Justine looked over as Prudence eased off the sling, pain causing silent tears to run down her cheeks. It was then that Justine realized how badly Prudence’s clothes were torn. Shewas probably as scraped up as Eleanor. “We’ll get you to rights in no time,” Justine said, hoping that helped.
She aided Prudence with her blouse and skirt, helping her change into a dry shift, and then the rest of her layers, doing her best to avoid the angry bloody wounds that she found peppering her friend’s shoulders. Once Eleanor and Prudence were taken care of, Justine looked to Ophelia.
“I’ll get her to come change,” Eleanor said, limping over to where Lord Rascomb lay resting on a cot. With the candles surrounding him, he almost seemed dead, like a saint that had martyred himself to a cause.
It wasn’t far from the truth. If he did die, was he a martyr? A martyr to the cause of Alpine climbing? The urge to push oneself to the very edge of human endurance? For Justine felt that way now. She’d thought she’d known it before, but it was nothing compared to how she felt this moment, staring down at her dry clothes, knowing she would feel better if she could change.
She needed to get her boots off. Her toes were numb, and if she didn’t do something, there was a real possibility of frostbite. But she was so tired.
“I’ll go see what we can eat.” Prudence laid her hand on Justine’s shoulder. That human contact felt so warm and precious. It spurred Justine into movement, and she sat down to unknot her boots.
It wasn’t long before Ophelia joined her on the bench. They exchanged a look of exhaustion and despair. It took all of Justine’s strength to find Ophelia’s hand. But she did, and she held her best friend’s fingers as long as she dared. This was only part of their strength. They were together. And together, Justine Brewer and Ophelia Bridewell could do anything. Anything. Even this.
Finally, Ophelia gave a shallow nod, and they both bent over to untie their boots. Justine felt the sharp sting of open wounds on her own body, but ignored it. She would get to that in Zermatt. They would fix everything later. She wondered if Ophelia was feeling the same way.
When they finished changing, Prudence came in with two bowls of steaming soup, followed by Karl. Luc hobbled in with warmed bread and cold butter, slices of cheese and a pocket overflowing with apples.
“Tea is coming soon,” Karl said as he handed bowls first to Justine and Ophelia.
Justine glanced over to Prudence and Eleanor, ensuring that they were taken care of.
“I’m going back over to my father.” Ophelia stood.
Justine watched her friend go, her gait hobbled and raw. Something hurt Ophelia, whether it was a blister on her foot or a hitch in her hip from stiffness, she didn’t know.
Karl watched Justine eat for a moment, but she couldn’t be bothered to feel self-conscious. “I will watch over them, Justine. Eat. Take care of yourself. There are pallets over there—” he pointed to a nest of blankets on the other wall. “Help is coming from Zermatt. Rest now so you can help later.”
She swallowed hard. There was no flavor in the soup or stew or whatever it was. But it was hot going down into her chilled body, and that was worth it. Her teeth began to chatter. There was comfort from him, even if he didn’t touch her. She wanted him to, wanted to curl up in his arms, hear the rumble of his voice in his chest.
But she’d thrown that opportunity away. Not because she wouldn’t marry him, but because she’d made him feel a fool for thinking it. Her whole body wanted to shiver, but she clamped down, willing herself to be still. “Thank you,” she managed, her voice scratchy.
“You are welcome.” Those were formal words. Words that he’d protested about in one of his English language rants. In his language there was a formal and an informal way to speak. In modern English, there were formal terms of address, but that was it. How was a person to know when respectful distance was given and when the informal, friendly words connected them?
But Justine felt that respectful distance in his tone. She heard his formality, accepting it as what she had forced him to use. He ducked outside once again. To check on food, to see if help was close? Justine didn’t know. She ate her bowl of soup, took a bite of cheese, and found that chewing an apple or a piece of bread took far more work than she could manage.
She took off the slippers she’d packed and bedded down, certain she wouldn’t sleep, but needed the rest.
The next moment, everything changed.
It felt as if she’d blinked, but hours had passed. The sun was fully in the sky. Prudence was curled up next to her, breathing deep and rhythmically in her heavy slumber.
Justine sat up. Her head hurt. Her back twinged, as if to contest her head’s priority in pain. There was an ewer of water and two cups sitting on the short bench in front of her and Prudence. She poured a cup and drank, downing it in seconds. Her stomach rebelled at the cold temperature, but she didn’t care. She poured another cup. Looking around, she saw more people.
Mr. Moon leaned against the wall on the other side of Prudence, his arms crossed, his hat clutched in his hand. Justine followed his gaze over to the nave, where there was a crowd around the cot where Lord Rascomb lay.
She didn’t recognize some of them—healers from Zermatt, perhaps? But Tristan and Ophelia both stood there, clearly not having slept. Justine got to her feet, swaying with fatigue. Her feet were swollen, feeling as if the bottoms of themwere rounded like a wheel rather than flat. She stumbled as she disengaged from the blankets.
Mr. Moon pushed off the wall, stepping over Prudence to provide aid.
Justine waved him off. “Thank you, I’m fine.” She leaned on the wall, scanning the room again. She couldn’t help but notice that there was no one watching over her. No Karl. No Francis. She was on her own. Isn’t that what she’d asked for? Her independence? “Where’s Karl? I mean, Mr. Vogel?”
Mr. Moon nodded toward the door. “Outside. Securing the cart.”
A cart. Definitely one for Lord Rascomb. Justine did not look forward to hiking back down to Zermatt, but needs must. A cup of tea would help her uncontrollable shivering. She didn’t bother putting on her slippers or her boots, not sure her feet would fit in either covering, and padded outside.
Karl held the reins of a donkey, attached to a cart, discussing something with his uncle. Herr Brunner broke into a smile when he saw her.
“Fräulein Brewer!” he said.
