Promise of the Valley

by Jane Peart

  He turned around, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "Where? Oh, yes, those are the workers I employed to build more cooling caves when my first harvest of grapes is ready...."

  Suddenly Addie remembered the Chinese coolies she had seen at the railroad station. "What are they doing here, Louis, and why are they hiding?"

  "Hiding?" Louis seemed annoyed at the question. "They're not hiding. Most of them speak no English, so they're shy of strangers. Keep to themselves. They sleep out here in the orchard. Cook the strange food they like to eat. But they're hard workers, and I shall put them to good use come harvest time." He patted Addie's hand, which he had drawn through his arm again. "It's nothing for you to concern yourself about, my dear. Come along, our guests will be arriving soon, and I don't want Estelle to be cross with us if we're late for what I presume is a perfectly planned luncheon."

  Somehow his answer did not satisfy Addie. Instinctively she felt there was something wrong, something furtive about the explanation. But realizing Louis did not want to discuss it further, she did not pursue it further.

  As they walked back toward the house they saw a rickety black buggy coming up the drive.

  "Ah, Estelle's good pastor right on time," Louis said with a touch of sarcasm, pulling out his gold watch and consulting it. "He doesn't want to miss what will most surely be his best meal of the week."

  The priest was old, his face wrinkled and brown as a nut, but his eyes were bright and shiny as black shoe buttons.

  "Welcome, Father. May I present our guest Miss Adelaide Pride. Addie, Father Paul Bernard."

  "A pleasure, Miss Pride. I beg your pardon for my appearance," the old man said, brushing great puffs of dust from his shabby cassock and worn boots. "I made some pastoral visits on my way here since I don't get over here from Saint Helena as much as I would like. Many of the places were off the beaten track."

  "No apology necessary, Padre," Louis said jovially while giving Addie a wink behind the priest's back.

  Addie felt a prick of distaste that Louis would make fun of this obviously nice, sincere minister. It struck her as arrogant and insensitive. But she had no more time to think about it as he was escorting her up the steps into the house where Estelle was entertaining her other guest, Milton Drew.

  The three of them went inside where they found Estelle seated in the parlor already conversing with Milton Drew. Introductions were made and the men shook hands.

  "Now, shall we all enjoy a friendly libation? Which shall it be a glass of Zinfandel or a sherry?" Louis asked.

  Orders were taken and Louis poured the requested wine into tulip shaped crystal glasses already set out on one of the heavily carved tables. While Louis was so occupied, Mr. Drew, a balding man with a pale, jowly face turned to his host. "Your overseer, Manuel stopped me just now, Louis, complained bitterly of your plan to replace local workers with the Chinese you brought in to extend the limestone cooling caves. He is upset, you know. It's never been done here before. It could cause you a great deal of trouble."

  "Milton, I realize you have lived in the valley a long time. You were instrumental in getting me this property and negotiating the terms, and I am most grateful for your expertise in doing so. But I draw the line at being told by you or anybody else, for that matter, most of all by a Californio overseer, whom I can hire to work for me!"

  Addie saw the muscle in Louis's cheek twitch and could tell he was extremely angry. But when he turned around to hand the filled glasses of wine to each guest, his expression was bland, his smile pleasant, his demeanor cordial. "Now, let's forget about all these unpleasant things and enjoy ourselves," he suggested and lifted his glass in a toasting gesture.

  Addie accepted the delicate glass that Louis handed her; then he gave her an indulgent smile as if they two shared a special secret. The thought of the huddled Chinese coolies flashed into Addie's mind, somehow connecting them with the slave market memory of her childhood. Feeling slightly sick, she set down her glass untasted. She knew she didn't want to share anything special or secret with Louis.

  Underneath his pleasant-mannered suavity, Louis was as hard as a diamond, calculating and caring little for the feelings of others. She had been appalled at the way he had put down his lawyer, a guest in his home, in front of his other guests, in such a dismissing way. She realized that what she had taken for self-confidence was actually arrogance.

  Addie glanced at Estelle, wondering if Louis's sister had been at all dismayed by her brother's behavior. But Estelle had simply asked Father Bernard a question, turning to a less controversial topic. The half-hour that followed was as smooth as silk, although to Addie, the conversation seemed stiffly polite and artificial. Finally the muted sound of a gong echoed from the hall. Estelle stood up and announced they should go in to lunch. Although the dining room was large, high-ceilinged, and opened out onto the verandah that wrapped around the house, it seemed overcrowded. The walls were hung with too many heavily framed gloomy landscapes of the Hudson River school, a huge, carved sideboard took up one side of the room, and the windows along the other side of the room were draped and swagged in maroon velvet. It seemed a shame on such a beautiful spring day that the sunshine was blocked out by drawn lace curtains. Addie felt suffocated by the cumulative effect.

  The table was elaborately appointed. There was a plethora of silverware at each place. A centerpiece of twin silver peacocks with sweeping tails on either side of the silver epergne was piled with dripping grapes, purple plums, polished golden apples.

  The meal, although elegantly served, was a bit too highly seasoned and sauced for Addie's taste. She could manage to eat only a little for politeness's sake. With the conversation flowing around her, Addie's mind drifted. The lavish lifestyle of Louis and his sister was overwhelming. Luxury had once been an accepted part of her own life, something that her family and others of their class were used to, but it had not seemed so overpowering as the Montands'.

  Since the war Addie had not known anyone who could afford to live as they had formerly. Of course, there were despised carpetbaggers, who had come to the defeated South, taken over the big houses, flaunted their wealth. But no one Addie knew associated with them—that is except Cousin Matthew, she thought ruefully, remembering it was he who was responsible for her coming to California.

  "Addie, my dear?" Louis's voice, slightly puzzled, broke into her wandering thoughts. "Estelle was asking if you are quite finished? We are going to have our coffee in the drawing room."

  "Oh, yes, sorry . . .," Addie said looking down at the unsliced pear on her dessert plate.

  Louis came around behind her chair to assist her. As they went into the drawing room together he asked in a low voice, "Are you quite all right? You looked—pensive somehow."

  She shook her head. "I'm fine, really."

  But her day off had not had the restorative effect Addie had hoped. In fact, by the time Louis drove her back to Silver Springs she felt oddly depressed.

  They drew up at the main building, and as Louis helped her out he asked solicitously, "Is there anything wrong, Addie? You were very quiet on the way into town."

  "Oh, nothing, I assure you. A slight headache. Nothing more. I'm sorry if I seemed uncongenial."

  "Perhaps you found the company today dull?" he persisted, frowning. "I wish Estelle had not included Father Bernard and Milton. I'd wanted our lunch en famille. I did not know they were coming until—" He broke off. "Next time we'll plan something livelier, more interesting."

  Addie did not really want to make any future plans with Louis. Today she had seen a side of him she did not like, a side she had not really been aware of before now. Their walks and talks while he was still a guest at the hotel had been a pleasant enough distraction, but she did not want to encourage any greater intimacy. She was anxious for him to be gone.

  "Thank you, Louis. It was very kind of Estelle, a lovely luncheon."

  "Good afternoon then, Addie, I'll be in touch."

  Seemingly reassured he m
ounted back into the carriage and drove away.

  Addie hurried into the lobby. She wanted to check her mailbox, hopeful there might be a note from Rex. How different her last day off had been spent with him. With Rex she had felt at ease, not tense as she had at times today out at the Chateau Montand. She recalled how quickly she had dismissed Brook's assertion that Louis's intentions were serious. Marriage had never been mentioned, yet there had been a subtle change in his attitude toward her today, a kind of possessiveness that alarmed her. Addie was sure there would be a series of tests any prospective bride of Louis's would have to pass. Estelle's approval, of course, would be first, and she did not think she would ever get that, did not even want it! Addie shuddered, imagining a life under Estelle's critical supervision.

  She checked her mailbox. Still nothing from Rex. Her disappointment was assuaged a little when she saw there was a letter from her aunt Susan. Seeing the familiar spidery handwriting, Addie felt a sudden stab of homesickness. She realized how starved she was for news of home and family. She waited until she reached the privacy of her room to read it, then she tore open the envelope hungrily.

  Addie raced through the three thin pages of closely written script. Her aunt wrote just the way she talked. Addie could almost hear her softly accented voice telling of incidents about people she knew, recounting the small events that made up her daily life. It might have seemed like trivia to most, but to Addie it was food and drink.

  When she came to the last paragraph tears blurred the lines her aunt had written, "We miss you, dear girl, and California seems a long way away."

  Addie let the letter fall into her lap and she stared blankly into her room full of shadows as daylight was fast fading. California was a long way away. It was miles and worlds away. The people were different; life here—the way people talked and thought and acted—was infinitely different. Her aunt's letter had brought back so poignantly everything Addie had left that her heart felt almost bruised.

  Now, Addie realized what had happened to her during the luncheon at the Montands, why she had found herself so detached from the company, the conversation. It came to Addie that the war and all it had meant to the South, to her family, to herself had only been a distant drumbeat here in California. She had glanced around the table, from face to face, knowing they understood nothing of what she had been through. Through all the violence, the battles, the men who had fought and been killed, this valley had slumbered peacefully, moving from season to season. The war that had cut like a saber swath through Virginia had left the people here untouched. She felt empty and infinitely lonely.

  Memory is mysterious. It is like a mansion with many doors, each opening and leading down several corridors, into halls and hidden rooms and even dark closets you may not want opened. Addie thought she had put away her memories of the past, of Ran, of what might have been. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Maybe she imagined that she had seen in Rex Lyon's eyes, felt in his kiss her own deep longing for love, her hope that such a love was possible.

  She folded the pages of Aunt Susan's letter and put them back in the envelope. She felt depressed. She did not even feel like writing in her journal. She felt as though she were standing on a precipice over a great yawning void of loneliness, of empty days, maybe even of years, stretching ahead.

  Probably she was just tired. The day with Louis and his sister had been a strain. She would have liked a reviving cup of hot tea but didn't feel like going over to the dining hall to get it. She certainly wasn't up to an interrogation by Mrs. Amberly for details about the Chateau Montand. So she would do without.

  Addie washed her face, braided her hair, put on her nightgown, and climbed wearily into bed. She fell asleep quickly, slept heavily, but the impressions of her day colored her dreams. The plush draperies, the flocked wallpaper, the velvet upholstery of the Montands' house seemed to close in upon her, clinging to her smotheringly. Distorted images of Estelle and Louis, and lurking in the background the shadowy figures of the Chinese in the orchard, were all seen as if through the cloudy murkiness of a crystal ball.

  She woke suddenly, heart pounding, and pushed away the blanket and quilt. She struggled into a sitting position. Perspiration beaded her face, her damp nightgown clung to her; she was shaking. Gasping for air, she told herself it was only a nightmare. But it was a long time before she could fall asleep again.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning and the two that followed, Addie woke up with the feeling she was plowing through quicksand. Mrs. Amberly seemed more difficult than ever. The necessity of being polite during the forced companionship of the day was bad enough. But biting her tongue, clenching her teeth through the long evenings while she listened to the shallow, pointless conversation at the card table, the gossip rife with rumors passed on with malicious relish—all this was even worse.

  Addie was honest enough to admit it was her own inner frustration that made it all seem especially irritating. With each day that passed with no word from Rex, Addie grew more puzzled. Why had he stayed away? Why had he not sent her a note? Was there any explanation? When she thought of those kisses exchanged on the shadowy cottage porch, her cheeks burned. Had she taken too much for granted? Rex had not seemed like a man to play with a woman's affection. What could possibly be the reason?

  In contrast, the day after she had been to the Montands', a bouquet and a note had been delivered from Louis. He had written in his flowing script:

  Yesterday was one of the most enjoyable days I have spent since coming to California. Without a doubt it was being with you that made it so. I hope we'll spend many such lovely days together at Chateau Montand. Seeing you there made my vision of my home perfect.

  Devotedly, Louis

  Addie tore the note up. She was glad Mrs. Amberly had been at the bathhouse having her treatment when the note and flowers had come. Addie did not want to satisfy her employer's avaricious curiosity. After her first chagrin at Louis's interest in Addie, Mrs. Amberly began to regard it as a possible path to gain access to Estelle.

  Addie did not want to be interrogated—especially about Louis, concerning whom she had more and more troubling questions. Under his suavity, his pleasant manners, there was something unlikable. He had a rapier wit that edged perilously close to cruelty. He had a need to feel superior to others, and in order to maintain that he must make others look inferior. He was often sarcastic—and there was something else she had seen yesterday. When Mr. Drew was expressing some doubt as to the wisdom of hiring Chinese workers, Louis had ruthlessly cut him short with the same kind of contemptuous disdain Addie had seen in Estelle. Two of a kind, birds of a feather—all the old adages seemed appropriate when applied to the Montands.

  Louis's note made her vaguely apprehensive. Addie decided she must definitely not encourage him.

  Wistfully Addie thought how she would have welcomed Rex Lyon actively courting her. Why could he not have sent flowers and such words after their day together? Try as she might not to mind, it really hurt.

  That afternoon, during Mrs. Amberly's nap time, Addie caught up on some personal chores, some mending, repairing a hem that had come loose, putting a new lace collar on a dress. But her thoughts spun endlessly on the question to which she could not find an answer. Why had Rex Lyon so suddenly dropped out of her life? Was it his work? Or was it his will?

  That evening as she and Mrs. Amberly entered the dining hall, to Addie's dismay the first person she saw was Louis. He was dining with Milton Drew. As soon as she and Mrs. Amberly were shown to their usual table, Louis came over.

  Immediately Mrs. Amberly went into her act assuming the saccharine tone she always used when speaking to him. "Well, well, Mr. Montand, how lovely to see you. Miss Pride has told me so much about your beautiful home, I'm languishing for a glimpse of it myself!"

  At this Addie flushed with embarrassment. What an outlandish fib! Even under her employer's relentless questioning, Addie had hardly said a word about Chateau Montand. Knowing the sly ridicule
with which Louis regarded Mrs. Amberly, Addie refused to meet his mocking eyes and nervously rearranged the silverware at her plate.

  Mrs. Amberly obliviously bumbled on. "So, Mr. Montand, what brings you into town this evening?"

  "Business, not pleasure, I'm afraid. A meeting to settle some legal details with my lawyer," Louis replied smoothly. His gaze, however, rested on Addie even as he addressed Mrs. Amberly. "But when we're finished, perhaps I'll stop by the card room later and see who's winning."

  Mrs. Amberly shook her head coquettishly. "You know what they say, Mr. Montand: lucky at cards unlucky at love!"

  "But I'm sure, Madam, you have had the good fortune to be lucky at both" Louis teased, looking directly at Addie.

  After Louis went back to his table, Mrs. Amberly lapsed into her usual complaints about the food and her fellow guests. When they finished they went into the card room. Addie settled herself with her needlepoint for another endless evening. She positioned herself at some distance from the table where Mrs. Amberly sat with her cronies. She tried to turn a deaf ear to their chatter, concentrating on the design on the pillowcover she was making to send to Aunt Susan. But even as she plied her needle steadily, her thoughts were of Rex Lyon. Why had she not heard from him? Addie considered all possible reasons why, making up excuses for him, imagining how he'd explain it when she saw him. And when would that be?

  She knew it was futile to guess. But she couldn't help herself. Rex Lyon filled her with hope, answered that longing in her heart. There must be some explanation. From that first unforgettable moment on the day she arrived, she had felt something—and now, after getting to know him, she discovered other qualities about him—his integrity, his intelligence, his gentleness—that appealed to her. What could be keeping him away?

  The evening moved with creeping tempo. Addie willed herself not to sneak too many glances at the clock over the reception desk in the lobby nor look at her little gold watch pinned to her bodice. She knew she could not leave until Mrs. Amberly's game was finished, and her employer was insatiable at cards, especially if she was winning.