Vintner's Daughter

by Kristen Harnisch

  Philippe took a sip of wine, and it seemed to Sara that he was buying time. Serves him right, Sara thought. Let’s see how he fares under scrutiny.

  “I examined the entire crop yesterday, and I can say, from my own observation, that the vines are robust and in good health this year. The St. George took to the vines flawlessly,” he announced. “No sign of infestation or decay at this point. It looks like it will be a plentiful harvest.”

  “Excellent! Glad to hear it! And your trip back East? I heard it was most profitable.”

  “Profitable to a degree, yes. More importantly, it was productive,” Philippe gave a satisfied grin. “We made significant inroads with the largest eastern wine merchants and secured our orders for the fall.”

  Lamont, an experienced Napa vintner, chimed in. “Philippe’s being modest. He sold every last gallon and made a stunning profit. We can’t wait to send him out to New Orleans next winter to see what riches he can unearth for us there!” He slapped Philippe on the back.

  “That is wonderful news! You didn’t tell me all that.” Aurora was delighted.

  “I’m cautiously optimistic, I guess you could say.” Philippe smiled genuinely at her.

  Aurora laid down her fork. “The vines have rebounded, business is plentiful, and for these blessings we are grateful, but there are still dangers. Indeed, there is a storm blowing in from the East, maybe not this year or next, but within five years, I’d wager. It will be an unyielding blight, more obstinate than the phylloxera or the rot, and longer lasting.” Aurora sipped her wine before adding, “Madame Landry has advised me so.”

  Sara’s head shot up at the mention of her name, and Aurora nodded at her with a knowing twinkle in her eye. Sara’s cheeks flushed.

  “What is it, madame? What is this grave prediction of yours?” Courtois’s face was ashen.

  Sara tried to diffuse the tension at the table. She did not like being the focus of controversy.

  “Madame exaggerates the importance of my remarks, of course. I mentioned to her my concerns regarding the possible … impediments to the California wine trade in the coming years.”

  “We’re intrigued,” Lamont said, sounding amused. “Please, do educate us.”

  Sara had the sudden feeling that this was some sort of test. She knew her views were well-founded, whether or not they all agreed with her. She may not have been blessed with her sister’s charms, but she knew she had a sharp mind and could spar with the might of Hercules himself. She took a deep breath and started slowly.

  “Monsieur, the temperance movement is gaining popularity, especially in the eastern cities—New York, Boston, Chicago. The Women’s Christian Temperance Union in particular has many supporters. They even tried to stop McKinley from serving spirits at his own inaugural last month.”

  “And Hayes’s White House was free of spirits, thanks to his wife, ol’ Lemonade Lucy,” Lamont laughed, and the others joined in. “Her temperance leanings may have influenced her husband, but not the entire country.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard the stories, monsieur,” Sara continued, “but to witness their demonstrations with my own eyes was something different entirely.”

  “Where did you see all this? In Chicago? New York?” Lamont was skeptical. “It’s a fleeting fashion, I’m sure. If it becomes anything at all, we will just reroute our trade to other parts of the country until the hysteria passes.”

  Sara noticed that Philippe was listening attentively but had not yet spoken up. Courtois looked as though he might suffer a stroke of paralysis right there at the table.

  “Forgive me, madame, but you’ve only recently arrived in this country. What qualifies you to make such judgments?” Gautier challenged.

  Aurora interjected before Sara could speak. “She came from Chicago, and before that, Angers. She is a vintner’s daughter. She’s very knowledgeable about many subjects, not just picking and pruning as you may have been led to believe, Gautier.”

  “It’s not my intention to prophesize about what will or will not happen. I simply mean to inform you of my … concern,” Sara offered gently.

  “What do you say, Lemieux? Is this not overblown rubbish?” Courtois, it seemed to Sara, wanted reassurance that the world would never change. He was not a modern thinker, she guessed.

  Philippe dabbed his napkin to his lips, placed it back in his lap and answered with a confidence that, to Sara, bordered on arrogance. “Absolutely. It’s like all other movements. Housewives, in need of a reason for their husbands’ infidelities, and preachers, forgive me, Father, in need of something to rail against in their pulpits, try to strike terror in people’s hearts and convince them that intoxicants are the devil’s elixir.”

  At this, Sara could not hold her tongue, even though she knew she should. “Yes, and in a few years’ time, those housewives and women, right here in Napa, will secure the vote, and do you know what they will do with it?” Sara looked at Philippe. “They will use it to pass the prohibition laws, a move that could decimate your trade, monsieur.”

  Philippe chuckled. “I doubt they would.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Sara inquired, tilting her head.

  “For one, such a vote would also destroy their husbands’ livelihoods.”

  Sara faked a smile. “I am not speaking of the vintners’ wives. I’m speaking of the prune, apple and raisin farmers’ wives. They could account for over sixty percent of the vote, could they not?”

  “Woo hoo!” Aurora’s whole body shuddered with laughter. “Clearly, Madame Landry has done her arithmetic. She may have you there, Philippe.”

  Philippe shrugged his shoulders mildly and seemed unruffled. “Forgive me, Aurora, for saying so, but that is precisely the reason why the association spent a fortune lobbying for the defeat of your beloved suffrage referendum last year. Some of our colleagues agree with Madame Landry. They fear prohibition will follow the women’s vote.”

  “And what do you think, Philippe?” Aurora countered brashly.

  “What I think hardly matters. However, I am of the opinion that although they may try to prohibit the drink, in the end, man will find a way—legal or otherwise—to procure it, and will pay handsomely for it.”

  Courtois raised his glass in agreement. “Hear, hear! Lemieux, you’re a keen rascal. God bless you, sir!” he blustered.

  Sara found Courtois’s heartiness a bit forced, yet she could not help but feel agitated. Her first introduction to the locals and she had already managed to kick a hornet’s nest. She did believe, however, that she was right, and that the gentlemen were shortsighted. No matter how stinging their rebuke, Sara was proud of herself for holding her ground. She was relieved when Aurora steered the discussion in a more light-hearted direction.

  “I, for one, cast my vote in favor of chocolate cake.” Aurora pushed her chair away from the table and the men rose. “Do I have any takers?”

  Everyone nodded enthusiastically and complimented the meal. Sara leapt up to help with dessert. When she walked into the kitchen, she found Tan putting the kettle on, his back to Luc, who was still seated in his chair, wide eyes transfixed by the enormous cake before him. Before Sara could reach him, Luc launched himself headlong into the chocolate-frosted confection. The fluffy frosting covered his entire face, but Luc didn’t seem to mind a bit. He licked the cake and clawed at it, wedging the frosting under his greedy Lilliputian fingernails.

  “Luc!” Sara was horrified. She heard the door swing open behind her. It was Aurora, and on her heels, Philippe.

  The cake was utterly ruined, crumbling around a huge hole the size of Luc’s face. The little criminal rubbed enough frosting from his eyes to open them and flashed Sara an unapologetic grin. Sara and the others could not help but burst into peals of laughter.

  The following day, after Mass, Sara slung her shawl around Luc and hitched him to her hip for a walk down by the pond. Now that the warmer weather was upon them, the wildflowers were blooming and the cattail plants swayed in the offshore br
eeze.

  Luc tugged on Sara’s hair, which she had loosened from its usual pinned-up style. He was dexterous for his age, and was busy twisting a thick lock of hair around his wrist. She was concentrating on untangling herself when she was startled by the thud of approaching hoofbeats. She looked up, blinded by the midday sun, to see the shadow of a horse and rider slow to a walk, then stop only a few yards away. The tall rider dismounted and tethered the horse to a nearby maple tree.

  Sara froze when she recognized him. Philippe Lemieux’s chiseled face and coolly appraising eyes came into view as soon as he removed his hat. He offered her a broad, relaxed smile, and he was suddenly so attractive, she nearly lost her footing. Sara wrapped her arms protectively around Luc, trying to calm her own fluttering nerves. Her momentary bedazzlement was soon offset by the memory of his less than civil behavior the prior evening. What could he possibly want? Hadn’t it been enough to undermine her at dinner? After challenging her with such determination last evening, he had the audacity to give her this breathtakingly beautiful smile today? It was unfair, not to mention disarming.

  “May I walk with you?” His voice was like silk, but his eyes were cautious.

  “As you like, monsieur.” She tried to sound indifferent. She glanced up at him. He was half a head taller than Sara, over six feet, she’d guess. He was dressed as though he’d just come from church, although she hadn’t noticed him there. With a twinge of irritation, she realized she had been looking for him. If he had been there, she wondered, did he notice that she hadn’t received the Sacrament? Would he have wondered why?

  Philippe tucked his hat under his left arm, and his blond bangs, disheveled by the breeze, swept over his forehead carelessly. He wore a gray coat and contrasting navy waistcoat, dark trousers, a short turnover shirt collar and black riding boots. He didn’t wear the mustache and pointed beard considered fashionable these days, and she had noticed at dinner that this accented his square jaw. She liked his clean-shaven looks—when he wasn’t undercutting her in public, of course.

  They started walking together along the dirt path that encircled the pond. Philippe didn’t speak right away, but Sara could feel his eyes upon her, and she instinctively straightened her back in an effort to quiet the conflicting emotions his presence had triggered.

  “Did you enjoy supper last night?” Another exquisite smile.

  “Indeed. It was quite a lively exchange, wouldn’t you agree?” Sara tried to sound light, as though their disagreement hadn’t affected her.

  “And a most interesting party. Aurora is a unique character, is she not?”

  “Yes.” Sara’s voice softened at the mention of her name. “Her kindness toward Luc and me—well, her generosity is overwhelming.”

  “It must have been difficult arriving as you did, baby in tow, not knowing a soul here.”

  “Yes.”

  “And it must have been difficult to cope after your husband passed.” He shook his head and then looked up to the sky, squinting at the sun. “My brother died last year. Nothing compared to a spouse, I’m sure, but it leaves its mark.” His voice, tinged with melancholy, sent Sara’s dormant guilt spiraling.

  “I’m sorry.” She could say no more, for she was in danger of losing her composure.

  “Thank you.” Philippe pressed on. “Forgive me, madame, but I am … curious.”

  “About?” She kept her tone cool and businesslike.

  “I was wondering something at dinner last night.”

  “And what was that?” She supposed she would have to continue answering his questions. Otherwise, he might grow suspicious.

  “Why have you traveled so far from France? Did you not have any family you could rely upon back in Angers? The Landry clan is spread widely throughout the Loire, is it not?” His tone was pleasant, even if the questions were somewhat prying. He seemed to be honestly interested in her situation. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or wary.

  Sara recited her well-rehearsed story. “My husband Henri died—he had no family to speak of. My parents are dead. I have no siblings. I am a vintner’s daughter, and grape farming is all I know. It’s what I’m skilled at. It seemed time for a change, a new life for Luc and me, free from the established ways and old prejudices.” She managed a wistful smile. “Perhaps you came here for similar reasons?”

  “Yes, I daresay I did.” He sighed and looked east toward the rolling hills. “Perhaps you think me impertinent. I apologize. I’m intrigued, that’s all. I can tell you’re well educated, although I would speculate that your knowledge is mostly self-taught.”

  “Primarily,” she allowed. “I attended school until the age of thirteen. The rest I learned on the farm or from books.”

  “How large was your farm?” Philippe asked politely.

  “Fifty hectares.” A lie.

  “So it was sizable for Angers?” He sounded impressed.

  “Yes,” Sara said happily, remembering Saint Martin.

  “What did you grow?”

  “Chenin blanc.”

  “And who inherited the farm?”

  Sara glanced at him, surprised again by his directness. She squinted at the water, now shimmering in the midday sun. “It came to my son and me. However, after my husband’s death, I had to sell it to repay his debtors and secure a small living for us.” A partial truth.

  “That must have been a disappointment.”

  Yes, especially the part where your father cheated us, caused my father’s death, then coerced my mother into selling Saint Martin—my rightful inheritance. And now, to protect herself and Luc, Sara had to pretend that Papa, Maman and Lydia had never existed. Sara was in no mood for his questioning, even if his assumptions were accurate.

  “If you’ll excuse me, monsieur, we should head back.”

  “Ah—I have offended you.” He touched her elbow lightly. “Forgive me.”

  She recoiled reflexively from his touch. “There’s nothing to forgive.” She hurried ahead of him, but she could hear him walking in step behind her. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Unable to take it any longer, she whirled around to confront him.

  “Monsieur, why did you seek me out today when you did not take any pains to hide your disdain last night?”

  Philippe raised his eyebrows in surprise, but quickly recovered with a laugh. “You are spirited! And I admire your directness.” His face smoothed into a serious expression. “You misunderstand me—it was not disdain. I admired your conviction. You don’t seem like the type of woman to trifle with people’s confidence in their livelihoods. If you were willing to voice your opinions last night, then you must have also determined a path around the dilemma.”

  “Monsieur?” Sara was befuddled.

  “Let me speak plainly. You are concerned enough about the gains the prohibitionists are making that you didn’t hesitate to announce that a prohibition is inevitable. Therefore, I presume you have an idea about what we vintners should do to safeguard ourselves against such a catastrophe.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “It’s just that I would very much like to hear your ideas,” he said encouragingly.

  Sara was still skeptical, even if Philippe’s manner was persuasive. “You didn’t give me that impression last night.”

  “And why would I have? I was seated at a table of friends, and although we may be comrades-in-arms, we are still rivals. Monsieur Courtois is a man who needs reassurance. He’s not comfortable with anything that might disrupt his life as a gentleman farmer. And the others are not the most forward thinkers.” He looked down, seeking her eyes and surveying her expression. “Besides, I knew nothing about your experience. I wanted to talk to you about your theories privately—not with an audience.”

  Apparently the two of them had acted their parts convincingly. Despite herself, Sara admired his competitive instincts. “You flatter me, monsieur. I only have one idea, still in its infancy, untested.”

  “I’m all ears.” He gazed at her intently.

  Sara beg
an to walk again. She could not think clearly while he was staring at her. Philippe mirrored her stride effortlessly, waiting quietly.

  “We have to act preemptively. Fight the temperance movement in its own backyard, if you will. What groups do you think will most likely propagate the move toward prohibition here in the West?”

  “Social groups and churches, I would imagine.”

  “Exactly. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  She could almost hear the click in his head as he grasped her meaning. His eyes widened with understanding. “Ah, yes. The Catholic Church. The archdiocese needs wine for the Sacrament.”

  “Yes. You should arrange things directly with Archbishop Riordan.”

  “How do you suggest I secure a long-term arrangement? Surely there will be others vying for the business?”

  “From what I understand in speaking with the curate at dinner, sacramental wine is currently purchased from a variety of suppliers—all small, all from the local parishes. If it were me—” she shook her head, realizing her error. “Let me rephrase. If it were me, and I were a man, I’d go directly to the archbishop with a case or two of my best red, and offer a long-term contract at three cents per gallon lower than his best supplier.”

  She looked over to assess his reaction. His expression was contemplative, expectant. She took that as a good sign and continued, excited now.

  “You could specify in the contract that you’re willing to match any lower bids in the future, and that you’ll meet their quality requirements.” Sara glanced at Philippe, who nodded in reply. “In return, you should ask for the archbishop’s guarantee that the church will purchase a certain number of bottles each year,” she suggested.

  Sara stopped abruptly and faced Philippe, feeling even more enthusiastic about her ideas. “There’s no question that you’ll be taking a cut in your profits the first few years, but think of it as insurance. Within five to ten years, a prohibition could completely dry up your other markets—and you will have created an alternative, legal market for your wines. Let’s not forget that the archdiocese includes all the churches north to the Oregon border, east to the Colorado River and south to the Diocese of Monterrey. The opportunity is vast.”