At the moment he wished he could send her a long, rambling telegram describing his current misery. He would bemoan his thirst and his difficulty sleeping during daylight hours. She would tease him that it was only a mosquito bite, and he’d feel better.
He tried to imagine what Natalia’s voice sounded like. Would it be soft and feminine, or throaty and strong? Not that it mattered. In his imagination he tried them all. Whenever exhaustion tempted him to sit down, lie back, and give up, it was Natalia’s voice he heard urging him onward.
Dimitri, it’s only a mosquito bite. Keep going. Keep walking. Get to the coast, send me a telegram, and I will help you.
“I’m coming, Natalia,” he said into the darkness and continued onward into the east.
Natalia had always known she lived a sheltered life. From the moment she left the crib, there had been people to help her bathe, dress, and tend her hair. Someone else cleaned her room and prepared her food. Natalia didn’t peel an orange until she was sixteen years old, and she was taken aback by the buildup of sticky white pith beneath her fingernails.
Her helplessness was embarrassing, and it would stop now. She was going to establish her own household and look after it herself. Most women lived without servants waiting on them, and Natalia would too. It would prove her independence.
And her superiority over Poppy, who scoffed at Natalia’s determination to live independently. “You won’t even know how to make toast!” she mocked, but Natalia ignored her and set off to meet Liam, who accompanied her on the thrilling adventure of buying her own home.
They met with a real estate agent named Mr. Leighton. At first the realtor was reluctant to show her properties in the neighborhood she chose, insisting that she could find much nicer homes uptown.
“I want to be close enough to walk to the bank,” Natalia insisted, which limited her options. Most of the area surrounding the bank was filled with commercial buildings, and the apartments above the businesses were all for lease, not to own.
Mr. Leighton reluctantly told her about a row of older townhomes three blocks from the bank. The six units were all attached, but each had a short walkup of steps and a charming bow-fronted window facing the sidewalk. The only one for sale had been owned by a German immigrant who’d lived in it for thirty years before he died last month. It had running water but no electricity.
“I think you will do much better farther uptown,” Mr. Leighton cautioned as he unlocked the front door. “A woman of your position will need modern amenities and more space for entertaining visitors. This house has only a single parlor.”
“She said she wants to be able to walk to work,” Liam said. “Stand aside and let us look around.”
Mr. Leighton pursed his lips. “As you can see, the previous owner was overly fond of the craftsmanship of his native country.”
Natalia stepped inside, a little dismayed at how dim it was, but after Liam jerked the heavy draperies from the front window, it was easier to appreciate the splendid woodworking in the parlor. The fine craftsmanship was evident in the crown molding and the casing around the doors and windows.
“The unfortunate choice of wallpaper would need to be changed,” the realtor said. “The old-fashioned crown moldingshould also go, and the plaster is going to make adding electricity a challenge. Surely you would be happier—”
“You know what?” Liam interrupted. “Why don’t you wait outside? Natalia can make up her own mind about the place.”
She ought to say something to soften Liam’s blunt order, but she was too intrigued by the mantel over the fireplace. It was a massive piece of wood, ornately carved with ivy vines across the entire length. Hidden among the carving were nesting birds, a few clusters of berries—oh, and a little raccoon!
“I think I like this place,” she said.
“Let’s go see the kitchen and the washroom before you fall in love,” Liam cautioned, which was good advice because the kitchen was unlike any she’d ever seen. It wasn’t even a room. It was only a few pieces of equipment on the wall of the dining area. It had nothing but a sink, an icebox, and a single-burner kerosene stove.
She lifted the latch on the wooden icebox. The frame was heavy with a thick lining of metal inside and iron grates at the bottom.
“Where would I get ice for it?” she asked Liam.
“You can hire an iceman to bring a block over a couple times a week. You’ll need to keep an eye on that pan and empty it. It will fill up pretty fast, and you don’t want water running all over the floor.”
It seemed easy enough, but her biggest concern was in the washroom upstairs. It had a claw-foot tub, but the only source of water was a single spigot on the pedestal sink.
“Why isn’t there a tap for hot water?” she asked Liam.
“Because this house doesn’t have a water heater,” he said. “You’ll have to heat water on the stove downstairs.”
Her eyes grew wide. “And carry it up?”
“And carry it up,” Liam confirmed with amusement. “You’ll grow muscles you never knew you had.” He must have noticed her concern, because his face softened and he spoke kindly. “It’s not so bad. Look, you’ve got a sink right here. You can use it to fill the tub with cold water while heating the rest downstairs.And when you’re done with the bath, you can dump everything down the sink instead of lugging it back down to the kitchen.”
This all seemed a little more daunting than she’d anticipated, but it was time to learn how to be an ordinary adult, and she could manage without the servants Poppy needed to get dressed each morning.
The bedroom seemed terribly plain, just four walls with a single window overlooking the alley. The clicking of her heels sounded loud as she walked into the room, entirely empty except for an accordion-shaped radiator beneath the window. It was cast iron with knobs and pipes, but once again, she was ignorant of how to operate it.
She set her fingers on the cold iron. “I feel so stupid,” she said, and Liam immediately understood.
