The Winemakers

by Jan Moran

  Caterina closed her eyes. “What reason did he have?”

  “No, I can’t speak of it.” Rosa spoke with vehemence. “It was a tragedy.”

  “Tell me if I’m right. It had to do with Luca and Natalie?” When Rosa nodded, Caterina pressed on. “I hate to ask, but we must know the truth. Did he compromise her before her wedding?”

  Rosa’s eyes misted. As memories filled her thoughts, she touched the fine lace on the dress Caterina still wore. “Natalie denied it, but she wasn’t the type to cause trouble. She was afraid for her papa and for her fiancé. Franco would’ve had to avenge her honor.”

  “But you believe Luca took advantage of her, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” Rosa pressed a hand against her finely lined forehead. “That was such a long time ago. Let it go, tesoro.”

  Caterina embraced her. But now she was more determined than ever to know the truth.

  * * *

  The summer cry of crickets chirped across the Tuscan hillsides, filling the air with pastoral song. Caterina placed Marisa in a wooden high chair and pulled her to the dining table on the terrace. Marisa had been fussy ever since Santo had left to return to California.

  They’d had a few wonderful days visiting his family and taking in the sights of Tuscany. Santo showered Marisa with love, and she was immediately drawn to him as if she knew he was her father. Now, understandably, she missed her daddy, as did her mother.

  Caterina sat down to dinner with Giovanna and Alma. Giovanna had prepared crostini, followed by pappardelle with porcini mushrooms and artichokes, salad, and pollo alla cacciatore. Caterina complimented Giovanna on the pasta and chicken.

  She diced pasta and vegetables for Marisa, who was feeding herself fairly well with her hands and usually managed to get most of her food in her mouth. Even with a bib, she still needed a good wipe-down after mealtimes, though. Caterina couldn’t help smiling at the pasta stuck to Marisa’s nose.

  “It’s so quiet without Santo now.” Giovanna slid an inquisitive look toward Caterina. “You didn’t tell him about Luca and Natalie, did you?”

  “Not yet. I must know for certain.” Would she ever know for sure? She felt sick just thinking about that, but there had to be someone who would know. “I spoke to his aunt Rosa, but she couldn’t tell me much—at least nothing I could verify. She promised not to say anything to Santo yet. Who in the village might help me discover true Santo’s parentage?”

  “We can make some discreet inquiries in town,” Giovanna replied.

  Alma fidgeted with her food and arched a brow. “I don’t normally listen to gossip, but there’s a lot of talk.”

  “Have you heard anything about him?” Caterina picked a mushroom from Marisa’s lap. She hated to acknowledge Luca as her father now. If she ever found him, would he tell her the truth about his relationship with Natalie?

  Visibly uncomfortable, Giovanna shot a look at Alma and then took a long sip of wine.

  “Nothing new,” Alma said. “The old women are dredging up ancient gossip. Some things never change.”

  Changing the subject, Giovanna said, “I’d love for you to stay and help with our grape harvest. We could create wine tastings for guests. You just won a major wine competition, so people will trust your opinion. You can work with us.”

  Alma added, “And I can watch Marisa, dear. I often look after my grandchildren. One more is no trouble.”

  Caterina sucked in a breath. “Do you really mean that?”

  “We insist,” Giovanna said. “You’re family, my dear. You and Marisa are welcome to stay here as long as you’d like. You’ll need time to make the cottage fit to live in and get on your feet.”

  “You have no idea how grateful I am,” Caterina said, relief flooding her. It was almost the best outcome she could hope for, besides a future with Santo. Her eyes glistening, she hugged the two women. She couldn’t help but wish she had such an easy relationship with her own mother.

  Their offers were generous, and Caterina was deeply touched. If she confirmed that she and Santo were half siblings—and she’d never rest until she knew—she would remain in Montalcino. She couldn’t bear to live near him in California. How could they possibly see each other and yet never express their love in the most intimate way as they had before? To live that way would break their hearts. Just thinking about it caused a hard lump to form in her throat.

  And then there was Marisa. Though her little girl would miss her father, he could visit her.

  Still, she could save money and start her own wine label. Although fate had not been kind, she could make Montalcino their home. But what if people here discovered Marisa’s heritage? Would Marisa’s illegitimate status be received here? If the word got out, it might be even worse than in America. Only Giovanna and Alma understood. Was there anywhere they could go to be accepted? She heaved a ragged sigh. Once people find out … She shook her head. She already knew the answer to that.

  Caterina pulled closer to the table, scraping her chair against the stone floor. “Giovanna, I have a confession to make. In my room, I found some old letters from my mother addressed to you. I read up to the point where my mother was on her way to San Francisco and Napa, and I was appalled by Luca’s treatment of her.”

  Alma nodded. “We all were.”

  “Did you ever hear from her again?”

  Giovanna looked thoughtful. “Ava wrote after you were born and often sent photos, but we lost touch during the war.”

  “You knew she and Luca split up. Didn’t she write to you about that?”

  “Some history deserves to remain buried.” Giovanna’s voice was tinged with warning.

  “I can’t get my mother’s letters out of my mind. I need to know what happened next. Were we ever a family? Why did Luca leave?”

  Giovanna shot a look at Alma. “Let the past be past, Caterina. Luca is out of your life. Be thankful for that.” Giovanna touched Caterina’s shoulder with compassion. “Leave your father alone, dear.”

  But Caterina had many questions, and she couldn’t get Luca and Natalie out of her mind. Was it only a rumor, or was there truth to it? Caterina felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it.

  “If you’re going to be up for a while, I’ll go up and put Marisa to bed,” Alma said.

  “I’d appreciate that.” Caterina cleaned Marisa’s hands and face with her napkin and then kissed her good night.

  The two sisters left with Marisa to retire to their rooms. Caterina sat alone on the stone patio gazing dully over rolling hills and distant mountains. The sun had dipped beneath the horizon, and scattered pinholes of light pierced the darkness beneath her as hearths were illuminated and terraces lit. The night was young for summer in Italy, but Caterina felt as old as the mountains.

  She wished she could confront her father and vent her anger toward him. Why couldn’t he have been the father she needed? Instead, his irresponsible actions may have decimated her life and the lives of those she loved the most.

  Caterina stood and paced the length of the terrace. She wrapped her arms around her torso, aching at Santo’s absence. An owl called out, and she turned. Through the open doors, a shaft of moonlight caught her eye, illuminating Violetta’s portrait. Her grandmother’s vibrant eyes seemed to bore into Caterina, willing her on.

  * * *

  Over the next few days, Caterina tried to learn more details of the relationship between Luca and Natalie. She visited the elderly doctor who had arrived too late to save Natalie, but he could not shed any light on who the father might have been, other than Franco. In fact, he was indignant that she might believe the gossip that had been circulating.

  She also tracked down a priest who remembered Luca and Natalie and Franco. He patiently explained that he could not divulge details from private confessions. Caterina couldn’t tell him why she was asking, because she didn’t want Marisa to be ostracized in the event they remained in Italy.

  She called on one of Santo’s cousins she’d met, but
again, the woman offered little enlightenment other than she’d heard the rumors, too. In the end, no one could confirm or deny her suspicion.

  After her last visit to the village, Caterina decided to pay her respects to the grandmother she wished she’d known. She carried Marisa and walked to the ancient Rosetta family cemetery down the lane from the villa. Clouds dotted the sky, and a warm wind whipped across the face of the hillside, tangling her full skirt around her legs and spinning dry dust into the air.

  Caterina opened an iron gate, which squeaked on its rusted hinges. Blackbirds squawked from the stone walls surrounding the patch of land. Olive trees swayed overhead, and purple iris quivered on their stalks. She found the fresh grave of Violetta Romagnoli Rosetta and stood behind the stone.

  “Here is your great-granddaughter,” Caterina said, smoothing Marisa’s hair. Her little girl smiled brightly and reached out to touch the shiny marble headstone.

  Holding Marisa’s hand, Caterina knelt on the ground by Violetta’s grave site and thought about the tragedy of the murder. A good man died, Violetta lost a son, Ava banished a husband, and Caterina never knew her father. Now she understood why Ava had severed all ties in Italy.

  For Caterina, understanding the past was an important step on her journey. She had come to Italy to learn more about her murky ancestry, and she had accomplished that. Though she hadn’t found the warm, welcoming family she’d hoped for, Giovanna and Alma had filled the void. She felt as close to them as if they were family. She’d also discovered more of the truth. A few parts were still lacking, but she’d find no more answers here.

  A phrase that had passed through her mind when she’d first seen Violetta’s painting floated to her consciousness again. Out of mistakes grows wisdom. Perhaps Violetta was speaking to her again.

  She bowed her head and said a prayer for Violetta. She thanked her for her bequest to her for the cottage and for the vineyard that still flourished, and then she rose and kissed the polished headstone.

  Marisa watched her with a curious gaze. When Caterina turned to her, Marisa held her arms out and uttered a single new word, “Hug?”

  “Oh, yes, hugs, hugs, hugs, my precious girl. I love you so much,” Caterina said, embracing her little girl until she thought her heart would burst. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her daughter.

  She was a Rosetta, and family was as important to her as it had been to Violetta. As much as she’d grown to love Italy and knew she’d return, she suddenly realized her home—and especially Marisa’s—was in the vineyards of California.

  Caterina had grown up without a father, and she’d desperately missed his presence. However, she was still determined to find answers. If she did, and the worst occurred, she would shutter her heart to allow Marisa to have a relationship with Santo. She must give her daughter the gift of a father, especially one who so loved and adored her.

  As Caterina turned over the conundrum of Santo’s parentage, she realized only one person remained who might confirm or deny the rumors.

  * * *

  Caterina clutched the telephone in Giovanna’s study, waiting for the international operator to put her through to Napa.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Giovanna said, frowning.

  Caterina nodded. “I’m sure. But I don’t know if I’ll be welcome.”

  “Try her. Ava might surprise you.” Giovanna patted her shoulder. “But if not, you’re welcome to stay.”

  The line was ringing now. She hoped her mother would answer.

  “Remember, Ava had good intentions. Life isn’t perfect; we merely try to make the best decisions we can at the moment.” Giovanna kissed her forehead. “I’ve loved having you and Marisa here, and I hope you’ll return soon,” she added before she left the room.

  Caterina would miss Giovanna and Alma and all that she’d grown to love in Italy. The line clicked several times, and Caterina held her breath. Out of mistakes grows wisdom, she repeated to herself.

  But had enough time passed for such seeds to sprout?

  “Hello, Mille Étoiles.” Ava’s strained voice sounded like it emanated from the bottom of an empty vat.

  Caterina sat on the edge of her chair and sucked in a nervous breath before she spoke. “Maman, it’s Caterina.”

  A seemingly interminable pause ensued as the telephone line clicked, carrying her voice across the sea, the plains, the mountains. Her heart pounded in wait.

  “Ma chérie!” Ava exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so happy you called.”

  Caterina clasped the receiver with white knuckles. She could hear her mother choking up on the other end of the line, and her eyes misted, too.

  Caterina found her voice. “We’ve had our disagreements, and I love Italy, but I’ve been thinking—”

  “Please come home, chérie. I’ve missed you … and I’d like to get to know my granddaughter.”

  “Oh yes, Maman, yes, I’d like that very much.” She sniffed through her own tears. When she assured her they would be home soon, Ava sobbed with happiness. This will be a fresh beginning for all of us.

  “Maman, there’s one more thing I must know before we arrive. Is Luca still around?” The line was so quiet Caterina thought it might be dead.

  Finally, Ava spoke. “I believe so. You’ll need to be careful, Caterina.”

  Caterina hung up the phone. Luca was the last person in the world she cared to confront, but there was no other way to find the truth. Only then could she and Santo determine the course of their lives.

  NAPA, CALIFORNIA

  The next day, Ava woke to a flurry of telephone calls.

  She’d been taking calls all day in her office overlooking the vineyards of Mille Étoiles. She balanced the receiver on her shoulder as she spoke. “The wine was blended by my daughter, Caterina Rosetta, and Santo Casini.” After a few minutes, she finished the sales call and hung up. She made a note in a file and added it to a stack of other folders.

  She’d been so relieved and excited that Caterina had called. And she’s coming home with Marisa. She had so much to do, but the phone rang yet again.

  “Hello, Mille Étoiles Wines. How may I help you?” She picked up her pen to make notes or write a purchase order as she spoke.

  Evidently, an article in The New York Times had announced that their wine won highest honors in the exclusive Paris competition. Buyers and collectors had immediately started to call.

  She was thrilled that Caterina had achieved such a victory. She was so proud of her.

  Juliana was also working hard to publicize the big win, and Ava appreciated her help. The vineyard, the winery, the sales—Mille Étoiles was a lot for her to handle.

  They had to borrow or generate funds before harvest. Because of a string of warm days, the grapes were ripening ahead of schedule this year.

  “Merci. We appreciate your order. Good-bye.” Ava leaned back in her chair. She couldn’t remember a busier day.

  Before she closed the office for the evening, she glanced around, making sure she had tended to everything. She straightened a vase of fresh white daisies near the windows.

  As she did, movement in the vineyard below caught her eye. It was dusk, so it was hard to see clearly. She peered from the window. Someone was in the vineyard; she could see a tall man wearing a dark jacket and cap scurrying between rows.

  “That’s odd.” It wasn’t Raphael, and the workers started early in the morning. No one was supposed to be in the vineyard now. She sucked her breath in, instantly nervous. Is it Luca?

  On second thought, it was probably a transient worker who had forgotten one of his tools. The incident with Luca had put her on edge. Nevertheless, she made a mental note to mention this to Raphael.

  Her attorney had told her that it was a simple fact that Luca’s name was on the deed, no matter how long he had been gone. Nor did it matter that it was her money—her inheritance—that had bought the property.

  She shook her head. She might have to say good-
bye to her beloved home at Mille Étoiles, but if enough purchase orders came in, they might be able to salvage their livelihood.

  Suddenly, the window in front of her exploded in a shower of glass, and something burst against a painting across the room with a thud. Ava screamed and flattened herself against the wall. What’s happening?

  A man’s malicious laugh spiraled up through the broken window.

  Luca. Ava crawled across the floor, taking care to avoid glass splinters. She lifted the painting, spied a brick on the floor, and stretched toward it. A note was wrapped around it with twine.

  She peeled the note off and opened it.

  Your time is up, it read.

  * * *

  The next morning, a knock sounded on the door. Ava adjusted her full-skirted navy dress trimmed in white piping and opened the door to an attorney she knew from the village. “Good morning, Russell. What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here so early?”

  Russell Glenhall removed his hat and held it to his chest. “May I come in, Ava?” He passed a hand over his thinning gray hair.

  “Of course. Would you care for coffee?”

  “I’d like that, ma’am.”

  Ava turned, her low-heeled navy pumps clicking across the wooden floor, and made her way into the dining room, where she often entertained wine buyers and press. The portly attorney followed her.

  She poured coffee from a silver pot into thin china cups, sat down at the long, polished table, and folded her hands. “What can I help you with today, Russell?”

  One eye twitched, and he rubbed it in irritation. For a moment, he stared at the pink roses in the center of the table before taking a swig of coffee and clearing his throat. “Unfortunately, this is not a pleasant visit, Ava. Luca has retained me and plans to file an eviction notice against you to regain control of his property.”

  “Eviction?”

  “He wants Mille Étoiles. You must vacate the premises.”

  “I’m not leaving, Russell. This is my home and my business.”

  He let out a long sigh. “I was afraid that’s what you would say.” He opened his suit jacket and removed a sheaf of papers from his breast pocket and held them out to her. “In that case, here’s Luca’s demand.” When she didn’t move to accept the documents, he hesitated and then placed them on the table before her. “You should have a lawyer look at those, Ava.”