And then Prudence was pulling herself up over the edge. Justine surged forward, grabbing Prudence under her arms, hauling her onto the narrow ridge. Prudence laid half in Justine’s lap, her chest heaving. As her breath calmed, Justine realized that Prudence was shaking.
Justine tightened her grip around her friend, holding her tight. “I’ve got you.” And Justine meant it.
They regrouped, and with Prudence’s assistance they retrieved Eleanor as well. Tristan held her as Karl examined her arm and shoulder. Justine gripped Ophelia and Prudence as tight as she could manage. She had all of them. Small, but determined. She would save them all.
**
Karl had a plan. It wasn’t a great one, but it was the only one available to him. Minutes ticked away from them, becoming hours lost. The only hope he had was that the cold somehow helped the viscount, preventing a loss of blood that would have killed him otherwise.
Tying into the rope sling had been far more challenging in the dark, his hands less dexterous after hauling a climber up the side of the Hörnli Ridge. The only good thing was that they were closer to Schwarzsee. Closer to shelter and food and help.
When they finally found camp, Karl kicked Luc awake, hoping the man would forgive him.
“Go as fast as you can to Schwarzsee. Get the donkey. The viscount is gravely injured. Send word to Zermatt to bring a healer to Schwarzsee. I don’t care who. Get the midwife if she’s the only one. Have my Onkel send word to Zurich for a physician if there isn’t one in Zermatt. Go fast. He’s dying.”
Luc, bless the man, did not question, did not rub his eyes, did nothing but take off in the direction of the church.
Karl’s back ached from the weight of the sling, but he didn’t dare put down his burden. It would be faster for them to continue carrying him like this rather than try the caterpillar method they’d done on the mountain.
The trail ahead was well-worn, dirt, and wide. These were the easy Alpine trails anyone could traverse. Over his shoulder, he asked Tristan, “We can go faster now. Are you able to keep going?”
“Yes,” came the firm reply.
“We’ll break camp and meet you down there,” came a woman’s voice in the darkness. Justine. It was Justine. And he wanted to praise her, but didn’t dare.
“Good,” he said, and he was already walking. They made the descent quickly, given both their long strides and easyterrain. The church had a lamp in the window, and Karl exhaled in relief. Luc was already here.
It was that same hunched man who opened the door at their approach. “I sent Bernhard down to fetch the physician. I’ve made you some rations and a bed formonsieur.”
They went inside the small white-washed building—which practically glowed in the dark, starry landscape. The clear water of Schwarzsee reflected all of this, a sanctuary far warmer than the day they’d spent on the mountain.
Karl walked them over to the cot—Bernhard’s cot—padded with blankets. He and Tristan carefully unloaded the weight of Lord Rascomb onto it. Karl sank to his knees on the stone floor, the pressure biting into his very tired legs, to make untying from the sling easier. He wanted to lie flat on this floor, letting his back relax from the strain it had endured, but there was more to be done.
“Luc, please fix us whatever you have.” Karl looked down at the viscount, whose pallor was not good. But he could see the subtle rise of the man’s chest, so he was at least still breathing. “Tristan, we will gently roll him to the side to remove the webbing.”
Tristan looked at him with wide blue eyes, his face drawn and finally now terrified. Though they were likely the same age, he looked like a child in this light, worried for his father. “Should we move him?” Tristan asked.
“The webbing cannot be comfortable.” Karl gave a grim smile, hoping that would comfort the other man. “And we’ve already moved him down a mountain.” Karl coaxed him through the steps, moving the body on one side, pushing the webbing as far to the center as he could, and then moving to the other side, pulling it out without disturbing the unconscious man.
Karl didn’t dare pull the bindings away from his head wounds, afraid that it might spark bleeding now that they werein a warmer temperature. Tristan slid down to the floor and gripped his father’s hand, staring at the viscount’s face. Luc arrived with two bowls of some kind of soup, but Karl shook his head.
He touched Tristan on the shoulder and said, “Food is ready for when you are.”
But Tristan refused to look away from his father. “I’m not hungry.”
Karl guided Luc back to the entrance, which was colder than the nave where Lord Rascomb lay. Karl took the bowl. The soup was greasy and barely warm. But Karl didn’t care.
“Where did you warm this?” Karl asked Luc, wanting to know where the campfire must be, as it wasn’t in this rectangular ice box of a structure.
“Outside. It’s quite small, I don’t think it will last much longer.” Luc looked embarrassed, as if he were somehow less of a help.
“Good work,” Karl said, downing the rest of the bowl’s contents. He dug through the other items they’d left here, finding his change of clothes. Dry clothing. Warm clothing. He didn’t relish the idea of disrobing in a church, but he was certain Mother Mary wouldn’t mind at the moment.
**
Justine had never been more focused in her life. She packed up the bag blankets and the cookware while Eleanor wrapped her ankle.
“I think it’s broken,” Eleanor said quietly. “It’s very swollen.”
