Was it concern for Asquonset? Was that likely from the two people in the world who had most shaped their lives to exclude anything to do with grapes and wine?
Olivia didn’t think so. She guessed that they had read Natalie’s book.
Natalie’s face said she guessed the same thing. As upbeat as she tried to be facing the storm, when she looked at her children, there was doubt.
Did either of them look back? Not once, that Olivia could see. Not even when Natalie said something and everyone else looked her way. If ever there was a tip-off of trouble, that was it.
Worry, tension, undercurrents of something personal and explosive—all grew as the afternoon dragged on.
Olivia tried to stay out of the way. Whatever was happening was Seebring business, and she was just a transient here. She read to Tess in the den. They played games in the parlor and took bathroom trips together for moral support. But Natalie came looking for her when she was gone for long, Susanne was grateful for cleanup help, Tess freaked out each time a shingle broke free from the roof and flew back against the house, and Olivia wanted to be near Simon. The kitchen, with the others, was definitely the place to be.
Radio voices dominated the talk, filling airtime with stories that often had little relevance to Chloe but were a welcome distraction. Simon went outside once, only to return moments later windblown, soaked with sea spray, and discouraged at not having reached the vines.
“You were smart to turn around and come back,” Natalie said, and he nodded, but Olivia sensed that he wasn’t so sure. The vines were his children. It was painful for him, sitting inside, safe and dry, while they suffered.
She peered through the shutters, but the world was a medley of impenetrable gray. When dusk fell, even that bit of gray was gone.
Dinner was a silent affair, more a way to pass the time than anything else. No one was particularly hungry. They had been eating all day. Confined for yet another hour, they were edgier than ever. The house felt close and stifling. Wine went untouched. The sound of silver on china grated. The shutters rattled. The wind howled without stop.
Shortly after ten, the emotional storm crested.
Tess had fallen asleep in the den, wrapped in an afghan. Jill was reading in the parlor. Mark was doing a crossword puzzle in the living room. Simon was outside, trying again to see how the vines were faring.
Olivia sat at the kitchen table listening to the radio with Natalie, while Susanne put plastic wrap around a plate of newly baked biscotti. When Greg came in for water, she offered him one. He shook his head and went to the refrigerator.
Setting the plate down, Susanne leaned against the counter and said to no one in particular, “That’s it for here, I guess. Everything is done. What to do now?”
Olivia knew the dilemma. They could go to bed, but radio reports said the storm was starting to move off, and the minute the winds had died enough to allow for hosing, all hands were needed in the vineyard. That could be in thirty minutes, or it could be in two hours. In either case, going to bed seemed an exercise in futility.
“You could read,” Natalie said innocently enough, but it was the drop of water that broke the dam.
Susanne looked directly at her. “I have. I’ve done that. I read every last page, every last word of what Olivia wrote.”
Greg turned back from the refrigerator, silent but alert.
Olivia started to rise, but Natalie put a hand on her arm and gave a tiny head shake. “Stay. I need an ally.”
“Why would you need that,” Susanne asked, “if you told the truth in your book? Wouldn’t it stand by itself, if it was the truth?”
“It is the truth.”
Greg took up position near his sister. “Truth or not, it doesn’t really matter. You’re damned either way.”
Natalie held steady. “Why is that?”
“Because if what you say in the book is true, it’s an admission that you lied about your life.”
“Have you read it?”
“Every page. It tells of a life built on lies.”
Natalie shook her head. “No. I never lied.”
“Then it’s about omission,” Susanne argued. “You didn’t tell the whole truth.”
“Which is the same as lying,” Greg said.
“You kept secrets.”
“You kept Dad in the dark.”
Olivia rose. “I shouldn’t be here. This is between the three of you.”
“Sit, Olivia,” Natalie said, her voice quiet but firm.
Olivia sat.
Natalie addressed her son. “What would you have had me tell your father? That I only married him for money? That I loved someone else? That if it hadn’t been for my mother begging me to marry him, I would have waited and married Carl? What would have been the point of that?”
“Honesty,” Greg said.
“Would it have been kinder? More productive? Would it have made your father feel better?” Natalie shook her head. “I don’t think so. It would have caused irreparable harm to a marriage that went on to become quite good.”
“Good? But it was based on lies,” Greg insisted. “Lies to us, too. You kept us in the dark about what was going on here.”
Natalie’s voice rose. “What would you have had me tell you? That your father wasn’t a businessman? That his zest for war blinded him to what was happening here? That he had absolutely no idea what to do when he got back and learned we were penniless?”
“You weren’t penniless,” Susanne scoffed. “The factories were worth something.”
“Your father didn’t see that until I pointed it out. He was paralyzed.”
Susanne went on. “You could have told us. Why did we have to learn all this through a book?”
“Because I couldn’t talk about it,” Natalie said with what sounded as much like self-reproach as regret. “Because telling one’s children some things is … difficult. Because I feel bad talking about it. Because the only reason I am is that you both need to see where I’m coming from in my relationship to Carl.” She softened. “Why would I have told you negative things about your father? You loved him. That thrilled me. Why would I have talked about what he didn’t do, when he did accomplish so much? What was so wrong with building him up in your eyes? He was a wonderful man. That’s a totally honest statement. What he did, he did well.”
“You manipulated him,” Greg charged. “You ran his life.”
“You manipulated us,” Susanne chimed in. “You gave and withheld information based on a master plan that only you knew.”
Natalie smiled sadly. “There was no master plan. There never is, when it comes to farming. I wanted Asquonset to thrive. That was my goal. I just did what I had to do.”
“To save the vineyard. Was the vineyard all that mattered?”
“No, Susanne. Alexander mattered. My marriage mattered. You children mattered.”
“Could have fooled us,” Greg muttered, crossing ankles and arms.
Natalie was still.
“You were never here,” he said.
Susanne nodded. “You were always off somewhere, doing something more important.”
Olivia felt a dire need to flee. Softly, she murmured, “I should not be here. Really, Natalie.”
Natalie shot her a hard look. “You wanted to be part of a family. Well, this is what family is about. It’s about crossed wires and lack of communication. It’s about making accommodation for things you would never allow in a friend. With a friend, you just say good-bye and that’s it. With family, you’re stuck.”
Olivia was too startled to speak, much less move.
Natalie turned to Susanne. “Not more important. What I was doing was never more important, just more demanding. I was working.”
“Well, I never knew that,” Susanne cried. “I thought it was social. How could you let me think that? I wanted your approval. I did what I thought you did. I did what I thought you wanted me to do. You must have thought I was a total … nothing all these years.”
&
nbsp; “Never,” Natalie said with the shake of her head. “Not once. I wanted you to have an easier life. What I did was hard.”
“You weren’t the first woman to work,” Greg argued. “You certainly didn’t have to do it. Dad would have found a way to support us. Maybe if you hadn’t jumped right in, he’d have had more reason to do it.”
Natalie sagged a little. “Maybe. Maybe he would have. Maybe you or Susanne would have done things differently from me. Maybe I was wrong. But the truth is that I believed I had to do what I did, or it wouldn’t be done. Fault me for it if you want, but I did believe that. And I’m not complaining about working hard. I’m simply saying I did it.”
“You took a whole lot upon yourself,” Greg accused. “It could have all gone the other way. The real estate deal could have bombed. The vines could have failed. Dad could have realized what you were doing.”
“What I was doing?” Natalie echoed, sitting straight again. “What was I doing? I was trying to build Asquonset into a profitable vineyard.”
“You took risks without even consulting Dad.”
Natalie sighed. “Dad was not interested in real estate. He was not interested in vinifera rootstock, either. He was interested in talking war with anyone who would listen—and I’m not the only one who took risks. He took risks aplenty over there.”
“That’s what war is about.”
“That’s what life is about,” Natalie countered. “Everything good involves risk. Even now. We could sit back and rest on our laurels. We could tell ourselves that we’ve built a fine name and that we’re in the black. Instead, we’re launching a new ad campaign, and yes, it’s costing a lot, and yes, it involves risk, but isn’t the point to grow? When all is said and done, isn’t growth the bottom line of life?”
“Mother,” Susanne said. “You’re seventy-six.”
“So?”
“When does it stop?”
“When I die. Until that day, I’m here.”
“Taking risks,” Susanne said, but more quietly now.
Natalie gave a small smile. “Well, goodness, sweetheart, that’s what keeps me young. Risk—challenge—it’s what keeps me alive. Everyone needs new things to look forward to. Not that I wouldn’t find others—not that I wouldn’t back off here in a minute if one of you wanted to take over, but you don’t.”
“You don’t need us,” Greg said. “You have Simon.”
Olivia pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m outta here. This is going places that I don’t—that I don’t—”
“That you don’t what?” Natalie asked, frowning. “Don’t want to hear? I’d say that if we’re talking about Simon you have a stake here, yet you’d run off into the other room. For goodness’ sake, stop running, Olivia. Isn’t it time?”
Olivia was so stunned that she couldn’t find a retort. Shaky now, she returned to her seat, but she sat on its edge.
Natalie readdressed Greg. “Simon isn’t taking over anything,” she said with a fierceness that made Olivia feel not so singled out. “He’s filling the role that his father filled, but the vineyard was never Carl’s. It was mine.”
Greg didn’t give an inch. “If what you say in your book is true, for all practical purposes Carl was an equal player. It was you and Carl. Dad was in the dark. Did the two of you laugh at that?”
“If Carl had ever laughed at your father,” Natalie said in a steely voice, “I’d have asked him to leave. Alexander was my husband. I wasn’t having anyone laugh at him, and I never, never did it myself. I loved him. If I could have made him into a vineyardist, I would have, but he wasn’t interested in that part of the business. He didn’t have the patience to hang around here nurturing crops. He was a social creature, far more than me, so I gave him the responsibility of the side of the business that required social skills. And he was happy. He felt important. He was important. He had a good life. I gave him all the satisfaction I could.”
Greg was suddenly indignant. “He gave you a name, when Carl wouldn’t. He gave you a reason to keep this place alive, when Carl just walked off without you. He deserved more than just … satisfaction. He was entitled to more.”
Natalie came alive then. Her face was tight, every wrinkle distinct. Her head moved in an infinitesimal wobble. “Entitled? Entitled? That’s a dangerous word, Greg. Be careful how you use it. People aren’t entitled to things. They have to earn them. That goes for money and respect and love. It goes for a house and a car. It goes for a vineyard.” Her eyes filled with fire. “Entitled? Your father let me down. He nearly destroyed me. But I stayed with him. I worked to make things right, even when that meant taking time away from you and Susanne. I worked because he didn’t. I gave him more than another person in my position might have. Entitled to more? I don’t think so. If he thought so, he was wrong, and if he passed that—that horrible concept—on to you, he was doubly wrong. You aren’t entitled to anything that you haven’t earned, starting with your wife!”
Oh, boy, Olivia thought. They were really getting into it. She had no business listening, but she didn’t dare move. Better to sit so still that they forgot she was there.
Hands pressing down on the table, Natalie lit into Greg on this even more personal level. “You seem to think Jill belongs to you, like she’s a possession. What have you done to deserve her? Given her your name? Given her a place to stay while you’re off on the road? Given her money for clothes or food? Wake up, Greg. Times have changed. She doesn’t need any of those things. She can provide for herself. The only thing you’re entitled to, where Jill is concerned, is a fair hearing and a second chance, because she took vows when she married you, and she owes you that. From what I can see, you haven’t earned a drop more. You never will, if you think the world owes you. No one owes you, Greg, least of all Jill. If you want her, you’ll have to go after her. Fight for her. Earn her.”
Something of what she said must have registered, because Greg looked stricken. He swallowed, but made no attempt to speak.
Quietly, Susanne said, “Where did that come from?”
Scowling, Natalie put her hands in her lap. “I’m not sorry. It needed to be said.”
Olivia agreed with that. She wanted to stand up and cheer. She had half a mind to write down every word Natalie had said and print it up for Jill to see, and then she would describe that stricken look on Greg’s face. It was so deserved.
Greg found his voice, but he remained shaken. “Okay. I hear what you’re saying. But something else needs to be said.”
“What?” Natalie asked.
“Brad. Why was he so special?”
Olivia’s eyes flew to Natalie, who suddenly looked to be barely breathing.
“He was my firstborn.”
Susanne asked a skeptical, “Is that all?”
Natalie started to speak, but stopped. She frowned, seeming bewildered.
Trapped, Olivia thought and held her breath.
Susanne turned beseeching. “He was always your shining light. He could do no wrong. Not in life, not in death. We didn’t have a chance against that.”
“I always knew that Dad loved me,” Greg said. “I was never sure about you.”
“Ohh,” Natalie breathed, suddenly tearful, “I loved you. I loved you both.”
“But you loved Brad more,” Greg put in with an element of defeat.
Natalie struggled. “No. No—it’s just—he died.” She frowned and studied the table. “That loss was almost unbearable.”
Quietly, Susanne asked, “Because he was Carl’s son?”
Olivia went stock-still. She didn’t hear the wind or the rattle of shutters. There was utter silence in the room. Natalie didn’t say a word.
“The timing would work,” Greg said, sounding more as though he was solving a puzzle than making an accusation. “If you were with Carl that way before he left, it would have been a month before you married Dad. You could have pulled it off.”
If you were with Carl that way. It was the million-dollar question. Olivia ha
dn’t had the courage to ask Natalie herself. She waited, wondered.
Susanne, too, seemed to be reasoning aloud. “Remember Barbie Apgar, my friend growing up? Her mother always said that her actual birth date was three weeks before the date on all the records. She claimed that record keeping was totally messed up during the war, because the offices were all shorthanded and everyone was focused on Europe. The Apgars never knew when to celebrate Barbie’s birthday. It was a standing joke.”
“Brad looked just like you,” Greg told Natalie. “It’s in all the pictures. Your face, your coloring. Who’d have known if his father wasn’t Dad?”
“Jeremiah and Brida,” Susanne answered. “They were here. They would have known if there was a discrepancy in the dates, but according to what you wrote, they told you to marry Dad. They wanted Carl to marry someone from Ireland. And your father was ill, so he wouldn’t have kept track of the dates, and besides, he wanted the Seebring shoe money. And your mother died before the war was over, which meant that she wasn’t here to spill the beans.”
“No one was around those first few years after Brad was born,” Greg said. “Dad was gone. Carl was gone. Who’d have known?”
All eyes were on Natalie. Olivia’s heart went out to her, but she wanted to hear the answer as much as the others.
Natalie didn’t deny it. She wore a beseeching look, but she didn’t say a word. Olivia was reaching her own conclusions when a sound broke the silence. It came from the door to the hall.
There, in the shadows on the outer fringe of the light cast by the lamps, stood Carl. He was staring at Natalie, looking stunned. “Is it true?” he asked in a crusty voice, coming forward a single slow step.
Natalie put a hand to her mouth. She remained mute.
“You didn’t know?” Susanne asked Carl, who shook his head, but the gesture went on longer than it would have for a simple negative reply. He seemed dazed. “You had to have known it was possible,” she pushed. “Didn’t you guess?”
Carl kept looking at Natalie. He started to speak, then stopped. He frowned, tipped his head, winced at whatever cut through his mind. It was so painful watching such a kind, gentle, good-hearted man suffer that Olivia would have called a time-out, had this been a game. She looked at Susanne, then Greg, thinking that one or the other would take pity on him. To their credit, at least, neither of them seemed angry with him. Carl had been kept in the dark about this, just as Alexander had been kept in the dark about so much else.
The Vineyard Page 37
