Karl found himself wondering which was superior for climbing a mountain—his trousers or their skirts. The trousersdid not get caught underfoot, but he noticed he was prone to being colder without the woolen layer trapping the heat of both legs together. But his trousers were dry, tucked into his boots. Their skirts dampened around the hems, and their complaint was the weight of the wet wool.
Karl could attest that hauling more weight up a mountain was almost an exponential problem. Not that he was a mathematician and understood precisely what exponential meant, but he knew that it was more than saying two or three times harder. Certain weights were not much of a burden. But once over five pounds, it changed. An additional ten pounds was significant enough to alter his pace. An additional fifteen or even twenty pounds would slow him down by more than a few minutes.
The women had devised an internal pulley device for their skirts, to hike them up as they hiked. Their hands were free to use a walking stick or catch themselves with both hands. A very smart innovation. He did not know the dry and wet weight of a woolen skirt, but by the pleased noises coming from them, the experiment was a success.
It helped to have all the women on the trail. With the four of them talking, their high-pitched English accents paired with the lower-pitched American one, he could forget about Justine. The past weeks had been agony. And then last night at dinner, what had he been thinking sliding in next to her for the photograph?
She was stunning in her dark green gown, her shoulders bared. He’d never seen her like that. Her hair was pinned up, but the idea of that silky hair brushing against her elegant shoulders was more than he could bear. It was how she looked at home, no doubt, the kind of woman who was accustomed to the ornate dresses, velvet ribbons, and silk stockings. The kind that ran smooth against her shapely calves, and he wondered what itmight sound like to hear his hand running up her silk-clad thigh. But it was another reminder that she was not for him. A punch of reality admonishing him to do his job.
But she had smelled so good, powdery and vanilla and night and sex, and he wanted one last sensation of that before putting away his needs forever. So he’d slid next to her for the photograph. And the indescribable relief and heartbreaking want that surged through him when she’d lifted her finger, as if asking for him, asking if he thought about her.
It had given him a hope he shouldn’t long for. The hope he himself had tried to grind out of existence. They were only a week away from the Matterhorn climb. They all needed to be solid climbers with excellent stamina. And he needed to evaluate them, as if he hadn’t already been watching them on the difficult mountains they’d already climbed.
But Justine made him unable to see straight, unable to trust his own judgement. The joy he felt at the end of a day with a big mountain climb was shockingly close to the joy he’d experienced just being with her, talking with her. And that was impossible. The joy of a mountain climb had been second to none. He’d much rather climb a big mountain than plow a barmaid. He’d made that choice dozens of times.
So why was he unable to see that easy equation with Justine? Why was it different with her? And he wasn’t even plowing her! None of it made sense.
“Whoa there, Speedy!” called Frau Moon. “Slow down and wait for us mortals.”
“Who needs to slow down?” Justine called, surging through them, on his heels.
“Nutters,” called Frau Bridewell.
“Justine, slow down before you injure yourself. I’m not carrying you down the mountain.” Fräulein Bridewell’s wordsmade the steps on his heels, which he’d wanted to hear closer and closer, stop short.
“My apologies,” he called over his shoulder and slowed back to down to his normal pace. His mind had gotten too wrapped up, and he’d forgotten himself. Which was precisely why he kept his distance from Justine. Which was why he wanted to be with her. How proud he was that she wanted him. And how he wanted these two opposite things at the same time! It was so frustrating to have those both of them warring inside him at once. It made no sense.
“Mr. Vogel!” Frau Moon called again.
“Oh, let him go,” Justine said behind him.
And so he did. A guide should not abandon his clients, but the trail was obvious and the snow pack was stable. The season was warming up again, and the rotted snow had melted away. He left four women on the mountain while he went up ahead, pushing himself almost into a run.
He had to clear his head. How could he manage the next weeks with Justine, seeing her every day, talking around her every day, watching her laugh at dinner? He’d tried to ignore her, but she had wedged into him like a grass seed in a woolen sock. He’d have to return to his first strategy: wear himself out so completely that he didn’t have the energy to think of her.
The gradual ascent of this hill was not satisfying and the views were subpar. He huffed out his annoyance. Footsteps scrambled behind him, and he turned to see Justine emerge, charging ahead to try to catch up to him. Hope sprang up in his chest, a bloom he’d tried to dig out, but couldn’t.
“Karl,” she said as she gasped for breath.
But on her heels came the rest of the group. They were loud with their staggering and panting, but they’d kept pace with her, which was impressive.
“You weren’t kidding about that,” Mrs. Moon said, her hands on her hips. “That was faster than I thought I could go uphill.”
“Light feet,” Ophelia gasped. “Brilliant image. Very helpful.”
Karl shifted, hoping he was able to maintain a placid, helpful expression. But Justine had said his name. She wanted to talk to him, and as much as that was terrible news for one half of him, it was the kind of joy that made climbing mountains look like nothing more than a swipe of honey on one’s finger after dinner.
**
“I cannot say that was anything but an unmitigated success,” Ophelia said in the darkness.
Justine normally adored a midnight chat, the dark being a place where one could say more to one's friends because one didn’t gauge the look on their faces, didn’t have the walls in place to keep secrets buried.
“I agree,” Justine said, because she wanted Ophelia to go to sleep. Justine gritted her teeth to keep from chatting, which was very difficult because Justinealwayshad something to say.
There was a silence where Justine could hear Ophelia noting her verbal reticence. “Are you well, Justine?”
“Absolutely brilliant, thank you.”
