Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(89)

She pushed her annoyance aside to read the telegram.

Dearest Natalia. Yesterday I cut myself while trimming my beard. My hands are blistered from work in the mill, and I don’t have the recipe for your special salve. This morning I awoke with a crick in my neck. My life is full of pain, but then I remembered you, and my world brightened! Oh, Natalia, when are you going to come to Russia and put me out of my misery? I need you to rub salve on my hands. Your devoted servant awaits word from you.

A wave of sadness overcame her. It was one of Dimitri’s pointless telegrams, obviously just an opening salvo in preparation for a morning of flirtation. There was a time when she would have been delighted to fritter away a few hours in such a distraction, because Dimitri was fun and charming and she adored him. She loved him.

Which was why his messages were becoming painful. She didn’t belong in Russia, and it was becoming increasingly clear he would never come back to America.

“Well?” her father drawled, knowing full well who the telegram was from and not liking it.

She tucked it in her purse before he could read it. “It’s nothing.”

The musicians were ready to record “O Holy Night” again. As soon as they were finished, she could hurry to the Western Union station a few blocks away and reply to Dimitri’s message so he wouldn’t be kept waiting too long.

The brass trio began playing, and the reverent, hopeful music gradually swelled to fill the room. Would she ever spend a Christmas with Dimitri? Or would year after year go by as she sought emotional sustenance from whimsical telegrams? Other women would have a husband in their bed, children to hold and nurture and raise.

She would have a stack of telegrams.

The joy of “O Holy Night” felt jarring against her loneliness, and she clamped her palms over her ears. It was time either to go to Russia or to end things with Dimitri. As long as she kept escaping into his telegrams, it would be impossible to move forward and find another man to love.

She wouldn’t reply to today’s message. A clean break would be best. She lowered her head, embarrassed by the tear that splatted on the tile floor, but this music made everything ache. The song ended, and she held her breath because it was essential to capture a few moments of silence at the conclusion of the recording. She counted five heartbeats.

“Cut,” the technician announced. “Well done, gentlemen!”

The musicians laughed and congratulated each other. There was a bit of applause and shuffling feet as the musicians stretched their muscles. She kept her head down, unwilling to show her face until she could contain herself.

“Don’t cry, Natalia.” Her father’s voice was kind, and she wished he couldn’t read her so well, but she had to keep her head lowered.

“Sometimes it’s just so hard,” she whispered, but in her heart she knew she was doing the right thing.



Dimitri waited impatiently at the front counter of the general store. It had been an hour with no return message from Natalia. Sometimes it took a while for delivery, so he’d come prepared with a book of poetry from Mirosa’s library to read while he waited.

But the days grew dark early now, and the shop owner wished to close the store. Dimitri didn’t like leaving before he heard back from Natalia, but there was no hope for it.

Surely her reply would be waiting for him in the morning.





35





It had been five days since Dimitri had heard from Natalia, and he grew increasingly anxious. Had there been a technical problem that meant she no longer received his messages? Was she ill? It worried him because he could think of no other explanation for this prolonged silence.

He briefly considered contacting her father. Oscar Blackstone was an easy man to reach, but the best ally Dimitri had among the Blackstones was Poppy. She was eager to claim a close relationship to a real aristocrat, and he was happy to take advantage of the situation.

He kept his telegram to Poppy brief, simply offering a belated congratulations for Alexander’s first birthday, then asking after Natalia.

She has not responded to my messages, and I have grown concerned for her health. Please send assurances that she is well.

The answer from Poppy came the next day.

Natalia is fine but absorbed in her silly music business. She has announced that she will never become a countess. Make of that what you will, but we all know Natalia has warped priorities.

A cascade of denials ricocheted in his head. Natalia wouldn’t just stop talking to him. Poppy could get things wrong. Worse, she wasn’t entirely trustworthy and might deliberately do something to hurt Natalia. He couldn’t believe Natalia would cut him off so abruptly and sent another telegram to Natalia, demanding an answer.

He heard nothing until an actual letter from Natalia arrived. It was postmarked the day after his telegram when she abruptly stopped returning his messages. The letter was short and to the point.

Dear Dimitri,

I will be seeking another business agent to distribute my recordings in Russia. It brings me great sadness, but I think it is time to end our association. Your friendship has been the deepest and most rewarding of my life. I have become a better person for having known you. I wish you all the best and pray for Mirosa’s continued prosperity. Please remember me fondly, as I shall always treasure my memories of you.

He sat on the old stone wall bordering the waterwheel, her letter held loosely in his hands. It felt odd to see her handwriting. In all their years of correspondence, he had never seen Natalia’s handwriting, but it was neat and refined, just as he would have expected.