by Susan Wiggs
Magnus took a seat at the table. The evening light spread over the surrounding orchards and gardens, turning the stucco walls of the villa the color of fire.
Mac felt slightly sheepish as he lifted a glass and touched its rim first to Magnus’s and then to Isabel’s. With her, bickering felt pleasantly like flirting. Then he reminded himself that flirting was fine, but with a girl like Isabel, it was a dangerous game. There was something about her that made him wish they were a better match.
Chapter Nine
“When I woke up this morning, I realized I’d been dreaming about chair tiebacks,” Tess said, coming into Isabel’s teaching kitchen with Dominic, her fiancé.
“What are chair tiebacks?” asked Dominic. “And why do I sense they’re important?”
Isabel, who was on a ladder inspecting the position of an overhead mirror, shared a look with her sister. “Chair tiebacks are one of the ten thousand style choices Tess has to make for the wedding.”
“Is it something I can help with?” he asked.
Isabel came down the ladder. “Doubtful, unless Tess is going to be happy with plaid or camouflage.”
Tess showed him a set of photos in the wedding planner’s massive binder. “Behold—chair tiebacks.”
“Without which, the wedding will be a disaster,” he said with a grave expression.
Tess shot him a glare and he backed away, palms facing out. “I just remembered, I’ve got work to do at the winery. See you around, Isabel.”
As he strode away, Tess called after him, “Chicken.”
“That’s me. Later, babe.” He waved, and then hurried off.
“Am I being a bridezilla?” Tess asked Isabel. “Tell me I’m not being a bridezilla.”
“Of course you aren’t. You’re being stylish. Bella Vista is going to look incredible, and I totally support your obsession with having everything exactly as you want it.” She set down a colander full of freshly picked plums—the first of the season—and started polishing them, one by one, checking the overhead mirror, which was a key part of the teaching kitchen. The mirror would offer guests a bird’s eye view of the cooktop island, with its commercial gas burners and large prep area. “So, have you had a chance to visit with Jamie?”
“Ah, our resident beekeeper. I had tea with her this morning, and we walked down to the shop. She’s a bit bashful.”
“Was I too impulsive, inviting her to stay without asking for references?”
“Probably. But something tells me it’s going to be fine.”
“She’s pregnant,” Isabel said. “And homeless. Did you talk about that?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’ll be discussing that with her.”
Isabel nodded. “She seems kind of lost. I’m guessing she isn’t getting prenatal care. I know we just met, but I already feel responsible for her.”
“Ah, Isabel. You’re totally cool, you know that?”
“I’m not cool. Just...responsible.”
“Well, let me know if I can do something to help.” She showed Isabel a picture. “I like the organza tiebacks. They’re pretty and ethereal.”
“Lovely. I think those are the ones.”
“Me, too. And hey, can we invent a signature cocktail for the wedding, using honey?”
“I’m working on one made with honey syrup, apple juice and calvados. Garnished with an apple slice, of course.”
“Really? Isabel, that sounds fantastic. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. But seriously, you have to tell me when I’ve overstepped and strayed into wedding hell.”
“Just enjoy being the bride. You deserve it.”
Tess beamed. “I’ll tell you what I don’t deserve. You. And Dominic. And this life we’re about to start together. How did I get so lucky?”
“Was it luck?” Isabel asked.
“You’re feeling lucky today?” asked Mac, coming into the room. In age-worn shorts and a slightly rumpled T-shirt from a surf school in Bali, he looked relaxed and casual, as if he already belonged here. He stole a plum from the bowl and started eating it—very slowly.
Isabel’s heart skipped a beat.
“I’m lucky every day,” said Tess. “Don’t get me going on how excited I am about my wedding. I’ll start being so sweet, you’ll slip into a diabetic coma.”
“You? Sweet?” He finished the plum and used his T-shirt sleeve as a napkin. “Since when? I don’t remember you ever being sweet.”
Tess sniffed. “People can change. All it took was finding my soulmate. Simple. And don’t roll your eyes. I used to be a skeptic, too. When the right person comes along, you’ll see what I mean.”
“Tess.” Isabel shot her a warning look. Tess knew the guy was a widower. Why would she make such an insensitive comment? Suppose he’d already found his soulmate, and then lost her?
“I’m just saying.” Tess lifted her shoulder in a defensive shrug. “Look, when I first came here, there was no one—and I mean no one—more cynical than I was. Now I’m so crazy in love, it’s ridiculous.”
“A walking, talking greeting card,” said Mac.
“And proud of it.”
“I’m happy for you,” he said. “It’d be great if what you’ve got is contagious. But it doesn’t work that way.”
You’re right, thought Isabel. She had read the rest of the “What To Do When He Doesn’t Notice You” article and had come to the conclusion that she was not the target audience for that sort of advice. She didn’t actually want to be noticed, not in that way, not by Mac or anyone else. She had other things to do. At least a hundred other things.
She went to the walk-in pantry to fetch some dried cardamom for tonight’s dessert. There was one shelf that was too high to reach. At some point, someone—probably Bubbie—had created a display of family photos—shots of Bubbie, pictures of Erik as a boy, red-haired and smiling, having no clue about his fate, even a rare photo of Francesca in a pretty dress that looked as if it had been designed by a real couturier.
When Isabel was little, she used to make up conversations with the people in the photos, asking young Erik which trees were his favorites to climb, or seeking advice from Francesca about how to braid hair. She remembered gazing into that flat, frozen face, looking for the person inside. Her mother had very small, round mole at the crest of one cheekbone, and Isabel used to wish she had one, too. Bubbie recalled that Francesca was left-handed, and Isabel had always taken pride in being left-handed, as well.
Her gaze lingered on the photos a moment longer; then she returned to the kitchen and said to Tess, “So, I told Mac about Erik’s birth mother.”
“Well, he’d need to know that, wouldn’t he?” Tess said briskly. Having never known Bubbie, she was more philosophical about the drama of their father’s parentage, and probably saw things from a different perspective.
“Grandfather has never had much to say about the situation,” Isabel told Mac.
“Perhaps because you never asked,” said Magnus, joining them from the main house.
Isabel whipped around to face him, her hair flying. She knew she should probably bow out at this point, but then she found herself saying, “I’ve never been good with awkward conversations.”
Mac took another plum from the bowl and bit into it. “I am,” he volunteered. “I’m good with them. I’ll ask any awkward question you want.”
Charming, Isabel thought.
“What shall we discuss today?” Magnus asked. “Eva, perhaps?”
“Sure,” said Mac.
“Very well. We can talk in the lounge room,” Magnus suggested. He glanced at Isabel and Tess. “You’re welcome to join us, my girls. Perhaps you’ll get some answers to the questions you’re so reluctant to ask.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to hear about your complicated rom
ances,” Tess said.
“Romance is simple,” Magnus said, a twinkle in his eye. “Life is complicated. But I suppose that is something we all find out on our own, yes?”
Isabel had a busy day lined up for herself. In addition to working with the contractor, she hoped to spend more time with Jamie, who was constantly busy with the apiary, dividing the hives and creating new ones. The teaching kitchen was still a work-in-progress, and her web designer was coming for a meeting. They were going to search for a photographer to shoot photos and video for the cooking school website.
Yet she found herself following them to the lounge. She had vivid memories of her grandmother here in this high-ceilinged room. Bubbie had been a great reader, and she would sit for hours, lost in a book, the light from the tall arched windows falling over her.
Isabel was burningly curious about what her grandfather might have to say about his long marriage, filled with love and tragedy and secrets he’d only recently begun to disclose.
Mac set his phone in record mode and took a seat on the sofa, stretching out his long, lean legs as he flipped through his notes. He massaged his knee with both hands.
“Feeling better?” asked Grandfather.
“Yeah, thanks. I don’t need the brace anymore.”
“Wonderful. You’ll be good as new in time for the wedding.”
Mac lowered his gaze, but not before Isabel saw a flash of doubt in his eyes. He intended to be gone well before the wedding; he’d made no secret of that. She hoped Grandfather didn’t become too fond of Mac’s company.
“So, then,” said Mac. “You were married for fifty years. Lucky man.”
Grandfather nodded. “My Eva. It is hard to remember a time in my life when I didn’t know her.” He picked up their framed wedding portrait from the mantel. They were impossibly young, posing stiffly for the camera. Magnus looked strong and proud, Eva delicate, shrouded in an old-fashioned veil that framed her deep-set eyes and controlled smile. Knowing what her grandmother had survived during the war, Isabel imagined a haunted quality in the young bride’s expression.
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her,” said Magnus. “I loved her deeply.”
Then why did you betray her? Isabel wondered. Why did you father a child with another woman?
“However,” Magnus continued, setting down the portrait, “it didn’t start with love. It started with a promise I made.”
PART FOUR
On the first day of foraging in a new area, scout bees are sent out first to taste the nectar and pollens. If any are adversely affected they will be expelled from the hive immediately, and the colony will avoid the area.
In addition, once foraging begins, nurse bees in the hive clean foragers each time they return. These strategies protect the colony from mass exposure to...any contaminants they encounter.
—Soil Association [www.soilassociation.org]
Piernik is a moist, sweet honey bread that is delicious served toasted with a bit of butter and a cup of tea. Thanks to the intense spices, the bread has a long shelf life.
It’s an old Polish tradition to bake piernik to welcome the birth of a baby girl. The loaf is then buried underground to preserve it. The bread would be brought out and eaten at the girl’s wedding.
These days, this is not recommended.
½ cup of soft butter
½ cup of vegetable oil
1-½ cups honey,warmed in a pan or in the microwave
6 eggs, separated
1-¾ cups of sugar
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon ginger
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon cloves
1 cup of dark beer
3 to 3-½ cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 cups of dried fruits and nuts: raisins, candied orange peel, walnuts, dried apricots, dates, etc.
Beat together the butter, oil and warm honey. Add the egg yolks one at a time. Beat in the sugar and spices. Then add the beer and flour alternately. Finally, fold in the beaten egg whites and fruits and nuts.
Bake in buttered loaf pans for about an hour, until the tops begin to crack and the cake tests done.
Yield: 3 loaves or 6 mini-loaves.
[Source: Traditional]
Chapter Ten
Copenhagen, 1941
“Poppy says we have to go away,” Eva said to Magnus, coming out to the kitchen garden where he was doing chores. His mother had set him to weeding. Since the Germans had taken over the year before, food supplies were scarce, and Mama was determined to have a good yield of tomatoes and beans this year.
“Yes,” said Magnus, thinking about the secret goings-on in the basement.
“Why do we have to go?”
He didn’t think she knew about the secret. Maybe his mother didn’t know, either. After the incident he’d witnessed in the basement, Magnus had snooped and discovered that Uncle Sweet and his father were deeply involved. They made a good team. Papa went about his business, going to the office every day with his leather satchel and his bowler hat, returning home at suppertime to read the newspaper, question Magnus about his day and give his wife an affectionate hug. Then he would settle down with his “cousin” Sweet and little Eva, ending the day with a satisfying meal.
Now Magnus knew there was more to him than that. His father—quiet and reserved, never one to make waves, was an underground hero.
“Your father and my father don’t trust the Germans to leave people alone,” he told Eva.
She picked up a stick and poked it at one of his mother’s three willow skeps.
“Hey, stop it,” Magnus said. “You shouldn’t disturb the bees.”
“I’m not disturbing them. I just want to see.”
“They don’t know that. If you bother them, you might get stung.”
“I saw your mother getting the honey out. She didn’t get stung.”
“Because she knows what she’s doing,” Magnus said, exasperated.
“Where do the bees go in winter?” she asked.
“They don’t go anywhere. They just stay in their hives. All the worker bees cluster around the queen bee for warmth.”
“How do they know when it’s springtime and they can come out?”
“They can tell when the outside temperature heats up. You can get them to come out by carrying the skep to a warm place, but it’s not a good idea. You don’t want them coming out unexpectedly. If they think the hive is under threat, they’ll attack.”
“Oh. I’ll leave them alone, then.”
Magnus wished she would leave him alone. Instead, she leaned over his shoulder as he dug out a weed. “What’s censorship?”
“It’s when people aren’t allowed to read the truth,” Magnus said. “The Germans have been censoring the newspapers to hide what is really going on in the world.”
“Papa says the truth can’t be hidden, not for long. It always comes out.” She watched a cluster of bees around the entry of one of the hives.
Magnus wondered if she was thinking of her mother, who never called or came to see her anymore. He worked in silence for a while, grateful that his own parents were loyal to each other, and brave enough to open their home to Uncle Sweet and Eva.
“Papa told me we don’t go to temple anymore because the Germans hired some thugs to set fire to the synagogue,” she said.
“Yes, they couldn’t censor that news because people saw it happening.”
“The local police stopped them. The police are on our side, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do we have to leave Copenhagen?”
“Because the Germans might take over the police, and then we won’t be so safe.”
Eva plucked a dandelion that
had gone to seed. Forming her lips into a perfect O, she blew the tiny seeds into the wind. “I don’t want to leave,” she said, bending to pick up another dandelion head. She blew the seeds again. “I like it here. I like you.”
Hearing her words made him feel a little funny inside, pleased and embarrassed all at once.
She picked a third dandelion and puckered her lips.
“Hey, cut that out,” said Magnus. “You’re spreading weeds.”
“It’s beautiful, the way they float on the breeze,” she said, watching the flurry of seeds. “Like thousands of tiny umbrellas. Or parachutes, more likely.”
“All I see is a silly girl spreading weeds in my garden.”
“They’re like tiny paratroopers,” she said, watching the seeds with a thoughtful expression. “The paratroopers land behind enemy lines, don’t they? Poppy says that’s what they do, down where the fighting is.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“The Germans want all the Jews dead,” she said bluntly, her voice expressionless.
His stomach clenched into a knot. “Who told you that?”
“I heard Poppy talking about it to your father. He said he tried to convince my Mama to come away with us, but she doesn’t believe him. She says if she’s nice to the Germans they’ll be nice to her.”
Magnus stabbed the spade into the earth, digging out a dockweed. He had no comment about being nice to Germans.
“I’m scared,” Eva said.
He had no reply to that, either. He couldn’t tell her not to be scared. He couldn’t tell her she was being silly, because for once, she wasn’t.
“If something happens, will you take care of me?” she asked baldly.
He had no idea how he could do such a thing, but she looked so worried. “I’ll do my best,” he said.
