The Winemakers

by Jan Moran

She sobbed into her hands, the emotions of the last few days reaching a devastating crescendo. “This expansion was for Caterina and her inheritance. But she’s gone—I drove her away.” Caterina’s plight had touched a deep nerve within Ava, and she’d lost her temper one too many times.

  “Let’s worry about this year’s harvest right now. A lot of folks are depending on us, Ava.”

  As usual, Raphael had a calm head. She thought of Nina, the migrant workers, and other field hands. She was alone at the helm of a business that not only fed her family but also employed many people, a business subject to the vagaries of weather, commerce, and capital. And now she had a grandchild to consider. What was her name? Marisa. Such a pretty name. She choked at the thought and dried her eyes. “Maybe we could borrow equipment for harvest.”

  “We can try, though a lot of our neighbors are in trouble, too.”

  When the grapes were ready to harvest, everyone worked at once. “I’m not sure I can borrow more money. If I can, could we replace equipment in time? Otherwise, we’d have to drop the fruit.” This was a last resort, and she knew it.

  “That’s costly, too.”

  Ava thought about all the work and money they’d already put in. Will we lose it all? One good harvest could return Mille Étoiles to profitability. She blinked, focusing her thoughts. She would forgive Caterina and beg for her forgiveness in return. Surely she would return with Marisa. All this would be theirs. Ava looked up. “Raphael, you’re right. We must find a way. The grapes are special this year, like gold. It’s our only chance.”

  Raphael ran his hand along her back, and a corner of his mouth twitched up. “We’ll need more money.”

  Ava’s shoulders sagged. “I’ll try to get it.” There was another problem she hadn’t told anyone about yet, not even Raphael.

  * * *

  The next day, Ava swung into her sedan. She flipped the visor down and checked her lipstick, nervously flicking a smidgen of red from the corner of her mouth.

  She adjusted the collar of her white linen jacket and rearranged her paisley silk scarf, though it didn’t need it. Nervousness churned within her. She was on her way to visit her banker in Napa, a good friend who’d always helped her in the past. Would he again? She needed another larger loan to replace their equipment before harvest. But there was more to it this time.

  She released the emergency brake. When Caterina knew what a good harvest they’d had, she might return to help blend their wine. She squelched the doubt in the pit of her stomach and dragged her thoughts back to business.

  The financial plan she and Raphael had prepared should be sufficient. Insurance would cover some but not all of what they needed. However, the bank had been acquired by a larger bank out of San Francisco, and she feared they would insist on documents she couldn’t produce.

  She turned the key in the ignition. When the car didn’t start, she pumped the gas pedal a few times, her frustration growing.

  Will my falsehoods cost me Mille Étoiles, too?

  Pressing her lips together, Ava tried again. The engine roared to life. She started down the switchbacks of the sloping mountain road that lined Mille Étoiles and considered the challenges ahead.

  This was the year she had to increase sales revenue for the expansion she’d embarked upon three years ago. Depending on the varietal, they aged their wines between twelve and twenty-six months before distributing to the fine restaurants, hotels, and wine shops that made up their client base.

  Collectors also bought by the case to stock their personal cellars. Their Mille Étoiles red blend aged remarkably well. They counted many Hollywood actors, industrialists, and other discriminating collectors among their private clientele.

  Winning awards had brought their wines to the attention of collectors and buyers. Since the earthquake had made international news, it was more important than ever to maintain their presence at events to keep skittish buyers calm. But to do all that, they had to salvage the harvest.

  Ava slowed to steer into a hairpin turn, and as she did, saw a man standing on her land by the road, waving for help. It was probably one of the harvesters, surveying the maturing crop with Raphael. This was her property; strangers seldom trespassed. She slowed to a halt and set the brake.

  She cranked down the window. “What’s wrong?” she called out.

  “Raphael needs help now.” The man had a raspy accented voice and a brimmed hat pulled low on his face. He walked toward the car. “Hurry.”

  Alarmed, she opened her car door. She stepped out, her smart taupe pumps clicking on the worn, cracked pavement. “What happened?”

  In a flash, the man grabbed her arm, twisted it around, and shoved her chest against her car.

  Ava screamed and struggled. “Stop it! What are you doing?” She couldn’t see the assailant behind her, but his viselike grip and voice stirred a memory. She smashed her heel onto his boot and tried to jerk from his grasp.

  The man laughed. “Steel-toe boots sure come in handy, don’t they?”

  At the sound of his normal voice, a shock bolted through Ava. It can’t be. Though she shivered uncontrollably, she fought against the man, but he simply held her tighter and chuckled in her ear.

  “Give up, my darling. I was always stronger than you.”

  “Luca.” Ava spat out the word. The old fear she thought she’d never feel again seized her, and her thoughts spun wildly. What’s he doing here? She hadn’t seen him since Caterina was an infant. “I told you to never return,” she hissed.

  He laughed again and flipped her over, hovering in her face. “Not happy to see me?”

  “You’re dead to me.” His breath smelled of cheap liquor and rotting teeth. He hadn’t aged well. She tamped down her panic.

  “I thought time might have softened your heart against me.”

  Hatred flared within her as vignettes of horror rushed through her mind. “Never. What you did was unforgivable, you sick bastard.” She reared back to slap him across the face, but he caught her hand.

  “Careful, you’re going to have to confess those words to the good padre.”

  “If you don’t let go of me, I’ll have to confess a lot more than that. I’ll kill you, I swear I will.” She spat in his face. Nor will I cower.

  Momentarily surprised, a sinister glint gleamed in his eyes; he dragged a dirty sleeve across his face, wiping off her spittle. “What a shame. I thought you might have missed me,” he said, taunting her. “Or at least declared me officially dead.”

  “Get off my property,” she snapped. “I’m reporting you to the sheriff.”

  Luca let out a hearty guffaw and pressed himself against her. “Funny you should say that. I’ve been to the county records. You know, all this property is still in my name. You’re not on the deed at all. Imagine that.”

  Ava exploded, pounding against his chest and clawing his face. “We bought this with my inheritance from my parents—it was my money, Luca. You can’t touch it. Besides, you were taken care of, though why your mother did is beyond me.”

  “She told you, did she? And did she tell you she refused to pay the money so I could return to Italy? I’ve had to live in Spain all these years. So now, I want what’s rightfully mine.” He laughed again. “Technically, you’re trespassing on my property. And now I find you here all cozy with Raphael, the hired hand.”

  “You can’t do this!” she screamed, struggling against him. “And leave Raphael out of this. He’s nothing to you.”

  “Relax, my tigress. I’m not doing anything. It’s been my property all along. I let you live here.”

  “Let me? How dare you show your face here again after what you did!” She still bore the physical and mental scars of his actions.

  His lips curled into a sinister, tobacco-stained smile. With a sudden swift motion, Luca cracked her across the face with the back of his hand.

  Ava screamed and slumped against the car, dazed by the blow. Her searing pain, her savage struggle, his blood and skin scraped under he
r nails—all this seemed to fuel his malicious pleasure.

  He gripped her hair in his fist and shoved her face against the hot steel fender. “You know what that miserable old woman did?”

  Ava squeezed her eyes shut and prayed someone would drive by. But she knew Raphael was working on the equipment, trying to salvage what he could. She’d left Nina in the kitchen. Luca could snap her neck in an instant and have no remorse. In fact, he’d enjoy it.

  “You know, don’t you?” he snarled in her ear.

  “No, no, I don’t!” she cried as pain pierced her resolve. She fought to keep her wits about her. What can I do?

  “She wrote to me before she died to say she was cutting me out of her will, suspending my monthly allotment. Said it was time I made my own way, said that was her gift to me. And that damned house—where it all happened—she left that to your daughter.” He tightened his hold on her. “So I got nothing. Now I’m here to collect what’s rightfully mine.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You’ll die before you get your hands on Mille Étoiles.” Ava worked a leg loose and kicked him, tearing her hosiery and losing a shoe in the scuffle.

  “Strong words for such a pious bitch.” His filthy hand crept along her neck, and his noxious breath enveloped her.

  Ava glared at him in defiance. “Go ahead. They’ll put you away for life this time.”

  He cuffed her ears. “You have two weeks to get out.”

  She winced against the burning blow and the ringing in her ears. “Or what, Luca? The sheriff will be looking for you.”

  He flicked open a large switchblade and flashed it past her eyes. “I’ll be a wealthy widower.” His once handsome face contorted into a monstrous mask. “If you don’t leave, I’d rather torch the place. You’ll be left with nothing but dead vines and burning embers.” He stepped back, finished with her.

  Ava scrambled into the car. She shoved it into gear and gunned the engine, aiming for Luca. He dove out of her path, and she swerved at the last moment, sobbing not because she was hurt but because she still couldn’t bring herself to kill the bastard.

  Her head throbbing, she peeled away. She was ashamed of the lies she’d told and infuriated over what her husband had done. As she whipped around the curves, her words from long ago still rang in her ears. You’re dead to me, Luca, and dead to Caterina. Get out, and never come back. Dead, do you hear? Dead!

  A part of her wished she had killed him that day. It would have been justice rightly served.

  Even now, she could still taste the putrid dust of that searing Napa Valley afternoon in her mouth. Luca had taken the car and roared from the property, kicking up clouds of silt in his wake. After a few weeks, when she was certain he wouldn’t return, she told everyone Luca had died in an automobile accident during a business trip.

  Who would have believed her if she had told them the truth? Everyone liked Luca, thought he was a cheerful fellow, if a bit lazy. She’d had no one to protect her and her baby against her fiend of a husband. She’d had to protect Caterina; she would have died for her. A child shouldn’t suffer the mistakes of the mother.

  Tires squealing on the scorching pavement, Ava raced back to where Raphael was working. She jerked to a stop and stumbled from the car.

  When Raphael saw her, he dropped what he was doing and ran to her in alarm. “Ava, you’re hurt! What happened?”

  She collapsed into his arms, and he held her gently, examining her bruised face as she cried. Only Raphael knew her secrets. She’d lied to everyone else, including her priest. There must be a special category of hell for that. She pressed her hand to her mouth and crumpled against him. Her tower of deceits was tumbling down, and her soul was shattering into a million pieces.

  Now Raphael was in danger, too. If anything happened to him, she’d never forgive herself. She drew a ragged breath and between sobs choked out, “Luca’s back.”

  “He did this?” Raphael kissed her bruised face.

  She nodded, ashamed of her lies, though she had confided in him about Luca. She winced in pain. Luca had been right about one thing. Raphael meant a lot to her; he inhabited her dreams with increasing frequency. Her sins had mounted and multiplied, but she had not succumbed to adultery. According to her faith—and the law—she was still a married woman. Raphael understood and respected her boundaries, but it was growing harder for both of them.

  Anger flared in his dark eyes. “Where the hell is he?”

  “He was waiting for me at the bend in the road. He’s probably gone by now.”

  Raphael drew his dark eyebrows together. “What does he want?”

  “Everything. Mille Étoiles in still in his name. Since Luca hadn’t really died, I couldn’t produce a death certificate. I pled ignorance, and finally, the bank stopped asking for it. Douglas Lattimer knows me, and I’ve always paid the bank mortgage and property taxes. It got easier as time went on, but now the bank has a new owner.” She bit her lip. “They want documentation now.”

  “You never told me that part of it, Ava. This is serious.”

  She raised her gaze to him. “Luca gave us two weeks to vacate and threatened to burn Mille Étoiles to the ground if we don’t comply.”

  15

  MONTALCINO, ITALY

  Caterina woke to the aroma of fresh-baked bread and the sound of boys’ laughter and wondered for a moment where she was. Italy. Montalcino. With Marisa.

  She rolled out of bed and checked on Marisa, who was still sleeping soundly. Satisfied with her little girl’s steady breathing, Caterina filled the deep claw-foot tub with water and eased into a sweet violet-scented bath in the en suite bathroom.

  As she lay in the warm water, she thought about what Giovanna had said. The reading of the will was scheduled for the afternoon, and Giovanna was clearly anxious about it. Caterina was nearly impervious to volatile, screaming family members—few were in her mother’s league, after all. However, it wasn’t the loving family welcome she’d hoped for.

  What really concerned her was what Giovanna had said about her father. If I try to find him, will I be putting myself in danger? She found it hard to believe. After all, Luca was her father.

  But who is he? What had he done that was so terrible that Ava had been compelled to revise her daughter’s childhood history?

  After Caterina toweled off, she put on a soft cotton robe.

  Questions gnawed at her while she woke Marisa and bathed her. She dressed her in a white eyelet cotton dress with white sandals and a blush-pink bow in her hair. “There you are, my pretty girl—a new summery outfit.” Marisa flung her arms around her, and Caterina hugged her back.

  Despite the news of her father, Caterina was still glad that she’d made the decision to move to Italy. She was tired of fighting with Ava and was looking forward to a fresh start.

  “Oh, oh, oh!” Marisa exclaimed in a sweet singsong voice. With a wide-eyed expression of delight, she pointed to the fresh flowers, which Caterina had moved to the top of a high dresser.

  Caterina smiled, relieved that Marisa was in good spirits this morning. The last few days had been trying. She had new respect for Faith and her skills with children.

  While she kept an eye on Marisa, Caterina hurried to dress in a slim sleeveless dress of peach shantung silk. She draped the matching jacket over her shoulders and slipped her feet into a pair of beige patent leather pumps that elongated her legs even more. She fastened a pink coral beaded necklace around her neck and then brushed her dark brown hair until it shimmered in the sunlight filtering through the window. Marisa watched as Caterina pinned a matching pillbox to the crown of her head and waved her hair around it.

  She added a splash of Violetta di Parma on her neck and décolletage. Marisa smiled with glee at the sweet aroma, so Caterina put a tiny dab on her wrist, too.

  When she saw Giovanna downstairs, the woman kissed her on both cheeks. “Bella, bella.” Her face lit with happiness. “What a beautiful pair, mother and daughter. There’s coffee on the terrace, al
ong with fresh breads.”

  “Smells delicious.” Caterina walked slowly with Marisa, holding her hand. She lifted her into the high chair and then sat at the table. The morning air was cool, and the fresh scent of dew-laden herbs perfumed the terrace. Caterina sipped her cappuccino and eyed the basket of assorted breads. “I’m in heaven.”

  “And I love to have people to bake for.” Giovanna sat across from her. She turned to look out over the hillside and valley. “Our view is even more incredible during the day. See over there?” She pointed to a charming cottage hugging the hillside. “My friend Raphael lived there. He went to America and worked for your family in Napa.”

  Caterina held a slice of bread in midair. “And he still does.”

  “Really? He had a much younger cousin, Santo, who would be a little older than you. You must know him.”

  She glanced down and took care to sound nonchalant. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.” She didn’t count their last disastrous meeting. “How well did you know Raphael?”

  “We grew up together.” A wistful expression crossed Giovanna’s face. “Little Santo. Poor boy. La signora Violetta thought he would have better opportunities in America, so before the second war, she paid for his passage to New York to live with family. I’d heard that Raphael sent for him. So I guess you know the rest of the story.”

  Caterina nodded, taking in these details. She hadn’t known the part about Violetta.

  Giovanna went on. “Santo was a good boy. How did he turn out?”

  It would seem strange if she didn’t respond. “Fairly well, I guess. He went to the university and earned a doctorate degree. He has his own business, too. He’s a viticulturist.”

  Giovanna’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “And is he as handsome as Raphael was?”

  Caterina was just sipping her cappuccino and sputtered over Giovanna’s question. “Well, I suppose he’s okay.”

  Giovanna looked amused. Caterina lifted her napkin. As she dabbed her mouth, she glanced around with fresh observance, appreciating where Santo had grown up. And now his daughter would have a similar childhood in this pastoral setting.