Justine opened her eyes and looked at her friend. She didn’t need to even say anything. Ophelia nodded her head and gave a slight shrug. “We tried?”
Justine nodded. “I tried.”
“Are we still letting him guide us up the mountain?”
Justine laughed. As if they could get a replacement guide at this moment! But Ophelia’s loyalty warmed her. “Yes. We are still letting him guide us.”
Ophelia sighed with relief. “Oh good. That makes logistics much easier.”
Justine snorted.
Tristan looked over and smiled, his face brilliant with happiness. Justine returned the expression, and he acted as if he were falling over from shock. She could only imagine the level of happiness Eleanor and Prudence had experienced in the last few months. They were tucked away in a gorgeous part of the world, sharing a room with the men they loved.
And Justine was sort of envious. She looked at Ophelia. At least they had each other?
“Oh, I must help sort. That bag needs to stay at the church.” Ophelia hurried over to the donkey.
Lady Rascomb came to stand next to Justine, out of the way of the packing and unpacking that was happening now that Ophelia was involved. A man came out of the church, and Justine didn’t know if he was a man of God or a caretaker, but he offered a flask to Luc, who was more than happy to wander over to a wooden bench and chat.
“Is all well in your world, Justine?” Lady Rascomb surveyed their troupe but asked in the same low tones that Ophelia had used.
“Yes, my lady.”
The older woman tsked. Despite her bonnet, bits of her shiny blonde hair caught the summer sun, showcasing the telltale trait of the Bridewell children. “Then I know something is amiss. I can’t remember the last time you remembered to use my honorific.”
“We’re in mixed company,” Justine protested. Themy ladyhad rolled off her tongue without thinking. Well, not thinking about Ophelia’s mother anyway. She was still roiling, and it would be good to feel her body, let her mind go blank for the next hour or two it took to hike up to the shoulder calledHörnli where they would make camp for the night. Karl had teased her about her pronunciation until she gave up entirely.
But he wouldn’t be teasing her anymore. Correcting her terrible pronunciation. Running ahead on a trail to see if she could keep up.
“It seems Mr. Vogel is out of sorts as well,” she said, nodding toward Karl, who frowned at the packing and unpacking antics. Then she looked over to the other side, where Francis had sat down on a rock, picking grass strands up and shredding them. “Not to mention Francis.”
“There was a misunderstanding,” Justine said.
“Is this a misunderstanding that your mother will snub me over?” To her credit, Lady Rascomb didn’t sound the least bit bothered by it.
“No,” Justine said hurriedly. “At least, not if I get to share my point of view. Francis is very judgmental.”
“He only wants to keep you safe.”
Justine harrumphed at that. Francis wanted to control her, just like every other man in her life, excepting her father and Karl. They understood she needed to run and chatter and be unfettered.
“Well,” Lady Rascomb said, turning toward her. “I’m going to say the same thing to you that I said to Ophelia. Be safe. Mountains are unpredictable. Be alert, stay roped up, and enjoy your misery.”
Justine took her hand, feeling for the first time something like uncertainty. Lady Rascomb used a cane because of an avalanche on a mountain. Tristan had dug her out, but her leg was so badly fractured that it never healed quite right. She’d never climbed another mountain afterwards. On some days, she knew that it pained Lady Rascomb, causing her back to spasm, and leading to days in bed.
Hers was a cautionary tale. As were the six failed ascents by Edward Whymper. Justine looked up past the Hörnli ridge where the Matterhorn’s iconic scooped-out peak hid in afternoon clouds. They had done everything they could to stack the odds in their favor. They were more well prepared than any other expedition, according to Karl. They’d trained. They’d developed their own tools and devices to help themselves.
But weather was unpredictable. Misty fog obscured routes. Avalanches were possible. Rock falls were guaranteed. Cliffs abounded and crevasses gaped beneath snowfields. Wind and cold would blister them. And what could they do? Nothing but try.
“We’ll come back safe and sound. You watch.” Justine put her hands on her hips, trying to feel more certain of their attempt.
“You are all very capable young women. I know you’ll do your best.” Lady Rascomb placed her hand on Justine’s shoulder, towering over her as all the Bridewells did.
Lord Rascomb collected his wife, escorting her to the recently vacated wooden bench in front of the church, assuredly a more comfortable seat. Karl approached the man with the flask and Luc, no doubt discussing where their post-mountain bags would be stashed. While it was merely extra rations and changes of clothing, it was still more than they wanted to carry up to their campsite.
After they sorted everything and retied the lighter luggage to the donkey, the other women gathered with Justine. Luc waved at them and headed up the trail. It was a gradual incline ahead of them, and soon they would catch and pass by him.
Mr. Moon and Lady Rascomb said their goodbyes. Francis loitered a ways away from Justine, but when it became clear that the others were leaving, he apparently got over his qualms.
