Tristan glanced at Eleanor. Did she know about his previous affairs with dancers? But she didn’t react to the barb, one way or the other. He hoped she wouldn’t think poorly of him for his past indiscretions.
“Anyone? Because it will make this go so much faster,” Prudence said.
“I think we should stick together,” Ophelia said.
“I agree,” his father said, breaking his rule of not speaking after Ophelia. Perhaps he just wanted to emphasize how important it was not to lose sight of each other. A lesson they had learned the hard way.
It was a day that had felt like this, even if the terrain and weather and season were completely different. The similarities were in the joy he felt with the warm sun on his face and the cool breeze brushing the back of his neck. The crunch of snow. The fact that he could look at any one of their party and smile.
And then the avalanche buried his mother. No, they would stick together. He examined the rime ice that encrusted a stone. It looked like a newspaper being held against a lamppost on a particularly blustery day.
Ophelia stopped short and surveyed the path down. “I think I’d rather us walk the ridgeline. I’m worried about a slide.”
“Good thinking, my girl,” his father said to her, below the hearing of most everyone. Ophelia stood noticeably taller after one of his compliments. And she deserved it. They had hit a snagwhen they arrived in Edinburgh to find themselves without a guide. But Ophelia had kept morale high, and expectations were met. They were on time, doing better than expected. No one could ask for a better leader.
They hiked over to the east, lining up with a ridge that would keep them above the snow fields. It was a safer route than their way up, especially now that the temperatures were dropping quickly.
Ophelia led the way, cutting into the sides of the snow with her boots, creating a staircase for the others to follow as they climbed up the ridge. Justine and Prudence followed in Ophelia’s footsteps precisely, and it was then that Tristan figured out that they were out of order. Even when not roped together, they should have followed their chosen order for safety. That way, no one could get left behind. Tristan waited before climbing the stairs, gesturing Eleanor in front of him so he could speak to his father, who maintained his position of rear guard.
“Should we not maintain our positions?” Tristan asked his father.
The older man looked surprised, realizing, no doubt, that no one else was in their assigned slot. “I suppose we should. Once we get up on the ridge, we’ll be able to adjust.”
“I don’t want to be the one to tell that to Ophelia. She’ll think I’m butting in where I don’t belong.”
His father sighed and pushed past him. “I’ll talk to her. Stay in the back until I return. We can’t let any of our little chicks wander off.”
Tristan agreed and followed his father up the now well-packed steps in the snow. When he reached the top, he looked over the snow that lay before him. He wasn’t an expert in the stuff by any stretch, but he knew the men who were. The men who would peer up to the peaks in the mornings, judgingwhether or not a party should be allowed to climb, given the risk of avalanche. He wanted to become a man who could read the snow, understand the weather conditions with the certainty they’d had.
But they’d taught him the little they could, given their language barriers and his rudimentary scientific knowledge. He was not, he would confess, the best of students.
The snow here was crusted and old. Given how warm it had been that morning, he wondered that it hadn’t started to melt. His father made his way up the line, passing Eleanor, and then Prudence, catching up to Justine and Ophelia. His tracks in the snow widened where he’d walked around someone.
Tristan swiftly caught up to Eleanor. She was breathing rhythmically as she looked down at the steps in front of her. “Are you well?” he asked.
She hummed her agreement but didn’t look up nor change her breathing. He noticed she looked a bit pale under the bright spots of pink in her cheeks.
“You don’t look it,” Tristan insisted. Did he need to insist she chew some snow in order to get some water in her system?
“I don’t like heights,” she said, slowing her pace.
That was news. And perhaps something she should have mentioned before. “But you just climbed that mountain. You’ve already been higher than you are now.”
“I mean that drop over there,” Eleanor said, motioning to the other side of the ridge that looked far sharper of a slope than the side they’d climbed up.
Tristan nodded. “Then perhaps you should walk closer to this other side and I can talk to you in order to distract you. What do you think?”
“Your father did that on the way up. He was very distracting.” Eleanor looked pleased with his trick, and Tristan wondered what his father could have said to make her look so thrilled.
He offered her his arm, which she took. “Then that settles it. A successful plan.”
Tristan took one step, and the world broke apart. His feet were in the air. His stomach was in his throat. He was falling, still holding Eleanor. He looked to her, her eyes rounded in terror, and he felt his back hit the hard ground, the snow shattering around them. But he was again in the air, still falling, hearing shrieks from above ringing out.
He thought he would die. And it was an oddly calm thought, full in its certainty. Then he thought of Eleanor. He couldn’t accept her death.
He hit the ground again. This time, he was ripped from Eleanor as he tumbled down the mountain, hitting his face and arms against the rocks. He shifted to his back, pulling in his head to protect himself. And then he hit a rock. His body stopped.
A second later, something slammed into him.
