ChapterTwenty-Three
Vineyards,pruned for winter rest, lined both sides of the narrow dirt driveway. Everything was awash in the increasing silvery moonglow.
Nora sat in the passenger seat of the SUV and watched through the windshield as the view suddenly opened onto a vast field, neatly tilled. To one side of the property was a long, two-story, yellow-gray limestone farmhouse with a terra-cotta roof and wooden shutters painted a weathered blue, which protected small windows on the back side.
Dark outlines of goats dotted a field on the far side of an olive grove and chickens pecked in the gardens that surrounded the house.
Nora gasped as she took it all in. “Be still my heart. It’s like photos I’ve salivated over for years on France real estate websites.”
Chloe explained the French word for this type of stone farmhouse was “le mas,” pronouncing it as ‘mahs.’ “It’s pretty much a classic, as you will see when we show you around this week. Wait until you see what’s in those outbuildings on the property.” She pointed to two smaller barns a short distance away.
When they pulled into a parking area around the side, Nora’s jaw dropped even more as she took in the broad terrace that ran across the front of the house. It was inviting and elegant in its simplicity, even with chickens wandering the length of it.
She recognized some large, green-glazed Anduze pots on the terrace, with dried remnants of summer plantings still in them. A bare, thick wisteria vine clung to the walls of the house and wound its way across the entire front façade, secured by wire in some places. Vintage wrought-iron tables and chairs were bathed in sunshine.
“I can just imagine how glorious this is in the spring,” she said to Chloe as they followed Olivier, who had piled their bags on a small cart, into the house through wide, thick oak double doors. “These were hand carved over two hundred years ago when my ancestors began farming here,” Olivier told her proudly.
“Aren’t they something, mom? And you are so right. Spring is the most beautiful time here,” said Chloe.
Nora stood still in the entry hall and breathed in the delicious smells of simmering spices that filled the air. Mami had slipped in before her and was waiting with a warm smile. When Nora breathed out a quiet, “It smells amazing in here. Ça sent incroyable ici,” Mami’s grin widened, pride flickering in her eyes.
Chloe said Nora should get used to it. “Mami’s house always has the best smells coming from the kitchen.”
Olivier laughed as he agreed and then pointed to the bags. “I will take care of these. Dad and Fantôme are off on a hike. He texted me a while ago saying they should be back before too long.”
Nora was somewhat relieved by Pierre’s absence. She could get organized in her room and become familiar with the surroundings before worrying about his appearance. She felt like a schoolgirl hoping her crush would like her. She gave her head a mental shake; she wasn’t interested in getting romantically involved with anyone. But it still would be nice to be friends with him.
Chloe led Nora and Atticus up the uneven wide stone steps of the main staircase to the bedrooms on the upper floor. They entered Nora’s cozy room, and Chloe flung open the shutters of the French doors, which led to a narrow balcony. “Check this out, Maman! Picture-perfect or what?” she said.
Before she walked to the French doors, Nora’s eyes fell on the bathtub of her dreams in a corner of the room. The glossy, white porcelain finish and brass claw feet gave off a vintage charm that took her breath away. “Chloe, you put me in this room on purpose, right? It’s my fantasy tub.”
Chloe gave her a knowing look. Then she opened a door at the end of the room to show her the sink and toilet.
After freshening up at the sink for a moment, Nora joined her daughter at the balcony. Gazing out over the moonlit rows of grapevines, she breathed in the earthy scent of the crisp air. “Honestly, sweetheart, when are the dreams going to stop? This is straight out of a French romance for me!”
Chloe chuckled. “I hear you. I felt the same the first time Oli brought me here. It’s pretty special to us, but run of-the-mill to the locals. Although, don’t get me wrong, they appreciate the history of their homes and farms. In many ways, life goes on as it has for centuries … just with a few more modern conveniences. Oli’s family has farmed this land and lived in this house since 1750. It’s a peaceful life.”
“That’s before the French Revolution!” Nora exclaimed.
Chloe nodded. “Exactly. The way centuries of history live on here is all part of the French Effect for me. You feel it everywhere.”
Atticus stepped up to the railing and began barking. Not far off, a man walked toward them, accompanied by a sturdy dog about the same size as Atticus but with a dense coat. Returning the barks, the dog ran toward the house.
“It’s Fantôme with Pierre!” Chloe cried. “Let’s go downstairs so the dogs can meet each other!”
“I hope they get along,” Nora muttered, concerned.
“Mom! Don’t worry until you have to!” Chloe cautioned and gave her a light punch on the arm. “Remember how social Maggie was? Dogs love to hang out with other dogs. I bet these two are going to be besties right away. Let’s find out.”
Nora followed Chloe downstairs, muttering, “If only it were the same for people.”
Chloe mumbled, “I heard that.”
Atticus was way ahead of them, and when they got to the kitchen, he was nowhere to be seen. Papi stood by the open door, laughing. It seemed everyone had gathered around to see how things were going to work out.
Pierre stood outside, leaning on a gnarled, well-used walking stick. Nora couldn’t help but think he looked like the epitome of French rustic charm: from his weathered leather boots to his worn, brown, waxed canvas coat topped off with a battered, wide-brimmed felt hat pulled low over his brow. He looked like he had spent time shepherding in a field and had been through many rainstorms, market trips, and harvests.
She felt her writing muse arrive, almost uncontrollably, as she stood looking at him … trying not to stare. He is a picture. Composed, textured, the kind of face a story could rest inside.
