Sweeter Than Wine (40 page)

Angry shushing from their neighbors silenced Peter. Siegfried had barely
heard him; his head was still whirling from La Fontaine's letter. He had ruined
Montclair. They would lose everything.
How can I tell Oma Tati what I have
done? Or Alice?

"So what are we going to do?" Mr. Piezzi asked, rhetorically. "Mr. Price, our
Secretary, has some suggestions."

Walter Price took the podium. "The California State Department of Agriculture
advised us in August that we have three options. One: get a permit from the
government for the crushing of grapes for sacramental purposes--"

There was a rumble of protest: "Which La Fontaine got!"

"And he's sewn up contracts with only a couple of suppliers!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Siegfried saw Peter fold his arms angrily.

"If I may continue?" Silence obtained, Mr. Price went on. "Two, produce non-
alcoholic grape juice, and three, ship the grapes to market in refrigerator cars.
Now, we've already covered numbers one and two, but I have further bad news.
There aren't enough railroad cars to service all of the vineyards. We've asked the
Department of Transportation to schedule more since all railroad traffic is still
under their jurisdiction for the 'war effort,' but we're aware that the smaller growers
don't have rail spurs." Another uproar greeted this announcement.

"We'd have to truck our grapes, and there are nowhere near enough trucks,
either!"

"And we don't have the weather to make raisins. It's mighty hot now, but that
won't last into November. Let the Central Valley make raisins. We're wine-
men!"

"So we really--we really only have two choices." Mr. Price shouted over the
din. "Wait until the President declares demobilization and lifts Wartime Prohibition;
or, defy the government and crush our grapes."

The roar that rose from the assembly was deafening.

Mr. Piezzi stepped up and raised his hand to gather the crowd's attention.
"Justus Wardell cautions that penalties will be heavy if we crush."

Peter whispered to Siegfried: "They're just trying to scare us."

"Here's an excerpt--please, let me speak!"

Mr. Piezzi pounded his gavel, attempting to reestablish control of the
meeting.

Mr. Price waved a piece of paper. The din lessened, and he continued. "This is
from Mr. Wardell's letter: 'The fact that the manufacture and sale of alcoholic
liquors is prohibited under the law, the production of such is not relieved from tax
liability, and it must be understood that the payment of the tax in no way conveys a
right to act contrary to this law. Any person, incurring liability to the tax is also
liable to prosecution under the prohibition law.'"

"That does it," Peter shouted, standing up and flinging his Stetson to the floor.
"You're saying if we make wine they'll tax it, take it,
and
put us in jail!"

Mr. Price also raised his voice. "What I'm trying to say is, we must all stand
together in this!"

"Or we'll all hang separately?" someone shouted. "But we aren't at war with
the government!"

"Ain't we? They just stole our livelihoods! Talk about taxation without
representation!"

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen, I beg you! We must keep our heads! I propose that
we proceed to harvest and crush our crops in expectation that the wartime ban will
be lifted either by appeal or by demobilization. In the meantime, I will personally
present a guarantee to the Internal Revenue Service on behalf of all the members
of this Association, that none of the wine so made will be sold nor exported until it
can be done legally."

Siegfried took no part in the tense debate which followed. He was too busy
fighting down an attack of panic worse than any battle terror he had ever
experienced. He had no difficulty imagining Alice's reaction to being told that La
Fontaine was not going to buy their wine after all.

Yet dare he break the law without telling her?

In the acrimonious debate that followed, Siegfried was brought to realize that
he had no choice. When Mr. Price called for a vote in favor of the motion to crush
despite the ban, Siegfried stood with the majority.

Toward the end of the long, weary afternoon, an impromptu committee was
organized to draw up an agreement for the members to sign. It provided that court
costs would be paid by the Association should any one of the members be
prosecuted for harvesting and crushing his crop, excluding any member who might
try to sell his wine before Wartime Prohibition was lifted.

Siegfried signed. He was numb by then, and might have signed anything, even
his own death warrant, just to be free of this assembly and its doom-crying.

"Gentlemen!" Mr. Price addressed them for the last time. "National Prohibition
will not go into effect until mid-January. We hope there will be a window of time in
which to sell our wine before then. However, if you violate the law, you do it at your
own peril. Thank you for coming today."

"Aw, Sig. This is it, isn't it?" Peter was twisting his battered hat. "We're
finished. All that work--for nothing."

"It was not for nothing!" Siegfried insisted. "There must be
something
we can do."

They exited with the stunned and mostly silent crowd. Outside, the heat and
the burnt-spice smoke hit them again, worse than before they had gone
inside.

"What a day!" Peter exclaimed, coughing.

Siegfried found the truck and cranked it to life. He drove, abstracted. Once
they were on Fourth Street, on the route back to Sonoma, he ventured, "Please do
not tell Alice anything about La Fontaine. I need a little time to--to make things
good."

"Man, you're a dreamer worse than your granddad," Peter said, shakeing his
head ruefully.

"I
will
think of a way to save Montclair," Siegfried said. He was
clenching his teeth so tightly that his jaw ached.

Peter shrugged. "Okay, then. I won't tell her if you don't. But you're only
making it worse for yourself."

* * *

Alice awoke with a start when she heard the familiar rattle of the Model-T's
engine. She squinted groggily at her bedside clock. Then she sat up, suddenly
fully awake. It was nearly six--she had slept all afternoon, leaving poor Maria to do
all the work of preparing supper!

She leaped out of bed, hastily washed her sleep-flushed face, put on a clean
shirtwaist, and rushed downstairs. She found Siegfried standing on the porch
steps, hands on his hips, telling Peter: "--and we will start with the Traminer
section tomorrow morning."

Peter frowned as he caught sight of Alice. "But what about the--"

Siegfried spared Alice a single cold glance, and said, very firmly: "Tomorrow.
Have the picking crews start at dawn. It will be too hot to harvest after
midday."

"Whatever you say. You're the boss." Peter shrugged.

Alice was asking herself if she had just imagined the slight sneer on Peter's
face at those last words, when he tugged on his hat brim and strode off. She
cleared her throat. "Ah, Siegfried. How did the meeting go?"

"It was chaotic," he said shortly. He stared out toward the vineyard, refusing to
look her way. "Everyone was angry, desperate. We all voted to defy the
government, and crush our grapes despite Judge Van Fleet's ruling. I am sure you
will read all about it in the newspaper on Sunday."

"Thank God
we
don't have to worry about breaking the law," Alice said
fervently. "I need to speak to you about the harvest arrangements."

"I am very busy right now," Siegfried began. His hand slipped inside his
trouser pocket, making a fist, and Alice heard the sound of crumpling paper. In his
stillness he seemed to be the focus of two opposing forces, one urging him away,
one insisting he stay.

"It's only going to get busier. If you could just answer my questions now...Will
you come inside and have a cup of coffee?"

Awkwardly, he ran his hand through his hair, breaking the tension. "Very well.
We should speak."

Alice felt a chill prickle the back of her neck at his tone. They went into the
cool, darkened parlor. "I'll be back in just a moment," Alice promised, as Siegfried
settled into one of the stiff plush-upholstered chairs.

He looks so weary
, she thought as she made her way to the kitchen
and filled two mugs of coffee from the enamel pot warming on the stove. His eyes
were haunted and his cheekbones pushed sharply through drawn skin. He had not
been sleeping, either.

Siegfried was grinding his teeth as she re-entered the parlor, his gaze focused
vaguely on a watercolor of the vineyard hanging on the wall. His fingers tapped
nervously on the carved wooden armrest.

He thanked her without meeting her eyes as she handed him his mug of
coffee.

Alice took a tiny sip and started with her primary concern. "How does Mr. La
Fontaine want us to deliver his wine to Napa? The Sebastianis have always let us
use their depot, but I need to know how many railroad cars to order. Or do you
think it would be better to hire flatbed trucks?"

A flush crept up from Siegfried's shirt collar. "Do not worry about those details,
Ah-lees. I will of everything take care of."

Alice narrowed her eyes. His accent had grown stronger, as it always did when
he was emotionally moved. He was hiding something. Did he intend to shut her
out of the management of Montclair entirely? "And when did Mr. La Fontaine say
he would make his first payment?" Alice asked, more sharply than she had
intended. "You know how difficult our finances have been this summer. Bill once
told me that the usual payment schedule is--"

Siegfried finally met her eyes, his dark blue gaze burning with repressed
animosity. "I don't care what
Bill
said. I am your husband now."

"You're not as much of a husband as he was," she retorted, overcome by the
instinct to return blow for blow.

"I am
exactly
as much of a husband as Bill was!" Siegfried shouted,
losing control. "I am told your father purchased
him
for thirty pieces of
silver."

"Makes
you
a bargain, doesn't it?"

"If commerce is all you care for," Siegfried replied with icy contempt.

"
I'm
not the one who let his grandmother marry him off for a piece of
land." Alice gripped the arm of the plush love seat. She had never, ever argued
with Bill. She had never wanted to hurt him the way she wanted to hurt Siegfried
now, to make him feel the torment of her bruised heart, her bruised pride. "Or is
selling yourself for acreage more honorable than selling yourself for money?"

"Haven't you done both?" he shot back.

"And what do you mean by that?" She struggled to keep her tone restrained
while nails were being driven through her heart.

"At the wedding--" He stopped. The blood rose in his fair skin and Alice knew
that they had finally touched upon the unspoken thing that lay between them.
"Hugh told me. About you. About your...family."

"I knew it," Alice murmured. Her wounded heart was pounding so loudly that
she thought he must be able to hear it.

"Was your father really a pimp? Is your mother a--a--" Siegfried's voice
cracked, "whore?"

Alice struggled to breathe. A nursery rhyme ran maniacally through her mind:
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me!

"Is it true, Ah-lees?" Siegfried pressed, his expression silently begging her to
deny it. "Were you a--"

Her chest felt as if she had been hit with fists, not words. She wanted to hurt
him back, as much as he had just hurt her. "Yes! Everything Hugh told you about
me is true. Where do you think I learned those--those
things
you liked so
much? My mother is a madam. I lived in her Barbary Coast parlor-house until I
was thirteen. My father arranged my marriage to Bill." Alice had meant to shock
Siegfried, but she startled herself. She had not known the extent of her own regret.
"Bill owed him money, and Da offered to cancel Bill's debt as a wedding present.
He threw in a big dowry to sweeten the pot, but Bill loved me!"

She stopped.
What was the use?

Siegfried sat frozen in devastated disappointment.

Alice could not bear it an instant longer. Her carefully constructed life was
shattering, her soul bleeding from the shards.

"Don't think I don't know what's going on." She pushed herself up out of the
love seat, and lurched toward the parlor door. She gripped the doorframe, holding
herself upright. "Now that we're beyond an annulment, you c-can stop pretending
that you actually had s-some regard for me. I'm just sorry I...I believed you,
before."

* * *

Siegfried glared after her as she stalked out of the room, her head held high,
her shoulders squared. How dare she compare their circumstances!
He
had
never prostituted himself--

Really
? asked his conscience.

Siegfried slumped back in his chair, his anger draining away, leaving him
chilled with remorse.

Alice had woven a complicated tangle of truth and deception in her passionate
confession. Her story had matched Hugh's and Peter's, detail for detail--except the
most telling point.

She had said 'Yes' to his question 'Were
you
a--'

And she had lied.

He knew it. He could always tell when someone was lying.

Oh, God. How could he have said those unforgivable things to her, to his
sweet wife? He had seen how much he hurt her with his terrible questions. But the
thought of what she might have done with other men had just about killed
him...How could he have allowed Hugh to poison his mind?

Siegfried rubbed his temples vigorously, trying to straighten out his tangled
and contradictory thoughts.

And after all that had just passed between them, how could he now face Alice
with his part in Montclair's ruin? How could she ever forgive
his
lie?