“That I believe,” she said. “They say women can hold a grudge, but my goodness, we don’t wipe out entire towns to get back at one another. Even Miss Christenson only ever spilled her red ratafia on Miss Barrow’s white dress when she believed MissBarrow had stolen away the affections of Lord Crowdon. Turns out he wasn’t interested in either of them.”
Karl shook his head. “I don’t understand anything you just said.”
“See?” Justine smiled. “We’re even. Now tell me about some very serious men having very serious wars and ending up very seriously dead.”
As they walked, Karl tried to tell her about the different kingdoms that had made up the middle of the European continent. Mostly about Prussia in the north, Bavaria and Austria in the east, France to the west, and the newly unified Italian peninsula in the south, and how they squabbled. Justine couldn’t help but think of it as siblings, all fighting over the last pudding.
But then he made it personal, and that Justine could pay attention to, because it was him. Only a few times did she get lost in how pleasing his face looked as he spoke animatedly of his home and Austria. Of how his town was more like Austrian culture than Prussian culture. How, even if they all spoke similar language, the dialects were different, and the northerners found them slow and stupid because they had farms and weavers’ guilds, instead of railroads and factories. And how that made him want to fight.
“Of course it made me want to put on a uniform. The fighting was happening near my mother and brothers and sisters. I wanted to defend them. But before I could go and make a fool of myself, we received a letter from my Onkel Peter, who had long ago married a Swiss woman from Zermatt, my Tante Greta, and how they were opening a hotel for British tourists. How they were going to change Zermatt from its small, out-of-the-way village to one of travel and trade.”
“How did that affect you?” Justine asked. “It was your uncle, not you.”
“Yes, but he counted on having support of his brother, my father. Family, you know, sometimes they make promises from long ago, and then, they come due at inconvenient times. I had been to Zermatt many times, but I only stayed during the climbing season, not all winter.”
Justine smiled. She could understand staying here in Zermatt. The mountains had enchanted her.
“My Onkel needed a man strong enough to tend to everything. Most young men from here either left for bigger cities to find work or went to war. I didn’t want to come. I wanted to fight. To be brave. To be a hero.”
“But you didn’t.”
Karl shook his head. “I did not. I am not a hero. I am a dirty mountain guide, finding peace with goats and cattle that graze high up on the peaks. Sometimes I despise how peaceful I feel here, how at home I feel.”
They left the tree cover, emerging at the bottom of the forest, near the frozen stream, the village of Täsch behind them and Zermatt, unseen around the mountain base, ahead of them.
“I suppose that is the difference between being born to a family versus being born to a dynasty,” she said, thinking of all the overheard conversations of Tristan and his elder brother Arthur, who would one day become the Viscount Rascomb, after their father died.
“I don’t understand,” Karl said, frowning. “I do not know this word in English. Dy-nas-ty.”
“Fair enough,” Justine said. The sun felt good on her face and her arms. A cup of tea at breakfast would taste so perfect, along with some toast and jam. “Dynasty is akin to a ruling class. Like royalty or some kind of nobleman. A family where the eldest son must do his duty for his country or the title, not necessarily his family.”
“Ah,” Karl said, his expression opening in understanding. “I understand, and yes. That is it. I have family obligations that are more important than fighting in a war that is too big for us to understand. I do not mean that my family is better than my country, only that there is not only fighting that makes a country.”
“Deals made by men of influence,” Justine mused, thinking of how her father was not a dynastic man, but he could, at times, be considered a man of influence. Anyone with wealth, should they be so inclined, could become influential. But money didn’t mean a person was good or deserving. It was justthere. And, as many learned in the aftermath of wars, that wealth could be gone in an instant.
Oh, look at her, thinking profound worldly thoughts. What this mountain air was doing to her! She looked over at Karl and grinned. She’d never liked a man before. Been attracted to them? Of course. Justine had liked plenty of men for dancing and flirting, and even a stolen kiss or two. But she’d neverlikedthem. Walking with Karl was companionable, friendly. He didn’t seem to look down on her or treat her as a child, which was new.
She’d once believed that the reason why she had so many suitors was that she was short. They believed they could treat her as a child, and given her size, it was a tempting thought. But she wasn’t a child. She was an opinionated woman, and that made even her outlandish dowry seem unappealing.
But Karl seemed to not be bothered by what her mother called her “plucky spirit.” That’s when she realized she’d started thinking of him by his first name, which was far too familiar. He still called her Fräulein, so she should respond in kind. How strange that she wanted to become more familiar with him, when he seemed to not care about her one way or another.
They walked on in silence. But before they reached the inn, he said, “Tomorrow is a rest day for everyone. Like bread, one must rest before one can rise.”
Justine blinked at him. Was she the bread? Were they all the bread?
“Are you resting?” she asked.
He gave her a wistful smile. “I will be doing chores around the inn. Whatever is needed. Some goats are close to kidding.”
“There are baby goats here?” Justine asked, amused at how animated he became about livestock. A baby goat was very cute, and she would not mind holding one at all.
“You can come see, if you like. The pens are just beyond the inn. You will hear them.” Karl opened the door for her, and the commotion from the dining room surprised her. They were back in time for the full swing of breakfast.
He held the door for her to the dining room as well, and she couldn’t help but feel like that young debutante again. Just for a moment. A handsome man, watching her as she sailed into a room. Except this time she had the gritty, salty sheen of sweat dried on her face. And that was a vast improvement.
**
Chapter Five
