With the Wind | A Short Novel Read online

  With the Wind

  by:

  Judith Cropula

  PROLOGUE

  Tuesday, December 26, 2004

  Something was wrong.

  Daniel couldn't pin point exactly what; something was in the air, something he couldn't put his finger on, something he didn't like.

  He tried to push those thoughts away as he cracked his eyes open. His little hotel room was dank and the fan ran only at half speed. The smell of boiling rice and fish wafted in through his cracked window.

  He knew he shouldn't have partied as much the night before but he was celebrating. A hang over was his reminder that he was anything but a big drinker.

  He had reasons to celebrate.

  It was Christmas time, that was reason enough, but Daniel knew that when he woke up his love would soon be here with him. Not back home in Moscow, or in America, but here, with him, in Thailand.

  He couldn't believe he'd over slept and suddenly a panic swept through him. Had he missed her?

  Daniel slid out of his hammock. His hand fished for his watch.

  9:45 am.

  He sighed with relief.

  It wasn't too late. She was probably still waiting in the airport in Manila to catch a connecting flight to Bangkok.

  Misty was coming to him, to be with him, after all this time. It had been months since he'd seen her; physically anyway.

  Night after night in his dreams he imagined them being together again. Every part of him ached to be with her.

  Misty wasn’t just the love of his life; she was so much more than that.

  She was a part of him, in his blood, in his soul.

  They were never supposed to meet. Fate had brought them together, an inalterable destiny that could not be avoided.

  Destiny has a way of showing up when you least expect it, whether you're ready for it or not.

  That day in the barn when they met – she was so desperate, so vulnerable and so incredibly beautiful. He spent hours lost in her eyes, those almond shaped, bright blue eyes that spoke to his heart. Then her father…Daniel couldn’t bear to think about it anymore.

  He focused on the one thing that mattered; Misty would be here soon. She would land in Bangkok, catch the ride he had waiting for her and meet him in Phuket.

  He'd enjoyed Thailand. It was beautiful; a dream come true but nothing was the same without Misty. Russian Life loved his work. The pictures he had taWilson captured the magnificence of the ocean and the jungle and the people. His editor loved what Daniel had sent him. More assignments would surely follow.

  Yet something was still bothering him. What was it? he wondered.

  He walked on to his balcony and stared out at the ocean. Where had all the little boats gone? Why was the surf line so far out? He saw sand where there should be waves. Not a bird was singing, not a dog barking. An eerie hush had fallen over Phuket, a town that was never quiet.

  His eyes squinted in the intense sunlight. What he was seeing couldn’t be real. He groped for his sunglasses and hurriedly put them on.

  A massive ocean wave was headed straight for him. It was over twenty feet high and in seconds it would smash Phuket and carry off everything and everyone in its path.

  He was going to die today.

  Die without ever seeing her again.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Misty knew where her father hid the key to the gun case, under the sculpture in the hall.

  It was a heavy thing, a gold plated pistol that had been presented to her great grandfather Robert by General Pershing in 1921. The weapon had never been fired and was stored in its own specially made cedar box, along with the three gold plated bullets.

  It wasn't the only gun in the house, but it was the only one that could properly do the job.

  She was desperate to end the pain, the disappointment. Misty felt hopelessly trapped in a gilded cage with no way out…well, there was one way out.

  She was supposed to be in love, happy, celebrating. But she believed that love was lost to her forever now, gone when she agreed to say “I do” to a man who was far more taWilson with her father than he was with her.

  Anthony Buffett's daughter Misty was nearly as valuable to him as his land in Forest Hills. She was raised just as his grapes were, with determined and purposeful care. Over the generations, everyone in the family understood that they had a role to play. Misty was no exception.

  What's wrong with me? Misty blamed herself for her unhappiness.

  Wilson was handsome and smart and charming. His manners were impeccable and he treated Misty with formal kindness, almost deference.

  But when they kissed she felt nothing, as if she was kissing her brother, not her lover.

  She was too young to marry. Barely eighteen, high school was still a fresh memory. She was being forced into a life that she wasn’t ready for and certainly hadn’t pursued.

  She did not have a single girlfriend she could really talk to about anything other than superficial chit-chat about boys, social events and who was sleeping with whom. Her mother was tucked safely away behind her own walls and wouldn’t let her in, no doubt to shield herself from her own nightmare.

  She wished she could find someone with depth. Someone she could tell anything to without holding back. A lover who stirred her passion, an intimate friend who would respond to her needs instinctively.

  But now it was too late.

  She would never have that.

  It wasn't like she hadn't tried, but no one would listen. Everyone was focused on what they wanted, on their agenda. They couldn't hear her tiny scream made in the crowd.

  As time went on she felt more and more like she didn't really matter.

  That they wouldn't miss her if she was gone anyway, she thought to herself.

  That's when she decided pick up the gun and the cedar box. It had always been a toy to her before, a prop. Now it was her only solution, the only way to stop the pain.

  She walked out of the house and sat down in the barn.

  Her hands shook like wet leaves.

  She had to do it.

  Misty closed her eyes, crossed herself and said a brief Hail Mary.

  She put the gun to her head and cocked the trigger.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Don’t," she heard a voice say.

  At first she thought it was her own voice crying for help on a subconscious level. But as she opened her eyes, a bead of sweat trailing from her forehead to the end of her nose, her vision came into view.

  Someone was standing in front of her.

  A man.

  He was almost as nervous as she was.

  A young man at that and probably the most beautiful young man she'd ever seen.

  She thought she might be seeing things; a vision, maybe an angel.

  Misty conjured up the courage to say, "Go away."

  "Please," he said. He had an accent, from where she wasn't quite sure; the Middle East, Germany, maybe Russia. It didn’t matter; all she knew was that she had to get it over with.

  "I'm going to do it. Go away."

  He stared at her and slowly inched toward her as if he were approaching a wounded animal. Careful, slow, deliberate, never looking away. As if he'd done this before.

  "I'm serious," she warned, as he got closer.

  "I can help," he said.

  "You can't help me. No one can help me. Just go away."

  "Please. I here. I here for you. I be your friend."

  His English was poor and there was a part of her that felt softened by his attempt to stop her.

  "I don't know you," she said.

  "But I know you," he said with a warm smile.

  She looked up at him, directly in his eyes. What was he tal
king about?

  "I see you before. Many times."

  Where? she wondered. She'd never seen him before, yet there was a part of him that seemed familiar.

  There was something very inviting about him. Something that calmed her.

  She wouldn't allow his soothing voice or his good looks to distract her. She had to go through with it.

  "Please, just leave." she said, feeling the urge to allow him to talk her out of it.

  She battled inside. Part of her wanted to just pull the trigger and get it over with. Another part desperately wanted someone to rescue her, someone to act like they cared for a change.

  "I know life hard. I from Russia, very very difficult. I understand. Much I understand. Many days I feel without hope but I believe somehow life get better and I am here. Here in America and I believe. Day one ... day ..." he tried to explain himself.

  "One day," she corrected.

  He smiled, the most radiant smile. His whole being came alive, "Yes, one day life get better and one day I have purpose, wish come true. And ... true it."

  "It's true," she said correcting him again.

  His innocent eyes and spirit contrasted with his masculine looks. His shirt was open below his chest exposing a very contoured physique. His blond hair was covered with dust and hay; clearly he had been working when he came across her.

  He was mesmerizing. What was it about him?

  She was in a daze. Now he was just inches from her ... inches from the gun.

  She came out of her trance, realizing she had let the pistol slip from her head a little.

  "No!" she said.

  He got serious. "No, my dear. No. You don't want this. We don't want this. Do we?" he asked.

  Tears were coming, tears she'd buried for months, tears she could no longer hide.

  She felt her body getting weak.

  His hand reached for hers and she let him.

  He was right.

  She didn't want this.

  His strong hand cautiously and carefully took the gun away from her.

  She laughed at the stupidity of it.

  "Stupid gun probably doesn't work anyway," she said.

  She took it back from him, wanting to return it to its box when - Bang!

  It went off.

  CHAPTER THREE

  They could hear people running around and shouting outside the barn trying to determine who fired the shot.

  “I am Daniel,” Daniel declared.

  “Misty, Misty Buffett,” she answered.

  “My father is coming. Please don't tell him that…,” Misty began.

  Daniel took Misty’s hand in his and gently squeezed it. “I say nothing. Our, what is word? secret.”

  Who are you? Misty thought, but did not say. Only a minute ago most of me wanted to die and now...well, I don’t want to die.

  For a brief moment she stared into Daniel’s eyes. They smiled at her and said, it will be alright, everything will be alright.

  Anthony Buffett and Wilson Rubie burst into the barn, looked over and saw Daniel sitting there with Misty; a gun in her right hand, his hand in her left.

  “Misty! What in the hell is going…Put that gun down! Now!” Anthony barked.

  “Daddy, no. It’s okay.”

  She set the gun down on its case.

  “I came out here to get some air. You know I haven’t been feeling well lately,”

  “Who fired the shot?”

  “I did. Daniel, this is Daniel,” Misty said, pointing to her left. “He saw me holding the gun and introduced himself. We were joking around, I wasn’t paying attention and I accidentally pulled the trigger. See, up there. The bullet is the beam.”

  Anthony and Wilson looked up and saw the very visible bullet hole.

  “Why did you load the gun, Misty?” Wilson asked accusingly.

  “I was showing off for Daniel, I guess. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s my fault,” Anthony said. “I’ve treated that damn thing like a toy for years. It’s not a toy, Misty, it’s a weapon. You could have hurt yourself, or Daniel.”

  “I know Dad. I’m sorry.”

  “At least you’re smiling. I haven’t seen your smile for a week,” Wilson said, offering his hand.

  Misty responded, moved toward Wilson and took his hand. “I do feel a bit better. Blame Daniel. His English needs some work, but he is a very good listener.”

  “Come see me tomorrow, young man,” Anthony ordered. “I would like to speak with you.”

  Daniel stood, smiled at Misty and said, “I ask Jose where to come.”

  Daniel walked out of the barn.

  “Are you okay?” Wilson asked Misty after giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Yes, I am. I need to get ready, dear. Sorry for the fuss.”

  “The guests will be arriving shortly,” Anthony reminded.

  “Then I better get moving. Walk me back, Wilson?”

  As they moved toward the house, Wilson noticed Daniel talking with Jose, obviously explaining what had just happened.

  Back in the barn Wilson picked up on something; a tone, a look, a too familiar exchange between Misty and her new friend.

  He didn’t want to read too much into it but whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Second door on the left, sir. Mr. Buffett is expecting you,” the butler said, indicating with the motion of his hand the direction Daniel should follow.

  “Mr. Novikov, please sit down. May I offer you some tea?” Anthony asked.

  “Tea, yes. Spasibo.”

  “You’re from Russia?” Anthony asked.

  “Yes, I am Russian. From Moscow area.”

  “How long have you been in America?”

  “How long…” Daniel paused and considered the meaning of every word. “Ah, yes. Three months.”

  “Are you a student? Do you…sorry.” Anthony slowed down. “Why? Why did you come to America?”

  “I came to work for Petrov Simkalo. He is, he was, great photographer. I was to be his assistant.”

  “Was? Where is Mr. Simkalo now?”

  “He is dead.”

  “Oh my. Did he die suddenly?”

  “Die…suddenly.” Daniel had to stop and think again. “Yes, yes. He die of serdechnyj pristup. Bad heart. Day before I arrived.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Spasibo.”

  “So you stayed? I mean, why didn’t you go back to Russia after you found out that Mr. Simkalo had passed on?”

  Daniel understood this question too, he had been asked it many times. “I stay because I cannot go home as otkaz. Without try to make good life here.”

  “Do you like America?”

  “Yes! Very much.”

  “Do you have a visa?”

  “Two years work visa. Obtain to work for Simkalo, still good visa.”

  “Do you need a job?”

  “Yes. My work is done here at end of week.”

  “Jose tells me that you are a natural with horses,” Anthony said, as he stood and walked around his desk to retrieve the tea that had just arrived.

  “Natural? I do not…”

  Anthony interrupted. “You are good with horses.”

  “Good, yes. Very good. My grandfather have farm. Many horses.” Anthony set Daniel’s tea down in front of him on the small serving table.

  “Carlos, my former stable man, was…” Anthony chose his words carefully. “Carlos is gone. I need someone to take care of the horses. The barn would be your responsibility. Do you understand?”

  “You need horse person?”

  Anthony laughed. “Yes, I need horse person.”

  “I can be horse person?”

  “Yes. I will pay you what Carlos was making, two thousand dollars a month plus room and board. There is a place for you in the bunk house.”

  Daniel sipped his tea. “I make two thousand dollars and take care of horses?”

  “Yes. Do you want the job?”

  “D
o I want job? Of course I want job! Bud'te zdorovy, Mr. Anthony.”

  “Good. It’s settled then. Welcome to the Buffett Winery, Mr. Novikov.”

  “Spasibo.”

  Anthony rose again from his desk, carrying his tea with him to the window.

  “Misty is quite taWilson with you, Daniel.”

  “Misty. She is wonderful girl.”

  “She told me this morning that you helped her a great deal yesterday.”

  “Help her. Yes, I try and help her.”

  “What happened in the barn, Daniel? With Misty?”

  Daniel understood the question. He also understood the value of being able to feign ignorance when required.

  “I do not understand.”

  “The gun, what happ…”

  Daniel interrupted. “Oh, gun. Misty showing me gun. She wave gun around and gun fired. My fault, Mr. Anthony. Gun and I, how you say?, no stranger. I should be careful more.”

  “Yes, well. All’s well that ends well, I suppose. Did you talk with Misty?”

  “We talk.”

  “You must have. She says that you really cheered her up. I’ve given her everything, yet at times she seems so sad.”

  “Sad, yes. Misty was sad.”

  “Why?”

  “Hard to say, I do not understand English well.”

  “How did you cheer her up?”

  “Cheer her up….” Daniel was playing with Anthony again; he knew exactly what he was asking him. “I tell her jokes. Russian jokes. I listen to her, but not know much of what she say.”

  Anthony walked over to where Daniel was sitting and put his hand on his shoulder. “Take care of my horses, Daniel. And, if you don’t mind, talk with Misty once in a while. I think you may be the only one around here who can make her smile.”

  “Smile, yes. I make her smile, Mr. Anthony.”

  Misty was sitting on the porch as Daniel walked by on his way back to the stables.

  She waved at him and asked, “Yes?”

  Daniel nodded and answered, “Yes, spasibo.”

  He felt her watching him.

  Who was this girl? Daniel asked himself.

  She was a vision from heaven, incredibly beautiful.

  He had never seen such a woman before in his life.