Sara shook her head. “My father was a vigneron from Angers, my husband, too, and so am I. It’s all I know, really. Besides, I would hate to be cooped up inside all day—I like to be outdoors, even in these cold temperatures.”
Sara cleared the table and began washing the dishes. A good time to change the subject, she thought.
“And have you lived here long?”
Aurora chuckled. “I was born in Bordeaux, and came to America when I was twelve. I married when I was twenty.” She continued wistfully, “My husband died of consumption ten years ago. Left me childless, but with a substantial pension that allows me to pursue some of my interests, like teaching.”
As the truth dawned on her, Sara could not believe her good fortune. This was the Madame Aurora Thierry whose papers Sara had read and whom she’d admired for years. How could she run a vineyard this immense and find the time to teach and write? Sara’s confusion must have registered on her furrowed brow.
“Oh no, this isn’t my vineyard. I live west of here. I’m watching the place for the owner, a friend, who has traveled east on business. He should return in a little under a fortnight, I’d wager. I usually spend my days teaching agriculture at the seminary in town or experimenting with new farming methods. Sounds a bit mundane when you say it like that, I suppose.”
“You must be an accomplished farmer if he left his property and livelihood in your hands.” Sara was impressed, but not yet ready to confide that she knew exactly who Aurora was.
“Oh, I’ve been around a long time—I’m old enough to be your mother, I’d wager. And I’ve farmed grapes, currants, olives. You name it, I’ve grown it.” She shrugged. “I was flattered that he trusted me enough to leave me in charge.” Aurora had a self-effacing yet sturdy demeanor that Sara instantly admired, but her words left Sara chagrined.
“In charge of protecting a witless mother and her poor baby from a menacing fox?” Sara’s shoulders slumped.
Aurora laughed. “Not at all. Having reason to fire my shotgun is just one of the perks.” She smiled unapologetically.
“We both thank you.” Sara gestured to Luc, who squirmed a bit in Aurora’s lap until she began to bounce him on her knee.
“You can thank me by staying here to help me out. When my friend returns, we’ll move back to my farm. There’s a spare bedroom, and I would welcome the company, if I can persuade you, that is.” Aurora’s eyes danced with hopeful sincerity.
Decorum dictated that Sara should decline Aurora’s offer. She barely knew her. Yet, as she stacked the clean plates in that warm kitchen filled with all the aromas of home, Sara believed Aurora to be a kindred spirit of sorts. This was a new country and a new year, and Sara did not suffer from an abundance of friends in this part of the world. Besides, it would be safer for Luc to sleep indoors. She made up her mind.
“You are very generous, and I will accept, but you must allow me to continue to work in the fields or do something useful to earn my keep. I’m afraid I’m not a very good cook.”
“Don’t worry, I have other plans for you.” Before Sara could respond, Aurora stood and propped Luc on her hip. “Let’s bundle up, and I’ll take you two on a tour, so you can see what you’re getting yourselves into.”
CHAPTER 13
Fight or Flight?
The morning fog swathed the vines in its gentle embrace, making it nearly impossible for Sara to see more than a dozen feet ahead. She walked closely behind Aurora, for she wasn’t sure she could find her way around in the mist.
“So, this is Eagle’s Run, the largest vineyard in Carneros, on the Napa side.” Aurora swept her hand across the vista. “Over two hundred acres, replanted with resistant rootstock five years ago. Chardonnay, cabernet, zinfandel. The first significant harvest, this past October, yielded one hundred twenty-five tons—fairly impressive, I’d say. All told, there’s over seventeen thousand gallons—290 barrels—aging in the cellar. He hopes the harvest will yield five tons per acre next year.”
Sara followed Aurora as they walked past two small barns and modest stables that probably kept three or four horses and a rig. They were headed east toward the rising sun, and the river. Sara’s eyes became fixed on a wide gable that poked out of the fog and pierced the light from the awakening sun. Gravel crunched beneath their feet, and soon Sara could make out the outline of a huge building that looked brand new.
Aurora nodded her head. “The new winery.” Sara recognized its purpose right away. The first floor was constructed entirely of stone, and the second and third floors of wood and large-paned glass windows. Most wineries in these parts were built into hillsides, so the horses could unload the grapes on the highest floor, but this winery utilized a large mechanical conveyance that ran from the ground up to a third-floor door. Ropes and pulleys hauled the grapes up to the top level for crushing. Perfect, Sara thought.
Her eyes widened. “It’s so … modern.” She stood still, wondering who had the resources and foresight to build such an amazing structure. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered in awe.
Aurora beamed. “Spoken like a true vintner.”
Once inside, Sara enjoyed the smell of freshly milled pine, oak and damp stone.
Aurora proceeded with her tour. “It is impressive, actually. And well planned. Plenty of oak and redwood cooperage and all the most modern crushing and bottling equipment.”
As they walked from the first floor to the third, Sara marveled at the bottling machinery, the huge fermenting tanks and the three-man press. “May I?”
“Of course,” Aurora encouraged.
Sara moved in to take a closer look. She ran her hand over the smooth, cold metal of the press handle, and her eyes wandered to the rows of sparkling empty wine bottles stacked perfectly against the stone wall on a wooden platform, ready to be filled. A surprising burst of emotion pressed heavily against her chest. Sara took a deep breath and held her tears back behind her closed eyes, overwhelmed by admiration and intense, palpable envy. She was standing in the midst of her heart’s desire. This winery, this vineyard, right here, was exactly what she’d envisioned for Saint Martin. And it belonged to someone else.
The pain of that realization must have flashed across Sara’s face, for Aurora was immediately concerned. “Are you well? What is it, Sara?”
Sara waved her hand to brush off Aurora’s concern and forced a smile. “Nothing at all. I’m fine. Would you kindly show me the cellar, too?”
Aurora took a long look at Sara before continuing. “There’s a large one underneath us, and the original adobe cellars are located just a few feet south of this building. The reds and whites are aging here, and I think Philippe’s planning to use the adobe cellars to store the bottles.”
Adrenaline coursed through Sara’s veins. Her tightly wound nerves threatened to unravel. She attempted to say the name without faltering.
“Philippe?” Relax, she chided herself. It couldn’t possibly be the same Philippe.
“Oh yes, the owner. I suppose I should call him Monsieur Lemieux, but we’re a little less formal here and tend to call our friends by their Christian names.”
Sara felt the urge to run as far and as fast as she could.
Aurora’s hand pressed gently on her arm. “Is everything all right, my dear? You look—well, positively distressed. Really, maybe you should take a glass of wine, to calm your nerves.”
She mustn’t raise Aurora’s suspicions. She must play this calmly. Sara shook her head, hoping to shake off her agitation as well. “Not at all. I’m just … tired.” She glanced at Aurora, trying to invent a reason to leave. “It just occurred to me that I should—I need to gather my things by the river. There’s not much, just a few items. Where should I bring them?”
Aurora answered as Sara expected she would, unfortunately. “I’m installed in the main house until Philippe returns, you know, to keep an eye on everything, especially his foreman, Jip Montagne. So you should stay here with me for the next week or two in the bedroom where you slept
last night, if that would be agreeable.”
Sara tried to ignore her numbing fear and to speak naturally, “Of course, yes, that makes perfect sense. I’ll go now and—well, I’ll see you later this afternoon, if that’s all right?”
Aurora looked puzzled by Sara’s sudden change of mood. “Yes … that sounds fine,” she said slowly.
Sara attempted to sound sane again. “Thank you so much for the breakfast and for helping me with Luc here. Oh, and for the wonderful tour.” Sara looked around again at the inside of the winery, at all the bottles and equipment. “Truly, I have never seen its equal.”
“When you return, I’ll show you the cellars. In the meantime, I’m going to head downstairs to examine the casks.” Aurora smiled pleasantly. “And don’t you walk that distance. Tan should be here by eight o’clock.” She lifted the pocket watch that was chained to her belt. “Less than a quarter hour. He’ll take you in my rig and bring you back.”
“I’m much obliged. Thank you, Mad—Aurora.”
“My pleasure. I’m so pleased to have some company here. It was getting a bit lonely.”
Sara’s mind reeled as she walked back to the house to wait for Tan. This must be God’s doing. She had traveled over sea and land to escape punishment for her crime. She had run from her responsibility, from her penance. And now the Lord was going to force justice upon her, and at the hand of Bastien’s own brother. Philippe Lemieux wasn’t her enemy, but she was his. Would he even recognize her from nine years ago? That she doubted. Would Marie have told him about her, about Lydia and Luc? Had Marie even known about her crime? How would he react if he found out that she was living next door to him, and had worked on his farm? He would probably drag her back to France to be imprisoned and prosecuted.
She expected to feel panic rise up within her. She should run—again. But she was tired of lying and running. She didn’t feel panic, but resentment and anger. Would she really allow Philippe Lemieux to drive her from the place she so desperately wanted to be? In that moment the die was cast. She’d had enough. She wasn’t going to leave, and she wasn’t going to apologize for ending the life of a man who had brutalized her and her sister. She had defended herself against Bastien. If Lemieux discovered who she was, then so be it; she would take what she had coming. Until then, she would build a life for herself and Luc here in California, and plan to take back Saint Martin.
It occurred to Sara that she was just like—what was that expression?—a moth to a flame. Naive and fluttering, captivated by the beauty of this place and by the allure of a chance to realize her life’s ambition. Perhaps she was a stupid, reckless girl, but she was resolute. She would stand and fight for what was rightfully hers. For what Lemieux owed her: Saint Martin. She wondered anxiously, would she survive the flame, or would she burn?
For the next fortnight, Sara stayed on at Eagle’s Run, helping Aurora inspect the new buds and trim the new shoots from the base of the vines to keep rabbits from eating the wood. Aurora had graciously given Luc a basket for sleeping, tightly woven from willow shoots and lined with a small blanket. One morning, Sara placed his basket on her bedroom floor for his morning nap and quietly closed the door behind her. She waited until he stopped fussing, opened the door slightly to observe him hugging his Pup, the stuffed toy Aurora had given him, and then headed out to work.
As she left the house, she was surprised to see Aurora out among the rows standing on her tiptoes, shaking her fist and yelling up at Jip Montagne, the surly foreman Sara had disliked since the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Even stranger, a slight Chinese girl, not more than fifteen years of age, stood behind Aurora, her head hung and shoulders shaking. Sara hurried over and placed her arm comfortingly around the crying girl. Aurora paid no attention to Sara, but continued her tirade in clipped French while Jip stood unapologetic, hands on his hips and legs spread obstinately. His face reddened with anger as he practically spewed his words at Aurora.
“You can’t fire me! You’re nothing! I won’t leave,” his deep voice boomed.
Aurora was so incensed that she was screaming. “You will leave, or I’ll get the sheriff to escort you off the property! Or maybe I’ll just shoot you myself.” She lowered her voice slightly and nodded to Sara. “Take the girl in the house and bring me back my rifle.”
Sara whirled around and guided the girl back toward the house. Her steps quickened when she heard Jip growl menacingly at Aurora.
“You wouldn’t dare!”
Within moments, Sara had seated the girl at the table, retrieved Aurora’s rifle from the back hall cupboard, and checked to make sure it was loaded. Thank God Papa had taught her a thing or two about shooting. She cocked the rifle and started back out toward the vineyard. By now, Jip had Aurora by the arm and was shaking her violently. The wild look on his face, eyes bulging from their sockets, warned Sara that he’d lost control.
She had to stop him before he broke Aurora’s arm or worse, but he stood a brawny six and a half feet, and Sara didn’t believe she was strong enough to do it on her own. She would have to use the gun. It took just one shot, and a bullet breaking the dirt near his feet, for him to release Aurora’s arm and stumble back, flabbergasted.
In no time, Aurora was at Sara’s side, gingerly removing the rifle from her hands. Sara’s fingers trembled slightly, more from anger than from having fired the gun. Well, Aurora had the rifle now and Jip would have to stand down. Sara had no doubt that Aurora would shoot him clean through if he so much as batted an eyelash.
“Nice shot,” Aurora muttered. “Follow me. I may need you.”
Aurora approached Jip and pushed the tip of the gun barrel into his chest, forcing him to step back. “Turn around, go pack up your stuff and leave.” Left with no choice, Jip started toward the barn, but he wouldn’t let it go.
“When Lemieux returns, he’s—”
Aurora had no patience left. “When he returns, you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kill you himself. I suggest you run and hide … now.” Her voice was strong and intimidating.
After they had watched Jip Montagne ride around the last visible turn in the road, Aurora turned to Sara, unruffled, and rolled her eyes.
“Now we’ve gone and done it. This is going to leave us with heaps more work to do.” Aurora shook her head and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her handkerchief. “Thank the Lord you were here. I don’t know if I could have fought him on my own.”
“I was glad to help. What did he do, anyhow?”
“Disgusting pig tried to have his way with that young girl in there. He’s the foreman, you see, and if she refuses, well …” She shrugged and nodded toward five Chinese workers in conical hats weeding between the vines about twenty yards away. “Then they all lose their jobs.”
“Just tell me what to do.”
“Come with me.”
Sara spent the afternoon at the western end of the vineyard pulling up weeds alongside the Chinese family and their daughter, and worked at twice their clip. She was in her element and could do this work in her sleep. Luc lay quietly strapped to her back while Sara hummed his favorite lullaby, “Dodo, l’enfant do, dodo l’enfant do, L’enfant dormira bien vite.” Her hat shielded both of their faces from the sun, although it was still cool enough that Luc needed his wool cap and Sara wore gloves.
Partway through the afternoon, Sara spied a tall figure approaching from the stables. Her heart skipped a beat when she thought it might be Jip coming back to take his revenge. But although this man stood nearly as tall as Jip, he was more graceful, and his hair a bit fairer in the afternoon sun. She dropped her head abruptly and looked down at her hands, seeing nothing. Could it be him? She was almost certain it was. Sara glanced up to surreptitiously study him as he walked toward their group. The thin, gangly boy she remembered from Vouvray was almost, but not completely, unrecognizable. His shoulders had broadened, his jaw had sharpened and squared, and he moved with a confidence she didn’t recall. But then, he’d only been eighteen, and she nine.
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She would have sworn it was a different man, if she hadn’t, in that last stolen glance, caught sight of his eyes. They were exactly the same. Cool and brilliantly intense, like blue topaz. And they were fixed on her.
Sara ducked her head back down again and tried to remember how to breathe. Thank God Luc was quiet—she didn’t need any more attention drawn to her. She could hear Lemieux’s footsteps scrape the clay and small stones as he neared. In response, the Chinese family increased their working speed to match Sara’s lithe movements. They spoke quietly among themselves, but soon the chatter ceased. He was close now.
A deep, melodic voice rang out. “Good morning. Zao an.”
The workers next to her said nothing but simply bowed their heads. Sara didn’t want to draw attention to her and Luc by seeming rude.
“Good morning.” She knew her voice was too heavily accented to pass for American.
“Ah, bonjour, mademoiselle—ou madame? Vous êtes francaise?” He seemed surprised.
“Oui—yes, I am.” She looked up briefly, then forced herself to break away from the magnetic hold of his eyes. She trained hers downward, willing herself to move on to the next vine, though her limbs had gone rigid with fear. Her face was hot. It took a considerable effort not to stare up at his exquisite face.
“Bienvenue.” He sounded amused. Sara couldn’t fathom why. She looked up again, just in time to see him walk away.
She was a ridiculous, fanciful girl who’d let her imagination run wild. Why had she thought that he would remember her? Of course he’d all but ignored her. She was a stranger, a vinedresser, a hired laborer on his land. She was of little consequence to him, thank God. That she had thought otherwise, even for a moment, was merely evidence of her paranoia.
Lemieux did not return to the field that afternoon. At the end of the day, Sara knew she would have to return to the house, his house, to change and feed Luc, and to collect her things. She assumed that she and Aurora would move back to Aurora’s house immediately. She had always known that she was an interloper here. Though she could leave to start a life elsewhere, she had decided to stay, to hold her ground. And now she would have to stand by her decision, whatever the consequences.
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