Table of Contents
LOVE’S HARVEST
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
LOVE’S HARVEST
A Salmon Run Novel
GWEN OVERLAND
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
LOVE’S HARVEST
Copyright©2017
GWEN OVERLAND
Cover Design by Ramona Lockwood
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-552-3
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
For my husband,
who convinces me each day
that love is better the second time around.
Acknowledgements
I wish to thank my editor Debby Gilbert for acquisitioning this my first novel and for all her help in making this story the best it can possibly be. In fact, all the wonderful women at Soul Mate Publishing need to be acknowledged for their support, professionalism, and business acumen.
“It takes a village”, and I am so grateful to Soul Mate for providing me with the most perfect of villages and just at the right time. Finally I wish to thank my assistant Erica Anderson for her sharp eye and constant encouragement. Without her I would not have found the stamina and self-assurance needed to complete this novel and take it through its numerous edits.
Thanks so much! All you ladies are the bomb!
Chapter 1
He was gone. Robert, her husband of the last eight years, was inextricably, undeniably, tragically gone. He’d been sick for so long that Julia had found some familiarity and comfort in doctor visits, experimental surgeries, and hospital stays. But now even that was gone, disappeared with his last exhalation of breath.
A tear escaped and dripped onto Alicia’s slender wrist. It felt good to have her only sister sitting beside her, holding her hand tightly. Alicia obviously wanted to transfuse the strength and comfort from her body into fortifying Julia’s. On her other side was her dear friend Barbara, whose muscled arm draped over her shoulders, securing her as a moor line holds fast an errant boat. Truly, Julia felt adrift, floating in and out of events as they played out in front of her.
Underscored by a madrigal of various sniffles and soft crying, Julia strained to hear the muffled words of Pastor Knudson’s eulogy. She lifted her head and scanned the faces of those who stood around her at Robert’s gravesite. Everyone she knew either sat or stood nearby. Her husband’s brother James, his wife Gayle and their children, her father, Scott Treadaway, and Alicia’s mother, her step-mother Trudy, Duncan D’Angelo, her accountant with his wife and family, and way in the back stood all of those who worked for her and her husband at the winery—the mostly Mexican itinerant vineyard, production and retail workers.
Julia caught the eye of her hard-working orchard manager, Diego Gonzales-Martinez. Of all the people attending, he was the only one who appeared to understand the emptiness and desolation she felt both within herself and without. Keeping his gaze trained on her, he nodded slowly in empathetic condolence. The comfort and warmth of his stare momentarily broke through her sorrow. Julia faintly smiled and nodded in return. She wasn’t alone in her grief after all.
The weather was typical for a late mid-summer morning of the furthest northwest county of Washington state. The dewy, cumulus clouds brought in from the ocean by the Japanese current were scarcely beginning to dissipate, casting shadows across the deep blanket of green lawn carpeting the graveyard. With eyes closed, Julia turned her face toward the encroaching sunlight, breathing in the familiar smell of the nearby cedar trees.
She returned her focus to her husband’s stark casket hovering precariously over the freshly dug hole. Cancer had nearly whittled Robert’s six-four frame down to the size of a marionette. She’d fought with James as to whether or not Robert’s body should be exposed at the viewing.
The mortician advised her not to do so, but James, who never seemed to find time to visit his brother while he was sick, insisted on the opposite. In the end she’d won.
She could thank Gayle his wife for talking James out of his reactionary demands. Still, it was an odd feeling knowing Robert was forever gone from her life and yet at the same time in the very box in front of her.
As everyone stood for the final prayer, Julia drew strength from the two women at her side. The family was to exit the gravesite first, but Julia’s feet refused to take her away from what was left of the man she’d loved. The finality of it all overtook her body along with her breath. She motioned for Alicia to join the rest of the family at the reception, then sat back down with Barbara at her side.
“How are you doing?” Leave it to Barbara to cut to the chase. Yet despite her tough no-nonsense exterior, Barbara’s tear-filled eyes told of her aching heart.
“Fine, I think. But I don’t want to go quite yet. Do you mind sitting with me a few minutes longer?” Julia asked, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.
“Of course. It’ll take a while for this crowd to disperse anyway, so we might as well take our time. And if anyone says any different, don’t you worry. I’ll straighten them out.”
Julia smiled at her friend. There was no doubt in her mind that Barbara would hold true to her word. Tall, big-boned, and able to single-handedly maintain order in this multifaceted community were only a few of her traits. No wonder she had won the vote for Sheriff as decidedly as she had.
One by one the procession of cars led by James and his family pulled away from the curb, making their way to the reception area at the adjacent funeral home. As the cemetery emptied of family, friends, and well-wishers, the Spanish-speaking workers from the winery reverently forged forward and made a huge circle around Julia, Barbara, and Robert’s casket. Julia was amazed by how many people Robert’s life had touched.
Diego strummed a few chords on his guitar, th
e entire community softly humming an unfamiliar yet plaintive melody. Then his sister Mariela sang in Spanish the most beautiful song Julia had ever heard. Julia didn’t speak Spanish except for the few words as needed at the winery. Yet as Mariela began to sing, she felt as if she understood every word pouring from Mariela’s soul. Barbara, whose Spanish was impeccable, translated for her.
No more dreaming, so carry me away,
Carry me to where you are, carry me.
When someone leaves, those who stay
suffer more
Sufre más
Sufre . . .
“Julia, please. The family is waiting!” interrupted James, his voice like his face, cold and abrasive. Julia wondered if he had returned to the gravesite merely for the chance to publicly scold her. “Everyone is waiting for you. We wondered if you’d even gone home. I told them you needed another moment or two, but then when you didn’t show up, I didn’t know what to say. You left me in a very awkward position.”
Julia hated how rudely James often commandeered people to meet his demands. Yet out of fairness to him, she did need a dose of strong guidance to manage through the rest of the day. “I’m sorry, James. I merely needed time to appreciate the music offered by these wonderful people who work for us. It was lovely of them to have done so. Don’t you agree?”
Julia never ever wanted to argue with James, but it seemed like the only words they had for each other lately were either pointed or combative. Even Robert’s past conversations with his brother more often than not were fraught with tension. It didn’t matter if they were talking about their father’s health, the winery, sports, or even the weather. Julia had once asked Robert why James had it in for him, but Robert was as clueless as she.
“Be that as it may, we still have guests,” James continued. My God, Julia thought, doesn’t the man ever stop?
“But these people who work for us, they are also our guests today.” Julia worked at making her opinion heard without raising her voice. Which wasn’t easy since what she truly wanted to do was knock him flat on his rear end.
“Don’t start, Julia. I’m not in the mood and you shouldn’t be either.”
For a brief moment Julia wondered how the man could look so much like her late husband, and yet behave so utterly cruel.
Barbara finally broke the tension. “Come on, you two. At least pretend you care about each other today, if not for your guests, then for the sake of Robert’s memory.”
Even though the tone in her voice was jovial, it was clear she thought James and Julia had plenty of work to do. That was, if they were ever going to be more than merely cordial to each other.
Julia stood up. “Thank you, James, for your concern. If you don’t mind, Barbara and I’ll walk up to the chapel and meet you there momentarily. I need a few minutes before I present myself to our other guests.”
“Fine. But don’t take too long.” He turned and made a beeline toward his car. By now, the music ended and the community of workers and their families slowly made their way back to their own vehicles. Many merely strolled back to their homes on the property of the Nooksack Valley Winery as the cemetery itself was adjacent to the vineyard.
Diego packed his guitar back in its case with the help of Mariela’s two adorable yet feisty children, Eduardo and Felicia. Eduardo took after his mother. Light-skinned, with dark-brown hair and eyes, and a slight pudge to his pre-teen body. Felicia, on the other hand, looked more like her father, skinny as a rail with long wavy, auburn hair. She was so tiny, it was difficult to guess her age.
“Come on, Barbara. I want to catch Mariela before she leaves and thank her for that beautiful song.”
Mariela was as round as her husband Rafael was thin. He stood with his arm around his wife’s shoulder while the two of them gave one last reverent look at the casket before them. Mariela wept quietly with her head anchored against Rafael’s chest.
As Julia walked up and stood by Mariela’s side, Rafael spoke for himself and his weeping wife. “He was a good man, Señora Reynolds. He was fair to his people and especially to my family. Señor Robert will be deeply missed.”
“Thank you so much, Rafael, and to you too, Mariela. Your song was the prayer Robert’s service needed to make it feel complete.” Julia then turned around to face Diego. “Gracias, Señor Diego. I had no idea you played guitar so professionally.”
“Da nada, Señora.” He thanked her. Julia was momentarily taken in by the dark intensity of his dark-brown, nearly black eyes.
“Uncle Diego is teaching me to play the guitar. He says I am a quick learner,” Eduardo, the oldest of the Pasqual children, said.
“Me, too,” echoed Felicia. “I am also learning to play the guitar, and mi madre says I sing like the songbird in the tree outside my bedroom. Sweetly and clearly.”
“You do not,” teased Eduardo.
“I do too. Mama said.”
Finally, Mariela found her voice. “Eduardo. Felicia. Stop your nonsense. This is not the time, nor the place.”
Julia smiled. “It’s all right, Mariela. I am delighted the children are learning the joy of making music and at such an early age too.”
“I’m eleven,” boasted Eduardo.
“And I’m eight,” parried Felicia.
“I’m older than you.”
“So!” Felicia answered angrily.
“So, so, sew buttons on your pants!”
“Enough!” barked their father. “Mio Dio! You never stop.”
“Mama says you shouldn’t swear, papa. She says . . .”
Felicia was interrupted by her uncle. “Come, you two. No more arguing if you want to continue your guitar lessons.” When at work, Diego was a quiet man of few words. Yet until now Julia had not noticed the deep sonorous timbre and melodic quality of his voice.
“Si, Uncle Diego. Lo sentimos. We’re sorry.” And with that the children took off across the cemetery toward the grape fields, followed by their parents.
Julia and Diego both let out a chuckle.
“You’ve quite a way with children, Uncle Diego,” noted Julia. “It’s a wonder you aren’t married with children yourself.”
What in the world made me say that?
Diego’s smiling face suddenly hardened.
“Thank you for the compliment, Señora, but I am afraid my destiny does not include a wife and children. Eduardo and Felicia are family enough for me.”
Julia took a step forward and touched his arm. “Forgive me. It wasn’t part of my destiny to have children with Robert either, so I understand.”
Diego stared at her. His sad dark eyes held an intensity that stole her breath and gripped her heart.
Barbara, who’d been speaking on her cell phone all this time, sauntered back into view. “Gads, Julia. We had better get going . . .”
“Before James sends out a posse looking for us. Is that what you were going to say?” Julia said, letting off some much built-up steam.
“More like a lynching party, if you ask me,” Barbara continued. “I don’t know what the problem is with that guy, but he always acts as if he has an enormous hair up his butt.”
Julia laughed. “You’re telling me!”
~ ~ ~
Diego watched the two women walk arm-in-arm up the road toward the main building and reception. It didn’t surprise him that James and his wife Gayle, who had organized the gathering, failed to invite the Hispanic workers and their families. Ultimately, however, that didn’t matter. Tonight, the community of itinerant workers would celebrate the life of Robert Reynolds in their own way—with music, dancing, good food, and the telling of one story after another.
~ ~ ~
In many ways Julia felt closer to Barbara than she did her own sister. And to be fair, Alicia was much younger than Julia and mere
ly her half-sister due to her father’s second marriage. Barbara van Persie, on the other hand, offered Julia the strength and confidence she needed to persevere through Robert’s lengthy illness as well as the daily ins and outs of the winery.
After all, Barbara was the sheriff of this rural Washington State county and had been for over ten years. She and Julia met some years ago at a church function—the Lutheran church Robert and his family attended for many decades—and had immediately become fast friends. Normally, Sheriff Barbara attended the Dutch Reformed Church in the town of Salmon Run, but that particular Sunday she was church-hopping at Gayle’s invitation.
Something about Barbara’s straightforward humor had a way of loosening Julia’s predilection toward shyness. Julia was every bit an independent woman, what with her piano concert career and all, but she was never one to rock the boat, to stand up for her beliefs, or confront the hard issues at hand. Now, with the long illness and consequent death of Robert finally at an end, Julia felt more lost than ever. Plus, placing her concert engagements on hold over the last year had no doubt done more damage to her career than she could afford.
None of that mattered now. James and Julia were the sole owners of Nooksack Valley Winery and Vineyard with Julia in charge of operations. It’d been a difficult year for the winery. Sales had dropped as well as membership numbers in the wine club. Diego and the workers at least kept up the fields. Mariela had done her best to ensure retail sales from the tasting room remained even. But, they still had a long way to go before the winery could be considered solvent. Julia had her work cut out for her and she knew it.
“All kidding aside, Julia, I don’t know how you’ve done it, taking care of Robert and the winery day and night for nearly a year. And mostly all by yourself, I might add.” If anything, Barbara was undeniably loyal.
Love's Harvest (A Salmon Run Novel Book 1) Page 1
