“How are you going to make this ‘unfermented’ wine, Grant?” Marissa hid her wince. She didn’t even like saying that name. “What do you want me to do?”
“Yes, what will we need, son?” Mrs. Winston swept an assessing eye around her kitchen. “If you tell us, we can have things clean and ready by the time you have picked the grapes. It sounds rather like my preserving and jelly-making equipment might be helpful.”
“We’ll need the largest pan you have, Mother. We’re going to cook the grapes a little and then squeeze the juice out through some sort of cloth, put it in the bottles and cork them.”
“My cheese cloth for making jelly will be useful then.”
“I’ll rely on your cooking ability, Mother. And you’re going to need this, Marissa.” Grant looked into her eyes, slipped his hands around behind her and tied the apron strings she had undone. Her heart skipped, her pulse fluttered and her cheeks warmed.
He gave her a slow, lopsided grin, leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. The warmth in her cheeks increased to a burn.
He chuckled, turned and lifted the basket of wine bottles to the sink cupboard. “One good thing is, with all this rain we won’t have to wash the grapes because there’ll be no dust on them.” He gave them a jaunty wave. “I won’t be long.”
She hoped not.
“It’s good to see him happy again. He’s been worried for some time.” Mrs. Winston turned from the door and looked at her. “You and Grant are good for each other, Marissa. It makes my heart happy to see you together. I’m so glad God is working things out.”
She smiled at Mrs. Winston’s declaration of faith. It made hers more certain. “He truly is. You told me that with God all things are possible, Mrs. Winston. And I know now that you were right.” She moved to the sink cupboard and began placing bottles in the hot water. “I have learned so much about having faith in God from you. I’m still working on trusting people. That’s...difficult for me.” She lifted a bottle from the water, placed her palm tightly over the mouth and shook it so hard the curls on her forehead bobbed.
“That’s understandable, Marissa, after all you have suffered.” Mrs. Winston cleared everything from the top of the long worktable and washed it off with a soapy rag. “I’m so happy for your mother and father. It’s not often that we have a second chance in this life. Have you any notion of when you will hear from them?”
“No. But I don’t really mind, as long as Mother is safe now.” She rinsed the bottle, set it upside down to drain and began shaking another. “I have...well...I have...”
“Grant?” Mrs. Winston laughed and rinsed off the tabletop.
“Yes, but I was going to say...you.” She rinsed and set the bottle to drain, and began another. “Grant doesn’t really fit too well as a—”
“A what, dear?” Mrs. Winston stepped into the pantry and came out a moment later carrying a huge deep pan filled with ladles and funnels and cloth.
“An adoptive mother.”
“Marissa!” The pan clanged against the tabletop. Mrs. Winston came and gave her a fierce hug. “You have become such a large part of my life, Marissa. I couldn’t love you more if you were my daughter. And if the Lord be willing— But let’s leave that in His hands. He holds tomorrow.”
* * *
“They won’t heat any faster because we stand here and stare at them.”
“You’re right, Mother.” Grant stole a last look at the concords in the huge granite pan on the stove. So much depended on this experiment. His stomach churned. He resisted the temptation to check the dampers once more and turned away from the stove. “I’m going out on the porch while the grapes heat. Would you ladies care to join me? There’s nothing more to be done in here until it’s time to strain the heated grapes.” He stepped forward and held the door open for them.
“Ah, it feels good out here. The air’s refreshing after the warm kitchen.” His mother started for the swing, veered off toward a chair at the table.
“Take the swing, Mother, it’s more relaxing. And you and Marissa have been working hard.” He plunked his right hip and thigh on the porch railing, leaned back against the post and swung his free foot back and forth.
What if it didn’t work? He was so sure this morning when his mother had mentioned the turned milk and Louis Pasteur’s name had popped into his head that it was God “establishing his thoughts” the way his mother talked about so often, but now...
His foot jerked. He wanted to go in and look at those grapes. Or at least pace around the porch. He’d give it another few minutes and then go in and stir them. He didn’t want them sticking to the pan or burning or anything. Lord, please let this experiment work.
He blew out a breath, looked out over the vines. If the experiment did work, he’d have to go see Walter Taylor about increasing that mortgage or taking out a note.
“Grant...”
He shifted his gaze to Marissa, wanted to get off the railing and go over and take her in his arms. She was so sweet and beautiful...and with just enough “saucy” in her to make him ache when he looked at her.
“You’ve explained about the ‘unfermented wine.’ But I don’t understand why it’s so important.” A frown creased Marissa’s smooth forehead. “Why do you want to make it?”
So that I can marry you.
“I was wondering that myself, Grant.”
His mother’s gaze was fastened on him, studying him. How could he explain the dire importance of this experiment? He didn’t want to tell Marissa he was without funds and had no way of making money to support her. If it didn’t work... But that wasn’t the only reason. Not any longer.
He started to lift his hand to rub his neck, saw his mother’s gaze flicker toward it and instead waved it toward the vineyard. “There are a lot of vines out there that produce an abundance of grapes. And the sale of those grapes at harvest provides our living. It’s what I’ve always known...what I’ve always done.”
He locked his gaze on Marissa’s and smiled. “And then I boarded a steamer for Chautauqua, saw a young lady who seemed in a bit of distress, offered my assistance and my life changed. Suddenly, all I’d known was challenged. And things I had not known of were presented in a sobering way. My eyes were opened to the abuse of women and children by men who overindulge in strong drink, and I learned of the suffering and misery that can be the result of imbibing. I, also, learned of the possible agony of the drinker. And conviction grew in my heart until I could no longer say, ‘I only grow grapes. I don’t make wine.’”
He glanced at his mother and read the understanding in her eyes. She knew of the debt and that the money he should have had was gone. He took a breath and told the rest of it. “And then Sarah Swan came to the house. When I opened the door, she said ‘Tobin has been at the wine.’ And I saw her condition, and I knew I could never be a part of that again.”
He glanced out over the railing. “But there are all those vines. And years of work to improve the vineyard. Still...there was the truth of Sarah Swan. And I couldn’t reconcile the two.”
He faced them again. “So last night I told the Lord I would not grow grapes to sell to vintners ever again. And I asked Him to show me what to do. This morning I believe He did. And that is why this ‘unfermented wine’ is so important. As Marissa said a short while ago, we will be the vintners. And our ‘unfermented wine’ will harm no one.”
“Oh, Grant...” Marissa launched herself from the swing and threw herself into his arms. He held her close and looked at his mother over the top of her blond curls. The look in his mother’s eyes was one he would hold in his heart forever.
“I’ve never been more proud of you, son.” Her calm voice said more than her words. She smiled and rose from the swing. “And now I’m going to go check on those grapes.”
* * *
“This is the last of it. When these bottles are filled and in the hot water, we’re finished—except for cleaning the kitchen.” Grant tilted the liquid in the large pan into the pitcher his mother held, then placed the empty pan on the sink cupboard and walked to the other end of the table. Steam from the waiting pan on the stove made a cloud behind him as he took up his position ready to seal the bottles that his mother and Marissa filled.
“Hold the bottle steady, Marissa. It wants to tip over.”
“I’ve got it. Don’t pour too fast. It’s almost full.”
“All right. Get ready. Here it comes.”
He looked down the table and watched his mother tip the pitcher, smiled as the deep purple liquid slid off the lip into the funnel Marissa held, then streamed out the bottom into the wine bottle.
“It’s almost full... Stop!”
Marissa shifted the funnel to the next bottle in line, then handed him the filled one and smiled when their fingers touched.
He stoppered the bottle, seated the cork firmly with a quick hit of his palm, then took the bottle to the stove and sealed it with hot wax. Twenty-four finished bottles sat on the eating table. This last batch would give him twelve more. Please, Lord, let this work. And let this “unfermented wine” taste delicious.
* * *
“Well, that was a deal of cooperation with each of us doing our specific tasks. We work well together.” Mrs. Winston pushed at her hair and smiled. “We got into a rhythm that served us well.”
“We did indeed.” Marissa’s smile made his pulse jump. “It’s fortunate your mother has that long table, Grant. It would have been difficult to do the work without it.”
“I’ll say.” Mrs. Winston shook her head and looked at him, concern and a question in her eyes. “That was only a few of the harvest leavings. Imagine bottling wagonloads of grapes. You’re going to need a barn, Grant. And workers.”
“If the experiment works.” Grant stared at the bottles of his unfermented wine, acutely aware of his lack of experience. “So, how many days do you think it should set before we try it?”
“It’s your experiment, Grant.”
“True.” He directed a wry smile toward his mother. “But I’m relying on your cooking skills to provide the answers to any questions that crop up.”
“I see.” She laughed and handed him one of the bottles. “If it’s the taste you want to know about, you could open one at any time. If you want to know for certain that your experiment killed all of the yeast, well...that will take some time.”
“Putting it off won’t change anything, will it, Grant?”
“Only my peace of mind, Marissa.” He gave her a wry smile. “And right now I don’t have much of that.” He sucked in a long breath and ran his thumbnail in a circle between the cork and bottle to break the wax seal. The cork came free with a loud pop. “Well...” He poured a little of the liquid in the bottle into a glass and held it out to his mother, poured more and offered it to Marissa. She shook her head.
“I—I can’t, Grant. I’m sorry. I know you say it is without alcohol, but it’s still wine.” A shudder shook her. “Even the bottle...”
“I should have thought of that.” He frowned and put down the glass. “I’m sorry, Marissa. A winery was the only place I could get the bottles and other supplies quickly. But I’ll keep that in mind if—when—we begin bottling.” He glanced at his mother.
“He’s brought you this far, Grant. Have faith.”
He nodded and picked up his glass. Marissa moved to his side, out of his way. Please, Lord... He took a swallow, grinned and took another. “Mother...”
She looked up from her glass and smiled. “It’s delicious, Grant. It tastes like grapes right off the vine.” Pride of him shone in her eyes, but that shadow of concern was still lurking in their depts. “What is your next step?”
“Well, since this has all come about this morning, I’ll have to give that some thought.” He emptied his glass, looked down at Marissa and smiled. “Right now I’m going to walk Marissa home.” He took her hand and led her out into the hall.
“Was your...drink...really delicious, Grant?”
He closed the front door, offered Marissa his arm and nodded. “It was so good it surprised me.”
“Then I think what you might do is take your ‘unfermented wine’ some place where there are a lot of people and give them each a taste to see if they like it. Or, perhaps, you might offer it at church for Communion. I’m certain there are a lot of people there who would give you an honest opinion as to whether they like it or not.”
He stopped, stared down at her. “Those are very good ideas, Marissa.”
She laughed and tugged his arm to start walking again. “You needn’t look shocked. I simply took your idea of having the three of us taste it and made it larger.”
“Considerably so.” He squeezed her hand. “Have you any other ideas?”
“Not for the present, but for after.”
His heart lurched. Did she mean... “After?”
“Yes, you know...for after you are making your ‘unfermented wine.’” She cast a sidelong look up at him.
He swallowed his disappointment. “And what are those ideas?”
“First, I believe you should use bottles that are very different from wine bottles so that people don’t get them confused. And so people like me don’t connect...unpleasant...memories with them and thus refuse to buy your wine.” She glanced up at him again. “And second, I believe you should have a statement on your label that states that your ‘unfermented wine’ may be enjoyed by children. And a second statement on your label telling everyone that there is no alcohol in your drink and therefore no danger in drinking it.”
“And, again, those are very good ideas.” He led her away from the hotel, guided her to the other side of the road by the railroad station and stopped at their “secret place” under the tree. He leaned against the tree trunk, took hold of her hand and pulled her around in front of him. “I never knew you had such a talent for business, Marissa. I’m impressed.” He caught her hands in his and lifted them to his mouth, kissed their palms and the place where her pulse was skipping and fluttering on the inside of her wrists. “Have you any more ideas?”
“A few.” She yielded when he tugged her hands and pulled her close to him. “But it might be better to save them for another time.”
“Then I’ll ask you a few questions.”
She stared up at him and nodded. “All right...”
“First, do you think you could live looking at the grapevines every day now that you know the grapes would not be used to make wine?”
Her hands trembled. The pulse under his fingers at her wrists raced. “I believe I could manage that.”
He gave a little tug. She fell against him. His heart slammed against his chest. He slid his arms around her and kissed her temple, the warm, soft spot in front of her ear. “And do you think you would find it acceptable to live in a house with your husband’s mother?” He slid his lips along her cheek, kissed the corner of her mouth.
“I think that...would be...lovely.” Her words were soft, breathless. Her face turned, her lips seeking his.
His heart thudded. His pulse surged. “Then when I get this—” He couldn’t resist; he captured her seeking lips, took them prisoner. “—‘unfermented wine’ business running—” Her lips trembled against his, parted. He whispered against their soft fullness, “—Will you marry me?”
She pulled away, leaned back and gave him a smile that took his breath. “I would not marry you while you had a part in making wine, Grant, but that’s over now. Yes, with all my heart yes. I’ll marry you.”
He crushed her to him, pressed his cheek against her curls. The joy at the thought of having her for his own, and the need to do what was right, all but maddened him. He pulled in a long breath and prayed for strength.
“I want that more than anything, Marissa. But I can’t marry you until I know I can provide for you. And that will be at least a year.” He cleared the huskiness from his voice and lifted his head to look down at her. “I have to borrow the money to build a barn and buy equipment so I’ll be ready to make the ‘unfermented wine’ next fall. But once the ‘unfermented wine’ is sold and I pay off the debt, I’ll have enough to provide a good living. Until then, we have to wait.” The words were a knife to his heart.
“Let me go, Grant.” She slipped the purse cord from her wrist, pulled out a piece of paper, then looked up at him and smiled. “This is a bank draft, Grant. The one I told you my father gave me to pay for my living expenses until they settle in a new place and send for me. What I didn’t tell you is that my father is a very wealthy man and this draft is for a very large amount. Now, since it’s for my living expenses—” that saucy look he loved stole into her eyes and her smile “—and if we marry I’d be living in your home, this money would rightly belong to you. And I’m quite certain there’s enough here to build a barn—”
His kiss smothered the rest of her words. She answered it with all of her love, then leaned against him weak-kneed and trembling when he lifted his head.
“It will be a loan, Marissa, to be paid back when the ‘unfermented wine’ is sold.”
She burrowed her face into the hollow of his neck and smiled at the husky fierceness in his voice. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Very well. And as we are making conditions—”
“Yes?”
She lifted her head and kissed his neck just below his jaw. “You must agree to change the name of your drink to ‘grape juice’ and never call it ‘unfermented wine’ again.” She ended her request with a kiss to the small hollow beneath his lip.
His breath hissed from him. His arms tightened around her and his lips captured hers, sealing the bargain.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from FROM BOSS TO BRIDEGROOM by Karen Kirst.