The Winemaker's Wife(102)

Inès gazed out now at the rows and rows of Pinot Noir grapes that crawled toward the horizon. She wondered if the vines she could see now were descendants of the ones Michel had once cultivated so carefully. Even if they weren’t, certainly they carried a piece of him. His blood had spilled here, seeped into the soil, become part of the earth itself before the Nazis had hauled him away. He had given all he had to this land. And now it would help sustain the granddaughter he never had a chance to know.

In the notebook she had left for Samuel to give to Olivia, Inès had written all the stories that she could remember about Michel and Céline. If Olivia took the time to read them, the words would breathe life into this place, and Olivia would understand that she was walking among the ghosts of the people she should have belonged to. Whatever happened, Inès knew now that Olivia would be okay. Inès had done all she could do, and now it was time. She was so very tired.

A car turned off the main road in the distance and pulled up the drive to the Maison Chauveau. Inès watched it approach, relief sweeping over her. Good, Samuel was here. It would be only a few minutes before the pills kicked in, and there were things she wanted to say.

The car drew to a halt, and the man who climbed out of the driver’s seat did so with difficulty, slowly unfolding his long legs and then using his arms to launch himself awkwardly out of the vehicle. It was Samuel—stooped and slowing, but the same man she’d known since she was twenty-three. Her friend. The one person on earth who really knew her—knew everything she had done—and had remained by her side for all these years anyhow.

“Inès,” he said, walking toward her with the support of a cane. “Are you all right?”

“Samuel,” she said, smiling at him as he drew closer. They kissed on both cheeks, formally, but then he embraced her. They were both old as dirt, but being in his arms was as familiar as ever, and for a second, Inès could close her eyes and believe they were young again. She pulled away and gestured to a bench nearby.

“What is this about, dear friend?” Samuel asked, gazing into her eyes, after they sat down.

But he did not need an answer. She could see it written in his expression. He already knew. She looked away, over the rolling vineyards, toward the eastern horizon, where the sun was just beginning to warm the earth.

She hoped Olivia would choose this place. She thought maybe she would, at least for a while. She had seen the way Julien looked at her granddaughter, and the way she looked at him. That hadn’t been Inès’s intention when she’d first brought Olivia here, but the moment she had seen them together for the first time, she had known—and of course she’d had to meddle, just a bit, to help Olivia move past the fears that were holding her back.

Perhaps it was preordained, written in the stars, just like everything else. Long ago, Inès had helped save the life of Julien’s grandfather. Now the boy was falling in love with Olivia—and Inès could see Olivia’s heart opening again, too. That meant that Inès could finally go in peace, knowing that her granddaughter would be all right—even if things didn’t work out with young Julien. Olivia intuitively understood how to love in a way that Inès never had, and that meant that the girl would find her way to happiness, one way or another.

“Remember years ago, when you told me about that French policeman who killed himself on the street in front of your house during the roundups of 1942?” Inès asked Samuel now, leaning into her friend’s shoulder for support. “I didn’t understand it at the time, how a person could take his own life out of a sense of responsibility, but now I do.”

Samuel’s face crumpled in sad resignation. “Oh no, Inès, what have you done?”

She stared into the distance, watching as the edges blurred, the world began to slip away. She had run out of time. There would be no absolution.

“Perhaps what I should have done long ago,” she said. “I never deserved all these years, Samuel. It isn’t fair. I should not have been the one to live.”

“But you were! You survived, Inès, and you did a lot of good in this world. You have to trust that God had the right plan for you!”

“But didn’t I turn my back on God all those years ago? What if I made a deal with the devil, whether I intended to or not?” She could feel herself growing weaker, her muscles losing their hold on her bones, and so she gratefully accepted the support when Samuel put his arm around her. She could feel him shaking, but she didn’t know whether it was from age or sadness.

“My dear friend,” he said, “you didn’t turn your back on God. You made mistakes, but you have spent a lifetime atoning. I’m proof of that, aren’t I? I’m here because you risked your life to save me.”

His voice sounded more distant now, though he was just beside her. She knew she was disappearing. She didn’t have the strength to tell him he was wrong, that the saving of one life didn’t counterbalance the losing of another. Nothing could.

“Inès, are you listening to me?” he said from somewhere far away. “You need to hear this. You are a good woman, Inès. You always have been, even if you never believed it.”

She wished he wouldn’t lie to her, not at the end, but she knew he meant well. “Please ask Julien to look out for my Olivia, whatever happens,” she managed to say, but she wasn’t sure he heard her, because she was already drifting, already rising up into the crisp Champagne sky, already watching the vineyards disappear beneath her, lines and lines of grapes and dreams running over the earth, fading into forever.