“Do you think it is acceptable for them to do so?” Julian asked, curious, for he had no idea how he felt about such things. But at first thought, it seemed perfectly reasonable.
“Of course, yes. I have a wife. She goes for her long walk up a mountain, she comes back feeling much better. I prefer it.”
Julian smiled.
“You are hoping this lady to make your wife?” he asked.
The question knocked the wind out of Julian’s chest. Was that what he was truly after? He had, after all, cancelled his assaying assignment with his profound apologies. The lords weren’t even that put out, since they had another explorer waiting in the wings. Still, he’d travelled across Europe. Why would he do this if he thought his love would be unrequited? And certainly, if she did return his sentiments, he would want to marry her. Have her forever. “Yes. I think so.”
Markus smiled. “Ja, so.” They clinked coffee mugs. “Then we get you to Zermatt.”
“Thank you. But I am so tired from the night’s walk, I need a nap before I go.” Even the coffee was not enough. It helped, yes, so that if he had a long walk to the next inn, he could make that journey.
“Sleep outside,” Markus said. “It is very pleasant out there, under the trees. I will keep watch on your belongings.”
Julian had no trouble sleeping outside. In some ways, he preferred it. But he shifted in his chair, unsure.
“You sleep,” Markus insisted, gesturing again outside. “I will arrange you a way to Zermatt. Many people go in that direction. We will get you there. Climb the mountain, get famous, say something nice about our town and our chocolate. Yes?”
Gratitude welled in Julian’s chest. “That would be very wonderful.”
“Good. When you wake up, I’ll give you more coffee, and also a chocolate.”
Julian nodded, swallowing back the dry bitter taste of the coffee. “I am so tired.”
“Then sleep, my friend! I will do this for you.” Markus stood, taking Julian’s cup from him.
“Why are you doing this for me?” Julian stood as well, happy to stow his pack under the table.
“Working in a factory is very boring,” Markus whispered conspiratorially. “It will give me and a few others something to do. And besides! Maybe you like the chocolate, and that is advertising!”
Julian chuckled. “I will happily crow about your chocolate.”
“Good. Go!” Markus ushered him out the door.
Julian padded down to the grove of a few trees near the doorway, finding a spot that clearly was used for napping. Gentle morning light was flooding the cityscape, but from Julian’s perspective, he had a forest with dappled sun. The ground was damp, but the ground was soft, and Julian’s oilcloth travelling coat would keep him warm and dry. It took little time for his eyes to close and drop off into sleep.
*
Justine and Karlkept Ophelia busy climbing all the mountains in the range. They were adjusting to the higher altitude, testing equipment, and improving their fitness with each day. At night, Karl joined Ophelia to tinker with gear while Justine regaled them with funny stories. Frau Brunner tutted over Ophelia’s breakfasts and made sure she ate her meals.
If they returned from hikes soon enough, Frau Brunner would have a lovely afternoon tea at the ready, each day becoming more elaborate as Frau Brunner learned some new “English custom” from another guest in town.
And a few times she and the Vogels went down to talk and meet with other climbers from around the world, who were staying in Zermatt with their same goals. They discussed snow conditions, melt patterns, routes, ropes, gear. The other climbers didn’t seem to care that she and Justine were women, and openly told ribald jokes and vulgar stories about pissing off mountaintops.
Ophelia knew she should be shocked, but she giggled along with everyone else, letting the liquor or the beer color her cheeks. The daily hikes were causing her dresses to loosen, but Ophelia was an adept hand with her needle, and didn’t mind taking things in as a lady’s maid would do.
It was in those discussions that she learned most about Alpine climbing. The rawness of it, not just in her own experience, but in others’ as well. The loss of friends, of toes, of fingers. But they all returned, just as she had, regardless of what they came without. It made Ophelia feel less alone in her single-mindedness to summit.
She could see in their faces some doubt as to whether or not they believed she could, but once they compared times up other peaks surrounding Zermatt, they nodded approval. She didn’t need their respect or their approval to climb the Matterhorn, but it helped nonetheless. That intangible agreement that she belonged with them, and they belonged with her.
Those pilgrimages down to the Mount Rosa hotel and its surrounding taverns helped keep her mind occupied. She was absorbed in her body and its performance, that she was able to keep herself blank on the inside, unable to grieve, but also unable to feel the rush of accomplishment after each successful summit.
But it did not matter, for they were close to leaving for the Matterhorn. The weather was improving, and it was almost prime snow conditions up at altitude. The time when the snow slides from early summer would no longer threaten them and before the cold regained its foothold at ten thousand feet and above.
Each night after dinner and before bed, Ophelia would march herself outside and stare at the mountain. “I’m coming,” she whispered. It could have been a warning or a promise. The mountain didn’t care, and neither did Ophelia. It was a fact, all the same.
