by Jan Moran
A sad smile flickered on Santo’s face. “I wanted to surprise you, cara. This vineyard, this old house we always loved, this is for us, for our future. We can make our own life up here.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t care what people think.”
Caterina’s lips parted in astonishment. This is even worse. This was the dream they’d once shared and the life she’d desperately yearned for, but now, in light of her father’s probable actions, it could never come to fruition.
Waves of agony and guilt swept through her, and she cried out in pain as she backed through the door. They were ruined in the eyes of God, their family, their neighbors. Couldn’t he see that? Their beautiful dream crumbled before her eyes. She squeezed her eyes against her torturous vision and whirled around.
“Wait, cara, wait!” Santo cried, covering the floor in long strides. “I must talk to you.”
Blinded by tears, she raced to her car.
“Caterina!” Santo caught up with her and clutched her to his chest. “I can’t imagine living without you. I’m not giving you up. We have to fight together, cara.”
“No, we can’t do this!” she cried, backing away from him. “But for God’s sake, you’ve got to see Raphael right away. We’re under attack, and our vines might have been poisoned!” After she got into her car, she sped from the driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust as the wheels spun in haste.
35
Caterina stood by a tall window in her mother’s office overlooking the vineyards of Mille Étoiles. Heat radiated from the glass pane, though a breeze circulated the warm summer air in the office. She’d been on the telephone most of the day assisting Ava, negotiating with buyers who had heard about their award in Paris.
After she’d seen Santo at the old ghost winery, he had arrived the next day to test the vines with Raphael. Her emotions were raw, and she’d managed to avoid him, but she’d give anything to hear from him now.
Had their best vines been poisoned?
And how long would her heart continue to beat without Santo?
Feeling on edge, she clomped downstairs, hurried outside, and trudged up the hillside to one of their higher blocks of vines, which was slated for harvest soon.
The punishing burn in her thigh muscles pumped oxygen into her blood, though it did little to clear her mind. She paused to check a cluster of grapes.
The leaves and grapes had taken on rich color in a natural process known as véraison, which signaled the onset of ripening. Small and tightly clustered, the thick-skinned, tannin-rich grapes were powerfully concentrated.
Their harvest was on hold until they received the results of Santo’s tests. Normally, harvest would last from two to four weeks, depending on the weather and the ripening of the grapes.
Every year was different. This year, weather was not the threat.
Harvest might start as early as late July, or as late as the end of September. Out of habit, she plucked and tasted a tiny grape. Intense sweetness burst in her mouth. This could be a year of excellent wine, perhaps even the stuff of greatness.
Suddenly, she expelled the grape and spat after it. Had it been poisoned? Rage burned in her chest. She drew her sleeve across her mouth, wiping her lips.
When she reached the old vine section of the vineyard, she knelt in the dirt to inspect the rootstock. Had the vines been tampered with? She couldn’t tell. She stood and brushed dirt from the knees of her denim jeans.
The vines rustled behind her, and she swung around, her heart pounding. Was someone in the vineyard? Ever since Luca’s threatening letter arrived, everyone had been on high alert.
Seeing nothing, she shrugged it off as a breeze or a bird and turned back to inspect the old vineyard. She prayed they could use the cabernet grapes. Only her mother’s vines from Bordeaux were more cherished. These gnarled plants, which had been planted at the turn of the century by previous owners, were the finest in their fields, perhaps even in the entire valley. Indeed, these grapes had yielded their special reserve that had taken the grand prize in Paris.
Poisoned?
In the center of the field stood a trio of vines that had been roped off, their lives dependent on Santo’s test results. Or had they already received their death sentence? Reverently, she trailed her fingers along the perfectly groomed vines, stroking the lacy leaves and tight grape clusters.
Caterina couldn’t imagine the hatred her father must have for them to have done such a thing. A bountiful vine was nature’s beauty. True winemakers revered the vine.
She walked on, thinking about this year’s crop. Raphael had borrowed equipment from a neighboring vineyard for a short time to begin harvesting and processing certain blocks of grapes. The fermentation process had already started on the crops that had been harvested. They didn’t add yeast to their fermentation; instead, they allowed the natural forces of nature to occur. During this process, the sugar in the grapes converted to alcohol. If there was too much sun, the alcohol content increased. A fine wine hung in the balance.
Caterina removed a destroyer beetle from her white cotton shirt with care and released it on a leafy vine. A cousin of the ladybug, destroyer beetles were beneficial in controlling mealybugs, which could damage their crop. She stooped to inspect another vine.
To make wine was to enter into a partnership with Mother Nature, one that sometimes turned adversarial. If springtime dealt a poor hand of rain, wind, or extreme temperatures, young grape clusters might fail to develop during their infancy, resulting in grape shatter, or coulure in French. A poor fruit set meant flowers failed to pollinate and develop into berries, or the weak berries fell from the vines. This was nature’s way of aborting the frail.
The worst weather was a long, cool summer with intermittent rain. Grapes liked strong summer heat during the day and cool nights, which helped create complex flavors. The more extreme stress on a vine, the better the fruit.
Caterina was nervous with anticipation. Unlike last year, this was one of the best seasons anyone could remember. Would it be a spectacular year? Or would their vines die by poison at the hands of a lunatic?
She pushed her hair from her forehead and craned her head to the sky. She spied some clouds on the horizon, far out to sea. It looked like a marine layer that would hug the coast. She hoped the clouds would dissipate before reaching the valley.
Wind or rain could be disastrous at this time of year, with the potential to rob the valley and its farmers of the entire annual crop. She shielded her eyes, hoping their dry weather would remain.
The vines behind her rustled, and Caterina jumped back, ready to defend herself.
“Oh, it’s you, Vino. You scared me.” She knelt to scratch the dog behind its ears and looked up to see her mother approaching. “Stay close, will you?” she whispered. Her hands were shaking, and Vino pressed to her as if he understood her words and her need.
“Thought I might find you here,” Ava said. “Vino is so happy you’re back.”
“Any word from Santo yet?” The mere utterance of his name brought a pain to her chest.
Ava shook her head. “No, but soon, I hope.”
“I guess we can sit by the phone together. Marisa should be waking from her nap.”
“I checked on her, and Nina will look in on her, too. She likes having a little one around again.”
“Want to walk back with me?”
“Of course. I’ve missed you, Caterina. Speaking of Nina, I heard Juliana is dating a widowed vintner with two children up valley. Do you know anything about that?”
“Jules mentioned it. Why?”
“Nina is worried about her. But I’ve heard he’s actually quite nice.”
Caterina smiled. “She’s still getting over Al’s death. Maybe this is a good thing. They have something in common.”
They fell into step with one another, while Vino trotted beside them. Though her mother chatted along the way about the pending harvest, Caterina couldn’t shake her thoughts of Santo.
She doubted she ever w
ould.
Ava paused to secure a heavy cluster of grapes. “Chérie, there’s something I should tell you.”
“What is it?” More secrets?
“As you know, Raphael has worked here for many years, and we wouldn’t be where we are today without him, but over time, things change.”
“He’s not leaving, is he?” Caterina asked, alarmed.
“No, nothing like that,” Ava said.
“What a relief—he’s like family.” Caterina put her hand over her mother’s, tracing the tiny veins that ran along the back of her strong, capable hand. “What is it, Maman?”
“He’s such a good man, chérie.”
“He’s the best.” In a flash, she understood what her mother was trying to tell her. “Raphael is the man you should have married, isn’t he, Maman?”
Ava’s eyes glistened. “He’s had a special place in my heart for many years. Now that Luca has returned, I understand just how lucky I am to have him. Though we haven’t been together in that way,” she added, blushing.
“Why not? You’re still young, Maman.” Caterina looked at her mother with fresh eyes. Ava was still a lovely woman. She was only forty-six. Why shouldn’t she have a second chance? A memory clicked into place like a jukebox record. Raphael with Ava, touching her hand, gazing after her. Raphael’s face was lined not with years of work but with years of desire. Caterina kissed her mother’s cheeks. At least one of them should find happiness.
“While you were in Italy, I consulted with Brother Timothy, and he said a man as cruel and immoral as your father could not have entered a marriage with proper intentions. He has a severe psychological disorder; therefore, he was unable to enter into a valid marriage.”
Caterina inclined her head. “What does that mean?”
“I’m filing for an annulment of my marriage to Luca.”
In the space of a few weeks, Caterina had gone from idolizing a dead father to confronting the depths of his cruelty. Her mother deserved the right to pursue happiness in her life.
Even if she and Santo never could. Caterina swallowed hard, concealing her heartbreak.
Ava dipped her head and went on. “All these years, Raphael has worked alongside me, helping me realize the vision of the winery.” Her face glowed with pure delight. “Raphael asked me to marry him.”
“And you will, of course.” Caterina hugged her mother. “I’m happy for you, Maman. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather see you spend your life with.” She drew back. “As long as this is what you want.”
Ava dabbed the corner of her eyes. “Oh, it is, chérie.”
They walked on, with Vino running circles around them as if to protect them. Caterina was truly happy for her mother.
Abruptly, Ava changed the subject. “Caterina, as long as I’m sharing my secrets, I feel I must speak my mind. With Luca back in our lives, I’ve been thinking about Marisa.” Ava paused and held a tented hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes against the sunlight. “Though Luca was an evil man, I realize I should have told you about him.”
Caterina slid a sideways gaze toward her mother. “What does this have to do with Marisa?”
“I’m drawing a comparison. I haven’t pressed you about Marisa’s father. But I’m concerned about the boy.”
This was the question she’d dreaded, and yet, had she subconsciously invited the question again? “You needn’t be. He’s a good man, Maman. From a good family.” That’s what her mother wanted to hear. Caterina pressed a smile of assurance on her face to temper her distress.
The corners of Ava’s mouth curved up. “You said you were in love. Would you ever reconsider this young man?”
Although the truth within her ached for release, Caterina laughed softly, camouflaging her roiling emotions. “Are you angling for a double wedding now?”
“Not at all.” Ava spoke in earnest. “But whatever happened between you, know that pride hurts us in the long run. Perhaps it’s not too late to rekindle your relationship.”
“That’s impossible.” If only she could confide in her mother.
“Are you sure, ma chérie?” Ava put her arm around Caterina and drew her close. “It might not be too late to make amends. Does he know about Marisa?”
Her burden had become too heavy. Caterina rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and made a decision. “Maman, Marisa’s father is Santo.”
Ava gasped, her face contorted with shock. “Oh, mon Dieu!” She flung her arms around Caterina as if to shield her, but even she could not right this travesty.
Caterina sank into her mother’s embrace and cried. Two years of deceit, deception, and dissimulation had taken their toll on her emotional health. Now it was over.
Ava sobbed, clutching her daughter as she convulsed with grief. “My poor, poor chérie. I blame myself. Oh, how could life have been so cruel to my child?” Over and over she questioned God’s wisdom in delivering such a cruel twist of fate.
After a while, Caterina regained her strength. Yet Ava looked pale, and her entire body was trembling. Had Caterina’s revelation been too much for her?
“Maman, let’s go inside. I think you need to rest.”
Nina put Ava to bed and prepared a pot of tea for her. “I’ll look after her,” Nina said. “Find Raphael, see if there’s any news from Santo yet.”
Caterina sought out Raphael, who was working outside of the cave. They were all anxious to know the results of Santo’s tests.
Raphael was overseeing the operation of the new machinery for de-stemming and crushing the grapes prior to fermentation. The equipment had just arrived, after approval of the new line of credit Caterina had rushed to arrange with Elsa Williams’s bank in San Francisco.
With Vino trotting beside her, she signaled to Raphael. “Any word yet?”
Raphael pushed his straw hat from his head and drew a sleeve across his forehead. “Santo called with the test results.” His expression darkened, and he put his hands on his hips.
Her heart nearly stopped. “Tell me.”
“We’ll have to destroy those three vines, sure enough, but the others are clean.” He spat angrily on the ground.
“He’s taunting us.” No one was safe at Mille Étoiles until Luca was caught. Though he’s already destroyed my life, she thought miserably.
Raphael motioned to several men sitting nearby who were wolfing down tortillas with beans and rice. “Nothing will get by us tonight. I’ll make sure of that.”
She nodded toward a new wooden structure next to the cave where they had moved the large vats. “I’m going to check the fermentation progress.”
Vino plopped down to wait for her at the entrance while she went ahead. The doors were open wide to let air circulate. Everyone had worked hard to clean up after the earthquake and move equipment into new sections. The new funding had made it possible.
After she was satisfied with the progress, she stepped outside again, and Vino rose by her side. She stood still, watching the hawks soar lazily above the hillside, feeling a breath of warm air on her face as the sun sank toward the horizon. Everything in the winery and vineyard seemed under control. She exhaled a measure of tension. Though Santo was lost to her, she had finally told her mother the truth.
Yet she sensed an ominous undercurrent she couldn’t articulate.
“Come on, Vino. Let’s go.”
Caterina walked back to the house. Vino trotted beside her, sniffing, circling, and then sniffing again. The fur on his back prickled, and his ears flattened.
Even Vino knew that something was amiss.
* * *
After dinner with her mother and daughter, Caterina opened a French door to the patio. Raphael hadn’t dined with them tonight as he’d started doing, because he’d told them he was working late. The encroaching twilight ushered in a refreshing breeze that was scintillatingly cool on Caterina’s face after the heat of the day. The air carried the scent of ripening fruit, of darkened purple grapes, reddened peaches, and succulent pears.
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Caterina inhaled deeply, comforted by the familiar scents. She turned back to Ava. “I need to talk to Raphael about the next phase of harvest.”
Ava looked up from the table where she was finishing a glass of wine. “He should be in the cave. Do you want me to come with you?”
Caterina knew Ava was still upset over her revelation about Santo. “No, you take your bath and relax. It’s not dark yet, and the air feels nice. I’ll take Marisa with me. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Tell him we’ll keep dinner warm for him.”
Caterina picked Marisa up from her high chair, hoisted her onto her hip, and stepped outside. Before long she reached the open doorway of the cave. Inside she found Raphael, but she was shocked to see Santo with him. Feeling flustered, she clutched Marisa tighter. She hadn’t thought to look for his car first.
“Caterina,” Santo said, glancing up. He stepped toward Marisa and kissed her on the cheek. Clad in an embroidered pink dress, Marisa cooed and smiled up at him with adoration in her eyes. When he moved to kiss Caterina’s cheek, she angled her head from him, but not before she detected pain in his expression.
Raphael cleared his throat. “Santo and I were just going over a plan to protect the vineyard.” He leaned across a worn map of Mille Étoiles spread out on a table.
Santo stood with his hands on his lean, muscular hips, admiring her.
“I’ve posted people on each of the vineyard sections tonight.” Raphael pointed out the specific locations on the map. “The sheriff and his men are looking for Luca, and the roads are blocked. We won’t give him a chance to do any more damage.”
Her eyes stinging, Caterina blinked and glanced away from Santo. Seeing him around Mille Étoiles and Marisa was proving more difficult than she’d imagined. “Has anyone spotted him?”
“No, but he knows all the back routes.” Raphael traced a thin line on the map.
“My mother is worried you’re going to take on Luca.” She bounced Marisa on her hip.
Raphael looked up. “Your father—not that he ever earned that title—threatened everyone at Mille Étoiles. None of us will be safe until he’s in jail—or dead.”