by J. T. Lundy
“Are you going to turn me in?”
She laughed sarcastically. “All you’re worried about is yourself. I should, but, no, I won’t turn you in. It won’t be long until the cops figure it out and I will watch with pleasure as they haul your despicable little life to the slammer.”
“Despicable?”
“Despicable, low-life, lazy, white trash. I can’t believe I ever married such a weasel.”
“Oh, come on now, Laura.”
“I’m serious. Divorcing you was the smartest thing I ever did.”
“Two days ago you said you wanted to get back with me.”
“I thought you were going to live in a vineyard.” Laura turned and started walking toward Aceau and Stumpy who stood waiting. “Now you’re going to go to jail. And you’d fuck the vineyard up anyway, I’m sure.”
We caught up to Stumpy and Aceau and walked as a group.
Laura’s words stung. I really was a loser. Too many kernels were popping in my mind. I needed to be alone. I needed to think. “I want to walk a bit,” I said. “Can you guys pick me up at the hotel on your way back from dropping Aceau off?”
Laura frowned at me.
“Say hello to Jacqueline for me,” Stumpy said.
I started to say something like, No, I was not searching for Jacqueline, but the gray matter was wobbling and I didn’t have the energy. I walked toward the Hotel Duras, a new vineyard owner and Joan of Arc chalice thief. I had trouble concentrating and accidentally bumped into a man. “Pardon, Monsieur.” The tension from the last weeks was too much to bear. It felt like some strings were unraveling inside me.
Stumpy was right. Jacqueline. I needed to see Jacqueline. She was strong, with good business sense. Jacqueline could see me through.
I quickened my pace and tried to gather my wits. I stepped through the hotel doors. Peter, the manager, stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Non, Monsieur Barnes. No more carousing around our hotel. Guests only, please.”
“Peter, have I not been a regular guest at the café?”
“When someone else is paying, I have noticed, Monsieur Barnes.” Peter had a smug look and upturned nose. “But of course you are welcome at the café.”
I turned to walk out. “No respect.” I walked along the outskirts of the café when I saw her—them! At the far end of the iron fence sat Jacqueline and a tall man with a movie star-like chiseled jaw, cleft chin, velvety black hair, and sex-hungry eyebrows. At least that was my first impression.
The happy couple sat across from each other at a small table next to the short iron fence that separated the café from the sidewalk. I looked at Jacqueline, smiling, happy without me, happy with another man. A few more strings unraveled and the world tilted around Jacqueline’s face. I got closer and she saw me. Jacqueline sat up and reared back.
I leaned over the rail and spread my hands out, placing them on their table. I looked left, right, and smiled at Jacqueline and the princely man. “What have we here—a romantic dinner for two at the Café Duras? What a novel idea.”
“Jason, please.”
“From one man’s arms to another.” I looked around wildly to the church steeple that contained the town clock. “What’s it been, a couple of hours?”
“Jason!”
Handsome man looked me over. He had a confident air about him. He acted unafraid and unconcerned with my hostile demeanor. “Is this him?”
“The prince speaks.”
“I think you should leave, sir.”
I pointed my finger at him. “That, my friend, is exactly what I am not going to do.”
The lanky waiter walked by and glanced at me. Our eyes locked. He shook his head slightly as if he were admonishing me, or warning me, or willing me to move on to save myself.
“Has she told you about the room service breakfast yet?”
“Jason!”
“If she does …” I gave the stud a wink. “… It’s a done deal. You’re in. And the breakfast is good, too, I must admit.”
A strong hand clasped my shirt at the neck. I gasped. The beautiful man was tough. His face pulsed with anger.
“Please, no, François,” Jacqueline said.
“Please, no, François,” I said in a mocking tone.
François. Of course he was the gallant François, the complete antithesis to Jason Barnes.
François remained seated and pulled me forcefully down toward him. I did not resist. I felt hollow and oddly wanted the punishment. Life didn’t matter. I had lost Jacqueline and was going to prison. I let François pull me toward him. As my face lowered, I stared into his plate filled with deep red beef bourguignon. My favorite—beef bourguignon. Why not? I hated myself. I pushed my head down through François’s hands and slammed my face into his beef bourguignon. I lifted my head and slammed my face down again. I repeatedly smashed my face into the rich meaty sauce.
Jacqueline screamed.
The other diners screamed.
Beef bourguignon splattered everywhere.
François grabbed me by the back of my hair and yanked me upright. My face dripped in a bloody beefy mess.
“I am the owner of St. Sebastian Vineyard,” I yelled to the café. “I am a vintner. I am a vintner and I am nothing.”
François punched me in the stomach and I doubled over and sat on the sidewalk. My back leaned against the iron fence.
Jacqueline stood up and leaned over the fence, concerned. “Are you okay, Jason?”
I heard a call from the street. “Jason.” Our rental car lurched to a stop as Stumpy parked it along the curb. Stumpy and Laura ran from the car and kneeled by me. Matthew and Mark barked from the window
“Fabio attacked me,” I mumbled.
Jacqueline looked at Laura. “The police let you go?”
Laura mustered all the smugness of which she was capable. “Turns out I’m not the thief.” She nodded toward me. “Turns out someone was robbing his own cupboard.”
“No.” Jacqueline reached over and touched my head. “Jason, tell me you didn’t steal the chalice?”
They lifted me off the ground. I stood with my hands on my knees. I bowed my head. “I’m sorry, Jacqueline.”
Jacqueline looked at me with anger and pity. “You have serious problems, Jason.” Her scolding was too much to suffer. I stood up straight and felt tired and dizzy. Jacqueline was writing me off forever. “I think you should talk to a psychiatrist,” she said.
My knees wobbled and everything went black.
Someone held me, rocked me, and it felt so warm. I saw Stumpy as a kid chasing me on his bike with a water balloon. I felt Aunt Clara kiss me on my wedding day before I turned to Laura, her eyes sparkling. I saw Sister Lucia smiling and Sister Claudette proudly holding up a grape cluster. I saw Jacqueline; her long black hair fell loosely onto her shoulders, as she looked deep into my eyes. She leaned in and kissed me, a warm tender kiss, with lips full of love. I reached up and tenderly ran my hand over her stubbly, bearded face.
I opened my eyes. “Ah!” François was making out with me. “Ah!” I pushed him away and sat up.
“Relax, man,” Stumpy said. “He was giving you mouth-to-mouth.”
I wiped my mouth and spit.
“Mon frère, François, is a doctor,” Jacqueline said.
“Of course he is.” Wait. Frère? “Say what? Brother!”
François had meat sauce around his lips. He held my wrist, monitoring my pulse. “Only a fainting spell, but I took no chances. I was worried it might be your heart.”
The lanky waiter stood over me. He had a towel and wiped my face.
I looked to Jacqueline. She looked at me with sad eyes. “You saved your wife? You stole the chalice from the church? From France? What about Sister Lucia and Sister Claudette? Do you not care one bit for them? Do you not care one bit for me? What I would think? How could I possibly be with a man like you?”
I looked down. I couldn’t face her. Jacqueline was done with me for good. “It is my heart,�
�� I whispered.
Stumpy helped me up. “You’ve had a long day, buddy. Let’s go home.”
I sat in the back seat with Laura and we drove off. I owned the vineyard and I was worthless.
CHAPTER 30
I felt dead to the world when we reached St. Sebastian. Jacqueline was right. I was a low-life. How could she be with a man like me?
I could see a lone figure under our porch light. “Melanie!” Stumpy shouted.
Melanie sat on her suitcase by the front door. Stumpy tumbled out of the car and ran toward her. They kissed and embraced. Laura and I got out of the car and looked on at the happy couple. Their innocence and love was hard not to appreciate and their joy at seeing each other again brought smiles to both of us.
“My schedule was changed. I’ve got three days.” Stumpy opened the door and Melanie quickly entered the house. “I don’t want the sisters to see me. I’m not spending the night in the abbey.”
I arched my eyebrow at Stumpy in response to Melanie’s planned sleeping arrangement.
He arched his eyebrow back at me.
I walked in and plopped down on the couch. Stumpy opened a bottle of wine. Melanie clung to him. Laura stood awkwardly in the entranceway. I think she was torn between despising me and wanting to help me. I couldn’t care less.
The phone rang.
“Yes, Sister,” Stumpy said. “I will send her over.” He hung up and looked knowingly at Laura.
Laura stared at me accusingly. “Back to Catholic prison. I hope they catch the thief soon. I can’t take Sister Claudette for long.” She turned and walked out.
After Laura left, Stumpy, Melanie, and I drank wine and small-talked, but I could tell they wanted to be alone.
Stumpy went to open another bottle of wine and I followed him into the kitchen. “I’m sleeping in the shed, man.”
“You are?”
I slapped him on the shoulder. “I am. I’ve an all-night project to work on, so the house is all yours.”
Stumpy looked excited but worried at the same time. “You shouldn’t be alone, Jason. You’ve been acting strange.”
“I’m fine.” I slapped him again. “You’re the man.”
He smiled and nodded.
I walked out the back door and onto the patio. I stepped off the cement and scooted my way down the grassy slope to the vineyard. I passed the shed and kept going. The night was warm and sticky, the air silent, the vines asleep. I walked slowly, without direction, running my hands across the wet leaves, kicking an occasional vine post to make sure it was steady. The vineyard was mine and I was soon to be caught.
I rounded the ridge and I could no longer see the lights from the abbey or the house. The lackluster stars flitted around dull clouds.
Jacqueline had had it with me, and who could blame her? I walked up the hill and stopped at the cemetery. I sat on the family tomb and wondered how many guilty Barnes souls there were.
I stood up and looked out. I could only see a few feet ahead of me in the moonless night. The blackness further oppressed me. I clenched my fists and spread my arms. “Stella!” I shouted to the universe, because it made no sense and felt right.
I walked up to the chapel and quietly opened the door. Dim lights illuminated the front altar area. I knelt by the relic cabinet. There was a note on one of the glass doors: Like the Kingdom of Heaven, the doors remain open. May the person who has our chalice find it in their heart to return it to its rightful place. Ugh. I felt like shit. If only I could return it. I opened the cabinet and looked over the other cups. Why did I have to choose the Joan of Arc chalice?
I closed the cabinet and sat down in the last pew. It was dark and the glowing altar looked religious and holy and special, like it was meant to. I sat and stared and became mesmerized by the light and dark and silence.
My soul calmed. I knew what I had to do. I lay down on the cold wooden pew. The darkness was eerie and comforting at the same time. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
CHAPTER 31
I awoke to a prayer.
A barely perceptible glow emanated from the chapel’s east stained glass window as the rising sun’s rays reached out, cheering me slightly. A heavy tension weighed on my shoulders and chest. I ached to rid myself of this oppressive guilt.
A nun knelt before the altar, fervently speaking to God.
I sat up quietly and clasped my hands and bowed my head in sympathy. I would wait until the prayer was over before I announced my presence.
The nun spoke louder. It was Sister Claudette. “Please forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned.” Sister Claudette paused and I could hear her crying. How could this be? Sister Claudette was the most sinless person I had ever known.
“I pray for the lost soul of Jason Antoine Barnes. Forgive me, Lord, for I have failed.” She cried more, harder and longer.
I stood up. “Are you okay, Sister?”
Sister Claudette whipped around, startled at first, but she relaxed when she recognized me.
I walked gingerly toward the altar. “I’m sorry, Sister. I didn’t mean to intrude, but I was sleeping in a pew.”
She wiped her eyes and stared at me.
“I had some praying to do,” I explained.
She smiled slightly. “Yes, I can imagine.”
“You know then?”
She nodded. “Thirteen thousand one hundred euros.”
I looked to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Sister. I let you down.”
“It is I who have let you down, Jason.”
I laughed. “How can that be? You’ve nothing to do with my selfish behavior.”
Sister Claudette looked to the ground and started to cry again.
Her crying was more than I could endure. “I’ve thought on it, Sister, and this is what I want to do. Monsieur Aceau notarized the will last night and I officially inherited the vineyard.”
She nodded. “Yes, I heard.”
“But I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it. I’m giving the vineyard to the church, to you and the abbey, and all the good nuns who have cared for the land.”
She stared through me as if assessing my sincerity.
“I love this land, but I’ve messed up here. I want to pay the convent back for the chalice and return to my old life if possible. I was hoping you might not press charges and help me out with the police.”
She continued to stare. “I don’t want the land.”
“Don’t, what?”
“The land is yours. You keep it.”
“But the church. How can you refuse? The church will want the land. And I have to atone for my sins.”
“I will atone for your sins. Your sins are my sins. I’m sure the church does want the land, but I want you to have it. The land must stay with the family.”
“You’re confusing me, Sister.”
Sister Claudette took my hands into hers. “I’m sorry, Jason. I haven’t been forthcoming. For thirty-two years I have been a silent coward. Your parents did not die in a car crash. We have lied to you. You see, Jason, my son, I am your mother.”
The right side of my body had a spasm. It was difficult to breathe.
Sister Claudette cried. She hugged me tight and buried her face in my chest and sobbed. I wrapped my arms around her tentatively, uncertain and shocked to the core. I felt love and happiness, but at the same time had questions, anger, and resentment. I was conflicted and tormented and confused and … overjoyed.
I heard crying behind me. I turned around and saw Sister Lucia. I looked to her and Sister Claudette and immediately recognized Aunt Clara in them. How stupid of me not to have seen the resemblance before.
“And so you’re my aunt?”
Sister Lucia wrapped her arms around me and cried. “I’ve so waited for this day.”
I hugged Sister Lucia. She was always so good and kind, and she had not abandoned me. I had no misgivings toward Sister Lucia, only love. I hugged her tight and cried and felt her good soul.
The chapel warmed with the brig
htening sun. The three of us stood staring and smiling at each other, not knowing what to say.
“I have so many questions,” I said.
“I became pregnant with you when I was seventeen.” Sister Claudette had a faraway look in her eye. “My father was furious and embarrassed and sent me off to live with my sister Clara in the United States to have the baby in secret.” She paused. “To have you, that is.”
I was thinking too many things at once. “So you two are Barneses too?”
“Yes,” Sister Lucia said. “We three sisters grew up in the vintner’s house.” She clapped her hands, thrilled. “Clara and I shared Stumpy’s room.”
I thought of Stumpy and Melanie in that room right now and felt a twinge of guilt.
“We changed our names when we became nuns.” Sister Lucia looked fondly at Sister Claudette. “But we chose the same last name because we still wished to feel like real sisters.”
“I was supposed to put you up for adoption in the United States and return home, but—”
“But she loved you so much, she couldn’t bear to do it and instead convinced Clara to keep you.”
“Practically forced Clara,” Sister Claudette said.
“That makes sense,” I said.
“But I did love you. I have always loved you. Our father was—”
“Overbearing,” Sister Lucia said. “It was impossible to go against him.”
“Upon my return he made me enter the convent.”
“And I followed soon after.” Sister Lucia smiled. “But I wanted to. I always loved the nuns growing up and wanted to be just like them.”
“And here we are,” Sister Claudette said.
Sister Lucia clapped her hands again. “Yes, here we are. The last of the Barneses.”
I sat down on a pew. It all felt right, but accepting the fact that my parents were not dead would take some time to get used to. “And my father?”
Sister Claudette sighed. “A local boy. His life went on. He came to the states for your birth, but he believes you were given up for adoption.”
“And he is still here?”
Sister Claudette nodded. “One thing at a time.”
