Chianti Classico (3 page)

“I didn’t expect you to have a car, Sister.”

“We have to cover a wide area. You’re here for the problem at the orphanage, aren’t you? You couldn’t get from here to Filari without wheels. We keep a car here in town,” she said, pulling away from the curb without looking. A pickup behind her honked several times, but she didn’t seem to notice. “It would be nice if the nuns at Filari kept one too. That’s our next project—to get a car for the orphanage. We need it for our work.”

“Are you all affiliated with the orphanage?”

“Oh no. Some of us at Mission House work at the food bank. Others concentrate on housing the poor. A few help the elderly. I specialize in legal aid. We’re quite busy. Sister Carmela and Sister Natalia work at the orphanage. Most of the time they sleep there too. Sister Carmela stays there all the time. They aren’t alone, though. They hire others to help out.”

“Hopefully everyone’s background is verified.”

“Most have been there for years. Then there’s the new one, Sister Daniela. I think you know of her. Most come recommended, and many are nuns.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Filari. Sister Daniela has a room for you at her sister’s house. I believe she wants to put you to work immediately. She said you’d insist on that.”

Sister Angela smiled.

“Sit back and enjoy the rolling hills and rows of vines, Sister. It’ll take a half hour or so to get there.”

Viviana delivered a glass of water to her grandmother’s room and waited for more instructions. Her aunt took her arm, leading her into the hallway. Viviana carefully closed the door.

“What are you doing? You’re no help here. I only suppose your mother feels shame for failing to come here herself and help out.” Viviana’s aunt continued down the hallway toward the stairs, and Viviana followed. “Leave it to Mara to take the easy route.”

“My mother’s in Roma. She’d lose her job if she left now, Aunt Lucilla.”

“She’s too self-important. What kind of woman leaves her duties at home just so she can work with the men?”

The two reached the bottom of the stairs and strolled into the small sitting room where Mara’s younger sister sat knitting.

“What’s the matter?” asked Clarissa.

“I was telling Viviana that Mara should be here. It does absolutely no good to send Viviana. What can she do?”

“You two want me to represent my mother while you go through the jewelry. My mother doesn’t believe you should go over Nonna’s things until her will’s been read. I don’t see what’s wrong with her opinion.”

Clarissa carefully put down her knitting and lit a cigarette. The smoke curled toward the ceiling.

“Mara believes her mother has bequeathed everything to her,” said Lucilla. “You know that. It’s just like her to make
you
do the work, Viviana. She was always like that. When we were children, she’d sit on her throne and tell Clarissa and me what to do. Your
nonna
would smile and then explain that I was the eldest, and it was my job to mete out the chores. Then, when I was five…”

Viviana had managed to inch toward the door as Lucilla went on without stopping to take a breath. She quietly opened the front door and slid out onto the steps, taking a deep breath. She had to get away from the strong aroma of mothballs, stale cigarette smoke, and death.

Pulling her long, light-brown hair into a ponytail, Viviana began to walk down the long road toward town.

About a mile down the dusty road, Viviana realized she wasn’t heading in the right direction. She visited her grandmother once or twice when she young but didn’t remember how her father drove to get into the town of Corsa Pietra. On the next hill over, she could see it, its red tile roofs gleaming in the sun and the tall church steeple piercing the sky. But the road continued without turning toward it. She stopped to examine the situation. Behind her, the hill of her
nonna’s
house descended into a valley where another road twisted up the opposite side.

Between her and that road, a grassy field introduced rows of grapevines. The neat lines led her eyes down the slope to another road and the river where a bridge would take her to the town. There didn’t seem to be a fence. Perhaps she could cut across here to save her time. Stepping carefully through the yellowing grass, she entered expansive network of vines.

The grapes looked like they were ready to be picked. Perhaps she could try a few. She stopped and looked around in all directions. There was a house beneath a bushy olive tree about halfway down the hill. Tall cypress trees framed a long driveway less than a kilometer farther up the road she’d just traversed.

Viviana pinched off a bunch of grapes, popped one into her mouth, and started walking. After about five minutes she heard the noise. Spinning around, she came face to face with a rearing horse. She dropped the remaining grapes.

“You’re trespassing,” a voice boomed.

She covered her eyes so she could see the figure in the saddle.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to…”

“Don’t you know that you damage the vine when you fool with the grapes that are this close to maturation?”

“Well, no. I didn’t.”

The man dismounted. He patted his horse’s mane to calm it down.

“Do you own this land? It’s beautiful. Your winery must be very successful.” She noticed his strong tan arms and long legs.

He pushed back his black bangs like a little boy before taking the reins and starting to walk beside her. “Do you know anything about wine? If you’re from around here, you should.”

“Unfortunately…”

“Then you must stay and let me take you on a tour. It would benefit me and other growers for you to learn something in case you decide to take more walks. As it is, if you intend to make it to town, it’ll take at least another hour. Then you have to turn around right away to climb the hill and get to wherever you’re staying.”

“Oh, yes. I’m staying at my
nonna’s
about a kilometer up the gravel road. I don’t suppose you know her.”

“Uh, probably not. Look, why don’t you change your plans? If you follow me, I can give you a tour and then take you into town.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

“I’d already planned to go into town for some supplies.”

“Is it that building behind the beautiful olive tree?”

“No. You can’t see it from here. It’s beyond that. We make Chianti Rufina wines. The winery’s award-winning.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“This,” he said with a sweeping gesture, “is Amarena Balda, and I’m Giulio de Capua. Amarena Balda is owned by the De Capua family, which consists of me and my brother, Ermanno. The winery’s been here for over a century.”

Looking like a large warehouse, an outbuilding stood on the other side of an even larger house. Viviana wanted to ask De Capua if he lived there with his brother, but she bit her lip.

“This is the building where we create our tasty wines. In spite of our size, we’ve won awards all over the valley.”

The inside was a wide expanse of space at one end. A few tables and a desk in the middle formed an office and lab with a couple of laptops and a microscope. At the other end, rows of barrels surrounded a larger vat. Her gaze stopped at a door at the far end.

His eyes followed hers. “That’s where we store our supplies.”

“I know almost nothing about winemaking. Are there a lot of supplies?”

“Are you interested?”

“Yes, of course. I know that you grow grapes, crush them, and let them age.”

“That would be great if that was all there was to it. I’d pick and crush the grapes in September and then travel the rest of the year. Unfortunately there’s a lot of paperwork and politics involved too. Too much bureaucratic red tape. I hire more people to do paperwork than I do winemakers and experts on taste and quality.”

“What do you mean?”

“In order to sell the finest possible wine, I have to grow premium grapes and, using the best equipment and a special mixture of grapes and chemistry, produce the best-tasting product in the region.”

“I thought you grew all the grapes.”

He smiled. “I grow most of the grapes, but neighbors grow different types. I buy from them too. The other winemakers create varieties with different quantities of each grape. In addition, we might alter the process slightly. Each variance can make big differences in taste and texture. Alterations are necessary because the grapes are all grown in the same region and carry similar fruity tastes. My wine has a taste that’s distinct from the wine my neighbor produces.”

“Wow. I guess I really don’t know very much.”

“You must start by tasting the different products. I have some bottles over here.”

“I’ve been winetasting before. A tasting room that has some atmosphere or something to make the consumer feel comfortable is a must. Do you have something like that here?”

“No. Not now. I’ll have to ask you for advice when we build it, though. Come closer,” he said, holding up a glass of his red wine. “Do you know how creating what we call
Chianti
is governed?”

“I know nothing, except how it tastes.”

“It’s quite complex. Our prestigious standard production, labeled as superior, has several flavors.” He handed her a glass and filled it about a third full. “Hold it up to the light. What do you see?”

“It’s dark red. I can barely see any light coming through.”

“Now take a sip. Let it sit on your tongue. Does the taste remind you of anything?”

“I can taste a fruit. Cherry maybe? But it’s spicier than cherry.”

“What else?”

“There’s a smoky flavor. Is that from the oak barrel?”

“Take some more. Does it really taste like oak?”

“No, maybe a campfire.”

“What about a cigarette?”

“Oh, yes. I haven’t had one of those since my early teens so I hardly think about it. There’s a musty taste too, I believe.”

“So now you know how it tastes. If you were explaining this to a customer, I’d recommend you say that it has a black cherry, tobacco, and earth flavors. We’re in the Rufina sub region and are therefore included in the DOCG rules that regulate what we put into our wines and how long the wine must be aged. You just tasted Chianti following the rules for Chianti
Superiore. Our finest Chianti is our
riserva
. The grapes must be eighty per cent Sangiovese, and all the grapes must be grown somewhere within the Chianti region. They once used quite a few white grapes in Chianti, but we no longer add them. To be competitive, only the best red grapes go into our wines. In our case, we grow over ninety per cent of our own grapes.”

“Whoever handles the business end must be overwhelmed. The desk’s messy. How can he or she pay all the bills when they’re strewn all over the table?”

“He has his methods. My brother takes care of that so I can work on getting the best wine possible.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s on the road right now.” He took her arm and turned her away from the surface. “He’ll be back by the end of the week. I see that Serena, my sister, has texted me and asks if you want to come to dinner. They’ve set a place for you at the table. Perhaps we can go into town another time.”

“So your whole family lives in the house?”

“My sister, my mother, and my brother. My father died about five years ago. We all take care of my mother now.”

At the house, Giulio showed her where she could freshen up. When she returned, the family had already moved outside.

Signora de Capua sat at the end of a large picnic table. Viviana went up to her to thank her for the invitation. Then she looked out to see Corsa Pietra across the valley. Setting behind the hill in back of her, the sun made the hill town shimmer.