Sweeter Than Wine (32 page)

"Collect some money, too," Samuele Sebastiani suggested. "We all know the
insurance never covers everything. I will give twenty dollars."

"Good idea. I'll pledge ten," Mr. Duhring volunteered.

As the pledges swelled into a chorus, Mr. Breitenbach pulled a fountain pen
and a small notebook from his coat pocket and began recording names and
amounts.

Siegfried made his way forward, eager to include his name in Mr.
Breitenbach's notebook. Never mind that he had no money. He would find a way.
It was the least he could do.

He had just opened his mouth to give Breitenbach his pledge when he heard
Maria cry out: "Peter--no! Stop it!"

Siegfried whirled in the direction of her voice, and saw Peter in front of a red-
white-and-blue booth nearby, swinging wildly at Hugh. Alice held tight to Maria,
who covered her mouth as if to keep from crying out again.

As he ran, dodging picnic baskets and seated women, his leg aching with the
sudden effort, he wondered at Hugh's presence. Reaching the booth, he caught
hold of his cousin, dragging him away from the fight. Herculio, following close on
Siegfried's heels, did the same to Peter.

"What are you doing here, Hugh? And why in God's name are you fighting in
the street?" Siegfried demanded, pinioning his cousin's arms at his side.

Hugh's left eye was reddened and there was a thin trickle of blood drying on
his upper lip. He tried to shrug Siegfried off. "I didn't start anything! I was just
saying a friendly hello to Alice and Maria, er--Mrs. Verdacchia."

"Is that so?" Siegfried asked, skeptically. He judged that Hugh was not about
to go charging back into the fray and loosened his grip.

"Yes, that's so," Hugh shot back, trying vainly to straighten his creased jacket.
"That drunken fool attacked me."

"Liar! You bastard! You were accosting my wife!" Peter shouted from ten feet
away, struggling to free himself from Herculio's grasp.

"That's not true," Maria protested.

Peter ignored her. "It was bad enough when Bill Roye was alive. Every
Sunday--
every
Sunday--he came for dinner." He spat into the dirt toward
Hugh. "I saw how he looked at her then! Now he's practic'lly kissing her in public!
I'm going to kill 'im."

Herculio shook him. "Peter, stop. You're going regret this when you sober
up."

Peter paid no more heed to Herculio than he had to Maria. "I'll bet you thought
I never noticed, but I did!" he glared at Hugh. "I noticed! She's my wife!" His voice
rose to a shout again. "I won't let her disgrace me!"

"I would never do anything to dishonor Mrs. Verdacchia," Hugh said, his face
flushing darkly.

"Then come away from here," Siegfried commanded.

Hugh shrugged off Siegfried's hand and started walking. He wiped vainly at
the smears of blood on his face and accepted his crumpled fedora from a boy--
evidently a boxing fan--who wished him better success in his next match.

"I think you may take it as given that Peter is no longer working for you,"
Siegfried said directly after Hugh had completed his adjustments. His words made
an impact on Hugh, but his cousin merely smiled grimly.

They reached Hugh's elegant little car.

"And you should know better than to chase after married women," Siegfried
warned him.

Hugh opened his car door.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

"Not yet. And you won't like what I do have to say to you, when I get around to
it. Just--enjoy Montclair while you can." The look Hugh gave Siegfried took him
aback.

It was full of--not anger, or shame, or justified resentment, but pity.

Hugh got in his car and drove away, leaving Siegfried puzzled, and though he
did not like to admit it to himself, worried. What would Hugh do next?

* * *

Alice, watching Hugh depart with Siegfried, was released from her horrified
inertia when Maria began to cry in stifled, racking sobs. "I didn't--do anything--
wrong!"

The helpless sound of it tore at Alice. She put her arms around Maria and
drew her out of sight of the curious bystanders. In back of the voter registration
booth, Maria wept against Alice's shoulder, her tears soaking warmly into the thin
silk of Alice's dress. "What--am I going--to do?"

"What do you mean?"

Maria pushed herself away from Alice, and sniffled wetly, wiping angrily at her
reddened eyes and cheeks. Alice reached into her purse and handed over a
handkerchief.

"I feel like I'm suffocating!" Maria said in a tiny voice, as she accepted the
handkerchief. "Peter is--he's being--" She blew and the handkerchief fluttered. She
dabbed at her eyes. "I mean, I still love him. If he'd only let me--He used to be so
different, before Mario--" Maria sighed resignedly and seemed to crumple into
place. "Before Mario died he was a different person. Now, everyone is his enemy.
He doesn't even trust
me
any more! I can see him watching me, wondering
about me...And Mr. Roye--he's so kind. And so--, so--"

"Oh, Maria. I'm sorry," Alice said in shocked realization. "I knew you liked
Hugh, but--there's nothing you
can
do. You're already married. I know you'd
never do anything so improper!"

Maria straightened, and looked Alice in the eye. "It doesn't mean I haven't
thought about it." She looked down again. "You're so lucky. Mr. R. loves you so
much, and he's a good man." She pocketed the handkerchief. "I'll wash this with
your regular things this week. I guess we should get back to the picnic now."

As they walked back around the booth, Alice reflected on how lucky she was.
She hadn't had to make a choice between Bill and Siegfried. And she finally had
the leisure to reflect on what she'd overheard by the horseshoe pit.

Alice shook her head, blinking in astonishment at the unpredictability of
people. Not only was Maria showing a hidden side, but Siegfried had told the most
influential men in the community about his wartime service--and they still accepted
him!

She was happy for him, she really was.

But men had it so much easier in life all around. The community would never
do any such thing for her, if they knew about her Barbary Coast background.

She bit her lip, and focused on helping Maria. Many hours remained until
sunset, and the fireworks.

But she wished they could go home
now
.

It was Independence Day, after all. Maybe she just would.

* * *

Once Hugh was safely on the road back to Santa Rosa, and Peter had
disappeared into the care of a cool wet cloth wielded by Herculio, Siegfried sought
out Mr. Breitenbach.

He had been accepted today. It was only right that he should help an
unfortunate neighbor. Siegfried found Breitenbach shaking out crumbs from a
picnic blanket.

"Twenty dollars--you sure about that, son?" Breitenbach asked as he scribbled
Siegfried's pledge in his notebook. It was, after all, a month's wages for a field
worker.

"I am sure," Siegfried said quietly. "I will have the money for you next
week."

Then Siegfried saw Alice seated behind the wheel of her truck, waving at him
to climb in. She was going already? Maria, wilted as her white frock, sat next to
her. Clearly, Peter's whereabouts were his own concern.

Siegfried nodded his understanding and said his good-byes to Breitenbach. He
loped over to the Model-T, clambered in, and braced his back against the cab. His
thigh twinged at the position.

The truck lurched forward, gears grinding. Neat rows of houses went by, and
he considered how to fulfill his pledge to Mr. Breitenbach. He knew that Alice
would never sanction any such expenditure. Then he remembered the small metal
biscuit tin shoved far back in the drawer of his night table. Stored in it were letters
from his family and his father's signet ring, inside a bloodstained scrap of folded
paper.

He had not re-read that note since the terrible day of his homecoming. He had
not needed to. The words were burned into his memory.

The ring was the last remnant of his birthright. He would sell it on Monday
morning and leave Alsace behind forever.

Montclair, Wednesday, July 9

"You did
what
?" Alice exclaimed furiously when Siegfried finished
speaking. After going to check the morning's mail, he had found her in her garden,
where she had retreated after lunch to wage a relentless battle against weeds,
shovel in hand.

He looked abashed for a brief second, then gave her a grin--half proud and
half sheepish--as he repeated his news. "When I sold my father's gold signet ring
to help the Freschis, I had some money remaining. So I have bought nickel-plated
fittings for the bottling system."

"After all the discussions we had? Siegfried, we could have used that money to
pay the picking crews their bonuses during crush!" She had been slaving over her
books for days, trying to find a way to squeeze a little more money out of the
household budget. They had actually sold the wine for two dollars and fifty cents
per bottle last week, the last day before the deadline, but it hadn't been enough.
And the dragonfly had not brought as much as she expected, either.

Siegfried narrowed his dark blue eyes, and set his jaw mulishly. "I am your
husband. If I use my money to--"

"You're not
really
my husband," Alice shot back, incensed. "And if you
were, it wouldn't be
your
money any more, it would be
our
money.
And it could have been spent better elsewhere!"

"I did what I thought best--"

"You stubborn, bullheaded German!" Alice snapped. All her frustrations came
boiling out in a geyser of resentment. "You've ignored everything I've told you
about Montclair's finances! All for a new toy!" She slammed the shovel into the
dirt.

Siegfried, infuriated, ignored her outburst. He said mildly, "Mr. La Fontaine
wants only the finest from us. That old equipment would have ruined our vintage."
He waited in the strained silence for her agreement.

Alice gave a short, impatient huff. She couldn't argue against his expertise. But
to buy such a system without even consulting her meant that he felt more
confident about his position here.
I am your husband.
Well! "You know what
the winery needs, but I've been running Montclair for the last three years. Tell me
before you make a major purchase like this again!"

"I'll be in the winery. I hope you feel better later," he said, turning away.

She hacked into the ground with her shovel, imagining the hard dirt to be
Siegfried's back.
How dare he patronize me! 'Hope you feel better later!'
Hah!
She jabbed again at the base of a dandelion, which fell over and bled
white droplets.

She had told him! He wasn't going to push her around! She had
sounded...

Like a complete shrew.
Alice stopped her assault on the weeds, and
sagged over the shovel handle.
What was I thinking?
He had every right to
spend his own money. He hadn't needed to buy anything for the winery at all. And
she'd shouted at him like a fishwife! What must he think of her?

She scooped the decimated weeds into a pile, left the shovel leaning against
the fence, and left the garden to wash up. She would talk to Siegfried when she
saw him at dinner. She would apologize, and admit that they did need the bottling
system.

She would eat crow, and be nice, because she needed him--at least until
harvest.

* * *

Thursday, July 17

"Are you nearly ready with the next batch, Mrs. R.?" Maria called.

Alice came back to reality with a start. The air inside the kitchen was steamy
with the tangy smell of cooking fruit, and it was oppressively hot. She had drifted
into a pleasant memory of her weekend honeymoon at the Sutro Baths in San
Francisco with Bill. All those pools of cool, refreshing water...The movements of
her paring knife, steadily halving and pitting the near-endless supply of reddish-
purple plums, slowed and stopped.

Late last week, the apricots had ripened. Now it was the plums, and the
peaches would be next. Alice felt like she had been imprisoned in this unbearably
hot kitchen for months, trapped in a purgatory of sticky fruit juice and endless
regiments of Mason jars, their empty mouths opened wide in silent demand.

"Almost," Alice replied, asking herself, as she always did this time of the year,
How can eight trees produce so much?
When she finished with this basket
of fruit, two more were waiting for her on the floor next to the kitchen table.

Maria stood at the stove, stirring the bubbling mixture. Jars, lids, and melted
paraffin were at hand for the canning and sealing.

Alice reached for the next plum and let her small knife bite deep into the
smooth skin. A swift flick of her wrist, and the fruit fell in two halves, revealing
translucent yellow flesh. Alice removed the pit with the point of her knife and
tossed it into the waste basket.

Last summer, every pit had been saved for the war effort, to be used in gas
masks for the boys going to the Front.

Alice dabbed angrily at her eyes, thinking of Bill again, and wondering why she
was shedding tears over him now, more than a year after his death.

"Are you feeling all right?" Maria asked. She finished filling and sealing another
jar.

Alice blinked, annoyed that she had drifted off into reverie again. "I'm just tired,
Maria. There's been
so
much to do this month." She sighed. The fruit
needing to be canned. The vegetable garden. The barrels to recondition. The
ledgers to balance and bills to pay.

"Well, I'm sure I can finish here if you want to go lie down," Maria offered, but
she looked fatigued herself, with plum-colored circles under her eyes.

"No, I'll help you," Alice said stubbornly, despite the intense wave of longing at
the thought of a nap.