Sweeter Than Wine (15 page)

Siegfried tried unsuccessfully to pull his brows together and school his mouth
to sternness. "This is a winery, not a spa, young wom--pfaugh!"

Alice squirted him one more time for good measure, catching him squarely in
the mouth. She giggled, then hid her mouth with her hand. Had that joyous noise
come from her? She had not laughed like that in over a year.

"All right, all right, the slaves must return to work," she pretended to grumble,
rising on her knees and reaching for the rim of the vat to pull herself upright.

To her astonishment, Siegfried immediately shoved her back down into the
water. "You cannot get out like
that
!" he whispered.

She followed his fascinated glance downward. Bill's cotton shirt, sopping now,
was nearly transparent, revealing the lacy edge of her silk camisole and--she sank
lower in the water with mortification. The cold water had left absolutely nothing to
the imagination.

Hers
or
Siegfried's.

She saw Siegfried swallow heavily, and the tips of his ears glowed crimson.
"Um, perhaps you will just stay there for a minute--for a while?" he said, finally
tearing his attention away from her breasts and fixing his gaze determinedly at a
point somewhere over her left shoulder. He shivered, despite the summer heat.
"No, the water is too cold," he said to himself, and started to unbutton his own
shirt. "Please take mine."

"Siegfried!" Alice reproached him, wondering what the rest of the crew must be
thinking. But he stripped off his shirt, anyway. He was far too thin, muscles sharply
corded under the pale skin of his arms and every rib showing through his white
undershirt. His broad shoulders must have once been as generously muscled as
Bill's. Perhaps with more of Maria's good cooking, Siegfried might...Alice broke off
her train of thought. How could she even contemplate such a thing?

"You must take it," Siegfried insisted, holding his shirt out to her. "I will not
shame you in front of the men."

"Couldn't we just ask them to turn their backs?" Alice asked, half-jokingly as
she climbed out of the vat, water pouring in streams from her shirt and her heavy,
sodden jeans. Her sturdy shoes squelched in their own little puddles.

"No, they would peek," Siegfried replied, a smile creasing the corners of his
eyes. As he wrapped his shirt around her shoulders, he bent close and whispered,
"I know I would."

Montclair

Sunday, May 25

A tap on her door awakened Alice. She wriggled out of the tangle of sheets
and turned on the lamp, squinting at the alarm clock. What time is it?

Her head hit the pillow. It was far too early. Still dark outside.

"Alice?" That was Siegfried's disembodied voice, echoing in the high-ceilinged
hall.

She blinked hard, trying to open her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I thought you might want to walk the vineyard with me this morning,
and learn a little about the grapes. As you asked."

She
had
asked. Alice kicked the covers off. She strangled a yawn, and
said with her best semblance of enthusiasm, "Oh, yes, please! I'll be down in a
moment." She tied back the strands of hair that had slipped out of her braid and
began struggling into her work shirt and trousers. At least Siegfried had
remembered his promise to teach her.

He met her in the kitchen and handed her a cup of coffee strong enough to
dissolve the crystal cupboard knobs. She thanked him with a smile and forced it
down, waking up more with every sip. Siegfried drank standing, gazing through the
window overlooking the vegetable garden. The black mirror of the window above
the sink reflected his unguarded expression.

Alice emptied her cup. She wasn't awake enough to think yet, but she saw
what Siegfried felt as he focused on the slope of vines rising up out of sight.

Longing.

The world outside lightened by gray degrees, dissolving his image in the glass.
Her cup clinked into its saucer when Siegfried said, "Shall we go?"

They left their cups in the sink and went outside. The low-lying fog made Alice
fancy she was walking inside an enormous pearl, luminous with the increasing
light of dawn. Simply breathing the cool moist vapor was a pleasure.

And somehow, even though he was an interloper foisted on her by Bill's
scheming grandmother, it was pleasure, too, to be among the vines with someone
who loved them as much as she did.

They walked steadily up the hill, Alice hurrying to keep up with Siegfried's long,
uneven strides, then turned into the Pinot Noir section.

Siegfried stopped part-way down a row in front of one of the four-year-old
vines. He pointed out the large number of grape clusters hanging from the slender
canes like pendants of tiny, hard green beads.

Alice estimated the size of the harvest, if all the plants produced like this. "This
is wonderful," she breathed. She had visions of solvency. Her heart pounded and
she wanted to dance.

"We should thin them out," Siegfried said, pulling a pair of shears from his
overall pocket. The sound of snipping was like money being torn in half.

"Why? What's the matter with them?" She gave an anguished cry and picked
up the fallen cluster to inspect it closely. "It looks fine to me. There's no fungus, or
insects. There's nothing the matter with it! It's perfect! Why cut it?"

Siegfried waited for her to calm down before he spoke. "This vine is too young.
It is overburdened, trying to ripen such a heavy crop. When you thin out the
clusters like this," he left only two or three bunches hanging from the branch, "then
the plant can focus all of its energy on the remaining grapes. The flavor of the wine
will be concentrated."

Alice fingered a soft green leaf, trying to understand.

"I also hate to do this," Siegfried said aloud what she was thinking. "For each
cluster we prune, it is like pouring a glass of wine into the dirt. But it must be done
if you want Montclair's wine for the Church."

So much potential income wasted! It was absurd. She wouldn't listen to
him.

The damp air turned clammy and she shivered, running the cluster of hard little
grapes through her fingers, almost like a rosary.
If you listen to him, there's no
going back
, said one portion of her mind.
You already decided
, she told
herself.
You said you were going to make wine for the Church.
A memory of
her spoiled Traminer firmed her resolve. Do what your vintner says, that's why
you--she threw the cluster down. Married him. "All right," she said unhappily.

He only nodded. He had expected no other response. He started walking
again.

"How long do we have until harvest?" she asked after a few yards.

"The grapes seem to be ripening very slowly this year. Perhaps another three
or four months."

That surprised her. "Won't that be too late? We started crush in mid-
September last year."

He shrugged. "I will know when the grapes are sweet enough. And the--
the...balance must also be there."

"Balance? What's that?" Alice remembered abruptly that Bill had always
laughed off her questions. Don't worry your pretty head about that, he would grin.
I'll make the wine and you make the babies. Neither of them had been any good
at--She steeled herself against Siegfried's scorn. It never came.

Siegfried frowned, but he was only searching for the correct words. "Balance is
the promise of the wine, an intensity." He waved his arm, frustrated. "Sweetness is
not everything. The soil, the weather, and the variety of grape, all impart subtle
tones to the wine's flavor. You could make wine from table grapes, but it would not
have depth. Balance is something that is there in the grape that you can still taste
after a count of ten."

"Like finish in a wine?"

"Yes, that is exactly what 'balance' will become." He smiled brilliantly. "If you
taste it in the grape, you will taste it in the wine." He paused, then said as if
compelled, "If your equipment is scrupulously clean. Which ours will be."

"Yes. It will." She agreed wholeheartedly, and they continued to stroll
comfortably together through the cool morning.

Siegfried's willingness to answer more of her questions warmed Alice until they
returned to the house some while later. She smiled as she heard Siegfried's
stomach rumbling in tune with hers. "Maria will cook us a good breakfast when we
return from Mass."

Siegfried halted on the first step of the back porch. As she stood on the next
step up, their eyes were level and she saw the pain he immediately shuttered
away. He groped for words and finally settled on a defiant: "I am not going to
church with you."

"Siegfried, you're not sick now!" Alice said, shocked. His bruises had healed
nicely over the course of the last week.

"No, I am quite well, thank you."

"Are you worried what people will think?" Alice pressed. "I mean--about us?
Don't be. Everyone is expecting to see you, especially the Livernash sisters."

Siegfried shook his head, and studied his shoes. "I do not attend Mass at
all...anymore."

Alice felt a cold chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
You'll go to
Hell
! A nightmare vision of Siegfried, burning in torment, shocked her even
more. She hated the thought of him in pain, even if it was self-inflicted. "You
should go."

"God abandoned me during the War," Siegfried retorted. "I have no cause to
praise Him." He withdrew from the porch and stood staring at the fruit trees. "You
do not know. You cannot know--"

"I know what it was like to be here, when Bill was gone," Alice said forcefully.
"If God abandoned anybody, it was Bill." She started to walk back to the house.
"But I suppose I can't drag you to church if you don't want to go. There's bread in
the breadbox. Make yourself some toast if you feel like it. I have to get dressed
now." She quickened her pace, and climbed the porch steps, putting as much
space between them as she could.

"I will be in the winery, cleaning, when you get--"

The slamming door cut off the rest of his words.

* * *

Siegfried put his back into the hard work. He ached all over, sweat streaming
from his skin even in the artificial coolness gathered between the thick stone walls.
Scrape, pull, throw. Scratch a dusty itch at elbow or cheek--careful not to rub your
eyes--and do it all again. It seemed as though he had been cleaning the tanks
forever, not for less than a week.

He paused and blotted sweat from his forehead on the blue cotton sleeve
rolled over his upper arm. From the corner of his eye, Siegfried saw Alice, back
from church, come in dressed in her work clothes. She picked up a shovel and
manhandled a wheelbarrow nearby, then started removing the pile of mold he had
created.

He was satisfied that she had followed his orders and was wearing thick
leather work gloves over her bandaged hands.

They worked in silence for hours, changing jobs whenever the strain of
repetition got too bad.

Covertly, Siegfried watched her while she scraped, reaching up high and
worrying away at a stubborn patch of filth. The baggy front of Bill's old shirt molded
tightly against her breasts, and Siegfried swallowed, hard, remembering how she
had looked yesterday, wet as a mermaid. He stopped short. A wave of heat
rushed through his body as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot to ease the
sudden restriction of his jeans.

The more he saw her, the more he wanted her, and it was becoming too
difficult to work side by side, and say nothing. Do nothing.

Alice finally succeeded in loosening the sticky mass from the side of the tank.
She balanced it on the end of her scraper, and flicked it to her left, where it landed
neatly in the wheelbarrow already piled high with other refuse. She noticed his
motionlessness. "Yes?"

"Time for a break," he said, feeling as if he mumbled, the English sounds
foreign on his lips. His whole body was sensitized, aware of her. Every pulse beat
heightened his desire for her.

"I'm not tired. You go rest. You've been working longer than I have today."

"All right," he said, but he could not move away. He smelled her: hard-working
woman with a hint of lemon cologne, and found that his feet had sent roots into the
concrete floor.

Alice's scraper chewed another strip of mold away from the wood. Siegfried
leaned closer to her.

"Ah-lees, I--" She turned to face him and they were within touching distance.
Siegfried brushed a streak of dust off her hair, then let his fingers drift downward to
touch her cheek. Her hazel eyes were questioning as she gazed up at him.

Siegfried placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back against the
tank. He leaned close to touch his mouth to hers, hesitant and feather-light.
May I
?

She was tense and trembling slightly. "Siegfried, don't..."

"Alice?" A man's voice called from the entrance to the winery. "Are you in
here?"

She shoved Siegfried away with a gasp.

Hugh Roye stood in the blaze of sunlight in the doorway. Glare and the brim of
his hat obscured his face except for the determined set of his jaw, until he came
right up to them. He removed his hat in courtesy to Alice, revealing sweat-crimped,
thinning fair hair brushed back from a broad, lined forehead. His eyes, slightly red-
rimmed from the dust of travel, were the same milky-blue, but they radiated anger
and a deep-seated sense of resentment, that the world had injured him through no
fault of his own.

"Is it true?" he demanded, waving a copy of this week's
Sonoma Index-
Tribune
in their faces. "You married him?" He seemed to take no note of
Siegfried's presence.

Alice nodded, her shoulders shrugging. She took another step away from
Siegfried.

"You could have called to let me know, Alice, or at least sent me a note! How
do you think I felt, finding out about your marriage from the paper?" He displayed a
small, circled announcement.