Mr. Brewer exited the inn and stared Karl down, his arms folded across his chest. Well, off he went then, by order of the expedition leader.
“I am ready. I will see you all at the church. Should there be any barriers, we will remove them in time for the rest of you.” Karl nodded his farewells to his friends, who all looked vaguely shocked to be in the presence of a woman like Fräulein Bridewell. Marco, who considered himself a connoisseur of women, couldn’t seem to speak, which made Karl want to laugh.
“Close your mouth,” he murmurer to Marco, in German, and the man seemed to come back to himself.
Justine had not yet spotted her brother, and Karl hoped they could escape without his censure. “Güete n’Abu,” he greeted Justine. He put his hat back on, snugging it down against any unexpected wind.
“Good morning.” Her greeting was terse, and there were small lines on the sides of her mouth, gentle curves in a hard set.
“Fräulein Bridewell bid me to take you ahead of the rest of the team. We will clear the path of any debris on the way to the church. Did she tell you this?” His palms were sweating, he realized. He had never been nervous to talk to her before, but yet now his heart pounded as hard as it did on a steep ascent. Perhaps it was the clearing out of the alcohol in his system. He had imbibed too much the night before.
“Let’s go,” she said, and there was no warmth in her voice, no sparkle of mischief in her eye.
Warning bells went off in his head. Typically on this day, the preparation day before the Matterhorn, he felt clear-headed and powerful. Today felt as if he were traversing a snow-covered glacier, unable to see the fatal crevasses cleaving around his feet.
“Justine,” hissed Mr. Brewer, coming up behind them.
“Francis, I’m embarking on our climb. What do you want?” Justine stopped and turned toward her brother.
Karl likewise stopped but couldn’t help feel like all the eyes were on them. His mountain guide friends, the members of the expedition, Tante Greta who had come outside with foodstuffs wrapped and ready to pack.
“We need to talk,” Francis said to his sister, but he looked at Karl.
Karl looked over to Fräulein Bridewell, who made a shooing gesture with her hand.
“And we must go. You may walk along with us as long as you are able. Yes?” Karl looked to Justine for approval.
Thankfully, she smiled. She understood what Karl meant. That with his thin-soled shoes and lack of physical conditioning, there was no way he would be able to keep up with them, nor harangue them. He’d be lucky if he kept up for the first kilometer.
“That’s fine. Come along, Francis,” she said, and Karl began to wonder which of them was older. Francis certainly seemed like the older one, but now he was not so sure, the way she spoke to him.
They started walking, Mr. Brewer maneuvering between them. “I’m glad both of you are here.”
Karl let Justine set the pace, and she was quick. He fell easily into her rhythm, reminding him of those first marches he’d taken her on, determined to see her break. But she didn’t. She kept up, didn’t complain, kept going, no matter how fast he went. She was impressive.
Mr. Brewer, however, already began flagging. His dance-floor-ready shoes slipped on the dirt path, making it harder for him to keep to his sister’s speed.
“I was hoping to speak with Mr. Vogel myself,” Justine said, glancing over at him.
Karl winced. He was back to the honorific, or perhaps that was just for her brother’s sake.
“I am here, let us speak.” Karl did not want to have any kind of conversation in front of Mr. Brewer, at least not by the look that was on her face.
“I feel Mr. Vogel and I need to speak again as well, for I need to understand what he intends,” Mr. Brewer panted.
“My intentions are clear,” Karl said. Out of everything everyone had said, he felt he had the clearest position. He wanted to make Justine his wife. He had lustful feelings, butsince he was a good man and she a good woman, they would marry and sate themselves within the bonds of marriage. She would be Frau Vogel, his wife and companion. What could be clearer?
“I’m not clear on them,” Justine chirped, giving Karl a pointed stare.
“But we agreed,” Karl insisted. “You were there. We said after the Matterhorn—”
Mr. Brewer tumbled into the dirt with a yelp.
“Francis!” Justine stopped, but did not go to help him stand up or brush the dirt off his coat.
Mr. Brewer stood up, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. “After the Matterhorn, you said Mr. Vogel?”
“Yes, our agreement was for after the Matterhorn, we would—”
