“That feels good,” Frau Bridewell said, clutching her arms around herself.
Karl couldn’t help but notice Justine hanging back, letting others go in front of her on the trail. The dry snow crunched beneath all their feet, a cacophony of noise without rhythm. Karl brought up the rear, making sure they all followedthe trail and didn’t veer off to do something ridiculous. It was surprising how many experienced mountaineers could become unpredictable and step off into rotten snow, or even off a cliff, so entranced in the beauty surrounding them.
Perhaps Justine was letting others go ahead so that she might stay back with him. Tante Greta had told him how they’d teased her at dinner, how she turned red and suffered. Karl didn’t care for that at all. While his pride was gratified that she might admire him, he didn’t want her to feel that she could not trust him. He needed to remain professional and courteous. Not familiar and flirtatious.
“Do you remember what Mr. Vogel told us, Eleanor?” Frau Moon asked. She was also very good at reading snow. She wasn’t quick, mostly because she was distracted by her new husband who had opted to join them today. He typically did not accompany their walks, and his slim build made him appear more fragile than the men of Switzerland. But Karl was pleased to see him glued to his wife’s side, for that was what a husband ought to do, wasn’t it? If a man pledged himself to a woman, he should be next to her always.
“About what?” Frau Bridewell asked.
“The sun!” Frau Moon said with a laugh. “Clear skies make for cold days, and cloudy days make for warm days.”
Frau Bridewell shook her head. “That makes no sense to me at all. The sun feels so good on my face.”
Karl smiled. He was happy that they were discussing it at all. Though Frau Moon had said she hailed from a place in America with a very strange name that had harsh winters and lots of snow, but no mountains. More like Augsburg than Zermatt, Karl figured. He wondered if America was a copy of Europe, with matching places to their climates, or if it was something different entirely. But he didn’t figure he’d ever find out.
He was tethered to Zermatt, tethered to the Matterhorn and this inn. He would be guiding until he was like Luc, hunched and arthritic, saddled with responsibilities not of his own making. There would be no chance for a marriage or family of his own. He would be mending fences, tending livestock, and climbing mountains for the rest of his days. Which didn’t sound like a bad future, but it did sound like a lonely one. What woman would want to be the helpmeet of that man? Not one like Justine Brewer.
Of course, he could take the other path, return to Augsburg and work with his father. But that would mean travel, and he would leave his wife alone in Augsburg, up to her own devices. That didn’t sound appealing either.
“Thank you,” Justine said, falling into step next to him.
Her soft words pulled him from his cynical daydream. “For what?”
“For taking time to teach us. For making Tristan get stuck in thigh-high snow. I particularly enjoyed that.” She laughed and it sounded like silver bells ringing, and dread struck him. He was far past being able to control his emotions. Reining in his desire for her was only going to increase in difficulty.
“I am glad the lesson went so well,” he said, his mind racing over ways to protect her from himself. Otherwise she would become stuck in Zermatt like so many others had over the years. It was beautiful, yes, but it was a town that could only be reached by donkeys. That was no life for a wealthy young woman like her. That she might regret meeting him hurt something deep inside him.
She nodded and kept her eyes forward. He did not like this new way they walked together. Even when they did not speak and he took her on grueling treks at speeds he was sure she could not match, there was a sense of connection, even if it was one of disdain. He shouldn’t have tested her so hard, buthow could he not when her arrogance seemed so misplaced? How could a man look at such a small woman and wonder that she believed herself to be so strong?
But she demonstrated that to him day after day. The early mornings were brutal, and his requirements stringent. Still, she kept up. But now, as they walked side by side in the expedition group, there was a far bigger distance between them. Both of them had tried to keep space. Karl didn’t like it at all.
“Have you and Ophelia found a training mountain you’d like to try first?” Karl asked. This was a safe topic. Something a guide should inquire after, since he would be the one leading them up whichever peak they picked.
“We have a list of mountains we’d like to start with,” Justine said, staring at her feet as their boots tamped down the already-crusted surface of snow. “We will narrow them down to two or three and ask your opinion on which would be best.”
“Good,” he said, feeling rather stupid for not having any follow-up question for her. He was waiting for her like a dog, and he hated that.
“Yes,” she said, and he wondered if she felt as flustered as he did.
That was the torture of it—he wanted that camaraderie that they’d had before her friends teased her. Before he began to understand his own attraction to her. But he didn’t know how to fix it. And certainly not in a way that would allow them a friendship without tempting him into creating something more than that.
At least with mountain climbing, there was a straightforward purpose. One climbed to the top, using all a man’s skill to overcome the obstacles. Endurance was key above all else. But how was one supposed to endure this kind of torture? The kind that dangled laughter and teasing versus the stalwart awkwardness of them denying their easy rapport?
His instinct was to address this head-on, but that hadn’t gotten a very good result. He would wait for her to approach him. Once again, he was the dog waiting at her doorstep, begging for scraps.
“I look forward to you letting me know,” he said. And they didn’t speak for the rest of the walk back to the inn.
**
Was it obsession when all she thought about was him? Or was that infatuation? Justine had never been clear on the distinction, having never experienced either. After returning to the inn, Justine and Ophelia opened up all the trunks of gear and the never-ending checklists Ophelia had compiled.
Fortunately, the equipment trunks were delivered to their room in anticipation of Ophelia’s incessant need to put eyes on every bit and bob. Besides, Justine knew Ophelia thoroughly enjoyed this cataloguing. She typically hid it from the other people on the expedition, doing these checks with either her father or Justine, assuring others that she was well prepared.
They had no idea how well prepared they were.
“This month’s checklist,” Ophelia announced, waving about the paper she kept at the ready for each month they would stay in Switzerland.
“Hurrah,” Justine said, not bothering to feign enthusiasm, but Ophelia didn’t seem to notice. Equipment check was theoretically a two-person job, but Ophelia liked both tasks: checking the item off the paper list as having been completed, and putting hands on the equipment to make sure no repairs or replacements were required.
