The California Wife

by Kristen Harnisch

  She studied him, trying to discern whether he was upset or sympathetic. “Monsignor?” she asked cautiously.

  He waved his hands, dismissing her anxiety. “My dear, if your story is accurate, you committed no sin. I see no reason why I can’t reinstate our agreement.” Sara’s lower lip began to tremble with relief. O’Brien quickly added, “You have suffered a great deal in your young life. I’m going to treat this little exchange as I would a confession. I shan’t utter a word.”

  Sara shifted nervously. What if Philippe found out? “Even to—”

  “I shan’t utter a word to anyone.” O’Brien smiled. Aurora exhaled, clasping her hands together in gratitude.

  “Thank you, Monsignor. You are a true Christian,” Sara said, choking out the words.

  She gestured toward the boxes. “The piccalilli we promised you, as a token of our appreciation.”

  “A bribe?” O’Brien winked.

  Sara exhaled loudly. “Luckily, it didn’t come to that.”

  On Saturday, Pippa sat on the front steps with her favorite toy ball tucked beside her. She studied Philippe as he knelt on the clay ground, showing Luc how to shoot marbles. When Pippa began one of her coughing jags, Philippe rushed to the pump for a cup of water and held it to her lips, catching the drizzle of spillover with his handkerchief. Before he returned to Luc, he placed a pebble-sized cat’s eye in her palm, for good luck. Her mouth curled into her unique version of a smile, and her face lit with excitement.

  Every time he lost a marble to a crack in the ground, Philippe crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out, causing Luc and Pippa to erupt in a fit of giggles. When Luc grew frustrated with marbles, Philippe pulled him near, and rested Pippa on his knee. Then Philippe swatted an imaginary mosquito on his leg.

  “Did I ever tell you about the mosquito man?”

  “Ew! No!” they chimed.

  “You see, young Forrester fancied himself one of the smartest lads in the county. He and his pa knew all the tricks for rooting out mosquitoes. They even covered their pond with a thin coat of oil, just to keep ’em from breeding baby skeeters. One season, a swarm of ’em was growing in numbers, buzzing through the county, stinging everyone. But these were no ordinary skeeters.” Philippe held up a clenched hand. “They were the size of Forrester’s fist. When he saw the black cloud of insects headed his way, guess what he did? He ran into the barn, locked the door and grabbed his pa’s hammer. There he hid—waiting, and listening.

  “The buzzing came closer, and got louder, but he thought he’d outsmarted them. Then they started to sting the door! Stinger after stinger pushed through, and young Forrester pounded them down, one by one.” Philippe wagged his index finger. “But he didn’t count on the skeeters being smarter.

  “After he’d nailed their stingers down, they summoned all the strength they had, beating their wings feverishly”—Philippe flapped his arms wildly—“and pulled the door right off its hinges! Our young Forrester was taking hot baths and swabbing with alcohol for weeks after.”

  Luc’s mouth hung open. “Is that true, Papa?”

  “What do you think?” Philippe jabbed him gently in the ribs.

  “Naw, it can’t be!” Luc said, and started to laugh. Pippa giggled with skittish relief.

  Boone Sumter clattered up in his wagon with his gangly fifteen-year-old son, Jess, packing more foodstuffs from the neighbors. Philippe thought it was uncharacteristically kind of him to have organized the delivery.

  Philippe greeted Sumter and Jess, and in reply, Sumter tipped his hat. Jess stacked the food by the kitchen door, but then walked back to the wagon without a word. He didn’t greet the children, or even glance at them as they played ball. Maybe he’d heard the gossip about Pippa and decided to steer clear. Philippe sighed. He knew most children would never accept her. Each rejection his daughter faced chipped away at his hope for her future.

  Sumter tipped his hat again, and headed back toward the wagon. Luc kicked Pippa’s ball and it flew down the front path, bouncing right on Sumter’s heels. Pippa ran after it, but froze when she neared the wagon. Without fetching the ball, she whirled around and ran back to Philippe. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and her mouth slack with terror.

  Philippe knelt down. “What is it, Pippa?”

  She choked and sobbed, rubbing her eyes with her fists. She grabbed Philippe’s hand and whispered, “I-yah boy.”

  “What?”

  “I-yah boy!” Pippa’s eyes darted to Jess, then back to Philippe. The color drained from the boy’s face.

  Jess pointed at Pippa, trembling. “Don’t come near me, witch!”

  Sumter slapped the boy hard, and ordered him to apologize.

  “Wait.” Philippe held up his palm, incredulous. Could Pippa be right? Did he understand her correctly? He clenched the knife in his pocket and asked softly, “Did you see this boy set the fire?”

  Pippa was trembling when she nodded. She tightened her grip on Philippe’s leg and buried her face.

  “You can’t blame my boy when she was the one I found that night, right in the thick of things. How d’ya know she didn’t do it herself?” Sumter objected.

  Philippe pulled the Barlow from his pocket and handed the knife to its owner. An expression of alarm flashed across Sumter’s face. Beneath the weight of his father’s accusing stare, Jess broke down.

  “Pa, I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt!”

  Sumter slumped, deflated. Clearly he hadn’t an inkling of his son’s crime. “What in tarnation?” he demanded.

  “They stole the church business from us!”

  Sumter’s face twisted into a strange mixture of sorrow and rage. “So you burned their winery? You could have destroyed half the county!”

  By then, Luc had wandered up to see what all the hubbub was about. Philippe whispered, “Take your sister in to Maman, and you two stay inside, understand?” Luc’s lower lip quivered, but he obeyed his father.

  When the children were out of earshot, Philippe walked up to Jess. This snot-nosed kid had had the nerve to set fire to Philippe’s property, destroying a five-thousand-dollar building and a year’s worth of profit, and placing his family in harm’s way? When Philippe came face-to-face with Jess, Sumter did nothing to interfere. “Arson is a crime, punishable by imprisonment,” Philippe threatened, the words souring his tongue.

  “Yessir.” Jess was cowering now, waiting for a blow that did not come.

  “Do you know what life’s like in the Napa County lockup? Crowded. Jailer Behr doesn’t separate the murderers from the thieves and arsonists. You’ll spend the rest of your life in a tiny cell, or flushing the city sewers with the chain gang.”

  Sumter wrung his hat in his hands mournfully. “Have mercy, Lemieux,” he implored. “Half our vines were ruined by the phylloxera. The boy overheard me spouting to his ma about it; how we’d be all right if we just had more of the church business.” Sumter hung his head. “The boy got himself carried away with things.”

  Philippe stepped back and exhaled, raking his hand through his hair. He startled when he heard a high-pitched shriek behind him. His wife, eyes blazing, ran toward them at full speed. Sara barreled into the teenager, shoving him into the side of the wagon. Jess crumpled to the ground. Before Philippe understood what was happening, he heard the crack of Sara’s palm hitting Boone Sumter’s face. Philippe lurched forward, taking hold of Sara’s arms, while her body contorted with rage. “You bastard!” she spat at Sumter. “Your son almost killed my daughter, destroyed our vineyard and you—you go off telling the church that I’m a murderer, when you don’t even know the truth!” She tried to wriggle free, but Philippe locked his arm around her waist. While he didn’t comprehend what she was saying about the archdiocese, he shared her fury. He would have done the same thing if he hadn’t felt a pang of sympathy for Jess.

  Sumter rubbed his cheek, looking dazed. The boy stayed near the ground, his arms shielding his head. Philippe wanted to mash this kid’s face to a pulp for what
he’d done to Pippa. But he remembered what he’d been like at fifteen—hot-blooded and fast-tempered with no understanding of restraint. He had to think this through, because he faced a bigger problem than Jess Sumter. Philippe needed to fix the mess Jess had left in his wake.

  He pulled Sara tight as she heaved with sobs. “Shhh, my love. You’re exhausted. Let me walk you inside.” He was surprised when she leaned on him for support. He held her up as they walked back toward the kitchen. But when she turned to go inside, she was still spitting sparks. “Don’t you disappoint me, Philippe. You give ’em what they have coming.”

  He held her face in his hands, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “Do you trust me?” he asked gently. Sara nodded, still shaking with anger. “I will fix this—and I’ll punish Jess Sumter. But you have to let me do this my way.” Sara’s gaze met his for one long moment. She said nothing, but he could tell she wasn’t sure. Unwilling to compromise, he kissed her hair, which smelled of sun and soap, and headed back to Sumter and his son.

  When he reached them, he announced calmly, “I’m not going to press charges.” Philippe glanced at Jess. “Locking you up doesn’t help anyone, least of all me. Here’s what you’re going to do.” He pointed at the boy. “Every day after school, you come here and work till suppertime. You’re going to repair the damage you’ve done.” Philippe gestured to the charred, mangled vines in the western field. “And you’ll help replant the vines.” Philippe looked from Sumter to his son. “In summertime, you’ll arrive at sunrise and work till sunset. In the spring, you’ll dig holes for the new orchard trees. Your father’s going to give you up for two years, in servitude to me, as repayment for your crime.”

  “Yessir,” Jess replied feebly. Sumter was silent, waiting.

  “This will cost your parents money. I expect you to help them around the house when you’re not here.” Philippe rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the splitting ache there. He was certain this was the right course. “Boone, I’ll thank you not to thrash the boy. I need him well-rested and in working shape tomorrow.”

  Sumter flashed his son a withering glance, but reluctantly agreed.

  “I’m not finished,” he said gruffly. “You’ll apologize to Pippa for calling her names. She almost died from the smoke. You’re going to treat her as you would your sister. She’s your new best friend, and you’re her guardian, understand?”

  Jess nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders shaking. Philippe was glad to see the boy had a heart.

  “Did you see my daughter that night? Do you know how she got out there?”

  Jess looked up, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “No, sir. After I . . . when I ran away, I didn’t see anyone.”

  “How’d you light it?”

  “Kerosene lamp and some rags.” He shrugged. “With no rain for weeks, it spread quick.”

  “Which fire did you light first?”

  The boy shifted his gaze down. “The winery,” Jess whispered.

  Philippe shoved his clenched fists into his pockets to keep from thrashing the kid. “It was stupid and dangerous.”

  “Yessir,” Jess mumbled.

  “Be here at six o’clock sharp tomorrow morning,” Philippe commanded.

  Jess scrambled into the wagon. Too choked with emotion to speak, Boone Sumter tipped his hat in gratitude.

  “Boone, there’s one more thing,” Philippe added. “Your boy cost me an entire year’s profits, and burned down my winery. Your winery hasn’t been at full capacity for a while. I want free use of the building, all the equipment, and your spare storage capacity for every year I’m unable to rebuild. Agreed?”

  Sumter’s frown was apparent beneath his scraggly blond beard. “Fair enough.”

  “I want it in writing,” Philippe persisted.

  Sumter glanced back. “You’ll have it.” As he rode away with his son, Philippe realized he probably should have asked Sumter about Sara’s allegation, but he decided to take it up with Sara. Boone Sumter had enough trouble to deal with for today.

  The next morning, Jess arrived five minutes early. Philippe sipped his steaming coffee, watching the boy from the kitchen window. Jess circled the water pump, head bowed, kicking the dirt and raising a cloud of dust. Philippe took one long last sip, pushed his hat down and set out to teach Jess Sumter a thing or two about life.

  The boy was stone quiet all the way into town, arms locked over his ribs. He was not the sniveling, cowardly boy Philippe had confronted yesterday. He wasn’t sure how he was going to pull it off, but he knew that he’d have to break Jess Sumter down before he could build him up right.

  “Where are you taking me?” Jess’s face paled when Philippe stopped the wagon right in front of the Napa County jailhouse. Philippe didn’t answer. He wanted Jess to sweat it out a while longer.

  At eight o’clock, the Napa County jailhouse was dimly lit and half-empty and smelled like a strange mixture of tobacco, shit, sweat and onions. Four men were cramped in one of three iron-barred cells, lying on their bunks, choking on a haze of smoke. Jailer Behr came out from behind his desk, obviously surprised to see anyone at this hour of the morning.

  “Visiting hours are Sunday afternoons only,” he snapped.

  Philippe introduced himself, asking where the other inmates were. Behr gave Jess the once-over. “Why, thinking of signing up your son for hard time?” He laughed wheezily before breaking into a coughing spasm. “Just kiddin’. They’re on the chain gang today, working in back of the courthouse.”

  Perfect, Philippe thought. Before leaving, he asked only one more question. “What are they doing time for?” His eyes flashed to the men in the cell.

  “We got ourselves quite a variety: murderers and thieves, mostly.”

  “Any fire starters?” Philippe flashed a sideways glance at Jess, who’d started to tremble.

  Behr caught on instantly. “Arsonists? No, not lately. Last one hung himself with a belt back in ’98.”

  Philippe tipped his hat in thanks, and directed a silent Jess back out to the wagon. Within minutes, they arrived at the courthouse. When they circled around back, they found the chain gang, supervised by the deputy jailer, clearing rocks from the land in the yard. As Philippe moved closer, with Jess a step behind, he could see the men were pale as ghosts, their fingernails crusted with dirt. Flies buzzed around their beards, which glimmered with grease, and their eyes darted around like minnows.

  “Pick up the pace, girls,” the jailer called, resting his hand on his billy club.

  Philippe shook the jailer’s hand. “No shackles?” he asked.

  “Naw, slows them down. We need to clear this field by nightfall, judge says.”

  A shout interrupted their exchange. Two of the men were dashing toward the street. The jailer pulled his revolver from its holster and charged across the field after the escapees. When he’d closed the gap to twenty yards, he stopped, aimed and fired. Though he missed the first man, he shot the second clean through the back. He dropped to the ground.

  Philippe learned the next day that the other man was captured trying to board a Southern Pacific rail car at Napa Depot. He was hauled back in chains.

  After their trip into town, Philippe had no more trouble from Jess Sumter. In fact, the boy turned out to be a decent worker. He milked the cows, fed the horses, mucked out the stables, cleaned out the root cellar in preparation for winter and helped Philippe take down the blistered winery walls, board by board, stone after stone.

  In late October, when they were finally done stacking useable stones and discarding burned materials, Jess wiped his sweaty, soiled face with his sleeve and stood tall before Philippe. “I want to thank you, sir,” he gulped, “for sparing me.”

  Philippe looked into the boy’s eyes for a long moment, and seeing sincerity there, replied grimly, “You’re welcome.”

  “Sir,” Jess faltered for a moment. “Why did you do it?”

  Philippe pulled his neckerchief off and wiped the perspiration from his bro
w. “Let’s just say you remind me of someone. I don’t want you to end up like him.”

  Chapter 21

  Sara reclined on the cool grass next to Pippa and Luc, who were already spread out like two eagles, pondering the beryl sky above. They traced the clouds with their fingers. “A cat! An elephant! Papa’s chapeau!” they howled with delight.

  October had come and gone without its usual fanfare. With no new vintage to rack, Sara, Philippe, Jess and Mac spent their days cleaning up the debris from the fire, counting their barrel and bottle inventory in the two adobe cellars, and packing cases of the 1899 cabernet, zinfandel and chardonnay for shipment.

  Philippe’s mood had been so dark since the fire that no one, not even Sara, dared to ask about his plans to rebuild. Instead of allowing his depression to drag her down, Sara retreated with the children to the orchard. Usually they worked hard, harvesting the apples and pears from the mature trees, but today they were taking a break. Sara could not have hoped for a greater friendship between her two children. Luc behaved like any four-year-old brother should. He sometimes pinched his face in irritation when Pippa trailed him like an over-eager puppy, but he also taught her how to balance on the concrete slab to use the water pump, showed her how to capture fireflies in glass jars, and warned her about the dangers of the creek. He taught her how to pick worms off the apples and place the fruit gently in the basket, taking care not to bruise the skin.

  Sara refused to dwell on the recent events that had been so devastating to her family. She had explained to Philippe how Sumter had tried to destroy her reputation with the archdiocese, and she had accepted Jess as part of their daily lives, so long as he kept his head down and did his chores. He helped Philippe with everything from planting cover crops between the vine rows to delivering demijohns of wine to their city customers. Over the course of a month, her bitterness slowly eased into a tolerance of the boy. He’d endeared himself to all of them by teaching Luc and Pippa to shoot marbles with their thumbs, to jump rope, even to thread a worm on a fishing hook. But Jess still avoided looking at Sara, or speaking to her unless she approached him directly. One day, when he became a father, he’d understand why she’d lost her temper and lunged at him.