Which of course, made Ophelia cry. Tears that had been pent up and waiting for over a year spilled over out of her control. A tension that she had been holding shuddered and released and she sagged against Justine.
Justine shushed and rocked her from side to side. Ophelia wept with relief, with pride, with grief. Finally, she pulled away, wiping her eyes as she did. Justine was prepared, already handing her a handkerchief. Obediently, Ophelia wiped her nose and straightened, realizing suddenly that the men were no longer in the room.
“They went down to see if dinner could be extended for us.”
“Oh. That’s—” Ophelia had no more energy left to converse or move or anything. “—that’s a really good idea.”
“Here,” Justine guided her over to the dressing table and poured some water in the bowl. “Splash some water on your face. Freshen things up.”
Ophelia obeyed, and as she was wiping the grit of her sweat from her hairline, the door opened.
“Come down, no need to change clothes,” Karl said, beckoning. “The dining room is cleared out, so it will just be us. My Tante will serve us herself.”
Karl held out his arm, dusty and dirty as it was. But none of them were any better. Julian appeared behind him and waited for the other couple to pass before he lifted his arm to her. Ophelia could have fallen into him just as easily as taking his arm.
“Are you well?” he asked, his dark eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Your lips are blue.”
Ophelia glanced down at her fingernails, which showed them to be purple. She shivered, unable to tell how she was feeling. Lightheaded from exhaustion, fatigue, and hunger. “I need food.”
“Frau Brunner is serving up the soup course as we speak.”
They descended down to the dining room, and Ophelia was so grateful to sit. Frau Brunner set the bowls of dumpling soup with large slabs of dark bread slathered thick with fresh butter on the side in front of each of them.
There was no time to stand on ceremony when one was this hungry. Ophelia could feel each mouthful of broth slide down her throat, warming her from the inside out. The dumpling was delicious and salty and soft, and the bread and butter tasted of anise and nuts. As they were finishing, Frau Brunner brought them four aperitif glasses, filled with an amber-colored liqueur.
Ophelia didn’t want to pause her eating but was disappointed to see she’d finished her soup. Herr Brunner came out of the kitchen, holding two more of the amber-filled glasses. He handed one to his wife and raised his to give a toast.
He spoke in German, but even through her haze, Ophelia understood the overall message of celebration and accomplishment. They toasted and Ophelia watched as they all tipped back their glasses. So she did the same, and the sweet amber liquid burned all the way down. Her head swam as her body warmed.
Soon, Frau Brunner returned with more plates, this time of meat and carrots and parsnips and yams and potatoes. Ophelia devoured it all, wishing there was more bread to clean the plate of its sauces.
Herr Brunner brought out a bottle of port and filled their small glasses again. Then he disappeared with the four empty plates, and Frau Brunner returned with thick slabs of apfelkuchen, cheese, and walnuts.
This time, Herr Brunner left them after pouring the libation. Ophelia sat back, enjoying the fullness of her belly and the fuzzy warmth of her feet.
Julian raised his glass of port as Justine folded a slice of hard cheese into her mouth.
“We sit with two of the four women to have ever summited the Matterhorn,” he said. “Impressive company indeed.”
Karl raised his glass. “The most fearless of climbers, and women without peer.”
Ophelia allowed the laughter to bubble out of her, but the two men kept their glasses raised until she and Justine scrambled to meet their gesture. “And to the men who help.”
They clinked their glasses together and she sipped at the port. It was a flavor full of dark cherries and molasses and tobacco. Quite a difference from the bright sweetness of the first drink. She dug into the apfelkuchen as Justine set herself to the cheese.
Frau Brunner brought out small cups of coffee. “For digestion,” she said as she rubbed her stomach.
Considering how much Ophelia had already eaten, the coffee was probably a good idea. It wasn’t as if it would keep her up. The early morning and the unconquerable fatigue of climbing almost 15,000 feet into the sky would see to that.
The coffee enlivened all of them, and they recounted the day to each other, comparing perceptions. Karl confessed to having nerves at the chimneys, even though he climbed without hesitation. They compared and measured the small scratches on their faces from the scree and ice sprays, discussed bruises that might appear overnight, and laughed at the hilarity of success. She didn’t want the night to be over, but they were all exhausted, and didn’t want to make more work for Frau and Herr Brunner, who had been so solicitous.
When Ophelia finally stood up, her feet felt twice the size of the boots they were squeezed into. “I don’t think I can bathe tonight,” she said. “I’m too tired.”
“Tomorrow,” Justine agreed. “Tomorrow, I will be very clean. Tonight, I just want my bed. Karl, can you carry me?”
Ophelia knew that Justine had said the last part as a joke, but Karl swooped in and hoisted her across his shoulders like some kind of livestock.
“I didn’t mean like this,” Justine wailed, but she didn’t fight it. Ophelia laughed at her friends, her heart full. At the first floor, Julian peeled off from their troupe.
