Midnight Harvest

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “A Japanese widow might not get a fair hearing in any court in this county,” said Pietragnelli. “Even Italians have difficulty being accorded the same rights as the Protestants; it’s ten times worse for Orientals.”

  “That is a pattern encountered everywhere,” King said in agreement. “But that doesn’t mean that the favoritism is right, or cannot be challenged.” He coughed. “Of course, it is expensive to fight such prejudice.”

  “But not impossible or hopeless,” said Saint-Germain, giving King an incisive glance.

  “No, neither of those,” said King. “But Mr. Pietragnelli is right—many Americans are biased against Italians, because of men like Al Capone and Frank Nitti.”

  “Not all Italians are gangsters,” said Pietragnelli firmly. “Even most Siciliani are farmers and fishermen, not Mafiosi.”

  “Yes, Italians do many things in America beyond breaking the law, as any person of common sense will know. For example: one is mayor of San Francisco, and Rossi is not alone,” said King, understanding Pietragnelli’s point, going on in his courtroom style. “Italians have been crucial in restoring the California wine business; and not all are agriculturalists, some cultivate other fields; the Bank of America is led by an Italian. And Italians are inclined to support all manner of Italian ventures. Giannini dines at Fior d’Italia once a week, and thus makes the restaurant famous and well-patronized.”

  “That is all very well in San Francisco, but this is Sonoma County.” Pietragnelli glared up at the ceiling. “In many ways, more than Marin County separates us from San Francisco.”

  King nodded twice. “Exactly. That is one of the reasons we’re having this discussion. I am interested in dealing with this problem in terms that apply here.”

  “Do you think it can be done?” Pietragnelli came as close to feeling defeated as it was possible for him to be. “I don’t see how.”

  “I must suppose that we will find a way,” said King. “The law doesn’t support the terrorizing of American citizens, not officially.” He said the last carefully. “We know this is more an ideal than a reality, but it is the spirit of the Constitution, to protect all citizens from manipulation or exploitation.”

  “If they are of European descent, certainly it is more likely to occur,” said Saint-Germain, his voice deliberately neutral.

  “And not all Europeans,” added Pietragnelli. “The Puritans were Protestants, and many Americans distrust Catholics almost as much as they mistrust Jews and Orientals. They are afraid of the Pope.” He slapped his thighs with both hands. “It is a most frustrating state of affairs. I know that what is happening to me isn’t legal, but I cannot invoke the law for protection because the officers of the law are supporting criminals.” His exasperation increased with each word so that at the end he was almost shouting.

  “I know we will find a way to protect you,” said King. “If we have to go to Sacramento and file an action there, we will.”

  “I hope it won’t come to that,” said Pietragnelli.

  “For Lord’s sake, why?” King asked, looking up as the sound of the Pierce-Arrow’s horn cut through their conversation.

  “Mr. Rogers has seen something,” said Saint-Germain, glad now that he had left Rogerio on guard duty. He looked at Pietragnelli. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “My children. My daughter and son-in-law, in any case. Not Angelina or Massimo. Perhaps Adrianna. I asked Sophia and Ethan to join us and I warned them that they might have to deal with—” He stopped as a rifle-shot barked from a short distance away, followed at once by a squeal of brakes.

  “I can tell you want to be inclusive, Mr. Pietragnelli,” said King, “but mightn’t this be too much of a risk for your family?”

  “Davvero. If those … those vile tapini—” He made himself be still until he had regained control of his temper. “I’m sorry. My tongue outruns my mind. I shouldn’t speak so to the likes of you, Mr. King.”

  “It’s understandable, and I’ve heard much worse with far less provocation,” said King, in a cultivated combination of geniality and hauteur; it had served him well in front of juries, and it did so now.

  “You’re a kind man,” said Pietragnelli.

  “You should be glad I’m not; you don’t want an advocate who will not go to the limit of the law on your behalf,” said King. “Ragoczy is a kind man, so I needn’t be. Nor should I be, not if you want me to take care of your case effectively.”

  Pietragnelli made a sign of understanding, his face canny. “Capisco, Signor Re, I do understand you,” he said grandly. “Undoubtedly you are right; I know your advice is well-considered and many men seek it, so I will listen to you and I will—” He rose as he heard a car door slam, and less than a minute later, a young man and a heavily pregnant young woman wrapped in a camel-hair coat hurried into the house.

  “Someone shot out our windshield! It’s ruined!” the woman exclaimed, and rushed toward Pietragnelli, who had made it into the living room and was standing with his arms extended. “Ah, Papà! Che farai?”

  “It is what we talked about last night, Sophia,” he said as he took his daughter in his arms, holding her carefully. “As you see, their efforts continue. It is an affront to me that anyone should do anything to harm you.” He patted her shoulder before he released her and hugged his son-in-law. “Ethan. I’ll see to the repair of your car.”

  Ethan Carmody stepped back. “It was damned scary,” he said, making no excuse for his language. “I thought Sophia might get hurt, and that was … unthinkable.”

  Pietragnelli took both Sophia and Ethan by the hand, and led them into the parlor, where Saint-Germain and Oscar King were standing to receive them. “This is my daughter Sophia, and my son-in-law, Ethan Carmody. His mother is a Constantino, which accounts for his good looks. Miei figli, this is Ferenc Ragoczy, who has been so good to us for so long, and Oscar King from San Francisco, who is a noted attorney.”

  Ethan held out his hand to Saint-Germain. “A pleasure, sir. Who is the gentleman outside? I must assume he is with you.”

  “That is my longtime associate, Mr. Rogers,” Saint-Germain confirmed, noting that Ethan’s handshake was nearly a contest of strength, or a test of which of them had the more powerful grip. “He is there to keep an eye out for any trouble.”

  “Yes,” said Sophia. “He took off in the direction of where the shot came from. He was wholly unafraid.”

  “Actually,” said Saint-Germain as he kissed Sophia’s hand, “he probably is frightened, as any sensible person would be. But fear doesn’t keep him from acting.”

  “Then he is a very remarkable man,” said Ethan, and looked over at Pietragnelli. “Is this what you meant when you said there had been some trouble here?”

  “Essentially, yes,” said Pietragnelli. “I didn’t want to tell you about this, because I wouldn’t want you to get caught up in this. I wanted to spare you the worry you would have, and keep you from having to deal with the interruptions the attacks bring into my life. But these evil men have extended their malice to my workers and now I begin to fear they will attempt something with you, and Angelina, and Massimo, which would distress me more than I can say. So I want you to help me consider the various possibilities open to me.” He looked at his daughter and son-in-law. “I called Angelina and Massimo, on the telephone, but neither of them can be here today, nor can Adrianna, it being a work-day, but they have said they will abide by your decisions in that regard, and they will take the precautions Signor Ragoczy recommends.”

  “Precautions can be expensive,” said Ethan.

  “So they can,” Saint-Germain said, cutting off Pietragnelli’s remarks. “But that is something I will cover.”

  “Why should you?” Ethan challenged, doing his best to maintain a courteous demeanor. “Why should it matter to you? Are you hoping to trade on my father-in-law’s indebtedness to you to oblige him to do your bidding?”

  “It has happened before,” said Pietragnelli. “But nothing Mr. Ragoczy has
done in the last decade would lead me to believe that he would do anything of the sort”

  Saint-Germain directed his answer to Ethan. “My participation in this business has contributed to the problems you are currently enduring, so it is appropriate that I should bear some of the cost. How can I expect any of you to take on the trouble and expense that is not of your making? Your family has a business in peril, and I have an investment in that business. So it would be better if I covered the price of your being guarded than if you are left to shoulder the whole.”

  “I concur,” said King. “Ordinarily I would not, but given the peculiar nature of this situation, I think Mr. Ragoczy is right.” He took a cigarette from the silver case in his waistcoat pocket, and used the lighter built into the top of it “It is a fortunate thing that Mr. Ragoczy has such probity. Many lesser men would not be inclined to extend themselves.” He blew out a stream of smoke, staring at the far wall.

  “Didn’t you pay for guards here already?” Ethan asked. “And look where we are now.”

  “Yes, I did. But I underestimated the damage that could be done, and the guards were given too many tasks to do. As a result, this house has broken windows and the guards are exhausted, trying to do at least twice the work we anticipated,” said Saint-Germain. “Another reason to manage this crisis more strategically.”

  “Is it possible the guards agree with the White Legion?” Sophia asked, and held her breath for the answer.

  “It is possible but highly unlikely,” said Saint-Germain. “The men are of Russian descent and would not be inclined to support the White Legion, which wouldn’t want them, in any case.”

  “And so you vouch for them?” Ethan accused.

  “I can vouch for the reputation of the company for which they work,” said Saint-Germain.

  “He was very precise in his instructions,” said Oscar King.

  “We’ll agree he’s a prince among men and a model of integrity,” said Ethan, finally bringing his fraying temper under control; Saint-Germain said nothing and so, after an awkward silence, Ethan went on, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. But that bullet through the windshield, I have to tell you, would have done the same to you.”

  “Oh, beyond question,” said Saint-Germain. “I can understand your fury. You have a pregnant wife and she could have been hurt.”

  “Well, she could!” Ethan burst out.

  Pietragnelli touched Ethan’s arm. “If you are angry, you should be angry with me,” he said sadly. “All this is ultimately my fault.”

  “No,” Oscar King announced, cutting into Pietragnelli’s self-denunciation. “It isn’t your fault, Mr. Pietragnelli, nor is it Ragoczy’s. It is the fault of the White Legion and the Leonardis, if Mr. Pietragnelli is right and they are the ones at the forefront of this assault. The man pulling the trigger is the one who is responsible for the shot through your windshield, Mr. Carmody. The men who beat Mr. Yoshimura are the ones who are guilty of his death. You do not have to answer for what happened. You have not done anything that justifies men shooting out your windows. Make sure you understand this, all of you, or you will not get through this ordeal. And it is an ordeal; do not underestimate it.”

  Pietragnelli sighed. “We’ll find a way. My family is strong. We do not flee at the first sign of trouble, and we don’t desert one another.”

  Saint-Germain saw Sophia stand a little straighter, although she was still clearly shaken; after a long moment, she said, “We’ll find a way.”

  “Is that what you mean?” King asked. “For men often promise full cooperation, and then refuse to do the sensible things offered to them. In your case, I hope you will not reject any proposition put to you, but will give it thoughtful deliberation.”

  “You seem worried that we will not be acquiescent; that we will not do as you recommend,” said Pietragnelli.

  “When men are under pressure, it is not an easy thing for them to see the advantage of a plan not of their own making, let alone one that might cause them to give the appearance of capitulation. I wouldn’t want to leave Geyserville, were I in your shoes,” said King. “I’m not the least surprised that you dislike the proposition Mr. Ragoczy has to put before you. But your situation is still very risky, and potentially more hazardous. I say this in the hope that you will be able to evaluate the recommendation we have settled upon, instead of turning it down without giving it your full attention and attentive reflection.”

  “You may not like what I have to propose,” Saint-Germain said before King could expound any longer. “But it is the one way I have hit upon that can ensure your safety and still take the measures necessary to protect your winery and vineyard.” He took a couple seconds to gather his thoughts. “Mr. King is right: I want you to consider what I propose to you; do not respond without careful thought.”

  “This sounds drastic,” said Ethan, trying to joke.

  “It will be more disruptive than you will like, I reckon, but it is as cautious as anything I’ve been able to come up with.” He glanced at King. “We discussed this on the way up here, and Mr. King is in general agreement with me. We have reviewed all the options, and we want you to do the same.”

  “Swell,” said Sophia dryly.

  “There is one other factor here that I hope you will include in your discussion.” He looked at Pietragnelli. “You want a fair fight over this, don’t you?”

  “Well, of course,” said Pietragnelli. “What else could I want? If the fight isn’t fair, the victory is a lie.”

  “Admirable sentiments,” said Oscar King. “But sadly, your opponents don’t see matters that way. And they will use your fairness against you if they can.” He nodded to Saint-Germain. “That was your point, I believe.”

  Saint-Germain went back into the parlor, going up to the fireplace and resting his arm on the marble-fronted mantel. “First, I can assure you that what I put forth to you will not cost you a cent,” he said, waiting while Pietragnelli led Sophia and Ethan to the pair of settees, indicating they should sit down; Oscar King brought up the rear and pulled a maharaja’s wicker chair nearer to the fire. “I don’t know how this will sound to you.”

  The front door opened and Rogerio’s impatient step indicated he was agitated. “I couldn’t see him,” he said as he hurried into the parlor. “I saw where he had been standing, but he was gone well before I got close. There was only one set of footprints.”

  “Leading south,” Saint-Germain said.

  “Yes. Off toward the south gate. I didn’t see any car or truck parked at the fence, but that doesn’t mean…” He faltered, aware that Pietragnelli was becoming restive. “I wish I could tell you I had seen two young men who headed toward the Leonardi vineyard, but I can’t.”

  “They will show themselves,” said Pietragnelli, his ire returning. “And when they do, I will carve their hearts from their breasts.”

  “Now, now, now,” King soothed. “Nothing so vituperative, if you please; not that I cannot understand your impulses. Intemperate remarks can return to haunt you, especially if this case goes to court. Not that anyone here would want to testify that you made threats, but if an opposing attorney should ask if anyone in this room heard you threaten to cut out the Leonardis’ hearts, they would have to say they had, and that would put you in a very bad light. If you feel these things, well and good, but, for your own protection, keep them to yourself.” He let the people in the room cogitate for the better part of a minute. “Let me advise you to be particularly careful around your workmen, Mr. Pietragnelli, until this problem is resolved.”

  “If someone had taken a shot at your daughter, would you say the same thing?” Pietragnelli dared him to speak against him.

  “I would have the same emotions you do, but I would do my utmost not to voice them, for fear of having them twisted to the advantage of my foes,” said King. “Now, if you will listen to what Mr. Ragoczy has to say, we can proceed with our plans.”

  Saint-Germain glanced at his watch. “I won’t take an
y longer than I must to explain this to you. I made a telephone call this morning, to Lake Tahoe. There is a Ponderosa Lodge in the woods on the north shore, run by a Mrs. Curtis who is called Mrs. Curt. The lodge is fairly isolated without being remote; it is surrounded by cabins, and just now, most of them are empty, so she would be glad of any business that could come her way.”

  “I take your meaning, but am not leaving my vineyard,” Pietragnelli said with the full weight of his determination.

  “I realize you don’t want to, and I know you don’t want to make the situation more dangerous than it is, so I ask you: just take an evening to think about this, and try not to let yourself believe what you want to believe because it is how you would like matters to be. You don’t have to concern yourself with how this will be done. I will pay for guards to keep watch over your property, and make sure your workmen and their families are safe,” Saint-Germain went on, his manner deferential. “Your vines will be tended, and—”

  “You provided guards already, and the windows are still being shot out,” said Pietragnelli, unwilling to grant any concession to Saint-Germain.

  “True enough. The men had to divide their attention between the riflemen and the raids on Yoshimura’s farm. I have already admitted that there have been too few of them to do the work properly. If I had hired more guards, you would not have had this trouble,” said Saint-Germain. “I would like to think that I can ensure the protection of your property more easily if I don’t also have to defend you as well.”

  “So you propose to send me and my family to a resort at Lake Tahoe, leaving my hands to continue to risk their lives to tend my vines?” Pietragnelli demanded.

  “I believe your absence will lessen the risks the workmen face,” Saint-Germain said, determined not to be goaded into argument. “Let them think that you have been frightened off. The guards will apprehend the culprits and then they can bring them to the law. It won’t be as easy for the sheriff to ignore professionals as it is to dismiss the complaints of a vintner.”