there was always a man wanting to take something from her. Then like a wanton idiot, she gave herself to Julian, only for him to put up the wall between them. An impenetrable one, that even time could not crumble.

He’d abandoned her at every turn. He had not wanted to climb the Matterhorn. No, he said that to gain her trust and her favor, likely in hopes that he could seduce her. She was such a fool for falling for every single one of his charming conversations. And when he got her published, even that was for his own gain! His name was right there, in print, on her work.

Oh, such a trifle that her work would now be credited to him, erasing her adventure, her competence, her daring. Women don’t do that sort of thing, obviously. So why should anyone believe it if she protested? At least he could have come to her in person to apologize and explain. But no.

She cried in earnest now, an unusual event. But she couldn’t stop it. The tears came, and the sucking feeling encompassed every part of her. What a fool she was to think she could do any of this. Redeem herself at the mountain that killed her father and injured her friends. Make the summit. Find a person who would love her for her, and not her dowry.

Removing the pins from her hair and brushing it helped bring the wracking sobs to merely tears. She stepped out of her dress and corset and pantaloons and stockings. She changed her shift into a night gown and laid in the cool, hard bed. It wasn’t enough. So she took the blankets and pillow from the other bed and put them on her own, the weight soothing her. Even still, she curled herself around the other pillow and cried herself to sleep.

*

Ophelia slept through breakfast. Her stomach churned, and her eyelids felt the size of the blanket draping her body. She didn’t dare look in a mirror.

The sucking sensation had shrunk back down into just her chest, but she felt tired and listless for the first time in her life. The ache in her joints and the weight of her bones made it impossible to move.

A quick knock on the door broke Ophelia from her misery. But she didn’t bother moving yet. “Who is it?” she called, her voice scratchy and weak.

“It’s Justine.” There was a pause and a murmur behind the door. “And, well, Karl. He’s here too. Checking on you, darling. You weren’t at breakfast.”

Ophelia would have responded, but her mouth felt glued together. Besides, what else was there to say? After the pause stretched long enough for Justine to realize Ophelia would not be answering, she knocked again.

“I’d like to come in, please.” Justine said through the door. “This isn’t like you.”

What was she like then? Over-opiniated? Full of herself? Confident for no reason? Overambitious? Ridiculous? She’d been called all of those things. “No, thank you,” Ophelia answered.

The doorknob rattled. Through the pale wood Justine said, “Karl, go away. Amuse yourself somewhere else. Ophelia?” She raised her voice when she called Ophelia’s name. “It’s just me now, and I’m coming in. If you don’t open it for me, I’m breaking down the door. Herr Brunner is going to be very upset with me, but I don’t care. It’s better than trying to scale the wall outside your window.”

That at least made her smile. Because Justine really would do something absolutely outlandish and absurd to get in. Ophelia pulled herself up out of the blanket layers.

“I hear you moving in there,” Justine called.

Ophelia slung on her dressing gown.

“I hear you walking.” Then, quieter, Justine said, “Karl. Dear Lord, get on with you. Go chop some wood or carry a sheep or whatever you did here for fun.”

There was a murmur of a low voice and then footsteps. Ophelia smiled to herself at her friend’s antics. And how understanding Karl was. Ophelia could stand Justine seeing her like this, but not Karl.

Finally, she opened the door, and Justine seemed almost surprised, crouched down like she was whispering. She straightened. “Oh. Right.”

“Come in,” Ophelia said, holding the heavy wooden door open.

But Justine looked her square in the face first, no doubt seeing her red, puffy eyes, her red nose, and general dishevelment. “Oh, darling.”

“Get in here before I start crying again. You know I can’t stand it when someone is nice to me.”

Justine entered. “Do I know that?”

Ophelia leaned against the door to help it close. “Well, it’s true, anyway.”

Justine took in the room, which was uncharacteristically messy. Ophelia’s dress was a pile on the floor; when she got back to London, her maid was going to have a fit.

“Let’s start here,” Justine said, picking up her stockings and draping them over the chair.

“You? Tidying up?” Ophelia teased her.

“Shocking, I know. But for you, I will walk through fire.” Justine smiled and picked up the pantaloons and corset.

The sentiment felt like a stab through the heart. Justine really would do anything for her, which was not the case for anyone else. Julian was certainly not inspired to feel such. As for the rest of her family, they were paired off, with new families to nurture. And her mother was still in the deep pool of grief.

In an impulsive moment, Ophelia stepped forward and flung her arms around Justine. “Thank you for being here,” she murmured into Justine’s lavender-scented hair. “I couldn’t press on without you.”

Justine turned and took Ophelia’s head in her hands. “I know Karl exists and is my legal husband and everything, but you are most important to me. You need me, I will drop everything and come to you. No matter what. Understand?”

Ophelia nodded, some of the pain retreating a bit farther. Justine hugged her back into an embrace.

“Now, I’m going to just enjoy this snuggle a little longer, because you hardly ever give random outbursts of affection.”

Ophelia chuckled. “Fine.”

They spent the day in Ophelia’s room, ordering up pots of chocolate. When Frau Brunner caught wind of Ophelia’s state, she sent up a cold ointment for her swollen eyes.

“I have for cucumber sandwich. But now, use for the face,” she said, delivering a tray of hot tea and cucumber sandwiches to accompany the ointment that smelled precisely of cucumber pulp and milk. “I bring the apfelkuchen and the k?se next.”

The pampering was lovely. And by the end of the day, she felt far less sorry for herself, and far less unlovable. Was there still a massive Julian-induced hole in her heart? Yes, but it didn’t hurt quite so much.

She still missed her father and wished she could speak to him, but in a way, it felt as if he were there with her. That while his body left Zermatt, his spirit never really had. For the first time since the accident, she felt like he was just in the other room, reading a climbing journal. He was accessible, available to her, waiting for her questions. It was almost as if she could reach out her hand and expect to feel his grasping hers in return.

She fell asleep with the lamps still blazing and Justine by her side.

*

It might have been June, but Zurich at night was still cold. Julian’s train was delayed for hours due to a rampant sheep herd on the French border and a cow herd on the Swiss border. He would have to wait until morning to find a donkey up to Zermatt.

He was jumpy and nervous and dedicated, all at once. The force he felt driving him to Ophelia was unlike anything he’d experienced before. As if every minute away from her had squeezed his ribcage smaller and smaller, and then when he finally could make his way to her, he had no more breath left.

What had seemed like a grand romantic impulse when boarding the train in France suddenly seemed very poorly planned now that it was cold and dark. Still, the drive to find Ophelia pushed him onward, despite his bones crying out for rest.

He couldn’t see the moon, but there were still street lamps lit. If he could only find a place to stay. Sleep would be nice. He could still feel the jostle and vibration of the train in his bones.

There was a figure walking quickly down the street. All the other passengers dispersed already, knowing precisely where they would be for the night.

“Excuse me?” he called. Oh, his German was rusty. French or Spanish, that he could handle. His brain churned, trying to come up with the words. “Pardón?”

The figure ignored him and breezed past without looking up. So Julian continued on his way into the city. He spotted a group carrying luggage, so he followed them to a small guesthouse, but there were no more rooms available. While the hostess was apologetic, she helped direct him to other possibilities and assured him that speaking French was acceptable there.

Julian tried the first suggestion, only to find no vacancy. The second was closed for renovation. The third had already locked their doors and refused to answer. The hour grew later and later, and the prospects seemed dimmer. Julian wasn’t sure what to do. He was tired and cold, and his pack felt heavier and heavier. But he might as well walk. It was what he was good at.

In the dark, he figured the direction he needed to go to eventually find Zermatt, and started. Soon, he found the water, Lake Zürich, and walked its shores. He spotted the moon, reflected in the water, and it gave him a light to walk by. It wasn’t unpleasant, even though he had been tired. As ever, the movement invigorated him in a way sleep could not.

He passed by a small hamlet and kept on. The path was clear and obvious, which made it easier for Julian to continue. In daylight, this must be a beautiful and tranquil place to live. And after some time, an hour or two, he began to smell sugar in the air.

It wasn’t the smell of bread or pastries, but confection. Like a moth to a flame, Julian floated until he pinpointed the building from which the heavenly smell arrived. It was chocolate. The kind of chocolate that he missed from South America. Deep and rich, roasted and dark.

The sky lightened. Julian hadn’t noticed. The train had arrived so late, and he’d spent so much time trying to find a place to sleep that he ended up walking all night. The path forked, and Julian followed the road away from the lake. A man sat on a tree stump next to a very large building, a mug steaming in one hand, a cigarette in another.

“Hallo there,” Julian called out, raising a hand. He knew this man’s tranquil solitude and didn’t wish to scare him.

The man turned, surprise clear enough, even in the dim morning light. “Grü? Gott,” he greeted, his voice jagged and rough, perhaps from sleep, perhaps from the tobacco.

“Sprechen Sie Englisch, oder Franzosisch oder Spanisch?” Julian hoped he wouldn’t have to rely on his German.

“Franzosisch und Englisch, ja,” the man said, stubbing out his cigarette and standing.

“English, please,” Julian said, wondering if his sleep-deprived brain would do well in French. “Good morning.”

“And to you also. What has you walking at this hour?”

Julian could smell the coffee wafting from the man’s mug, and he found himself suddenly hungry. “My train arrived in Zurich very late last night, and there was no place to stay, so I’ve been walking.”

“You walked from Zurich?” the man asked. “Friend, you must come in and rest. Where are you going to?” He ushered Julian to follow and led him into the building behind him.

“I need to make it to Zermatt as quickly as possible.” Julian staggered when the man opened the door and the smell of chocolate enveloped him. What was this place?

“Ah. A mountain climber, you must be. I know many.”

“Sort of. My, er, the woman I am rather fond of has plans to climb the Matterhorn. I am supposed to go with her, but I am afraid I’ll miss her departure.”

The room was spare and small. A table and four chairs dominated the space, and a small kitchen was installed on the opposite end. “Please.” The man gestured to a chair.

Julian wondered if he sat down, would he fall asleep? “Thank you.”

“I am Markus. And you?”

“Julian,” he said, feeling strange about sharing his first name and not his last. But the informality seemed to suit the strangeness of the moment.

Markus gave a curt nod in acknowledgement and poured a mug of coffee. “Here you are. I normally have two cups in the morning, but today I will share.”

Julian could weep for how hot the coffee was. It was bitter and dark and absolutely what he needed.

“So your lady will climb this Matterhorn? That is no small thing.”

“No, but she’s going to make it this time, I am positive.”

Markus nodded. “The women now. Instead of the children, they will do the climbing. Instead of the cooking, they do the working.”

Julian hadn’t thought about that before. How the world was changing once again. How sometimes women gained opportunities and then lost them. Science was moving at a rapid pace, education was expanding in all directions, so did it not make sense that people expanded too?

“Do you think it is acceptable for them to do so?” Julian asked, curious, for he had no idea how he felt about such things. But at first thought, it seemed perfectly reasonable.

“Of course, yes. I have a wife. She goes for her long walk up a mountain, she comes back feeling much better. I prefer it.”

Julian smiled.

“You are hoping this lady to make your wife?” he asked.

The question knocked the wind out of Julian’s chest. Was that what he was truly after? He had, after all, cancelled his assaying assignment with his profound apologies. The lords weren’t even that put out, since they had another explorer waiting in the wings. Still, he’d travelled across Europe. Why would he do this if he thought his love would be unrequited? And certainly, if she did return his sentiments, he would want to marry her. Have her forever. “Yes. I think so.”

Markus smiled. “Ja, so.” They clinked coffee mugs. “Then we get you to Zermatt.”

“Thank you. But I am so tired from the night’s walk, I need a nap before I go.” Even the coffee was not enough. It helped, yes, so that if he had a long walk to the next inn, he could make that journey.

“Sleep outside,” Markus said. “It is very pleasant out there, under the trees. I will keep watch on your belongings.”

Julian had no trouble sleeping outside. In some ways, he preferred it. But he shifted in his chair, unsure.

“You sleep,” Markus insisted, gesturing again outside. “I will arrange you a way to Zermatt. Many people go in that direction. We will get you there. Climb the mountain, get famous, say something nice about our town and our chocolate. Yes?”

Gratitude welled in Julian’s chest. “That would be very wonderful.”

“Good. When you wake up, I’ll give you more coffee, and also a chocolate.”

Julian nodded, swallowing back the dry bitter taste of the coffee. “I am so tired.”

“Then sleep, my friend! I will do this for you.” Markus stood, taking Julian’s cup from him.

“Why are you doing this for me?” Julian stood as well, happy to stow his pack under the table.

“Working in a factory is very boring,” Markus whispered conspiratorially. “It will give me and a few others something to do. And besides! Maybe you like the chocolate, and that is advertising!”

Julian chuckled. “I will happily crow about your chocolate.”

“Good. Go!” Markus ushered him out the door.

Julian padded down to the grove of a few trees near the doorway, finding a spot that clearly was used for napping. Gentle morning light was flooding the cityscape, but from Julian’s perspective, he had a forest with dappled sun. The ground was damp, but the ground was soft, and Julian’s oilcloth travelling coat would keep him warm and dry. It took little time for his eyes to close and drop off into sleep.

*

Justine and Karl kept Ophelia busy climbing all the mountains in the range. They were adjusting to the higher altitude, testing equipment, and improving their fitness with each day. At night, Karl joined Ophelia to tinker with gear while Justine regaled them with funny stories. Frau Brunner tutted over Ophelia’s breakfasts and made sure she ate her meals.

If they returned from hikes soon enough, Frau Brunner would have a lovely afternoon tea at the ready, each day becoming more elaborate as Frau Brunner learned some new “English custom” from another guest in town.

And a few times she and the Vogels went down to talk and meet with other climbers from around the world, who were staying in Zermatt with their same goals. They discussed snow conditions, melt patterns, routes, ropes, gear. The other climbers didn’t seem to care that she and Justine were women, and openly told ribald jokes and vulgar stories about pissing off mountaintops.

Ophelia knew she should be shocked, but she giggled along with everyone else, letting the liquor or the beer color her cheeks. The daily hikes were causing her dresses to loosen, but Ophelia was an adept hand with her needle, and didn’t mind taking things in as a lady’s maid would do.

It was in those discussions that she learned most about Alpine climbing. The rawness of it, not just in her own experience, but in others’ as well. The loss of friends, of toes, of fingers. But they all returned, just as she had, regardless of what they came without. It made Ophelia feel less alone in her single-mindedness to summit.

She could see in their faces some doubt as to whether or not they believed she could, but once they compared times up other peaks surrounding Zermatt, they nodded approval. She didn’t need their respect or their approval to climb the Matterhorn, but it helped nonetheless. That intangible agreement that she belonged with them, and they belonged with her.

Those pilgrimages down to the Mount Rosa hotel and its surrounding taverns helped keep her mind occupied. She was absorbed in her body and its performance, that she was able to keep herself blank on the inside, unable to grieve, but also unable to feel the rush of accomplishment after each successful summit.

But it did not matter, for they were close to leaving for the Matterhorn. The weather was improving, and it was almost prime snow conditions up at altitude. The time when the snow slides from early summer would no longer threaten them and before the cold regained its foothold at ten thousand feet and above.

Each night after dinner and before bed, Ophelia would march herself outside and stare at the mountain. “I’m coming,” she whispered. It could have been a warning or a promise. The mountain didn’t care, and neither did Ophelia. It was a fact, all the same.