The Italian Sister (The Wine Lover's Daughter, Book 1)

by Christa Polkinhorn

  “Who is it?” she called, afraid to open the door, in case it was the old man after all. She was relieved when she recognized Edoardo’s voice and opened the door. Another gust of wind almost knocked it out of her hand.

  Edoardo stood there, wrapped in what looked like a black rain slicker. He stepped inside, water dripping from his coat and collecting in puddles on the stone floor. He reached under the coat and pulled out a wrapped package. “Two flashlights and candles,” he said.

  “Oh, thank you,” Sofia said. “But I’m so sorry you had to walk through this storm.”

  Edoardo pulled down his hood and wiped his face with his hand. “This is not a problem. We thought you might be scared. Do not be scared. We have rainstorms like this occasionally. It will clear up soon.”

  “Thank you.” Sofia was surprised by his concern. “What about the vines, though?”

  Edoardo shook his head. “The rain cools the air and this is good. There is no hail and the vineyards have natural protection from the hills and the rows of trees. We will have a little damage but not serious. See? It is almost over.”

  The wind had diminished, the thunder sounded farther away, and the rain was steady and all this within a few seconds after one of the wildest storms Sofia had ever experienced.

  “Thank God,” she said. “To be honest, I was a little worried. So thank you for checking on me.” At that moment, the light came back on and the refrigerator began to hum in the kitchen.

  Edoardo gave a barely perceptible smile. “You are welcome.”

  Sofia remembered the figure she thought she had seen earlier. “Was your father outside, by any chance?” she asked.

  Edoardo’s eyes narrowed. “No, of course not. He is at home. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought I saw someone from my bedroom window, someone with a cane.”

  Edoardo’s facial expression darkened. “This is not possible. Why would my father be outside in the middle of the night during such a storm?”

  Why indeed? Sofia mused.

  “You must have seen something else,” Edoardo said.

  Sofia nodded. She began to doubt herself. “It was probably just the wind or a shadow.”

  “Are you all right now or do you need anything else?” Edoardo asked, his voice stern now. Had she insulted him by suspecting that his father had been outside?

  “No, I’m fine and thank you very much for coming out here during such weather. I really appreciate it.”

  Edoardo gave a quick nod, pulled up his hood, opened the door, and left. Sofia watched him in the glare of the now functioning lantern along the path. She closed the door and went inside.

  Upstairs she glanced outside the window again. It was still raining a little and there were some remaining flashes of lightning far away but the wind had died down. There seemed to be nobody outside, so perhaps the figure had been a figment of her imagination.

  Back in bed, she tried to fall asleep but couldn’t settle down. She kept thinking about the figure with the cane. She’d never suffered from hallucinations and in spite of all the reasons that spoke against it—he was old and had no business being out in a rainstorm and Edoardo claimed that he was at home—she was convinced she had seen the old Santucci.

  Sofia fell back to sleep but kept waking up. When her travel clock showed five in the morning, she got up and went downstairs. There was an espresso machine in the kitchen. She filled it with water and added some of the coffee Luisa had given her. Waiting for the water to heat up, she opened the door to the patio and stepped outside. It was still dark but the rain had stopped and it was quiet. It smelled of wet grass, some kind of herbs and the sweet aroma of flowers from the garden.

  The patio was covered with leaves, twigs, and a few small tree branches from the storm. She also found a dead bird right in front of the door, probably another victim of the storm, Sofia thought. Poor thing. She bent down to look at it more closely. It was fairly large and black and could have been a crow. Its head was twisted and the dead open eyes stared at her. Her breath caught; a chill shot down her spine. It looked as if someone had wrung the bird’s neck. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Who would do such a thing and put the bird in front of her door? Did someone want to scare her? She thought of Adriano’s words about the family’s resentment toward her.

  The nightmare of the previous day, the figure with the cane she thought she’d seen during the night and now the dead bird filled her with dread. She stood up and took deep breaths. But no, she told herself. She couldn’t get all crazy. The nightmare had just been that … a nightmare, nothing real. The bird probably flew against the wall or the window during the storm and broke its neck. The shape she had seen at night had probably just been a shadow of something. Sofia went inside and got the dustpan from the kitchen. She carefully lifted the bird and placed it under a bush next to the patio. She would bury it once she came back.

  Back inside, it smelled of coffee. She poured herself a cup and carried it to the easy chair in the living room. In the meantime, the sun was about to rise, filling the hills with light and shadows. The deep bronze of the meadows turned golden and hues of pink and purple colored the horizon. Now, in the light of day, the Tuscan landscape looked and felt reassuring and benign again. Sofia sipped the fragrant, slightly bitter brew and felt the fears of the night slowly fade.

  PART FOUR: REAL OR IMAGINARY DANGERS

  Chapter 13

  A few hours later after showering and dressing, Sofia stepped outside just as Adriano’s car entered the driveway of the main house. The air was fresh and smelled clean from the rain and the sky was a deep blue again. Birds whistling and singing greeted the day.

  “That was quite a storm last night,” Sofia said as they were driving along the highway westward in the direction of the Mediterranean.

  Adriano glanced at her. “Yes, fortunately, it did not last very long. Did the electricity go out here, too?”

  “Yes, for a short while,” Sofia said. “I was scared with all the lightning. I didn’t know if the house had a lightning rod or something.”

  “These storms happen quite often here, more in autumn though. But the houses are protected and there are hills and high trees away from the property. So they get hit first. The storm did not harm the vineyards, I hope?”

  “No, fortunately not. That’s what Edoardo said.” Sofia told him that Luisa’s brother had come over to check on her.

  “Oh? This is considerate, is it not?”

  “Yes, I was surprised. Perhaps he is nicer than I thought at first.” Sofia hesitated. “I really think his father is the one who hates me. I think he was outside my house last night, watching it.”

  Adriano gave her a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

  Sofia told him about the figure of an old man with a cane she thought she had seen. “Edoardo told me it was impossible, but I know I saw him … or someone who looked like him.”

  “This is strange,” Adriano said. “But why would he be out there in such a storm? And how could you see him in the dark?”

  “I saw him when lightning lit up the meadow in the back of the house.”

  “And you are absolutely sure it was him you saw?” Adriano’s voice sounded doubtful.

  Sofia sighed. He must think I’m nuts. “I’m not sure. One minute I’m convinced it was him, but then I think again that perhaps it was a shadow or something.”

  Adriano was quiet for a while, then cleared his throat. “Perhaps you were scared of the storm and I think you are a little scared of the dottore because of his behavior. He looks angry a lot, and I think he is a little … how do you say? Matto.” He twirled his finger around his temple.

  “Crazy?” Sofia said.

  “Yes.” Adriano nodded. “Do not worry. He is old and stubborn but he will get used to you after a while.”

  “Probably,” Sofia said, but she wasn’t convinced. She wanted to tell him about the dead bird, but decided not to. Claiming that someone had twisted its neck and put it in front
of her door might really qualify her for the loony bin.

  Cecina was a small town along the Tuscan coastline. They had no trouble finding the rental agency. What was more difficult, however, was renting a car with an automatic transmission and Sofia didn’t know how to drive a stick shift. The assistant at the agency told them that usually you had to reserve an automatic three months in advance. Luckily, the only car with an automatic transmission they did have available at this time would be returned around lunchtime. Sofia filled out the paperwork and they were told to come back at around one o’clock.

  They took a walk through town. Along the boardwalk, the breeze was pleasantly cool. Sofia inhaled the scent of salt from the sea and the occasional whiff of suntan lotion from the sunbathers on the beach. The tourists seemed to be mainly Italians on their summer vacation. At one of the restaurants, they ordered lemonade and an assortment of sandwiches, made of ciabatta bread, spread with pesto paste and topped with roasted eggplant, green peppers, and tomatoes. They were delicious.

  “Food is too good here, I’m going to get fat during the next few months,” Sofia said.

  Adriano chortled, then coughed and apologized. He gave her an amused look. “There is no fat on you whatsoever. Even if you gained a few kilos, you would still be thin.”

  “I know I’m too thin. I wouldn’t mind gaining some weight but you know what happens. The pounds go to the wrong places.” She laughed. It was relaxing being here with Adriano, away from the Santuccis and the tensions.

  Adriano shook his head. “I did not mean to say that you are too thin. You are just right.”

  Always the gentleman, Sofia thought.

  After lunch, they went back to the rental agency and to Sofia’s relief, a blue Honda civic with automatic transmission was waiting for her. After signing the rental contract and getting the keys, Sofia got into the car and adjusted the seat and the mirrors.

  “Do you remember how to get back?” Adriano asked.

  Sofia hesitated. “I think so.”

  “I will drive ahead of you. Just follow me.” Adriano got into his car. On the way back, Sofia was careful to pay attention to the directions. Tomorrow she would be alone, without Adriano’s helpful and comfortable presence. She better get used to it. Sofia decided not to let the old Santucci’s hostility toward her ruin her experience. She wanted to work in her vineyards as much as possible. It was the first chance she had after her divorce to help with veraison and be present during the grape harvest.

  When they arrived at the estate in the late afternoon, Adriano wanted to say good-bye but there was only the old Mrs. Santucci in the house. Everybody else was working in the fields. Adriano told her to give his regards to the family, which the old woman acknowledged with a nod.

  “I will see you in about two months. Edoardo invited me to the harvest celebration in October,” Adriano said to Sofia. “Or, in case you come to Firenze in the meantime, let me know.”

  “I certainly will,” Sofia said. She hated to see him leave but she knew he’d taken a lot of time away from his work and his family to get her settled.

  “Thank you very much for all your help. I’m really grateful.” They shook hands.

  “It is my pleasure. I wish you a very good time. You will see, most of the people here are kind. And if you need help or have questions, you have my telephone number. You can call me anytime.” He got into the car and waved at her.

  Sofia watched with an aching heart as his silver Lancia drove slowly along the gravel path toward the highway. Feeling lonely by herself, she considered joining the people who worked at the vineyards, then decided to start working the following day. Halfway back at her house, she saw the old man again. Mr. Santucci was walking past her home toward the fields, his cane clinking whenever it hit a stone on the road. Sofia slunk behind a tree to hide from him but he didn’t pay any attention and kept on walking.

  Why am I afraid of him? He was just a grumbling old coot. Inside the house, she breathed a sigh of relief. She would have to get over her fears. She couldn’t panic every time she saw him. Perhaps Adriano was right and he would learn to accept her. Even if they wouldn’t become close friends, at least he would get used to her.

  She opened the door to the patio. It was still strewn with leaves and blossoms from the storm. She went to check for the dead bird, but it was gone. How strange. Had she imagined it in the morning? No, of course not. The bird had been removed, but by whom? Or by what? It could have been an animal. That must be it, Sofia thought. A dog or some other animal could have dragged it away. If people wanted to scare her with the bird, they probably wouldn’t have removed it, would they? Stop it, Sofia. Stop the stupid fears. She couldn’t go nuts over a dead bird, for heaven’s sake.

  There was a wooden shed next to the house. The door was halfway open and Sofia discovered some garden tools in there and a broom. She began to sweep the granite floor of the patio and wiped the iron garden chairs.

  Afterward, sitting outside, she inhaled the scents of the summer evening, the sweetness of the flowers. She recognized a few but several of them were foreign to her. Her father had been an encyclopedia when it came to plant and flower names. Sofia wondered if he’d planted the garden himself. Perhaps Julietta helped him. She almost saw him, his tall frame, his wild hair. Did he kneel in the dirt and plant the seedlings as he’d done at home? At his other home. Which of his houses had he considered his first home? Which of his lives was his true life? She wished so much he was here. She had so many questions.

  They would sit together at this shaky old garden table, drinking wine. Perhaps Julietta would sit with them, a glass of grape juice in her hands. Or did she already drink wine? She was only fourteen but Sofia remembered that in Europe young people were allowed to drink alcohol earlier than in the States. But fourteen was young, so it must be grape juice. Luisa might join them. Would she and Henry smile at each other? From what John told her, it had been a short fling not a serious relationship. Still, they had a child together; they were parents. But none of this was real. Henry was dead and Luisa and her family didn’t feel close to her yet.

  She missed her father more than ever now. If he were here, he would have a perfect explanation for all the stupid incidences of the past night, the dead bird, the shadow of the man. She felt the familiar ache in her chest and her eyes filled with tears.

  There was a knock at the door. Sofia realized she had locked it after seeing old Santucci. She wiped her eyes, got up, and opened.

  Julietta stood outside, a basket with strawberries in her hand. “From Mamma,” she said. Seeing the smiling face of her sister, Sofia felt her sadness and fears fade.

  They sat on the now clean patio, eating the berries. They were sweet and juicy, fresh from the garden. It was quiet, just the occasional munching sound. Sofia wanted to start a conversation but felt oddly inhibited. It irritated her that she couldn’t feel completely relaxed around her sister. Julietta seemed so kind and easygoing. But then she remembered the nightmare. Had it been a warning after all? Was Julietta’s kindness pretense? How did her sister really feel about her? If it weren’t for Sofia, Julietta would have inherited her two vineyards. She must be resentful. But Julietta didn’t seem to harbor any hard feelings.

  Sofia had to stop feeling so distrustful. She came here to bond with her sister. She was family after all, almost the only family she had left, aside from Emma and her grandparents.

  She felt Julietta’s eyes on her. Sofia glanced at her and smiled. “They are really good.” She pointed at the empty basket.

  Julietta nodded, then got up. “Mamma said you should have dinner with us tonight. Tomorrow, I can take you shopping for groceries if you want to have dinner here. Papa usually had lunch with us and dinner here. Sometimes he ate all his meals with us. Mamma said you are always welcome.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I wouldn’t mind having lunch with you. Did you have dinner with Papa here?” Sofia asked.

  “Sometimes, yes. Sometimes I helped him
cook.”

  Sofia hesitated. “Are your grandparents eating with you tonight?”

  “No, not today. They are eating with zio Edoardo and zia Gina.”

  Sofia was relieved. “Don’t they normally eat with you?”

  “They have lunch with us. Sometimes, they eat at Uncle Edoardo’s place. Sometimes they eat upstairs, when they are tired. They have a kitchen upstairs. Mamma and I buy groceries for Nonna.”

  I guess there would be no way avoiding the old people all together, Sofia thought. But at least she wouldn’t have to deal with them tonight. Besides, being together with Luisa and Julietta would help her get closer to them. She wanted to make a real effort to get to know them better.

  Chapter 14

  Sofia woke early to another hot summer day. She showered, had a quick breakfast of coffee and rolls, and got ready to work in the vineyard. It was still veraison, the time of ripening of the grapes when the berries changed color from green to various shades of blue or purple depending on the variety. Sofia remembered from her work in the vineyard in Northern California that this was a critical stage in the process leading up to the actual vendemmia or harvest. Much of the canopy work such as trimming of the vines to give the grapes as much air and sunshine as possible had begun during past months. Now, it was time to cut back the suckers and remove poorly developed clusters to encourage the growth of the more vigorous ones. All of this was important for a balanced crop and the best possible fruit.

  Sofia dressed in loose pants, a long-sleeve light shirt that wasn’t too warm but prevented her arms from being burned by the sun. When she heard someone knock, she put on her sun hat, grabbed a bottle of water and the work gloves, and opened the door. Julietta was outside, dressed in dungarees and sturdy boots, wearing a fedora sun hat. She was on vacation from school and liked to help with the work on the estate.