by Beverly Long
He studied the fish in the water for a few minutes. “You said that first night on the beach that legitimacy of a child was very important to your grandmother. Why is that?”
She gave him a brief smile. “You’ve got a good memory, don’t you?”
“I guess.” He could remember things that had happened a hundred plus years ago like it was just yesterday.
“My grandmother and Aunt Genevieve are illegitimate. Their father, my great-grandfather, never married my great-grandmother.”
“Were they together but just not wed?”
“No. My great-grandfather Reginald Song was a bit of a rogue but evidently an irresistible one. He stopped in every so often but never stayed long.”
“Evidently long enough,” he said dryly.
She laughed and when she flipped her long hair back, she looked young and carefree. If Reginald Song had been anything like his great-granddaughter, it was no wonder he’d been hard to resist.
“My grandmother was born exactly one day and one year before the big Crash.”
“The big crash?” he echoed, wishing like hell it was easier to figure out what was going on.
“Right. She was born October 28, 1928. Supposedly after she’d been born, he’d promised my great-grandmother that they’d be married soon. Well, he lost everything like so many others and he evidently felt strongly that Great-Grandmother shouldn’t have to marry a poor man.”
“But I thought your Aunt Genevieve was several years younger than your Grandmother.”
She nodded. “I did say he was a bit of a rogue. He came back when Grandmother was about two and evidently stayed just long enough that nine months later, Aunt Genevieve was born.”
“Your great-grandmother never married anyone else?”
“No. She put up with him bouncing in and out of their lives for twenty years. Then he just stopped coming. A year went by, then another. My grandmother was almost twenty-five when they learned that he was dead, had been dead for four or five years by that time.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For your great-grandmother, for Pearl and Genevieve.”
“They grew up without a father, without his name. People laughed at them, at their mother. They said she was a fool, a disgrace.”
“That would be difficult for children to hear.”
“They’ve never forgotten it. But in the end, Reginald Song did right by them.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’d regained everything he’d lost in the stock market, threefold. He died a rich man. They inherited this land and enough money to go with it to get the vineyard and winery started. Perhaps more important to them, is that they got his name. In his final papers, he acknowledged them as his only living children. I think that’s why my grandmother never changed her last name when she got married several years later. She’d waited a long time to be Pearl Song, and she wasn’t giving it up.”
“So your Grandmother and Aunt Genevieve share ownership of this property?”
“They did up until the mid-1960s. Aunt Genevieve wanted to travel, to see the world. Grandmother had married by this time and she and my grandfather bought out Aunt Genevieve. She took her half in cash and they didn’t hear from her again for almost fifteen years. Then she came home.”
“And your grandmother welcomed her back?”
“Of course. They’re sisters. Aunt Genevieve doesn’t begrudge Grandmother’s position—she knows that she got her share. But now,” her voice softened with concern, “I worry that when Aunt Tilly inherits the property she might force Aunt Genevieve out.”
He wasn’t an expert on how property changed hands but he thought she might be missing something important. “Melody, if your mother was still living, she’d share equally with Tilly. Since she’s not living, I think her share would come to you.”
She didn’t look surprised. “That’s how it works, usually.”
“You and Louis and Tilly would be partners of a sort.”
She shook her head. “Can you imagine how horrible that would be? Years ago, Grandmother and I had this discussion. I told her at that time that she should leave the winery and the vineyard to Tilly and Louis. This has been their home for the past seventeen years. In their own sick way, I think they love the vineyard and frankly, I’m not sure what else they could do.”
And she had accused him of being too nice. “You’re satisfied knowing that you’re not going to get your share?”
“Grandmother said at the time that if she left the property to them, that she would make it fair to me.”
“What did she mean by that?”
“I have no idea. I imagine she has some other assets, some cash, some jewelry. I have no idea how much and I’m not going to spend time thinking about it. It’s too horrible. It’s been at least five years since we’ve spoken about it.”
“Do you think Louis and Tilly know?”
“I have no idea. I’m not proud of this, but I sort of hope they don’t. In my own sick way,” she said, looking a little ashamed, “I like the idea of them losing a little sleep over it.”
She stood up and stretched. She was so fair-skinned that even though they’d been out in the sun a short time, her nose was already pink. “Well, I guess I’ve put this off long enough.”
“What?” Damn, but she was a pretty woman.
”Grandmother would like an opportunity to announce our marriage to her friends and neighbors.”
She said it matter-of-factly but he could hear the tension in her tone and he wondered if some of her pink nose was from nervousness. “I imagine that is what’s done,” he said carefully.
“She wants to host a sort-of-formal dinner party. Maybe twenty-five or thirty people. I didn’t want to say yes until I’d talked with you.”
He’d never been to a sort-of-formal dinner party, but he’d been dragged to a couple church socials when some well-meaning citizen had deemed it appropriate to expose him to some organized fun. How much worse could a dinner party be? “Is it something you’re interested in?”
“I think it would make her very happy.”
“And you’d like to do that?”
“Of course.”
“Then I think we should tell her yes.” He could see the relief in her eyes and knew he’d made the right decision.
“If you’d like, I could ask her to invite Rebecca Fields.”
He didn’t much care about the guest list. “I suppose that would be all right.” He stood up and the two of them started back toward the house.
“She’s very pretty, don’t you think?”
That stopped him. “She’s a handsome enough woman,” he said.
She frowned at him and he wondered if he’d said something wrong. “So, you did like her?” she asked.
He shrugged, wondering just why they were talking about Rebecca Fields. “She’s pleasant enough.”
Melody waved an impatient hand. “Handsome enough. Pleasant enough. Good grief, George. Is she somebody you’d be interested in?”
He caught up, finally. “Mrs. Johnson,” he said, emphasizing the title, “I’m supposed to be married to you.”
“I know. But it was pretty obvious that she’s attracted to you and, well, maybe she’s an opportunity that you’re missing.”
She looked so serious. This was not a conversation he’d anticipated having and he struggled to find the right words. “I’m thirty-four years old, Melody. I’ve had my share of opportunities and I’ve made good use of some of them.”
Now her cheeks were pink too and he knew that she understood what he was saying. “Right now,” he continued, “I’ve got no business thinking about opportunities.”
Even though she looked as uncomfortable as he felt, she stood her ground. “But sometimes an opportunity squandered is an opportunity lost.”
He shook his head. “I imagine you’re right. But in this case, it’s not that big of loss.”
“Really?”
He’d always been a little slow about thin
gs like this but he suddenly realized that Melody was jealous of any attention he’d paid to Rebecca Fields. Which was ridiculous. Even so, he felt flattered, like he’d been paid a great compliment. “She’s not the type I favor,” he said.
She stared at her toes. “If I might ask, exactly what type is it that you favor?”
That wasn’t as easy as deciding which was his favorite flower. Women were more complicated. “I guess I favor those who aren’t too hard on the eyes. I like a gentle spirit that allows them to show kindness yet a firm constitution that permits them to be strong when it’s called for. I like a woman who laughs easy and makes others around her want to pull up a chair and sit for a spell.”
“Oh.” She looked up and he saw that she had a dreamy look on her face. “She sounds lovely.”
“She is.” He started walking again, hoping like hell that she didn’t realize the obvious—that he’d just described her.
“I guess we should be getting back,” she said. “You haven’t had your lunch.”
It was as good of a reason as any not to stand in the garden, thinking about things that could never be. He was here just temporarily. The footprints that would lead him home could come at any time. He’d do well to remember that this was a woman who’d lost much already. Her parents, her best friend, and soon her grandmother. She didn’t need to be having any crazy ideas that the two of them could be together and then end up losing him, too.
“Yeah,” he said. “I think we’ve wasted enough time here.”
He heard her quick inhale of pain and felt like a damn ass. But better she hurt some now, like the gardener with a rose thorn under his nail, than hurt more later, when she’d be left alone to walk in her garden.
CHAPTER TEN
Pearl waited for them on the bench in front of the fountain, her legs extended, her head tilted up to catch the warm sun on her face. She wore loose light green trousers, a blue shirt the color of the sky, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. Pieces of her white hair had escaped, and blew gently around her tan face. When Melody saw her, she stopped.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Melody whispered. “She’s always had this uncanny ability to look absolutely at peace with nature, like she’s part of the landscape. This is exactly how I want to remember her.”
He considered the angle, the light. “Wait here,” he said. He walked into the house, up the stairs, and once inside the bedroom, he opened his camera case.
It was a Waterbury, manufactured by the Scovill Manufacturing Company. Hannah had given it to him as a gift for their first wedding anniversary and his picture-taking skill had improved over time. He’d enjoyed it a great deal.
But then after Hannah had died, he’d put his camera away. He hadn’t taken another picture until the one he’d taken of Sarah Tremont and John Beckett—the one that now hung on Melody’s bedroom wall.
When he emerged from the house, he was pleased to see that Pearl hadn’t moved. Melody had circled around so that she faced her grandmother. When he stood next to her, she pointed and whispered, “That thing actually works?”
If she only knew. He nodded and pointed the camera at Pearl. He widened the bellows to get a good, close shot. Then he pulled the lens cap off, counted to three, and snapped it back in place. “I’ll develop it for you later.” In his camera case, he’d carried the fluids he needed as well as the paper to transfer the picture to. All he needed was a dark space. He could use their bath.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I’m going to treasure it.”
He was glad that he’d made her happy. He couldn’t help feeling bad that he’d hurt her feelings back in the garden. “I guess I better get—” he stopped. The dogs bounded out of the house, followed by Genevieve. The door slammed behind her and the noise woke Pearl up from her midday nap.
She stretched and shifted and when she saw them, she smiled. “I swear, I can fall asleep at the drop of a hat,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were back from the garden.” She looked at the camera, which George still held in his hand. “What’s that?”
“A camera,” he said. “I was just showing Melody.” He’d let Melody surprise Pearl with the picture.
She got up to have a closer look. “My gosh. What year was that made?”
His chest started to feel tight. “Mid 1880s, I think.”
“It’s really in great shape for being so old,” Pearl said. “I was at an antique show not too long ago and they had several like it. But that part,” she pointed to the rubber bellows, “was all dried out and looked like it might crack if you tried to bend it. You must have taken very good care of it. Is it a family heirloom?”
Now his chest felt like it might explode. He never should have gotten the camera out of its case. He’d just gotten carried away with the idea of doing something nice for Melody. “You might say that. I guess I better get it put away so that I can catch up with Arturo,” he said, hoping to avoid any additional questions.
Genevieve and the dogs had made their way to the fountain. She had two orange feathers behind one ear and she wore a long black dress that hung off her skinny frame. If her sister was at one with nature, a part of the landscape, then she seemed more at one with death, a part of the dark side.
“So? You and Arturo didn’t hurt each other?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.” The way she asked the question, he wasn’t sure which one of them she’d been rooting for.
“Genevieve, you are impossible,” Pearl said, her tone loving. She turned back to him. “I want to show you around the place. I was tired yesterday and did a poor job of it. I’d like to make up for that today.”
“That’s not necessary, Pearl. I can find my way around,” he said. This woman had more to think about than playing hostess.
“I’ve already talked to Arturo and told him I was kidnapping you for a little while. And quite frankly, I’m looking out for my own interests. I can’t ask you to step in for Gino and not give you some basic information that will be helpful as you do your job.” She put her arm through Melody’s. “Plus, I want to spend some time with my granddaughter and her new husband.”
George looked at Melody and knew fairly quickly, by the look of panic in her pretty eyes, that she’d had no part in the plan. Probably was afraid that between the two of them, they’d say or do something that would give them away.
Pearl turned to her sister. “Do you want to come with us?”
Genevieve looked at both George and Melody. “Sure,” she said agreeably. “Why the hell not?” She whistled at the dogs and then made some kind of hand motion that had them heading for the porch. Then she reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a faded, crushed hat, which she pulled low onto her forehead. “What’s first?” she asked.
“The cave,” Pearl answered. “After all, it is my pride and joy.”
He’d never been in any cave that caused him to have much pride or joy. They’d been dark, damp, and generally uncomfortable. He slipped the camera strap over his shoulder and followed Pearl and Melody, who walked arm-in-arm. He walked next to Genevieve, who hummed a little tune under her breath.
They walked past the wine shed, past the cement paddock, and then practically into the side of the hill. Two thoughts hit him at the same time. One, he’d never seen a cave with a door on it and two, it was nicer than most people’s houses.
It was brightly lit inside, with electric lights every three or four feet. The floor was a smooth and shiny cement and the walls were a light gray. He rubbed the palm of his hand across them.
“Shotcrete,” Pearl said. “It’s ten inches of pea gravel, sand, and cement with a coat of paint added in at the end. Come on. There’s more to see.”
Surely the rest of it could not be so grand.
But it was. In a few minutes, he stood in the middle of a wide circle, with five tunnels leading off in all directions like spokes on a wagon wheel. In each tunnel he could see racks of wine barrels, three or four high, similar to what had been in the wine shed.
He couldn’t tell which grandparent she was prouder of. “It’s spectacular,” he said. “You use it to store wine?”
Pearl nodded. “Yes. It’s an expensive proposition to dig a cave of this size but the payback comes rather quickly. The temperature in here is about fifty-eight degrees year-round. That’s really optimal for wine storage. Before we had this, we needed to cool the wine shed to that temperature, and that was a very expensive electric bill to pay each month.”
He’d wondered if people had to pay for the power that ran the electric lights. George could hear the sound of men’s voices coming from one of the tunnels. He walked over and looked. Pearl joined him. “What are they doing?” he asked.
“Topping off barrels. Even in this natural humidity the wine evaporates and we need to refill the barrels to avoid oxygen getting in and ruining the wine. Each barrel loses about a gallon a year in here. If it was above ground, it would be more like four gallons. So, that’s more payback.”
“Amazing,” he said. He couldn’t think of another word that came close to describing the cave.
Pearl laughed. “It’s always a delight to see a person’s face the first time they see this. But we should be going. There are other things I want to show you.”
He turned to leave the way he’d come in but Pearl, Melody, and Genevieve were headed the other direction. He followed them and realized quickly that the cave had a back door. They exited less than thirty feet from the cement paddock area behind the wine shed. He figured that was no accident. No doubt the closeness between where they processed the grapes and where they stored the finished product had been by design.
