She didn’t know what theitwas, until he clarified—was she engaged to Karl Vogel? She had been gratified to see how mortified Francis looked at the prospect, and so she had half a mind to let him believe it, but given the speed at which her mother would show up in Zermatt, she told him that she was not engaged to Karl or anyone else.
That was when Francis told her Karl was the one who told him that she’d agreed to marry him. Justine’s whole body went cold and then hot. So she waited up for Karl, knowing he was at a mountain guide meeting or something of the sort, since he missed dinner. But he didn’t come and didn’t come, and then when he did arrive, he was stinking drunk and made no sense whatsoever.
But that softening bit of her wondered if it was a translation issue. When she had said they would begin their torrid affair after the climb, did he then assume marriage because she had money?
Her gut churned with impatience. The idea that men were off making assumptions about her made her want to tear her hair out. How dare they? As if either Karl or Francis had any say over what happened to her. The very idea of it had made her want to smash every piece of glass in the entire inn for the past week. Which, of course, she didn’t and wouldn’t actually do.
This seemed like something she should talk to Prudence about. Without Mr. Moon lurking around, if she could manage. But Ophelia was right here, and they were reinforcing the window shade pull lines of their skirts to ensure they wouldn’t break or snap.
Despite the hikes and climbs, marriage had changed their group. It felt even more divided in halves, Eleanor and Prudence on one side, her and Ophelia on the other. Especially now that those two women were paired up. She would call Prudence and Mr. Moon married, even if officially, they were not, but honestly, it was obvious that they would be in time.
“Justine, are you listening to me?” Ophelia asked, putting down her mending.
“Yes. I am now. I am.”
“This is serious.”
“I know,” Justine said, looking over her last line of stitches. When she got distracted, so did her sewing. “It’s fine.”
Ophelia looked at her, knowing that she’d done something but not yet understanding Justine’s state of mind. She didn’t know that Karl had told Francis that she was marrying the mountain guide. And Justine didn’t know if Karl had said it to make her brother furious, which honestly, she would have done herself, or if he really believed that she had somehow agreed to marry him.
Was it something he’d said to her when he was speaking German, and she didn’t understand? Or was it some cultural context she didn’t know about? If a girl danced three dances withthe same man, people would assume they were courting. Was it the same here, as if you climbed three mountains with a man, you were engaged? Well then, Karl was engaged to the whole pack of them.
“Fee.” Justine looked up at her best friend in the entire world, hoping she would not yell at her. She loved Ophelia more than her parents, but right now, she couldn’t handle Ophelia’s nervous chatter. Justine leaned back and rested herself against the bed. She wasn’t wearing a corset—she was wearing the jumps they wore when they took their exercise—and she might never go back. The feeling of her spine slightly rounded and resting against the bed felt good. Easy. Free.
“You’re so pretty,” Justine said, sincerely meaning it, even if the comment had no bearing on the situation at hand. It was true, and Justine didn’t even feel envious about it. Her golden hair was braided pinned up—the braids kept the hair from tangling further, and would be better suited for sleeping on the side of a mountain. She was like an illustration for women’s mountaineering.
But Ophelia was used to Justine’s aesthetic non-sequiturs. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” Justine said, groaning. She both wanted to talk about Karl and wanted to forget him entirely and go climb a fucking mountain. “Nothing.”
Ophelia sank to the ground, her big blue eyes trained on Justine. Some strange man would fall in love with her someday, and if Ophelia could let him love her, she would be so happy. But that day might never come, and she might marry for convenience, or perhaps not at all. Justine could be a spinster with her, living in their own townhouse, having adventures together. Ophelia would write her papers and give lectures, and Justine would bully places into allowing her to do so.
“Something happened?” Ophelia guessed, slipping her hand into Justine’s.
“No. Well, yes, but really no.”
Ophelia hummed appreciatively, as if this answer told her anything at all.
Justine sighed. “Karl told Francis we were getting married.”
Ophelia was silent a moment. Then she asked, “Who is the we? You and me? You and Francis? Or you and Karl?”
Justine laughed, because only Ophelia would ever be confused about a sentence like that. “Me and Karl, of course.”
“Ah.” Ophelia nodded. “Why would he say that?”
Justine could tell Ophelia was doing her best to step carefully in the conversation.
“I don’t know, and I tried to ask him, but there hasn’t been a good time.” Justine squeezed her eyes shut. “I know I shouldn’t care, I know I should be focused on the Matterhorn, but every time I try to shut out the memory of Francis demanding why I’m marrying Karl, it just swirls around in me, and I can’t focus on anything at all.”
Ophelia nodded, and straightened her back: Expedition Leader Time. Justine would bet Ophelia didn’t even know her posture changed when she switched from being Justine’s best friend to Ladies’ Alpine Society Expedition Leader. “What can we do to resolve the situation with Francis and Mr. Vogel? Because we should resolve it before we start up the mountain. I can’t have your attention divided.”
“I know, but I don’t know.”
“You haven’t been able to speak with Mr. Vogel, correct?”
Justine unstitched her last bit of seam and redid it straighter this time. “Correct.”
