Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(17)
Their friendship did not come without arguments, and as November turned into December, those arguments became more urgent. The climate was worsening, and they could not survive the winter on their own. Each time they stopped to make a camp, they argued.
“We should turn south,” Temujin insisted, squinting against the sideways-falling sleet as he kicked aside pine needles in search of kindling dry enough to burn. “We can find shelter in Mongolia for the worst of the winter.”
Dimitri shook his head. “I can’t afford to stay in one place for months on end. I must get to Port Arthur before the worst of the winter arrives.” It was the only way he would be able to reach Natalia and begin righting the terrible atrocity he had witnessed.
Temujin dumped a jumble of twigs into a mound. “I can’t believe you really intend to sail to America. What about that house of yours? The one with too many rooms and a name?”
“Mirosa.”
“Yes, Mirosa. And the woman with the blond hair and hot eyes?”
“Olga.” Dimitri smiled a bit at Temujin’s characterization of hot eyes. It was no secret that Olga hoped they could finally marry now that she was a widow, but his exile meant Olga was lost forever. So was Mirosa and his apple orchards and picnics in the dappled sunlight with friends from across the valley. It was all gone, and when he was this cold and miserable, he didn’t have the strength to discuss it.
In the end, Temujin agreed it would be easier to suffer the cold heading toward Port Arthur than risk the mountains to the south, but their troubles soon got worse. Snow gathered and deepened, soaking the thin leather of Dimitri’s moccasins. He was in danger of frostbite until they came across a dead Russian soldier in the snow. A deserter? The wolves had already gotten to him, but his boots were still in good shape. Dimitri tried not to look as he stripped the body of the boots, gloves, and a hunting knife. Temujin took the scarf and belt, and then they headed onward.
The weather got so bad that Dimitri risked approaching a village nestled beside a frozen lake. One of the villagers had a pony and sledge used by hunters to haul animal carcasses. It was only a five-foot slab of wood with two runners at the bottom and a bar for the driver to hold while steering the pony, but it could travel quickly across the snow.
The only thing of value they had to barter was the gold coin. It was worth ten times what the pony and sledge cost, but they had no choice. They were both wanted men, and that sledge could be the key to their salvation.
They harnessed the pony, boarded the sledge, and set off toward the east and freedom.
9
On Friday morning, Natalia tried to tutor Liam on the impact of tariffs on exchange rates. They sat at the worktable in her office but hadn’t made much progress because Liam’s attention kept wandering to the family gathering at her cousin Gwen’s lake house that weekend. It would be his last chance to row on the lake before winter, and he wanted to leave work early to enjoy a full three-day weekend. Natalia hadn’t had a three-day weekend since . . . well, not since becoming an adult.
“All work and no play makes for a dull young lady,” Liam teased.
“Then I’m dull,” she replied with a shrug. Her salary reports were due on Monday, and she planned to finalize them this afternoon. She didn’t mind. Working for the bank was what gave shape and meaning to her life, and she loved it.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Liam said. “If I prove that I can make sense of fluctuating exchange rates before lunch, we take off for the lake this afternoon.”
“Deal!” she said. It would be worth it if Liam could finally buckle down and start making progress on mastering finance.
Their deal worked. By two o’clock they were aboard a carriage heading north for the lake house, but Natalia still brought along a book on economic philosophy to read over the weekend. It wasn’t that she disliked gatherings at the lake, but at least she could put her evenings to good use learning something important.
She and her cousin Gwen were the same age but had nothing in common. Gwen loved hosting soirees that lasted into the early morning hours, while Natalia usually wanted to retreat to her bedroom with a good book.
Gwen was Liam’s sister, and she’d recently scandalized New York society by becoming engaged to Patrick O’Neill, a lawyer from the Lower East Side. Patrick had a number of strikes against him. He was an Irish immigrant who refused to mask his humble origins, which annoyed Poppy to no end, and he wasn’t a comfortable fit for their family. But all that was pushed aside because it was Patrick who solved the mystery of what happened to the missing Blackstone heir. He risked his life to bring Liam back into the family, and the two men had forged a tight friendship.
Gwen’s lake house was an hour north of the city and nestled in a stretch of thickly wooded land. The rustic home looked like a sprawling Swiss chalet and was large enough for the entire Blackstone clan to gather for weekend reunions.
“You’re late,” Poppy said as they walked into the great hall of the house. Woven rugs covered the slate floor, and a stacked-stone fireplace dominated the wall of the gathering room. “You missed lunch, and the food went to waste.”
“Some of us have a job,” Natalia said, refusing to let her stepmother get the better of her this early in the weekend.
“Motherhood is a job,” Poppy defended.