by S. C. Wilson
“Now?” she asked with curiosity.
He nodded and exhaled the smoke. “I’m going to have it renovated. I’m turning it into a gentleman’s club. Only members will be allowed.” He pointed up and down the street. “My place happens to be in the center of the business district. I’ll have lawyers, bankers, and all sorts of businessmen joining. No more rowdy drunks to deal with.” He took another drag and flicked his cigar into the street.
She had no desire to go in, but she wanted to keep him happy. She swung a leg over the saddle, slid down, and handed the reins to Cuffy. “Thank you. Won’t be long.”
Anticipating another ordinary saloon, she was surprised to find the establishment clean and tastefully decorated with expensive furnishings. She was also surprised to see several men already seated inside—according to the pendulum clock hanging on the wall it wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning.
A man approached them. “Mr. Bowman, Mr. Randolph is waiting in your office,” he said.
Sam nodded. “Jesse, I need to take this meeting. Why don’t you have a seat and have a drink on the house,” he said, motioning to the man behind the counter before disappearing to his office.
Jesse took a seat at the well-polished mahogany bar.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked as he wiped the area in front of her with a white rag and placed a small napkin and a bowl of peanuts onto the bar.
“Just a glass of water.”
He tossed the rag over his shoulder, poured water from a pitcher into a glass, and set it on the napkin. She picked it up but before it reached her lips, a young man a few seats down from her spoke.
“Non drinker, hein?” he asked in his thick French brogue.
She had never heard anyone with an accent like his. It was obvious he wasn’t from the area. “Just a little too early for anything stronger,” she said. She took a drink and set her glass on the napkin again. “Your accent…where are you from?”
He sat up tall. “Je viens de France!” he said proudly.
She assumed Je veins de must be his hometown in France. She swiveled her seat to face him. He was a slender young man with a thin mustache and well defined features. Thick, black curls flowed from underneath the brim of his hat. She guessed his age to be about the same as her own. “I’ve heard of France. It’s far from here, isn’t it?”
“Oh oui, very far.”
“How’d you end up in California?”
“Work brought me to this great country.”
With her curiosity piqued, she ventured another question. “What kind of work do you do?”
“Vineyards.” He dropped his head as he continued. “I have known nothing else.”
She detected the anguish in his voice. “The way you said that, it must be awful work.”
His head perked up again. In a flash, he moved to the barstool next to her. “Non,” he said. “It is not awful work and I am in fact good at it. It is in my blood—my family’s blood for generations.”
“I don’t know anything about vineyards. What is it exactly?”
He motioned for the bartender and asked for two glasses of something Jesse had never heard of. She watched as the man behind the bar retrieved a bottle, popped the cork, and poured a red liquid into two long stemmed glasses. Then, he placed the glasses in front of them.
The Frenchman picked the glass up by the stem and held it up to the light. He moved it in a circular motion, swirling the fluid, his other hand fanning the aroma toward his nose before he took a sip. She watched as he sat there with it held in his mouth, sucking air through his teeth. Finally, he tilted his head back and swallowed. He turned to her. “Inhale the bouquet,” he said, “then you taste.”
Jesse picked up her glass and did her best to mimic the process. She inhaled the sweet scent before taking a sip. “What is this?” she asked, enjoying the fruity aftertaste.
“It is a red port. Sorry to say, not one of the best I have had,” he said. “They picked the grapes too soon. A little longer on the vine and it would have been much better.”
Jesse asked, “So, do you own a vineyard?”
“My family owns one of the finest vineyards in all of France.” With his palm facing down, he held out his hand three feet off the floor. “I worked that land from the time I was tout petit. Several years ago, I read about California. I have always wanted to make my own way in this life. I know everything there is to know about grapes. California is the lieu parfait for me to make a name for myself. I sailed across the ocean and well…voilà, here I am,” he said. He took the last sip, and set his glass down with a heavy sigh.
She motioned for the bartender and held up two fingers. “I’ve never seen a vineyard. Is there one close by?”
“Oui. Not far, but I no work there anymore. I am going back to France.”
Jesse cocked her head. “Why?”
“I got a letter from my maman. My papa is gravely ill. I must return home.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded document. “I bought one hundred acres in Neva.” He set the property deed on top of the bar. “I have to sell it. I need the money to book passage to France.”
His despair rolled off him like the thick fog that sometimes moved inland from the bay. Jesse remembered what it was like when Frieda got sick; the heavy sense of helplessness she carried around like a lead anchor. “The name is Jesse McGinnis,” she said, reaching out her hand.
“Bonjour,” he said, shaking it. “Armand Baptiste.”
One simple handshake told her a lot about the man. His firm grip wasn’t what told his story, but the numerous callouses covering his palm, revealing he didn’t shy away from hard work. It was a way of life she respected and admired, so it was a welcome encounter to meet another person with a similar work ethic.
“My dream was to come to America and work on a vineyard until I have money to buy my own land. Then, I start my own vineyard.” He tapped his finger on the deed. “I own my land for two months. Now, I must sell and return to my country.”
Jesse took another sip of the sweet wine before she spoke. “Life doesn’t always go the way we want. Sometimes things happen out of order from what we plan. Maybe you can return someday and start that vineyard.”
“Oui. Peut-être.” Perhaps, maybe one day he would, he hoped.
“So, what’s an acre go for in Neva?”
“Six to ten dollars—sometimes more—sometimes less. I bought my parcel at four dollars because of the sand in the soil.”
Her brow knitted in confusion. She used her finger to lift the brim of her hat. “I know a little about soil, but isn’t—”
Armand waved his hand in the air. “I know what you are thinking—nothing grows good in sandy loam, but it is parfait for growing grapes. It is the same kind of soil we grow our grapes in on my family’s vineyard.”
“Never heard of Neva. Where is it?”
“On a fast horse, it is about an hour north of here.”
Jesse stood up and grabbed the bar, momentarily off balance, courtesy of the sweet red liquor. “You have a fast horse?”
“Oui.”
“I might be interested in your land, but I’d like to see it first.”
Armand agreed and Jesse settled the tab, telling the bartender to let Sam know something had come up, and she would see him on Monday. They exited The Bay Water, mounted their horses, and rode off toward the north.
After riding for close to an hour, they came upon the outskirts of a quaint little town. A wooden sign stood next to the road that read, Neva: Established 1858. They slowed the horses to a walk and made their way down Main Street. Jesse studied the storefronts. Every business was fairly new and well maintained. It was obvious the owners in this town took pride in their establishments. One man, washing the large plate glass window in front of a feed store, paused and waved at them as they passed. A few doors down, another man was arranging merchandise on a table in front of a store. He also stopped what he was doing and turned to smile and wave. Two women nod
ded their greetings as they crossed the street in front of them. No matter who they passed, they were met with a friendly gesture. It wasn’t until they had come to the end of the street Jesse realized not a single man loitered anywhere.
“Where’s the saloon?” she asked, glancing back down the street.
“There are no saloons in Neva. This is a farming town. Farmers get up with the sun and work until it goes down. They are too tired for anything else.”
Now, this is my kind of place, she thought.
“Come on. We are almost there.” With a click of his tongue, Armand got his horse to pick up his pace.
Ten minutes later, Armand pulled back on his reigns. “Here it is,” he said. He let his arm swing wide as he did his best to indicate the starting and ending points of his property.
Jesse scanned the landscape, taking in the rolling hills, lush meadows, and sprawling forest off in the distance that stretched out before her.
Armand saw the gleam in her eye when he pointed and said, “There is a river in the woods.” He kissed his fingertips. “Délicieux trout. Follow me.”
He led her further onto the property and came to a stop in a field. He jumped down, knelt, and picked up a handful of the loose soil. “This is where I was going to plant my grapes,” he said, letting the sandy grains fall between his fingers. “When I had saved enough money, I was returning to France. I would get the best vine cuttings from the vineyard of my family and bring them back with me. I would grow the best grapes in all of California.”
Jesse swung a leg over the saddle and dropped down to the ground. Kneeling beside him, she scooped up a handful of the soil. “I know nothing about grapes and vineyards, so would you be interested in being partners?” she asked, running her thumb over the gritty dirt.
“Excusez-moi?”
“Partners,” she said. “Do you want to be partners?”
“What are you proposing?” He stood and rubbed his hands together, brushing off the grit.
Jesse dropped the handful of soil and wiped her hand on her pant leg. “What if I buy your land so you can get home,” she said, standing up to meet him face to face. “Someday, if you decide to return to California, you bring your vines, and I’ll deed you back fifty acres. We’ll be equal partners. What do you think?”
“You’d do that for me? Pourquoi? You don’t even know me.”
She looked out over the meadow. Her thoughts shifted to Frieda and how the woman had been there for her when she had needed someone the most. She thought of Edith and her willingness to help her when she first went to Ely. She didn’t know why those women took a chance on her, but they did. She turned to face Armand.
“In my past, I’ve had strangers take a chance on me. My gut is telling me to do the same for you.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew her money. She counted out four hundred dollars and glanced momentarily at the bills in her hand, knowing if she handed it over, she would no longer be able to afford the house on Taylor Street. Instincts told her that this was the place she wanted to call home one day. She didn’t need to give it another thought. “So, do we have a deal?” she asked, extending the money to him.
Before he reached for it, he asked, “Pardon. But what if I do not come back?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Then you don’t. That will be up to you.” She smiled at him. “I think you will, though.”
Armand extended his hand to shake. “Merci. Merci beaucoup,” he said as his other hand quickly went into his breast pocket.
For a split second, she feared he was reaching for a gun. Automatically her hand went to her pistol. Before she had time to draw, he had already pulled out a piece of paper.
He handed her the deed. “Let me show you the river, and then we ride to Neva. I know someone who can witness the transfer of the land.”
It was dusk by the time they returned to San Francisco. Small points of light came into view and they slowed their horses to a trot. The hypnotic thrum of chirping crickets was drowned out by the noises of the city.
When they reached The Bay Water, Jesse leaned in the saddle. “Safe travels, my friend,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand one final time. “Hopefully, I will see you again. You remember my address?”
“D’accord. I will come to 317 Taylor Street, should I return. Au revoir, Jesse McGinnis.”
Jesse rode home even more elated than she had been when she rode into town that morning. It had been one of the best days of her life. She was now the proud owner of her own piece of land. She was bursting with pride and couldn’t wait to share the news with Abby. There was no way she was going to be able to keep it a secret until Christmas.
After she got Buck settled in the barn, she whistled on her way to the house. Entering the kitchen through the back door, she kicked off her boots.
“Jesse!” Abby called out as she rushed into the room. “Where have you been? I thought something happened to you.”
“I’m fine. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
Abby collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table.
Jesse sat across from her, noticing her bloodshot eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching for her hand.
“When Aponi and I went shopping we were confronted by a couple of men outside one of the shops.” Abby paused to wipe away her tears. “They said terrible—hurtful things.”
“What’d they say?”
Abby sniffled. “One of them ran his hand through Aponi’s hair and said he could get good money for a scalp like that. Then he called her a savage and spat in her face. Called me an injun lover. It was awful. She wants to leave and go back to Mount Perish.”
Jesse’s chair screeched across the wood floor when she stood.
“Where are you going?” Abby asked, grabbing her by the arm.
“To talk to her.”
“No. Don’t. It’s late. Hopefully she’s sleeping now.” Abby sniffed again. “You know if she goes, Toby would go with her.”
Jesse sat back down as Abby continued. “She told us it wasn’t the first time she’s noticed things. We just haven’t been paying attention and we should’ve.”
“What the hell is wrong with people? I will never be able to understand how a person can be treated so badly just because of the color of their skin. It makes me furious,” Jesse said through clenched teeth. “Maybe we shouldn’t have brought her here.”
“What are we going to do?”
Jesse took off her hat and tossed it on the empty chair next to her. She realized she had an opening to deliver the news to Abby. “Maybe Toby and her would be more comfortable living in the country.” She reached across and took hold of Abby’s hands. “I did something today. I hope you won’t be upset with me. I purchased some land up north in a little town called Neva. It’s beautiful there. Hills, pastures, woods, and—”
A frown creased Abby’s forehead. “You did what?”
“I bought a hundred acres. There’s no house on the land, but we could help Toby and Aponi build one. I was hoping maybe someday you’d like to move out there, too. I think you’ll love—”
Abby jerked her hands free. “I can’t believe you sometimes! You just go off and do things without discussing it with me. Like I have no say in the matter.” Her eyebrows furrowed over her incensed blue eyes. “And how did you come up with money to buy land anyway?”
Jesse sat up straight. Even though she knew Abby was furious, she still couldn’t squelch the thrilling feeling of being a landowner. It was a huge accomplishment for her. “Look. It’s been a long day,” she said. “Why don’t we go upstairs and I’ll explain everything.”
The following morning, after an unusually silent breakfast, Jesse and Toby hitched Titan to the Andersons’ old wagon Cuffy had helped them repair. Abby and Aponi climbed into the back and Jesse handed up the twins. Once they were settled, Toby took his seat up front next to Jesse and she drove them out to see their property.
Aside from the twins’ gibberish, no one spoke as the wagon
rolled through the countryside. The trip was taking much longer this time in the slow moving vehicle, only making the awkward silence that much more noticeable.
Abby was still fuming over the fact Jesse would do something as important as buying property without even speaking with her about it first. Toby and Aponi were contemplating their own woes. Jesse was the only person who seemed to be even remotely happy, but she was careful not to let it show. Left to her own thoughts, she stared straight ahead, dreaming of a life out in the country.
She eased the wagon through the town of Neva at a crawl. Several people along the way waved at them as they rolled past, and she returned their greetings with a nod. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Abby returning their waves, and she hoped her mood was starting to soften. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth when she saw the twins waving to strangers as if they were the grand marshals of the Neva Fourth of July parade. She hoped that Abby’s first impression of the town had been similar to hers.
Twenty minutes later, Jesse pulled the wagon out in a field and pulled back on the reins. “Well, this is it. We own all of this,” she said, using her hand to indicate the property boundaries as Armand had done when he had showed it to her. “Isn’t it perfect?”
As much as Abby hated to admit it, it was a beautiful piece of land.
Jesse set the break on the wagon. “C’mon. Let’s go for a walk,” she said, jumping down. She tossed her hat in the back of the wagon, picked Jim up, and set him on her shoulders. Once everyone got down, she continued. “This is the field where I hope someday to have row after row of French grapes. Just needs a little clearing.” She turned and pointed. “That’s where I’d build our house. Over there, in those woods is my favorite. There’s a river. Well, Armand called it a river but it’s more of a stream—nothing like the Devil’s Fork. We can fish and hunt…”
Abby shifted Gwen to her other hip and listened as Jesse went on and on. Her excitement was contagious. The longer she spoke the more excited Abby became. She too was starting to picture the country life Jesse was describing, and she was beginning to see for herself how Jesse fell in love with the land. It was picturesque.
