“Wind-proof?” Julian asked, raising one eyebrow. He ducked inside for a moment, but when he emerged, he shook his head. “I can’t feel the wind, that’s true. But it’s like being in a rock grinder.”
“Can’t be all that bad.” Justine ducked in, followed by Karl.
Karl’s head peeked out from between the flaps. “I don’t think we would all fit in here.”
Justine pushed past him and emerged back out into the fresh air. “There is no way I could sleep in there. The sound is deafening.”
“Should we take it down?” Julian asked. All three of them looked to her.
Because she was expedition lead. Giddiness flooded her. Any of them were strong, capable personalities. It would be reasonable to defer to Karl as an expert in alpine climbing, or Julian, with his ten years’ worth of experience. But she was the declared leader, and this was her expedition.
“We should take it down lest it blow away,” Ophelia said. The men nodded their assent, agreeing with her choice, and began to dismantle it. Pride welled in her. This would be the adventure she’d longed for, she was sure of it. The gnawing sensation evaporated, carried away by the whipping wind.
They settled in against the embankment of rocks that had grown since the last time they were there. Still, it was cold, and her ears ached from both the chill and constant whine of the wind. They set up their blanket bags, ate their cold dinner of cheese, apples, and nuts, and settled in. They would rise at three in the morning to begin their trek.
Justine and Karl snuggled in together, sharing body heat, and Ophelia shivered. Julian gazed across the hard rocky ground and pulled his arm out of his blanket bag, offering her a place next to him.
Ophelia frowned. Propriety dictated...
“Oh, go ahead,” Justine said. “It’s freezing, and there’s two blankets between you. I won’t tell.”
Karl snorted, pulling his wife closer. Julian chuckled, nodding his head to reiterate the invitation. So Ophelia scooted over like an inchworm, awkwardly sliding over the protrusions of rock to settle in Julian’s embrace.
Warmth and peace blossomed and in minutes, Ophelia was deep in sleep.
*
It was darkout, but Julian’s eyes popped open. Ophelia still lay sprawled across his chest, and he did not wish to move her. Still. He glanced over at the other slumbering couple, and spied Karl striking a match to check his watch.
“Is it time?” Julian asked, breaking the ice-thin silence.
“It is.” Karl shook out the match and pulled on his sweater and heavy woolen coat before exiting his blanket bag.
Julian was loath to move Ophelia, but he reminded himself that there would be opportunities to revel in her proximity later. He had just gained her forgiveness, and he was not about to disappoint her by not waking her. He touched her gently and murmured her name until she stirred.
Everyone dressed quickly, drinking water and pulling on their hobnailed boots. They took turns sewing the gaiters to their trousers at both the knee and to their boots, to protect their legs from snow. While the women still wore skirts, the thick woolen stockings might as well have been trousers. Though Julian still had to focus his mind as he sewed the gaiter flap to the inner lining of Ophelia’s boot. She had a very shapely leg, and he remembered what it had felt like to wrap his hand around her bare ankle.
With the moon already setting and the only light a bit of stardust, they left what they could at camp and started across the shoulder-wide stretch of the Hörnli Ridge.
They were roped together at the waist, with Ophelia at the front, Julian second, Justine third, and Karl last. She set a commanding pace, but not an uncomfortable one. Indeed, as they picked across the dark ridge, skirted a bulbous formation and began a scramble up the face of the Matterhorn, Julian found himself enjoying the exertion. It was... fun.
Rarely had he found compatriots for such a climb, and here he was exchanging grins with each of them as loose rocks rolled down, or one of them peered across a glacier. Words weren’t needed. Stories weren’t told. They all took turns letting out whoops of joy after jumping off a boulder, or when a fresh, cold breeze whipped past them.
They stopped and turned as the sun rose, sitting on a stone ledge wide enough for all four of them. From midway up the mountain, they swung their legs out over the expanse beneath them passing around slices of Frau Brunner’s day-old buttered bread and sour apples.
“This couldn’t be more perfect,” Ophelia whispered.
Julian found her hand and was happy when she squeezed his back. Justine put her head on her husband’s shoulder and sighed as the orangey-pink newness painted across all their faces.
They were at one of the edges of the world, a place that felt as if very few would ever trespass its exact stones. Their toil and sweat granted them the precious dispensation to see the sun rise in such a spectacular manner.
Once the sun had climbed into view, Ophelia stood. “Climbing?” she asked.
“Climb on,” Karl said.
They continued up, stopping only when they arrived at the chimneys—a place heavily discussed the day before en route to Schwarzsee. Ophelia’s face went ashen. This was where Rascomb had his fatal injury. It had turned the previous party around, as it had many other expeditions. They unroped while Karl pulled a belt with a metal loop from his pack. And before Julian unlooped his climbing ax, he took Ophelia’s gloved hand again. It took her a moment to blink and turn to him, squeezing his hand, an expression of determination on her face. Once he had that assurance, he adjusted his clothing until the rope was snugly fit around his waist and the ax dangled from his wrist by its fabric loop.
“Ready?” Ophelia prompted, and they all nodded, performing the same actions with gear from their own packs. Armed with far more equipment than last time, Julian knew she was overcompensating for the previous failure. But it made sense. And he would happily carry safety gear. Ophelia nodded to Karl, who had successfully climbed this chimney formation dozens of times.
