Dash—through Hugh—had brought her to Champagne, where she had met Emma and Blondine and Jérôme and had uncovered the story of Émile and Lucie and baby Narcissa.
It was because of Dash that Rosalyn had come to savor champagne, and to love the region of Champagne, with all the secrets and stories hidden within and beneath its lush vineyards.
A bunch of grapes tumbled into her hand, and she placed it in a bucket, which would then be dumped—gently—into a thick plastic box at the end of the row, its contents later to be tipped into the pressoir.
Kneeling, stooping, and bending over the plants, she thought of Lucie doing the same, somewhere among the grapevines, bringing in the harvest no matter the circumstances. She pondered Émile putting one foot in front of the other after the war, heartbroken and maimed, but making a new home, setting up his beehives, planting the vines, and starting a family. She reflected on the terrible pathos of Émile losing not only his first wife but also his unknown daughter. She also thought of the joy of learning that Narcissa had grown up strong with Doris’s brother in Australia, safe from the destruction and ruins of war-torn Champagne.
Her bucket grew heavy as she crept down the row, but Rosalyn was happy to be part of the hordon. They would bring in the harvest; they would make the wine.
And then they would drink their fill.
The skies began to clear, the sun peeking out from behind steel gray clouds, sunlight reaching the vines in streams like heavenly spotlights. Rosalyn straightened to stretch her back just as Jérôme came by to retrieve her full bucket of grapes, dropping an empty one in its place.
“Bon travail. Are you doing okay? Need a break?”
“No. I’m doing great.”
Their eyes held for a long moment, and they shared a small secret smile. Jérôme had insisted on picking Rosalyn up at the airport in Paris, and their reunion had been sublime, both of them feeling excited and shy, especially after the intimate revelations in their letters. They passed two romantic nights together in his flat on the Left Bank of Paris, not far from the Sorbonne, and spent their days walking, sightseeing, eating at brasseries, and walking some more. Pausing in front of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Paris, closed for renovations to repair damage from a devastating fire, Rosalyn couldn’t help but think of the Reims Cathedral after the First World War: how the stained glass had been replaced, the wooden features carved anew, and the Smile of Reims restored and returned to her rightful place.
As Lucie said, the human spirit is a resilient thing.
On the third day, as they drove from Paris to Comtois Père et Fils, Jérôme stopped in Cochet to show Rosalyn yet another discovery, this time in the little village cemetery adjacent to the church. In a Comtois family plot, listed alongside numerous names of the extended family, was one Émile Paul Legrand, 1895–1976. Jérôme brought a jar of honey in lieu of flowers to place at the grave, and suggested he and Rosalyn return to plant narcissus bulbs, which would rise and bloom each spring, in recognition of the daughter Émile had never known.
After all the time they had spent searching for him, it turned out Émile had been right there with them in Cochet.
As Rosalyn bent over the vines, she sent out a whispered merci to Émile and Lucie for reaching out over the years, beyond the veil, to help her to come to peace with death and, most especially, life.
Two rows over, a man started singing in a language Rosalyn didn’t recognize.
Turning her face up to the sunshine, she let the graceful, sonorous notes of the tenor voice slip over her. She didn’t need to understand the words to recognize their beauty.
She would be patient with all that was unsolved in her heart.
She would live the questions.
Author’s Note
A few years ago I traveled to Reims on a champagne-tasting jaunt. It was only then that I began to understand the extent of the destruction heaped upon the beautiful region of Champagne during the First World War, and learned how the remaining populace of Reims had sheltered within the wine caves in an attempt to escape the bombs. I highly recommend a visit to the Vranken Pommery champagne house, among others—and don’t miss the chance to tour the caves.
Needless to say, I was fascinated by the history and soon consulted many books and articles about World War I. The following are key sources I relied upon as background material when I was writing the stories of Émile in the trenches and Lucie in the caves:
Forsant, Octave (Inspecteur primaire à Reims). L’école sous les obus. Paris: Hachette, 1918.
Hanna, Martha. “War Letters: Communication between Front and Home Front.” 1914–1918-online. International Encyclopedia of the First World War. https://encyclopedia.1914-1918-online.net/article/war_letters_communication_between_front_and_home_front (last updated 8 October 2014).
Kladstrup, Don and Petie. Champagne: How the World’s Most Glamorous Wine Triumphed Over War and Hard Times. New York: Harper Perennial, 2006.
Lestienne, Camille. “Des marraines de guerre pour les soldats (1915).” Le Figaro Histoire (22 August 2014).
Mazzeo, Tilar J. The Widow Clicquot: The Story of a Champagne Empire and the Woman Who Ruled It. New York: Harper Perennial, 2009.
Rolt-Wheeler, Francis. Heroes of the Ruins. New York: George H. Doran Company, 1922.
Spencer, Luke. “The Secret World Hidden Beneath the Vineyards of Champagne.” Messy Nessy (23 August 2017). Messynessychic.com/2017/08/23/a-secret-world-hidden-beneath-the-vineyards-of-champagne.
Acknowledgments
As always, many thanks are due to my wonderful agent, Jim McCarthy, who is always in my corner. And to my editor, Kerry Donovan, who always helps keep me on track and helps transform my books into the best stories they can be—here’s to the next ten years together!
To Michel Dervin at Champagne Dervin, Cuchery, for hosting us at his wonderful gîte and introducing me to families with stories about the wars. Thanks to everyone at Champagne Colin in Vertus, Champagne-Ardenne, for the explanations of the méthode champenoise and how to tie up the vines. Many thanks to John Charles Ricciuti at Champagne J. C. Ricciuti in Avenay-Val-d’Or for sharing the fantastical true story of his grandfather and father. Special thanks are due Jacques Calvel of Domaine J. Laurens in Limoux, for his friendship, for sharing his love of the bubbly, and for inviting us to witness the harvest of 2019! And to Madame Pommery: Thank you for your artistic legacy, and for taking some of the sugar out of champagne! Finally, to Vranken Pommery champagne house, and so many others, for sheltering the Rémois during the war.
As ever, many thanks are due to my sister Carolyn Lawes, professor of history and dealer of truth. I wouldn’t know where to start without you—much less where I’d end up. You shared with me the phenomenon of the marraines de guerre—which sparked this champagne odyssey—and you were still there at the bitter end as I tried to whip the manuscript into shape. I can never thank you enough!
Thank you to my dear friend the “Plot Doctor,” Adrienne Bell, who helped me mash amorphous ideas into something akin to a story line. To fabulous professor Nicole Peeler, who read four hundred pages in one night and gave me astute, clever, very constructive criticisms that made Vineyards a much better book.
Merci beaucoup à Jacquie Weisner for reviewing my French! I like to say that I stumble through the language passably well, especially with a glass of wine in hand, but it takes a French teacher to get all those accents right—not to mention the spelling!
For teary, heartfelt discussions of sudden “out of order” loss, thank you to Anna Cabrera, Muffy Srinivasan, Christine Jurisich, Megan Devine, and the Compassionate Friends network.
As always, to the friends, family, and colleagues who have helped keep me sane by making me know I am loved despite despair, depression, and deadlines: Rachael Herron, Sophie Littlefield, Bee Enos, Mary Grae, Karen Thompson, Pamela Groves, Jan Strout, Wanda Klor, Susan Baker, Kendal
l Moalem, Bruce Nikolai, Faye Snowden, Chris Logan, Brian Casey, Sharon Demetrius, Suzanne Chan, Sara Paul, Dan Krewson, and Susan Lawes. To my son’s friends who have helped me through a very dark time, especially Anna Kenney, Maja Magnussen, Sailimanu Willis, Mario Gallardo, Jonathan Fishman, Joe “Stingray” Ross Riggs, Lena Ringstrom, Cady Mura, and Danielle Glick-Scroggins.
To Robert Lawes, a proud veteran and the best dad in the world. Thanks for sticking around; I couldn’t have done it without you.
And to my precious “daughter” Hanna Toda, such a bright light in my life.
Finally to Eric, toujours, et encore.
Questions for Discussion
1. If you could have coffee with one character from the novel, who would it be and why? What would you like to discuss with this character?
2. Would you say the dominant theme of The Vineyards of Champagne is about love or about loss?
3. In the first part of the novel, Rosalyn is searching for a “hermitage.” What does she mean by that? What are the benefits of her retreat and what are the drawbacks? Have you ever felt or experienced a similar inclination?
4. How would you characterize Rosalyn’s relationship with Dash? Why was she angry with him? Was that anger justified?
5. In what ways were the challenges Rosalyn faced unique to her personality and circumstances? In what ways were they similar to what many women face as adults?
6. Did you find Rosalyn’s story depressing, uplifting, or some combination of the two?
7. Wartime is horrific in so many ways, but—like grief—it sometimes reveals new depths of character and strips away falseness. Without romanticizing the past, can you think of any positives to living through a war?
8. Which character did you relate to the most? Why?
9. Were there any characters you didn’t like? If so, what was it that you found unappealing?
10. The working title for this novel was “The Widows of Champagne.” How has widowhood affected characters other than Rosalyn, such as Doris and Lucie and other war widows, or the “Champagne widows” Louise Pommery and Barbe-Nicole Clicquot?
11. Grief is an intensely personal experience. Does Rosalyn’s journey ring true given your own experience of loss and mourning? If not, how does it differ?
12. Why do you think Lucie and her family decided to remain in Reims after the war began? What do you think you would do if faced with a similar scenario?
13. What did you think of Blackwell’s use of language? Did the characters “sound” different from one another in your mind?
14. Since The Vineyards of Champagne is set in France, did you like that the author included French words and phrases?
15. Imagine you were in Lucie’s situation. How do you think you would have coped with the confinement and the lack of natural light and fresh air while living in the caves under the House of Pommery? How would caring for your family and handling daily needs pose new challenges? What would have sustained you?
16. What did you know about the First World War before reading this novel? About the city of Reims or the process of champagne making? What was the most interesting or surprising thing you learned from reading the book?
17. The Vineyards of Champagne deals with female friendship, specifically that of the somewhat offbeat trio of Rosalyn, Emma, and Blondine. How is each character influenced by her friendship with the other two?
18. If you were making a movie of The Vineyards of Champagne, who would you cast for each role?
19. Have you ever run into a problem in a foreign country and ended up “stranded”—for instance, in need of gas without a functioning credit card? How did you feel in that moment, and how did you find a solution? In what ways does it feel different to be stranded abroad compared with encountering difficulties in one’s own country?
20. Lucie says that her mother sees beauty in necessity, whereas Lucie sees a necessity of beauty. What do you think she means by that? Which perspective better reflects your own?
21. Have you ever visited the Champagne region and/or traveled to another part of France? Did the cultural aspects of the book feel true to life for you? Did anything feel different compared with your own travel experience? For instance, did you notice an obsession with preparing and eating dinner?
22. Emma’s great-great-aunt Doris was embittered and disappointed by life but found new purpose as a marraine de guerre. How did Doris’s connection to Emile, and then to Lucie, offer her a kind of redemption?
23. The Champagne region of France has been a theater of war for many centuries. What impact do you think such a history has on the people who live there, and on the regional psyche? How might such a legacy resonate through generations?
24. The women living under Reims brought in the harvest every fall despite the dangers, hoping their champagne would be a “Victory Vintage” that would be ready to drink after the war had ended. Why do you think they took such big risks?
25. What do you think Rosalyn decides to do at the end of the book, after finishing the harvest? Does she remain in France, return to Napa, or make a different decision entirely? What do you wish for her—and for Jérôme?
26. Have you read another book by Juliet Blackwell? If so, how did it compare to The Vineyards of Champagne? Do you see any similar themes among the books?
Read on for an excerpt from Juliet Blackwell’s
The Lost Carousel of Provence
Available now from Berkley
1915
PROVENCE, CHTEAU CLEMENT
Yves Clement
She’s out there again, riding that cursed carousel machine.
It is a ghostly sight: a grown woman riding a children’s toy, bathed in silver moonlight, her white dress floating out behind her, like a creature out of time. What does she think? What does she want? Josephine is a puzzle Yves has never solved, would never be able to solve. Perhaps she was too young when they married, or he was too old. Their age difference didn’t seem to bother her, but it gave him pause. Increasingly so with the passage of time.
Yves thinks back to his father’s pear orchard. Workers would fit bottles over budding branches in early spring, so that the fruit would grow to full size while captured inside the glass, as poires prisonnières, imprisoned pears. Once the pear matured, the bottle would be filled with brandy, called eau de vie, water of life. And at long last it would be set on a high shelf and brought out on special occasions, leaving everyone to wonder how the miracle had occurred, how the pear came to be within the bottle.
For the rest of his life, the sound of wind chimes would remind Yves of the glinting glass bottles hanging from those tree branches, clinking together in the famous winds that swept over the fields and orchards of Provence.
His Josephine is like a bud in a bottle, a prisoner of the glass, awaiting her eau de vie.
“What is she looking for?”
His thoughts, voiced by another. Marc-Antoine, their beloved son, joins Yves at the library window and gazes through the leaded glass at Josephine, as perplexed as his father.
Yves places his hand on his son’s newly muscular shoulder, missing the sharp feeling of delicate little-boy wing bones under his palm. Marc-Antoine’s dark hair and eyes favor his mother’s secretive features, and unlike Yves, Marc-Antoine has always been large for his age, overtaking Yves in height two years ago, when he was but twelve years old. Our boy is becoming a young man, Yves thinks as fear pierces his heart. All too soon, Marc-Antoine will leave him alone here in this once-grand château, with only Josephine—a pale imitation of the woman he had married—as company.
“What is it she is looking for, riding that ridiculous merry-go-round at night?” Marc-Antoine asks the question for the hundredth time.
Yves does not answer.
There is no answer, just the darkness of the night and the eerie song of the carousel.
PRESENT DAY
>
OAKLAND
Cady
Cady was two drinks in when she bashed her toe, hard, on a leg of the couch. Whirling around in a fit of anger and frustration, she kicked Gus.
Harder than she’d intended.
The carved rabbit fell over onto its side, slamming against the granite edge of an end table. Several already-loosened joints gave up, and chunks of carved wood scattered on the floor like so many Tinkertoys: the ears, two slats from one side, the front legs.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. . . .”
Shame engulfed her. This was the sort of thing she would have done as a child. Cady had pursued counseling, attended mindfulness classes, and read dozens of self-help books to learn to stifle her violent impulses. She took a moment to close her eyes, take a breath for the count of four, hold it for seven, and release it for eight, as Maxine had taught her to do.
And then she grabbed her camera. She perceived more clearly when she peered through the lens. It allowed her to concentrate, to sink into herself and tune out the external world.
Like peering through a pair of corrective glasses, looking through the camera lens allowed her to see in a way she couldn’t with the bare eye.
Now Cady realized: There was something hidden in the cavity of the rabbit’s belly.
A bundle wrapped in pink fabric.
Crouching down, she tried to pull it out, but it was stuck tight. She would have to dislodge another of the laminated wood slats to get it out. After a moment’s hesitation, Cady decided that poor, broken Gus was in for some heavy repair work in any case, so she carefully pried the torso apart.
The rosy silk material was incredibly soft to the touch and reflected the overhead lights with a slight sheen. Her heart hammering in anticipation, Cady pushed aside the fabric.
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