Fifty-nine
They formed a circle under a blanket of darkness, the only light coming from the star-filled sky, the full moon, and the flickering candles. The evening had cooled from the low eighties to the seventies, and a breeze blew in off the water.
The ring of women around the veranda was two-deep, and in the center, a table with a large glass jug filled with freshly pressed Chardonnay juice. It was the same carboy her father had been using every year since she was little, as the tiny chips around the rim and scuffs along the sides reminded her. Leah stepped forward, looking at the happy, expectant faces surrounding her. Only her mother looked tense.
“Promising a vintage of rosé is just going to make it that much more humiliating when we announce the closing,” Vivian told Leah in the days leading up to the harvest. She was always so worried about surface appearances, she missed opportunities to make fundamental changes. There was no room for that kind of thinking anymore.
And it was up to Leah to prove that.
“I’m happy to see so many familiar faces here,” she said. “Thank you for joining us to celebrate the most special time of year at the vineyard, the harvest. I’m always reminded at harvest that a fundamental element of wine is terroir, or taste of a place.” Leah had spoken the words countless times over the years during her classes. But they had never meant more to her.
She’d read somewhere that a person could change everything about herself except her place of origin. And she’d seen this truth about the human condition play out in the book club novels: the heroines of each story managed to reinvent themselves, but they were always driven by their childhood experiences. Billy Ikehorn Orsini, no matter how rich and famous she became, was always a shy, overweight girl inside. Lucky Santangelo, no matter how powerful, was still the girl who lost her mother. And Leah, no matter how happy or successful in her life in Manhattan, was still the girl who had stood in that very spot, watching her glamorous mother with her friends, dreaming of the day when she would be a part of the winery herself.
She took a deep breath. “Hollander’s very first vintage of rosé will have a terroir created in part by the places that mean the most to all of us. And since your contributions tonight will literally help create this vintage, we’re offering exclusive presales of the Hollander rosé at the conclusion of the ceremony.” The women nodded, a few murmurs in the crowd. “Now, before we get started I want to say that the tradition we’re sharing tonight was started by our special guest, Maria Eugenia Argueta. Maria, along with her husband, Javier, began our practice of all contributing something to the starter yeast. And because of that, I’d like her to do the honors of adding the first item to the grape juice.”
Maria Eugenia was no taller than five feet, with deep-set black eyes that were still bright and sharp. Her salt-and-pepper hair was thick and wavy, tied back in a loose knot. She looked reluctant to step forward. Of course—the woman had just flown in from another country. Leah hadn’t meant to put her on the spot; she just wanted to give credit where credit was due.
Slowly, Maria Eugenia moved to stand beside Leah. Camera phone flashes went off, and Bridget climbed onto a bench to start shooting.
“Tonight, I give something from the garden outside my husband’s house here, the home where we started our family.” She placed a smooth white stone into the pot.
She returned to her place in the circle, and Vivian stepped forward. She was not reluctant to be the focus of attention. Her flawlessly tailored dress moved along with her like liquid, the gold necklace at her throat glinting in the candlelight. Surrounded by people on the veranda, her vast life’s work on display everywhere Leah could possibly turn to look, Vivian was in her element. She looked every bit the matriarch, the Earth Mother as declared on the cover of Town & Country all those years earlier. She was finally back center stage at her winery, where she belonged.
“My husband and I moved out here nearly fifty years ago when this land was a potato farm,” she said. “His family were vintners back in Argentina. Coming to the North Fork, I hoped we would build something that our children could continue. Something that could be shared for generations. Tonight, you’ve all become part of the future of Hollander Estates. And I thank you so much for being here.”
The crowd applauded, and Vivian’s lower lip trembled. Taking a breath, she said, “The first fruit we planted was our grape crop. But I had a real yearning for apple trees, and so we planted those next, knowing they would take years to bear fruit. And this apple I’m holding is the fruit of that tree.”
Sadie helped her steady the apple to cut off a slice, and Vivian dropped it into the grape juice.
One by one, their guests stepped forward and shared their offerings. Sadie contributed a leaf from outside her dorm: “Bringing my two worlds together.” Delphine brought a crust of bread from one of the restaurants she owned with her husband. Leah added a piece of rind from the English Wensleydale cheese she’d first spotted the day she told Steven she wasn’t returning to New York City. The first day she admitted to herself that her heart had never left those green fields.
When the circle was complete, the contents of the glass jug resembled a bizarre sort of white sangria, the grape juice inside now mixed with flowers and fruit, small stones and twigs. The most interesting part would come over the next twenty-four hours, when fermentation would start. The juice would begin to look fizzy, with fine, tiny bubbles. Her father had taught her that this was not carbonation but “effervescence.” After a few days they would remove all the things they’d added to the juice, strain it using a colander and cheesecloth, and then take a cup of that fermenting juice and add it to steel tanks. But for now, they just had a colorful concoction that held the promise of what was to come.
Vivian stepped forward one more time, clanging her glass until the buzz of the crowd quieted down.
“I want to thank you again for your contributions here tonight. A wise friend once told me, when women gather, there is power.” She turned to look at Delphine, then back to the wider crowd. “And I’ve never felt that more strongly than I do standing here with all of you.”
The women broke into applause, and then the circle closed in, its members gathering around Vivian and Leah, pulling wallets out of their handbags, happily snapping photos of the glass jug, and asking, “Is there a limit to how many cases we can order?”
With her adrenaline pumping, Leah waved Sadie forward to organize a line and start processing the sales. Suddenly, in the shadows of the veranda, she spotted Mateo and Javier. Of course—they couldn’t wait to see Maria Eugenia. Leah beckoned them over, welcoming them. Mateo took quick, long strides to reach his mother, who laughed with delight at the sight of her husband and son. She hugged them both for a long minute, then turned excitedly to Vivian.
“Mrs. Hollander,” she said to Vivian. “I left this winery years ago, thinking my work here was done. My son was grown. When I got the phone call inviting me back, well, I originally just wanted to come to see my son and husband. But standing now with all of you, I see the reason for being here. Just because our children are grown, we are not done. Just because we are older, we are not done. I look at what you and your daughter and granddaughter are doing, and I think: the best is ahead.”
They embraced. Leah looked over at Mateo, but he was already heading over to help Sadie. He touched her shoulder, and the joy on her daughter’s face when she turned around nearly brought tears to Leah’s eyes.
That was when she noticed that Sadie wasn’t the only one getting support from her man: Leonard headed across the veranda straight for Vivian. He put a tentative arm around her mother. Together, they watched the buying frenzy.
Leah felt a pang that Steven wasn’t there to witness it. She pulled her phone out and texted him, Can you come down to the veranda? She waited while the dots appeared, and then:
Do you think I would miss your big moment?
He stepped out from the bushes just off the veranda steps. She hurried over to him.
“So you’ve been spying on me,” she said, smiling.
“Of course. I never know what you’ll get yourself into when we’re apart.” He hugged her. “I’m proud of you.”
She leaned into him, experiencing a flash of memory. It was something he said to her back in the spring, standing behind the counter of the cheese shop.
Change can be a good thing.
The view from the bedroom window was, for the first time in months, a source of pleasure instead of worry. Vivian stared out into the darkness; although she couldn’t see the fields, she was met by the bright half-moon. In the morning, she would open the curtains and look out at the vines, heavy with grapes, confident that the view would be hers for some time to come.
“Vivian, come to bed,” Leonard said. She turned to find him already tucked under the covers. It had only been a short time since he returned to her bed, and it was still a relief every time she saw him in his rightful place.
“I’m too wound up to sleep,” she said, well aware that it was close to eleven. The Harvest Circle had turned into a party that lasted for hours. Even the considerable amount of wine she’d consumed in celebration wasn’t enough to quell her energy.
“I feel the same,” Leonard said.
She walked over to his side of the bed and reached for his hand.
“Come with me,” she said.
“Where?”
“Night swimming,” she said, fully anticipating his rebuff. To her surprise, he climbed out of bed. “Really? You’re coming?”
“As soon as I change into my trunks,” he said.
“Don’t change—let’s just be spontaneous.”
Again, he didn’t protest. Vivian hurried them both down the stairs and outside before he could change his mind.
The late-summer temperatures held in the seventies. In just two days it would officially be fall, and pretty soon after that Leonard would pull out the tarp for the season. It might be one of their last evenings by the pool.
Usually, she wondered where the summer had gone. But this year, she could account for every day, every hour of worry. Thanks to Leah, she could put that behind her. Leah, and also Leonard—for being open to change.
Untying her robe, she inhaled deeply. She felt a tremendous weight off her shoulders, and she knew it wasn’t just her newfound hope for financial stability; it was being unburdened of her secret about the baron.
Leonard pulled an upright chair to the edge of the pool. She pulled off her peignoir and waded into the heated water up to her shoulders.
“You really are in a spontaneous mood tonight,” he said.
“Come in—the water’s heavenly.”
Leonard hesitated. “I’m afraid I’m not as unconstrained as you, Vivian.” He smiled. “I’m just here to keep you company.”
She swam over to the side and held on to the ledge, looking up at him. He was more relaxed than she’d seen him in a long time. Deeply tanned, his white hair in need of a trim, he was as attractive to her as ever. What had led to her moment of betrayal all those years earlier? Maybe, like many women with young children, she’d felt her own needs become invisible. Maybe, because Leonard was consumed with the winery and shut her out of the decision-making, she’d felt neglected or bored or frustrated. Either way, it was one moment of weakness that she was just now able to put behind her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about what happened with the baron,” she said. “I was afraid. And I didn’t want to hurt you. And I didn’t want you to hate me. I just hope you know . . . that nothing like that ever happened again. I love you, Leonard. And I have since the first night I saw you.”
Leonard stood, and for a panicked second she thought he was leaving. But then he unbuttoned his pajama top and stripped down to his boxers before jumping into the pool with a splash. He surfaced, shaking his wet hair from his eyes.
“You’re right—the water’s perfect,” he said, swimming over to her.
“So much for you not being spontaneous,” she said, delighted. He touched her shoulder, his face turning serious.
The water rippled between them. She sensed her heart beating in her chest, her every breath feeling amplified like it always did in the pool.
“Vivian, I wish you’d told me sooner about the baron—not for my sake, but for yours. You didn’t need to carry this alone all these years. I’d have ended the partnership back then myself if you’d told me the truth—not to punish him, but to keep you safe. And I certainly never would have allowed him back. My biggest regret is that you felt you couldn’t confide in me, so I couldn’t do my most important job: taking care of you.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m just thankful we didn’t lose the winery to him.”
Leonard leaned forward and kissed her. “You were right, what you said at the beginning of the summer: the vineyard is something we need to pass on to our family. To our children, and grandchildren, and their children, god willing.”
“And you think you can make that happen?”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “I think we can make that happen.”
Vivian exhaled. Suddenly, it all made sense, every moment of struggle and doubt. It had all been leading to this moment, one of the happiest of her life, standing there above the fake stars. And looking up at the real ones she’d wished upon as a girl.