An Unlikely Love

by Dorothy Clark

  * * *

  Grant shook the rain off his mackintosh and hung it on a peg, removed his wet shoes and walked through the kitchen and up the stairs in his socks. His bed beckoned, but he wasn’t ready to sleep yet.

  He went to his dressing room and washed, put on his nightshirt and walked back into his bedroom. It was too dark to see outside, but he opened the window and stood for a minute listening to the rain falling on the grape leaves, then crossed to his bed and flopped onto his back, laced his hands behind his neck and stared into the darkness seeing Sarah Swan as she had looked when he opened the door. There were two things he knew he’d never forget: her terrible quietness and the words she spoke when she looked at him—Tobin has been at the wine.

  He closed his eyes, tried to order his churning thoughts and pray.

  “Lord, I’ve never seen anyone behave the way Sarah Swan did tonight. She was so quiet. So...defeated and hopeless. And no one should have to live that way.

  “I saw the evidence of what wine can do tonight. I saw it in Sarah Swan’s quietness and in the bruise forming on her cheek. I want no part of that, Lord. I won’t grow grapes for making wine ever again. But I need Your help, Lord. Because I don’t know what I will do, or when, or how I will do it. I need to work something out. I need to figure out a way to make a living. There has to be a way. Show me what to do, I pray. Because I won’t have any part of making wine again.”

  * * *

  It was still raining. Grant stood on the back porch and watched the rainwater sheeting off the roof, grateful that it gave him a reason to not be working in the vineyard. He’d not shared his decision with anyone but God, but that didn’t make it any less valid.

  He hunched his shoulders, shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled down at the rain-spattered floor. He was going to have to tell his mother about his decision to not manage the vineyard or business anymore. At least his mother would be all right. He’d worked that much out during his sleepless hours. He would hire a man to care for the vines and manage the vineyard and pay him with the money that was to have been his share. But how he was to make a living had escaped him. He would be free of the vineyard, but there would be no money to purchase a steamer or a business.

  Footsteps and silverware striking against pans announced his mother’s arrival in the kitchen. He sucked in a long breath and squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t tell her now. Marissa would be coming, and he wanted something to tell her first. What a mess! Here he was, trying to do the right thing, and it could cost him the woman he loved. He had no doubt of that any longer. He wanted to be with Marissa, to have her for his wife. Two years had seemed forever to wait for her. And now... “I’m waiting for Your answer, Lord.”

  The squeak of the door hinges warned him his mother was coming. A handy thing. He lifted his lips in a wry smile. Maybe he wouldn’t oil those hinges.

  “I thought I’d find you out here, brooding over the rain and the vines.”

  He pulled up a grin. “Chickens brood. Men ponder.”

  His mother laughed and patted his arm. “Well, ponder this, Mr. Man. Breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes. The coffee will be ready in five minutes. I came out to tell you that should you like a cup to drink while you’re pondering, you will have to come and get it. I am busy. We’re having blueberry-sourdough pancakes and potatoes and eggs and sausage.”

  “That was Father’s favorite breakfast.”

  “Yes, I know. I thought it might help.” She gave him a look and went back inside.

  How did she do that? He shook his head and headed for the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. She’d think it strange if he didn’t. The blended smell of hot coffee, sausage and potatoes with onions frying greeted him when he stepped through the door. “Smells good.”

  His mother looked up from the batter she was stirring at her worktable and grinned. “I think men eat with their noses.”

  “Nah, too messy.” He grinned at her laughter, grabbed his cup off its hook hanging from the bottom of the dish cupboard and edged between her and the stove. He put his cup down, picked up a folded towel and reached for the coffeepot.

  “This milk has turned!”

  He froze, then pivoted and stared at his mother, who was holding the tin of milk beneath her nose and sniffing. “What did you say, Mother?”

  “This milk has turned.” Disgust filled her voice. She banged the tin down on the table. “Wait until I see Lucas Car—”

  “Pasteur!” He dropped the towel, grabbed his mother beneath her arms, lifted her into the air and spun around the kitchen, laughing. “Louis Pasteur!”

  “What are you talking about, Grant? You know we get our milk from Lucas Carter. Now put me down! My potatoes are burning.” She pushed against his shoulders.

  “Put them in the warming oven, Ma!” He lowered her to the floor, gave her a loud smacking kiss on the cheek and ran for the back entry. “I’ll be back!” He snatched his mackintosh off its hook on the run, slapped his hat on his head and slammed out the door.

  * * *

  Marissa dried the bowl, put it in its place on the shelf over the flour bin and looked out the window for the fourth time. There was still no sign of him. But at least the sun had come out. Grant would have nice weather for whatever he was doing. She drew her thoughts back to her task and hurried to the sink cupboard. “Grant didn’t say where he was going?”

  “No.” Mrs. Winston washed the wood spoon, slipped it in and out of the rinse water and laid it on the wood drain board next to the frying pan. “I know he’s been worried about some things since his father’s passing, but this morning he acted crazy. I’ve never seen him like this, Marissa, and I’m a little concerned.”

  “What do you mean by ‘crazy’?” She lifted the frying pan and swiped the towel around the inside. “What did he do?”

  “He picked me up and swung me around laughing and yelling, ‘Louie Pastor’ or some such name—”

  “Was the name he yelled Louis Pasteur?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Mrs. Winston looked at her. “Do you know Mr. Pasteur, too? Is he a friend Grant met at Chautauqua?”

  She shook her head and hung the frying pan on its hook by the stove. “No, but I’m sure he would be thrilled to make Mr. Pasteur’s acquaintance. He’s a French scientist of some prominence.”

  Mrs. Winston shook her head and slipped her hands back into the dishwater. “Well, that makes no sense to me at all.” She scrubbed at a pan, then swished it through the rinse water and set it on the slatted board to drain. “Why would Grant be hollering some French scientist’s name, then running out of here like his shirttail was afire?”

  “Because Grant suddenly got his answer. At least he thinks he did.”

  Marissa spun around, met Grant’s gaze and smiled. “See how we talk about you when you’re not around? You’re our favorite subject.” She glanced down at the basket of wine bottles he was carrying and her smile died, her face drew taut. “Are those bottles part of your answer?”

  “They are.”

  “What are you talking about, Grant?” Mrs. Winston sounded astounded. “We don’t make wine.”

  “We haven’t, Mother, but we’re going to.”

  Grant set the basket on the floor and walked toward her with a huge smile on his face. Marissa stiffened, turned her back toward him and reached behind her for the apron strings. She would not stay—

  Grant’s hand, warm and hard and calloused, closed over hers, stopping her from untying Mrs. Winston’s apron. “Unfermented wine.”

  “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  She glanced at Grant’s mother. Mrs. Winston looked as unsettled as her stomach felt. Grant’s hand lifted from hers. She yanked the apron ties free and stepped forward, jerked to a stop when Grant’s hands closed on her shoulders. “Let me go, Grant.”

  H
is grip tightened. He turned her around. She lowered her head so he wouldn’t see the tears welling into her eyes.

  “Marissa, you have to trust me.”

  His voice was tender, but firm. Oh, how she wanted to trust him! But wine... She lifted her head.

  “To explain very simply... Wine is made by letting crushed grapes ferment. Yeast brings about the fermentation, and it is the fermentation that causes the alcohol content. That being so, if you stop the fermentation, you have unfermented wine. Or wine with no alcohol. That is what we are going to make. Or, at least, try to make.”

  “But I don’t understand. Please, I’m trying...” She reached out and touched his arm. “Wine is wine. And wine is strong drink. I’ve seen—” She swallowed, blinked tears away. “How can it not be wine?”

  “It is wine, Marissa. But it’s unfermented and so it has no alcohol. It is not strong drink. No one can become inflamed by drinking it.”

  “But how do you ‘unferment’ it?”

  “I believe I can answer that.” Mrs. Winston came to stand beside them. “If yeast brings about the fermentation, then you simply kill the yeast. It’s like making bread. If you make the water you add too hot, the yeast dies and the bread doesn’t rise.” She grinned at her son. “You’re going to kill the yeast by...what...heating the wine?”

  “Exactly, Mother! I’m going to heat the wine and kill the yeast, before it can ferment.”

  “Oh, Grant! Do you truly think it will work?”

  He nodded. “Science says it will. Louis Pasteur did it after the wine had fermented to stop it from turning sour. And he applied the same principle to milk.”

  His mother burst into laughter. “So that’s why you got so excited and acted like a crazy man when I said the milk had turned!”

  “That’s why.” He laughed, then sobered and looked at her. “Will you help me make my unfermented wine, Marissa?”

  His gaze held hers. She took a deep breath and nodded, then gasped.

  “What is it?”

  “I just thought...” Her lips twitched. Laughter bubbled up and burst free. “I’ll be a vintner!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “How are you going to make this ‘unfermented’ wine, Grant?” Marissa hid her wince. She didn’t even like saying that name. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Yes, what will we need, son?” Mrs. Winston swept an assessing eye around her kitchen. “If you tell us, we can have things clean and ready by the time you have picked the grapes. It sounds rather like my preserving and jelly-making equipment might be helpful.”

  “We’ll need the largest pan you have, Mother. We’re going to cook the grapes a little and then squeeze the juice out through some sort of cloth, put it in the bottles and cork them.”

  “My cheese cloth for making jelly will be useful then.”

  “I’ll rely on your cooking ability, Mother. And you’re going to need this, Marissa.” Grant looked into her eyes, slipped his hands around behind her and tied the apron strings she had undone. Her heart skipped, her pulse fluttered and her cheeks warmed.

  He gave her a slow, lopsided grin, leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. The warmth in her cheeks increased to a burn.

  He chuckled, turned and lifted the basket of wine bottles to the sink cupboard. “One good thing is, with all this rain we won’t have to wash the grapes because there’ll be no dust on them.” He gave them a jaunty wave. “I won’t be long.”

  She hoped not.

  “It’s good to see him happy again. He’s been worried for some time.” Mrs. Winston turned from the door and looked at her. “You and Grant are good for each other, Marissa. It makes my heart happy to see you together. I’m so glad God is working things out.”

  She smiled at Mrs. Winston’s declaration of faith. It made hers more certain. “He truly is. You told me that with God all things are possible, Mrs. Winston. And I know now that you were right.” She moved to the sink cupboard and began placing bottles in the hot water. “I have learned so much about having faith in God from you. I’m still working on trusting people. That’s...difficult for me.” She lifted a bottle from the water, placed her palm tightly over the mouth and shook it so hard the curls on her forehead bobbed.

  “That’s understandable, Marissa, after all you have suffered.” Mrs. Winston cleared everything from the top of the long worktable and washed it off with a soapy rag. “I’m so happy for your mother and father. It’s not often that we have a second chance in this life. Have you any notion of when you will hear from them?”

  “No. But I don’t really mind, as long as Mother is safe now.” She rinsed the bottle, set it upside down to drain and began shaking another. “I have...well...I have...”

  “Grant?” Mrs. Winston laughed and rinsed off the tabletop.

  “Yes, but I was going to say...you.” She rinsed and set the bottle to drain, and began another. “Grant doesn’t really fit too well as a—”

  “A what, dear?” Mrs. Winston stepped into the pantry and came out a moment later carrying a huge deep pan filled with ladles and funnels and cloth.

  “An adoptive mother.”

  “Marissa!” The pan clanged against the tabletop. Mrs. Winston came and gave her a fierce hug. “You have become such a large part of my life, Marissa. I couldn’t love you more if you were my daughter. And if the Lord be willing— But let’s leave that in His hands. He holds tomorrow.”

  * * *

  “They won’t heat any faster because we stand here and stare at them.”

  “You’re right, Mother.” Grant stole a last look at the concords in the huge granite pan on the stove. So much depended on this experiment. His stomach churned. He resisted the temptation to check the dampers once more and turned away from the stove. “I’m going out on the porch while the grapes heat. Would you ladies care to join me? There’s nothing more to be done in here until it’s time to strain the heated grapes.” He stepped forward and held the door open for them.

  “Ah, it feels good out here. The air’s refreshing after the warm kitchen.” His mother started for the swing, veered off toward a chair at the table.

  “Take the swing, Mother, it’s more relaxing. And you and Marissa have been working hard.” He plunked his right hip and thigh on the porch railing, leaned back against the post and swung his free foot back and forth.

  What if it didn’t work? He was so sure this morning when his mother had mentioned the turned milk and Louis Pasteur’s name had popped into his head that it was God “establishing his thoughts” the way his mother talked about so often, but now...

  His foot jerked. He wanted to go in and look at those grapes. Or at least pace around the porch. He’d give it another few minutes and then go in and stir them. He didn’t want them sticking to the pan or burning or anything. Lord, please let this experiment work.

  He blew out a breath, looked out over the vines. If the experiment did work, he’d have to go see Walter Taylor about increasing that mortgage or taking out a note.

  “Grant...”

  He shifted his gaze to Marissa, wanted to get off the railing and go over and take her in his arms. She was so sweet and beautiful...and with just enough “saucy” in her to make him ache when he looked at her.

  “You’ve explained about the ‘unfermented wine.’ But I don’t understand why it’s so important.” A frown creased Marissa’s smooth forehead. “Why do you want to make it?”

  So that I can marry you.

  “I was wondering that myself, Grant.”

  His mother’s gaze was fastened on him, studying him. How could he explain the dire importance of this experiment? He didn’t want to tell Marissa he was without funds and had no way of making money to support her. If it didn’t work... But that wasn’t the only reason. Not any longer.

  He started to lif
t his hand to rub his neck, saw his mother’s gaze flicker toward it and instead waved it toward the vineyard. “There are a lot of vines out there that produce an abundance of grapes. And the sale of those grapes at harvest provides our living. It’s what I’ve always known...what I’ve always done.”

  He locked his gaze on Marissa’s and smiled. “And then I boarded a steamer for Chautauqua, saw a young lady who seemed in a bit of distress, offered my assistance and my life changed. Suddenly, all I’d known was challenged. And things I had not known of were presented in a sobering way. My eyes were opened to the abuse of women and children by men who overindulge in strong drink, and I learned of the suffering and misery that can be the result of imbibing. I, also, learned of the possible agony of the drinker. And conviction grew in my heart until I could no longer say, ‘I only grow grapes. I don’t make wine.’”

  He glanced at his mother and read the understanding in her eyes. She knew of the debt and that the money he should have had was gone. He took a breath and told the rest of it. “And then Sarah Swan came to the house. When I opened the door, she said ‘Tobin has been at the wine.’ And I saw her condition, and I knew I could never be a part of that again.”

  He glanced out over the railing. “But there are all those vines. And years of work to improve the vineyard. Still...there was the truth of Sarah Swan. And I couldn’t reconcile the two.”

  He faced them again. “So last night I told the Lord I would not grow grapes to sell to vintners ever again. And I asked Him to show me what to do. This morning I believe He did. And that is why this ‘unfermented wine’ is so important. As Marissa said a short while ago, we will be the vintners. And our ‘unfermented wine’ will harm no one.”

  “Oh, Grant...” Marissa launched herself from the swing and threw herself into his arms. He held her close and looked at his mother over the top of her blond curls. The look in his mother’s eyes was one he would hold in his heart forever.