The Vineyard

The Vineyard

The kitchen at the Moretti Estate was even busier than usual today. It was always somewhat busy on the first day of the harvest, but the events of the past few days had climaxed and come falling here, drawing in every family member in the province. Aunts and mothers bustled about, running after overflowing pots and errant children, chattering and gossiping like hens.
“Awfully hot for this time of year, no?”
“Oh, I know! It’s positively horrible!”
“Did you know that Mrs. Rosso……”
Uncles and fathers came in and out constantly, bringing with them random snippets of conversation and new swirls of dust as the door opened and shut.
“This weather, eh, Franco?”
“Ah, a drought for sure. Dried up half my tomatoes!”
Children ran around, pulling hair and tugging on hair and upsetting bowls.
         The only reprieve from the chaos was the small nook near the back door, positioned at just the right angle to catch the tiny whisps of breeze from the north, a small mercy compared to the blistering heat outside. In this nook sat two women: one old, one young, the latter conversing in soft undertones.
“Oh, Nonna, it’s not fair! Every time he comes over, Pappa frightens him away. What does he have against Tomaso?” The elder woman, known as Nonna, stroked her granddaughter’s hair lovingly, conveying all needed response through that simple action. The girl, Giada, sighed.
“I know he’s looking out for me, but… Ooh, he just makes me so mad! All he cares for any more is this stupid vineyard!”
A crash from the other side of the kitchen made everyone jump and spin to see what had happened. There was a pause, then a shriek of pain from a toddler as he realized what had happened.
“Nonna! Nonna, come quick, Doma’s bleeding!”
Nonna pulled herself from her chair and swept over to the screaming child with surprising agility for someone her age. She touched the child’s mother on the arm and motioned towards the cupboard where the bandages were kept. Giving silent directions, she parted the crowd and inspected the child. She “hmm-ed” softly under her breath and waved her hand in dismissal: it was merely a scratch. Still, she bandaged the boy’s hand and gave him a kiss on the head for healing. He stopped wailing and looked up, sniffling and wiping tears and snot off his face. Suddenly he grinned and threw his arms around Nonna’s neck, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before scampering outside to show his cousins his new wound.
         Giada strolled over to a gaggle of women standing off to the side.
“Zia-Bianca, where’s Zio-Franco” A short, rail thin woman in a vibrant orange smock pointed out the door, eyes narrowing at her niece, for whom she had developed a rather nasty distrust. Giada smiled and ignored her aunt’s glares, and left the room in search of her uncle.
         Outside, the heat and dust were much more intense, making it hard to even breathe. Luckily, Franco wasn’t far from the house.
“Zio-Franco! Come here for a minute!” The short man looked up and, seeing his favourite niece, grinned. He put down his bucket of grapes and strolled over.
“What can I do for you, ma bella bambina?” he asked with a graceful bow.
“You have to talk to Pappa for me, Zio-Franco. He keeps torturing Tomaso, and he’s not listening to anything I say!”
Franco thought for a minute.
“Giada,” he said slowly, “you father wouldn’t listen to me if I were Christ himself. Especially not when you are concerned. What makes you think that would change now?”
Giada flipped her braid over her shoulder and shrugged. “Maybe if you… mention the vineyard deal?”
Franco laughed.
“And get my head bitten off? No, thank you!” Gaining a more serious countenance, he leaned closer and spoke quietly.
“I’ll tell you now, Giada. Unless a miracle happens and this vineyard stays with the family, your father is not going to let you marry Tomaso.” He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Giada heaved an agonized sigh and bowed her head,
“I suppose you’re right.”

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         One week later, the harvest had come in and was being fermented and put into oak barrels. Relatives were preparing to return home, and, as fate would have it, the weather was starting to turn. Franco stood outside the kitchen with his brother, watching the rain clouds slowly advance.
“You know, Paulo, there is life away from this vineyard. Selling it is not the end of civilization.”
Paulo wiped a weary hand across his face.
“I know that, Franco, but it’s been in our family for nine generations. You can’t just let that go easily, you know?” With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall. “And now, with Giada getting engaged to that flop Tomaso…”
“Just how is he a flop?” interrupted Franco. “He’s a successful lawyer. Not a bad match, if you ask me.” Paulo turned to glare at his brother.
“Whose side are you on, here?” he muttered angrily.
“Neither,” Franco laughed, “but with a preference to Giada’s cause.”
Paulo “hmph-ed” and opened the door to the kitchen. He paused and, without turning, addressed his brother.
“Stay out of this, Franco. Let me deal with my own family, and you with yours.” He closed the door behind him.
Franco sighed and looked out over the vineyard.
“Your family and mine are one and the same,” he whispered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
         
For a long time, Nonna had been watching her family in silence, being the matriarch of the family when needed, but staying mostly to the side. What she saw made her heart ache. Giada and her father could barely say two words to each other without fighting, while Elia, Giada’s mother, quietly tried to shush them; Franco ignored them. Worst of all, Nonna could see how the impending loss of the vineyard was bothering her two sons, Paulo especially. She knew how they felt: she had been born and raised in this very house, like them. But she did not see why they let their grief come between them and their families. Paulo could see that Giada was plainly in love with this lawyer Tomaso, but he kept to his belief that it was just a fling, and if not then Giada was too young to marry, despite being five years older than he when he was married. Nonna sighed and looked out her window at the hills of grape vines, glowing in the soft light from the moon. A single tear ran down her cheek, but that was it: just the one. She would not cry anymore more for her home, but would stay strong when her family needed her most.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         “Elia! Where is my good shirt? The buyer will be here in minutes!”
“Mamma! Tell Pappa to let me go to town tonight! Tomaso will be there for business; I must see him!”
“Oy, Paulo! Why didn’t you tell me the buyer was coming today?”
“Oh, for the love of… Domani, you get away from there this instant!”
         As usual, the kitchen was in an uproar. Clothing was strewn about, people scurried every which-way, and the pots on the stove were spewing steam constantly, which is probably why Giada and her father collided at full speed.
“Watch where you’re going, girl! You could have killed me!”
“You’re the one that ran in to me!” Giada huffed and stood up. “You never listen to me you… you…” She was cut off by an enraged howl from her father.
“You watch your tongue girl, or by God, I will kick you out!”
Giada whirled around, and walked right over, placing a hand on her father’s chest.
“No need, Pappa. I’m leaving!” She shoved, and Paulo fell to the floor again with a loud thump, narrowly missing the stone fireplace. All at once, people erupted into motion. Children screamed, ran around, and knocked things over. Giada ran out the door; Franco ran over to his brother and helped him upstairs to continue getting ready to talk to the buyer.
Nobody noticed Nonna standing by herself near the stove, a worried look crossing her aged face. Slowly, she walked over to her pantry, grabbed a few ingredients, and returned to the stove. Methodically, she began mixing.

Outside, Giada collapsed in the dirt yard, tears streaming down her face. Thunder clapped, and rain began to pour down in turrets, soaking everything in minutes. Giada just sobbed harder.

Upstairs, Paulo ranted while he organized documents and papers, and Franco just listened silently. Neither noticed the rain.

After a while, once the rain had stopped, a soft scent began to drift out of the kitchen into the surrounding area. Slow, wispy tendrils wrapped themselves around posts and out doorways. They floated on the soft breeze to the yard, and rode the air currents to the rooms above the kitchen. Soon, the whole estate smelled of golden richness. It drew people in like a siren’s song, slowly and tenderly caressing those who were hurting, and comforting those who were in need. Trance-like, Giada came back to the house and looked questioningly at Nonna, who ignored her, busy with her cooking. Paulo even came down, and gave Nonna the same look as his daughter. At this Nonna put down her spoon and walked over to her son. She grabbed him by the ear, and sat him down at the table, then gave Giada the same treatment. She placed a plate of golden biscuits in front of them, just out of arms reach. The look on her face said one thing. Talk.
It took a while, but Paulo and Giada did start talking. They calmly discussed their problems, and came to a civil agreement. Just before they finished, a car pulled in to the drive. Paulo glanced at the clock and grimaced. The buyer was here.
The entire family went out to greet him, and a deal was made, the contract signed. As the man drove away, Nonna watched her family from the doorway. They may have lost the vineyard, but they had regained something much more important.
With a sad sigh, she turned around and headed towards her nook. Perhaps she could get some knitting done before the packing needed to be started. The contract lying on the table caught her eye. Stamped into the paper was the crest of Tomaso’s law company. She bent closer to read the fine print. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she pressed a hand to her heart. Silently, she wondered whether or not Giada knew that her fiancé had bought the vineyard. It looked like the family legacy would stay here after all.




The end