The Winemakers

by Jan Moran

  “Caterina, I wish you’d never had to meet your father.”

  “What a horrible, malicious man. How can he be my father?”

  Raphael scowled. “He was better off dead.”

  Ava pressed her hand against Caterina’s smooth cheek. “My darling, he is no reflection on you. You carry my blood in you, not his.”

  Ava hugged each of them in turn. Only Santo was missing from their little family. Raphael had told her that he was still with his clients in Southern California.

  She’d never told Raphael of their exchange of words when Santo asked for Caterina’s hand in marriage. That seemed so long ago now, yet after revealing most of her deepest secrets on the witness stand today, she decided she should finally purge her conscience and tell Raphael about it after the trial. He would be disappointed in her, but she prayed he’d understand. At the time, she’d used the only leverage she had to contain the awful truth.

  Ava turned to Walter. “How do you think it went? Will we lose our home?”

  Her attorney pressed his lips together and nodded toward the door where the jury was ensconced in discussion. “I couldn’t tell which side their sentiments are on. Couple of them took notes, but as I warned you, Ava, you are at a disadvantage.”

  “How long will it take for them to decide?” Nina asked. Ava noticed she’d worn her best Sunday summer dress today, a floral cotton shirtdress that looked more comfortable than her own stuffy suit. The windows were open, and the overhead fans were spinning, but she was sweltering in the indoor heat.

  “Hard to say,” Walter replied. “Could be a couple of hours or more.”

  They waited in the courtroom, but as it neared the end of the day, the judge sent them home without a verdict.

  That evening as the night air grew cool, Ava listened to the crickets outside, and when the birds chirped with the sunrise, she was still awake.

  The jurors continued their deliberations the next day while Ava waited with Caterina, Nina, and Raphael. Late in the afternoon, Judge Thurston summoned them into the courtroom.

  The jury had reached a verdict.

  Russell Glenhall called Luca, who was staying at a nearby boardinghouse. Walter Bren took his place beside Ava.

  Luca entered the courtroom, a self-satisfied sneer chiseled on his face. When he nodded to Caterina, Ava nearly lost control again.

  “All rise.”

  The judge entered and took his place, and then the jurors returned to the courtroom. Ava grappled with her emotions. In a few minutes, she would know whether she had won the battle, or lost her home and livelihood. She looked at the jury, but no one met her gaze. The men wore tired expressions, but they seemed resolute.

  Ava watched as the judge and attorneys went through their actions. At Walter’s motion, she rose and pressed her fingertips against the table for support. In the heat, she felt faint, but she steeled herself. She would not succumb to her body’s natural defenses.

  The jury foreman stepped forward, and the judge reviewed the jury’s decision.

  Judge Thurston nodded at the attorneys, Luca, and finally, Ava. He folded his hands, surveyed the courtroom, and asked the foreman to state the jury’s decision.

  When the decision was read, Ava’s knees nearly buckled with relief. The jury had deliberated and found in favor of Ava.

  Mille Étoiles belonged to her.

  She turned to the twelve men who comprised the jury, pressed her hands to her heart, and mouthed the words thank you. Her attorney nodded his appreciation as well. She angled her head from Luca, who was glowering at her across the room. Russell was whispering to his client, but Luca’s face only grew darker with anger.

  Caterina, Raphael, and Nina let out exclamations of joy and relief and rushed toward her, crushing her in their enthusiastic embraces.

  “This is remarkable!” Walter exclaimed with pride. “No matter how much evidence we had on our side, for the jury to go against your husband and recognize your claim as a woman is a sign that the times are changing indeed. Well done, Ava.” He shook her hand and slapped Raphael on the back.

  Despite the celebratory mood, Caterina frowned. “Why shouldn’t we have the same rights as men?”

  “My three daughters put forth the same question, young lady.” Walter beamed at her. “Someday women will change the world.”

  Juliana came into the courtroom holding Marisa, who had been fussy earlier. She’d been waiting outside with her and was overjoyed when Nina told her the verdict. Caterina took Marisa in her arms, and Ava embraced them both. “This is for your future, and Marisa’s, too,” Ava said.

  Luca brushed his attorney’s hand from his shoulder and stood. As the men on the jury filed from the courtroom, he glared with menace at each one of them, as if to burn their faces into his brain.

  As Ava watched him, a wave of apprehension surged through her. She’d seen that expression before, on the night Natalie had died and he’d gone to confront her husband.

  Ignoring his counsel’s protests, Luca whirled around and stormed toward Ava. She might have won the court case, but Luca wasn’t ready to concede defeat. Her heart thudded against her chest with each step he took. A vision of the night he’d nearly killed her clouded her vision.

  Raphael and Walter saw Luca approaching and stepped in front of Ava.

  “Out of my way!” Luca bellowed, gesturing. “This is between me and my wife now.”

  “The court’s decision has been made,” Walter said, motioning to Russell and the bailiff for assistance. The other two men hurried across the room and surrounded Luca.

  From a nearby window, a shadow from the slanting afternoon sun fell over Luca. Though the room was stifling in the summer heat, a chill coursed through Ava.

  Stymied, Luca trained an intense scowl on Ava. “This is your fault, Ava.”

  Walter cut in. “You brought the lawsuit, Luca. And now a decision has been made. Respect that, please.”

  Luca would not be deterred. “You will pay for this, Ava. You lied to me about being pregnant. I should have been with Natalie. I deserve to have Mille Étoiles.” His raspy voice emanated from the black depths of his troubled soul. “Everyone at Mille Étoiles will pay for this.” His upper lip curled back from his teeth, and his scarred hands drew into hardened fists by his side.

  Ava drew herself up against Luca’s fierce conviction. This was the expression she’d feared on his face so many years ago, but she was no longer under his dominance. “Leave us, Luca,” she said, summoning her reserves. “It’s over.” Raphael puffed out his chest, ready to protect her.

  “You won’t get away with this.” Luca spun on his heel and marched from the courtroom.

  Later, Ava would barely recall the words Judge Thurston uttered, but she would never forget the reek of evil that permeated the room in Luca’s wake, or that Raphael caught her in his arms before she fainted from the combination of heat and anxiety.

  Ava’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself in the first pew, the worn wood smooth beneath her. Raphael cradled her head. All that mattered to her was that Luca had no claim to Mille Étoiles. She had saved it for Caterina and Marisa.

  “Maman, drink this.” Caterina pressed a cool glass of water to Ava’s lips.

  Ava rose up, gathering her strength. Nina was fanning her with a newspaper.

  After she drank, she fell back against Raphael. Luca’s malicious words had lodged in her mind. She knew her husband all too well.

  And she knew it wasn’t over between them. He would try to exact his revenge.

  33

  “Caterina, how I’ve missed you,” Santo murmured, his deep voice reverberating in his chest and echoing off the cool walls of the wine cave. He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her close.

  She had asked Santo to meet her in the cave where she knew they could have a few moments alone, far from curious glances or prying eyes. She had ached for him—longed to feel his muscular arms around her, loving her, desiring her, just once more. San
to was the light in her soul. Without him, her world would soon dim.

  She succumbed to the warmth of his skin on hers and the ardor in his vibrant eyes, which blazed with love for her. He teased her lips with his tongue, and she responded, her heart breaking as she recalled their interlude in Paris.

  Once she revealed their blood relationship—and she must—he would never touch her this way again. How could he? It might be wrong of her, but she needed his touch just once more, a small, covetous sin to savor and recall through the lonely years that surely lay ahead.

  “Two crystal glasses, a bottle of our wine, and a beautiful woman by my side. What more could a man want?” Santo tucked a blanket and bottle under one arm and encircled Caterina’s waist with the other.

  They left the cave and cut through the vineyard toward the sloping mountainside path. A ripe, earthy, green scent hung in the air; sunshine diffused the aroma of leaves and fruit.

  The sun hovered above the ocean’s rim, etching elongated shadows in its wake and illuminating the land that stretched before them.

  Caterina folded her hand above her eyes. “We can just make it to the top of the ridge by sunset.”

  They climbed from the vineyard toward a high promontory that jutted out over the agricultural valley below. Pine, eucalyptus, and redwood trees flanked the trail, and the sun cast a golden glow as it dipped toward the azure waters of the Pacific Ocean.

  “How is Marisa doing?” Santo’s eyes sparkled as his daughter’s name rolled off his tongue with the sweetness of song. “And how soon can I see her?”

  Caterina thrilled to his utterance of their daughter’s name; the love and pride in his voice elevated three short syllables to poetry.

  Taking her time, she told him about their return trip and the new words Marisa was learning. “Would you like to see her tomorrow? Nina and my mother are giving Marisa her supper and putting her to bed soon.” She lowered her lashes and slid her gaze toward him. “Can you blame me for wanting you to myself first?”

  “I admit, I felt the same.” Santo ran his hand along her arm, his thumb circling her skin, the pressure mounting slightly with each rotation. “But I can’t wait to see Marisa again. And I don’t care what people in the valley might say.”

  As they climbed higher, Santo told her about his trip to Southern California vineyards in San Diego and Temecula. “The climate is warmer, but they’re making good wine. We can visit the sandy beaches there. Has Marisa ever seen the ocean?”

  “Only from a bridge in a car.” Santo’s enthusiasm for their daughter was what Caterina had yearned for. Her prayers had been answered, but not exactly as she’d hoped.

  At the edge of the mountain, redwood trees spiked high above a secluded cradle, their lower branches forming a thatched roof and framing a stunning ocean view in the distance. They spread the blanket, uncorked the bottle, and raised their glasses against the shimmering sunset.

  “To us,” Santo said. Slanting rays burnished his dark, gleaming hair and bronzed his skin, while his eyes shimmered with love. “And to our future together.”

  “To our Marisa,” Caterina replied, fervently wishing a future together could be theirs. Delaying the inevitable moment, she leaned against him, raising the wine they’d blended against the sun’s vivid rays, illuminating the dark, fleshy red with fiery brilliance.

  Santo swirled, sniffed, and lifted the glass to his lips. “We didn’t need an award to know this is one damned fine wine.”

  “Wine, like perfume, is an extravagant gift of nature.” Caterina sipped the wine, counting their precious moments like the rarest of pearls. Time was suspended as she watched him drink, the liquid flowing over his lips, longing flaring within her.

  “Imagine what we can do next, cara.” He nuzzled her neck. “Together we’re magic. Just look at our little girl. I’m bursting to tell Raphael, but we should announce our plans together.”

  “Our plans?”

  “Our wedding.” A slow smile lit his face, and his eyes crinkled with joy. “Luce dei miei occhi. You’re the light of my eyes.”

  A wedding that can never be, she thought, based on their grave sin of incest. A lump formed in her throat, and she drank again, fortifying herself for the abhorrent blow she had to deliver to her beloved.

  Santo drew his hand along her cheek. “I have so many ideas for us and our future, Caterina. The circumstances were a shock at first, but I’ve never been happier. This is what I’ve always wanted, even though the sequence of events was somewhat out of order.”

  Caterina’s eyes fluttered with pain; each of his words was a skewer to her heart. She clenched the stem to still her trembling hand. “Santo, we’re from such a small region of Italy, aren’t we?”

  “Where many marriages are still arranged. And yet, here we are, in America, free to do as we please.”

  She swallowed against the panic that threatened to silence her voice. “There’s something I must tell you, but know it’s the last thing I should ever want to say.”

  “Why the serious look on your face, cara? What’s wrong?”

  Caterina took in the fullness of his lower lip, the cheekbones that framed his face, the dark curls that sprang loose from their dressing. He was a gorgeous specimen of a man, but her love for him was so much more than physical attraction. She loved him to the very depths of his soul as she had never loved another. And never would.

  She bit the tip of her tongue, reluctant to send the first arrow into his soul. “About your parents…”

  “They would have loved you.”

  “No, that’s not it.” She choked on her words.

  “Then what is it?” Drawing his dark eyebrows in concern, Santo bolted upright when he saw her face. “Caterina, you’ve gone pale. Do you feel all right?” He pressed his hand against her forehead.

  She lowered her eyelids. “I’m not sure you know your correct origin.”

  “Origin?” he echoed, perplexed, the corners of his mouth flattening. “What do you mean?”

  She raised her gaze to his, regretting what she had to say. “When I was in Italy, I made an appalling, horrendous discovery.” She hesitated. She could stop now before she crossed the ugly line of truth, live in blissful sin with him, and take this secret to her grave.

  “What could be so awful, cara? Nothing can change the love we have for each other.”

  Caterina blinked several times, willing herself to do what was morally right. What if their next child was physically or mentally defective because of their close blood relation? How could she inflict such a life sentence upon an innocent child? Santo’s child. As far as she knew, Marisa was healthy. But who were they to tempt God’s ire?

  Anxiety tightened like a vise around her midsection, inhibiting her breath, squeezing her diaphragm until she forced out the words. She gasped against the burdened contraction. “Franco was not your real father. It was … Luca.”

  Santo’s frozen expression was a snapshot in her mind. Before. After.

  “It’s the awful truth,” she whispered. “Luca was in love with your mother.”

  “That’s crazy, and absolutely impossible. Raphael would have told me.” Disbelief shone on his face, but it would not alter the truth.

  “That’s what I thought, too. But the entire village knew about them. Giovanna, Alma. My mother confirmed it.” And Luca, in his way. She’d almost asked him in the courtroom, before Raphael cut in, but she really didn’t have to. She knew the answer. What a contemptible man.

  “Then we’re…” Santo’s voice trailed off, and his face paled in shock. His eyes blurred with the heartbreak of realization. “No! This can’t be true!” Santo thrust their glasses aside and gripped Caterina’s face between his hands. “Caterina, I love you.”

  His brilliant eyes burned with the intensity of impending loss, and Caterina trembled in his arms. “And I love you, but we can’t do this anymore, not now!” she cried as he raked his lips in anguish across her forehead. She collapsed on the blanket, the swaying boughs
of the trees overhead compounding her unsteadiness.

  “To hell with Luca—this is our life. We have a daughter.”

  “Nothing will stop us from being her parents, amore mio.” Caterina ran a hand over his chest as if her touch could lessen the agony of his cracking heart. “But we’re committing … incest.”

  “No! I would know it; I would feel it.” Santo gritted his teeth, but when she didn’t respond, he crumpled against her, his body heaving with grief.

  “We can’t risk the consequences,” she said, sobbing through her words. She drew her lips across his hair and face, felt his cheeks dampened with their tears. “What if our next child is born deformed or deranged because of us and our wanton disregard for the laws of nature? How could we live with that? And the church will never recognize our union.”

  “No, I will not accept this.” Santo smashed the ground with his fist, uttering a string of Italian expletives. “How can our love be wrong? Every child, every soul, is brought into this world for a reason. We would love and care for our children, no matter what.” He clenched her in an embrace, his mouth searching and finding hers, his urgent aching need for comfort demanding, overwhelming.

  Though she agreed in principle, Caterina couldn’t find the breath to tell him his words were futile. They had as much chance of harnessing the setting sun as achieving the life they’d dreamed of in this world.

  Santo’s torment was palpable; Caterina could feel waves of sorrow emanating from him, crashing into her. She absorbed his grief as penance, her own heart shattering along with his.

  After a while, Santo rolled onto his back and drew her to his chest. “Does Raphael know?”

  “He must.” Caterina shivered in the waning light. “But he’s loved you like a father. Forgive him, Santo.”

  “And your mother knew. That’s why she wouldn’t let us marry.” He spat out another Italian phrase damning Luca to hell for all eternity. “Raphael and Ava were trying to protect us. What an awful burden this was for them.”