The Winemakers

by Jan Moran

  A phrase formed in her mind. Out of mistakes grows wisdom. She shook her head. Was that a whisper from Violetta?

  Giovanna placed her hand on Caterina’s arm. “I will keep your secret. Most people here—even your family—will not understand.”

  Would her honesty harm their acceptance in the small community? Would they be ostracized, along with Giovanna? “Judging from today’s explosive reaction, maybe it’s better for now.” Caterina blinked back regret. She could shoulder rejection, but she should not force it onto Giovanna and Marisa.

  Giovanna patted her hand and then inclined her head toward the terrace. “Let’s have a glass of wine. We’ll sit in the sun.”

  Giovanna left Caterina sitting at a small round table, which was covered with brilliant hand-painted tiles. A few minutes later, Giovanna reappeared carrying a bottle of white wine and a tray of almonds, cheese, olives, and bread.

  “This wine is Vernaccia di San Gimignano.” Giovanna poured wine into two glasses. “It’s made from the Vernaccia grape in the region around San Gimignano. And pane con le olive and focaccia al pomodoro,” she added, motioning to the savory breads studded with olives and crowned with tomatoes.

  The aroma reminded Caterina of how hungry she was. She tore a hunk of bread and moistened it with green olive oil. Delicious. She nibbled on a few nuts and sampled the wine.

  “This is quite good.” Caterina tilted her glass against the sunlight to admire the golden color. She drank, and as the wine flowed over her tongue, she noted an impression of dry earthiness tinged with sweet honey.

  Caterina shrugged out of her peach shantung silk jacket and then reached up to remove the bobby pins from her matching pillbox, shaking her hair after she freed it. The afternoon sun was warm on her shoulders, and she slipped off her pumps under the table. Her nerves were dissipating. “There’s so much I don’t know about my family, Giovanna. Can you tell me more?”

  “I hardly know where to start.”

  “Tell me about my father. Why is he so hated?”

  Giovanna sipped her wine. “You should hear the story from your mother. Ava can explain it best.”

  “But she’s not talking to me anymore.” Caterina gazed out over the valley that unfurled beneath them. Sections of vines and cultivated crops formed a variegated green patchwork quilt of nature’s bounty. Here and there stood mounds of old rubble, destruction left in the path of war. Her mother’s admonitions still roared in her ears. “When I told her about Marisa, she insisted I give her up for adoption.”

  Giovanna sat up and looked horrified. “No, no, not that sweet child! How could Ava say such a thing? Didn’t she support you?”

  Caterina glanced away, acutely embarrassed over the secretive way she had handled her pregnancy. “It was my fault; I was away at college, and I hid my pregnancy. And then I hid Marisa. I was living in San Francisco away from Mille Étoiles.”

  Memories flooded her mind. I was a coward. I was angry and ashamed, feeling jilted and wronged. Now that she was here—away from home—she was beginning to see her life and her choices with greater clarity. Was it the brilliant sunlight that seemed to envelop the mountaintop of Montalcino in a halo of enlightenment? Or was it the distance across the Atlantic Ocean that helped separate fact from fallacy?

  Giovanna listened and nodded thoughtfully. “You have come to Italy. And now you are like Violetta. You have endured great pain, and you have taken courageous steps.”

  Caterina sipped her wine and made a vow. Someday she would live up to her grandmother’s legacy. “About my father. Please tell me about him.”

  Giovanna stifled a yawn. “It’s been such a long day. Let’s talk about him another time.”

  Caterina could wait, but she couldn’t help but wonder. What was Giovanna keeping from her?

  17

  MARCH 1929 — MONTALCINO, ITALY

  Had Ava heard the police officer correctly? Every nerve in her body sprang to alert. Luca, what have you done? Ava clutched Violetta’s arm as if she could absorb some of her mother-in-law’s indomitable strength.

  In the presence of the stately Violetta, the officer at their front door averted his eyes. “Signora, we have arrested your son for the murder of Franco Casini.”

  Ava struggled to maintain her composure. What had possessed her husband? How could he have murdered a man, especially one as kind as Franco? A cry erupted from her throat, and Violetta crushed her to her side.

  “Grazie. We will follow you to police headquarters.” Violetta closed the door behind him and sent a housemaid for Giovanna’s husband, who was at the dining table with their guests from France. After she explained the situation to him, Violetta and Ava climbed into the car with the driver.

  When they arrived at the small police station, the presiding officer told them what they had found. Deranged with grief and blaming Franco for Natalie’s death, Luca had taken a pistol from his father’s study, confronted Franco, and shot him through the heart. Franco had died instantly.

  Ava pressed a handkerchief to her face, but nothing could stem the tide of tears that streaked her face. Franco and Natalie, both dead. Only their newborn child had survived.

  Luca was being held in a cell. Ava was so ashamed of his actions that she declined to see him. Violetta went in to see him but returned after only a few minutes. In the presence of the polizia, her face was inscrutable, devoid of emotion.

  Violetta remained stoic at the police headquarters, but on the way home in the backseat of the car, Ava saw her mother-in-law’s eyes welling. Violetta’s iron will was crumbling. And later that night, Ava heard soft, heartbreaking sobs coming from Violetta’s suite.

  A man was dead by her husband’s hand. As long as Ava lived, she would never forget that dreadful night.

  * * *

  The ensuing trial was a nightmare, and Ava found herself completely ostracized from the community. Through seemingly endless days, Violetta remained devoted to Luca, who had been released on bail. Every day she rose and dressed in somber shades and appeared in court to support her son. Ava tried to emulate her, but inside she was devastated. She merely went through the motions, numb to the ordeal.

  As a consequence of that terrible evening, Luca was found guilty and imprisoned. Utterly distraught, Ava cloistered herself in the villa, refusing to go out, growing weaker every day. Only Giovanna and Alma continued to visit her. Finally, Violetta sent a doctor to examine her. It was confirmed; Ava was pregnant.

  Through it all, Violetta seemed to have an infinite reservoir of strength. She appealed to a government official on Luca’s behalf. After a month of anguished conversations behind closed doors, a judge reexamined the case and made a surprise determination. It was decided that Luca had acted out of extreme grief, and his sentence was reduced to time served.

  The day before Luca was to be released from prison, Violetta called Ava into the salon. “Sit down, ma chérie,” she said.

  Ava sat across from her on a ruby velvet settee, surrounded by statues and paintings that Violetta had collected from her travels across Europe. She was so nervous she could hardly speak. The man who would be returning to her tomorrow was not the man she had married. “What is it?”

  “I must tell you of an important condition of Luca’s release.” Violetta’s voice was firm, but her deep amethyst eyes held a mother’s sorrow. “He has been allowed two days to gather his belongings and leave the country.”

  Ava sucked in a breath. “Leave Italy? But why?”

  “It was a compromise.” Violetta looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. “It was the best we could do.”

  “Where will we go?” Ava’s heart was pounding against her rib cage.

  “I have booked passage for you both to America. My son can start over there. It’s far enough away that he will not be tempted to return.”

  Ava panicked. She was half-frightened of her husband now. “But it’s so far from my home. I’ll never see France again.”

  “Perhaps not,” Violetta sai
d, her voice breaking with compassion. “I am sorry.”

  Ava drew her brows together. “No, I won’t go. No one can make me go, can they?”

  “While that is your prerogative, you should accept that your place is beside your husband now. You were married in the church, and your child will need a father.” Violetta touched her heart as she spoke. “Bear in mind that I will probably never see my son again. Or meet my grandchildren.”

  “This can’t be,” Ava said, pressing a hand against her abdomen. How could she leave? She loved Violetta; what would she do without her guidance? She sat back, stunned at the development and overwhelmed by thoughts of their future.

  “I assure you. There is no other choice. My son is on his own now; he must become a man.” Violetta rose abruptly, but not before Ava saw a single tear spill from Violetta’s eye. “My maid will help you pack, and I will arrange the transfer of your funds to a bank in America.” She embraced Ava and then left the salon.

  For the first time ever, Violetta felt frail in Ava’s arms, and Ava realized how much weight her mother-in-law had lost. Ava watched her climb the stairs. And then she understood. She and Luca could begin life anew in America, far from gossip and hatred. No one there need ever know of their past. But Luca’s sins would haunt Violetta for the rest of her life in Tuscany.

  That evening, Ava cried long into the night, not for herself or Luca, but for Violetta.

  * * *

  Two days after Luca’s release from prison, Ava clutched the railing on a ship bound for America. The ocean breeze whisked stinging tears from her eyes. She gathered her collar around her neck, shivering alone in the salted mist of the sea. Luca was sleeping off a hangover in their stateroom.

  At nineteen years of age, she was facing a new world essentially by herself.

  Ava thought her heart would shatter into a thousand pieces. She was deeply ashamed of her husband. Never again would she visit France or her friends in Bordeaux.

  Before she left, Ava learned from Giovanna that speculation was running rampant about how much Luca’s freedom might have cost Violetta or what favors she might have called in, but Violetta never spoke of it.

  Ava brushed a tear from her eye. She resolved to conduct herself as Violetta would, with strength and integrity.

  She carried just two trunks on this journey, one packed with clothes and mementos, and the other filled with the cherished grapevines she’d once dug from her parents’ fertile soil in Bordeaux, now nestled in folds of burlap.

  Clutching her cloche hat to her head, Ava blinked against the wind. She hoped the precious vines would survive the voyage. Along with the beloved child developing in her womb, it was all she cared about anymore.

  18

  AUGUST 1956 — MONTALCINO, ITALY

  Caterina had put Marisa to bed early for the night—her little girl was feeling the effects of the time difference—and now she sat next to the telephone in Giovanna’s office, waiting for the international operator to put her call through to California and ring her back.

  She’d promised to check in with Juliana. She had called right after landing in Italy, but they hadn’t spoken very long. It was early in California, and she hoped she could catch Juliana before she started her workday.

  The telephone trilled, and Caterina leaped to her feet and answered it. “Pronto? Pronto?” It was the operator, who promptly put her through to the American operator. After a few moments, she could hear the line ringing.

  Juliana answered, sounding sleepy.

  “Juliana, it’s me, Caterina.” She clutched the phone, pleased to hear her friend. “I needed to hear your voice. What’s going on back there?”

  There was an awkward moment of silence on the phone before Juliana spoke, as if she were weighing her words, which wasn’t like Juliana at all. Must be the connection delay.

  “Earthquake,” crackled down the line, and the fine hairs on Caterina’s neck bristled.

  “What?” she shouted.

  “There’s been another earthquake, Caterina. Mille Étoiles was hit pretty hard.”

  Caterina drew her teeth across her lower lip. “Is everyone okay?”

  “We’re all fine, but the equipment has been damaged. It’s bad. Ava’s trying to borrow money to replace it.”

  “I’m sure the bank will help her.”

  Another long pause ensued. “There’s a complication. It’s about your father.”

  Caterina twisted the phone cord. “I know. I discovered he’s still alive. I met a distant cousin of my mother.”

  “Cat, he’s here. Luca attacked your mother, threatened her, and roughed her up. The sheriff is looking for him.”

  She clutched the phone. “Is she hurt?”

  “A few bruises, that’s all. But she’s defiant. Refuses to back down.”

  “Is Raphael with her?”

  “He never leaves her side. He’s been sleeping in the main house. Raphael and Nina insisted.”

  “Good.” She was glad Raphael was there. Her mother wasn’t the type to ask for help.

  Caterina squeezed her eyes shut. A week ago she’d had a deceased father who had been a wonderful husband and father. Now he was alive and wreaking havoc.

  An avalanche of emotions crashed through her. For years she had wished her father were alive. She’d dreamed of the things they might have done together; how comforting it would have been to have had a father to confide in. She’d deeply missed his presence in her life. She pressed a hand against her mouth, stifling a sob against the receiver.

  “Are you still there, Cat?” Juliana’s concerned voice crackled across the telephone wire.

  “I am,” Caterina said, sniffing. “It’s a lot to take in.”

  “He’s not quite the dad you had imagined, is he?”

  Though tears wet her lashes, she managed a strangled laugh. “No, we thought he was Prince Charming.” Quivering with a mixture of shock and anger and disappointment, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She was through mourning the father she’d thought she’d had. It was time to face reality.

  “I’m really sorry, Cat. At least we knew my dad was a real jerk.” Juliana paused. “There’s more. Your mother called a meeting with all of us. Luca wants Mille Étoiles. His name is still on the deed for the house and vineyards.”

  “He can’t do that. We’ve lived there for years.”

  “The attorney said it doesn’t matter. Luca can take the house and the land.”

  Caterina was stunned. As much as she despised her mother for rejecting Marisa, she was devastated to think Ava might lose their home and the business they’d built up over more than two decades. Her anger toward her mother dissipated. How could she help?

  She thought quickly. Caterina had worked alongside her mother while she was in high school and during her summer holidays from college. She couldn’t remember seeing any paperwork about the ownership of the real estate. Her mother had always told her that her family inheritance had paid for the land that became Mille Étoiles, and she had no reason to disbelieve that. But she had seen the incorporation documents for the business. She thought back to the business law courses she’d taken in college. What if …

  “Juliana, my father’s name might be on the property deed, but I’m fairly certain it’s not on the business. The vineyard is actually a separate entity from the winemaking and sales business that is Mille Étoiles Wines. I know they have separate bank accounts, and I’m pretty sure the dates were well after my father left.”

  “You might have something there.”

  “Tell my mother to have her attorney look at it.” Caterina fell silent. This was a disaster. What if they lost the vineyards?

  How would they carry on with their winemaking business?

  She wrapped the phone cord tighter around her finger, thinking. They had achieved a coveted reputation for excellence among those in the wine industry in America—including those who knew wines on an international level. How could they use that? What advantage do we have? A th
ought occurred to her. If they could acquire equivalent—or better—quality grapes, the Mille Étoiles Wine label might survive even if they lost the vineyards. A plan began to take shape in her mind.

  “Cat, are you still there?”

  “Listen, Juliana, I have an idea. Find something to write with.”

  She quickly outlined a plan to Juliana and then hung up the telephone receiver.

  Caterina went outside onto the terrace. The starlit sky reminded her of the view from Mille Étoiles. She and her mother might have their differences, but Ava was still her mother, and they shared a passion for winemaking.

  Though she thought she had left that part of her life far behind, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to save Mille Étoiles and the business they’d worked so hard to build. Everyone depended on it—her mother, Raphael, Nina, the fieldworkers. If there was something within her power she could do to help, she would.

  And there was.

  As she stood staring into the vast star-studded night, a plan percolated in her mind.

  * * *

  The next day, Giovanna drove Caterina and Marisa to see the home Violetta had left to them.

  Caterina positioned Marisa on one hip and gazed at the stone cottage that stood before them, excited to explore inside. She had an important favor to ask of Giovanna today, but it could wait until later.

  The tile-roofed house was perched on a plateau that clung to the sloping hillside. Tall, bedraggled cypress trees delineated the property lines. Years of dirt caked the windows, and the wooden sills were cracked and dried from the sun. Climbing vines had grown wild, ensnaring the brick wall that lined the front of the house.

  Marisa pointed to the cottage and babbled happily.

  Caterina smiled at Giovanna. “I think she likes it. We’re home, little girl. What do you think?”

  Giovanna stood with her hands on her hips and surveyed the property. “It needs a lot of work. It’s been closed for years.”

  “We can manage, can’t we, Marisa?” Caterina had fallen in love with the house from the old photo the investigator had given her in San Francisco. Although the house was more aged than she’d realized it would be, she was certain she could restore it.