“There’s just about everything down here,” he said with a shake of his head. “But no correspondence from an Australian woman.”
“You looked?”
“Of course. The first time Emma wrote and asked about it, I searched to see if I had anything of use for her. But while my grandmother enjoyed collecting books, I didn’t find historical documents. My family members weren’t archivists. I think my father’s ultimate goal was to own the largest, most difficult-to-move winepress of all time. And he accomplished that much, at least.”
“Is your father still with you?”
“He passed away last year—died of a heart attack, down here in the cellars, as a matter of fact.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “We had a difficult relationship. He found me...disappointing, I suppose is the best word for it. When I was a child my nose was always in a book, not the wine making, or this collection. I was always closer to my grandmother. She was a teenager in World War Two, but she used to tell me stories of her own father, who was a veteran of the Great War. This stuff lives on around here.”
“I love that sense of history,” said Rosalyn. “It’s harder to findwhere I’m from. But I’m sorry you and your father weren’t able to reconcile before he died.”
“As I said, he found me a disappointment. But then, I foundhimdisappointing as well. I suppose he would be happy to see me now, covered in mud, tending the fields and even more so his ridiculous museum.”
“You’d rather be in Paris?”
He let out a harsh bark of a laugh. “If you’d asked me even two months ago, I would have saidouiwithout hesitation. But... the land gets to you after a while. I was raised here, and as much as I tried to escape it, it’s hard to think about letting it go, allowing a stranger to tend to it.” Jérôme shrugged and flipped off the lights as they left the collection and started to climb the flight of stone steps. “Maybe my father was right. Maybe it’s in my blood.”
“Do you want to hand it down to Laurent, a new generation of Comtois Père et Fils?”
“Part of me does. But at the same time, I don’t want him to feel tied down, to leave him no options, the way I always felt.”
“Oh! I’ve been meaning to ask: What is biodynamic agriculture? You mentioned it the first time we met, and I’ve been wondering ever since.”
“My brother, it turns out, was suffering from a brain tumor, and several of our neighbors have had similar struggles. It hasn’t been directly tied to pesticide use, but for those of us who live this close to the land, it’s a concern.” Jérôme led the way back to the living room, where they took seats by the fire. “When I brought Laurent to live with me here, I decided to try doing without pesticides. The biodynamic method doesn’t make a lot of scientific sense, but it seems to be working. I want to give it a year or two, at least, to see if it makes a difference.”
“How does it work?”
“A man named Steiner developed it in the twenties. It views the farm as a living organism made up not only of land but also air, animals, plants, compost.... I know it sounds mystical, but in many ways this is what winemakers have always done. This is the magic of wine: the way the taste of the grapes reveals the spirit of the land.”
“That doesn’t sound all that woo-woo.”
“Woo-woo?”
“It’s a term that means ‘supernatural,’ sort of different.”
“Well, I’ve given you the short version. There are some bits that are a little morewoo-woo—stuffing a cow’s horn with manure, burying it for six months, then digging it back up, mixing the contents with water, and then sprinkling it over the land. Every time I do that, I wonder whether Dr. Steiner is looking down on me and laughing at the gullibility of those who follow his method.”
“I don’t suppose it could hurt, though, right?”
“That’s what I tell myself, as I drag myself out of bed at three in the morning to apply manure according to the movement of the cosmos.”
They shared a laugh. Silence reigned for a few moments as Jérôme stoked the fire. Rosalyn studied the photos on the mantelpiece: several of Laurent, but also others she assumed were of relatives. There was one of a young Jérôme with his arm around another young man who shared a strong family resemblance.
“How’s your brother doing now?”
“He’s been given a clean bill of health, thank goodness. But... I don’t know if it was the tumor itself or the lengthy recovery, but the ordeal changed him.”
“Is that why he ran off with your wife?”
Jérôme looked surprised. “Is that what the rumor is?”
“Oh my Lord, I’m so sorry I just blurted that out. Too much champagne, maybe.”
He shrugged. “In a small town, rumors are inevitable. Anyway, I mention Raphael’s health as an explanation, not an excuse.”
