“We’ll take care of it at Schwarzsee,” Ophelia said. Her voice was tinged with urgency. Justine redoubled her efforts to finish packing up the campsite, making sure Eleanor’s and Prudence’s packs were far lighter than hers or Ophelia’s.
“Prudence?” Justine asked. “What’s your injury?” Since hauling them back on the ridge, Prudence had not volunteered anything, had not said anything. Ophelia had been focused on Eleanor, whose injured ankle had apparently caused the tumble over the side, pulling Prudence along with her.
“It’s nothing,” Prudence said, but her voice was strained. As Justine got closer, she could tell that Prudence cradled her arm in her lap.
“Tell me now, and I can help,” Justine whispered.
Prudence bit back the sob that escaped. “Too much has happened, I don’t want to make it worse.”
“It will be worse if we don’t fix it.” Justine reached out to touch her but Prudence flinched. “Is it your arm or your shoulder?”
“Both? I don’t know anymore.”
“That’s perfectly fine. I’d like to make a sling for your arm. We still have at least another hour down to Schwarzsee. Can you make it?”
“Of course,” Prudence said, sniffing. But she seemed calmer.
Justine dug in Prudence’s pack, which was closer, and found the only bit of rag left. Thank goodness. All their extra clothing had gone with Lord Rascomb, and most of their clean rags, too. It wasn’t the best, but it was the best Justine could manage right now. She carefully threaded Prudence’s very light pack onto her back, and then created a sling for Prudence.
“All is well,” Justine said, hoping that her calm declaration would help them. She slid into her heavy pack as the other two women did as well. Ophelia smiled, the hope in her face returning.
“All is well,” Prudence said, her voice careful. Justine knew she was trying not to betray her pain.
“All is well,” Eleanor said, equally steady.
“All is well,” Ophelia repeated. A heavy exhale came from her. “Onward.”
And so they walked in the dark, in silence. Justine staggered under the weight of her pack, but she had little choice. She certainly couldn’t leave their camp littered all over the mountain, and she would not be coming back up to clean it.
They descended slower than Justine would have thought, but given that Eleanor could barely walk, Prudence was in prodigious amounts of pain, and Ophelia and Justine were weighted down, their pace was understandable.
A small campfire blazed next to the church, and the windows were lit with lamps. It was a welcome sight. Justine no longer cared about food. She wanted dry socks more than anything. She wanted her ears to be warm. Sleep would be nice, but not entirely necessary.
This level of exhaustion exceeded even the early conditioning treks Karl used to take Justine on. She could feel every joint in her body. Her hips ached. Her shoulders burned with the weight of the pack. Even though they were no longer tethered together, she felt the ghost of the rope around her waist. Every so often, she felt a phantom tug that filled her with fear.
Ophelia opened the door of the small church, and Justine felt the urge to cry from relief. They filed inside. Ophelia strode over to the cot in the nave, where all the candles were lit. Tristan looked up at her as she dumped the pack on the stone floor. The expressions they exchanged stopped the rest of the women in their tracks.
“Let me,” Karl said, lifting the pack Justine carried.
She closed her eyes and let him unthread the straps from her, taking the weight of her burden. She let out a shaky breath, the fatigue clouding her mind. Was the danger over? Could they relax?
“Change into dry clothes first,” Karl said, gesturing to piles set on the short wooden benches that were this church’s pews. “No one will look.”
Justine nodded. She didn’t even care if someone looked. She was beyond modesty, beyond caring about trivial things like that. The other women stepped forward. Eleanor’s hands were shaking. And Justine had no idea how Prudence could change one-handed.
“I’ll go prepare some food,” Karl said, stepping out of the low-ceilinged church.
“Sit down,” Justine instructed both Prudence and Eleanor. Methodically, she pulled the boots off them both, being more careful and slow with Eleanor, considering her ankle. It had swollen to an abnormal size, but Justine couldn’t tell what was bandage and woolen stockings, and what was actually Eleanor.
“We’ll have to take this off,” Justine said, and Eleanor nodded. Justine worked on the bandage while Eleanor pulled down her shredded woolen stockings. Once everything was off, and Justine could see the bare skin, she was appalled to see the marks in Eleanor’s shin where the binding had kept the swelling down, and the rest of her flesh ballooned out around it. Deep, angry red scrapes laced around Eleanor’s legs. Wool fibers had stuck to the dried blood.
Justine frowned, unsure what steps to take next.
“Bind it first, then put the fresh stockings on,” Prudence suggested, pulling her own stockings off, one-handed. “We can clean it when we get to Zermatt.”
Justine bound Eleanor’s foot as best she could.
“I can handle the rest,” Eleanor said. “Help Prudence.”
