Sweeter Than Wine (31 page)

Alice and Maria shared a large, plaid wool blanket with several card-playing
ladies from church. The main topic of conversation was not horseshoes, but the
Freschi family, who had lost everything in a house fire the night before. Gertrude
Breitenbach was organizing donations of household goods to tide over the family
until their insurance money arrived. Pots and pans had already been pledged in
abundance, so Alice volunteered towels and sheets.

While Betty Sullivan was offering some clothing, Alice's gaze drifted to
Siegfried, taking his turn at the horseshoe toss. Mrs. Breitenbach, who was
simultaneously winning at cards and declaiming the tribulations of Mrs. Freschi,
nevertheless noticed Alice's straying attention. She interrupted her own story to
comment: "He
does
look like poor Billy, doesn't he? It's quite
remarkable."

Maria's cheese-and-tomato sandwiches turned into an indigestible lump in her
stomach. Alice swallowed dryly, put aside her cards, and busied herself with a
lemonade refill. "Um. I suppose so."

"I've noticed we haven't yet seen him at church. Is your husband still Catholic,
dear?" Mrs. Breitenbach asked, her bright blue eyes intent.

"Yes, he is," Alice said, devoutly wishing herself elsewhere. She picked up her
linen napkin and assiduously wiped imaginary crumbs from her already-clean
fingers.

Mrs. Breitenbach continued, "And you've been married now, what--six weeks,
dear? When are you two going to make it right in the eyes of God?"

Alice gritted her teeth and took a deep sip of her lemonade. Gertie was still
waiting for her answer when she finished swallowing. "I--I don't know. Maybe after
crush..." She twisted the napkin into a tight coil around her fingers.

"And how are you
feeling
, Mrs. Rodernwiller?" Betty Sullivan
interjected. Her hand rested protectively on the slight curve of her belly under a
pretty pink voile maternity dress, making her meaning clear.

"Perfectly well, thank you," Alice snapped. She continued in a more
conciliatory tone: "We've been very busy preparing for harvest."

"If there's even going to
be
a harvest," Betty sighed dramatically. Her
husband, who had helped change the Model-T's tire on the day of the disastrous
Grape Grower's Association meeting, owned a small vineyard north of the Kunde
estate. They did not make wine themselves, but sold Alicante Bouschet and
Charbono grapes to those who did.

Alice had to bite her tongue to keep from sharing Siegfried's good news--but
he had said they mustn't tell anyone.

"I'm all for keeping men out of saloons and away from whiskey. Keeps them
from drinking up their wages while their wives and children go hungry at home,"
Maria said abruptly. "But it's not fair that the government's restricting wine as well
as hard liquor. Which reminds me--" She stood up, but she must have done so too
fast, for she turned deathly greenish-white, and swayed uncertainly.

Alice sprang up, concerned. "Are you all right?" She slipped her arm through
Maria's to steady her. Gertie Breitenbach was on her other side.

"Oh--oh yes, I'm perfectly fine," Maria said, although she belied her words by
clutching Alice tightly until blood came back into her cheeks. She loosened her
grip with embarrassment.

"Do you need to lie down for a little while? Shall I drive you back to
Montclair?"

"No! Don't trouble yourself," Maria protested. "I was just a little dizzy. I really
want to register to vote." She pointed at a flag-draped booth on the other side of
the horseshoe pit. A large, hand-lettered sign identified it as belonging to the
National Women's Party. "You should come too, Mrs. R."

"I--ah--" Alice stammered.

Maria was standing more solidly now. Gertie let her go as well.

"Oh, didn't you register last year?" Mrs. Breitenbach seemed assured that
Maria was all right now.

"I was too busy." Perhaps it was a feeble excuse, but she hadn't considered it
with Bill's death coming so close on the heels of her twenty-first birthday last April.
And this year, the weeks had passed in a hazy blur.

"Why don't we both register?" Maria tugged at Alice's arm. "It's so important.
Maybe someday we can vote in federal elections, too," she said wistfully. Eight
years ago, women had won suffrage in California, but for state elections only.

"I--I don't know if I should," Alice hesitated. In her experience, ladies left
politics, like cigars, to the menfolk. As a girl, Alice's Da had spoken disparagingly
about suffragettes making the newspapers when they marched and protested and
even went on hunger strikes. And Tati had never even mentioned...

"And why not?" Mrs. Breitenbach's loud, imperious voice asked. "Aren't you
patriotic, Mrs. Rodernwiller?"

"Of course I am," Alice said indignantly. "I--I just don't know if it's
respectable!"

A chorus of replies overwhelmed her.

"Yes, of course it is!"

"I'm registered to vote!"

"I always go with my husband." Betty Sullivan coughed, then smiled slyly at
Alice. "But I don't always vote the way he tells me to." Every woman laughed at
that.

"Well, all right, then," Alice said, self-conscious. She turned back to Maria. "I
didn't mean to imply that you weren't respectable."

Maria grinned, her first smile since Peter's sharp words the night before.

At the booth, Alice concentrated on keeping her handwriting neat as she filled
out her registration form against the bumpy plank. Despite her best efforts, the
letters looked crooked, her pencil no match for the grain of the wood under the
paper. She was frowning down at the form when she heard a familiar voice.

"Hello, Mrs. Verdacchia, Alice!"

Startled, she looked up, to see Hugh Roye approaching, impeccably clad in a
khaki suit and a tan pencil-curl fedora. His smile, as he drew nearer, was not like
Bill's smile, confident of its charm, but more like Siegfried's: unexpectedly sweet
and genuine. Alice caught herself making the dangerous comparison and firmly
quashed her thoughts. "Hugh," she said, coolly, offering him her hand.
Why are
you in Sonoma?

"You're looking very lovely today," Hugh said, as he gave Alice a hearty peck
on the cheek. He seemed to have completely forgotten his earlier rancor as he
looked past Alice at Maria.

"Thank you," Alice said. She would have believed him if he hadn't also winked
at Maria. "Too bad you didn't 'phone to tell us you were coming. I'm afraid we've
eaten all Maria's luncheon."

"I would have packed some extra sandwiches for you," Maria said shyly.

Hugh's face lit up. "And how are
you
, Mrs. Verdacchia?"

"I'm very well, Mr. Roye," she said, offering her hand. "It's very nice to see you
again."

"The pleasure is all mine. Too bad the Fourth falls on a Friday this year.
Picnics just aren't the same without your wonderful fried chicken. I miss your
excellent cooking."

"Oh, no," protested Maria, laughing.

"Did you come all the way down from Santa Rosa for the celebration?" Alice
asked, working hard at being polite. She was uncomfortable, especially as Hugh
kept holding Maria's hand.

"Yes. I'm afraid I missed the parade, though," Hugh replied. He asked Maria,
"Did you see it?"

Maria began to describe the Bundschu float, blushing rosily and laughing
breathlessly. Her gaze never leaving Hugh's eyes.

Alice frowned. Hugh was acting like an infatuated schoolboy, with Maria, of all
people! And Maria, instead of rebuking him with a stern glance and a firm step
backwards, was smiling up at him, standing closer than was strictly proper, as if
she couldn't help herself. Alice coughed discreetly, and Maria seemed to recall her
manners. She retrieved her hand from Hugh's grasp, but Alice thought she did so
involuntarily.

A quick glance behind showed Alice that Peter was just stepping up to the
horseshoe pitch, oblivious to the scene taking place. Siegfried was in a clump of
men sharing a newspaper article. She could hear their unhappy comments about
the Prohibition situation from here.

Low-voiced efforts to move Maria away were disregarded. Oh, God, what
should she do? Indecision kept her rooted, but all her senses were heightened in
anticipation of disaster.

* * *

Siegfried Rodernwiller had looked like this before the war. Busy. Lively.
Undamaged. Siegfried gulped beer while Peter took his turn to play. The clang of
tossed horseshoes striking metal stakes underscored the laughing shrieks of
children.

On a day which celebrated independence, Siegfried rejoiced in being tied to
this small community. After four years spent adrift on the bleak tides of war and
loss, he stood once again in the familiar company of farmers, men such as he had
known in Alsace, sharing their jokes and their concerns.

He took another sip of the pleasantly bitter beer, and wished fervently that
Alice would consent to bind him closer. Even after wearing himself out day after
day in the necessary work of refurbishing the winery, the slightest brush of her
sleeve against his arm was enough to kindle the embers of his desire into
flame.

But she kept him at arms' length, and no doubt would, until harvest and the
fruition of his scheme to save Montclair. He hoped Mr. La Fontaine would respond
to his letter soon.

His musings were interrupted by his companions. They were passing around a
copy of Tuesday's
San Francisco Chronicle
, and Siegfried caught a glimpse
of the headline:
SF Saloon Licenses Voided; Strong Liquor Doomed
Today
.

"Damn' nonsense," growled Samuele Sebastiani, one of the richest men in
town. He shook out the folds from the paper with a vicious flick before passing it
on to Siegfried. "It will never work. Take away their beer and wine--people won't
stand for it!"

"Well, then why did they all vote for it?" asked Frederick Duhring, sarcastically.
He pushed back his hat, and wiped his brow with his red handkerchief.

"Wartime Prohibition? Haven't those blasted fools in the government heard?
The war's been over for nearly eight months," drawled Mr. Sullivan. His comment
was greeted by harsh laughter.

"Yeah, and not a moment too soon. Too damned many gold stars,"
commented Duhring, who caught Siegfried's puzzlement, and explained: "On our
service flags. There's a silver star for every boy who volunteered for service Over
There. Sonoma County's got one hundred seventeen in all. The fifty-seven gold
stars commemorate the ones who made the Supreme Sacrifice." He doffed his
hat, and held it for a moment over his heart.

"I see," Siegfried nodded. "It is good for a soldier to know that someone thinks
of him."

"Your cousin Bill's gold star is on the flag hanging in St. Francis. You should
look for it the next time you're there." Duhring turned to watch Sebastiani toss a
horseshoe. His question, when it came, was elaborately casual. "So, you never did
say: what did you do in the War, Mr. Rodernwiller?"

It was the question Siegfried had been dreading, and he could avoid it no
longer. Well, out with it: "I served in the artillery, at the Front in Alsace-
Lorraine."

"At the core of the conflict!" Mr. Sullivan enthused.

Peter's last horseshoe landed, and a puff of dirt hung in the air.

"For which side?" asked George Breitenbach, a round-faced, deeply tanned
man in his forties . His usually genial expression was closed, waiting for Siegfried's
answer.

Siegfried raised his head proudly, though his heart was thudding. He thought
fleetingly of how much he had enjoyed the company of these men. But he would
not lie to them. "If you ever met my father on his visits here to buy rootstock, you
would know what his politics were. He was pleased when the trench lines formed
with his land in German hands, until the French invaders, calling themselves
liberators, shelled our village, hit our house. They killed my young brother in his
bed. I enlisted to fight, as my father wished, to avenge my brother, to protect our
homeland." Siegfried's voice threatened to shake, so he took a breath to steady it.
"I failed. My father and his Kaiser's cause are dead--and, as you might guess, I
found no welcome home in Alsace."

Siegfried waited for an eternity, then there was a soft sound of feet shuffling,
and someone's tongue clicked in sympathy or shame.

Peter, at the fringe of the crowd, said loudly, "Sig's a good fellow. It wasn't his
fault that he was living Over There when everything happened."

Something in Siegfried's chest unknotted at this public display of loyalty. He
had not expected the foreman to defend him. Peter had kept close to the kegs of
beer this afternoon, downing mug after mug, avoiding the hordes of children.

Mr. Breitenbach's expression relaxed. He clapped Siegfried on the shoulder.
"Too right, son. We all did what we had to do. At least you didn't shirk your
duty."

"Better a Hun than a coward," someone said, and the tense moment broke in
uneasy laughter.

Siegfried shook his head mutely, grateful beyond words for his unexpected
reprieve.

"Thank God the War is over," said another. All around him, men were nodding
in slow approval.

"And what are
your
politics, Mr. Rodernwiller?" Breitenbach asked.

Siegfried said firmly, "I will be an American, as was my mother, God rest her
soul. I hope to follow in my grandfather Roye's footsteps, and fight only the
Phylloxera from now on."

More nods, and someone refilled Siegfried's mug of beer. He was left to stand,
dazed, as the men moved on to the next topic of conversation: "Anyone see Marc
Freschi? I thought for sure he'd be out here today, beating us all at
horseshoes."

"Didn't you hear?" asked Mr. Breitenbach, who always got the news first from
Gertie. "They had a house fire last night--lost everything. My wife is taking up
donations of clothing and household goods from the ladies."