What was she to make of it? There was no letter, no other message, just a copy ofLittle Women. Dimitri was rarely that succinct.
Actually, he wasneverthat succinct. Something must be deeply wrong for him not to have sent along an effusive note either ripping into the entire American literary canon or at leastcommenting on the letter she sent him about her pending visit in the spring. Maybe he hadn’t gotten her letter. It was the only explanation she could think of to explain his strange silence.
“What else does the newspaper say?” Liam asked, his voice grim.
“Not much,” Patrick replied. “Most of the victims aren’t listed, but the anarchist who threw the bomb was killed. So was a twelve-year-old girl who’d been selling matches.”
Liam swiveled his gaze to her. “You see? Things are getting bad over there. You shouldn’t go.”
“Are you going to Russia?” Gwen asked in surprise.
Natalia was reluctant to answer. What if Dimitri finally responded to her letter by telling her not to come? It would be embarrassing to admit he was the main reason she wanted to go, so she scrambled for an excuse.
“My mother told such wonderful stories of Moscow,” she said. “Now that I’m selling my records there, I ought to go and learn a little more.”
Patrick sounded skeptical. “You’re selling records in London and Berlin too, but I haven’t heard any plans for you to visit those cities.”
“Who would want to see Russia in winter?” Gwen asked.
Even her mother had nothing good to say about the Russian winter, and Natalia hastily assured them she would wait until the spring to go. Provided Dimitri was willing to see her.
But as November passed and the snows of December deepened with no additional word from him, her worries grew.
39
Natalia had always believed that Christmas in Central Park was magical. Tiny electric lights were strung through the trees, ice skaters glided across the frozen pond, and vendors sold hot chocolate to the throngs of people bundled in coats and cheerful red scarves. And the music! What celebration would be complete without festive Christmas carols serenading the crowd?
It was the perfect opportunity to sell her Christmas album. The same brass trio she’d hired for the album played carols at the music pavilion, while she and Liam set up a table to sell copies of the recording. The stall next to them sold phonograph players, which were an ideal Christmas gift. Naturally, people who had just bought a phonograph needed albums, and sales for her Christmas record were brisk.
She blew into her bare hands to warm them. It was impossible to make change while wearing gloves, and it was cold tonight, with steadily falling snow and a hint of wind.
Liam was with her, but he was completely useless as a salesman. He kept wanting to give the records away for free.
“It’s Christmas, Natalia,” he nagged. “Show a little of the giving spirit.”
She pretended not to notice when he slipped an album toa woman wearing a patched coat who had just purchased a phonograph for her children.
Natalia reached down to the crates beneath the table for more albums. This was the infancy of a new industry, and she hadn’t anticipated how much fun it would be to share music with others.
Once, Dimitri was the only person who shared her taste in music. She had found others who loved discussing music, but Dimitri would always be who she thought of first whenever she heard a new symphony, a mournful sonata, or a lively Russian dance.
It still hurt to think of him. It had been two months since she wrote to him of her plans to visit Russia in the spring, and she hadn’t heard a peep from him. On the day she read that the Treaty of Aigun had been reaffirmed, she went to her father’s house, where her mother’s Russian chapel had been undisturbed for months. She lit candles and knelt to give thanks to God for being allowed to play a tiny part in this adventure that might bring peace and security to a tiny corner of the world. But she desperately wished she could have been with Dimitri. It strengthened her resolve to seek him out and settle things once and for all. Natalia had stared at the gold icons flickering in the candlelight. “Mama, I’m going to Russia,” she whispered, and in her imagination the icons seemed to approve.
She shook off the memories and loaded another crate of records onto the table.
“Tell me that isn’t who I think it is,” Liam said, squinting into the distance. The annoyance in his face caused her to straighten and peer through the fat clumps of falling snow.
Poppy was marching through the crowd, wearing her finest chinchilla furs, her expression triumphant. The evening had been so pleasant until now.
Poppy cut to the front of the line, ignoring the annoyed glances behind her.
“You’ll never guess,” Poppy gushed. “It baffles and amazes me, and I have no idea what Count Sokolov sees in you, buthe showed up on our doorstep, looking like death itself, and claims that he wants to see you.”
Natalia looked around, but Dimitri was nowhere in sight, and nothing made sense. “Poppy, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Poppy rolled her eyes. “I think he’s being ridiculous and ought to stay home where I can host a proper celebration for him, but he insisted on coming to the park. That cane he uses makes him so slow, but he should be here any moment.”
If this was a joke, Natalia was going to smash this stack of records over Poppy’s head, but her heart was pounding so hard that she couldn’t think straight. She came out from behind the table, scanning the crowds.
