Chapter Fourteen
Zermatt was evenlovelier than Ophelia remembered. June was warm and sweet-smelling. The donkey ride from the Zurich train station was far more pleasant this time, given the superior weather. Entering the village proper, with its close cobbled streets and small shops, felt like entering a party already in progress.
Both the citizens and tourists from all over Europe sat in chairs lining the walls of hotels and at cafes with tables outside. They smoked and laughed, drank beer and extended their legs, clad in calf-hugging gators and ending in heavy, hobnailed boots.
Ophelia’s heart felt lighter to be amongst them. With Karl’s presence, they would be able to enter those groups and discuss routes and tell stories, if they wanted. This was a consolation. She didn’t have to be a lady here, where she had to keep her ankles crossed, keep her voice soft and look up through her lashes. Here she could obsess about everyone’s climbing innovations, everyone proudly unloading their packs to show off how they had modified an ice ax, or pack, or harnesses.
They discussed rope fibers and dimensions. Disputes over how to shed weight on an ascent often erupted. By the time the long summer sunset finally faded, they would settle in to listen to the harrowing stories told by seasoned guides and climbers.
It was not the first time that Ophelia envied the ease with which men were allowed to move in the world. She would give everything up if she could enter a tavern without the entire place coming to a halt to stare at her.
Justine tried to convince her this happened because of her beauty. Perhaps this was true, but Ophelia thought it was something else entirely. They sensed her aloofness. They could feel her snobbish manners that were so engrained in her from an early age. There was no possibility of fitting in anywhere. But if she surrounded herself with friends, it didn’t matter if she stuck out or not. Because they were all extraordinary.
On the lead donkey, Karl called out to friends on every street corner. He waved and shouted, and they shouted back at him. Being a mountain guide was a good life. At least, it seemed so to Ophelia.
Arriving at the inn, located further up on the hillside, above town, was another joyous reunion. Herr and Frau Brunner came out, practically pulling them off their donkeys to embrace them. A gangly young man appeared to take their trunks up to their rooms. A new cast of faces were there to help the couple since Karl had moved back to Augsburg. Frau Brunner cupped Justine’s face in her hands and spoke affection and pleasure in German. Justine cackled in laughter and responded in kind.
Ophelia’s German had been decent their first time in Zermatt, but it had certainly atrophied. The words no longer flowed in understanding. Rather, she had to translate it in her head, word for word.
During her stay in Augsburg, everyone had spoken English around her—no doubt as a signal of welcome. They settled into the hotel and Ophelia bathed to wash the donkey scent off of her. Dinner was as good as she’d remembered. Unlike two years ago, now the dining room of the inn was crowded, full of tourists from all over. The table next to them were speaking a dialect of Italian she didn’t recognize. And as they entered, she heard a mix of French and Spanish and Swedish from various groups.
This inn was no longer their secret. Clearly, Herr and Frau Brunner prospered. Meals came out on time, whisked into place by an efficient young woman only a few years younger than Ophelia. The young porter they’d encountered earlier was taking finished plates and refilling glasses with beer or wine around the various tables.
Their hosts reappeared during the last course, delivering dessert and small etched liqueur glasses around the tables. At their table, the young woman brought apfelkuchen for Ophelia and Karl, with a cheese plate for Justine, knowing she preferred it. Here, Herr Brunner sat down to chat and pat Karl on the shoulder. This time, the conversation flowed in German. Ophelia was tired enough that she didn’t bother to try to follow along.
When they settled in for the night, Justine and Karl retiring to their room, and Ophelia to hers alone, she felt that sucking vacuum in her chest again. It felt cold in her room, which was the same sparsely decorated one from two years ago. But it felt more bare than before. Perhaps because last time she had Justine in the bed next to her, while this time she was alone.
And she realized finally what everyone else had known for months: that Julian wasn’t coming. He would not be here. As soon as the idea formed, the last months of waiting for him made her feel all the more ridiculous. Any normal person would have known he wasn’t coming. But she couldn’t let herself give up the hope that he might care about her. She had, after all, given over to animal desires with him, how much clearer could she have been?
But then came his painful dismissal of her attempts to get closer. His easy teasing and mockery, as if what had passed between them was nothing more than a brush of a hand. Oh, she had humiliated herself in so many ways. How stupid could she be?
She’d gone to him in Paris, caught up in a beautiful city, full of wine and success. Of course he hadn’t stopped her, because what man would turn away a willing woman? Hadn’t she been taught that from her earliest years? A woman had to safeguard herself at every age, for there was always a man wanting to take something from her. Then like a wanton idiot, she gave herself to Julian, only for him to put up the wall between them. An impenetrable one, that even time could not crumble.
He’d abandoned her at every turn. He had not wanted to climb the Matterhorn. No, he said that to gain her trust and her favor, likely in hopes that he could seduce her. She was such a fool for falling for every single one of his charming conversations. And when he got her published, even that was for his own gain! His name was right there, in print, onherwork.
Oh, such a trifle that her work would now be credited to him, erasing her adventure, her competence, her daring. Women don’tdothat sort of thing, obviously. So why should anyone believe it if she protested? At least he could have come to her in person to apologize and explain. But no.
She cried in earnest now, an unusual event. But she couldn’t stop it. The tears came, and the sucking feeling encompassed every part of her. What a fool she was to think she could do any of this. Redeem herself at the mountain that killed her father and injured her friends. Make the summit. Find a person who would love her for her, and not her dowry.
Removing the pins from her hair and brushing it helped bring the wracking sobs to merely tears. She stepped out of her dress and corset and pantaloons and stockings. She changed her shift into a night gown and laid in the cool, hard bed. It wasn’t enough. So she took the blankets and pillow from the other bed and put them on her own, the weight soothing her. Even still, she curled herself around the other pillow and cried herself to sleep.
*
Ophelia slept throughbreakfast. Her stomach churned, and her eyelids felt the size of the blanket draping her body. She didn’t dare look in a mirror.
The sucking sensation had shrunk back down into just her chest, but she felt tired and listless for the first time in her life. The ache in her joints and the weight of her bones made it impossible to move.
A quick knock on the door broke Ophelia from her misery. But she didn’t bother moving yet. “Who is it?” she called, her voice scratchy and weak.
“It’s Justine.” There was a pause and a murmur behind the door. “And, well, Karl. He’s here too. Checking on you, darling. You weren’t at breakfast.”
Ophelia would have responded, but her mouth felt glued together. Besides, what else was there to say? After the pause stretched long enough for Justine to realize Ophelia would not be answering, she knocked again.
“I’d like to come in, please.” Justine said through the door. “This isn’t like you.”
What was she like then? Over-opiniated? Full of herself? Confident for no reason? Overambitious? Ridiculous? She’d been called all of those things. “No, thank you,” Ophelia answered.
The doorknob rattled. Through the pale wood Justine said, “Karl, go away. Amuse yourself somewhere else. Ophelia?” She raised her voice when she called Ophelia’s name. “It’s just me now, and I’m coming in. If you don’t open it for me, I’m breaking down the door. Herr Brunner is going to be very upset with me, but I don’t care. It’s better than trying to scale the wall outside your window.”
