Every single member of the circle had the rosy cheeks of wind burn, the wild hair of gusts, and the bright gleam of anticipation in their eyes.
“I’m hungry,” said Tristan.
“I don’t doubt it,” Eleanor said to her husband, squeezing his hand.
“We have plenty of food to eat tonight, but first let’s talk about tomorrow’s plan.” Ophelia smiled. This was her project to lead, and everyone respected it, even her father and her brother. Perhaps especially so. It wasn’t the first time Justine was envious of her friend’s family. While it was all fine and good for an aristocratic family to be eccentric, Justine’s mother wanted her only daughter to be better behaved. More daughter-like, and not the ruffian she got at the end of four boys. But here she was. Her father and brothers nowhere in sight, unwilling or unable to take up this journey. Even Francis.
“Tomorrow we will try to take the summit in one day. However, I want to make sure you understand that most ascent attempts took several days, and many got close to the top before having to turn back due to weather. So far, we’ve only spoken of other expeditions’ experiences, but we are here now, and you can see exactly where we mean to go.” She gestured to the ridge that Justine had gazed at earlier.
“I hope to make it past the first camp of Whymper’s, which is just under four thousand meters. In order to do that, we must awake at three in the morning. We will be descending this ridge, traversing the saddle in the dark. We will rope up here and maintain that rope contact until we return here tomorrow night. We have been told the descent is more dangerous than the ascent, which is why we are leaving so early in the morning. We do not want to descend in the dark.”
They all nodded, and Eleanor again looked to Tristan. During their ascent of Ben Nevis, they’d gotten arrogant abouttheir success and not maintained their rope tether. Eleanor and Tristan had tumbled off a cornice because of it.
“We all have our equipment and our packs, which have our emergency gear. I want us to be more prepared than other teams. We must make it to the top.”
Their murmurings of agreement took only a wordless shape of encouragement. When Ophelia seemed done talking, Karl looked to her for permission to speak.
“This will likely be the hardest thing you have ever done,” Karl said.
Gooseflesh prickled along Justine’s arms. There was something about this that felt wrong suddenly. Felt like the mountain didn’t want them on it. But she was likely catastrophizing in her head. Nerves were to be expected at a juncture like this. She could see the glaciers, the cliffs, all the hazards that lay between them and their goal.
“The descent is harder than the ascent. I know you will feel like celebrating at the top. As you should. But concentration needs to be maintained on the way down as well. Remember, that is where the deaths most often occur.”
They nodded, somber in their reflection of the lives lost on this rock.
“Lovely mood, excellent speeches, let’s eat.” Tristan looked at the group brightly, pulling one of the bags over.
Justine laughed, joined by a few others. The anticipation was palpable amongst all of them. Knowing they would not be able to pitch a tent here, as the winds were far too strong, they created their own nests next to the short rock wall Tristan and Karl had hastily dragged together.
Karl built a fire, difficult as it was, but given the rock wall, it smoldered on, heating the kettle full of melted snow, meat and vegetables. It wasn’t the tastiest meal Justine had ever eaten, butit was somehow the best she’d had so far, warming her from the inside out.
After dinner, they lazed about on their blanket bags, ignoring the wind. Ophelia sorted gear; Tristan smoked, one arm around Eleanor. Prudence pulled out a small pocket-sized sketch pad. When Justine looked at her in curiosity, since she had never before sketched anything, Prudence’s cheeks colored.
“Leo’s teaching me to draw.” She flipped open to a blank page. “I’m not very good, but he asked to me to capture what I could.”
Justine wished she had something to fiddle with, but she didn’t, so she watched everyone else, pointedly not looking at Karl, who cleaned and packed away the dinner utensils. Surprisingly, Luc reappeared at camp, carrying a pack of tobacco and spirits. He said something to Karl that the rest of them couldn’t understand. But Karl looked around as Luc made himself at home, asking, “Would anyone like a nip of brandy?”
Tristan reached for it, as did Prudence, which surprised Justine. And while normally Justine would say yes, something about this felt so off and wrong to her that she abstained. She wanted to be as clear-headed as possible. Not long after dark, they smothered the fire and tried to sleep. Luc seemed very much put out, no doubt hoping the English would stay up and drink and smoke, carouse into the wee hours. Perhaps other expeditions did. But not theirs. For them, too much was at stake.
To fail, at worst, was to be openly ridiculed. At best, it allowed them time to recover and try again. But as she was dropping off to sleep, Justine realized that failing was far more likely. And the worst of that would not be open ridicule. It would be death.
**
Chapter Eleven
Karl did not know why his eyes popped open at the correct hour, only that they did. It was not his place to question the gifts of the world, and one of them was an impeccably accurate internal clock. It was pitch-dark, icy cold, and extremely windy.
He sat up, his head above the windbreak they’d built the night before, and immediately the freezing gusts made his eyes water. He saw Fräulein Bridewell awake, already rolling up her blanket bag, her boots tied.
The others began to stir as well.
“Is it time?” Frau Moon asked, rubbing her eyes.
He watched as Justine rose, her eyes only on Ophelia, as if garnering strength from her friend.
Herr and Frau Bridewell crawled out of their double blanket bag, likely the most snug out of all of them, given they’d had body heat to keep each other warm all night. There was something inherently more restful with another person right there, sharing the air. He’d only ever shared a bag with another man, inside a snow cave, certain they would be dead by morning. It was surprisingly not as harrowing as it sounded. Mostly boring.
Lord Rascomb was the last awake, but the next person to be readied. Karl admired him. He was a practiced mountaineer, steady and strong. He watched over his daughter and every other member of their team constantly, quietly. This was a man who did his duty by his family. It touched Karl this early morning in a way that it hadn’t before. Because he hadn’t been able to see that the man was not only physically caring for his children, but valuing them in ways not many fathers did.
