The Sky We Seek (Love and Other Dreams #2)

Chapter 3

Elina

I rest my head on my hand and gaze out of the window. The train has been rumbling across Austria in the same rhythmic pattern for over four hours now. I’ve observed the vast plains of the Vienna outskirts, seen the sun peeking through rows of trees along the Danube, and watched the graffiti-covered noise barriers pass by in Linz and Salzburg. Since reaching Tyrol, I feel like I’m surrounded by nothing but forests. And mountains. They rise steep and rugged beside the railway, reaching up to the sky. They’re so high that even from my worn-out seat, I can’t see what the weather is like. It probably doesn’t matter, as no ray of sunshine would reach me anyway. The gorge we’re chugging through is too narrow. To make matters worse, I’m now completely alone in the train compartment.

No one wants to come here. Only me.

Sighing, I glance at my phone. It’s just past noon. In less than ten minutes, I’ll arrive.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will soon be reaching Semmtal," a voice announces through the loudspeaker.

I adjust my blouse and retie my bun. Then I pick up my medical journal from the neighboring seat, still open to the page with job advertisements. I’ve marked only three jobs with a black pen; the others are not suitable. Shaking my head, I close the newspaper and tuck it into the side pocket of my wheeled suitcase.

Just as I’m about to put my phone back into my handbag, a new message notification appears. It’s from Dr. Taler.

"Emergency. Can’t make it. Sorry," the doctor writes. She runs the medical practice where I will continue my internship in general medicine starting tomorrow.

For a moment, I don’t know what to think. Apparently, emergencies happen even in the middle of nowhere. That’s good. What’s less ideal is that no one will pick me up from the train station now. And I have no idea where the long-term vacation rental that Dr. Taler arranged for me is.

Thank God for GPS. And I do have the address.

The train starts to slow. It jolts as if I’m riding in a horse-drawn carriage. It’s high time to slip into my shoes and put on my jacket. I shoulder my luggage, grab the last marshmallow from my handbag stash, and make my way to the exit.

The screeching is deafening.

"Semmtal," a male voice announces through the loudspeaker, repeating the word immediately after.

Through the hazy glass of the train door, I spot a shelter with only three walls. This train station is smaller than any bus stop in Vienna, and not a single person can be seen outside. With a heavy heart, I press the door button and hoist my luggage onto what serves as a platform here. It’s a narrow gravel path that seems to lead nowhere. The air smells of damp forest soil. Mist clings to the treetops, and it’s at least 35 degrees colder here than in Vienna .

The door shuts behind me with a hiss. A whistle sounds, and the train slowly begins to move. Its departure is accompanied by a deep rumble. No one else has gotten off the train except me.

"Well then," I murmur, raising the collar of my blazer and looking around.

Behind the small train station hut is a country road; that must be where I need to go. Just to be safe, I dig out my mobile phone and enter my landlady’s address. The point that appears on the map is in the middle of nowhere. There seems to be no way to get there. I zoom in closer. At that moment, drops of water splatter onto my screen, causing the view to blur. I quickly wipe the phone dry and trace the existing streets with my finger. At least it’s only a few hundred yards. And once I reach the spot where the road ends, I’m sure I’ll be able to see the house.

Determinedly, I hoist my duffel bags onto my shoulders and start walking. The rolling suitcases bounce over the gravel path and become heavier with each passing second.

Not for the first time, I feel the anger boiling deep inside me.

Right now, I should be assisting in a complicated surgery, stitching up a wound, or analyzing X-ray images. I should be showcasing my expertise, immersing myself in the hustle and bustle of the hospital, and being there for my patients. But I can’t do any of that. And it’s all my fault.

A large drop splashes onto my scalp.

Oh no, please, not this too.

The liquid runs cold over the back of my head, eventually creeping under the collar of my jacket. Not a second later, another drop hits me. A distinct rumble can be heard, and although it wasn’t particularly bright before, it now seems even darker around me. Clearly, it’s time to get out of here. And quickly. Because I can’t possibly hold an umbrella with all the luggage I am carrying.

I pick up the pace and turn right onto the country road. At least the surface is paved, allowing me to make good progress. It’s necessary because the rain is becoming denser. It’s already soaking through the fabric of my spring jacket. I feel the dampness on my shoulders and thighs.

There it is. A flash.

The accompanying thunder follows closely. The thunderstorm, driving the rain shower, is closer than I’d like.

I grit my teeth. "Hell no."

If Semmtal thinks it can scare me away with this, it’s mistaken. I’ve overcome bigger challenges before. Panting, I pass by a cluster of houses, a small village store, and a church. A few yards farther, the surroundings are mainly meadows and forests. Only isolated farms dot the landscape.

By the time I reach the fork in the road where the internet can no longer help me, I’m drenched. The rainwater has now soaked even my underwear, and my shoes are like a swamp, making a squelching sound with every step.

I raise my gaze and shield my eyes from the whipping rain with my hand.

There’s nothing here. Just trees and rugged cliffs.

I have no choice but to knock on the door of the nearest house, so I trudge forward. I leave my luggage behind in its place. Their contents are surely already soaked, and I can’t carry them any farther than necessary. With no one in sight for miles, they certainly won’t go anywhere.

Pressing my handbag tightly against my stomach, I stand before a solitary lot containing a wooden house on a stone base. Daffodils and liverworts adorn the path to the solid front door. Next to the open garden gate is a wooden sign. Raindrops crawl along the carved lettering.

Welcome it says in elegant script, yet I feel anything but that. Tyrol hates me. How else can I explain what has happened to me since my arrival?

The rain continues to shower me. By now, the water running down my cheeks has taken on a salty taste.

My God, I can't believe this.

Nevertheless, I enter the front yard and march toward the entrance of the house. Once there, I pound on the wooden door with my fist.

Then again.

Finally, the handle moves downward, and the door opens. Warm air rushes toward me, carrying the scent of freshly baked cake. At that same moment, I feel the tension melt away from me. My shoulders slump forward, my arms droop, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you," I say before even being able to see the person in the doorway. "I'm in urgent need of assistance." I quickly lower my gaze and attempt to fix my appearance, not wanting to look like a complete slob.

"Clearly," a deep male voice says, immediately sending shivers down my spine.

My lips begin to tremble when I look up. Before me stands a man with dark hair, a five o’clock shadow, and a guarded expression. He's wearing a gray checkered shirt over a white T-shirt. The rolled-up sleeves reveal his athletic forearms. In his hand, he's holding oversized pliers. My gaze instinctively drifts to his fingers. No ring.

Stop. That’s none of my business.

His eyebrows rise. "Can I help you?" he asks in a Tyrolean dialect that sounds as rough as the mountainous landscape surrounding this place.

I must look like a drenched clown. Nevertheless, I instinctively pull my shoulders back and shift my weight to one leg. "I’m absolutely sure of that."