31. Monday, October 29, 2012
MONDAY, OCTOBER 29, 2012
J ulia was wearing the green sundress.
Maybe that’s why there was an urgency to William’s driving, as if he were in a hurry to get to... wherever they were going. As much as possible, he held her hand, their fingers interlaced, his thumb caressing hers. That caress zinged through every nerve ending in her body. She repeatedly caught him stealing sidelong glances at her. If she caught him quickly enough, she smiled, and then it was all he could do to keep his own grin from overtaking his face.
She dearly hoped that he wanted to tear her clothes off as much as she wanted to divest him of his.
“Where are we going again?” she tried for the third time that day, then sucked her teeth when he shot her a sidelong stink-eye. “Yeah, yeah, I know – it’s a surprise.”
Wherever it was, it was north on 101, just like Fox Glade Winery. For half a second, Julia wondered if that was, in fact, exactly where they were headed. But that was impossible. She had never revealed their planned destination because she wanted to save the surprise for another day.
Still, as they passed Healdsburg and approached the exit they would have taken to Fox Glade, Julia's spine tingled .
“You look like you just saw a ghost,” William observed.
Julia forcibly rearranged her features into what she hoped was a carefree smile. “Nope! Just still trying to figure out where we’re going.”
“Hmmm,” was his only comment. But the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Suddenly, Julia squealed right along with his tires as he jerked the steering wheel to the right, exiting the highway at the last possible second. As they descended the exit ramp, Julia gaped at him, smiling at the same time. “No way!”
He was grinning, but still, he admitted nothing.
“Will! Are you...? Is this...?”
“Am I what?” He shot her an infuriating look of wide-eyed innocence. “Is this what?”
“William Patrick Quinn!”
“Julia Róisín Dunphy.”
She made a garbled noise of frustration, but her snickering gave her away. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Julia, I really have no idea what you’re talking about.” But the smirk he was failing to smother told her he knew exactly what she meant. He turned left at the first stop sign off the highway, and from there, they followed a meandering road through vineyard-strewn hillsides. Julia couldn’t remember for sure, but this did seem like the route she had plotted to Fox Glade Winery three months ago.
Finally, after crossing a one-lane bridge over a creek, William steered the Jeep down a dirt road. After that, it was only another quarter of a mile until he slowed in front of a metal gate, on the left.
“This is it!” Julia squealed, taking in the inconspicuous sign on the gate announcing the property as The Fox Den . “I knew it! But... how did you know?”
He grinned at her. “Like I said, Julie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She swatted his arm as he turned left into the little driveway and stopped in front of the simple, rustic steel gate. “Be serious, Will. How did you find out this was where I was taking you on your birthday?”
“At the housewarming party, I might have mentioned to Aaron that I was looking for something epic to do for your birthday. And he might have asked if we enjoyed our stay at Fox Glade Winery. And I might have said I had no idea what he was talking about. And then it might have all come out about how he hooked you up with a stay here, but we had to cancel when my nieces were born.’”
“When did you find time for this clandestine conversation? I was with you almost the whole party!”
Still grinning, he got out of the car, unlocked the combination padlock, and swung the gate open. After driving through, the Jeep's tires crunched along a lengthy gravel driveway lined with svelte Italian cypresses. Between the gaps in the trees, they glimpsed the orange autumn leaves of the vineyards.
After a minute or two of slow progress along the gravel path, the cypresses yielded to a breathtaking view of gently rolling hills, strewn with orderly rows of grapevines. An unpretentious old white farmhouse with its adjacent tankhouse perched atop one of those knolls, flanked by fruit and olive trees, and more Italian cypresses. Distant tree-covered hills served as a backdrop.
William killed the engine in front of the farmhouse. It was cozy, unadorned, and painted solid white, with peaked gables and steps leading up to a deep front porch. It might have been a hundred years old, or more.
Julia got out of the car and spun in a slow circle, taking it all in, her pleated skirt fluttering in the breeze with her. William came to stand beside her, resting his hand on the bare skin of her back.
Julia closed her eyes. Turned her face up to the warm sunshine. Reveled in the rustle of leaves, the trill of birds, and the buzz of insects. Breathed in the mineral tang of earth, and the sharp zing of chlorophyll.
After a minute, she opened her eyes and followed William’s gaze to the vineyards, with their orange and yellow autumn foliage, flanking the rolling fields. There was no other house or human in sight.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered.
He nodded, his eyes shining, but said nothing. He took her hand, and they turned to admire the house. A white picket fence enclosed a colorful, drought-tolerant garden of native plants, with an old-fashioned birdbath at its center. Silently, he led her around the side of the house to the grove of trees. An oversized hammock stretched between two ancient olive trees. Rip e fruit drooped from apple, orange, and persimmon trees. She plucked a Gravenstein apple, wiped it on the front of her dress, and bit right into it.
Offering it to William, she added, “Here. Just to complete the symbolism.”
He laughed and took a bite. Smiling, his mouth still full of apple, he stooped to kiss her. It was a closed-mouth kiss, but she could still taste the apple’s sweet juice on his lips.
Still holding hands and sharing the apple, they followed the picket fence all the way around to the back of the house. In the deep, expansive backyard, they spied vegetable gardens. William led her through the gate in the picket fence.
“Look!” Julia gasped, pointing to the tomato vines still bearing fruit, even this late into autumn. They found plum tomatoes, and cherry tomatoes, and colorful heirloom tomatoes in a variety of shapes and sizes.
“Oh, wow. Nothing like a sun-warmed tomato,” William reflected, plucking two of the cherry tomatoes and feeding one to Julia. “This reminds me so much of my grandmother’s garden. She was a sorceress with plants.”
The cherry tomato squirted luxuriantly in Julia’s mouth, and she murmured her delight.
“These are good,” Willliam agreed after tasting his, “but my grandmother’s were even better. Or at least they are in my memories.”
Julia rubbed his back, where his caged albatross still struggled beneath his shirt. The albatross he had gotten all those years ago, after his grandmother died.
The back of the house had its own covered porch with a companionable pair of white wrought-iron chairs on either side of a matching table. Hanging baskets burst with colorful flowers and swung from the rafters in the gentle breeze.
In the very rear of the yard, chicken wire fenced off an area where hens pecked around for their lunch. They found a coop, and William reached into its little door to discover five eggs of varying shapes and colors.
“We should have left the groceries at home,” Julia declared. “We can find almost anything we need right here. The only thing missing is a dairy cow.”
Outside the fence and some distance to the east stood an old monitor barn, weathered to gray. Beyond that unfurled a wide-open view of neighboring vineyards and pastures, hemmed in by hills.
They stood there in silence for a long time, still holding hands, taking it all in. Watching a red-tailed hawk as it circled over the vineyards. Hearing the soft, contented clucking of the hens and the trills of mockingbirds in the trees. Occasionally, the low of a cow in a distant pasture reached their ears. William stroked Julia’s hand with the tip of his thumb, and her heart swelled, overwhelmed by the beauty all around her.
After a while, William reluctantly said, “Speaking of groceries, we’d better get them inside.”
Julia nodded, and they wandered silently around to the front of the house. But along the way, they had to pass the old redwood tank house. The original windmill that used to pump water to the tank was still attached to the exterior, at the top. The tankhouse fa?ade bore a double door, and when William tried the handle, he found it unlocked.
Inside, they were delighted to find another whole self-contained tiny house, complete with its own Lilliputian kitchen and bath. A spiral staircase ascended to a low-ceilinged loft with a platform bed, and from there, a ladder led up through a hatch to where the old redwood water tank still sat. They climbed up onto the platform, which offered yet another ideal vantage point for surveying the vineyards.
“This is so cozy!” Julia said once they climbed back down to the loft. “Promise me we’ll spend one of our nights here.”
Bent at the waist at practically a ninety-degree angle, William couldn’t help but grin. “I don’t know if I’d fit. But it would be perfect for the kids, if we ever come back with them.”
“Share Eden with the kids? Sacrilege!”
He laughed as he followed her back down the spiral staircase and outside. At the farmhouse, they retrieved the grocery bags and coolers from Julia’s trunk. William opened the gate in the picket fence, and Julia followed him through the garden and up the front steps to the porch. It smelled delightfully of old redwood, and beneath her shoes, it made the distinct resonant sound of antique floorboards.
The front door was already unlocked, and on the other side, they found themselves in a little entry hall with slightly worn hardwood floors. To the left was a sitting room with a small library; to the right was a parlor with a fireplace; and straight ahead, a staircase ascended to the second story.
They followed the hallway beyond the bedrooms flanking either side. A dining room opened into the kitchen.
The decor and furnishings were antique, rustic, and a bit eclectic, but never gaudy or precious. The walls were either painted a clean white, or covered in muted, block-print wallpaper.
They exclaimed over the kitchen, a relic from the thirties with black and white checkerboard floors, white cabinets, and a vintage Wedgewood range. Even the old General Electric icebox remained, with its Art Deco stylings.
After storing the groceries, they retrieved their suitcases from the Jeep and deposited them on the white matelassé bedspread in the primary bedroom. Julia drew aside the flowing white curtains and flung open the windows to admit the light, sounds, and smells.
After unpacking, Julia returned to the front porch to lean over the railing and survey her temporary realm. She closed her eyes. Turned her face up to the sky. Breathed in the sunshine-tinged perfume of her surroundings.
William came to stand close behind her. As if drawn by a magnet, he rested his hand on the bare skin of her back, just below the back tie of her sundress. He said nothing, but she was all too keenly aware of his fingertips as they traced her spine, up and down the ridge of her back.
Opening her eyes, she gazed out again at the panorama and whispered, “It’s just so beautiful.”
“Beautiful,” he echoed.
She turned her head and found him staring, not at the view, but at her. When their eyes met, he drew a sharp, ragged breath, releasing it just as raggedly; and her pulse quickened at the look on his face. It was a look that encompassed so much at once. His forehead creased, as if with some herculean effort. Finally, he summed it up in a near-whisper: “You are so beautiful, and I love you so much, that it almost hurts to look at you.”
She laughed softly. “I’m not quite sure how to take that.”
“Take it as me still pinching myself that you’re even here. With me.”
Her heart turned somersaults and hammered away at her sternum. Still behind her, William slid his arms around her waist, took her hands from the porch railing, and held them in his own. He rested his chin on the crown of her head and spent a long time looking at their hands clasped together, touching her fingers. Brushing his palms across hers.
She did not know how long she watched their hands and fingers slide along each other, like birds engaged in a courtship dance. She saw the knife and burn scars from all the years he had spent cooking in her father’s kitchen, waiting for her to come back to him. Her chest flooded with a familiar warmth that she had always known with him; and yet this time she feared it might overwhelm the confines of her heart – fill it to bursting. She couldn’t even draw enough breath. She thought it would consume and subsume her.
“This place really is Eden,” William murmured finally.
“Yes,” she sighed. “Except, I’m getting hungry. I don’t think they ever got hungry in Eden, did they?”
“Yes, they did. Remember?”
“Oh, right! That stupid apple again. It ruined everything, didn’t it?”
“It didn’t ruin this place, apparently. Which is how I know we found Eden again. Who knew it was in California this whole time?”
“Well, that settles it – you can get hungry in Eden. Because I’m ravenous.”
He touched the mermaid pendant lying against her chest, kissing her tenderly. “I have a solution for that.”
He winked and left her there, feeling the breeze caress her skin, listening to him rattling around in the kitchen. Eventually, she settled onto the porch swing until he returned, carrying the picnic basket and handing her the blanket. He led her around the house and into the little orchard. At his prompting, she spread the blanket on the ground in the shade of an ancient olive tree, and they savored the lunch he had packed – fruit and cheese of all kinds, crostini and salami and prosciutto. Olives that they plucked straight from the branches shading them. They washed it all down with sparkling Italian mineral water and a twist of lime from a nearby tree.
Afterward, they climbed into the hammock and dozed off, their limbs entangled. When they woke, by some unspoken understanding, they unbuttoned and untied each other, right there in the hammock. Migrating back to the picnic blanket, they shed their clothes and made love under the olive tree.
Later, as light retreated from the sky, they sat on the front porch swing and admired the palette that the setting sun painted over the vineyards. William cooked dinner, which they enjoyed by candlelight at the dining table. Afterward, they retired to the back porch to marvel at the heavy stars that seemed to hang directly over their heads. Not even the full moon’s light could blot them all out. William discovered a telescope on the back porch, and they spent a long time gazing at the celestial spectacle.
They bathed each other in the clawfoot tub, which was cavernous enough for both of them and sported an old-fashioned hand-held shower head. She sat between his legs and leaned back against his chest, luxuriating in the bubbly scented water, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Happy birthday, my sweet love,” he whispered into her ear.
“This has been the best birthday of my life,” she murmured, turning her eyes up to his. “Thank you for this. All of it.”
He kissed her tenderly. “I’ve loved every single minute so far, as much as you have. And there’s more to come.”
She sat up, twisted her body a bit to face him. Touched his face, and said, “I love you so much more than you can possibly know.”
“I love you, too,” he whispered. “Every bit as much.”
But she shook her head. “No, I don’t think I can ever find the right words to express the love and gratitude I feel for you.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Gratitude?”.
“For just having you back in my life. In our lives.”
He touched her chin. Made her look him in the eye. Brushed his hand over her cheek, and whispered, “If it’s even one tiny part of what I feel for you and our little family, it’s enough.”