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After a restless night, Alex stayed in her room until she knew that Nicolas had left the house. She ate breakfast in the cozy kitchen and tried to decide what to do with her day. She needed some time to gather her thoughts but was curious about the estate, so she decided to explore the property. Careful not to run into Nicolas, she walked down a path between the vines to the barn she spied from her window. Sitting in the middle of the fields, she assumed that the barn was part of the estate. When she came close, Alex realized that the structure was rather old and worn, and she wondered if it was even safe to poke around inside.
Carefully opening the door, Alex peeked inside. She saw several pieces of farm equipment that looked fairly new, so she presumed that the barn was still in use and proceeded inside. The smell of oil, gasoline, and dirt filled the air, and dust clung to the sun rays as Alex pushed open the doors. A sudden movement to her left made Alex jump, but it was just a barn cat racing through the building, perhaps chasing a mouse. The thought didn't bother Alex. She had never been one of those girly girls who stood on a chair and screamed at the sight of a rodent.
Alex noticed stalls and wondered if, at one time, the barn housed animals. The stalls were now filled with extra barrels, tubing, boxes of bottles, and other wine making supplies. There was a ladder to a loft that looked like it was still in pretty good condition, and she walked to it for a closer inspection. Deciding that the ladder seemed sturdy enough, Alex gripped the rungs and climbed to the top, her curiosity getting the better of her. The loft was empty except for a bench by the window, and she wondered what the loft was used for and why a bench would be there. Taking a look out of the window, Alex could see the villa and the winery. The leaves on the grape vines waved gently in the breeze, and the smell of grapes wafted through the window. She saw Nicolas walking among the vines and gasped, ducking out of sight when she thought he looked up toward the window. Peering out once again, she saw him inspecting the plants while Luigi and Giovanni worked on an irrigation pipe in a neighboring field.
The light breeze drifted through the window, but the loft was still hot and stuffy with the early June heat. Alex headed back toward the ladder, but her sneaker hit something under the straw. She bent down and brushed away the hay to find an old, leather-bound book. It was loosely tied with a ribbon that had mostly deteriorated over time. When Alex picked up the book, the ribbon disintegrated and fell away, and the soft leather flaked off a bit in the bottom corner. Alex delicately paged through the book and found that the sheets were yellow with age, but the ink, for the most part, was still dark and legible. She opened the book to the first page.
The journal was written in Italian, but Alex could make out just enough of the words to cause her heartbeat to quicken and her throat to tighten. Among the words she knew were December 10, 1942 and Isabella Abelli, whom Alex knew better as Signora Fonticelli.
After leaving the barn, she stealthily walked to the office and asked Maria about Internet access. She was pleased to find that both the house and the business had wifi and a fast connection. She hastily retreated to her room, hiding the journal in her waistband. Alex sat on her bed and powered on her laptop. She waited anxiously for it to finish starting up. As soon as the computer was up and running, Alex opened the sophisticated translation software she bought before leaving home and typed into the box the first paragraph in the journal.
December 20, 1942
I, Isabella Abelli, have a confession to make. While the world goes to pieces all around me, I have found a reason to be happy. I may not know many things. I do not know what will happen to our country. I do not know why Hitler does the things he does, why he is trusted by our leader. I do not know why they have plunged the entire world into this darkness we call war. I do not know what will happen to me, my family, our little world here at Belle Uve, but I do know one thing. Today I met the man I will marry.
Alex read the translation again and wondered about this girl. How old was Signora when she wrote this? She certainly didn't sound like the Signora whom Alex knew - the one who seemed to know everything and never faltered in her advice. This Isabella Abelli was a girl, probably a teenager, just finding her way in the world. She was an enigma to Alex, and Alex longed to know more. However, she felt that old pang of guilt once again. Shouldn't she tell Nicolas about her discovery? Wouldn't he want to see it? Or perhaps he had seen it years ago and had left it lying up in the loft, uninterested in its contents, the musings of a young girl whom he had never met.
Alex ran her fingers across the writing and pondered what she should do. She closed her eyes and asked for help. Signora, please give me some guidance here. Please help me know what to do. No answer came.
Nicolas watched the taxi pull up in front of the vineyard early the following morning. He followed it with his gaze as it pulled away with Alex inside of it. Maria walked to the window and stood beside him.
“She is leaving?” he asked.
“No, she said she needed to empty her head and asked if she could make dinner for us. She is going to the store. I told her to ask Luigi to take her, but she said no.” Maria shook her head. “She needs a car.” She looked at Nicolas and saw that he was trying to hold back a grin. She nudged him. “What?”
“Clear her head, not empty it. Though I like that thought.” He laughed as he went outside, leaving Maria to ponder the American idiom.
Nicolas wandered in and out of the rows of the vineyard, sampling a grape here and there to be sure that they were ripening well. His mind was elsewhere, though, and he was annoyed with himself for not concentrating on the vineyard. He was more annoyed with Alex, however, and the way that she had been inserted into his life. He actually liked Annie, would have enjoyed taking her to lunch, getting to know her. But Alex was a different story. He wanted no parts of her. She was nothing more than a pest hovering over his crop, savoring the fruit, and leaving him the spoils. That’s how he saw her, as someone who just wanted to reap the benefits of the business he was trying so hard to save.
Vineyards were everywhere now. They were becoming more and more popular the world over, with modern technologies that allowed almost any climate to produce a grape cultivated just for that region. It was hard enough to compete with other Italian wines, but in this global economy, Nicolas had to figure out how to compete not just in Europe but in every country on the map. For now, he concentrated just on Italy, hoping to win a prize, to become known in his own country for an outstanding vintage. Then he could slowly begin exporting to wineries and stores around the globe. The last thing he needed was this legal mess that he was going to have to deal with in regards to Alex.
Exactly what did she want from him? She couldn’t possibly believe that she could just walk in here and be his partner. She knew nothing about grapes, wine, or even Italy. She spoke no Italian. How would she be able to communicate with customers or interact with business associates? What did she think she could possibly offer him?
Nicolas shook his head and tried to ignore the hurt and anger that he felt toward his great-aunt. From what little he knew about her, she was well-regarded by the rest of his family, most of them gone now. There were some whisperings about something in the past that had prevented her from ever returning to Italy, but nobody ever spoke about it. Nicolas had no idea what it could have been, and he wasn't sure that it wasn’t made up, no more than a family legend. As far as he knew, she and her young betrothed fled Italy during the war, marrying in haste before catching a train that took them from Italy and then a boat that took them to America. He didn’t know how they managed to escape the war-torn country or why they left, but they were held in high esteem by everyone who remembered them, so it couldn’t have been a mere, cowardly escape from the War.
What reason could Prozia Isabella have had to leave half of his vineyard to this stranger? Didn’t she trust him to keep it going? Nicolas did not understand and could not fathom why this was happening.
“She is beautiful, no?”
Nicolas’ thoughts were shattered by Luigi who seemed to appear from nowhere.
“Prego?”
“Signorina Alex è molto bella,” Luigi said with a smile. “Maybe I should ask her on a date.” He winked at Nicolas.
“Go right ahead,” Nicolas said before turning and walking away. His words conveyed disgust, but his stomach clenched at the thought of his cousin taking Alex out for a night on the town. What if they hit it off? What if they married? Then Alex would truly be part of the family. Nicolas shook his head and tried to put the image out of his mind. He couldn’t care less what Alex did, but he didn’t want anyone to encourage her to become any more a part of the family than she already assumed she was by virtue of the will.
Nicolas went back inside and headed straight to the tasting room. He reached for a bottle of wine and poured himself a glass. Now she has me drinking on the job, something I have never done. Tossing the wine down his throat as if it were a cheap whiskey, he glared out the window at Luigi’s back. The smooth liquid did nothing to ease the knot that sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach.
Alex needed some time to think and some space to breathe. Nicolas did not want her at the villa, but she was determined to show him that she belonged there. In just the short time since she had sat her suitcases down in Signora’s old bedroom, Alex knew that she was home. Now she just had to convince Nicolas. She decided to cook dinner for him and the others at the vineyard, but first, she needed to spend a few hours to herself.
Deciding that she should expose herself to some more Italian and culture and history, she asked the taxi driver to take her back to the heart of Verona. She felt that a visit to Juliet’s House was in order. According to her guidebook, the Montagues and Capulets truly did exist during Shakespeare’s time, although there never was any account of an actual Romeo or Juliet. The Capulet family home, however, still lured in millions of tourists each year, all wanting to stand on the famous balcony overlooking the courtyard where Romeo allegedly pledged his love to Juliet. Alex had been Juliet’s understudy in the university’s production of Romeo and Juliet her sophomore year; and like Juliet, Alex’s life had been no picnic, so she felt an odd affinity to the tragic heroine.
The house wasn’t hard to find. Even at the early hour, tourists were flocking to the courtyard that was lined with walls covered with graffiti – messages to Juliet asking for help finding or keeping true love. A bronze statue of Juliet stood in the middle, and dozens of people gathered around to take pictures with the tragic heroine. Alex opted not to rub the breasts of the statue even though she could use all the luck they were said to give to those so bold. She paid the small fee and followed the narrow stairs to the top floor. Along the way, she read the framed quotes from the play and took notice of the costumes and furniture from movie sets that now adorned the house.
It all seemed so familiar to her, like she was back on the stage preparing for opening night. Alex stood in line for her turn to go out on the balcony. Feeling slightly embarrassed, she took a selfie on her phone and wished, not for the first time, that she had someone to send it to. Then she thought of her childhood friend, Cindy, the only person, other than the quick email to her mother, she contacted before heading to Italy. She would send it to Cindy later.
After killing a good couple of hours in the city, Alex hailed a taxi to take her to the market. With her shopping list in hand, she prayed for Signora’s help to make a dinner that would knock Nicolas, Maria, and the guys off of their feet.
The taxi driver dropped off Alex and her packages a few hours later. At this rate, she was going to spend all of the money she inherited from Signora on taxi fare. She really needed to think about buying a small, inexpensive car. Perhaps Giovanni or Luigi would go with her and help her find one. She had no experience purchasing a car in the States. How could she possibly know where and how to find one in Italy? She trudged into the villa with her groceries and began unloading them onto the large, stone countertop.
It wasn’t long before the kitchen smelled like a five-star restaurant in the heart of any Italian city. Of the many things Alex had to thank Signora for, learning to cook authentic Italian food was one of them. Rather than buying the pre-packaged pasta, Alex made her own, some soft and smooth tortellini that she twisted around a ball of fresh cheeses seasoned with spices. While the pasta cooked, she made a tomato and cream sauce that was Signora’s favorite and warmed the freshly baked bread she found in a pastry shop. She was just cleaning up her work area and preparing to call everyone in when Nicolas stepped into the room.
He eyed her with interest and walked over to the stove to see what she had cooked. He lifted the wooden spoon and gave Alex a questioning look. She nodded and watched as he dipped the spoon into the sauce. Alex swallowed hard with trepidation as he blew gently on the steaming sauce, with his lips puckered and his eyes closed to avoid the steam. When he tasted it, she saw the surprise on his face. He turned toward her.
“It is,” he hesitated, “it is like my grandmother’s sauce. I,” his words faltered. “I have not tasted anything close to this in years.”
Alex smiled. “Then I guess I finally did something right.” She breathed with relief as Maria, Luigi, and Giovanni breezed into the kitchen. Alex could practically see them salivating.
“Please,” she nervously gestured to the table, already set with the china she found in the kitchen cabinets. “sit down, and I will put the food on the table.”
They did as they were told after washing up, and Alex used the beautiful, handmade pasta dishes to serve the meal. They said grace with their heads bowed, and then they all dug in like they were ravenous.
Over dinner, Maria, Luigi, and Giovanni told tales about growing up on the vineyard. They were, it turned out, the children of Nicolas’ aunt on his father’s side, cousins to Nicolas but not related to Signora. Alex marveled at their tales and found herself feeling giddy from the stories, laughter, food, and no doubt, the wine. She almost felt at home, except for the weight of Nicolas’ silence and his heavy stare, a constant reminder that he would never accept her as one of them, no matter how good a cook she was.
When the meal was over, Luigi and Nicolas went to the living room to watch soccer—which Alex learned was calcio in Italian—while Alex and Maria cleared the table and washed and dried the dishes. Maria tried to insist that Alex let her do the work since Alex had cooked, but Alex resisted giving up this chance to be a part of the family, even if only in her own mind. Giovanni made a hasty exit, taking home a helping of the pasta and sauce to his wife and baby. He gave Alex the customary two-cheek kisses before leaving and told her how much his wife would love to meet her. Alex’s heart melted, and she insisted that she and the baby come over the next time they all shared a meal. That was when Alex learned that they all ate together every Sunday afternoon after Mass, an old-world custom that their family had kept up through the years. Alex looked forward to meeting Adriana and baby Marco that weekend, that is, if Nicolas didn’t put his foot down and forbid her from going. Just let him try.
After Luigi and Maria said their goodbyes, Alex and Nicolas stood in the awkward silence.
“I’m going to go to bed and read for a bit,” Alex finally said. She turned toward the steps, but Nicolas reached for her arm and stopped her.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, “for dinner. It was buonissimo.”
Alex blushed and gently pulled her arm from his loose grip. “You’re welcome, Nicolas.” She took a step and then stopped and turned back to him. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I never wanted this.” At that moment, Alex wasn’t sure if she meant the inheritance or the lingering animosity between them. “I just, I just wanted a family, and Signora gave that to me for the short time I took care of her. It was enough for me. I never knew about,” she stopped as the tears began to flow. “I’m sorry,” she said again before fleeing up the stairs to her room, leaving Nicolas behind to ponder her words.
That night, as she lay in bed, the journal that was hidden in the nightstand drawer seemed to whisper to her, as if Isabella’s voice was carried in on the breeze that wafted through the open window. Alex didn’t want to keep any secrets from Nicolas. Perhaps the journal could be the thing to bring them together, a mutual curiosity that could convince him to allow her to be a part of this world into which she had been plunged like Alice into the rabbit hole. She drifted off to sleep with Signora’s ghost whispering in her ear,
While the world goes to pieces all around me, I have found a reason to be happy....
