Keeping Faith by Cindy Bradford (serial 26)
Chapter 9 Part VI
Cindy Bradford
Patrick drove up and down dusty roads through the hills, looking at the wonders of this beautiful region. The old farm houses were fascinating, many looking as though they had been there more than a hundred years. After awhile he stopped the bike and sat under an olive tree for more than an hour, just studying the twisted and gnarled old tree and thinking about the life ahead of him.
He could not help but think of Sue and how he wished she could see this. Then he stopped himself. He had made his decision and it did not include her. It was times like this that he questioned his choice. He knew he had to stop thinking like this, but he had loved her, his first real love.
Closing his eyes, he dozed for a short time. When he awoke, he quickly looked at his watch. It was almost five o’clock. I must get back and freshen up, he thought as he jumped on the scooter. Although he had tried to study the roads, he quickly realized he might be lost. He paused to think about a few mental markers he had made and then using the sun as his guide, he found the right road, arriving back with plenty of time for a shower and change of clothing.
At exactly six o’clock, he knocked on the front door. “Come in, Patrico,” Stefano called. “I see you did not get lost.”
“No, but I thought I might be for a few minutes.”
“Come with me; I promised to show you my cellar.”
The two descended a long stairway down to a basement. Patrick was expecting it to be a little musty and stale, with a furnace and the other practical items stored in it as some of the basements in New England. When they opened the door they were in a giant space with walls of beautifully carved wood. A large table and eight chairs sat in the center. Hundreds of bottles of wine lined the room.
“These are my collectibles,” he said, selecting one; a great Bordeaux with a 1948 vintage. “We will have one of these wines tomorrow night at dinner when the children arrive.”
“Now, over here are the whites from last year and the reds from the last several years are here. This is my Vin Santo, or holy wine, that we will use to bless the harvest this year.”
“I meant to ask you today, while we were in the vineyard, how do you know when the grapes are ripe?”
“I walk through and taste the grapes. Sometimes Enrico will taste and also Carmella. I like to get another opinion, but when the grapes are ripe, they taste ripe; your mouth will not pucker. It is romance, but it is also science. The sugar, acid and tannin all have to be in balance. The tannins must not be green or tough; the sugars need to have climbed and the acids cannot have fallen. If I pick too soon, before the sugar rises, the wine will be weaker and have too much acid, but if I wait too long it is just as bad, no structure to balance the fruit.”
“It sounds awfully complicated.”
“It can be since the weather plays a big role, but generally I can get close to when they will be ripe by counting the days from the time of flowering. Each variety ripens a little differently, but I look back at my records from the year before and predict it to within a few days.”
“You are truly an interesting man, Stefano.”
“I am a blessed man; I have many things to make me happy; everyone does not have that good fortune. I am thankful and so is Carmella. That is why we like to share this place with people like you. It is too much for just us.”
As they ascended the steps, the men could hear Carmella saying loudly, “My turn, my turn. I want to show you the entire house Patrico,” now taking him by the hand and leading him into the great room. He had been able to get a glimpse of it a couple of times, but he had never gone inside.
“This is magnificent!” he exclaimed. Like the wine cellar, the room was paneled in dark mahogany with extensive carvings. A thick, rich border of wood molding encircled the chandelier which looked to be of real gold. Light shone through crystal pendants as if they were diamonds. But it was the fireplace that really caught Patrick’s attention. It was big enough for a person to walk in, with the enormous black andirons that held oversized split logs, ready to be lighted with the first chill of autumn.
“I don’t have words for all this, Carmella; it is like nothing I have ever seen in a house before,” remembering his own boyhood home, with the multi-colored afghan his mother had crocheted to cover the worn spots on the couch, the curtains ordered from a Sears catalog and the swing set that rusted in the backyard. He could almost see his mother sitting at her sewing machine in the corner of his parent’s bedroom, stitching the dresses she made for his sisters because there wasn’t money for store bought ones.
“We will go quickly through the remainder,” as she took him from room to room filled with lavish tapestries and murals on the walls, satin drapes that reached and spilled over onto the terrazzo floors.
“This was once the nursery. I have not changed it much because, hopefully, Elisabette and Guliano will fill it up for me with lots of noisy little bambinos,” she said, happily. “This entire wing is Elisabette’s.”
“So, this is where the famous baths are taken,” Patrick teased, as he looked at the round marble tub. Actually, there was marble everywhere he looked.
“That is Stefano’s,” she remarked, pointing to an enormous marble and glass walk-in shower. The mirrors looked centuries old, true renaissance marvels. The canopy over the bed matched the drapes and the stacks of pillows that lined the velvet duvet. Frescoed ceilings added more mystery to the setting.
“I love this room,” Carmella gushed. “This is where I read,” pointing to a chaise in the corner by another, yet smaller fireplace.
“You are getting the grand tour,” Stefano said, handing each of them a glass of champagne. “Just a little something bubbly, as if Carmella is not enough,” Stefano teased as he kissed her gently. “Now you two had better finish this fairly soon if you are going to have time to relax before I cook the steaks.”
“Just a few more rooms and we will be finished, Darling, tilting her glass to him as if to toast his request.
When Patrick and Carmella walked through one of the brick arches onto the terrace, the sun was beginning to set.
“Hurry, Patrico, the sun is going to melt right over those hills and you will see the reflection on our lake.”