Bitter Roots, page 9
Quinn and I crossed the street near the visitors’ center, a doll-house-sized building painted cotton-candy pink and known, unsurprisingly, as the Pink Box. The front door opened and Jackson Landau stepped outside, a broad smile on his face as though he’d just heard good news. His gaze landed on Quinn and me and he sobered up, striding toward us and looking like he had something to get off his mind.
‘Damn,’ Quinn said in a low voice.
‘We knew we’d probably run into him,’ I said, ‘because of Grace.’
Grace Landau was the president of the Arts Council and this year’s chairperson of Foxes on the Fence.
Jackson met us on the pedestrian island in the middle of North Madison Street. The music of a fiddle, banjo, and guitar and someone singing – bluegrass, the toe-tapping kind – floated up the street from somewhere among the tents on South Madison.
‘Lucie, Quinn.’ Jackson extended a hand and shook each of ours. He was a big man, tall, white-haired, barrel-chested. ‘Nice to see you both. You’re always so faithful about supporting the arts in Middleburg.’
‘Grace did a terrific job of organizing Foxes on the Fence,’ I said. ‘We were hoping we managed to have the winning bid on the one my sister painted, the one we sponsored.’
‘Monty? The one that looks like jewelry?’ Jackson shook his head. ‘Good luck. Gracie said folks have been bidding on that one like there’s no tomorrow.’
‘Well, I guess we’ll find out soon since they announce the winners today,’ I said. ‘At least he raised a lot of money for the Garden Club and the other charities.’
‘Sure did.’ Jackson cleared his throat. ‘Look, folks, I understand you had some words with Richard and Eve when they came out to see you yesterday. Richard said things got a little … contentious.’
‘They did,’ Quinn said. ‘We have a lot of dying vines, Jackson.’
‘Vines that have black goo,’ I said. ‘Josie Wilde confirmed it earlier this morning when she stopped by and cut one of them open. The xylem vessel was full of black, tarry ooze.’
‘And no doubt she told you those vines were diseased from the get-go,’ he said. ‘In other words, when you bought them from us three years ago.’
Statements, not questions. Neither Quinn nor I said anything.
‘I’ll take your silence as a yes.’ Jackson stabbed his index finger at us, his face turning red. ‘That woman is going around spreading false information about something she knows nothing about. She’s got a goddamned agenda, trying to burnish her reputation by destroying ours. Peddling a lot of crap she can’t prove. The Brightman Graft is an excellent graft and I can assure you that Richard dotted his i’s and crossed his t’s to make damn sure that our vines were disease-free. I give him a small gratuity for every one of the thousands and thousands of vines we sell with his graft, not because I have to, but because he’s the one who came up with the brilliant solution of how to fuse two different vines without any risk of contamination or disease.’
Jackson had leaned in so close I could feel the heat coming off him.
‘Jackson,’ I said in a quiet voice, ‘we’re not the only vineyard with this problem.’
‘No, you’re not.’ His voice grew louder and a few passers-by turned to see what the commotion was all about. ‘But all of you are located practically in each other’s back pockets. In other words, the same climate, the same soil, the same growing conditions. I’m sure Richard went over with you the problems everyone had to contend with last harvest after an unprecedented season of rain and hurricanes. That’s not on us. Or on you. It just is what it is. Climate change. Mother Nature.’
‘Richard made that point abundantly clear to us yesterday.’ I folded my arms across my chest and gave him a ‘We don’t need another lecture’ look.
‘We still have to rip out an acre and a half of vines and eat a loss of a hundred and eighty thousand dollars.’ Quinn sounded equally testy. ‘Not to mention waiting another three seasons for new vines to begin to yield fruit. So even more time with no money coming in.’
‘I get that, but we’re all dealing with climate change. Either we’re going to adapt or we’re going to perish. Richard said he and Eve explained that to you – that you’re gonna need to start thinking about varietals that are hardier and will survive with the climate we’ve got now,’ he said, still angry. ‘And you know what? Landau’s is on the leading edge of that curve, developing those new hardier grapes. We’re working with Richard, who knows and understands the science, so we’re being smart about this and doing things right.’
‘Good for you that you’re trying to develop hardier varietals,’ I said. ‘But Cab Franc is one of the friendliest grapes to grow in Virginia. It’s not like we were trying to grow something we knew was risky.’
‘What are you saying?’ Jackson didn’t like us pushing back.
‘That Quinn and I understand the future you’re talking about. But what we’re dealing with is what’s happening right now. Come on, Jackson,’ I said.
‘You must have realized at some point that the vines you sold all of us were diseased. You can’t stand here and tell us you’re on the cutting edge of what’s to come but you had no clue about the problems we’re all facing now,’ Quinn said.
‘Of course we did.’ He gave Quinn an annoyed look. ‘That’s why we moved so quickly to develop new varietals that could withstand what we’re dealing with now.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘No, no, no. You knew the vines you sold us couldn’t be guaranteed to be disease-free. Then when you discovered so many of us were having problems, you blamed climate change.’
‘I’m not blaming climate change, because it is climate change. Don’t tell me you think it’s all made up, that it’s phony science? Do you?’ He looked as if I’d just told him I believed in little green men and alien abductions.
‘Of course not,’ I said.
‘One doesn’t negate the other,’ Quinn said. ‘You know that.’
‘Lucie, Quinn,’ he said with fraying patience, ‘I hope you’re not going to push this and jump on Josie’s bandwagon. After three years in your care, what happened to those vines is not our fault. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Crystal. But what if it is? It might not have been intentional, but you still sold us diseased vines,’ I said.
‘We. Did. Not.’ He smacked his fist in the palm of his hand. ‘Look, our families go way back. We have history, you and me. Your mother did business with my father. There is no way I would do something like that and then lie about it.’
‘Jackson, you knew something was wrong—’
He put his hands on his hips and looked at me like a parent who has been badly let down by a child. ‘Your mother would never pull something like this,’ he said, his tone scathing. ‘She would have taken responsibility for what went wrong. Maybe you just don’t have the right temperament, the right disposition for running a vineyard, Lucie, like she did. It’s tough work.’ His eyes strayed to my cane, lingered there. ‘You’ve got to adapt, you’ve got to deal with changes. Maybe you’re just not cut out for it.’
‘That’s enough, Jackson.’ Quinn had balled his hands into fists.
I grabbed his wrist and squeezed it. Don’t. Don’t escalate this.
Jackson looked at both of us, Quinn barely holding on to his temper, and me utterly furious that he could be so cruel and cutting. His eyes hardened.
‘Yes, I believe it is,’ he said. ‘We’re done here.’
He walked off before Quinn or I could respond, though I wanted to shout after him, and didn’t care if everyone on Washington Street or even all of Middleburg heard, that he was wrong – dead wrong. Quinn pulled me close and put his mouth next to my ear, roles reversed as he tried to calm me down. ‘Don’t, baby. Just don’t. We both need to let it go. He’s not worth it. He’s mad and he didn’t mean what he said.’
‘He did.’ My voice shook. I shook.
Jackson had found the chink in my armor and used it against me like the most brutal weapon. My disability. I never wanted it to define me, never let it define me, and I became prickly, if not rude, when someone wanted to treat me as if I were made of spun sugar. Or assumed – as had happened from time to time – that I was somehow less than a whole person because part of me was broken. I also didn’t want – or need – people to make allowances for me, believing I couldn’t do an intensely physical job just because I had to use a cane.
But what hurt the most was Jackson telling me I couldn’t handle something my mother would have taken care of without whining or complaining or blaming someone else, like he thought I was doing. She was tough. I wasn’t.
Except he was wrong. He was the one trying to shift the blame elsewhere. On Quinn and me. On the other vineyard owners who’d bought vines from Landau’s. And my mother – if she’d been alive – would have fought just as fiercely as I was doing to make sure Jackson took responsibility for what he’d done. And now it had come to this, the shouting and recriminations. Him hiring a lawyer. Trying to get out in front of what was shaping up to be an ugly, bruising battle.
Mud sticks, as they say. And right now Jackson was throwing it at us with a kind of reckless fury as if he hoped it would not only stick, but cover up any wrongdoing on his part.
‘Come on,’ Quinn said. ‘Let’s go see if we can take Monty home, OK? We need to get out of here.’
I had calmed down a little, but I said, ‘We’ll have to see Grace Landau. I’m still so angry …’
‘Look, Grace has always been her own person. Just because Jackson’s being an ass doesn’t mean Grace feels the same way he does.’
‘Guess we’ll find out,’ I said.
The Middleburg United Methodist Church is a pretty little red-brick building with a white spire and a historic past. Built in the 1800s, the church had been converted into a hospital treating both Confederate and Union soldiers during the Civil War. Today it looked especially festive and cheerful with the colorful collection of hand-painted foxes that hung on the low wrought-iron fence surrounding it on three sides.
Grace Landau was sitting by herself at a folding table in the tree- and flower-filled courtyard, engrossed in the screen on her laptop. She looked up when she heard the gate creak as Quinn and I walked in. Plump and petite with short iron-gray hair and bright-red glasses that usually sat half-way down her nose, she was also a much beloved high school art teacher respected for her no-nonsense, don’t-give-me-any-crap-just-because-it’s-only-art-class attitude.
The Foxes on the Fence banner – a bright-red silhouette in the modular shape of a sleeping fox – hung on the front of the table and fluttered in the breeze.
Grace’s smile when she recognized us was warm, friendly, and guileless. ‘Hello, you two. How nice to see you both. Are you coming to check up on Monty the Fox?’
I relaxed and smiled back. ‘We are. We were really hoping we had the winning bid.’
Her smile dimmed. Damn. We hadn’t.
‘I was just finalizing all the bids. Do you know this year we raised nearly twenty-five thousand dollars? Monty brought in quite a lot of money, by the way. We can’t thank you enough for sponsoring him.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I said and hoped I didn’t sound too deflated. ‘So who did win him?’
‘I’m so sorry, dear. At the last moment we had a final bidder that upped your offer by a thousand dollars.’
‘A thousand dollars?’ Someone really wanted him. I wouldn’t have been able to match that ante for love or money.
‘Who bid that kind of money?’ Quinn asked.
‘Carly and Richard,’ Grace said. ‘Monty is going home with them.’
The gate creaked again and we turned around. Speak of the devil.
Carly Brightman, in a bright-yellow halter dress, yellow sling-back kitten-heel sandals, dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, and Jackie Onassis sunglasses, had walked in behind us. She looked sensational, as usual – just the right amount of jewelry and perfect makeup on flawless, tanned skin.
‘Hello, Lucie, Quinn,’ she said. She turned her sunny smile on Grace. ‘Did I hear you right? I won Monty?’
‘You did,’ Grace said. ‘Congratulations. That last bid was very generous of you and Richard. Brought in the most money of any of the entries.’
Carly’s smile broadened and her face lit up like Christmas morning. ‘Our pleasure. And that’s terrific news. I’m so happy – I loved that fox. Richard and I will take good care of him, Lucie, I promise. Please tell Mia he’s going to a loving home with lots of animals, so he’ll have good company.’
Though Carly and Richard didn’t have any children – her choice; she was married to her job and kids didn’t fit into her career trajectory – they had a menagerie of foster dogs and cats, along with the many animals they’d adopted.
‘I’ll tell her and I’m sure you’ll take good care of him,’ I said. It was hard not to be happy for her; she looked so delighted.
‘We will,’ she said. ‘I’ve been taking a mixed-media class through the Arts Council’s outreach program –sort of experimenting, amateur stuff – so I know just how much work she put into creating him.’
‘Amateur stuff?’ Grace raised an eyebrow and gave Carly an affectionate look. ‘I saw your collage on display at the library, Carly. You’re really talented. You should keep pursuing your art.’
‘Thanks, Gracie,’ she said. ‘You’re too kind. Though I’ve been thinking about taking more classes because I liked mixed media so much. After some of the stuff I see every day at work, I figure I can either go into primal scream therapy or get it out of my system by creating something. Which is why I just started a sculpture class. It’s amazing how mellow and zen I feel after an hour of chiseling and carving a block of clay.’
We all laughed, and Grace said, ‘So have you come to claim your bejeweled friend? I hope Richard is coming by to help you take him home. Monty is not going to fit in that little two-seater convertible of yours.’
‘I brought Richard’s car, so I’ll be fine.’ Carly’s eyes slid to Quinn and me and there was a noticeable shift in her demeanor. ‘He’s busy at the lab this morning. Been working hard all hours on some new grape varietals he’s been trying to cultivate.’
Her words landed with a thud and Grace’s mouth twitched. Which meant they both knew what happened yesterday at our vineyard. Their husbands had told them.
‘Yes, Richard was telling us about his new project when he and Eve stopped by yesterday,’ I said, keeping my voice neutral.
At the mention of Eve a look of irritation flickered across Grace’s face but Carly – diplomat, intelligence chief, stoic – remained expressionless.
‘I heard that you two had a rather heated … discussion … with Eve and Richard.’ Grace seemed to be choosing her words carefully.
Well, OK, it looked as if we were going to have this conversation for a second time. Hopefully not as hostile or with shouting as it had been with Jackson, but Grace definitely had something she wanted to get off her mind.
‘Richard mentioned that to me, too,’ Carly added. ‘In fact, he said your meeting didn’t go well at all.’ Backing Grace. Chiding Quinn and me.
Quinn answered her back. ‘We have a lot of sick and dying vines. So do several other vineyards that bought vines from Landau’s.’
‘The meeting did get a bit contentious,’ I said, and then changed the subject. ‘But there was also something going on between Eve and Richard. Any idea what that was about?’
Carly and Grace exchanged fleeting glances, telegraphing some unspoken pact between them. They knew.
‘What do you mean?’ Carly asked.
‘I got the feeling Eve was angry with Richard,’ I said. ‘Or maybe “upset” is a better word.’
Quinn stirred next to me. ‘Have you had a chance to talk to Eve since yesterday?’ he asked.
‘No.’ Carly shook her head. ‘I haven’t.’
‘Me, neither. Why do you ask?’ Grace said.
‘Just wondering what’s going on,’ Quinn said. Non-committal. Casual.
Grace flashed another look at Carly, this one signaling she was done with the code of silence.
‘What’s going on,’ she said with an edge to her voice, ‘is that I don’t think Eve has Landau’s best interests at heart any more.’
Quinn tensed next to me. All of a sudden we were taking a little stroll through landmine territory.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, Eve’s going to leave Landau’s – and the East Coast if you ask me – once she gets her PhD. Even though Jackson spent the last three years teaching her, grooming her, helping her in every way possible,’ Grace said.
She was angry. And she felt betrayed.
‘Jackson and Eve had an understanding that she would play a bigger role in the business,’ she went on. ‘She would take on more responsibility, so Jackson could slowly start to step back now that he’s getting close to retirement age. Instead, she’s no longer interested. That’s how she’s going to repay him.’
‘She did the same thing to Richard.’ Carly sounded calm, but something told me that under that cool, collected surface simmered a low-boiling resentment toward Eve Kerr.
‘What happened?’ Quinn asked.
Carly pulled a strand of windblown hair off her face and shoved it into her ponytail. ‘The usual. Brilliant professor takes talented young student under his wing. Richard’s the one who convinced Eve to get her doctorate, told her she could do it, encouraged her. Told her that he’d help her. Of course he was expecting she’d stay at Northern Virginia and study under him. All of a sudden she ups and decides she wants to go to Cornell because UNV wasn’t good enough and Cornell was an Ivy. Richard was disappointed – actually, devastated – because it was kind of a slap in the face. Still he was gracious enough to write a glowing recommendation for her, plus call one of his friends on the faculty at Cornell and put in a good word.’
