The Tender Vine (Diamond of the Rockies #3)(64)

Not that it meant sitting still. There was much work. Even for Papa, the dottore. Though he tended all who sought him, especially his own people, there were too few in Sonoma to support a surgeon of Papa’s caliber. So he spent hours with a microscope, shipped from New York, studying tissues and creatures too small to see. His studies engrossed him, but he could have done that anywhere.

It was for the land that he’d come to Sonoma. Horticulture became a passion. Of course the grapes, but also herbs and plants for food and medicinal use. Papa loved his land and what it could produce. The climate was perfect. Where else was such a perfect climate, except maybe Sardinia? Papa had known that and chosen his land with care.

“What are you thinking about?”

She startled, glanced up at Quillan with the setting sun sending a glow over his shoulder. “My papa.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Oh.” She waved her hand. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to know a little in advance.” Putting a hand to her elbow, Quillan assisted her up onto the timbered walk.

No, it wouldn’t hurt for him to know something of her papa, but she felt reluctant to elaborate. She stopped before a vendor’s stall. With his pipe between his teeth, the gnarled vendor reminded her of Alan Tavish in a crusty seaman sort of way. Did Quillan see it, too, and was he missing Alan? It freshened her own pang for the friends she had left.

She nodded to the old man. “What do you have fresh?”

“Crabs just boiled, ma’am.”

“We’ll take one. A large one.”

From a pile of red-and white-shelled crustaceans, he pulled one monstrous crab complete with legs and eyes, laid it on a square of paper, and handed it over with a small wooden mallet. “Two bits.”

Quillan paid, eyeing the creature askance. “You don’t really intend to eat that?”

Carina smiled. “Haven’t you had crab from the shell?”

“If I ever had, I’d know.”

She walked to a bench and sat, placing the crab on the paper between them. Holding one pincer, she struck the shell with the mallet, then pulled it apart to reveal the meat. “Try it.”

Quillan pulled the white fleshy fish from the claw, held it up a moment, then put it into his mouth. He ate it, then nodded. “It is good. Though you’d never know to look at it.”

“It’s wonderful. Meraviglioso.”

“Meraviglioso. How do you say crab?”

“Granchio.” She held it up by a claw.

“Meraviglioso granchio.” Quillan hammered the shell and slid a long chunk of crabmeat off the thin, pliant cartilage. “How do you say bay?”

“Baia.”

He looked out over the water. “The closest I’ve gotten to crossing something like that was on a river ferry once. Mostly I just splash through on my wagon.”

“Don’t try it here.” She waved at the bay. “Or you’ll meet these face to face.” She held up the crab.

He laughed, then looked back over the water. “Tomorrow we cross. Then what?”

“Then we drive north.”

“How long?”

She considered. “Four hours, maybe three.” The very thought brought her heart rushing to her throat. She looked out across the water. Just north of San Pablo Bay lay her home. Tomorrow they would go there. She wished they could start now! She fairly throbbed with excitement. “Tomorrow we’ll be home.” She squeezed his arm. “You don’t know what this means to me.”

He studied her face, then smiled. “Yes, I do.”

“I don’t care if the whole world can see. I’m going home to Mamma and Papa. To everyone! Mia famiglia.”

He looked down at his hands.

She reached out and grasped them. “And yours.” But the niggling thought returned. What would they think of Quillan? Maybe Father Antoine was right. She should have written. Well, it was too late for that now. And tomorrow . . . tomorrow she’d be home!





The next morning Quillan held the rail of the James M. Donahue steamer. He looked out at the huge expanse of blue salty water that held them afloat. At his side, Carina had become a scintillating creature, as though the sea air or the California shore had quickened some magic in her. Or maybe it was that she would soon be home with her family. He felt singularly unsure of his own place in all of it.

Carina was reluctant to discuss the individuals in her family. She spoke of them all as a group, giving him a broad brush of the whole picture but saying little in particular except that he would see for himself soon. Too soon. Yet she wouldn’t be so eager, so animated if she didn’t believe it would all come right. Would she?

There was that part of her that was remarkably credulous, truly astonished by the ugliness of the world. She’d been protected from it so

well. Crystal had come as a shock, and so had he. But that was before he loved her. Now he would do anything to preserve her innocence. He did not want to be a source of disillusionment. He shook his head. Maybe he had it all wrong, but he had reason to be gun-shy.

After they docked, they would take the wagon road to her home. What happened there remained to be seen, but he’d feel a sight more comfortable if her family knew he was coming. The DeMornays had not been inspiring.