Twelve
Vivian stood at the edge of the veranda, framing her eyes against the sun. In the distance, Leah and Sadie walked the fields with Mateo Argueta.
If not for the current crisis, the sight of her daughter and granddaughter enjoying the literal fruit of their family’s decades of labor would have been gratifying. She still couldn’t believe they might lose it all.
When she and Leonard made the giant leap to start their own vineyard, neither set of their parents had faith in them. The Hollanders wanted him to continue working at Gelleh Estates in Napa. Her family wanted their new son-in-law to have a proper career, and that meant joining the Freudenberg department store empire. Leonard had his own ideas.
“We’ll make our own dynasty,” Leonard said to her at the time. “It’s you and me against the world.” Madly in love, she made the leap, and they set out for the North Fork. Her parents, appalled, cut her off financially.
What she hadn’t known at the time was that conventional wisdom said that wine grapes would not grow on the North Fork. Yes, Long Island was full of grape trees—native American grape trees, vitis riparia. They had too little sugar and too much acidity to produce good wine. In order for Leonard to produce wine to match the success of his father’s West Coast vineyard, he needed to cultivate vitis vinifera. The vitis vinifera had first been planted in Persia. The Greeks brought vinifera vines from the Middle East back home, and then the imperial Romans took the vines to France, Spain, and Germany. People had been trying to grow the grapes in New York State, but the plants were simply too fragile for the climate.
Vivian and Leonard were determined; Leonard to prove to his father that he could be a winemaker out on his own, and Vivian to follow her heart and show her parents that she was not throwing her life away.
That first season, they planted descendants of the grapes that had grown in Bordeaux—Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Sauvignon Blanc—and also the varietals planted in Burgundy: Pinot Noir and Chardonnay.
They did exhaustive research, and Leonard called on everything he’d learned at his father’s knee. There was no inherent problem with the land: the mix of sand and organic material made it loamy and drain well. The climate was variable but not unlike that of one of the world’s great wine regions, Bordeaux. Leonard was confident that the Napa Valley was not the only place in the country where great wines could be produced.
They used grafted vines and picked out the weak ones before planting. Leonard knew how to recognize the weeds early—dandelion, pepperweed, redweed—and to remove them quickly so they did not compete with the vines for moisture and nutrients. Eventually, Leonard’s father, impressed with their determination, came out to help with the delicate art of pruning. The plants took root, and so did their life together.
It was backbreaking work. Gone were weekends of horseback riding and brunch. Vivian fell into bed each night so exhausted she couldn’t bother to turn out the light. Her legs and arms were covered with bruises and insect bites. But progress was made.
And now this.
Vivian had meant what she’d said to Leonard the night before: Leah had a right to know that the winery was in trouble. And she wanted to tell her now, in person, not after Leah was back in New York City. Leah should know that this summer might be her last at the vineyard so that she could experience it accordingly.
Vivian walked over to the group standing among the blooming Cabernet Franc. Mateo noticed her first and greeted her with a hearty wave.
“Hey there, Mrs. Hollander,” he called out.
“Mateo, these plants are looking wonderful. I haven’t been out since you put up the catch wire.”
Mateo was a big improvement over their previous vineyard manager, Joe Gable. Joe had not only been drinking from the stockroom, he had failed to treat their entire Chardonnay crop for insect control and they’d lost it all. Still, Leonard waited weeks to give Mateo the position. It was as if he couldn’t believe the best candidate for the job was right there under his nose. Vivian had hoped he would hire him but didn’t push, knowing he would say something along the lines of “Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you told me to hire someone? And what happens if it doesn’t work out? I can’t fire Javier’s son. It would be a disaster.”
In the end, his need for a strong right hand in the field won out over his concerns. Now they had the best vineyard manager since the one who worked for them in the seventies and eighties. But apparently, that was not going to solve their problems.
“Hi, Gran,” Sadie said.
“Mom, I’m glad you’re here. I called but kept getting your voicemail,” Leah said.
Vivian barely heard her. Sadie, wearing gardening gloves and holding a pair of pruning shears, was a sight to behold. Her granddaughter’s dark hair and dark eyes resembled the Hollanders more than herself, yet seeing her stand in the same spot where she had stood at that age—a newlywed, a hopeful pioneer—brought the past rushing back. The thought of losing it all felt like a physical blow.
“Sadie, dear, you look very professional. I hope Mateo is teaching you all the tricks of the trade. And in the meantime, I must borrow your mother for a moment,” Vivian said.
Vivian motioned for Leah to follow her, and they walked to the lawn just beyond the veranda. She sat at a picnic bench under a patch of dogwood trees, surrounded by lush foliage: tall grassy stalks of saltmeadow rush, a blaze of orange-red trumpet vines, delicate wild geraniums in pink and white, and the New England asters that always reminded her of purple dandelions.
Leah slid onto the bench across from her, her back to the veranda. Vivian eyed the winery, making sure no one was close enough to overhear them.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
Vivian hesitated. No need to tell her how bad their money problems might be. She would spare her at least that. She contemplated, for a moment, how to ease into the news. The more she thought about it, the more anxious she felt. Best to just rip off the Band-Aid.
“Your father is selling the winery,” Vivian said.
“What? Why?” Leah looked stricken.
“It’s time.”
“Time? It’s our family business. Dad lives for this place.”
Vivian shifted uncomfortably. “Well, things change.”
“Dad always says winemaking is in his blood. That’s not something that changes. Is he sick?”
“No! He’s healthy as a horse.”
“Are you sick?”
“Leah, stop. Your father is fine, I’m fine. It’s just . . . this is for the best.”
“What does Asher say about this?”
“Asher supports this decision.”
Leah jumped up from the bench. “Well, I don’t.”
Surprised by the vehemence of her response, Vivian said, “I know it’s a big change.”
Leah stepped forward and grabbed her hands. “Mom, are you really okay with this? You built this place, too. It’s just as much your business as it is Dad’s.”
Vivian took a moment before saying, “I trust your father.”
She wondered if her daughter noticed the break in her voice.
Leah marched into her father’s office and found Asher sitting on the worn leather couch. His feet were up as he scrolled through his phone.
The walls of the office were filled with framed press clippings about the vineyard and her parents, including her favorite, her mother on the cover of Town & Country magazine in the spring of 1990. She had been photographed in the vineyard, dressed in Escada. The cover read “Earth Mother: Vivian Hollander and the Rise of the Modern Matriarch.”
“Oh, hey, Lee,” Asher said, not looking up.
“How could you not tell me about selling the winery?” she said.
Asher looked up. His expression seemed puzzled. “Tell you? I thought you knew.”
“How would I know?”
He shrugged. “Mom? Dad? Why would I be the one to tell you?”
“I saw you this morning at breakfast. You never thought to mention what’s going on?”
Asher sighed. “Okay, look—I didn’t tell you because I knew it would start a whole big thing and I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Yeah, I’d say it’s a whole big thing. A very big thing!”
“Why are you getting hysterical? You don’t live here. You don’t work here.”
“Are you joking? You think just because I don’t live here anymore I’m not upset to lose this place?”
“Leah, come on. This had to happen at some point. Dad’s getting old.”
She sat next to him. “I thought that was what you’re here for. You’re supposed to be helping him—take some of the pressure off.”
Asher pulled a stress ball out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and tossed it into the air, catching it. “This is what Dad wants. I guess nothing lasts forever.”
“This winery could have lasted a long time. I’m sure Grandpa Samuel would agree with me if he were still here.”
“Why? Gelleh Estates doesn’t exist anymore.”
“But Hollander does—his son’s winery. We’re still a winemaking family.”
“You’re getting all emotional about it. And then you wonder why Dad doesn’t hire more women.”
“Oh, my god, you didn’t really just say that.”
“Say what?” Bridget appeared in the doorway. She wore cutoff denim shorts and a bikini top, her brassy red hair loose and wet, evidently from the swimming pool. Leah glanced at her ring finger.
“Bridget, hi. Congrats on the engagement,” she said, trying to smile.
“Thanks . . . sis.” Bridget winked. “Are you having a fun vacay?” She took a seat in the chair behind Leonard’s desk, her hair dripping onto it. Leah felt her breath catch in her throat. She wouldn’t dare sit at the desk, and she was his daughter.
She exhaled. “I am. But Asher and I are just in the middle of something. Can you excuse us for a few minutes?”
“Sure. No prob,” Bridget said, jumping up. She leaned over and gave Asher a kiss before strolling out of the office.
“Was that necessary?” he said.
“Yes. Unless you want me to say, in front of your new fiancée, that I think you’re dropping the ball.”
He threw the stress ball into the air again and this time caught it with an exaggerated flourish.
“Very funny,” she said. “Asher, you should be fighting to keep the winery in the family.”
“And again, I ask, what do you care?”
“Fine, forget about me. Think about Mom. Whether she admits it or not, I can tell she’s devastated.”
His hand stilled, no longer tossing the ball. For a moment, he said nothing. And then: “She’ll come around. Selling is the right thing to do.”
“What about Javier and Mateo? Have you told them?”
“No. Not yet. I advised Dad to wait until the sale is finalized. We can’t risk losing them when it could take a while for this to go through. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“They have a right to know.”
“Well, Dad agreed with me. Do you really doubt that Dad knows what he’s doing?”
“I doubt that you know what you’re doing. Have you even tried talking him out of this?”
“No,” Asher said. “Because I have no intention of spending the rest of my life with Dad standing over my shoulder, barking orders.”
“So you’re encouraging Dad to sell this place so you can sail off into the sunset with Bridget?”
“Something like that.”
“And what are you going to do for work?”
“Why will I have to worry about work? Do you think he’s selling the winery for peanuts?”
Leah thought about that for a minute. Was her father selling to cash out or selling because the winery was in trouble? If he was in trouble, there might not be money after the sale. Was Asher too dense to realize that?
She thought of the way her mother’s voice had broken when relaying the news. Vivian tried to put up a good front, but Leah knew better.
“Well then,” Leah said, standing up and heading for the door. “Sounds like you’ve got this under control.”
“Always,” he said, grinning. “Really, you should be thanking me.”
“Thanks, big brother.” She knew that her sarcasm was lost on him.
Like everything else she had just tried to say.