Sweeter Than Wine (30 page)

Siegfried scowled, unlover-like. "Why not?"

"I was going to use the profits from your wine for everything we needed, but if
we can't get a high price for them--"

Siegfried folded his arms. "This habit of economy is very tiring, Alice. One
must spend money to make money, after all. You agreed to abide by my
decisions. Are we now to battle over each penny?"

"I can't spend what I don't have."

Siegfried sat down cautiously on one arm of the wooden chair. "What about all
the money Bill inherited from
Opa
Roye?
Opa
was a wealthy
man."

"I didn't spend it, if that's what you're thinking!" Alice took a moment to master
her voice. "I don't know what Bill did with the money he inherited. All I know is my
dowry was embezzled from the First National Bank in Santa Rosa. Frank Brush
and Will Grant got away with over three quarters of a million dollars before they
were caught! When we found out, Bill tried to get the owners of the bank to pay us
back, but they'd made as much restitution as they could. That's how Hugh got his
start as a chicken rancher: old Mr. Brush deeded over some land he owned in
Healdsburg. And when he couldn't get our money back, Bill went into the
army."

Not trusting her voice to continue, Alice unlocked the book cabinet and pulled
out the ledger detailing Montclair's finances. Opening it, she put it on the desk for
him to read. Then she busied herself raising the window to let some cool morning
air into the stuffy office. She stood there as Siegfried sat fully down and began to
study the figures, muttering to himself in German.

Through the window she saw Peter and his men walking the rows, trimming
every third cluster by Siegfried's command. At a sudden silence, she turned.

Siegfried's face was propped in his hands. "
Oma
Tati warned me that
you had ruined Montclair." His voice was flat, dry.

Alice gave a faint huff. "We're not bankrupt yet. I've been doing this for years.
We just have to keep on being careful, until harvest."

"Careful?" Siegfried slammed shut the ledger, and Alice jumped. "I cannot
make good wine without decent equipment
and
barrels!"

"Might Mr. La Fontaine give us an advance on our vintage?" Alice spread her
hands, then dropped them as Siegfried shook his head vehemently. "Well, but
you--"

"No."

"All right, then," Alice fought to keep the irritation out of her tone. "Since you
can't have everything you want, you must decide what's most important: new
barrels or new machinery."

"We will try to save most of the existing barrels with our current crew,"
Siegfried said, without much enthusiasm. "But we need a new crusher, and bottler,
and piping."

"We'll have to see how much we get for your wine."

"Is there no other source of funds?" Siegfried asked, closing the ledger with a
snap.

Guiltily, Alice thought of the dragon-fly brooch. "I'll...see what I can do."

He was nodding to himself. "I will make a telephone call to the Grove, and
arrange an appointment today. There is not much time left."

She placed the ledger back on its shelf. "Before you go out, let me know."

He looked up sharply. "I would not have taken your truck without your
knowledge if you had been awake yesterday, Alice."

Waving her hand, she dismissed his unstated apology--and criticism. "I just
want a ride to the train station." Siegfried frowned, and took a breath as if to start a
question, but she forestalled him. "It's such a relief to have told you the truth about
our finances. And I'm grateful--you've saved Montclair by getting us this contract
with La Fontaine."

It was a successful distraction. Looking unexpectedly stricken, he swallowed,
and lowered his gaze. "We must survive crush first." He shook himself. "There is a
great deal to be done. We must be at it." He stood, bowed, and left the room. A
moment later she heard him cranking the telephone in the hall.

She sat, planning what to wear for the journey to the pawnbroker. Her navy
wool, with the high, plain collar, her leather gloves, and her coat--because no
matter how hot it was in Sonoma, you could count on the chill in San
Francisco.

* * *

Siegfried ran all the way down the hill to the mailbox to post his letter so Alice
wouldn't see it.

Montclair, Saturday, June 28

An army of barrels marched in ragged rows across every level square foot
outside the winery, all the way up to the house. Siegfried and his crew had spent
yesterday afternoon hauling hundreds of oak barrels from the tunnels, discarding
those too badly warped to save, and setting aside the rest for testing. The ones
that passed would receive a thorough scrubbing-out with soda ash.

This morning, Siegfried had converted Alice's truck into a makeshift water
pump and was using an old canvas hose to fill the barrels with water from the
reservoir. The soaking made the wood swell, and showed whether the staves were
tight enough to store wine.

Alice hesitated before stepping off the porch. She was supposed to call them
in for lunch, since the kitchen bell had been drowned out by the noise of the
Model-T's engine. Reluctantly, she walked to the low fence. She waved at
Herculio, who manned the hose where it attached to the pump. He mouthed,
"Dinner?" and she nodded.

Siegfried, filling yet another barrel, caught sight of her, and the nozzle of the
hose slipped from his hands. The hose writhed wildly, spraying water in all
directions. Siegfried jumped away, but was instantly soaked head to foot. He
pounced on the thrashing hose, yelling, "Snake! Snake!" and laughing so hard he
almost dropped it again. The other men in the crew goggled at his antics, then
began to share his mirth.

Herculio frantically killed the engine and the powerful flow of the water
slackened to a trickle.

Siegfried grinned, water dripping from his hair. He ran his hand over his head
and a spray of droplets flew out behind him. His thin shirt molded to his body. In
this heat, he wasn't wearing an undershirt. Alice saw his nipples through the
translucent cotton, and a bolt of desire sizzled along her nerves.

She wanted him in her bed, doing those dreadfully wicked, indulgent things to
her...He made her want things that no respectable woman would tolerate.

"Dinner is served," she called weakly, then turned and escaped into the
house.

* * *

Thursday, July 3

Alice came to supper after a long afternoon spent doing sums. She had been
trying to figure if they might have enough extra to pay a mechanic to perform
much-needed maintenance on the destemmer and pumps. She had scarcely
spoken to Siegfried this week, except at meals, and he was so exhausted by
supper time that she sometimes caught him nodding off before dessert was
served.

At least she didn't have preparations for the Fourth of July to contend with, too.
In 1917, when Bill was first sent to Europe, she had worked with the wives of other
Sonoma servicemen for weeks to create a float for the parade. She had been so
proud and excited to drive them all around the Plaza, Bill's beautiful Buick draped
in red, white and blue bunting, waving to everybody they knew. It was the first time
she had truly felt accepted by her neighbors.

Because of Bill's death, she had not attended last year's parade and picnic.
This year, both Siegfried and his past would make the public holiday too
uncomfortable. She wondered if she could use the excuse of too much work not to
attend.

"What do you mean, not attend the Fourth of July picnic?" Maria demanded
when she mentioned this idea over supper.

"
Quatsch!
What foolishness!" Siegfried added.

"We're so busy, and--"

"Mrs. R., that's unpatriotic!" Maria protested, setting down a bowl of creamy
whipped potatoes.

"And the crew wouldn't stand for it," Peter added. "Not after we won!" He
looked at Siegfried, and then away.

"We all understood why it was so hard for you last year," Maria said
sympathetically, "but things are different now."

"I know," Alice said miserably. Thanks to Gertie Breitenbach's not-so-subtle
interrogation, Alice was sure her hasty marriage had been the subject of
speculation in town. It was just a good thing nobody knew how Siegfried had spent
the War. "I didn't mean that
you
all couldn't go."

"I'll pack a nice picnic basket," Maria encouraged. "And you need a bit of a
rest. Just an afternoon. You don't want to miss the fireworks!" She returned to the
kitchen.

Alice bit her lip.

"That is settled, then," Siegfried said. "Peter, remember when we were boys,
and
Opa
Roye used to give us pennies to buy firecrackers?"

Peter nodded. Maria said from the kitchen doorway, "All little boys like them."
A soft expression came over her face. "Mario always clapped at the fireworks--
"

Peter, busy pouring gravy over his mashed potatoes, knocked the ladle
against his plate and slopped a large pool over the tablecloth.

"Oh, no!" Maria rushed over and began dabbing at the spill.

"Just stop it!" Peter snarled, batting aside her arm.

She leaped back and, on the verge of tears, met Alice's horrified gaze. In the
next instant, she vanished into the kitchen, yanking the swinging door closed
behind her.

"Sorry," Peter mumbled into the dead silence in the dining room.

Siegfried's stern look was spoiled by a smothered yawn.

"Excuse me," said Alice, sliding her chair back from the table. She found Maria
gripping the edge of the sink, staring fixedly out the window. She wasn't crying, but
as she stood there motionless, she let out the lungful of air she was holding and
gasped for another breath.

Alice stood nervously next to her, wanting desperately to help, but unsure how.
She didn't know if putting her arm around Maria's shoulders would be taken
wrongly, so she kept her hands at her sides. "Maria, I'm sure Siegfried didn't mean
to bring up bad memories..."

Maria ran water from the faucet, and splashed it across her forehead and
cheeks. "I know Mr. R. didn't mean anything. That's not what--" Her voice wobbled
on the edge of a sob, and she cleared her throat. She smoothed her hand down
her apron. "I just
hate
it when Peter yells at me. He says I'm not supposed
to speak about Mario anymore. But I forget. I keep wanting to talk about him." A
single tear fell. "He was such a good boy, wasn't he, Mrs. R.?"

"He's with the angels now," Alice murmured. She ignored her doubtful scruples
and gave her friend a hug.

"Peter says we'll have more children," Maria whispered after a while, "And I
want to, I do, but...it's so hard."

"Maria! Where's the rest of dinner?" Peter bellowed.

Maria started and Alice hastily let her go. "I'd better--they're hungry."

"Let me help," Alice commanded.

Maria handed her a bowl full of green beans. "Go on. I'll be all right," she said.
"I'll just be another minute."

But she never came back into the dining room.

* * *

Friday, July 4

The day was pure California summer: sunny and hot and dry. Alice, Siegfried,
Peter, and Maria stood on the sidewalk in front of Duhring's closed Hardware and
Grocery, watching the stately Fourth of July parade wend slowly around the
streets that formed the perimeter of the Plaza.

Most of the parade entrants consisted of flag-decorated cars or horse-drawn
wagons carrying local politicians and merchants, interspersed with groups of
schoolchildren in various pasteboard costumes.

The Bundschus, who annually hosted Shakespeare plays in their own hillside
theater, had put together the most elaborate float of the parade. A huge papier-
mâché Bacchus with a brass spittoon for an empty cup lolled under a vine-covered
trellis built on the back of a flatbed truck. A large placard read: "Here Lies Another
Victim of Prohibition."

The Bacchus was attended by four young women wearing wilted vine garlands
in their flowing hair, draped in Greek robes made of black-dyed bed sheets. The
Rhine Farm winery and vineyard crews, also draped in bed sheets and garlanded
with grape and ivy tendrils, carrying long pine cone-tipped staves, marched in
solemn formation around the truck as it crept slowly forward.

They were singing in ragged, mostly inaudible disharmony. Most of the
stanzas seemed to end with a loud and mournful "Hey!" punctuated by the sound
of dozens of stave ends hitting the street. Whenever this occurred--every ten or
twelve paces--the maidens attending Bacchus would reach into ivy-draped
baskets and scatter handfuls of paper confetti towards the bystanders. But most of
the confetti did not make it quite that far, ending up on the street and in the hair of
the sheet-clad bacchantes surrounding the float.

Alice forgot her troubles and smiled as the float passed. Some of the men
were wearing brick-red union suits in misplaced modesty under their pseudo-
Greek attire. At her right shoulder, Siegfried chuckled as he noticed the same
thing. It surprised her, how good it made her feel to hear him laugh. Alice glanced
up and saw that Siegfried was staring at her. His face held the same intense
expression that she had seen several times since their night together. Hurriedly,
she looked away.

When the parade ended, all the residents of the town and surrounding
countryside converged on the grassy Plaza around the dollhouse-like City Hall.
They settled down to eat their picnic luncheons in the dappled shade of dozens of
young trees. Children in pinafores and sailor suits ran wildly around the bunting-
draped speaker's platform, shrieking and laughing as they pursued runaway balls
and smaller children, completely ignoring their mothers' repeated admonitions to
behave like Christians, not heathens.

After everyone ate, the sexes segregated themselves by some mysterious
alchemy. The men, customary glasses of now-outlawed beer and wine in their
hands, organized an impromptu game of horseshoes, and their women gathered
to watch and cheer them on.