Sara hesitated. “Doing what?”
“As you’re well aware, Jip Montagne is gone, and you may have heard that I’ve sacked my housekeeper too.”
“What does that have to do with me? You know, I don’t cook or wash clothes very well.”
Philippe laughed. “No, I didn’t think you did.”
“Why is that funny?”
“Because I find you … charming.”
“You’re laughing at me?”
“Not at all! You have mistaken me entirely.” Philippe glided toward her. He stopped a foot away, his eyes penetrating, serious. “I want you to be my foreman, or forewoman, or maybe we’ll have to come up with another name for it.”
Sara was flabbergasted. Surely he was teasing her now, though his eyes were bright with sincerity. She felt a wave of elation rush over her, but would not give in to it without considering the prospect before her. She wanted her own land, not to work someone else’s. Yet maybe this was a way to get what she wanted, eventually.
“I have fewer qualifications than an experienced foreman.”
“Whatever qualifications you lack, you more than make up for with your hard work and quick mind. Aurora has observed your work and finds you highly knowledgeable and capable.”
“She does?”
“Yes, and let’s not forget, you also speak my language. You are exactly what I—what Eagle’s Run needs to grow.”
Sara had never heard him speak so flatteringly to anyone. Don’t get ahead of yourself, she thought. There were still many obstacles to working with Philippe.
He seemed to sense her reluctance. “And I’m going to need someone reliable to blend, bottle and arrange the transport of my wines to over half the parishes in the archdiocese …” Philippe’s voice trailed off, but his face was positively beaming.
“What? You made the deal!” Sara was amazed.
“I sure did. You are a genius.” Philippe gathered her hands in his, exclaiming, “They jumped at the offer!” Sara had never seen him so euphoric.
“Congratulations,” she said, gently pulling her hands away, unsettled by the warmth of his touch.
“Congratulations to us. I wouldn’t have done it without your encouragement. I owe you a great deal.”
Sara shook her head, but Philippe was not easily thwarted. “I’m prepared to offer you sixty dollars a month in wages, plus food and lodging.” Sara studied Philippe closely. Even standing still, he exuded a restlessness and vitality. He was a force of nature.
“What do you say?” His words snapped Sara out of her momentary bewilderment.
“Um … who will care for Luc? I can’t do both.”
“No, of course not. I’ve hired a new housekeeper. She has excellent references, and she’s worked as a nanny before. Luc can stay with her when he can’t be with you, until he’s old enough to work, you know, with us … on the farm,” Philippe offered, slipping his hands into his pockets.
Sara was more excited than she would have imagined at the thought of working with him for the long term. Her heart began to fly.
“Where would we live?”
“In the barn. There’s a small apartment where Montagne lived. I’ll clean it and add some furniture and a crib for Luc. It’s modest, but it should do … temporarily.” His eyes shifted to the floor, as if he wanted to say more.
“And what about Aurora? You’ve spoken with her?”
“Yes, and she has agreed to it, provided I give her full access to the farm, and of course, to you and Luc whenever she has need of you.”
Sara gave a half-smile. She and Aurora had become close, and she suspected Aurora thought of her as the daughter she’d never had.
Philippe appeared to understand. “I knew she would ask for something in return for sacrificing her only apprentice.”
“She drives a hard bargain.”
“Indeed.” He smiled broadly.
“I guess you’ve thought of everything.” Sara paused and thought of the absurdity of his offer, and the abundance of his trust in her. She pushed aside the guilt that lurked under the surface with regards to the Lemieux family, and instead focused on the opportunity: they would do great things together. They could make the Eagle’s Run wines world-renowned. One day she would have to tell him the truth, but in the meantime, she would impress him with her work. At the same time, she could save for the one thing that mattered more than anything—the ability to buy back Saint Martin.
“Your deliberation is torture. Tell me your thoughts at once,” he said playfully.
“I’m not in a position to refuse your offer, for I know I could do the work credibly. But you know one of my biggest faults is my boldness …” Sara hesitated only briefly. “I must try your patience and ask you for one more thing.”
“Name it.”
“Ten acres.”
“What?”
“Ten acres, which I will purchase from you over time. Give me forty dollars a month and apply the other twenty toward the purchase of a share of your land.”
Philippe stared thoughtfully at Sara, who became uneasy. Would he turn her down?
“I want to provide for my son. With my own land, I can do that.”
Philippe continued to scrutinize her for what seemed an eternity. She felt like a toddler having a tantrum because she wanted chocolate instead of vanilla ice cream. But perhaps he was actually considering her request. Then a conspiratorial grin spread across his face, as if he knew something she didn’t.
“I won’t provide any laborers. And you’ll have to rent any equipment you need—plows, the press …” His tone was matter-of-fact.
“Yes.”
“You can have ten acres that have yet to be planted, near the creek—for five hundred dollars.”
“Five hundred!” Sara couldn’t believe his audacity. “That’s uncleared land, not even worth three hundred!”
“But it’s the only land available to you,” Philippe replied calmly.
True, Sara thought grimly. “Three hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Plus half of your first harvest’s profits.”
He would not give her preferential treatment because she was a woman, or a widowed mother, that much was obvious. But then, she wouldn’t want him to. “Agreed.”
“Excellent. You start work on Monday. We’ll move you in on Sunday. Shall we shake hands on it?” Philippe extended his arm.
As his sinewy fingers gripped hers, she felt a rush of joy sweep over her. She would have jumped with excitement had not another thought suddenly intruded.
He noticed her change of mood immediately. “What is it?”
“There will be talk, you know.”
“What kind of talk?” Philippe had yet to release her hand from his.
“You are an unmarried man, hiring a young widow to do a man’s work while living fifty yards from you. It’s highly improper.”
“Perhaps.” Philippe pulled her gently toward him and bent down to whisper in her ear, “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Philippe had offered to drive Sara and Luc over to Eagle’s Run right after Mass that Sunday, but Sara insisted that he meet them at Aurora’s house to minimize the gossip and judgments that she knew would come. The speculation would begin soon enough, but Sara was willing to take the risk. As long as she and Philippe didn’t cross any of the lines of propriety she had established in her mind, she could hold her head high, knowing that her conduct was irreproachable in God’s eyes. She didn’t really care about what anyone else thought—anyone except Philippe, of course.
Sara had practically nothing to bring to her new accommodations at Eagle’s Run. The carriage carried only a trunk containing clothes, diapers, toiletries, and her mother’s Bible. In a separate basket, she had packed Luc’s food and bottles, and his favorite toy. Poor Pup had seen better days. Over the last three months, his fur had become threadbare from Luc’s constant biting and sucking. She would have to patch him up a bit when she had a chance, so that his stuffing woul
dn’t fall out.
Philippe was in high spirits during the five-minute journey from Aurora’s to Eagle’s Run. He spoke of the new cooper he’d hired and the Italians he’d lined up to help during the summer and fall months. When they arrived at the barn, Sara was surprised to see that its small windows glistened pristinely in the afternoon sun.
They entered the upstairs apartment, which was divided into two rooms by a dark green cotton curtain. The pleasant fragrance of freshly milled Ponderosa pine filled the barn, and Sara looked down at the wide floorboards, which were peppered with dark knots and had been shined to a beautiful shade of golden-brown. There was a small bed covered with a pale green and yellow quilt, and a bedside table just large enough to hold an oil lamp. On the other side of the curtain, Sara found a crib, a long table with a porcelain washbasin, and the most beautiful rocking chair she had ever laid eyes on. It was amply wide, painted black and decorated with golden scroll accents and colorful Botticelli-type angels. A soft blue blanket was carefully folded over one arm. She realized she had never rocked Luc in a chair. The care and time Philippe had taken to prepare the rooms left her speechless.
Philippe stood in the doorway, having graciously given Sara and Luc a chance to look around. He must have mistaken her silence for disappointment. When he spoke, his voice was tight, almost anxious. “Is it all right?”
Sara finally exhaled. “It’s perfect.”
Philippe relaxed. “I can’t take all the credit. I laid the floors and bought some of the furniture, but Aurora bought the linens and made it look—well, made it suitable for the two of you.”
“This chair, Philippe—what beautiful workmanship.” She sat in it, with Luc on her lap, and ran her hand along its polished, curved arm. She knew he must have chosen it—a woman would never have picked a black chair for a baby’s room. Yet it suited the apartment.
“I thought so, too. I’m glad you like it,” he said.
“Thank you … for all this.” She shook her head; his generosity amazed her. “But this must have taken—” Sara suddenly grasped that, for Philippe, his hiring her had been a foregone conclusion. “How did you know? You only asked me last Wednesday.”
He beamed confidently. “I was certain that I could persuade you if it came down to it.”
“I’d better get to work then, and uphold my end of the bargain.”
Philippe laughed and scooped Luc up in one arm. Sara was surprised at his easy way with the boy. “It’s Sunday. Come meet Rose. She’s prepared a meal for us and she’ll entertain Luc, or put him down for his nap, while you and I talk grapes.”
Sara hardly heard a word. For the first time, she could see an undeniable resemblance between Luc and Philippe: a similar curve to their cheeks, the same wave in their hair, the same round shape to their eyes, the same dimple when they smiled. The only difference was that Luc was dark-haired and brown-eyed, as Bastien had been, and Philippe was fair-haired and blue-eyed. A shiver ran down Sara’s spine, and she could feel guilt tightening in her chest. Let’s hope, she thought, that the difference is enough to keep everyone—most importantly Philippe—from wondering for some time.
Philippe looked at her with concern. “Are you okay? You look … startled.”
Sara shook her head and waved him off. “Dinner, you said, right?” she asked cheerfully. “That sounds great. I’m starving.”
At the house, Philippe and Sara sat down to a meal of roasted chicken, potatoes and carrots, served with white table wine, followed by plum pudding. Sara hadn’t enjoyed such an exquisite meal since Lydia’s wedding. “You certainly know who to hire,” she said between bites. “This meal is delicious.”
“Indeed, Rose cooks almost too well.” Philippe patted his stomach. “Her meals are very rich. They’re starting to compromise my waistline.”
Sara shook her head. Philippe, she had reluctantly observed, had the muscular torso of Adonis. The thought made her flush, and she couldn’t muster a word, even to change the subject. Fortunately, Philippe filled the silence.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“What is it?”
He hesitated before speaking. “Does it really bother you—the idea of people criticizing us behind our backs?” He took a sip of wine, but his eyes held hers.
“Not as far as my reputation is concerned. This is a business transaction, and Luc and I live separately from you. But,” she admitted, “I am new in town, and it bothers me that buyers might be reluctant to transact business with you because of me. That, perhaps, is something to consider.” Sara scooped pudding onto her spoon and ate slowly. She was self-conscious to be alone with Philippe, and at the very least wanted to make sure she didn’t have a sliver of plum stuck between her teeth.
“You have a point. And I have thought about that. I think it’s important that we both understand that that kind of … retaliation is a possibility. But in my opinion, the positive effect on my wine sales far exceeds the probable risks. Never forget that, in France, winemaking may be an art, but here, it’s an industry.”
“And a very competitive one, from what I’ve observed. That being said, people here in California tend to hold a more modern view of the world than, say, those in France, don’t you think?” Sara tried to sound hopeful.
“I do. So we’ll hope for the best and get down to business, agreed?” Philippe raised his glass, and Sara clinked hers to his.
CHAPTER 15
Moth to a Flame
Sara thrived in her new role. During late June, she led a crew of eight men, turning the soil to uproot the weeds between the vines. To turn the soil on the slopes, they used a stationary winch to hoist a plow up the hill on a long cable. Sara left the heavier tasks to the men, though she was proud that she could manage the horse and plow by herself on more level ground, even if Philippe did object. After all, if she’d been a man, he would have expected her to do it. She was young and capable and wanted nothing more than to be useful. Working with plows was much more cost-effective and faster than working by hand, but still physically taxing, Sara noted. She felt the pain in her neck, shoulders and legs.
By mid-July, they’d racked, blended and re-barreled the wines inside the winery, including the remaining forty-five barrels of the 1895 vintage, making sure the red met the high standards set by the archdiocese for sacramental wine. By the end of July, they had finished bottling twenty thousand reds and nineteen thousand of the Eagle’s Run white blend.
On the first evening in August, after a long day of transporting wine for the archdiocese to Napa Junction, Philippe and Sara sat down to a simple dinner of beef pie and a bottle of the 1895 zinfandel. They reviewed their plans for the upcoming harvest, deciding how many pickers they needed and the wages they’d offer.
Sara was impressed by Philippe’s organized approach and the short time in which he had managed to test the red wine for purity, bottle it and label it. It had been less than three months since he’d put her idea into action. He handed Sara a list of contacts in the archdiocese, along with a list of parishes and the approximate number of parishioners registered in each. He instructed her that she would be responsible for anticipating demand and supplying the Church’s warehouse at the Embarcadero. The priests who worked for Archbishop Riordan would be responsible for periodically testing the purity of the wine and distributing it to the parishes. It was a daunting project, but Sara was excited by the challenge. Philippe seemed to think she could handle all of it.
“I should stop talking and let you get Luc settled down for the night. Make sure to give Rose whatever instructions she needs for tomorrow.” Rose was a soft-spoken, gentle woman who seemed delighted to be caring for Luc in addition to keeping the house and making the meals. She was a widow with three grown children. For Sara, Rose was a godsend.
“Tomorrow?”
“We have to be on the road early.”
“Where to?” Sara hadn’t realized they were going anywhere.
“The Embarcadero.”
<
br /> “We’re going to San Francisco tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. The wine will arrive there by tomorrow morning, and I don’t want it left unattended.” He hesitated. “But there’s something I need to tell you. It may … upset you.” A smile began to appear at the corners of his mouth.
“And what is that?” Sara asked warily.
“Monsignor Finnegan, the archbishop’s right-hand man, gave me a list of rules that we must adhere to.”
“Certainly. Sacramental wine requires—”
“Yes, some are about the quality of the wine, but there are other restrictions regarding who can enter the residence of the archbishop and who is allowed to deal with the archdiocesan staff, even in the warehouse.”
Sara raised her eyebrows.
Philippe cleared his throat in an effort to hide his amusement, Sara guessed. “You see, they only allow men.”
“That’s ridiculous! Why? They allow women in church. Did they say why?”
“I would presume it’s to protect the priests and laymen working there from … temptation.”
Sara exhaled with a huff. “I suppose that’s their prerogative, although it’s unnecessary. I mean, really, I work at a vineyard. It’s my employment. What, do they imagine that all women are depraved?”
Philippe just laughed. “No, but I’m not concerned with all women. And besides”—he paused for a second—“I don’t think you realize how very tempting you are.” He was teasing her now.
“You’re exaggerating again.” Sara returned to their dilemma. “So, what does that mean? How am I supposed to accompany you and, more importantly, serve as the liaison between Eagle’s Run and the archdiocese?”
“I thought about going alone, but then I realized you would want to see your idea through.”
“And, so?” Sara asked expectantly.
He pushed his chair back from the table, stood and waited for Sara to do the same. “Come with me. You have some new clothes to try on.”
The next day, they rose with the cock’s crow and left Eagle’s Run at dawn. Sara relished the opportunity to ride her horse astride, just as Philippe did. It was invigorating to be on horseback again. She felt like she was flying.
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