The Bronze Horseman by Paullina Simons Read Free Book Online

soldier said, “All right, I give up. Where
are
you going?”
    What could Tatiana say?
    His Russian was slightly accented. It was correct Russian, just slightly accented. She tried to figure out if the accent and the white teeth came from the same place and, if so, where that place was. Georgia, maybe? Armenia? Somewhere near the Black Sea. He sounded as if he came from around salt water.
    “Excuse me?” Tatiana said at last.
    The soldier smiled again. “Where are you
going
?”
    Looking up at him, Tatiana got a crick in her neck. She was a waif of a girl, and the soldier towered over her. Even in her high heels she barely came up to the base of his throat. Another thing she must ask him, if she could get her tongue back from him—the height. The teeth, the accent, and the height, all from the same place, comrade?
    They had stopped stupidly in the middle of the deserted street. There wasn’t much activity around the bus terminal on a Sunday when war had started. Instead of hanging around near buses, people were standing in lines buying food. Not Tatiana, no, she was stopped stupidly in the middle of the street.
    “I think I missed my stop,” Tatiana muttered. “I have to go back.”
    “Where
were
you going?” he repeated politely, still standing across from her, not moving, not making a move to move. Standing completely still, eclipsing the sun.
    “Where?” she asked rhetorically. Her hair was a big mess, wasn’t it? Tatiana never wore makeup, but she wished she had a little lipstick. Something, anything, so she wouldn’t feel so plain and silly.
    “Let’s get out of the street,” the soldier said. They crossed. “You want to sit?” He pointed to a bench by the bus stop sign. “We can wait for the next bus here.” They sat. He sat too close to her.
    “You know, it’s the oddest thing,” Tatiana began after a prolonged throat clearing. “My cousin Marina lives on Polustrovsky Prospekt—I was going there—”
    “That was several kilometers ago. A dozen bus stops.”
    “No,” Tatiana said, flustered. “I must have just missed it.”
    He made a serious face. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you right back. The bus will come in a few minutes.”
    Glancing at him, she asked, “Where were…
you
going?”
    “Me? I’m with the garrison. I’m on city patrol today.” His eyes were twinkling.
    Oh, perfect, Tatiana thought, looking away. He was merely on city patrol, and I was headed practically to Murmansk. What an idiot. Embarrassed, her face all red, she suddenly felt light-headed. She looked down at her shoes. “Except for the ice cream, I haven’t eaten all day,” she said feebly, her consciousness yielding to unconsciousness in a matter of suspended seconds. The soldier’s arm went around her back, and his calm, firm voice said, “No. No, don’t faint. Stay up.”
    And she did.
    Woozy and disoriented, she didn’t want to see his tilted head looking at her solicitously. She smelled him, something pleasant and masculine, not alcohol or sweat like most Russians. What was it? Soap? Cologne for men? Men in the Soviet Union did not wear cologne. No, it was just him.
    “I’m sorry,” Tatiana said weakly, attempting to stand up. He helped her. “Thank you.”
    “Not at all. Are you all right?”
    “Absolutely. Just hungry, I think.”
    He was still holding her. The perimeter of her upper arm was inside his hand, which was the size of a small country, perhaps Poland. Trembling slightly, Tatiana straightened herself, and he let her go, leaving a warm empty space where his hand had been.
    “Sitting on the bus, now out in the sun…” the soldier said with some concern in his voice. “You’ll be all right. Come on.” He pointed. “There’s our bus.”
    The bus came, driven by the same driver, who looked at them with raised eyebrows and said nothing.
    This time they sat together, Tatiana near the window, the soldier with his uniformed arm draped over the wooden back of the seat behind