That at least made her smile. Because Justine really would do something absolutely outlandish and absurd to get in. Ophelia pulled herself up out of the blanket layers.
“I hear you moving in there,” Justine called.
Ophelia slung on her dressing gown.
“I hear you walking.” Then, quieter, Justine said, “Karl. Dear Lord, get on with you. Go chop some wood or carry a sheep or whatever you did here for fun.”
There was a murmur of a low voice and then footsteps. Ophelia smiled to herself at her friend’s antics. And how understanding Karl was. Ophelia could stand Justine seeing her like this, but not Karl.
Finally, she opened the door, and Justine seemed almost surprised, crouched down like she was whispering. She straightened. “Oh. Right.”
“Come in,” Ophelia said, holding the heavy wooden door open.
But Justine looked her square in the face first, no doubt seeing her red, puffy eyes, her red nose, and general dishevelment. “Oh, darling.”
“Get in here before I start crying again. You know I can’t stand it when someone is nice to me.”
Justine entered. “Do I know that?”
Ophelia leaned against the door to help it close. “Well, it’s true, anyway.”
Justine took in the room, which was uncharacteristically messy. Ophelia’s dress was a pile on the floor; when she got back to London, her maid was going to have a fit.
“Let’s start here,” Justine said, picking up her stockings and draping them over the chair.
“You? Tidying up?” Ophelia teased her.
“Shocking, I know. But for you, I will walk through fire.” Justine smiled and picked up the pantaloons and corset.
The sentiment felt like a stab through the heart. Justine really would do anything for her, which was not the case for anyone else. Julian was certainly not inspired to feel such. As for the rest of her family, they were paired off, with new families to nurture. And her mother was still in the deep pool of grief.
In an impulsive moment, Ophelia stepped forward and flung her arms around Justine. “Thank you for being here,” she murmured into Justine’s lavender-scented hair. “I couldn’t press on without you.”
Justine turned and took Ophelia’s head in her hands. “I know Karl exists and is my legal husband and everything, but you are most important to me. You need me, I will drop everything and come to you. No matter what. Understand?”
Ophelia nodded, some of the pain retreating a bit farther. Justine hugged her back into an embrace.
“Now, I’m going to just enjoy this snuggle a little longer, because you hardly ever give random outbursts of affection.”
Ophelia chuckled. “Fine.”
They spent the day in Ophelia’s room, ordering up pots of chocolate. When Frau Brunner caught wind of Ophelia’s state, she sent up a cold ointment for her swollen eyes.
“I have for cucumber sandwich. But now, use for the face,” she said, delivering a tray of hot tea and cucumber sandwiches to accompany the ointment that smelled precisely of cucumber pulp and milk. “I bring the apfelkuchen and the käse next.”
The pampering was lovely. And by the end of the day, she felt far less sorry for herself, and far less unlovable. Was there still a massive Julian-induced hole in her heart? Yes, but it didn’t hurt quite so much.
She still missed her father and wished she could speak to him, but in a way, it felt as if he were there with her. That while his body left Zermatt, his spirit never really had. For the first time since the accident, she felt like he was just in the other room, reading a climbing journal. He was accessible, available to her, waiting for her questions. It was almost as if she could reach out her hand and expect to feel his grasping hers in return.
She fell asleep with the lamps still blazing and Justine by her side.
*
It might havebeen June, but Zurich at night was still cold. Julian’s train was delayed for hours due to a rampant sheep herd on the French border and a cow herd on the Swiss border. He would have to wait until morning to find a donkey up to Zermatt.
He was jumpy and nervous and dedicated, all at once. The force he felt driving him to Ophelia was unlike anything he’d experienced before. As if every minute away from her had squeezed his ribcage smaller and smaller, and then when he finally could make his way to her, he had no more breath left.
What had seemed like a grand romantic impulse when boarding the train in France suddenly seemed very poorly planned now that it was cold and dark. Still, the drive to find Ophelia pushed him onward, despite his bones crying out for rest.
