Midnight Harvest (41 page)

“They—as we have all done—have lost some of their grapes to the midnight harvest, and they say I have caused the thefts. They are convinced that their losses have been greater than mine, and nothing anyone can say has changed their minds. The thefts have been the same for all of us, but they believe that they have been more deeply wronged. They say my policy of employing only men with families has led to more theft on their property, since unmarried men are as desperate as married ones, and more inclined to break the law. I do not offer work to such men, so they are more inclined to rob, or that is what they are saying.” He had been speaking very rapidly, and now he forced himself to slow down. “I don’t know if you can do anything about this trouble. The Leonardis are not going to listen to any opinion that does not agree with theirs, and you would be considered tainted because you have done business with me for so long. They say I have brought trouble to them, that if I employed single men as well as married men, they would not steal. They claim I can afford to provide jobs for dozens of men, although I cannot, even if I had work for dozens of men to do. And some of the thieves are no more than criminals in any case, and they do not seek jobs, only opportunities. So the Leonardi sons say I have left them and all the farmers around Geyserville without protection from the midnight harvesters. They are very angry.”

“But that’s foolishness,” said Saint-Germain. “If they are worried about idleness, do they have any idea how you are to afford to employ all these men, and keep them busy once you have employed them?”

“I don’t know,” Pietragnelli exclaimed, turning his eyes upward. “I have tried to do as much as I can. The Leonardis employ only three men, and they do not give them a place to live—they cannot afford it. They have no accommodations for wives or children.” He glowered in the direction of the nearest lamp. “I don’t expect them to do what I do, but I wish they would not carp about what I do, whether they agree with it or not. I mean them no harm.”

“I gather something has happened to make the situation worse, or you wouldn’t have called me,” said Saint-Germain.

“Something has happened,” Pietragnelli said, and took a long moment before going on. “Thomas Leonardi has filed a grievance with Will Sutton—the deputy sheriff in Healdsburg?—claiming that I am deliberately creating trouble so that I can compel my neighbors to sell their land to me for reduced prices; I had a call from Will yesterday about it. He said he thinks it’s nonsense, but he’s afraid it could mean problems, all the same. I asked him what he has to do now. He isn’t willing to do more than file the papers with the sheriff, and he warned me that it could lead to court appearances, to defend my actions, or show that the grievance is without merit.” He took a long sip of mulled wine. “I fear Sutton may be right.”

Saint-Germain considered what he had heard. “Have your neighbors been harder hit by thefts than you have?”

“Hiro Yoshimura certainly has, and Alphonse del Castro, but they are not vintners—they grow vegetables, and there is a greater demand for vegetables. Neither of them has complained about my policy, but that means little.” Pietragnelli sighed heavily. “I have talked to them both, and I have sent my men to help guard their fields, but the thieves are patient, and they strike late at night. We’ve routed some of them, but not nearly enough.”

“And you say it is the Leonardis who are complaining, not Yoshimura or del Castro,” Saint-Germain remarked. “How odd.”

“They believe they must speak against me,” said Pietragnelli. “That is what I have come to realize, little as I want to. What man likes to think his neighbors wish him ill?”

“Most of us would prefer to have it otherwise,” Saint-Germain said, his memories filled with painful reminders of when that had not been possible for him.

“So I have said, many times,” Pietragnelli declared. “I have tried to make the most of my good fortune, yes, but I have wanted to share it with my family and neighbors, as an honorable man should. Thomas Leonardi used to be my friend; not so much his wife—she is from Scotland and thinks men should be taciturn. But I do not find her as objectionable as she does me.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Saint-Germain said, and attempted to discover where this was leading. “You have intimated that the Leonardi sons bear you a grudge. Do you think they are inclined to be more belligerent than they have been in the past?”

“I am afraid so. They have been attending meetings somewhere near Santa Rosa of a group of men who claim to be protecting the white race from corruption. They don’t consider Italians white, of course, or Russians, or Spaniards, or Frenchmen, or anyone they decide is not one of them. They advocate running off anyone they don’t approve of, in the name of racial purity.” He barked out a laugh. “They have been feeding on shared misery.”

“Do you suppose they are planning to do more than talk? If they are behind the grievance, they could damage you.” Saint-Germain had a sharp recollection of the Militia Christi in his palazzo in Fiorenza, and all that had come of their zeal; this was the same mentality cloaked in a different cause.

“It’s possible,” Pietragnelli said heavily. “I hope I am wrong, but after what they said to me last week, I can’t be blind to their ire, though it was their father who made the charges.”

“Have you spoken to the deputy about this?” Saint-Germain asked. He heard the wind change direction, sending the rain spattering on the French doors; he knew the drive back to San Rafael would be slow and wretched with water running on the road; luckily, his native earth was under the springs of the seat, which would reduce the vertigo running water caused him.

“Certainly. When he called me about the complaint, I told him what I knew, but I probably sounded as if I wanted to retaliate for their grievance.” He shrugged to show his frustration. “I don’t know what more I can do beyond calling you.”

“I’m glad you did,” said Saint-Germain. “It is not in your interests or mine to be bogged down in all manner of legal posturing. I don’t suppose this can be readily resolved, not as complicated as it seems to be.” He got up from the piano and went over toward the wide doorway into the entry-hall. “I wonder what we could do to lessen the animosity.”

“If you can think of something, I would be grateful,” said Pietragnelli. “I am prepared to deal with all manner of trouble, but I would prefer not to have to. I am sorry I must draw you into this, but you have a share in the winery, and if it is damaged, you will feel it as well as I.” He stared down into his mug. “I have struggled to do what I think is right. Because I have had more opportunities than some others, I have wanted to extend as much help as I could to those with fewer; when I decided to employ only men with wives and families, it was because I thought that the salary I paid would do more good that way. Thanks to you, I am able to do this, but not even your resources are infinite; I can’t afford to hire every man out of work—not even the government can do that—but so long as I can pay a hundred dollars a month, I want the money to benefit as many as possible. Am I wicked to do that?”

“You are asking the wrong man. In your shoes I would probably do the same.” Saint-Germain put his fingertips together. “But that isn’t the issue, is it: what you believe you have done correctly?—the problem is what others think you ought to have done, and how they believe it has affected them.”

“Veramente,” said Pietragnelli. “Nothing I have been able to say has persuaded the Leonardis that I do not mean them injury. And now that the midnight harvests have increased, it has only made matters worse.” He set his mug aside and rose.

“Have you spoken to any of the Leonardis since they filed their grievance?” Saint-Germain observed Pietragnelli closely.

“It was my first impulse, but I decided not to,” he admitted.

Saint-Germain nodded. “Certainly a prudent decision,” he said.

“I thought it best to talk to you first, and in person. I don’t want the switchboard operators telling everyone what we discussed. They love gossip, and as you know, they listen to everything.” Pietragnelli swung around to face Rogerio. “You have said nothing.”

“I’ve been listening,” said Rogerio.

“That’s all well and good,” Pietragnelli grumbled, “but something more is needed.”

“Yes, it is,” said Rogerio. “I am trying to decide what I might be able to do that would not make the situation worse.”

“As are we all,” said Saint-Germain. “This may require very careful negotiations.”

“Per sfortuna,” Pietragnelli muttered.

“Possibly,” said Saint-Germain. “But we should be able to avoid the worst if we plan carefully.”

“I am sorry to impose upon you so; I wish it weren’t necessary,” Pietragnelli said. “But I could think of no one else to turn to who would be in a position to help. You have an interest in the winery, and so if there is trouble, you will have to bear some of its burdens, or so you have told me. Will Sutton won’t be able to do anything, and so it seemed to me—”

“You needn’t apologize,” said Saint-Germain.

“This isn’t your battle,” Pietragnelli exclaimed, suddenly chagrined. “I could not think of anyone else to call; still, I know I should not ask you to be part of this.”

“But it is, you know,” Saint-Germain told him. “It is my battle.”

Rogerio recognized the resolve in Saint-Germain’s steady voice, and said, “What do you need me to do?”

Saint-Germain shook his head. “I’ll decide that once Signor Pietragnelli and I have agreed upon a strategy.” He went and drew up one of the chairs to where Pietragnelli sat. “You tell me the Leonardi sons belong to a group in Santa Rosa: what do you know about it, and what can you tell me about what the members have actually done?” He sat down and motioned to Rogerio to join them.

Pietragnelli rubbed his chin with his thick, blunt hand. “I believe they call themselves the White Legion, or some such grandiose name. They blame the terrible state of the country on all those they consider non-white. They send insulting letters to the
Press-Democrat
and post derogatory notices on the windows of stores and other businesses owned by those they dislike. They run advertisements saying that thus-and-such a business or farm or company is owned by non-whites. They paint mailboxes with yellow or black to warn people in the county that they have non-white neighbors. They have claimed that they have wrecked a fruit-stand ran by a Spanish family. Whether it is true or not, the fruit-stand was certainly wrecked. They also claim to have forced Mr. Wu to sell his restaurant and move back to San Francisco. Mr. Wu is gone, and, as far as I know, is not planning to return. It is a pity. His was the only good Chinese restaurant in Santa Rosa. He served wonderful food, and his prices were reasonable. You could get a whole dinner—an ample dinner—for less than a dollar a person.”

“So this White Legion may do more than talk,” said Saint-Germain. “They may actually do real damage.” He thought of the men in brown shirts in Munich, and, for a terrible moment, Laisha dead. “Groups of that kind are dangerous.”

“I fear so,” said Pietragnelli. “They also say that they will chase all non-whites out of Sonoma County. I don’t know if they will, but it is their admitted intention: everyone they decide isn’t white enough for their standards must be gotten rid of. I know this because I have read their tracts, and I know what they advocate. They had a booth at the County Fair, and they had posters saying that, with copies of their advertisements about non-whites. The men all wear blue trousers and white shirts, and they march about as if they were soldiers. Oliver Leonardi was working at the booth, handing out material and collecting donations, some as much as a dollar. A lot of men stopped at the booth and took their pamphlets.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said Saint-Germain. “I don’t suppose they can be stopped from—”

“No. They have a right to their opinion: I understand. It’s in the Constitution, as they point out in all their literature. And many of the police agree with them, so they do not watch them too closely.” Pietragnelli caught his lower lip in his teeth. “I don’t know what I am to do if the Leonardis turn their associates against me.”

“You must make sure they don’t have that opportunity,” said Saint-Germain. “And you must employ their tactics against them.”

“How am I to do that?” Pietragnelli asked, sounding dreadfully tired.

“You say they advertise in the newspaper; they may have overstepped themselves,” Saint-Germain began, his dark eyes lit with purpose. “If they can do so, you will, too.” He held up his hand to stop Pietragnelli’s objection. “You must run a notice every day that yesterday the White Legion did not attempt to run you off your land. Don’t worry about the cost: I’ll pay for it.”

“But won’t that goad them? provoke them?” Pietragnelli cried in dismay.

“It will. And on the day that they do anything against you, you withdraw that notice from the paper—for that day. You must be scrupulously honest in your notice, and if you are, the stratagem will succeed.” Saint-Germain saw a glimmer of mischief in Pietragnelli’s worried scowl. “If others will join with you, the notices will have more power.”

“They will be furious,” Pietragnelli said, almost relishing the prospect.

“Very likely. But so long as you are scrupulously truthful, the White Legion will be held up to scrutiny and ridicule at once. Movements of that sort can endure anything but derision. Provided there are more people to stand against them than support them, they stand to lose far more than you do, and you alert the community to the menace they are without providing them an aura of power.” This last, he thought, was the most crucial element, and the one thing that could tip the balance away from the White Legion.

“Do you think they will try to retaliate for such notices?” Pietragnelli asked.

“It is a possibility, and you must not ignore it,” said Saint-Germain. “How many of your neighbors have been harassed by this White Legion?”

“Yoshimura and del Castro, of course, and Hooperman—he is a farmer about two miles away—and Giovenezza, who has orchards south of Cloverdale. There are probably others, but I don’t know of them specifically,” said Pietragnelli. “I will ask the ones I know to recommend others.”