Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(24)

A long arcade stretched down the interior of the building, its high ceiling framed by exposed ironwork arches. It was a feast for the eyes. Cheese shops, flower stalls, casks of wine, and merchants selling all manner of imported goods filled the arcade. The scent of hot coffee mingled with baking bread made him weak with hunger.

People looked at him oddly, probably because of the conglomeration of clothes he wore. The flaps of his Mongolian deel were loosely held together with the red sash, and his shoes were falling apart, but he didn’t care, especially after spotting the Western Union telegraph office straight ahead.

A grumpy clerk with wire-framed glasses stood behind the front counter as he haggled with a woman who didn’t want to pay for the telegram she’d just sent. Behind the clerk was a wall with hundreds of tiny slots filled with telegrams either waiting to be picked up or delivered. Dimitri’s heart pounded so hard it made him dizzy, but at last he arrived at the front of the line.

“Please,” he said. “My friend has wired a message for Dimitri Sokolov. Please see if it has arrived.”

The clerk looked taken aback. “What?” he asked. “You need to speak English.”

Dimitri hadn’t even realized he’d spoken in Russian. He repeated the request in English as the clerk’s suspicious gaze flicked to Dimitri’s hair, tied up in a topknot. He frowned in disdain but turned to scan the mail slots. It didn’t take long.

“There is nothing here for you,” he said. “You’ll have to move along. There’s a line behind you.”

Dimitri clenched his fists. “It was scheduled to be here today. Can you consult the arrivals again?”

The clerk shook his head. “I don’t need to look again. I’ve been here all day, and nothing like that has come in. Move along. There’s a line behind you.”

Dimitri stood, poleaxed. It could not be! There was no way Natalia would have failed to respond to his plea for help. If she knew of his desperation, she would have moved heaven and earth to help him.

A headache began to pound, and he battled a wave of anxiety as terrible thoughts descended. What if Natalia learned he’d been condemned for cowardice and wanted nothing to do with him? Knowing she might think badly of him scorched. He would have to find her and explain. If it took the rest of his life, he would clear the stain of dishonor from his name.

What was he going to do now? No clothes, no food, no money. Strange land. He wasn’t too proud to work, but who would hire a sickly man whose shoes were held together by string?

He could not accept this. He’d traveled too far to be discouraged this easily.

He headed to the other side of the telegraph station where an older man was sorting messages in a back office. Dimitri raised his voice to get the clerk’s attention.

“Sir,” he called out, “can you check for a message? Please! It will be coming from New York, from Natalia Blackstone.”

The older clerk looked taken aback, but Dimitri didn’t care. Then a voice came from behind his shoulder.

“Dimitri?”

He whirled around. A lovely young woman stood a few yards away, looking at him in a combination of hope and curiosity. She was a vision. Black hair, green eyes. Beautiful.

He dared not hope but couldn’t help himself. “Are you Natalia?”

She beamed a radiant smile. “I am Natalia,” she said, then stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Welcome to America.”

Relief washed through him, and he grabbed her in a mighty hug. She smelled like lemon and sunshine and hope. Tears stung his eyes.

“I think this is the happiest moment in my life,” he choked out, still clutching her, but her voice was lighthearted in response.

“Oh, Dimitri, must we begin with your typical exaggerations?”

He wasn’t exaggerating. Eight months of fear and deprivation had just come to a swift end, but he had forgotten his manners. He released her and stepped back a pace.

“Forgive me for being so forward,” he said, adjusting the flap of his jacket to its proper position. “You have taken me by surprise. I did not expect you to be here.”

Her smile was sympathetic. “The telegram didn’t sound like you, but I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t you either, so I came to see for myself.”

“I’m very glad you did. I finally know what you look like. Natalia, you are beautiful! And you can finally see me, a little ragged and worse for wear, but alive.”

She took a step back, her eyes traveling up and down the mishmash of clothing he’d collected. “You look like a Cossack,” she said, nodding toward the red sash tied around his middle.

He shook his head. “Cossacks live on the other side of Russia. This is a Buryat sash and a Mongolian coat, with trousers from a Dukha peddler. The shoes are pure Russian peasant.”

He smiled at her like an idiot, and she smiled back. “I didn’t realize you had a beard.”

“It comes and goes with the seasons.” Right now, it was itching. He probably wouldn’t keep it much longer. San Francisco wasn’t as warm as he expected, but it was no Siberia, and he didn’t like looking anything less than respectably groomed.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving.”

“Then follow me,” she said with a charming smile, and at that moment Dimitri would gladly follow her anywhere.