please,” the Danish man said. “It will be my pleasure to see that she gets home safely.”
Scott bade them goodbye and went back to his seat as the plane resumed the next leg of the flight. Late that day, he finally arrived in Vilnius, Lithuania—a city with a dreary, baroque facade—for the first time. When he stepped off the plane, the first secretary of the embassy greeted him.
“Welcome, Mr. Ambassador, and welcome to Lithuania. We have been awaiting you with great anticipation.”
“Thank you.” Scott shook his head. Mr. Ambassador, he thought. He had worked long and hard for the title, and he loved the sound of it. But as he looked around at the difference between what he saw and what he had left behind in the States, he wondered what his two-year tour would mean, personally and professionally.
Several days later, he received a personal letter, and the backward-slanted handwriting on the envelope puzzled him. He opened it and read:
Dear Ambassador Galloway,
Thank you for coming to my rescue in Reagan National Airport and for introducing me to Lars Erickson, who lives about eight blocks from me. He took me home. I think it may be time I stopped traveling around the world by myself. But I wanted to see the States, and I’m so glad I went there.
My trip could have ended badly, but for you. However, what you did for me wasn’t a surprise, because you are a charitable man. I knew you would come along, so I wasn’t afraid. You’ll do well in Lithuania, though you won’t like the place very much.
Your happiness is in the States. You’ve already seen her, but your interest was elsewhere, and you didn’t notice. Besides, you were a little peeved. She’s very near to your older brother. I’m not a fortune-teller. I see. And I am never wrong. So enjoy your work in Vilnius and then go back home. Your happiness is there.
Yours,
Helga Wilander
P.S. You do like horses, don’t you?
Scott read the letter several times. If she were a seer, why didn’t she know that he didn’t have an older brother? He was the eldest son. He decided to write and ask her.
Dear Mrs. Wilander,
I was glad to hear from you and to know that you arrived home safely. I liked what you said about my future, but I don’t have an older brother, unless there’s something that I don’t know about? If you get a notion to travel again soon, why not visit me here in Vilnius?
Yours,
Scott Galloway
Six days later, Scott looked through his incoming mail and saw Helga’s unusual scrawl. He slit open the envelope and read:
Dear Scott,
I knew you’d answer, but I hadn’t thought I’d get your letter so soon. Of course I know you don’t have an older blood brother, Scott. But you have an older buddy with whom you are closer than most blood brothers, and you have been since you were five or six years old. Trust me, Scott. You’ll find her near your brother. Maybe when I get the urge to travel again, I’ll pay you a visit.
Your friend,
Helga
Scott folded the letter and put it in his wallet. All the women around his friend Judson, who he had to admit was like an older brother, were married. And Heather, Judson’s fiancée, didn’t have a sister or any close female friends that he knew of. In fact, he was Heather’s best buddy.
“Nobody can accurately predict the future,” he said to himself. “And that includes Helga Wilander.” With a dismissive shrug, he flicked on his desk lamp and settled down to the business of being a United States ambassador.
Chapter 1
Two years later…
Scott Galloway stared out of his office window into the cold sunlight of a June morning in Vilnius, Lithuania, a small country situated between Belarus and the Baltic Sea. Two years in the diplomatic outpost had gone by far more quickly than he had anticipated. He had made a difference in the lives of the people working at the embassy and in the quality of diplomatic relationships between the United States and Lithuania. But for the past two years, his personal life had been on hold.
He zipped up his leather toiletries case, put it and his laptop in his small carry-on bag and paused for a moment. He slowly perused his office and the photo of him that hung alongside those of the U.S. president and the secretary of state, which brought a smile to his face. Then, he shrugged and headed out the door and down the corridor to the exit, where the embassy staff had lined up to tell him goodbye.
“We’ll miss you, sir,” one of the embassy officers said. “You made this place come alive.”
He didn’t give the statement much credence. If he had brought life to the place, it must certainly have been dead a long time before he got there. “Thank you, Aggie. You’ve been of immense help.” Although the comment lacked veracity, it was bound to inflate her already oversize ego. But the next ambassador would have to deal with her.
“I hate to see you go, sir,” an older man, a native of Vilnius, said to him. “They said I was too old to work and they were going to fire me. I don’t know what I’ll do now.”
“I left a letter recommending you to the next ambassador, so don’t worry. You’re one of the best workers here.” He patted the man on the shoulder and was about to depart, when the elderly janitor, Misha, pressed something into Scott’s hand. “It’s from my mother. She’s a hundred and one. Since you came, it was the first time she’d tasted caviar in forty years. She gave me this to give to you.”
Deeply touched, he thanked the man. “Give your mother my love and my humble thanks.”
A young-looking man ran toward him, seemingly out of breath. “This just came, sir.” He handed Scott a letter marked personal. He recognized the handwriting of Helga Wilander, the woman he’d befriended en route to Lithuania when he’d first arrived. He put the letter inside the breast pocket of his suit jacket, waved to the staff, got into the waiting limousine and headed for the airport. His first tour as United States ambassador was behind him. He exhaled a long breath, sat back and contemplated what he imagined was his future.
Remembering the envelope that Misha had given him, he opened it and gasped when he saw the six-by-eight-inch Russian icon of Mary, painted on silver and set in an old hammered silver frame. He looked at it for a long time, put it back in the envelope, wrote the old man’s name on the envelope and put it in his briefcase. It was probably the most valuable object that Misha owned, and Scott vowed to write and thank him as soon as he was settled into his new job.
An airport attendant ushered him into the VIP lounge, where a waiter immediately placed a tray with coffee and assorted sweets in front of him. He would have appreciated fruit, any kind of fruit, since that was the one thing that was hard to find during the long winter months in Vilnius. The embassy got fruit from the States for special occasions, but only rarely. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into some blueberries. The woman who sat facing him in the lounge smiled, and asked if he would like company.
“No, thank you,” he said, not sure why such a good-looking and seemingly wealthy woman would be on the make in an
