“No, I’m sure I’ll see him.” Ophelia looked sympathetically at Tristan as he staggered out their door.
“Do you think we need all those things?” Justine asked.
Ophelia nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ve made everything as light as possible. I don’t know how we could shed any more weight. But, distributed amongst the eight of us, it should be a bearable load for one day.”
Tomorrow. Tomorrow they would go where no woman had ever stepped foot. A thrill went through her. They were really climbing the Matterhorn. A mountain that had already killed many men. Hopefully, it felt more positively about women.
**
Karl watched as the Englishman weighed down the donkey. Even Luc, who normally resisted commenting on anything, seemed surprised.
“Do they need all of these things?” Luc asked in Swiss German.
“Apparently. They have all sorts of gadgets I have never seen before, but Fräulein Bridewell assures me it is all necessary.” Karl answered back in the same language, and noted that a few of the other mountain guides arrived to see them off. No doubt they wanted to see these ladies in their climbing gear to take their measure.
Marco, Francois, and Hans came to stand next to him, also watching the loading of the equipment.
“How many people are going on this venture?” Marco asked in Tyrolian, a language that sounded very much like German, but with significant differences, even more than the Swiss dialect.
“Seven,” Karl answered back. “Eight if you count Luc, but he will stay at the Hörnli camp.”
Francois swore gently in French but then asked in German, “Who is the one who is insisting on bringing her paints?”
Karl gave his friend a look of incomprehension. “Not one of this group paints.”
“They are English ladies, do they not all paint?” Francois asked, switching now to French.
“Not these English ladies,” Karl said.
Hans watched, not commenting, because Hans was not a man who spoke often.
“You are going, too, Luc?” Marco asked the older man.
“Only to the first camp at the base of the mountain. I will cook for their return, take care of the donkey.” Luc was not the most obvious touchstone of mountaineering in the Alps, but he had been on many expeditions. He stayed at the base of the mountains, maintaining camp, tending to animals, helping with set-up and return packing.
“Will you be able to accompany my expedition next week?” Marco asked.
“Of course,” Luc said with an easy shrug that looked painful to Karl, given the twist and hunch of his back. But the gesture didn’t hurt Luc, and it reminded Karl that he was as capable as any of them standing there. He was a valuable member of their community, raising children he did not father, donating excess milk from his goats during the cheese-making days, and working harder than anyone else at the public ovens on bread-making days.
The realization made Karl feel useless and selfish. He did not know how to make cheese or bread. He could milk cows and goats, and did so when needed. But he spent so much time caring for the inn or guiding expeditions that he did not have time to give back into the community. Which bothered him. Luc was able to do much more with much less. Another change he would have to make for himself. Find ways to give back, to be a part of something, not always on the periphery, up a mountain instead of helping his neighbors.
Fräulein Bridewell and Justine exited the inn, squinting against the bright summer sun. Karl knew the group planned to leave soon after the ascent, but he hoped they would stay on. They had been here for the worst of the Alps, the freeze-thaw cycle of spring, and not the glorious warmth of the summer, with the endless green grass and meadow flowers.
He wanted to show Justine the high, hanging meadows filled with tall grasses dotted with tiny yellow buds and the short spread of the white, starry-shaped edelweiss.
“Mr. Vogel.” Fräulein Bridewell nodded in her greeting, and then extended to the rest of the guides who stood by him. “Mr. Meynet, gentlemen.”
They all doffed their caps and gave shallow bows in acknowledgment. Karl clutched his hat in his hand, feeling as if he were a schoolboy about to be admonished. She had that air about her. “Fräulein Bridewell. Is all well?”
“Yes, very much so. However, I would appreciate if you and Miss Brewer scouted ahead for weather conditions. Between me and Mr. Meynet, I think we should be able to lead the donkey and the rest of our team once we are finished with our preparations.”
Karl frowned. “As your guide, I should be with the bulk of the team. It is my duty to ensure that—”
“Between myself and Mr. Meynet, we shall find the way. I have excellent map-reading skills, and I’m certain Mr. Meynet’s memory will serve him well. Miss Brewer is ready.”
Karl gritted his teeth. He didn’t need this sort of dressing down in front of his colleagues. They’d already mocked him for accepting this job, called him a nursemaid and worse. But to have this girl, who looked more suited to reading French fairy stories to children than climbing the most dangerous mountain in Europe, dictate how to conduct himself in front of his guiding colleagues was a blow to his pride.
But she paid his wage. And she had proven herself over the last months as being thoughtful, precise, well prepared, and well informed. He glanced over to where Justine stood, straight as an arrow, her hands slipping on woolen half-gloves. Fräulein Bridewell’s face didn’t give any clue to an ulterior motive, but Karl had his suspicions.
