For six days, the wind had blown from the north across the French countryside. For six days, Nicoletti had been cold. His left shoulder, knee, and hip ached. The only respite from the cold had come in the late afternoons and evenings when he sat near the fire with Marie-Justine’s grandfather and Anne Bertone. If they had been suffering from the cold, they never said. Instead, their days seemed to be filled with laughter and kindness as they went about the daily chores.
Sometime during the night, the wind had stopped. The January sun had found the strength to burn off the morning fog. It heated his shoulders and back as he stood next to the small hilltop cemetery. At his feet, the massive male Great Pyrenees stretched in the pale light, never averting its eyes from the house.
Ten minutes earlier, a well-dressed middle-aged man had arrived in a highly polished black Peugeot sedan. Now the man stood in the driveway in animated conversation, separated from Grand-père and Anne by the female Pyrenees, who acted as an immoveable barrier between them.
The Peugeot departed. Grand-père Joseph went into the house, followed by both dogs. Anne walked toward Nicoletti.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
“He was an estate agent with British buyers. They are looking for a vacation home with a vineyard, and, I might add, are willing to pay an exorbitant sum.”
“What did the old man say?”
“He told him he already had someone to take over the property.” She placed her arm inside his and moved him along the gravel walkway.
“I wasn’t aware he was planning on giving up his home.”
“He’s not. He said the new owner is going to allow him to continue living here until God calls him.”
“Who is this new owner?”
“Don’t know. He said it was someone who would tend the garden and the vineyard. Someone he’s going to teach to make wine. Someone who would respect the family cemetery.”
Nicoletti was quiet as he looked across the hillside vineyard.
“Have you reconsidered leaving with me tomorrow?” she asked.
“Have you considered staying a while longer?” He hugged her. “What will I do without my personal interpreter?”
“I have to get back. I have too much to do back home.” She pulled away from his side. “Seriously, Nico, how long before the real world drags you back?”
“I’m not ready to go back.”
“And I’m not ready to stay.”
They walked a bit farther before turning back toward the house.
“He’s arranged for all of us to have dinner at his favorite restaurant tonight,” she said.
“Why? I thought we’d agreed I’d cook.”
“He has planned it as a little farewell celebration for me, and he wants to introduce you to other grape growers in the valley.”
From the vineyard, Grand-père Joseph called out to them. He was waving a bottle of wine and carrying glasses.
Nicoletti waved. “What is he saying?”
“He said he has something he wants to teach you about the vines.”
“Let’s go,” he said, pulling her hand.
“You go. I’m going back to the house for a while.”
“Come on, please.”
“Nico, he wants to talk to you. He’s only carrying two glasses.”
THE END