“Why didn’t you come find me so I could unlock the old wine cellar?” Giuditta asked cheerfully. “Was Dante watching? If that’s the case, good girl and well done.”
“No, that wasn’t it.” Giuditta’s apparent lack of concern bewildered Rosa. “I didn’t want him to know you sell wine. He said that he heard that you did, but he didn’t bother to name the person who had told him, so I insisted that you sell only wine grapes. Something about him bothered me. He was too…curious.”
For a moment Giuditta’s expression grew troubled. “Did you take him past the old wine cellar on your tour?”
“Of course not,” said Rosa. “He barely glanced that way, thank goodness. I don’t think he even saw the footpath.” If he had, Rosa didn’t know what she could have done to prevent him—grabbed his arm and pointed out interesting sights in the opposite direction? Pretended to sprain her ankle so he would have to help her hobble back to the house? “It really wasn’t much of a tour. I just followed him as he wandered around. Giuditta, do you suppose he could have been a Prohibition agent?”
Giuditta frowned, mulling it over. “I doubt it. They’re much more aggressive. They love to flash their badges and order people around. If he were an agent, he could have commanded you to go get me, forced me to unlock the winery, and poked around to his heart’s content instead of rattling locked doors and peering through windows.”
“I suppose,” said Rosa, dubious.
Giuditta patted her on the shoulder reassuringly. “Please don’t worry. He asked for me, not Dante, and I bet a Prohibition agent would ask for the man of the house. Most likely, Mr. Crowell got my name from a satisfied customer and all he wanted was to take some good wine home to his wife. He probably hoped that if he wandered around long enough, he’d find me or someone else willing to sell him a barrel since you wouldn’t. But just in case, I’ll have Dominic and Vince move some brush to hide the foot of the trail. I doubt he’ll return, but if he does, I’ll take care of him myself.”
“If he comes back, I don’t think you should sell him any wine.”
Giuditta smiled. “Because you don’t want to be caught in a lie?”
“Because I don’t like him,” Rosa countered. “It’s only one barrel of wine. Can’t you let this one customer go, just in case he isn’t really a customer?”
“Only one barrel of wine, you say, but one barrel of wine well appreciated might lead to another, and sales add up.” Giuditta sighed, her gaze traveling the length of the vineyard from the rows where they stood to the road. In the distance, the sun in its decline nearly touched the tops of the mountains sheltering the valley. “But it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. If Mr. Crowell returns, and I doubt he will, I’ll try to find out where he heard that we have wine for sale. If he can’t name our mutual friend, I won’t sell him a drop. Will that satisfy you?”
“Not entirely, but it’ll do,” said Rosa, and Giuditta laughed, throwing Rosa a smile that was both fond and teasing. She thought Rosa worried too much, and perhaps she did. From time to time, and almost always in jest, Giuditta made distinctions between the passionate, headstrong nature of the Italian Cacchiones, and the more cautious, stoic temperament of the Norwegian Ottesens, no matter how often Rosa reminded her that she was of Spanish heritage. Unfortunately, Rosa’s mistrust of Mr. Crowell fit too well into Giuditta’s assumptions about Norwegian reserve to be entirely credible.
By the middle of May, tiny buds resembling miniature clusters of grapes appeared within the lush, green foliage throughout the vineyard, and Dante announced that it was time to begin suckering the grapevines. Just as pruning the dead or extraneous wood from the vines promoted better, stronger growth, so too did removing unnecessary leaves and shoots allow the strength and vigor of the plant generated from sunlight, earth, and water to flow into fewer, but healthier grapes with a superior taste.
Dante taught Rosa and Lars how to identify the most dominant shoots on the vine, those that had sprung from the prominent buds left behind during winter pruning. The dominant shoots would be left to grow into strong, vigorous clusters of grapes evenly spaced along the vine, while all others would be plucked away. Excess leaves should be removed as well, so that those remaining would be evenly exposed to the sunshine and dispersed enough to allow fresh breezes to circulate through them, helping to prevent the growth of fungus and mildew upon the clusters. As the grapes developed, they would gain better, more uniform exposure to the sun, enhancing their flavor and allowing them to ripen more evenly. At first Rosa and Lars worked under Dante’s watchful eye, but before long they gained his confidence and he allowed them to thin the shoots and leaves unsupervised. Knowing how much Dante treasured his vines, Rosa was proud to have earned his trust.
One beautiful Thursday afternoon, Rosa was in the vineyard thinning shoots alongside Giuditta and Francesca while others labored along more distant rows. Lars was off planting saplings in the burgeoning apricot orchard on the sunny northern hills, and Dante, Dominic, and Vince were off on their weekly delivery run to San Francisco. Chatting with the other women while they worked, Rosa kept one ear tuned to the walnut grove where Lupita, Miguel, and the other children too young to attend school played under the watchful gaze of Mabel, who sat upon a faded quilt in the shade cuddling baby Sophia. Rosa glanced up at the sound of a car turning onto the gravel drive from the main road and spotted a dark sedan making its way up the hill.
“I’m off to earn my butter and egg money, or maybe my walnut and prune money,” Giuditta joked as she went to see what the visitors wanted. “Save some shoots for me.”
“We’ll be sure to,” Francesca promised. She and Rosa continued with their work and conversation, but not fifteen minutes later, the sound of automobiles speeding along the main road interrupted them. As they stood amid the trellises shading their eyes with their hands, they watched with rapidly increasing concern and bewilderment as two more dark sedans and a police wagon pulled off the main road onto the Cacchiones’ driveway and raced up to the residence.
“Oh, no,” Francesca breathed, dropping her pruning shears and running toward the house. “Papa and the boys. There must have been an accident.”
Her heart in her throat, Rosa quickly hurried after her.
“What is it?” Mabel called frantically as they passed. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll find out and come right back,” Rosa promised breathlessly as she ran by. She caught up with Francesca just before they reached the back of the winery, and when they rounded the corner and approached the rear of the house, she spotted the two sedans parked in the yard alongside the one that had arrived earlier. The police wagon pulled to a halt nearby with a screech of brakes and a cloud of dust. A few dark-suited men milled about as a pair of uniformed officers climbed down from the cab of the police wagon with weapons drawn. As Francesca came to an abrupt halt, Rosa too froze in place and watched in horror as Mr. Crowell emerged from around the front of the residence propelling Giuditta before him, her wrists handcuffed behind her back. She threw them a look of utter desperation as she stumbled toward the police wagon.
“Ma,” Francesca shrieked. She darted forward and tried to tear Giuditta from Mr. Crowell’s grasp, but another dark-suited man leapt forward, seized her by the shoulders, and pulled her away.
Rosa hurried after Giuditta. “What are you doing?” she cried, keeping herself between Mr. Crowell and the police wagon in a vain attempt to slow his progress. “Where are you taking her?”
“Mrs. Cacchione is under arrest for violating the Volstead Act,” he barked, shoving Giuditta to the side when Rosa blocked his way. “I’m taking her to the courthouse in Santa Rosa, where she’ll be arraigned and held over for trial.”
“On what grounds?” Rosa felt hands close around her upper arms as another dark-suited man seized her from behind, but she tore herself free and darted out of reach. “She’s done nothing wrong. Let her go!”
“Frannie,” Giuditta called shakily as Mr. Crowell forced her into the b
ack of the police wagon. “Please meet Mario and Gina when they get off the school bus. Tell your brothers and sisters I’m fine and I’ll be home soon.” She flinched when Mr. Crowell snorted derisively, and then an officer slammed the doors behind her and she was gone from sight. With a groan the engine started and the wagon began to rumble down the gravel driveway.
The man restraining Francesca suddenly released her as the other men climbed into their cars. “Stop,” she screamed, sprinting after the police wagon, but it sped away from her onto the main road, and eventually she stumbled to a halt, gasping. Rosa caught up to Francesca and put her arms around her, and Francesca clung to her, shaking and sobbing.
Lars reached them just as the cars were disappearing down the road toward Santa Rosa. “What happened?” he demanded, catching his breath after his hard sprint. Rosa quickly explained, and the grim look he gave her over Francesca’s head told her that his worst fears had been realized. “I’ll follow them and see what can be done. Francesca, can you fetch me the keys for your father’s car?” Wordlessly, Francesca nodded, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and fled back to the house. When she returned with the keys, it was quickly decided that Francesca would accompany Lars to the courthouse, while Rosa would stay behind to meet the children at the school bus and tell Dante what had happened as soon as he returned from the delivery run.
After Lars and Francesca raced off, Rosa returned to the walnut grove and quietly gave Mabel the dreadful news. “I knew it,” Mabel murmured bleakly, her face ashen. “I always knew something like this would happen someday. I warned Dominic, but he—” She pressed her lips together and shook her head, her eyes full of tears.
Although her heart pounded with frantic worry, Rosa took a deep, shaky breath and returned to the vineyard, hoping to calm herself with the distraction of familiar tasks. But her thoughts raced as she thinned shoots from the vines. She had known all along that Mr. Crowell couldn’t be trusted. What had Giuditta done to prompt the arrest? What would become of her? Would the officers return later for Dante, Dominic, and Vince? Suddenly Rosa felt a chill of dread. What if Dante and his sons had already been apprehended on the way to San Francisco?
When Rosa spied the school bus approaching, she hurried off to meet it. She told the young Cacchiones in a voice ringing with false nonchalance that their mother was away on an errand, and she called all the children together into the Cacchiones’ kitchen, where she and Mabel fixed them a snack and sent them back out to play. Then Rosa and Mabel waited, watching the road anxiously, keeping an eye on the children playing in the yard, passing the baby back and forth and alternately speculating quietly about what could be happening at the courthouse and reassuring each other that all would be well.
Suppertime approached with no word from the courthouse and no sign of their absent loved ones. Rosa and Mabel were too anxious to eat, but they prepared a simple meal of pasta, salad, and bread for the children, who happily enjoyed the novelty of sitting around the kitchen table together with no grown-ups to remind them to mind their manners. Only the eldest children, Marta and Ana among them, eventually noticed Rosa and Mabel’s distraction and began watching them anxiously, gradually realizing that there was something strange and disturbing about the absence of their parents and eldest siblings.
At twilight, long after Rosa and Lars ordinarily would have taken their own children home to the cabin, Rosa gathered all of the youngsters around her in the Cacchiones’ front room and was telling them a bedtime story when suddenly she heard the delivery truck rumbling up the driveway. Breaking off in mid-sentence, she hurried outside to meet them and told Dante all that had happened that day. Stricken, he ordered his sons to unload the empty casks and hide them in the old wine cellar. Rosa joined in, and as soon as the last cask was hidden away, Dante leapt back behind the wheel and sped off down the road toward the courthouse. Dominic had wanted to accompany him, but just as he was climbing into the truck beside his father, Mabel returned from checking on the baby and begged him not to go. Rosa read the terror in her eyes and knew that Mabel feared that if the Cacchione men set foot in the courthouse, they would not be allowed to leave. Reluctantly Dominic agreed to remain behind, and as Dante raced off in the delivery truck, Mabel fell into her husband’s arms and began to weep.
The hour had grown late, the children were tired and curious, and Rosa knew she had to take them home. Vince promised to run down to the cabin as soon as they had any news, so Rosa hugged Mabel, gathered up her children, and headed off down the path through the vineyard. Miguel fell asleep in her arms moments after they set out, and Lupita clung to her hand, yawning and dragging her feet. Marta and Ana walked a few paces ahead with the lantern, talking in hushed voices and glancing over their shoulders at Rosa from time to time, their sweet faces drawn in puzzlement and worry.
Later, after Rosa tucked them into bed, she sat alone in the front room, gazing out the window into the darkness and straining her ears for the sound of an approaching car. She heard the attic stairs creaking and glanced around to find Marta tiptoeing downstairs in her nightgown. Rosa held out her arms and Marta climbed onto her lap as if she were as young as Lupita again. “Mamá,” she asked, resting her head on Rosa’s shoulder, “where’s Pa? Where’s Mrs. Cacchione, really?”
Gently Rosa told her that Mrs. Cacchione had been arrested but assured her that Lars, Mr. Cacchione, and Francesca were doing all they could to gain her release. When Marta asked if Mrs. Cacchione had done something wrong, Rosa told her in all truthfulness that she wasn’t sure what in particular had prompted the arrest.
To Rosa’s surprise, Marta nodded knowingly. “The Cacchiones are selling wine, aren’t they? Mario told me they do.”
Rosa sighed, smoothed Marta’s chestnut hair away from her face, and kissed her on the top of the head. “Mrs. Cacchione has sold wine from time to time.”
“But that’s against the law. It’s wrong.”
Rosa hesitated. It was against the law, but whether it was wrong, she was not entirely sure anymore. “If being against the law is enough to make it wrong, then yes, it would be wrong.”
Marta peered up at her, curious, a question on her lips, but before she could speak, they heard boots on the front porch and the front door swung open. “Pa!” Marta exclaimed, leaping up from Rosa’s lap and flinging her arms around Lars’s waist. He hugged her and glanced over her head to Rosa, shaking his head, grim and exhausted.
“Is Mrs. Cacchione home?” Marta asked.
Lars hesitated. “Yes, Mrs. Cacchione is safe at home,” he said carefully. “She’s very tired and I’m sure she’s climbing into bed this very moment, and bed is where you should be too.” Visibly relieved, Marta nodded, gave Rosa one last kiss good night, and tiptoed back up to the attic. Rosa and Lars both listened for the sound of creaking bedsprings, and when all was quiet overhead, Lars beckoned Rosa to follow him into the kitchen. There he removed his hat, splashed his face with water, and settled wearily into a chair, resting his elbows on the table. Rosa offered to make him a cup of coffee or something to eat, but he declined, saying that all he wanted was a good night’s sleep. Gesturing for quiet, he said, “Giuditta and Francesca are home, but Dante’s still down at the courthouse.”
“What?” Rosa exclaimed, lowering her voice to add, “Why?”
“He convinced the judge that Giuditta was only following his instructions and that he should be arrested instead. The judge agreed to the exchange since, as he said, it would be a great hardship for the children if their mother were locked up.”
Rosa sank into a chair across the table from Lars. “And it won’t be a hardship if their father is locked up?”
“It’s what Dante wanted. It’s what any man would do for the woman he loves, the mother of his children.”
Their eyes met, and involuntarily Rosa held his gaze until she couldn’t bear it any longer and let her eyes fall to her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “What’s—” She cleared her throat and tried again. “What’s
going to become of Dante?”
“There’ll be a trial, and he’ll be sentenced. With any luck the judge will hit him with a stiff fine rather than a few years in jail. At least then he’d be free to provide for his family, though obviously not in the way he has been.”
Rosa pressed a hand to her forehead, dizzy. Although immeasurably better than a prison sentence, a stiff fine might still be enough to ruin the Cacchiones. “Oh, Lars. This is terrible, just terrible.”
“It is, but they made their choices, Rosa, knowing the consequences.”
“What choice did they ever really have?” she countered. “They couldn’t give up their vineyard. You’re a farmer. You know what it means to lose land your family has held for generations.”
“Yes, I know,” he replied quietly. “As do you.”
They sat silently for a moment, each lost in thought, each longing for beloved acres, rolling hills and tilled fields and rich soil, the promise of spring and the abundance of harvest. Rosa understood why the Cacchiones had taken such risks to hold on to their land, defying the law and courting danger rather than letting their cherished ranch slip from their grasp. She might have done the same in their place. She would have done the same.
The next morning, Lars rose before dawn, bolted down his breakfast, and hurried off to the Cacchione residence to check in with Giuditta and Dominic before heading out to the orchard. Rosa saw Marta and Ana off to the school bus and hurried after him as soon as she could, Lupita and Miguel in tow. The yard was empty and hushed, the usual bustle of a spring morning on the ranch oddly absent. Unsettled, Rosa found the Cacchione children playing with jacks and wooden trains on the front porch and sent Lupita and Miguel running off to join them while she went inside to the kitchen. There she found Giuditta, pale and drawn, sitting with a cup of coffee cooling in her grasp, a plate of eggs, buttered toast, and ham untouched on the table before her. Mabel and Francesca sat on either side of her while Vince paced nearby, scowling and muttering under his breath. They greeted Rosa with bleak, wordless nods, all except Giuditta, who stared straight ahead at nothing, her face hollow and gray, dark circles beneath her eyes, her lips almost colorless.
Sonoma Rose: An Elm Creek Quilts Novel Page 26