The Winemaker's Wife

by Kristin Harmel

  “It took me a month to resolve to come,” she continued. “I never thought I would return to this place, you see. When I left in 1945, after being told that both your grandfather and father were dead, I was sure I was leaving for the last time.” She gazed off into the distance and then smiled slightly. “It took me another week to convince Joël that I was fit enough to travel at my age. But finally he understood how much I needed to see you in person. And here we are.”

  “My grandmother—I mean, Inès—always believed you died in Auschwitz,” Liv said. “Her attorney Samuel told me that she searched for you for many months, going every day to the Hôtel Lutetia in Paris, but that she was told by an Auschwitz survivor that you had succumbed to tuberculosis just before the liberation of the camp.”

  Céline looked surprised. “My God. And I was told when I returned to the Maison Chauveau that Inès had perished, and, of course, David, too. But they both lived.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Liv said, though the words felt terribly insufficient.

  “You see, I was quite ill just before the liberation. And there was a time that I was very close to death. That is likely what the woman remembered. There was a lot of confusion at that time, and perhaps if she was sick, too, her memories were jumbled. But I fought death with every fiber of my being, because I believed your father was still alive. That is what kept me going, knowing that I had to return for my child.

  “The fact is, I did not die in Auschwitz. I died after Auschwitz, when I came back here and learned that everyone was gone. I had nothing left to live for, so I spent a year simply drifting before I met a man named Paul Vogel. It was a long time before I loved him, for my heart was still with Michel. In fact, I suppose it always will be; when you love someone the way I loved him, that feeling never really fades, you see. In any case, Paul became my companion, and in 1950, when he asked me to marry him and move to Israel, I agreed, because there was nothing left for me in France.”

  Liv wiped a tear away as Céline paused to catch her breath.

  “Joël was the second miracle of my life, for I never thought I would be able to have another child, not after what Auschwitz had done to me. It has been a mostly happy life, Liv, but I never forgot my firstborn, my first son.”

  “I—I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.” Liv cleared her throat. “My Grandma Edith—Inès—spent her whole life blaming herself for what happened to you. I know she would want me to tell you how terribly, terribly sorry she was.”

  “That makes me very sad, Liv, for you see, I don’t blame Inès, not anymore. She was always careless when she was young, but never cruel. I know that she did not betray us on purpose. In a way, everything was my own fault. I stole her husband. I had a baby with her husband behind her back. Can you imagine the magnitude of that treachery? How must she have felt on the night she discovered us together and realized the truth?” Céline shook her head. “No, the fault was mine. But I couldn’t have done it any differently. Michel was the love of my life, and if I had not loved him, my dear Liv, you would not be here today. So how can I regret a moment of it?”

  Liv nodded, wiping away her tears. “But what about the fact that you missed a whole lifetime with my father and me, while Inès spent the past seventy years with a son—and then a granddaughter—who were really never meant to be hers?”

  “But maybe you were. Maybe you were supposed to belong to Inès all along. Who can really know? I owe Inès more than I can say for saving your father, after everything I did to her. I will always regret that I never saw David again. But here I am, standing in the vineyard your grandfather once tended, with you, my granddaughter. Liv, I never imagined I would see the day. You are proof that miracles do happen.” Céline leaned into Liv’s shoulder. “Come, let’s take a walk. I will tell you some things that I remember.”

  As Liv helped Céline stroll through the vineyards, listening raptly as she pointed out spots that had meant something to her and shared anecdotes about Michel and Inès, Liv felt as if she could see slivers of the past through Céline’s eyes. So much had unfolded here, so many things that had shaped her own life, blessings and tragedies. Somehow, everything had come together to bring them to this moment.

  “So what now?” Liv asked sometime later as the sun began to set. They were making their way slowly back to the main house, where Joël and Julien were waiting. “Will you stay a while?”

  “Joël has been good enough to book our tickets with an open-ended departure,” Céline said with a smile. “And I was hoping you and I might spend some time together, Liv, if you are willing. We’ve lost so many years.”

  Liv thought about Grandma Edith, whose life had been dictated by a terrible mistake, and about her own father, who was taken far too soon. “We have indeed,” she said softly. “But as someone I loved very much once told me, you can’t rewrite the past. But you can choose to live with your whole heart in the here and now.”

  “Your grandmother’s words, I presume?” Céline smiled.

  Liv bowed her head. “Yes.”

  “She was a wise woman, my dear, much more than I gave her credit for. I will always regret that.” Céline sighed and looked into the distance for a moment, then turned her attention back to Liv. “Will you let me get to know you a bit, then? I want to know about your life, your family, your hopes and dreams. I want to know about the man your father grew to be. I want to know you, Liv, if that isn’t too much to ask.”

  “I would like that.” Liv reached out and took the hand of the woman who had lost everything to give her life. “I would like that very much.”

  author’s note

  Champagne.

  What does the word conjure for you? If you’re anything like me, you think of bubbles and celebration, France and fashion, good taste and a little bit of magic.

  But did you know that the world-renowned sparkling wine comes from a region that has triumphed time and again over almost unimaginable odds? That war after war ravaged the vineyards of Champagne, each time threatening to wipe out the wine industry? That the central city of Reims, where many champagne houses have their headquarters, was almost entirely destroyed after more than a thousand consecutive days of shelling by the Germans beginning in 1914? Many of the region’s most storied vineyards actually sat along the Western Front in the First World War, meaning that at war’s end a century ago, the fields were filled with the blood of soldiers, plants ripped from the earth by constant explosions and gunfire, vines destroyed by poisonous gas. It’s a wonder anything managed to survive at all.

  I used to take champagne for granted. Somewhere far away, people were picking grapes and mysteriously turning them into something delicious that fizzed and sparkled. But now I know the fact that champagne still exists—nay, is flourishing—is nothing short of a miracle. Every time I sip a glass, I know the magic contained in the bubbles is more than just a trick of fermentation and carbonic gas; it’s a testament to the blood, sweat, and tears of generation upon generation of winemakers. It’s an ode to the perseverance of the human spirit.

  The last major conflict to take place in Champagne was the Second World War, and local resident Stéphanie Venet, who lives near the vineyards of Ville-Dommange and whose grandparents were part of a small resistance group during the war, sums up the attitude of the Champenois perfectly. “We were occupied, not destroyed,” she told me. “So life goes on.” Indeed it does, for the people and the vines.

  It’s important to note that champagne is not a catch-all description for all wine that sparkles. To truly qualify as champagne, a wine must come from the Champagne growing area, less than a hundred miles from Paris in northeastern France. The region is unique; its location near the 49th parallel, close to the northernmost limits for effective grape growing, makes it a challenging place for grapes to survive. Beyond that, the ground itself—in some places containing a layer of chalk hundreds of feet thick—forces the roots of the vines to work harder to seek out moisture. But like the residents of Champagne, who h
ave toiled for centuries to beat the odds, the vines themselves have found a way to thrive. This unlikely triumph is just one of the things that makes champagne—full of minerality and acidity, thanks in part to the chalky earth—so glorious, and so different from wines produced elsewhere.

  When I first visited Champagne in 2014, on my honeymoon, I was captivated by its stories and its spirit. I have a deep interest in World War II—my previous novels The Sweetness of Forgetting and The Room on Rue Amélie are both set in France during that period—and as I researched the French Resistance for both books, I began to wonder whether the Resistance was active in Champagne, too. Wouldn’t it be poetic, I thought, if the same spirit of resilience that inspired winemakers to stand up to nature and circumstance also prompted them to stand up to the Nazis?

  And of course, if you’ve finished reading The Winemaker’s Wife, you know that many winemakers in the region did exactly that. Much of their resistance was on a small scale—the mention in chapter 6 of winemakers using dirty bottles, bad corks, and second-rate cuvées in Germany-bound shipments is entirely true—but there was so much more at work in this region. Perhaps one of the most fascinating things I discovered at the outset of my research was that Count Robert-Jean de Vogüé, the managing director of the storied Moët & Chandon during the war, was also the leader of the Resistance movement in this area of France. He was arrested by the Gestapo in November 1943 and sentenced to death. In response, the winemakers of Champagne went on strike, and de Vogüé was instead sent to work in German labor camps, until he was liberated by the British in May 1945.

  But de Vogüé’s story is just the tip of the iceberg. Throughout the region, cellars and crayères were used to hide weapons, downed pilots, and refugees. Information was gleaned from the Germans and passed along to the Allies. At champagne houses including Krug, Piper-Heidsieck, Ruinart, and, of course, Moët & Chandon, people spent the war risking their lives for the cause.

  The stories of the Chauveaus, the Laurents, and the Thierrys are fictional, but they are based on the reality of countless residents of the Champagne region who had the courage to stand up to injustice at the peril of their own lives. Sprinkled throughout the story are real characters—such as de Vogüé and the weinführer Otto Klaebisch—as well as plenty of historical tidbits and information about the process of making champagne.

  Of course, writing a book like this requires lots of research, and I was fortunate to encounter many people along the way who were very generous with their time, knowledge, and resources.

  I’d like to express my deepest gratitude to the lovely Virginie Bergeronneau, from Champagne F. Bergeronneau-Marion, a family-run champagne house in Ville-Dommange, where the fictional Maison Chauveau is located. Virginie took the time to answer many questions and host me at her family’s champagne house when I visited Ville-Dommange to research this book. Like many families in the area, hers has been in Champagne since the sixteenth century. Not only did I learn some new things about champagne production, but our visit gave me a better understanding of the deep roots that run through the community.

  I also owe a great debt to Isabelle Pierre, the heritage manager for Veuve Clicquot, Krug, and Ruinart. We spent a lovely morning together in a private salon at Ruinart, where she shared many fascinating tales from all three houses. Afterward, I had the privilege of receiving a private tour of Ruinart’s stunning crayères, where Madame Pierre pointed out many things that helped bring the spirit of this book to life. (She even showed me a picture of a Nazi soldier, hand-etched into the chalk walls of one of Ruinart’s crayères, which was likely drawn by a cellar worker hiding beneath the earth during the Occupation.)

  Historian Yves Tesson was beyond helpful, and I thoroughly enjoyed our lunch together at Brasserie L’Affaire in Reims. Not only did he introduce me to the magic of a proper café gourmand—espresso served with an array of miniature desserts—but he answered my many questions about the history of Reims and the surrounding area. He was very generous with his time and knowledge, and I’m so grateful.

  I’d also like to thank Marie-Charlotte Wambergue, the international press and influence communications manager for Ruinart, and Julie Pertus, the planning and private client coordinator for the champagne brands under the Moët Hennessy umbrella (Dom Pérignon, Moët & Chandon, Ruinart, Krug, Veuve Clicquot, and Mercier), for helping put me in touch with Madame Pierre, and for helping to organize my visits. Brigitte Batonnet from the Comité Interprofessionnel du vin de Champagne (the CIVC) was also tremendously helpful in answering some questions of minute detail in regard to the history and production of champagne. And thanks also to Stéphanie Venet of ParisChampagneTour.com, who leads wonderful walking tours through Reims and helped me with some of my research.

  I was unsuccessful in contacting historian Jean-Pierre Husson, who has done extensive research into the history of Reims, but I have to thank him anyhow for some of the wonderful scholarly articles of his that I found online, especially in regard to the Second World War.

  The books Champagne: How the World’s Most Glamorous Wine Triumphed Over War and Hard Times and Wine and War: The French, the Nazis, and the Battle for France’s Greatest Treasure, both by Don and Petie Kladstrup, were thoroughly enjoyable and informative, as was Alan Tardi’s richly detailed Champagne, Uncorked: The House of Krug and the Timeless Allure of the World’s Most Celebrated Drink. Also helpful were Le Champagne: Une Histoire Franco-Allemande by Claire Desbois-Thibault, Werner Paravicini, and Jean-Pierre Poussou, and Robert-Jean de Voguë: Le “quart d’heure d’avance” de Moët & Chandon by Francine Rivaud and the aforementioned Yves Tesson, both of which I had translated from French. Champagne: The Wine, the Land, and the People by Patrick Forbes, published in 1967, also provided an interesting glance into the recent history of Champagne and champagne production. Fashion Under the Occupation (Dominique Veillon), The Escape Line: How the Ordinary Heroes of Dutch-Paris Resisted the Nazi Occupation of Western Europe (Megan Koreman), and Résistance: Memoirs of Occupied France (Agnès Humbert) helped me fill in some of the details of wartime. The online resources available from the Union des Maisons de Champagne, especially their articles about the time line of champagne production, were also very helpful.

  If you’re looking for another novel set in French wine country during the Second World War, I recommend Ann Mah’s The Lost Vintage, about a sommelier who unearths some dramatic history in Burgundy. And if you enjoyed The Winemaker’s Wife, Tilar J. Mazzeo’s nonfiction The Widow Clicquot: The Story of a Champagne Empire and the Woman Who Ruled It might interest you, too; it’s also set in Champagne, during an earlier period (the nineteenth century).

  Finally, to you, the reader: I hope that the next time you open a bottle of champagne—whether it’s to celebrate a milestone or simply to enjoy on a weeknight—you’ll think of the light and darkness, the tragedy and the triumph, that are part of every glass. After all, those tantalizing bubbles in your champagne represent a tradition of courage, a spirit of hope, and the lesson that if you continue to persevere against the odds, you might just make magic. À votre santé!

  acknowledgments

  I couldn’t do what I do without the dream duo of Holly Root, my brilliant literary agent, and Abby Zidle, my equally brilliant editor. I don’t say it often enough, but I adore you both, and I can’t imagine being on this journey without either of you. I firmly believe I’m the luckiest author in the world.

  To my dear Kristin Dwyer (I love you, lady!), Meagan Harris, and Michelle Podberezniak: Thank you so much for being such rock stars at handling publicity. Heather Baror-Shapiro and Dana Spector, you are beyond amazing, and I’m so grateful to be working with both of you. To Andy Cohen: what a long, wild ride this has been, my dear friend! I can’t wait for the next step in our adventure! And to Danielle Noe: Thanks for all your ad help!

  Jen Bergstrom: Thanks for all the support and kindness! Have I mentioned lately that I love being a Gallery author? I adore my whole Gallery team, including Diana Velasqu
ez, Wendy Sheanin, Jen Long, Mackenzie Hickey, Nancy Tonik, Faren Bachelis, Lisa Litwack, Chelsea McGuckin, Anabel Jimenez, Sara Quaranta, Ali Lacavaro, and Aimée Bell. I owe Carolyn Reidy a big debt of gratitude, too.

  A special thanks to the Target book club team for making The Room on Rue Amélie a Target pick—and also for having such a dangerously tantalizing store, where I (over)shop at least once a week—as well as to Writer’s Block, my wonderful local indie bookstore in Winter Park, Florida, and its delightful owner, Lauren Zimmerman! And to all of you out there who are working hard running independent stores, especially LeAnne Rollins of Writer’s Block, and Cathy Graham, Serena Wyckoff, and Jean Lewis of the charming Copperfish Books in Punta Gorda, Florida: Thank you so much for creating friendly, welcoming, engaging places for book lovers in your communities. Thank you, too, to Lisa Proto, the best Barnes & Noble bookseller in the business!

  Thanks to those who helped me research this book, most of whom are mentioned in the author’s note. And thanks to all my wonderful foreign publishers. I feel so fortunate to have my books available in so many different languages. Each time I receive an email from a reader in Israel, Italy, Germany, Holland, China, Russia, or elsewhere around the globe, I’m reminded of what a gift it is to get to connect with people whose lives might not otherwise intersect with mine. It’s something I’ll never take for granted.

  Every summer, I get together with an amazing group of writers to spend a week together—usually in Swan Valley, Idaho—and I don’t think I’d be half the writer I am without the support of those talented storytellers. I adore each and every one of my Swan Valley sisters and brother: Wendy Toliver, Linda Gerber, Allison van Diepen, Emily Wing Smith, Alyson Noël, and Jay Asher.

  I’m also so grateful to all the women and men who make up the online community of book bloggers, book lovers, and authors who love to read. It’s such a supportive group, and I know I should participate more often, rather than (mostly) just lurking. But please do know that I’m always following along, and I’m really thankful for all your support and camaraderie, even if I don’t always say it enough. A special shout-out to Melissa Amster, Jenny O’Regan, the buzzy Kristy Barrett, Aestas, Amy Bromberg, Lorelai, Brenda Janowitz, Liz Fenton, Lisa Steinke, Hailey Fish, Elizabeth Silver, Jen Cannon, Lloyd Russell, Kim Jackson, Karen Trosterud, Andrea Peskind Katz, Nancy Harris, Bobbi Dumas, Jenny Collins Belk, Sharlene Martin Moore, and so many more!