| |
“The roof is finished,” Alex told Nicolas when she went to make his lunch.
“At last. I fell weeks ago.”
“Nicolas, you know we had a lot of catching up to do,” she said from the kitchen. “We’re doing the best we can, but the roof could wait.”
Nicolas scowled at her as she handed him the gnocchi soup made with sausage and spinach. “Soup is winter food. I am tired of soup.”
“But Adrianna made it, and it’s easy to heat up when I need to get back to work.” Alex sat in the chair and blew on her soup before sipping it from her spoon. “Tomorrow, we will begin picking grapes for the pied de cuvée. The yeast tank is ready, and Luigi and Giovanni have already chosen the area where we will start picking. I’m actually excited. I’ve used yeast but I never knew how it was actually cultivated and can’t wait to be a part of the process. I’m amazed every day by the new things I am learning.” Alex held her hand out in front of her and turned it from front to back. “Alas, it won't be much longer that my hands will be this color. Soon, they will be tinged with purple.” She smiled at Nicolas who was intently watching her, his scowl replaced by... something unreadable. “What?”
“I do not think you have ever looked so beautiful.” The teasing and playfulness that he had displayed over the past few weeks was gone, replaced by an affectionately serious tone and expression.
“Are you crazy?” Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and grape juice stained her clothes. There was dirt on her cheek and forehead, and she could feel the sweat pooling in places she didn’t know she could sweat.
“I know that you are part owner of Belle Uve, but you are doing more than you thought you would be doing for your first harvest. You have learned so much so quickly. You are not the girl who arrived here in June.”
Alex smiled and looked down at her soup. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t let the vineyard fail. It’s our future.” She looked back up at Nicolas, and their eyes met. Alex felt a stir below her groin, and she marveled at how just a simple look from him could send heat through her body.
Nicolas put his spoon down on the tray without taking his eyes off of her. He licked his lips, and Alex felt her body growing weaker. “Alex, I,” he faltered. “Thank you. For taking care of me, of the vineyard, the villa. I do not know what I would do without you.”
“It's nothing.” Alex dismissed his thanks and hastily spooned soup into her mouth. There was not time to be sentimental, and she needed to concentrate on work. “I’m full. Are you finished with your soup?” She looked back at Nicolas. His bowl was still full.
Nicolas looked down at his lunch. “No, I am not finished.”
“Allora. I’ll be back later.”
She stood quickly and raced from the room. Dropping her dish into the sink, she fled through the back door unwilling to explore the feelings that stirred in her or the heaviness of Nicolas’ gaze. With the playfulness gone, and his senses fully restored, Alex wasn’t sure how he felt about her, how he truly felt about them, but she hoped and prayed that what she thought was happening between them was real. Spending the rest of the afternoon away from him would give her time to gather the confidence to find out.
It was late by the time Alex returned, almost dark. Nicolas’ bowl sat on the tray that he had pushed to the side of the bed. He had been dozing when Alex closed the back door and began rummaging through the refrigerator for dinner.
Nicolas sat quietly and watched Alex heat up leftovers from the previous night. He could tell that she was exhausted. Several times she stopped and rubbed the back of her neck or her lower back. He knew all too well what a long day in the field under the hot sun could do, and she hadn’t even begun picking grapes yet. The days would only get longer and harder. Her beautiful, soft hands will become red from the sun and, when the red grape harvest begins, spotted purple with grape juice. They will bleed and cramp. Her neck, back, and shoulders will ache from standing all day and from reaching into the vines. She will be more tired than ever before in her life. Nicolas wished he could spare her the exhaustion and the pain. He had envisioned easing her into this part of the business - picking grapes some of the day but mostly being a part of the actual winemaking process. He never intended for her to do the daily labor of the harvest.
Sure, it amused him at first. He thought of all kinds of backbreaking tasks she could be assigned. After a while, his thoughts turned to whatever tasks would force her to be next to him. He wanted to share the intimacy of tasting the first grapes, seeing the sun on her hair as they greeted the morning and went to their task, side by side, and collapsing into each other’s arms after dusk when the dirt and the sweat didn’t matter because they were sharing the same prize. But now, she would be doing the work, and he would be lying in bed watching from the window. Would she resent him in time? Would she quit and go home with the realization that this was not the romantic wine-country life she imagined?
He continued to watch as she straightened up, took down her long hair and retied it behind her head, and splashed cold water on her face. No, she would not leave. Somehow he knew that this was the life she was meant to live, and she knew it, too. It made her stronger, more confident, happier and healthier. She was not the same girl who ran from the States looking for a new life. She had become his, and that had changed them both.
“What are you thinking?” Alex asked when she turned and saw Nicolas staring at her. She smiled and curtsied. “How stunning I am in the fashion of the season, dirt and sweat?”
“Something like that,” he answered and returned her smile.
“I’ll make dinner as soon as I’ve taken a quick shower. I hope you don’t mind leftovers.” She busied herself, and he could tell she was nervous. She poured herself a glass of wine and, for him, a glass of iced tea. Though not something he was accustomed to drinking, he was growing used to it, so Alex made sure there was always a fresh pitcher on hand.
“That is fine. Are you too tired to read tonight?” He knew it was unfair, that she was indeed too tired, but the thought of saying goodnight and watching her go upstairs was depressing.
“Sure. I think I can manage a second wind after I shower and eat.”
“Sì, do whatever you need to do. I have not called Mamma today. I will do that while you shower.”
“Good idea. She’s probably trying to let you rest, but I’m sure she’s dying to call every time she turns around.”
“You know her well,” Nicolas smiled. “I will put her mind at ease.”
“I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be right back.”
“Allora, I am not going anywhere.” But he didn’t want her to take her time. As soon as she left, he wanted her back.
Fifteen minutes crawled by. Nicolas chatted with his mother and then watched some of the soccer game, but it did not entertain him. When Alex returned, she wore a pink nightshirt and shorts. Her hair was wet, and he knew that it would smell of strawberries and vanilla. Her cheeks were rosy from the sun, but her eyes revealed her fatigue. Even so, she began making dinner without complaint.
When Alex served their food, Nicolas ate his pasta while stealing looks at her. The longer he was in this bed, the more he thought about her. It wasn’t that he didn’t think about her before, but now, she consumed his mind. Each time she left the room, it was as if she took all of the air with her, and he struggled to breathe. The only way not to suffocate was to think about her. It was as if she gave him life with her very presence.
They ate in silence, Alex claiming she was too tired for conversation and saving her energy for reading, while Nicolas was lost in his thoughts. When he was on pain medication, he could speak his mind, tease her, try to embarrass her for his own amusement; but now he was only taking Ibuprofen as needed. He couldn’t say such things without wanting more, without wanting to take his teasing and turn it into passion.
After cleaning up from dinner, Alex settled beside Nicolas on the bed. She reached for her iPad so that she could use her translation app and opened the journal. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow as the sound of her voice filled the room.
––––––––
July 29, 1943
We have been listening to the wireless. General Eisenhower of the United States has said that the Americans come in peace and that Italy is to cease all aid to Germany. In return, the Americans will “deliver you from the horrors of war.” But we cannot be delivered from the horrors of our dreams. The sound of the planes overhead, the bombings, the return of our solders, barely alive, and the loss of those buried in some unknown city in unmarked graves are all things that will live on in our hearts and minds. How are we to forget? How are we to trust a new army, a new wave of invaders? I fear that the war is not ending for Italy but that it has just begun. Roberto agreed to see me today. I have cried for two days over the possible loss of his love and the loss of our future children, but he finally agreed to see me. We cried together.
August 7, 1943
The Germans are here. While the Allies continue to fight for the South, the Germans invade the North. Papà says that our town is too small with too few treasures to interest the Germans, but is that true? Will they not seek refuge wherever they can and plunder whatever they deem as riches? Will they claim our women as their own and subject us to a fate worse than death? I have saved myself for all of these years, and am still waiting for Roberto and me to be married. Am I waiting in vain for some German soldier to do to me what it is reported that they have done to women throughout Europe? Will the Americans or the British do the same? These are the thoughts that come to me when I lie in bed at night and hear the planes fly overhead. Even on nights when there is silence, I wait for the peace to be broken by screams.
––––––––
August 10, 1943
Roberto and I went on a picnic this afternoon. It sounds silly, I know, to go on a picnic when we are in the midst of war, but we needed the time to be together, to rebuild what we have. For two hours, we left the war and the world behind. Mamma let us take a bottle of wine, the first we’ve had since the war began. Papà said it was a gift, but he would not say from whom. We drank it slowly, but I still felt the effects. Roberto learned to drink quite a lot during his time in the army, but I am still young in comparison and am not usually allowed to have so much at one time. It tasted much better than the Communion wine with which I am familiar. I was surprised, at first, that Mamma would allow us to have it, but she said that we are no longer children. She is right. We have aged many years in such a short time.
After we ate, Roberto became quiet for a time and then told me that he had something to share with me. He took a book from his satchel. It was worn, and the cover was torn. I could tell that he was nervous and maybe a little embarrassed. He read to me words he wrote with his own hand while at war:
I am alone in the night, but I see your eyes in the stars.
My heart yearns for you, but I hear your voice in my dreams.
I weep, and the rain comes down from the sky.
I know that you weep for me, too.
Look to the moon and know that I will follow its light until it shines
upon your face.
Cry no more. I am coming home to you.
I did not know that my cheeks were wet with tears until Roberto leaned over and kissed them away. “Do you not like it?” he asked me. I told him I loved it, but my words were barely a whisper. “I do not wish to make you cry,” he said. “Then make me stop,” I said back, and he kissed me again, not on the cheek, but on my lips, the way he did in the loft those many months ago.
I found myself moving, lying back on the blanket with him over me. He kissed me, and I kissed him back in a way I never thought I could. He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my ear, my neck. He whispered words of love, and I longed for more. I felt a deep need to show him that he is no less a man, that he will always be whole and perfect to me.
“I am ready,” I told him, but he stopped. “You are not,” he said to me. I begged him, but he would not listen. “Soon,” he promised, and he sat up, pulling me with him. I was ashamed, and he knew it. “I love you,” he told me. “Soon.” I love him, too, and I will wait.
Alex closed the book and looked at Nicolas. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, and she swallowed as she gazed at him. He was looking at her in the same way she imagined Roberto looked at Isa.
“Alessandra,” he whispered as he moved his face toward hers. He saw her close her eyes and lean toward him, and the room became dark as he, too, closed his eyes and tasted her sweet lips. She turned toward him and curled an arm around his neck as their kisses grew in urgency. Using his one good arm, he pulled her close to him. In that instant, his body betrayed him as pain shot through his chest. He gasped for breath.
“Nicolas, are you okay?” Alex jumped up from the bed, her eyes wide with fright, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks brushed by the stubble of his beard.
“Sì,” he said and closed his eyes. He opened them and looked at her as a smile formed on his face. “Like Isa, I am not ready.”
He watched Alex smooth her hair and pull her nightshirt farther down over her shorts. She looked down, and her cheeks reddened from more than his beard. “Truthfully, neither am I,” she whispered before bending to kiss him on the cheek. “Soon,” she promised before hurrying up stairs.
“Mmmm,” Nicolas nodded as he chewed the green grape. “Perfecto. It is time.”
“We all thought so, too. Maria is already on the phone calling everyone in. It looks like we will be able to harvest the white grapes and begin fermenting them just in time to begin drying the red grapes. The vats are clean and ready, and it’s going to be a perfect day. How about joining us?”
Nicolas looked up at Alex. “Joining you?”
“Sì, your ribs should be well enough for you to get into your chair and go outside for a while. You’re getting around a little more.”
“I do not think that dragging my leg to the toilet is getting around more.”
“But you’re doing it without pain. So, do you want to come outside or not?”
His face lit up. “Sì! Andiamo.” Nicolas reached for her hand so she could help him get to the side of the bed.
“Allora, let’s go,” Alex said as she helped him move into the wheelchair. “Oh, wait,” she called as she flew to the closet and searched for a baseball cap. “You wouldn’t be in your proper work uniform without your hat to protect your face.”
Nicolas put on the cap, and Alex pushed the chair toward the door. She maneuvered the chair out onto the porch and down the ramp that Luigi had secured in place weeks prior, when Nicolas had first come home.
They went around the house to the chosen field, and everyone stopped to watch them approach. All at once, the cousins and all of the hired harvesters began clapping. Nicolas bent over in the chair in a mock bow and thanked them for their applause. Luigi and Giovanni took turns pushing the chair through the field so that Nicolas could be near them as they picked the grapes. They maneuvered the chair as close to the vines as they could so that Nicolas could reach the outer branches. Now and then, he pointed out an inner bunch of grapes that had been missed, and Alex popped more than one into her mouth as they went along.
By lunchtime, they were all tired and hungry but pleased with the progress they had made. The tractor was full and ready to be emptied onto the crush pad where a second check of the quality of the grapes was to be done after a quick lunch. They ate quickly and went back to work. Luigi returned to the field with the workers to gather a second load while Alex, Maria, and Giovanni remained in the winery to tend to the harvested grapes. Nicolas insisted on remaining with them and was able to sit comfortably by the pad. Sorting was tedious with only one arm, but Nicolas tried hard to keep up with the others.
As Maria, Alex, and Nicolas inspected the grapes, Giovanni prepared the fermentation tank. The grapes were crushed, separated from the bits of leaves and vines, and warmed before being put into the tank where they were mixed with bubbling CO2 to remove the oxygen. The process was repeated with the second batch, and everything was left to sit in the warming tank for fermentation to begin. Next, the group used power washers to strip clean every basket and the crush pad. Nicolas was of no use in the cleanup with an arm and a leg in his cast, so he returned to the house.
It was almost dark when Alex came inside and was met with a pleasant surprise.
“What is that smell?”
“I could ask you the same,” Nicolas teased.
“Very funny.” Alex lifted the lid off of the pan and savored the heavenly scent. “You cooked? How?”
“It was slow, but I was able to make a simple dinner. I hope you don’t mind spaghetti and Bolognese sauce. It is not fancy, but hopefully it will taste good.”
“Anything will taste good right now. Do I have time to shower?”
“I am not eating with you unless you do,” Nicolas laughed.
“You just wait. Next year I’ll be saying the same thing to you.” Alex headed up the stairs and Nicolas thought about her words. Next year, he would indeed be just as sweaty and dirty as she is now, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it, including the showers they could take together.
August 15, 1943
It is the Feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, but we did not go to Mass, and the traditional street celebration has been cancelled. For many weeks now, Papà and I have been working at night to dig a shelter to protect us from bombs. Tonight, we huddle there with only a small candle lighting the pitch blackness of our hiding place. It smells of dirt and sweat with all of us down here - Mamma, Papà, Nonno, Nonna, and me. My sweet Nonno worries about his vineyard.
For the past several nights, Milan has been under air attack. There are fears that Leonardo’s Last Supper will not survive these continuous attacks. We hear the planes as they fly overhead, and sometimes, we can hear nearby explosions. Thus far, our grapes have been spared, but Papà says that everything is a target. We believed that the Allies would liberate us from the Germans, but they bomb our cities instead.
Mamma says it is time to extinguish the candle. I know I will not sleep tonight in this dark cellar filled with the smell of sweat and fear. I pray for my family and for Roberto’s family. May there be peace in Italy soon.
“But there wasn’t, not for a long time.” Alex looked up at Nicolas.
“No, bella, not for a very long time. That was just the beginning of the bombing here in the North Country. And then raids began, and the killing of our people by the Germans.”
“What do you mean by raids? Houses?”
“Everything. Mostly the museums and churches. The Germans began taking everything out of Italy, all of the world's treasures that had been here for hundreds, even thousands of years.”
“But didn't the Allies get most of them back?”
“Sì, but the Italians did not trust them either. They believed that the Allies wanted the treasures for themselves. And it took some time before the Allies understood the consequences of the bombings.”
“The Last Supper, it was unharmed, right?”
“Sì, but for a small corner. It is still considered a great miracle that it survives at all, the bombing, the weather, the years. It cannot be explained.”
Nicolas stared ahead, a puzzled expression on his face.
“What is it?” Alex asked.
“The underground shelter. I do not know of one. It is very strange.”
“Maybe they filled it in after the war.”
“Non so. Maybe.”
“Shall I go on?”
“Sì, continua.”
Alex scanned the next entry with her app and continued reading.
August 25, 1943
The Germans have taken all of Central and Northern Italy. The Americans and British are in the South, and Papà says that some of their soldiers are in the occupied areas trying to secure the treasures of our country, of the world. But they continue to bomb our cities. Even Rome is not immune to their weapons. I have lived in Italy all my life and have never been there. By the time the war is over, there might not be anything left to see.
Padre Lorenzo came to see Papà today. They would not allow me to be a part of their meeting, and it offends me. I risked my life to deliver messages for them, but I am not permitted to hear what they are planning next. Papà says that I am to concentrate on helping Roberto because he will be needed. Am I no longer needed? Do I no longer count now that the young men are coming back?
September 3, 1943
The war is over in Italy, but nobody seems to know it. Papà learned that today the Armistice was signed between Italy and the Allies, but the Germans are still here, and the raids and bombings continue. Roberto is now well enough to attend our secret meetings, and I have been allowed back in. We meet underground now. It is no longer safe to meet in the open. German soldiers are going to every city in the north where they are raping the women and stealing everything they believe to be valuable. Our Jewish friends are no longer safe in Italy. They are being killed or sent to Austria. If our part in the war is over, why will the Nazis not go home? Why do they not leave us alone?
The second day of the harvest was even busier than the first. Everyone worked in the fields except for Nicolas and Alex. They stayed with the tanks to ensure that the wine was fermenting properly. Nicolas explained to Alex that the fermenting liquid, called the must, had to be monitored closely the first few days.
“Nicolas, this one is climbing above twenty-four degrees,” Alex frantically called to him.
Quite adept now at maneuvering himself with one hand, Nicolas rolled over to the tank.
“We need to reset the automatic temperature control,” Nicolas said calmly as he made the necessary changes.
“What will we do at night? How will we know that the must isn’t overheating?”
“We will all take turns keeping an eye on the thermostat. It will be fine.”
Nicolas was calmer and more assured than he had been in weeks. He could sense Alex’s relief to have him there to walk her through the processes and routines. They were both grateful that he was not still in bed. They were especially happy that his casts would be removed later that day. The ribs would take a few more weeks to heal completely, but he was no longer taking any medication, and he was able to move more quickly and easily each day.
They turned toward the sound of the tractor approaching the vineyard and watched the rest of the crew unload a new batch of grapes onto the crush pad.
Alex kept track of the temperatures and charted the readings on the gauges while Nicolas helped sort through the grapes on the crush pad. When it came time for them to break for lunch, Alex and Nicolas grabbed their food and headed to the doctor’s office.
On the way home, Alex cautioned Nicolas not to rush his recovery. “You heard what he said. Do not overdo things.”
“Sì, sì, I will be fine.”
“Nicolas, I practically had to wrestle my keys away from you. If I can’t trust you to let me drive, how can I trust you in the fields?”
“I am anxious, sì? I need to be working and not sitting.”
“You were working while you were sitting, and everything is going just fine.”
Alex pulled over to the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” Nicolas asked.
“Look at me, Nicolas. I mean it, really look at me and listen to me.”
He gave her his full attention. “Continua,” he said, not hiding his impatience, and motioned for her to go on.
“You scared the hell out of me. Do you get that?” Nicolas nodded. “Do not ever do anything like that again, put yourself in danger. I know that roofs need to be fixed, things happen, but you must be more careful. And that means not pushing yourself. You need to heal completely. Do you understand me?”
Nicolas couldn't help himself. He reached over and tucked a stray hair behind her ear and let his finger trail down her cheek. She was so beautiful with her hair pulled back, tendrils falling loose around her dirt-smudged face. He smiled.
“Alessandra, do you love me?”
“I, uh, what kind of question is that?” Nicolas grinned at her confusion. It was certainly not the question she had been expecting from him.
“Do you love me?”
“Nicolas, what does that have to do with-”
He reached behind her head and gently pulled her toward him, claiming her with his mouth. Rejoicing in the ability to touch her with both hands, he ran his fingers through her hair as he kissed her hungrily, and she responded by cupping his face with her hands and kissing him back. Forcing himself to tear away from her, he pulled back and looked at Alex.
“Do you love me?” he whispered as he looked deeply into her eyes.
“Sì,” she said breathlessly.
“Then I will do whatever I need to so that I can fully recover. Because I want more of this, more of you.” He pulled her to him again and kissed her even more deeply and more powerfully than the first time before releasing her.
“Now, let us go home and finish work so that we can be alone.”
Alex regained her composure, “Nicolas we can’t-”
“Sì, lo so, but I still want you all to myself.”
Alex smiled. “I can’t argue with that.”
Alex made dinner that evening while the crew was planning who would take which shift during the night. This would be the only night that they would need to closely monitor the tanks. Once they were sure that the controls were working and the must was formatting properly, they would be able to let the machines do the work. That would be when the extracting and tasting would begin, and Alex was looking forward to that. They would need to start the monitoring all over again once they began drying and harvesting the red grapes, but they would have about a week in between to get several nights’ sleep.
When Nicolas came in, he looked robust and energized, not at all what Alex expected.
“You don’t even look tired,” she said as she hugged him. Before she could let go and turn back to the stove, Nicolas tightened his hold on her and kissed her.
“This is what I want to come inside to every evening. It is what I have dreamed of for many nights.”
“A woman putting a hot meal on the table?” Alex teased and pushed him away. Nicolas just laughed and hung his cap on the hook by the door.
“I am going to wash. I trust we are reading tonight?”
“If that’s okay?”
“For now,” he said, and his meaning was not lost on Alex.
September 8, 1943
The Armistice was announced on the wireless today, but the Nazis continue as if nothing has changed. Papà tells us that Germans are going house to house and taking all weapons from our people. There are rumors that American and European art experts are here in Italy to save the ancient ruins, the churches, the art, sculptures, and whatever else the Nazis are taking. But the Germans are delivering notices that these are not experts but thieves and that all valuables must be turned over to the German soldiers for safekeeping. Papà has hidden, in our underground shelter, what little jewelry we have along with the candlesticks he and Mamma received on their wedding day.
I realized today that we have stopped talking about Paolo and wondering when he will come home. It has been many months since we heard from him, and there is no word on his whereabouts. We haven’t even properly mourned him, yet we all assume that he is dead.
September 11, 1943
Yesterday, Rome fell to the Germans. The Vatican remains untouched, though without Mussolini, there is no longer a pact between the Axis powers and the Pope, and the safety of Pius XII is in question. I was permitted to meet with Papà and the others in the cellar this evening. Many of our neighbors are talking about fleeing, but right now, there is nowhere to go. The Germans still control the trains and the borders, and getting travel papers is almost impossible.
Roberto held my hand during the meeting and squeezed it when there was talk about fleeing. I know that he does not want to have to fight again. He would leave our home and begin again if that’s what it came to. I do not want to leave, but I would go. My future is with Roberto, wherever that is.
September 13, 1943
Il Duce came out of hiding yesterday, and it was announced by the Führer that Il Duce is now the head of the Italian Socialist Republic, but Papà assures us that there is no such thing and that he has no power. Fighting continues in the south, but the Allies are making progress. Here in the North, we are still under German rule. No more for tonight. We spent all day in the fields. The harvest has begun. I can barely hold the pen in my cut and swollen fingers.
September 22, 1943
Word has come that almost 5,000 of our soldiers, the men of the 33rd “Aqui” Division in Greek Cephallonia have been executed by the German soldiers and that another 3,000 are lost at sea. We do not know if Paolo might be alive and among them. It was not his regiment, and the last we heard, he was in Tunisia, but there is such chaos with the Italian Army now that we just do not know. When I asked Papà if he might have been with them, it was the first time his name has been spoken aloud in my recent memory. Mamma began crying so hard that I dare not speak it again.
September 29, 1943
The people of Naples have risen up against the German soldiers. All Italians are being called to protect our homeland and to help the Allies remove the Nazis from our country. I fear for Roberto who does not want to go back to war. Surely he cannot be made to fight. He cannot fire a gun, cannot walk long distances. He talks more and more about leaving, but that, too, seems impossible. Some might call him a coward, but I know the truth. He is braver than most men will ever need to be. He faced death and lived.