Ripped From the Pages (7 page)

“Yes,” I said, remembering my days conducting tastings at the winery. “
Terroir
is everything that gives a certain wine its specific characteristics. The dirt, the
climate, the microclimate, the geological conditions. All of these affect the taste
of the wine. Even other plants growing in the area will lend flavor to the wine.
Terroir
can include the type and location of a particular oak tree used to make the barrel
in which it’s aged, or the yeast added during fermentation.”

I realized everyone was staring at me, and I winced. “Sorry. I tend to go off on the
subject.”

“No, no, I find it fascinating,” Trudy said. “And very true. The winemakers had a
need to protect their
terroir
as well as their vines, so they collected the dirt, too. And many cases of bottled
wines, of course. They distributed them to those friends around the world for safekeeping.”

“But you still weren’t safe,” Derek prompted.

Even though I knew the outcome, I was sitting on the edge of my seat. “Your parents
must’ve been scared to death.”

“It was a dark time,” she said, frowning. “When the massacre occurred at Oradour,
our village fathers called a town meeting. Uncle Anton suggested that everyone gather
their most treasured belongings together and hide them in one safe place.”

“Did they all agree?”

“Yes. The blacksmith had a false door in the floor of his shop, and they intended
to hide everything in the space underneath. But then my uncle Jacques was caught by
the Nazis for being part of the Resistance. We were afraid he would be tortured. He
escaped, but he and his brothers decided that our entire family had to leave immediately
to avoid certain death at the hands of the enemy. The men of my family used up every
connection they’d ever had to get us out of the country.”

“Did they leave everything with the blacksmith?” I asked.

“No. Uncle Anton, as the oldest, was in charge, and he suggested that he and my uncles
collect the most valuable belongings of everyone in the village and take them out
of the country with them. When the war was over, Anton would be responsible for bringing
it all back safe and sound.

“Everyone agreed that this was the best solution, so for several nights, people came
by our house and left the most beautiful artwork and statues and gold coins and jewelry
and silver pieces. Even some furniture. The father of one of my school friends claimed
to be related to the French kings. He and the men carried several exquisite pieces
of furniture into our house. I remember seeing a dresser with a mirror and a vanity
table. All very fancy.”

At the mention of the furniture, I exchanged a glance with Derek.

“How did you get everything out of the country?” he asked.

“By the will of God,” she said. “And pure luck. The small items were placed inside
the wine barrels and covered in dirt. The biggest items were shipped to a company
in San Francisco that Uncle Anton knew of, and he planned to take possession of them
when we arrived. Those larger crates were marked as furniture. And, of course, much
of it was indeed furniture.”

“That must’ve taken some time to arrange.” I was completely enthralled by her tale.

“The clock was ticking,” she said. “My mother was so nervous in those days. I didn’t
know why until a few years later when I was finally able to understand what we’d been
through.”

“So everything was packed up, and that was when you left.”

“We had to sneak out of the village and travel at night. Along the way we were assisted
by many kind people. I was miserable and frightened, but I didn’t dare complain.”

“Because you might’ve been discovered.”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “We finally made it to the coast and
traveled across the channel to Southampton, England. Then by boat to New York and
then by train to California. The wine barrels traveled with us. It was a harrowing
journey every step of the way, because we never knew when we might be stopped and
searched. My father and uncles had to carry an enormous amount of cash because they
didn’t know when or where they might have to pay off an official.”

“How awful for them,” Mom murmured. “And all of you.”

“Isn’t it?” Trudy said, shaking her head. “Even when we arrived at the little train
station in Petaluma, safe at last, my mother refused to let a porter take her suitcase.
She was afraid she wouldn’t get it back.”

“Your poor mother,” Mom said. “She had to worry about her children, too.”

“Yes,” Trudy murmured. “I had a younger brother, Olivier. He returned to France after
the war and died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. He was a dear old thing, and his wife was lovely. They’re both gone now.
I remember how Ollie and I used to practice our English together every day on the
boat.” She seemed lost in thought for a moment but then perked up. “When we arrived
in San Francisco, we collected our shipments of furniture and everything else we’d
sent ahead. My father and uncles bought three cars and a truck, and we all drove out
here to Sonoma.”

Derek smiled calmly, even though I could tell he was anxious to get back on track.
“Once they knew you were all safe, did your parents arrange to take everything back
to the villagers?”

Trudy’s expression was not happy. “I don’t believe so, not right away. The war was
still raging back home. But to be honest, I have no idea when or how they sent the
items back. My parents never spoke of it.”

“They never said anything about the villagers’ belongings?” I asked, not quite believing
what she’d said.

“When we first arrived, they talked about it. And they told us stories. We were growing
older, and I think they wanted us to know some of our history. But one day, they just
stopped talking about it. All of it. The artwork. The harrowing details of the trip
we’d taken. The war. Even our old village in France. My parents never spoke a word
about any of it again.”

“Not a word?” Mom echoed in puzzlement.

“Not as far as I knew.”

“Do you have any idea why?” I asked.

“No. I was still a child and didn’t think to ask. I assumed my father and uncles had
taken care of everything, but they never said. I decided that they simply didn’t like
to dwell on the past. But I wish I knew what happened. There were so many beautiful
things, I would like to know that they all made it back to their rightful owners and
that our French village was peaceful again. I have so many questions.”

Derek and I exchanged another glance, and he reached for Trudy’s hand. “We might be
able to give you some of the answers you’re looking for.”

She trembled visibly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we know where the treasures are. We can take you to see them, Trudy.”

She waved him away with a tired smile. “Oh, I’m too old to travel.”

“You don’t understand,” I said, laughing. “They’re only a mile away. In the wine cave.”

*   *   *

“I
t’s simply too much to comprehend,” Trudy said. “It all looks so familiar, and yet,
it’s—it’s . . . Oh, there’s the Greniers’ family portrait. Good heavens, they’re all
so young.” She gazed at the framed oil painting for a long moment, then turned to
stare at
herself in the pretty gold-leaf mirror attached to a rococo vanity table. “This belonged
to my girlfriend from so many years ago, Nanette Allard.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“Isn’t it? I always envied her for having so many nice . . . Oh!” She inhaled so suddenly,
I thought she might faint.

“Are you all right?”

“What is it?” Derek asked. “Do you remember something else?”

Trudy let out a faint trill and flitted over to the bookshelf, where she grabbed a
small white marble sculpture of a bird and clutched it tightly to her bosom. “It’s
my missing bookend!”

She closed her eyes and simply breathed for a moment. Then she held it out for us
to see. “It’s a quail. I can’t believe it. I haven’t seen this since I was seven years
old.”

“It was yours when you were young?” Derek asked.

She laughed. “The set actually belonged to my father, but he gave it to me because
I loved carrying it around the house. One of the set disappeared shortly after we
moved here, and I was bereft. But here it is.”

“Amazing,” Mom said.

“I still have its mate on my mantel at home. Well, not its mate, exactly. The one
I have at home is a kitten, but it’s similar in size and style to this one.” She turned
it this way and that. “It’s charming, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful,” I repeated, taking the sculpture when she offered it. As Trudy said,
it was a quail, and its head, half of its body, and one outstretched wing were beautifully
carved while the rest of its body was still encased in the small block of marble.
I handed it to Derek.

“It’s so simple,” he said, “and yet it manages to show so much emotion and strength.
The way it’s carved as though it’s poised to fly free from the marble reminds me of
Rodin’s style.”

“I think so, too.” Trudy let out a happy sigh. “This was done by nobody in particular
and isn’t worth much money, of course. But it has lots of sentimental value.”

I noticed Derek’s eyebrow quirk up. Did he disagree with her? Did he believe the piece
might be a more important work than Trudy thought? I’d thought of Rodin, too, when
I held the little sculpture. I loved his work and had enjoyed touring his museum in
Paris, but I couldn’t remember whether he’d ever sculpted small animals like that.
Unbidden, an old news story sprang to my mind, about the Musée Rodin in Paris discovering
a number of fake sculptures in other exhibitions around the world. The article mentioned
a way to tell if a Rodin sculpture was an original. Knowing Derek, I suspected he
already knew how to tell.

“All these fantastic paintings,” Mom said as she scanned the artwork leaning against
the walls. “I can’t believe they’ve been hiding in here all these years.”

“Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep them hidden,” I said.

“But why?” she asked. “Everything is so beautiful. Why not share it with the world?”

“Perhaps there was an earthquake,” Trudy said. “I can’t imagine my father or my uncles
purposely barricading this space, but an earthquake might’ve made it inaccessible.”

“Quite possibly,” Derek said, although I knew he was only saying it to placate her.
We had already decided that an earthquake would’ve destroyed most of the valuables
hidden in these chambers. There would’ve been rubble and stones and earth blocking
the way, not smooth cement walls.

But I played along. “Yes, anything could’ve happened.” I didn’t want Trudy to worry
that her family members might’ve done something devious. But how else could this be
explained?

I glanced at Mom, who took the hint. “It’s getting late. If you don’t mind, I’d better
go home and start dinner.”

“Oh goodness,” Trudy said, checking her wristwatch. “Amelia is going to scold me for
being gone so long without calling.”

Amelia would scold her? Sadly, I believed it and wondered if Trudy couldn’t find a
more pleasant companion than that sourpuss.

I led the way out of the chamber, through the storage cave, and out to the pathway
that led to the parking lot.

In the car, Trudy held her quail sculpture in her lap, and we chitchatted about the
awesome discovery all the way back to her house.

Derek left the motor running while he walked Trudy to her door. Once she was safe
inside, Derek returned, and we took off for our side of town. I leaned forward from
the backseat and touched Mom’s shoulder. “Did you know any of that stuff about Guru
Bob?”

“You mean that he was French? I had no idea!”

“No, I mean did you know that his family already owned this property long before we
moved up here to join the Fellowship?”

She frowned. “I suppose he did. Your father and I always thought he came here and
bought the property on his own.”

“So Dad didn’t know, either?”

Mom’s shoulders dropped fractionally. “Neither of us had any idea that Robson’s family
owned this property.” But Dad had been known to keep secrets from Mom in the past.
For her own good, he’d said at the time. Her eyes narrowed with purpose. “I’ll find
out exactly how much your father knows when I get home.”

“Go, Mom.”

“Not that it should be any big deal,” she argued with herself. “Robson doesn’t have
to tell us every detail of his life.”

“True.”

Then she frowned. “In fact, I’m trying to remember exactly what he
did
tell us. Maybe we all just assumed he’d purchased the land around that same time.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

I caught Derek watching me in the rearview mirror and grinned. He always had too good
a time watching me spar with my mother.

He pulled into Mom’s driveway and came to a stop.

“I’d like to return to the caves tomorrow,” Mom said as she was climbing out of the
car. “The space needs a spiritual cleansing.”

Normally I would’ve rolled my eyes and tried to discourage her, but seeing as how
a murder had occurred in that small cave, and lord only knew what had happened in
the larger one, I figured it might actually do some good if she went ahead and cleaned
it up a little, spiritually speaking.

“I’ll go with you,” I said.

“I’ll take you both there,” Derek said. “The potential value of the treasure in those
caves is phenomenal, and that much money can make people do crazy things. I think
we’d be wise to follow the ‘safety in numbers’ adage for the time being.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Mom said, beaming at him. “See you kids tomorrow.”

Once Mom was gone, I pounced on Derek. “Do you honestly think that sculpture might
be a real Rodin?”

He glanced at me sideways before backing out of my parents’
driveway and pulling into the Quinlans’. “How dare you read my mind.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” I said, chuckling. “The expression on your face made it obvious.”