Sweeter Than Wine (18 page)

"I'm sorry. I forgot. Mr. R left this for you."

The coffee was exactly the right shade of golden brown. It was almost
frightening, that Siegfried should have paid attention to her habits to such a degree
that he could make her the perfect cup of coffee. She inhaled the fragrance. It was
a pity she couldn't drink it before Mass, and go to Communion.

She opened her eyes when Maria sighed. "You're such a lucky woman, Mrs.
R. It's none of my business, but maybe you should be treating Mr. R. a little better.
He's a good man, and he's crazy about you. Marriage isn't always easy--I should
know--but--"

"It's very complicated," Alice said firmly. She didn't want to answer Maria's
unspoken question,
Why is your husband sleeping in the guest room?
"Shall we go? I don't want to be the last one at church."

Alice set her untasted cup in the sink and went outside with Maria. This
morning was clear, promising heat again later. The sun was bright as they came
around the house toward the parking area.

Brilliant black reflections stabbed Alice's eyes.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed as Maria gasped.

Siegfried hastily slipped a rag into his pocket and stepped back so they could
better see the Model-T, spit-cleaned and polished to a fare-thee-well. He had
scrubbed every inch of its battered surface until it sparkled. When he'd had the
time to waste on it, Alice couldn't imagine.

He smiled at her dazed expression, then opened the driver's door with a
flourish. "Thank you, Siegfried," Alice managed to say as she climbed into the
truck. "But you really didn't need to."

"It's so nice to drive to church in a clean car," Maria gushed as Siegfried
opened the passenger side door. "How very thoughtful of you!"

How calculating! He doesn't mean it for your good
! Her rational voice
shouted.
He knows what you like
, her bad angel whispered.

"It was my pleasure." Siegfried sounded as if his considerable efforts really
had been a pleasure for him.

This is getting out of hand! Alice thought hard. She had to find something
quickly to put him in his place, and keep him there. "You know it would please me
more if you came to Mass with us," she said softly.

As she had hoped, Siegfried's expression turned stubborn. "No. I cannot. I am
sorry."

In the glow of this minor victory, Alice ignored the fact that he had held her
gloved fingers a little longer than courtesy required. "You'll be in my prayers," she
responded piously. And he would be too, she promised herself, putting the truck in
gear. Especially the one that went,
Dear God, make him leave me alone--
before I surrender to his sweet, lying ways
.

* * *

A week later, they had finished cleaning the fermenting tanks and vats.

Alice washed her hands at the pump in the yard. In the lingering twilight, the
sky shifted colors from lapis lazuli to copper to sulfurous yellow. She dipped a
handful of cool water, splashed it onto her sweaty forehead, and thought longingly
of how good it would feel to release her heavy hair from its tight bun, and rinse the
sweat from her itchy scalp.

The work crew waited patiently for her to finish. Then they took turns soaking
themselves all the way through their red union suits. It had been very hot during
the afternoon, and from the look of the sky, tomorrow would be a scorcher,
too.

Maria called from the kitchen porch, "Lemonade!"

There was an exodus from the pump. Gray dusty winery crew met blue-
powdered vineyard crew by the kitchen, as Peter and his men welcomed their
comrades with huge grins and passed along glasses of lemonade.

Alice drank. She was exhausted from her exertions of the last month, and from
her effort to work with Siegfried on a daily basis without falling under his spell. His
exuberance and his clever daily contests had gotten the winery cleaned faster
than anybody could have expected.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Siegfried appeared on the path between the
fruit trees, his hair as golden as the last line of sunlight on the hills across the
valley. He climbed halfway up the porch stairs, then turned around to face the
small crowd.

"You did fine work," he said, pitching his voice so that all would hear. "Mrs.
Rodernwiller and I feel fortunate to have gotten such an exceptional crew. We
have much left to do before crush, but I am confident that with your help, we can
do it. Montclair's vines are among the finest in the world, and our goal is to make
the winery worthy of the grapes. On Monday, we start on the equipment!"

After a ragged cheer from the workers, Alice stood up, her back and shoulders
protesting the movement, fetched the cash box from her office, and began to pass
out the five-dollar gold pieces each man had earned for his week's work.

Small groups ambled down the driveway, talking together happily, heading
back toward their homes near town. Soon they were all gone, leaving only empty
glasses behind. Overhead, a handful of bright stars pricked holes in the darkening
sky.

Alice's pulse skittered as Siegfried approached. "That was a nice speech," she
said, forcing a pleasant smile, forestalling whatever he might have said.

In the falling darkness, she was glad not to read his expression. She felt rather
than heard his tired sigh.

"Did you think so?" Siegfried bent his head, and studied his pale lemonade. "I
have given better. Once I persuaded twenty-five men to commit suicide all
together, and they thanked me for the honor. This was nothing." He drained his
glass, and set it down on the porch railing with a thump. "And I'll thank them again
next week. Men like to be thanked for their work. It makes them feel as though
they have done something worthwhile."

She felt the weight of his pause, his unstated accusation. "We are doing
something worthwhile. We're saving Montclair." She thrust the last gold coin at
him. "Here. This is for you."

He set his jaw mulishly. "No."

Alice's heart thumped. "But you've earned it! I just wanted to show you how
much I appreciate all of your hard work."

He took the five-dollar piece from her fingers, very slowly. "I will accept this on
one condition: that you also pay yourself. You have worked as long and as hard as
the men."

"I--I can't," she said. She quashed the warm glow she felt at his praise. "That's
silly. I own the place."

He held out the money to her. "Then I must return this. We have an
agreement. I am your husband. Not a hired hand."

"I didn't mean--," Alice said, flustered. "I didn't want to insult you."

"No?" He looked at her, then away. "That is good."

"I only thought that you might need some money for, well, I don't know. A
haircut, maybe. Or a movie. There's a new one this week, starring Marion Davies--
" She knew she was babbling.

"And you do not need money for yourself?" He stood a little closer than
propriety allowed, and tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear, a gesture so
startlingly intimate that she jumped and moved a half step away. "Perhaps for
some ribbons?" His tone was teasing, but his eyes were thoughtful.

Alice longed for that pretty summer hat she had seen at the White House, but
she shook her head. "When we make a profit. Which we will." Alice's pulse sped
up again as if it knew better than she did how she really felt. "I don't know what I
would have done without you," she said recklessly. The next moment, she
reminded herself that he was a Hun, that Tati had forced him on her.

But he was already speaking. "Or I, you," he said softly. "We have much work
left to do, but I am sure now we can make good wine together."

She could feel the heat of his body, barely warmer than the ambient air, and
the undertow of his desire, wicked complement to all his flowery gifts--and far
more honest.

"Supper's ready!" Maria called from the kitchen door.

Alice made a quick retreat, suddenly shy. But not before Siegfried tossed her
back the coin. She caught it reflexively as he strode past her into the house. The
metal was warm from his hand.

* * *

Tuesday, June 24

Talk at the supper table was mostly between Peter and his wife. Maria's
spareribs were superb, and the first of the season's purple-green artichokes were
so tender even the thorns on the tip of each leaf were harmless.

Siegfried ate with the concentration of a mystic in search of enlightenment,
and Alice was too drained to make light conversation. She chased a dab of butter
around her plate with an artichoke leaf, and contemplated her dilemma. She had
put it off until the last possible minute but she had to ask Siegfried soon. She
wished she could just forget the whole matter, but the announcements had already
been printed.

The cowardly part of her wanted to stay home, and ignore the changes in her
life that Siegfried had brought. The responsible part of her knew she had to speak
now.

"The Grape-Growers Association meeting is tomorrow," she announced
abruptly, doing the right thing, however late. "And it's my turn to provide the
refreshments."

Siegfried stopped chewing and waited pointedly.

She added, "At one o'clock. In the Courthouse. If you're interested in coming
with me."

He swallowed, then nodded. "Do you go too, Peter?"

Peter tore a biscuit and sopped up the juices on his plate. "No, no. I tend the
vines, not the politics. Mrs. Roye--I mean, Mrs. R.--does fine by herself."

"I will accompany you, Alice," Siegfried said, firmly. He resumed his meal.

Later, as Maria cleaned off the table, Siegfried cleared his throat. He asked
with a diffidence Alice suspected was assumed for the occasion, "This meeting--
you have already chosen the wine you plan to serve?"

Alice reined in her impulse to snap at him. They hadn't been out of each
other's pockets in over a month. When had she had time to go taste wine?

"No, I haven't," she said, folding the napkins. "I'll pick up the lantern from the
pantry, and we can go now."

"But wine should be tasted in the morning!" he protested.

"We won't have time tomorrow before we have to be on the road."

"You waited long enough to inform me," he said, affronted.

"We've been busy," she countered. And I've been dreading the comments we'll
get from the other members of the Association when I arrive with my new German
husband in tow. "I'm going now. You can come with me if you like, or not, as you
wish."

Why did she feel so relieved when he did follow?

* * *

Siegfried carried two glasses and a long thin glass wine thief while Alice held a
kerosene lantern steady.

The fragrance of the vineyard boiled up all around him, yeasty with adobe
dust, spiced with cedar and eucalyptus. Stars blinked overhead and crickets sang
in counterpoint to the sound of their footsteps. Across the valley a cow bawled,
protesting the persistent heat.

These last few weeks, Siegfried had gained some confidence in the progress
of his courtship. Alice had taken to blushing whenever his flowers appeared, and
she kept them until they wilted. The look of astonishment on her face when she
saw the washed and waxed Ford that Sunday had made him feel ten feet tall. He
took heart from the fact that she had not spurned his offerings, but he was
appalled at her lack of foresight. Waiting until the night before the meeting to pick
the wines? What was she thinking?

Their crunching footsteps returned sharp echoes as they approached the
stone walls of the winery. Siegfried hurried to open the door into the cool redolent
darkness. The small light of the lantern rolled great barrel-shaped shadows along
the walls. Alice went straight for the door in the back, waiting for him to catch up
and slide it open.

Siegfried paused at the door to the tunnels cut into the heart of the hill. The
tang of oak permeated the close, cool air. Gray-white walls, hand-carved by
Chinese labor fifty years ago, pressed in on him with clammy hands. The wine
glasses clenched between his fingers chimed as Alice and her lantern moved
further into the absolute darkness.

The last time he had visited these tunnels, Opa Roye had held the lantern and
directed yellow light down an endless row of stacked and balanced sixty-gallon
barrels. The light had failed before Siegfried could see the end, leaving him with
an impression of ordered infinity. His grandfather's deep, slow voice had tolled the
honor-roll of grape varieties, explaining cryptic chalk signs. 'X' or 'p' or 'c' marked
the liquid jewels contained within: topaz Traminer, ruby Cabernet Sauvignon,
garnet or citrine Pinot Noir. A romantic young Siegfried had been certain that no
pirates searching for buried gold ever came upon a trove as rich as the one
beneath this Sonoma hill.

As he followed Alice's retreating light, Siegfried was jolted from his reverie.
Hundreds of barrels were stacked haphazardly along the walls, dry and empty.
"What happened here?" he demanded, hoarse with shock.

"What do you mean?" Alice picked her way through the crowded aisle,
seeming not to notice the devastation surrounding them.

"This--"
Desecration
, Siegfried finished silently. How could Alice fail to
see? But she merely proceeded, as if the ruin of masterwork was
commonplace.

To her, who had let fungus grow on the fermenting tanks, perhaps it was.

"They're dry." His throat was almost as parched as the warped wood. "The
barrels."

She turned to look at him. The yellow lantern light shone on the curve of her
cheek like a crescent moon. "I didn't think I could make a good red wine, so I sold
last year's crop out of the field. I got $15 a ton, too, enough for this year's
payroll."

He remembered not wanting to see the wine caves, after facing the ruin of the
winery. Now he knew why. He said harshly, "The bevels on the staves must fit
tightly or the barrel will leak. When wood dries, Alice, it shrinks."