The pride of this woman, how she honored Justine with her loan. Tears pricked Justine’s eyes. “This belonged to you?”
“Ich—” Frau Brunner stopped and turned to Ophelia, speaking in German again.
“She made it,” Ophelia said. “It was for her wedding to Herr Brunner. She said she put all her love into it, and hopes that it will bring as much happiness for you and her nephew.”
Justine was not sentimental, at least, not in her own opinion. But this was more generosity than she could take. She stood and pulled Frau Brunner into a tight hug, whispering her thank-yous in English and in German. When she pulled away, she could see the redness in Frau Brunner’s blue eyes as well.
When it came time, they rode donkeys over to the site of where the Anglican church would one day stand. For now, the one foundation stone marked the territory. Wooden benches had been brought out for guests, and while it was meant to be a church wedding, Justine was glad it was outside. Glad that the mountains could attend, watch over them, bless them in whatever way mountains could.
She’d decided to forgive the Matterhorn. She’d done what the Matterhorn always did. The Ladies’ Alpine Society had turned back due to the injury of one of its members, an honorable and admirable thing to do. The Matterhorn tested them, and they emerged with honor. The next climb would come in due time.
Karl was already at the church site, looking handsome in his best suit, the gold braid covering the military-style jacket. She stumbled dismounting the donkey, lace obstructing her sight. She hobbled a bit from the coin in her shoe. She could hear her mother sniffling already. But this felt right and good. And she had the rest of the Ladies’ Alpine Society there, cheering her on. Prudence pressed a bouquet of wildflowers into her hands, and Eleanor kissed her cheek through the lace veil.
“You are going to love being married,” Eleanor promised, mischief in her voice.
The ceremony went so fast, Justine almost didn’t believe it had happened. At least, until Karl raised the veil, kissed her soundly—in front of her parents!—and they adjourned to a donkey cart with a bag waiting for them on the board.
“Boiled sweets,” Karl said, when she looked at it with eyebrows raised.
She peeked into the bag to find at least a pound of brightly colored paper twists. “This is an awful lot of sweets for two people.”
Karl laughed, climbing into the donkey cart and putting out his hand to pull her up. At least she didn’t have to keep her face covered anymore. She could see. Frau Brunner pinned the veil back, so she still had lace cascading down to her shoulders, and her mother admitted it was very becoming.
“We throw the sweets to the children as we go back to the inn. To celebrate our joy, and to give back to our community as they welcome us.”
Justine liked the idea. It was better than people throwing things at them. As soon as they hit the streets of Zermatt, children appeared, as if they heard the siren song of sugar. Justine threw handfuls out and they skittered across the cobblestones. This was the most fun she’d had inages. Well,public fun, anyway. She grabbed two handfuls and threw them both in the air. “I want to do this every day!”
Karl laughed. “I will see what I can do to put sweets in our budget.”
At the inn, Frau Brunner pulled her into the kitchen and handed her a small box. Guests were arriving, and Herr Brunner was serving beer and wine and schnapps. Justine hadn’t ever been in the kitchen before, and just like the veil scenario earlier that day, she hadn’t a clue of what was going on. It had to be another gift, but Frau Brunner kept pushing her to the cooking stove, where a steaming pot of soup cooked.
“Ophelia?” she called, hoping her voice carried through the heavy wooden walls.
Frau Brunner shook her head. She mimed taking something from the box, tossing it in the soup, then pointed at Justine.
Justine frowned and opened the box. It was salt. “You want me to salt the soup?”
“Salze, ja.” Frau Brunner nodded at her, trying to make her get on with it.
“I don’t know how much to use.” Justine was out of her depth. Oh no, would she be expected to cook for Karl? It had not occurred to her that they would be so poor as to have to cook for them both. She had no idea how to do anything in a kitchen.
Frau Brunner kept gesturing to the pot, so Justine took a pinch and tossed it in. The pot was rather large, and more cauldron-shaped, so perhaps more? Frau Brunner urged her again, so Justine dug out a handful and threw it in. Frau Brunner looked worried.
“Oh no, was that too much?”
“Gut, gut,” Frau Brunner said, shaking her head and pushing Justine out the door and into the dining room.
The rest of the afternoon was fun, and not at all like the weddings she’d attended in England. This was loud, full of music and dancing and drinking. They spilled outside and danced and she listened to men yodel and clapped as women danced. The older men wore the traditional lederhosen, and she was still not sure she was ready to see men’s bare knees, but see them she did.
As the sun set, Karl pulled her away from the crowd. “It is time for us to go.”
“But the party—”
“It is time.” Karl’s voice was smooth and rough, and she realized that she hadn’t paid much attention to him today. She’d been so focused on these strange traditions, and old men's knees, and tasting the soup that was clearly over-salted. Whoops.
He handed her up into the donkey cart, and she scooted over to make room for him. Crested carriage with matching horses, this was not. The sweet smell of hay still permeated the wood. “Where are we going?”
“To a cottage nearby. We will stay there for a few nights. Then I wanted to ask you to go to Augsburg with me. I would like for you to meet my parents.”
