The Winemaker's Wife Read online

  “I feel useless here,” she had argued before they left.

  “I know,” Michel had said gently. “But there are German sympathizers all around us, and people who are jealous of our success here at Chauveau. Please, I realize it’s a lot to ask, but I want to keep you safe.”

  Theo had grunted in agreement, and they had gone off without waiting for an answer.

  And so Céline was missing the harvest, which felt like a punishment in itself. And then there was Inès, able-bodied and unimpeachably Catholic, off having a grand old time with her friend in Reims, not caring about the work she was missing or the way she was inconveniencing Michel and Theo. Céline had tried to have some sympathy for the other woman, but how could she be so selfish?

  After an hour of straightening their cottage to keep herself occupied, Céline finally gave up and wandered out to the cellar entrance. She knew she would find some solace in the familiar caves beneath the earth.

  As she descended the steps with a lamp, the cold air wrapped itself around her like an embrace, and she shuddered. Down here, the silence was a salve. She could be alone with her thoughts, which right now were all focused on her family.

  She had finally received a letter from her father the day before, courtesy of Michel’s mysterious friend, who apparently traveled all over the zone occupée delivering and collecting messages. She’d been greatly relieved to hear that her father and his parents hadn’t been arrested or moved by the Germans, but the letter had also confirmed some of her fears. Her father was no longer allowed to work at the winery he’d overseen for thirty years, and he’d had to register—along with his parents—as a Jew.

  Your grand-mère and grand-père are in the greatest danger, I fear, her father had written. Because they were born in Poland, we do not believe the French government considers them French any longer. Right now, they are safe, but for how long? I am worried for all of us, but I know Theo will look after you, my dear, and that brings me some comfort. These are terrible times, and I pray that the darkness will soon lift.

  In the letter Céline had sent back with Michel’s friend, she had spoken brightly, cheerfully about life in Champagne, saying it hadn’t changed much, so her father wouldn’t worry. To tell the truth—that she was afraid about the future—would be to place a burden on him he shouldn’t have to bear. To tell him she had seen the signs posted around town—caricatures of Jews with hook noses, drawn to look like monsters—would be to frighten him. She was the one who had taken her father’s advice to leave home with Theo. She feared now she would regret it for the rest of her life.

  Her steps echoed as she moved deeper into the cool, chalky caves. There were the 1939s and the 1940s, still aging on the lees, the first two vintages since war had been declared. There were gaps where the older wines—the thirty-sixes, the blanc de blanc Theo had experimented with in 1938—should have been, but they’d been hidden or requisitioned by the Germans long ago. Céline knew the winding, twisting, mysterious cellars like the back of her own hand, but sometimes these days, all the empty spots made her feel as if she had lost her way.

  “Bonjour!” An unfamiliar man’s voice boomed down into the cellars from the direction of the stairs, and Céline froze. His accent was unmistakably German. “Hello, who is down there?”

  Her blood ran cold. She quickly extinguished her lamp, her heart thudding.

  “Do you think I’m a fool?” The man’s deep voice echoed in the caverns. “You’ve just put your light out. I can see exactly where you are.” His voice was smooth, even with the guttural consonants, his tone too casual.

  Céline’s mind raced. The cellars went on forever, twisting deeper into the earth beneath Ville-Dommange, but if he wanted to, he could follow the sound of her footsteps, the flash of the light she would eventually need to relight to find her way. There was nowhere to hide now that he knew she was here. But what did he want?

  “I am going to give you sixty seconds,” the German said. “And if you don’t come up, I will begin shooting.”

  “No, wait, don’t!” Céline called, hating the way the cave walls magnified the fear in her voice. She was trapped. “Please. I’m coming. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

  She didn’t relight the lamp for fear that it would make her an easier target. In the darkness, she hurried toward the stairs, stumbling twice, and ascended into the bright morning.

  “Well, well,” the German said with a chuckle. “It’s you.”

  When they finally stood face-to-face, Céline realized she recognized him, too. It was the officer who had supervised the younger men on the first day the Germans had pillaged Ville-Dommange, the one with the broad shoulders, narrow mustache, and dark, beady eyes. But she barely glanced at his face; she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his pistol, which he held casually in his right hand, the barrel even with her heart. She had never had a gun pointed directly at her before.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” the man asked, venom spiking the amusement in his tone. “I thought the French were supposed to be polite. Don’t you say ‘bonjour’ even when you meet a stranger on the street? And we are not even strangers, are we? We are old friends.”

  “B-bonjour,” Céline stammered, still staring at the gun.

  “Céline, is that right?” he asked smoothly. “Or would it be more proper to call you Madame Laurent?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice small. “I mean, yes, that is me. Madame Laurent.”

  “You’re a nervous little thing, aren’t you?”

  “You—you are holding a gun on me.”

  He laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound; it was ominous, threatening. Nonetheless, he lowered the weapon, but he didn’t holster it. “Now,” he said, the facade of mirth disappearing as abruptly as it had arrived. “What were you doing? It is suspicious enough that a woman would be in the cellars by herself with the men away, but you extinguished your light as soon as you heard me call out. Why? What are you up to? You are hiding something?”

  “No, nothing.” Céline clasped her hands. “I promise. I just—you startled me.”

  “I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked what you were doing in the caves.”

  “I—I was lonely.”

  “Lonely?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, sir,” he corrected. “You will address me with the proper respect.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said quickly.

  “Now. Explain yourself. You were lonely? What does that have to do with anything?”

  She could only tell the truth. “I was missing my family, you see. My father, he has worked at a vineyard in Burgundy my whole life. He makes—made—wine, and sometimes, when I’m feeling most alone—”

  “What is your point?” The German cut her off, and she realized she’d been babbling.

  “I feel close to him in the caves. They remind me of where I come from, and I’m not sure I’ll ever see that home again.”

  The German studied her, his eyes dark with something unsettling. At last he holstered his pistol, and she felt her shoulders sag in relief. “Being alone in the cellars, especially for a woman, is suspicious. Do you know there are people doing things down there, things to undermine the führer? Just last week, we came upon a man printing leaflets in his cellar in Aÿ. Do you know what happened to him?”

  Céline shook her head, too afraid to guess.

  When the German grinned, his teeth looked too sharp for a mere man; they belonged on a predator in the wild. He held her gaze as he raised the thumb and index finger of his right hand, mimicking a gun as he pointed at her. “We shot him dead, madame. If I ever catch you alone in the cellars—”

  “I understand. Sir.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t break the oppressive eye contact between them. Instead, he continued to stare as his lips curled. “You mentioned your father,” he said. “He’s a Jew, yes?”

  Céline’s stomach pitched and rolled, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep standing there, acting as
if his words didn’t faze her. “Yes.” There was no point in denying it; he clearly already knew. She had heard how meticulous the Germans were with their record keeping.

  “I wouldn’t have guessed,” he said. “Not that first day, anyhow, though I see it now. You’re attractive for a Jewess.”

  Céline could feel her cheeks heating up, and she didn’t know whether it was fear or embarrassment. She didn’t say anything, and the officer’s eyes narrowed.

  “I’ve just paid you a compliment,” he said. “The proper response would be to thank me.”

  She swallowed. “Thank you.”

  “Very good. I don’t believe we were ever properly introduced. You should know me, Madame Laurent, don’t you think? Especially if we are to be friends.”

  “Friends?”

  The officer laughed, and it was the same calculated, mirthless sound as before. “Oh, I think you’ll find in times like these, it’s helpful to have a friend like me. You should be honored that I’d even consider a friendship with a Jew.” He nearly spat the last word.

  Céline couldn’t think of anything to say, so she merely nodded.

  “Now, then. My name is Richter. Hauptmann Richter, which would be Capitaine Richter in your inferior language.” He narrowed his eyes again. “Aren’t you going to tell me how nice it is to meet me?”

  “It—it’s nice to meet you, Hauptmann Richter.”

  “There, there. You’re learning.” He moved closer, near enough now that she could feel the heat of his breath. “Now, Madame Laurent, I know I will never catch you doing anything you shouldn’t be, because I hate to think of you in a labor camp. The conditions are not so nice. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He reached out with his left hand and fingered the lock of her hair that curled over her right shoulder. She stood frozen, his touch repulsive, dangerous. “I have my eye on you, Madame Laurent,” he said, finally raising his gaze to hers. “Céline.” And then, without breaking eye contact, he let his hand drift from her hair to the swell of her right breast, over the thin layer of cotton. As she held her breath and tried not to retch, he traced a lazy ring around her nipple and smiled. “Oh yes, I have my eye on you indeed.”

  And then he was gone, withdrawing to his shiny black automobile while Céline stood as frozen as a grapevine in winter, trembling in the cold.

  • • •

  Céline didn’t tell Theo about the encounter with Richter right away, because she knew he would chastise her for being in the cellars alone, and she couldn’t handle the criticism heaped atop everything else. He would tell her that she didn’t belong there, that of course a woman wandering the caves by herself would look suspicious, and that she’d brought the scrutiny on herself. So when he and Michel returned from the harvest in rare good moods, their words spilling over each other’s as they told her about the surprising bounty from the first day of labor, she nodded along, trying to find some comfort in their optimism. If Mother Nature was finally smiling upon them, maybe the tide of the war would change soon, too, sending Richter and his men drifting east like jetsam.

  “Things are turning around, Céline, they really are,” Theo said, grinning at his wife. “Don’t you think so, Michel? Bright times ahead, yes?”

  “God willing,” Michel replied, glancing skyward. “I think this year should get us back on track.”

  Inès returned home in Michel’s Citroën, which had been fitted to run on gazogen, or ersatz fuel, just after the men did, pulling up in a cloud of dust and smoke and alighting from the car with an expression of unmistakable guilt. “Hello, everyone,” she said without meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. How did the harvest go today?”

  “Where have you been?” Michel asked, his voice low and cold.

  “I left you a note. Didn’t you get it?”

  Without replying, Michel took Inès firmly by the arm and led her inside, slamming the door behind them.

  “What excuse could she possibly have?” Theo muttered. From inside the main house, they could hear raised voices, Inès’s an aggrieved staccato.

  Céline shook her head, but she couldn’t muster a reply.

  “You’re quiet today,” Theo said as they turned and began to walk toward their cottage.

  He reached for her hand, but she pulled away instantly, an instinctual reaction that she immediately regretted. She still felt dirty from Richter’s touch.

  “You’re angry that we didn’t bring you to the vineyard,” Theo guessed when she didn’t reply. “Céline, you know it’s for your own safety and protection.”

  “And you think I was safer here?”

  “Well, weren’t you?” Theo gave her a pointed look, then turned away to open the door. He went in first, leaving Céline to trail after him.

  “No,” she said, her voice thick as she closed the door behind them.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A German officer came while you were out.” It was some comfort that Theo’s eyes widened in surprise. “Hauptmann Richter, the same man who came to raid our cellars after the invasion began.”

  “That’s impossible. Those men all moved on as the Germans swept south and west. He would have had to go over someone’s head in order to remain, and why would he do such a thing?”

  “I can’t explain why he was still here,” Céline said, glaring at him. “But you’re missing the point. He—he knows my father is Jewish. And he . . .” She hesitated. “He touched me, Theo.”

  Theo blinked at her. “Touched you how?”

  “He ran his hand down my breast.”

  Theo frowned at her, his expression puzzled. “I’m sure it was accidental.”

  “It wasn’t. I think I know the difference.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Well, what do you expect me to do? March down to the German headquarters and lodge a complaint?”

  “I had hoped that you might have a bit of sympathy for me. And some concern.”

  “Of course I’m concerned.” He hesitated. “Where did this take place? He knocked on the door?”

  For an instant, Céline considered lying. “No. I—I was in the cellars.”

  The room went so still that in the sudden silence, Céline could hear the scampering of a small creature, probably a mouse, somewhere beneath the floorboards.

  “In the cellars.” Theo’s voice was flat.

  “Just for a moment. I needed to think.”

  “And you can’t think here?”

  “I am stifled by this place! Don’t you understand that? By our home and by you and by the restrictions, and by all the ways our lives have changed. I just needed to find some peace.”

  “You’re a woman, and you were here by yourself, with no one else around.” Theo frowned. “You can’t just put the Maison Chauveau in that sort of peril. What if he had suspected we were hiding something in the caves? Then where would we be? After everything that Michel has done for us!”

  Céline swatted angrily at the tears that had pooled in her eyes. “This isn’t about Michel.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “It’s about me!” she interrupted. “Your wife, Theo!”

  Theo hesitated before his expression softened a bit. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he said into her hair as she stood stiff against him. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  “I know.” Céline’s voice was muffled against his muscular chest, and she was glad, for he couldn’t hear it trembling.

  • • •

  Theo was loading up the Citroën near the garage the next morning just before dawn when Michel came to the door. He knocked, and before Céline answered, he called, “If you’re not dressed yet, Céline, I can have a word with you later.”

  Céline pulled the door open and smiled shakily at him. The fact was, she didn’t put much time anymore into making herself presentable, which she knew bothered Theo. But she had scrubbed herself clean in the bath the night before, try
ing to forget Richter’s hand on her body, and now her hair hung in waves, and her freshly scrubbed face shone. She was wearing an old, loose dress with work boots, as she had planned to spend the morning tending to their small vegetable garden. “No, I’m dressed, Michel. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Neither could I. Theo told me what happened.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Céline hung her head. “I shouldn’t have done anything to endanger the champagne house.”

  “Céline, I don’t care about the champagne house. It’s you I’m concerned about, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “For taking Theo away with me and leaving you alone. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping you safe, but I see now that I only put you in peril. I hope you can accept my apology.”

  “Michel, you have nothing to apologize for. I should never have been in the cellars. Believe me, Theo made that clear.”

  “And I wish he hadn’t.” Michel frowned and glanced over his shoulder. The hood of the car was open now, and Theo was inspecting something inside. “This is your home. I just don’t want you in any sort of danger. I give you my word, Céline, that I will do all I can to make sure you’re protected.”

  It was exactly what she had wanted to hear from Theo the day before. “Thank you,” she managed to reply.

  “Inès will be here with you today. Perhaps that will make you feel a bit safer.” The tightness in his voice was unmistakable as he added, “She understands now that I need the car.”

  “Thank you, Michel,” Céline whispered as he started to walk away. “For being concerned about me.”

  Michel turned back and smiled sadly. “All will be well, Céline. I promise. We’re in this together.”