Lord Rascomb made a place for his daughter in a world that didn’t want her to have this dream. To climb a mountain was a feat of perseverance and inner strength as much as outer strength. Neither of those were named as part of the femininespirit. Years ago, and perhaps still, an aristocratic daughter was supposed to be used to raise up the family with alliances and bring connections to strengthen their social standing. But this man could see the world had changed.
From what Karl had understood from Herr Bridewell, this was far from the first big mountain they’d climbed with Lord Rascomb. If Karl was going to be a father someday, he hoped he would be able to be as clear-eyed as this man. To see his children for what good they could do in the world, not what good they could bring to their family.
In some ways, it reminded him of his Onkel Peter. Yes, he needed help in Zermatt. The inn required so much labor, but he could have hired men for it, even if it might be difficult to get some parts of the year. Knowing Karl’s love of mountaineering, he'd offered it to him specifically. Not because he had a nephew in need. But because it was Karl who needed to be in the mountains.
After securing his own gear, Karl helped Ophelia lay out their rope, organize their packs, and attach the spikes they’d crafted to the front of their boots. It was an interesting design, and he was flattered they’d made a set for him as well. The thick leather straps fit over his boots with a buckle to the side, on the outside of the shoe.
Perhaps this would make the climb easier. Perhaps it was just another thing to weigh them down.
They all worked quickly in the dark, and it was not long until he was tying himself into the rope. The rope that held all of their lives, a daisy-chain of hearts, pounding their way up the side of a cliff.
He gave one sharp tug on the rope, a signal that he was prepared. He felt the rest do so as well, one by one down the chain, and then back up again. He started forward, slow shufflesas he took them down the path, scree rocks yielding beneath his boots and tumbling down the sides of the ridge.
While there was a part of him screaming with nerves, given the dark and the knife’s-edge terrain, he had done this particular climb several times. He’d already been to this summit—twice—but each time was different. The snowfields were different, the rock falls were different, the weather was different, the clients were different.
He had faith in all of them, even Frau Bridewell, who had made an effort in the last weeks to become more confident with her footwork. Still, there were things one encountered on these attempts that one couldn’t predict. And he needed to keep himself alert and open to all of them and their needs.
Behind him, he heard the scree scrape under their boots. Above him, he could hear a cracking boom, signaling an expansion of ice that broke rock away from the mountain. He stopped and listened. There was no rock fall now, but in the morning, when the temperature warmed and the ice melted, there would be.
Speed would be helpful, but he didn’t dare chance it in the dark with six people behind him and a ridge barely wider than his shoulders. A smaller team, or one that had traversed this saddle before, he might. But not today. He picked his way on, grateful when they reached the trough of the saddle and began to ascend again. They would keep at it, slow and steady, until they returned to the Hörnli Ridge tonight. He would see them through, usher them as quietly and gracefully as Lord Rascomb had thus far.
**
Justine was not afraid. Her father and brothers had often lamented that she barreled through situations with a sincere lack of fear that was meant to protect a person. She had always interpreted their worries as she lacked the type of fear aladywould have. Because had she been another boy, they would have shaken their heads with amazed pride.
But now, shuffling in the dark, hugging a rock as a steep scree field backed into a gaping glacier, she did feel a snag of fear. Which was normal, she supposed. The glacier field glowed white and bright in the starlight. She couldn’t decide if the glacier was taunting them with its cold illumination or if it was aiding their climb by providing an extra bit of light to help them navigate the decidedly difficult terrain.
Behind her was a long scrape of a boot missing its ledge. Justine froze, suddenly terrified that one of her teammates had fallen. She braced, but no tug on her tether rope came.
“All is well,” came Eleanor’s voice.
Justine relaxed and continued on. A glance at what she could see of the horizon told her that sunrise was near. The sky was moving from inky midnight to the deep purple of dawn. The knot of fear in her stomach loosened, and Justine decided she did not like this feeling at all. It didn’t seem helpful, or instructional. This feeling was a hindrance, a vestigial part of her that begged her to sit down and stop.
How was this fear helpful? She’d have to ask Francis when they got back, if she decided she would speak to him again. The triumph of ascending the Matterhorn would prove her point of how this fear was utterly useless. She pushed the feeling down, and urged that knot in her stomach to dissolve itself. It was decidedly not needed today.
After skirting around the rock formation, the area opened up into a snow field. As they all stepped onto the familiar crunch, each of them exhaled in contentment. This felt easy and safe compared to the long slog that dark morning, but she kept her mind from noticing the sharp cliffs that bounded the field on both sides. Behind her, she heard Prudence laugh in relief. In front of her, Ophelia turned around.
“Check in,” Ophelia announced, her voice quiet, but the air carried it clear as if she were saying directly in Justine’s ear.
“All is well,” Karl rumbled.
Ophelia repeated the words. Then Justine. Then Lord Rascomb, Prudence, Eleanor, and Tristan. They all breathed heavily, but controlled. The cold nipped at her ears, and she was grateful for the orange-yellow light that was warming the rock they climbed.
“Good,” Ophelia said, and Justine could hear the smile in her voice, even if she couldn’t quite make out her friend’s face. “Onward.”
Their boots scraped against the old snow and they fell into line, walking in silence. Before long, the incline tilted so steep with no perceivable trail that Ophelia called a halt so they could hitch their skirts up as high as they would go.
“Use the boot spike,” she advised. “And go on all fours if need be.”
Justine dutifully rucked up her skirt as best she could, grateful that the sunrise seemed slow, bathing everything in the gentle light. The snowfield covered everything, making it nearly impossible to tell where to go. She was glad Karl was there to guide them. Glad that she trusted Karl so completely. Did she? At least with her life, she did. He was competent to a fault.
“Onward,” Ophelia said, and up ahead, Karl walked.
He stubbed his boots in the snow hard with each step, assuring he would not fall. Occasionally, he needed to fall to his hands to help him climb, but not always. Ophelia did the same with her boots, but she kept her hands out. Ophelia was not one for chances.
So Justine followed Ophelia’s advice, and while her woolen gloves protected her hands from the cold for a few minutes, soon snow stuck between the weft of the fibers.
A female voice cried out.
