“Why does this concern you, Francis?” Justine put her hands on her hips, a gesture that highlighted her slim waist and ample bosom. Karl was an ardent admirer of this pose.
“Because I am your brother. I am your guardian—”
“No.” Justine shook her head. “You are not. Father is. You have no legal rights, and nor will you. Go back to the inn, Francis. I will speak with you in two days, after we’ve climbed this mountain.”
“How dare you—” Mr. Brewer’s cheeks splotched red, almost as if he’d been struck across the face.
“Go. Home,” Justine announced, not yelling nor angry. Karl was impressed. She and Fräulein Bridewell were a formidable pair and spoke to men without the deference most women did. No wonder both he and Mr. Brewer chafed at it.
“I will write to our parents,” Mr. Brewer threatened.
“I will speak to you after the Matterhorn.” Justine turned on her heel and took off down the trail.
“I must go. Auf wiedersehn.” Karl left Mr. Brewer to find his way back to the inn, the few meters they’d gone. He did want to stay cordial to the man he hoped to be his brother-in-law, though he felt like his chances of that were somehow diminishing the more steps they took.
He caught up to Justine in a few strides, opening up his gait and exceeding her pace. Her steps were so small.
“Do you really believe I agreed to marry you?” Her voice exploded out of her body, and the birds in the nearby trees took flight in surprise. She didn’t seem to notice.
Karl glanced behind him to see if Mr. Brewer had heard and was running to keep up, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t even see the man anymore. “Yes, I do, because you did.”
“When?” She was angry. He may not always understand the complexities of others, but this he could see very easily.
The best he could do was appease her, remind her, and not argue. Which he was not good at. “The night by the fire. When your feet were cold, and I held you there because you’d stood out in the snow. Do you not remember?”
“I remember kissing you.” Her cheeks blotched red just as her brother’s had as she said it. He liked the sight of it, proud to see that the memory affected her, because it very much affected him. “I remember standing in the snow, looking at the stars while you sent your uncle back to bed. And I remember you holding me in front of the fire to warm me.” Her voice softened as she recounted that night.
The satisfaction he felt in that moment was not one he could have described. He was outside, on one of his favorite walks, with the dark forest trees on either side of them, the cows lowing, their bells clanking as they moved slowly from meadow to meadow. And here was a woman impressive enough to out-hike her older brother and send him back home with her stern words, despite their notable height difference.
“But you never asked me to marry you,” she said in a low tone that he was starting to realize meant that she wanted to scream the words at him but didn’t want to lose control.
“But it was understood,” he said. Thinking back to the conversation. “We said that after the Matterhorn, we would have time to ourselves to . . .” he trailed off. He did not want to be a man who spoke so crassly to a woman. Or a man, for that matter. It was not how he wanted to speak to anyone.
“I thought you meant an assignation.”
He tested out the word in his mouth. “I do not know this word. Assignation.”
“A tryst. A night of passion. You know. What we’d been doing, but more.” Justine’s cheeks flamed again.
His mind blanked out for a moment, his body wanting to take over, but he wrested control back. He very much wanted an assignation. “Yes, that is what we said. But you are no barmaid. Loose woman? To have this night, we must marry. And then we have many, many assignations.”
Justine looked at the sky, and with a big gesture of her arms open wide she screamed and groaned at the same time. He’d never heard a person make that sound before, and it startled him. Why was he wrong? He was not wrong, he was sure of that.
“You are from a respectable family.” He put his hand out, as if that represented her family. “I am also from a respectable family.” He put his other hand out. “To be together, we marry.” He clapped his hands together. “Why is this bad? Why is this wrong?”
“You don’t know anything about me, Karl. Nor my family. How do you know we could have a successful marriage?”
“Because we are both stubborn,” he answered immediately because he had no doubt in his mind. “To staymarried is a matter of will. If you can climb the Matterhorn, you can have a marriage.”
“But I want to be happy,” she said, looking at him as if he had suddenly sprang goat horns.
“Then you will be happy,” he said, still very much bewildered as to why they were arguing.
“You don’t understand.” She kicked a stone off the path, sending it tumbling down the side of the hill. The gradual incline of the trail was why Karl like this one so much. It was an easy walk, beautiful, and felt more like a rolling stroll than the hard climb of the mountain that stood so tall and so striking that they could not see the summit from where they stood.
The mountain’s weather contained many small areas of different climates, of which, the fog was the most hazardous. It was hard to see what was coming, as the white of the snow seemed to blend with the white of the air surrounding them.
But here they were surrounded by lush greenery, and Justine’s extravagant frustration was no hindrance. Only confusing.
