The Apple Orchard

Part Six





TWEED KETTLE PIE

In wartime, nearly all foods were rationed. Families were encouraged to grow as much food as possible themselves, and to serve wild-caught fish at the height of freshness. Women believed creating nutritious meals was their munition of war.





2 pounds potatoes

salt

1/4 cup milk

4 tablespoons cream cheese

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1/4 cup chives (minced fresh, or scallions)

6 tablespoons butter (divided)

4 tablespoons flour

2 cups milk

a few pinches salt

pinch ground nutmeg

pinch ground cloves

1/2 cup diced onion

2 cups mixed cooked vegetables: peas, carrots, cauliflower, whatever is in season

2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

4-8 ounces salmon filet, poached and flaked

1/2 cup grated cheddar cheese





Peel and dice the potatoes, and boil until tender. Combine with salt, 1/4 cup milk, the cream cheese, 1 tablespoon butter and chives and mash or whip until smooth.

While potatoes are boiling, melt 4 tablespoons butter and combine with flour to make a roux. Slowly add the milk and stir on low until thickened. Season with salt, nutmeg and cloves.

Sauté the onion in the rest of the butter until soft. Add the rest of the vegetables, the parsley and salmon and combine well.

Pour the mixture into a wide baking dish and top with the white sauce. Spread the mashed potatoes over this and top with cheese. Bake at 350 degrees F until bubbly and brown on top. Let the casserole rest for about 15 minutes, and serve warm.

(Source: Traditional; of Scottish origin)





Ten



“Have you ever heard of a woman named Annelise Winther?” Tess asked Dominic as they left the hospital together.

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”

“There was a card from her to Magnus in the room.” She flushed a little. “It felt strange, sitting there with nothing to say, so I read the get-well cards aloud to him. One of them was from Miss Winther—a recent client of mine in San Francisco. It can’t be a coincidence that they know each other.”

“Maybe your sister can tell you more.”

While she still had a signal, Tess phoned the office. Jude got on the line. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m doing much better, thank you for asking,” she said.

“Then why aren’t you at work?”

“I had to... Something came up.” She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to share with him at this point. “A family matter.”

He snorted. “Since when do you have a family?”

“Nice, Jude.”

“I’m just saying. If you don’t get back on the job, you won’t have a job. Jesus, you went from a meeting with Dane Sheffield to playing Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.”

“I never take time off,” she protested. “A couple of days aren’t going to matter. Brooks said Mr. Sheffield is going to reschedule our meeting. I’ll come back to the city for that.”

“You need to come back to the city for good. You know as well as I do, it’s either-or. Assuming you see a future here. Look, I have to go. I’m getting another call....”

“Jude, hang on—”

“Get back on the job, Tess. I’m telling you this as a friend.” He rang off before she could reply.

She glared at her phone, then stuffed it in her bag.

“Problems?” asked Dominic.

“My work. I’ve never gone AWOL before.”

“You never had a trip to the emergency room before,” he pointed out.

“This business...it’s fast-paced. There are deadlines. Upcoming auctions. If things get away from me, it can screw everything up.”

“I see. Didn’t know antiquities was a life-or-death business.”

“It is to some.” She was quiet the rest of the way home. Back at Bella Vista, she thanked Dominic for the lift. “So I guess...I’ll be heading back to the city,” she said. “I mean, there’s nothing more for me to do here, right?” Jude was right; she should get back on the job. Work was normal. She needed to feel normal.

“Up to you.”

Tess couldn’t figure out why she felt guilty about leaving. But honestly, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do next. “Isabel is surrounded by friends,” she said. “She really doesn’t need me.” She paused and looked at Dominic. “No comment?”

“I figure you’re just thinking aloud.”

“Well, since you seem to know everyone around here, I thought you might have an opinion.”

“Everybody has an opinion. The smart ones keep it to themselves.”

“Ha, ha.” As they headed for the front entry, she inhaled the heavy sweetness of the apple harvest. Everything here seemed so abundant and ripe for renewal that she couldn’t get her head around the idea that Magnus was flat broke.

“Oh, good, you’re back,” Isabel said, coming out to meet them at the door. She looked lovely but harried in a gauzy paisley skirt and peasant blouse. “How’s Grandfather?”

“The nurse said they might be taking him off the ventilator,” Tess reported.

Isabel’s eyes brightened. “That’s good, right? Please tell me it’s good.”

“It’s a positive sign. Dr. Hattori said you can call him for more details.”

“Speaking of details...” Isabel’s gaze shifted nervously. “Dominic, do you have time to talk about finances?”

“I should go,” Tess said, not wanting to intrude. “I need to pack up my things.”

“What? Pack? You’re not leaving.” Isabel bit her lip.

“I don’t belong here,” said Tess. “I’ve left a dozen things up in the air in the city—”

“Please,” said Isabel. “I know this is a strange situation, and it’s all new to you, but I just... I would love it if you could stay.”

Tess felt an itch of discomfort as she looked at Isabel. “Honestly, I’m a complete outsider here. I just don’t see how I can help you.”

“You’re helping by being here.” Isabel went to the window and looked out. The peaceful scene seemed to mock the mood in the room. She turned back to Tess. “There’s so much to sort out. And you’re used to dealing with old records, right? I mean, in your job at the auction house?”

With every fiber of her being, Tess did not want to be involved in this. Regardless of her preference, she was involved, thanks to the whim of an old man. But it was the raw need and fear in Isabel’s eyes that moved her. “You have to understand, I don’t know anything about this situation.”

“Then we’ll work together.” Isabel touched Tess’s arm briefly. “Thanks.”

Isabel fetched a tray of coffee and biscotti from the kitchen and led the way into a cluttered study. The room was dominated by a massive postmaster-style desk filled with drawers, cubbies and little nooks. It reminded Tess of a heavier, more masculine version of her nana’s desk in Things Forgotten. “Grandfather built it himself,” Isabel said with wistful pride. “He’s made a hobby of creating carved boxes. Some of them have trick drawers and hidden compartments.” There was no place to set the tray, so she put it down on a stack of files and papers.

An atmosphere of unfinished business hung in the air, mingling with the sweetish aroma of old pipe tobacco emanating from a rack of carved meerschaum pipes on the windowsill.

“The place is a mess, just as he left it,” Isabel said. “It’s as if he stepped out for a few minutes. I suppose, as far as he was concerned, that was what he did.”

Tess scanned the bookcases, crammed with unsorted books on every conceivable topic—farming and flower arrangement, child rearing and religion. There was something oddly familiar to her about the disorganization and clutter. To Tess, this did not look like a mess, but like a work area. She felt at ease in this space.

“Do you know someone named Annelise Winther?” she asked Isabel. “There was a card from her in Magnus’s room.”

“Never heard of her,” Isabel said. “Why do you ask?”

“She came from Denmark after the war. I met her in the city. Was there a group or network of survivors or immigrants? Maybe that’s how they met?”

“Maybe. Grandfather didn’t talk much about Denmark. Neither did Bubbie.”

“She was Danish, too?”

“Yes.”

There was a thick old-fashioned Bible, bound in leather with intricate iron hinges, on top of the desk. Tess lifted the cover and first few pages, revealing a record of births, deaths and marriages in what she presumed was Danish. The family tree dated back to the 1700s. She perked up with foolish hope. This was a record of her lineage—her family. But the records ended with the marriage of Magnus to Eva Salomon, dated 1954.

They sat around the desk and Isabel poured coffee and served the biscotti. By now it went without saying that she’d made them herself, and that they were delicious.

“So, is it true?” asked Isabel, leaning toward Dominic. “Are we as broke as I think we are? Or are there other accounts or funds...?”

Dominic nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Was Magnus aware of the situation?” Tess asked. She had a lot more questions, ones she couldn’t voice just yet. Had Dominic known about the trouble when he’d come to get her? Of course he had. Then why hadn’t he explained it to her? Did he think she’d refuse to come if she knew the estate was in distress?

“It’s been an issue for a while,” Dominic explained. “Magnus didn’t want anyone to know.”

“He was so stubborn that way,” Isabel said. “He didn’t want to worry anyone.”

Dominic took a bound document from his briefcase and set it on the desk.

“Grandfather’s will,” she said. It was printed on legal-sized paper with pale blue backing.

She placed her hands in her lap as though loath to touch it. Tess turned to the signature page and stared at the name scrawled there in bold strokes. Magnus Christian Johansen. “Isn’t this a little premature?” she asked, incensed. “Not to mention insensitive, bringing it up at a time like this?”

“It brought us together,” Isabel quietly pointed out. “He rewrote it shortly before the accident, didn’t he, Dominic?”

“Why then?” asked Tess.

“I don’t know. Look, I don’t like this any better than you do, but you both need to be informed,” he said. “The two of you are named as his sole heirs, and everything falls to you in equal parts.” Despite his words, the expression on Dominic Rossi’s face indicated that things were not so simple.

“Isabel can get a line of credit,” Tess suggested. “You could help her with that.”

Dominic took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Lines of stress bracketed his mouth. “God knows, I wish I could. Isabel, I hate like hell that I’m having to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?” She balled her hands at her sides.

His gaze flicked from Isabel to Tess and back again. Tess frowned, silently urging him to get on with it.

“Magnus took a loan against Bella Vista,” Dominic said. “Three separate times, and the outstanding balances are now higher than his equity in the place.”

The visions in Tess’s head of a simple solution disappeared with an inaudible poof. She glanced over at Isabel, who had gone pale beneath her pretty olive-toned skin. She obviously didn’t need help understanding what Dominic was saying.

“What’s going to happen?” she asked.

A weighty pause pressed down on them. Through the open window, Tess could hear workers talking, the rumble of a truck motor and the grind of machinery.

“Dominic?” Isabel whispered.

He exhaled slowly, faced her head-on. “The property is going into foreclosure. Christ, Isabel, I hate this.”

Isabel sank into a chair.

“Foreclosure? You mean your bank’s going to take Bella Vista?” asked Tess.

He turned to her, his eyes joyless, his jaw hard with frustration.

“But aren’t you...aren’t...you the bank?”

“I work for the bank, yes.”

Tess felt a blaze of anger. “Then can’t you stop it?”

“Not this time,” he told her quietly.

She wanted to strangle him for causing the stricken look on Isabel’s face. “What do you mean, not this time?”

“I’ve managed to defer the proceedings for years,” he said. “I’d still be doing that, except the bank changed hands. Regulations have changed, too. The new bank isn’t local, and the underwriters won’t grant any more extensions. There’s a firm deadline.”

“Does Grandfather even know about this?” asked Isabel.

“I told him right before the accident.”

“Does your bank know they’re foreclosing on a guy in a coma?” Tess demanded. “Does that matter at all? Isn’t his accident some kind of mitigating circumstance to get the bank to back off?”

“Not under the current regulations. Now that the bank has changed hands, there are new rules in place.”

“I don’t get you, Dominic. You knew Magnus as well as anyone around here. You’ve got nothing but good things to say about him. And now you’re foreclosing on his property.”

“I hate it. If the bank had its way, it would have taken place long ago. I’ve used every postponement and suspension available.”

He looked utterly frustrated, his jaw clenching and unclenching, hands gripping a stack of paperwork.

“So what’s going to happen? How is this going to work?”

He explained the procedure that would be followed—the notice of sale, the appointment of a trustee to oversee the sale, the looming public auction. The whole time he was talking, Tess looked out the window at the harvest in full swing, feeling a sense of loss not for herself, but for Isabel. She pictured her sister having to remove herself from this place and make a new life elsewhere.

“That’s grim,” she said, tearing her gaze from the view. She paged through the document he handed her, the fine print and official language all but impenetrable. “Isabel? Are you getting this?” she asked, her heart aching for her sister.

“I had no idea things were this bad,” Isabel said. “It’s so sudden.... I guess I’m in shock.”

“I’m sorry,” Dominic said, taking her hand with a familiar touch. “I’ve pushed the deadline as far as I could.”

“What will happen after the foreclosure? Will everyone at Bella Vista be evicted?” Tess demanded. “The Navarros, the workers, everyone?”

“You can stay as tenants paying rent, but that’s a temporary solution. It might buy a little more time. There can be a settlement up to five days before the auction.”

“But to make a settlement, we have to come up with cash.” Tess shuffled the papers again. “Nobody has this kind of cash. Good lord, what was the old man thinking?”

Isabel winced and turned away. “He was looking out for everyone who depends on him.”

Maybe it was a blessing, thought Tess, that she’d never had to depend on Magnus.

“He was waiting for the kind of year he had in 1997,” said Dominic. “Everybody set records around here. We haven’t seen a year like that since.”

“So we’re out of time, there won’t be a bonanza year...tell us what to expect,” Tess said.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Tess, we all know the answer to that,” Isabel said, getting up and pacing the room. “I’ll have to vacate the premises. We all will. And then... Oh, God.” She put her hands to her face.

“Listen.” Tess stood. “You’ll get through the mess. This is business. That’s all it is.”

“No,” Isabel said, dropping her hands and rounding on her. “Maybe it is for you, but for me and Grandfather and people who have been here for years, it’s our life.”

“Then you’ll find a new life,” Tess said. “People do it every day—”

“That might be true for some people,” snapped Isabel, “but not for me.”

“You can’t let this defeat you.” Tess felt a headache coming on. She turned to Dominic. “What will it take to fix this situation? A miracle?”

“Yeah, a miracle. That would be good.”

“Excuse me,” said Isabel, picking up the tea tray and heading for the door. “I need to be by myself for a little bit.”

Tess watched her go, feeling a deep welling of sympathy for her. Bella Vista was the only home Isabel had ever known, and she seemed singularly ill equipped to strike out on her own. She turned back to Dominic, rubbing her pounding temples. “Talk about kicking a person when she’s down.”

“I don’t like any of this any more than you do.” He studied her closely, his eyes reflecting concern. “Are you all right?”

She had the uncanny sensation that he could see her in ways most guys overlooked. Not to mention the fact that he’d already seen her in major meltdown mode. “Am I going to need a trip to the emergency room, do you mean? No. Do I feel like crap? Why, yes, yes, I do.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s take a break.”

* * *

They went outside together. The scent of ripe apples hung in the air. In the distance, Isabel melded with the peaceful scenery as she walked between the rows of trees in the orchard, the scented breeze lifting her skirt and twirling tendrils of her dark hair. Yellowing leaves danced on the breeze and wafted down to the dry grass. The day was aglow with the peculiar golden light of autumn. Isabel looked serene, but Tess knew that was a deception, played by the sun and the gorgeous landscape.

“Tell me about my sister,” she said to Dominic.

His gaze shifted, just a little bit. There, she thought, reading the signal. Something about her question made him uncomfortable. “What do you want to know?”

“How about you start with what will happen to her after the foreclosure.”

“That’s up to Isabel.”

“She seems...fragile.”

“We’re all fragile,” he said, then hastily added, “Your sister will get through this. I think you’ll find she has hidden strengths.”

“I’m not surprised to hear it. She’ll be needing that soon.”

There was a sundial on a section of a patio exposed to the full sun. She paused to read a patina-blue copper plaque by the sundial: “What a joy life is when you have made a close working partnership with Nature, helping her to produce for the benefit of mankind new forms, colors, and perfumes in flowers which were never known before; fruits in form, size, and flavor never before seen on this globe.”—Luther Burbank.

“It’s the mission statement of Bella Vista,” Dominic said. “Magnus and Eva had it cast in honor of their first harvest.”

She studied the plaque in its bright setting and tried to picture the Johansens as a young couple, so full of hope for their future, fiercely believing the idealistic words. “It’s nice. But not so helpful when it comes to scraping together cash for the bank.”

“True.”

She filled her lungs with fresh air and realized she hadn’t thought about smoking a cigarette at all today. According to the package insert in the foul-tasting gum, it only took thirty-six hours for the physical dependence to go away. Thirty-six hours wasn’t such a long time. If she’d known that, she might have tried quitting a long time ago.

“Where did all the money go?” she asked Dominic. “I mean, three mortgages? Is this operation just not sustainable?”

“It is,” Dominic said. “Magnus is a good grower and not a terrible businessman. The trouble started years ago, when he got himself into a hole he couldn’t dig out of. And then there were at least two more setbacks that I know about.”

“What happened?” She imagined foolish extravagances, gambling problems, unwise investments, maybe scams. “Am I allowed to know, or am I prying?”

“I’ve never known a secret to do anything but damage,” Dominic said.

His words startled her. “So how did he get into that downward spiral?”

“He took the first loan—a line of credit—when his wife got sick. Their insurance didn’t cover the bills for her illness. Happens to people every day, unfortunately. In the case of his wife, he thought he was insured to the hilt, but the insurance company argued otherwise, and he had to pay for her treatment out of pocket.”

“Why wouldn’t they cover her illness?”

“They linked it to a pre-existing condition.”

“What was the condition?”

He paused. “During World War II, Eva spent time in a concentration camp called Theresienstadt. She must have been just a little girl.”

Tess shuddered as a chill slipped through her. Theresienstadt. It was a Nazi death camp where most of the captured Jews of Denmark had been taken.

Suddenly she had to realign her thinking about the stranger who had been her grandmother. “I noticed her grave marker had a Hebrew phrase on it, so I figured she was Jewish. But my God, a concentration camp?” Tess’s heart ached. “What a nightmare.”

“The insurance company claimed the fact that she’d been an inmate in a concentration camp created a pre-existing condition, which wasn’t covered,” said Dominic.

“What? You mean, being forced into starvation as a child is considered a pre-existing condition?”

“They said it was a precursor to the form of cancer that struck her six decades later.”

“That’s criminal. How can they get away with such a thing?”

“Magnus could have fought them, but that would have incurred legal fees and deadly delays, with no guarantee of the outcome. In the meantime, Eva needed treatment.”

“That’s horrible. I can’t believe how horrible it is. Couldn’t he have sued the insurance company after the fact?”

“People can sue anyone for anything. But again, you don’t want to create a delay when someone’s life is at stake.”

The injustice made her chest ache. She knew taking on an insurance company was a David versus Goliath proposition, and that Goliath almost always won.

“The next two loans are for medical expenses, too,” Dominic continued. “A worker had an accident on the job—a bad one. Magnus’s liability was limited, but he wanted to take responsibility for Timon. He covered all his bills and ongoing care, as well.”

“What happened to the guy?”

“Tim? He still lives at Bella Vista. He’s the Navarros’ youngest. He suffered a traumatic brain injury, and he’s disabled. Magnus added a provision for him in his will, but under the circumstances, he won’t be able to cover him.”

She pictured the fallen, helpless man in his hospital bed. “So basically what we have is a saint who’s about to lose everything he spent his life building.”

“For what it’s worth,” Dominic said, “I’m sorry as hell about this.”

“Just doing your job, right? It must be horrible for you, having a job that puts people out of their homes.”

He didn’t say anything. She knew her remark wasn’t fair. He was in the business of making it possible for people to buy their homes, too.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this mess before, when you came to find me in the city?” she asked.

“Would it have mattered?”

“No,” she said quickly, “of course not.”

“It seemed more decent to tell you and Isabel together. Again, I’m sorry.”

She wanted to be mad at him, but instead, she just felt a wave of resignation. “Don’t apologize to me. I haven’t lost anything here. It’s certainly nothing like the loss Isabel and her grandfather are facing. I have a perfectly fine life in San Francisco—which, by the way, is where I’m headed this evening. I’ve gone twenty-nine years without knowing anything about my father’s family, and I—”

“You’re twenty-nine?”

She didn’t understand the surprise on his face. Instant paranoia set in. Did she look older? Should she have gone to Lydia’s Botox party last month? “Why do you seem so surprised?”

His gaze shifted away. “You look...younger than twenty-nine.”

There was a hesitation in his voice—something else she didn’t understand. At least he’d said the right thing—that she looked young. Maybe it was the freckles. “You’re being weird about my age,” she said. “Why are you being weird about my age?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Dominic said.

“I do,” Isabel said, walking toward them.

Tess turned in surprise. She hadn’t heard Isabel approach and wondered how much of the conversation she’d overheard. Surrounded by the sunlit changing leaves of a grape arbor, Isabel resembled a dark fairy or a sprite. “He’s being weird because I’m twenty-nine, too,” she said.

Tess’s head started to pound in sync with the sudden churning of her gut. If they were the same age, then that meant... Good lord, what kind of person had their father been?

If there was ever any question in Tess’s mind about his integrity, she now knew the answer. But it only opened the door to more questions.

“Isabel, when is your birthday?” she asked quietly, her fists clenching. Which sister was older? Whose mother had been with Erik first; which woman had been betrayed?

“I was born on March 27. What about you?”

Tess nearly choked. When she finally found her voice, she said, “March 27, same as you.”

No one spoke for several minutes. She could hear the breeze through the arbor, bees bumbling in the lavender and milkweed, and the distant, piercing cry of a hawk, the ticking of a wall clock.

“Are you okay?” asked Dominic.

The sick feeling that had sent her to the emergency room now washed over her in a wave, and without thinking, she took his hand. His fingers immediately tightened around hers, warm and reassuring. “Give me a second,” she whispered, seeing the concern in his eyes. Then she turned to Isabel. “What the hell...? Did you know anything about this?”

“No.”

“Did Magnus? Of course he did.”

“I wasn’t privy to the situation.”

As her heart surged in uncomprehending panic, she looked down at their joined hands. Just that, the feel of that connection, eased the disorientation a little. She took a breath, then extricated her hand from his. “I... Sorry.”

“No problem,” he said quietly.

Tess had never considered herself a touchy person, yet all she wanted to do was touch him. In the awkward silence, she turned to Isabel. “You didn’t know?” she asked.

“I had no idea.” Isabel’s voice wavered, and she looked as stunned as Tess felt. “I need to go bake something.”

“I need to go shoot something,” said Tess.

“I need to go back to the bank,” Dominic told them.

“Actually,” Tess said, “I’m going to give my mother one more chance to reply to my messages. After that I’ll have to go find her and drag her here by the hair.”

* * *

“We need to talk,” Tess told her mother’s too-familiar voice mail. Mystified and hurt, she paced back and forth in the great room, the house phone glued to her ear. “And if you don’t get back to me by the end of the day, no matter where you are, then don’t bother calling me again, ever.” For good measure, she sent a text message and an email to the same effect. She knew now that her mother was hiding. From what? From having to reveal secrets she’d kept for thirty years?

Tess hung up, then checked in with the office. “I need more time,” she told Jude.

“And I—we, everyone here—need you back at work. Or doesn’t work matter to you anymore?”

“Work is everything to me. You know that. But there’s... Something came up.”

“You found a long-lost sister. I’m happy for you, really. But in the meantime, you’ve got a job to do. And last time I checked, you had an apartment, friends, a life in the city.”

“We just figured out that we were born on the same day,” said Tess.

“Come again?”

“Isabel and I. We have the same birthday. Same year.”

“What, now you’re saying you’re twins?”

“No,” she said in exasperation. “Same father, different mothers.”

That silenced even Jude. She paced some more. A delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen. Isabel was in a baking frenzy.

“So for God’s sake,” she said, “I’m going to need to explore this situation a little deeper. If you were my friend, you’d come and help out. You should see this place, Jude. It’s...” She stopped pacing to gaze out the window. “Just like Neelie said. Magic.”

“You need to get your magic ass back here,” he said.

“Have you always been such a tool, or am I only noticing it now?” she asked.

“Hey—”

“I’ll check in with you later,” she said, already forgetting him as she lowered the phone. Outside, Dominic’s car rolled to a stop. Two kids and two dogs spilled out. Charlie, the shepherd mix, yelped with joy and raced to greet them.

Tess went outside, her spirits lifting at the sight of Dominic and his kids. “Hey, you guys,” she said. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Dad said Isabel was baking cookies,” said Antonio.

“He said she was baking, moron,” said Trini. “He didn’t say what.”

“Dad—”

“Trini.” His voice alone was command enough.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“I have it on good authority that she is baking cookies.”

“Yesss,” said Antonio. “I knew it.”

Isabel came out, carrying a platter. “I heard a rumor, too,” she said, beaming. “I heard a rumor that there were two hungry kids on their way to the harvest fair. Ginger molasses, the soft kind. Help yourself.”

The kids each wolfed down a cookie. It was all Tess could do not to follow suit, but she took a more dainty bite. “Isabel, you’re killing me,” she said.

“Yeah, Dad, you should learn to make cookies like this,” said Trini. “I bet if you did, I’d end up getting straight A’s in school.”

“Then I’d better teach him,” said Isabel.

“Not today,” said Dominic. “Harvest fair, remember?”

“No,” Tess said swiftly. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s the biggest celebration of the year in Archangel,” said Isabel.

“And you’re both coming,” said Dominic.

“We probably shouldn’t,” said Tess. Harvest celebration? She went to happy hour, not harvest fairs. “We’ve got a lot going on here—”

“And you need a break from it,” he said easily. “It’ll do you a world of good. I entered you in the grape stomp.”

Grape stomp. “This does not sound promising.”

“You’re going to love it.”

“Whenever someone says that to me, nothing good ever follows,” said Tess.

“I’m wounded,” said Dominic, opening the back of the SUV for the dogs. “Grab a change of clothes, and let’s go.”

The change of clothes suggestion should have tipped her off. The town square had been transformed into an old-fashioned fairground, with striped pavilions set up, delicious smells everywhere, people milling around and kids and dogs racing everywhere.

“This town is so charming,” Tess remarked as they headed down the promenade. “I’m surprised it’s not overrun by tourists.”

“We get our share. There’s definitely a cadre of reclusive famous types who live here, hiding out from the paparazzi.”

“Really? Like who? If you tell me, will you have to kill me?”

“Talk-show hosts, retired athletes, that type.”

“Hmm. I think what you’re not telling me is a lot more interesting than what you are.”

“Most of them are in Sonoma or Healdsburg. Closer to the airport. People who come here tend to be the type who stick around for a while.”

“I guess that rules me out,” she said. She didn’t know why she was so quick to tell him that. It seemed important to set that boundary.

“I’d never rule you out,” he said quietly.

His words nearly stopped her in her tracks, but there was no time to pursue the matter. The kids insisted on taking all three dogs to the dog dash, a race to benefit the local P.A.W.S. shelter. Iggy won handily, causing the kids to nearly burst with pride. The Dude was given a ribbon for “most unusual,” and Charlie for “funniest.”

Dominic leaned down and spoke low into Tess’s ear. “I think the point is that everyone is a winner.”

When she went to claim Charlie’s ribbon, the judge told her, “You have a beautiful family.”

Startled, she turned back to see Dominic and the kids waving Isabel over to see the ribbons. “Oh,” said Tess, “they’re not...” Then she simply smiled and said, “Thanks.”

They walked together from booth to booth, sampling wine and cider, jam and gourmet bites. Tess had to admit that Dominic was right—they did need a break from the troubles at Bella Vista. Isabel was more relaxed than she’d ever seen her, walking around and greeting friends, accepting well wishes for Magnus.

Tess was charmed by the sense of community she found here. Even though she was a stranger, she felt as if she belonged, thanks to the simple gesture of a friendly smile, the offer of a sample of food or taste of wine. At one point, her hand brushed Dominic’s, and she flushed, wondering if he had any idea how attractive he was to her.

The grape stomp was the final event of the evening. Tess was designated the stomper, and Isabel the swabby. That was when she figured out why Dominic had advised her to wear cut-offs and bring a change of clothes.

“You’re kidding,” she said, regarding the stage, which featured a row of half barrels full of grapes.

“This is wine country,” he said. “We don’t kid about grapes. You’re about to compete in the hope of being named America’s greatest stomper.”

“Really? Really?”

He grabbed her hand and led her up to the stage. “Come on, I’ll be right next to you.”

She eyed the mounded dark grapes in her barrel, then her sister, who stood below to catch the juice from the spigot into a clear jug. “How come I have to stomp?” she demanded.

“You never stop moving,” Dominic said. “You’ll be a natural. Shoes off.”

“Stompers, take your places,” called the official. “The timer starts...now!”

Leaving all dignity behind, Tess jumped in. She immediately teetered on the mound of grapes and would have fallen, except that Dominic grabbed her by the arms and held her steady.

“It’s harder than it looks,” she admitted, holding on tight.

“In winemaking, everything is harder than it looks,” he said.

She let go of him. “I’ve got this,” she said, her drive to succeed kicking in.

The stomping frenzy was accompanied by loud cheers from the crowd. Tess found a kind of crazy pleasure in the sensation of the grapes under her bare feet, the cool juice spurting, turning her feet and ankles a deep, rich shade of burgundy. She was amazed at how liberating it was to simply immerse herself into the messy fun. She could hear Dominic next to her, laughing, encouraging his kids to take turns as swabby.

Showing an unexpectedly competitive side of herself, Isabel was an expert swabby, efficiently pulling the grape skins away from the screen and pushing juice toward the pipe. Tess sped up as the timer ran down, and the crowd counted out the final seconds until the bell rang.

Breathless and laughing, she stood in the delicious-smelling muck and cheered as Isabel hoisted her jug. However, when the official amounts were announced, the winners were Bob and Fay Krokower, who apparently had been in training for the event for weeks.

“We were close,” Isabel said, spraying Tess’s and Dominic’s feet with a water hose. “But Bob’s feet are huge, did you see? There’s no competing with that.”

* * *

Dominic brought them home just after dark. Tess felt grubby and sticky, but decidedly more cheerful than she had earlier in the day. “You were right about us needing to get out,” she said to Dominic.

“Yes, thanks for that,” said Isabel.

He said something in Italian. The sound of him speaking so fluently nearly undid Tess.

“Okay,” she said, “translation, please?”

“Having a little fun never made a problem worse, right?” said Trini.

“You got it,” he replied, turning up the long drive to Bella Vista. There was a big golden moon tonight, nearly full, lighting the orchards.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” said Dominic. He went around and let Charlie out of the back of the car.

“Good night, you two,” said Tess. Trini and Antonio looked sweetly sleepy, slumped together in the backseat.

As she went up the walk, she felt Dominic’s hand, very light on her waist. She sent him a questioning glance. Was his touch simply chivalry, or something else?

* * *

The long, sad process of sorting through the estate records had to start somewhere. Tess and Isabel elected to begin with Magnus’s study the next morning, sifting through the souvenirs and relics of the life he’d lived since first coming to Bella Vista with his war bride. Although the foreclosure couldn’t be stopped, barring a miracle or winning lottery ticket, there were key records that needed to be accounted for. More than that, there were questions that needed answers.

An air of unfinished business hung in the study, a huge, cluttered room with a big arched picture window and shelves as high as the ceiling. As they regarded the mounds of old records and papers, Isabel sighed in frustration. “It’s hard to decide where to start. Getting his things in order is like finding a needle in a haystack. No, it’s not,” she corrected herself. “At least we know what a needle looks like. This is a disaster.”

Tess looked around at the crammed shelves, the littered desk, the drawers stuffed with detritus. “Doesn’t look so bad to me.”

“It’s completely disorganized. Look, he’s shelved used checkbooks with back issues of the Farmers’ Almanac. Who does that?”

“Just one used checkbook, see? He probably took some notes on the back of a check copy and— See?” Tess found a handwritten note on the back of a check: Newtown Pippin. “No idea what he meant by that, though.”

“It’s an apple variety,” said Isabel. “We used to sell the entire crop of that variety to Martinelli’s for cider.”

Tess continued with the sorting. “Everything is so humble,” she said. “Ordinary. A shaving mug and brush, a sewing kit, a cribbage board.” Tess came across one of Magnus’s special carved boxes. More than one person at the healing ceremony had spoken of his distinctive carving style and his affinity for puzzles. She was intrigued to see it for herself. The top depicted a stylized apple tree laden with fruit, the sides twined with sunflowers in bas-relief. The design was a combination of whimsy and abundance, with a subtle Nordic look. Nothing was symmetrical, but she felt a peculiar balance in the design of the piece.

She held it up, feeling the contents slide around. “Recognize this?”

“Definitely one of Grandfather’s. He made so many of them.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Tess, holding it out. “Very refined. Any clue how to open it?” The thing had no visible hinges or latches.

Isabel took the box and tipped it to and fro. “Grandfather loved his puzzle boxes. He made so many of them. He used to say they were for keeping family treasures.” A wistful smile softened her face. “When I was little, I asked him why they were almost always empty. He said because I’ve grown too big to fit in a little box.”

Tess could see the fresh wave of sadness breaking over her sister. To Isabel, this wasn’t some puzzle or Nancy Drew mystery to be solved. Magnus was the biggest part of her life, and now he was likely dying, leaving her with nothing but memories.

Isabel shook the box Tess had found, her eyebrows lifting in surprise as she heard something rattling inside. “This one was a gift to Bubbie—our grandmother, Eva. I can tell because he always used a sunflower design in his gifts to her. He gave her a box each birthday, and she’d spend half the day trying to get it open.”

Tess wondered if it was easy for Isabel to say “our” grandmother. “If he gave her a box for each birthday, I wonder why we’re only seeing this one,” she mused.

“He put most of Bubbie’s things away after she died. Too many reminders of her made him sad. There’s a cupboard in one of the closed wings.... I think he stuck them all away there.” Isabel ran her fingers along the edges and joinery of the piece. Eventually she touched the center of a carved sunflower, and the lid cracked open.

“Very clever,” Tess said. “What’s inside? Please tell me it’s the deed to Bella Vista, free and clear.”

Isabel flashed her a rare smile and flipped open the box. It contained immigration papers, ticket stubs, items clipped from the paper—the sort of things people kept to remind them of a particular moment. “This is pretty,” she said, removing an object from notebook paper with writing on it. “It’s a little knickknack or ornament.” She smoothed the paper on her knee. “Looks like a poem in Bubbie’s handwriting.” Taking a breath, she read, “‘To the child I want who can never be/please fill the empty cup of my heart/With the love I held in reserve just for you.’”

A shiver coursed through Tess. “What do you suppose that’s about?”

“I don’t quite understand,” Isabel said. “I get that she was sad, though. She got that way sometimes. I know she lost her entire family in the war, and she always carried that sadness with her.”

Tess picked up the knickknack. It was unexpectedly dense. Alabaster, she thought. The angel had golden wings, its halo a crown of leaves and its tiny hands holding a candle.

She peered through her loupe, inspecting each detail. She kept a poker face, but her gut clenched, the way it did when she came across something valuable. Her instincts vibrated like a tuning fork. “Do you know anything about this?” she asked Isabel.

“I’ve never seen it before.”

“It’s...unusual. Alabaster, with some amazing detail that’s probably pure gold. This looks almost like a cameo in 3-D, doesn’t it? The filigree pattern might be Polish or Russian.”

“Pretty,” said Isabel. “And Bubbie was never big on souvenirs. This must have meant something to her. I wonder where it came from.”

“I’ll do some research on it,” said Tess. “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it’s okay.” Isabel was flipping through the photos. “You know what I think these are? Pictures for Bubbie’s scrapbook collection. I remember, she gathered them all together years ago. She’d joined a scrapbooking club in town. Women would get together and create these amazing books filled with family photos. The books were like works of art.”

“So, did your grandmother ever create one?”

Isabel’s eyes turned misty with affection. “She came home after the first meeting practically in tears. She was overwhelmed by the work it would take to put everything into some sort of order.”

“That kind of project isn’t for everybody,” Tess said.

“Definitely not for Bubbie. She never went back to the scrapbooking club, although she felt sort of guilty about that. I remember she told me she could either spend her time working on a scrapbook about her life, or actually living her life. And she chose to live her life.” Isabel picked up a print of a small, dark-haired woman in tennis clothes, grinning at the camera. She had bold features, and Tess found herself looking for a family resemblance. She couldn’t find any, not in this picture.

“Seems like that was the right choice for her,” Tess said, searching the face in the photograph.

“Absolutely,” said Isabel. “About a year later, she was diagnosed with cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It’s been years, and I still miss her every day. She was the only mom I knew.”

Tess nodded at the box, suddenly consumed by curiosity about the strangers who had contributed half her DNA. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead,” said Isabel. “This must be weird for you.”

“It is. And kind of fascinating.” She flipped over a photograph or two, checking the dates on the backs. “The pictures might be in chronological order.”

“Maybe Bubbie did a little organizing, even though she never got going on that scrapbook.”

The more recent shots were located toward the front of the box. Tess paused to study a studio portrait of a smiling, ginger-haired baby, seated next to a sock monkey against a backdrop of fake fur.

“Our father was a beautiful baby,” Isabel said softly. “Look at those green eyes.”

A chill crept across Tess’s spine. “This is not our father.”

“What do you mean? It looks like all the other pictures of him.”

“This is a color portrait,” Tess said, her pulse accelerating. “Pictures didn’t look like this in the sixties.”

“You’re right.” Isabel frowned. “Then who...how?”

Almost reluctantly, Tess checked the back of the photo. One word was written there: Theresa. “How the hell did they get a picture of me?” she whispered.

“I have no idea,” Isabel said. “Honestly, I don’t.”

Tess didn’t know how to feel about this new development. The photo created more questions than answers, and it was the only one of her. The rest of the archive featured Isabel prominently, the star of the show. The snapshots told the story of a happy childhood in a storybook setting, nearly always in the middle of a party or celebration. If the photos were to be believed, the former Isabel was outgoing, constantly entertaining people, always on the go. Tess found this surprising, because the Isabel before her now, grieving and timid, seemed to have very little in common with the Isabel of the past.

“One day you’ll have to tell me what it was like, growing up in one place,” said Tess.

“And you’ll have to tell me what it was like, traveling the world as you were growing up.”

They regarded each other briefly, and Tess felt a twinge of emotion. A connection? Maybe not that, but a sense that went deeper than mere curiosity.

Tess went back to the photo archive. She noticed a change in Isabel in the shots before she left for culinary school and after she came back home. The earlier pictures depicted a young girl just growing into her beauty, her expression on fire with excitement. The latter photos showed a more subdued, grown-up Isabel, her beauty muted or maybe even haunted. Tess wondered if the passage of time alone had changed her or if something had happened.

Losing her grandmother had undoubtedly been an enormous blow. Tess understood that; she still remembered the emptiness of life without Nana and the way she’d worn the grief like a hair shirt for months. However, eventually she’d shaken herself out of it, knowing Nana would scold her to kingdom come if she caught her moping.

“Look how young they were.” Isabel showed Tess a black-and-white 8 x 10 shot of Magnus and Eva. The two of them posed in the flat bed of a farm truck between rows of apple trees, the boughs heavy with fruit. Between them, they held up a bushel filled with ripe apples. The label on the bushel read Bella Vista Honeycrisps.

“I think this was taken to commemorate their first harvest,” said Isabel. “Bubbie was so young and pretty.”

“It’s a wonderful shot,” said Tess. “They look genuinely happy.”

Eva hardly resembled a farm wife. She was perfectly made up, and had every hair in place. She wore tailored slacks nipped in at the waist and a plaid shirt with the sleeves carefully rolled back. Tess studied her for a long time—her father’s mother. She had deep-set eyes enhanced by thick lashes. The shape of her face, the arch of her brow, her smile—they added up to a very pretty woman, but Tess could see none of herself in Eva. For that matter, she couldn’t see a resemblance to Isabel, either.

She tried to hold herself detached from Magnus and Eva, but there was something in knowing she was connected to them, that they’d lived in this world, moved through these rooms, cultivated the vast and colorful orchards and gardens. Their son had fathered her. She found herself yearning to know more about them, to know the sound of their voices and the smell of their hair, the feel of their hands, holding hers.

Her gaze was drawn to a shadow on the woman’s arm. At first she thought it was a bruise. Then she frowned, looking closer. Finally she took out her magnifying glass, the high-powered, lighted one she always carried in her bag.

“What are you doing?” asked Isabel, who was sorting through more farm pictures.

“Trying to get a closer look. There’s something on her arm.”

Isabel hesitated. “It’s a tattoo.”

Theresienstadt. Tess pictured a small, frightened girl being marked for life by her Nazi captors. With a shudder, she set aside the magnifier and stared at the smiling couple in the photograph. It was a miracle, she thought, that anyone could smile like that after such an ordeal.

“She never talked about it,” Isabel went on. “I kind of wish she had, but I understand why she didn’t.”

Tess set the picture aside, her throat aching with grief. That was the trouble with learning the history of things and the secrets of another person. Sometimes you discovered hurt beyond imagining, and there was no way to make it better.

“Our father,” said Isabel, laying a group of snapshots out on the table. Various phases of his life had been captured, from moon-faced newborn to strapping young man.

Tess bit her lip, drawn to the images of the stranger who had fathered them both, presumably within weeks or even days of each other. There was no denying he was a handsome boy, tall for his age in the class pictures, a high school jock and college fraternity brother.

“He looks so much like Grandfather,” Isabel murmured. “And you. Do you see it?”

“I see a stranger,” Tess said. She made herself study the shape of his nose and the tilt of his head when he smiled. “Okay, yes, it’s weird, but there’s something familiar about him.”

“Let’s keep these separate,” Isabel said, placing them on a shelf.

Tess sorted through more photographs, most of them faded to soft grays and some even in sepia tones. There were stiffly posed formal portraits of long-gone strangers, shots of Magnus and his comrade in arms, Ramon Maldonado, both of them looking skinny and impossibly young, grinning from ear to ear on the deck of a ship of some sort. Near the bottom of the box they found some pictures of old Denmark. The Johansen family had lived in a genteel-looking area of old Copenhagen, and they’d had an apple farm out in the countryside in a place called Helsingør. As expected, pictures of the past were sparse. When Tess was doing research for work, the scarcity of evidence excited her, made her want to dig deeper. She felt that now, but with a heightened sense of urgency.

Lastly, she came to a translucent vellum envelope containing a hinged frame the size of a small book. Tess carefully opened it and laid it on the desk. “This might be the oldest of the lot.”

Isabel peered over her shoulder. “I don’t recall ever seeing that one.”

The photo showed a boy of perhaps twelve, standing next to an older man by a Christmas tree lit with candles and hung with traditional wooden ornaments and sprigs of holly and woven paper hearts. The room was decorated with old-fashioned opulence. There was a fringed ottoman and in the background, a painting on the wall and a curio cabinet.

Tess studied the smiling face of the boy. It was the smile that shone on the faces of children everywhere at Christmastime—eyes sparkling with anticipation, lips ripe with secrets. Her gaze touched every detail of the photo. It was part training, part simple curiosity. As she scanned the background of the photograph, a frisson of awareness touched her spine. She made no sound, and her expression didn’t change as she took out the magnifying glass again.

“What do you know about this picture?” she asked Isabel.

“Not a thing.” Leaning in for a closer look, Isabel said, “The young boy looks like Grandfather. He had that smile all his life. So did...Erik. Our father. Yes, that’s what he looked like as a boy, too.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Tess murmured. Unlike Isabel, she hadn’t been privy to any of this. “Who do you suppose the older guy is in this picture?”

“That, I couldn’t tell you. Either his father or grandfather, I’d guess. He looks so formal and distinguished. And that room. I wonder if they decorated like that just for Christmas, or all the time.”

Tess studied the photo even more closely, focusing on an item in the curio cabinet at the edge of the shot. She recognized some vases that looked like French crystal from the 1920s, alongside china figurines and other collectibles common to the era. But there was something else in the room’s opulent clutter. Amid the figurines and glassware was a largish, garishly decorated egg on a footed stand. Most likely it was a common replica of a Fabergé egg.

But every instinct she possessed was urging her to find out exactly what she was looking at. Her gaze went to the tiny alabaster angel they’d found in Eva’s box, then back to the egg in the photo.

“Tess?” Isabel peered at her. “Is something the matter?”

“Yes. Or, no. I mean, this piece in the photo might be...” She stopped herself. Her idea was going to sound crazy, and, worse, it might get Isabel’s hopes up for no reason.

“Go on.”

“It might be worth checking out.”

“Worth it...in what way?”

Tess ignored the question. “Do you mind if I take it out of the frame?” she asked Isabel.

“No, not at all.”

“I’ll be careful.” She took a small flat-headed screwdriver from her bag. Catching Isabel’s expression, she said, “I carry a lot of tools for work.” She carefully pried back the little hinged fasteners from the back of the frame. Then she lifted out the back and set it aside. A thick piece of cardboard was next; it appeared to be from a cracker or cookie box in Danish. Slipped behind the yellowing print, between a sheet of vellum and the backing of the picture frame, she found a letter, handwritten in Cyrillic characters on linen stationery.

It was as if a cold finger suddenly touched the base of her spine. “Do you know anything about this?” she asked Isabel.

“No. I’ve never seen it before. The photo, or that...whatever that is.”

“A letter. It’s written in Russian. At least I think it’s Russian. Would you happen to know any Russian speakers?”

“Not offhand,” Isabel said.

“I do,” said Tess. “My mother. Who refuses to return my calls.”

“I’m sorry,” said Isabel.

“Don’t be. You’d think by now I’d be used to it.”

Isabel indicated the letter. “What do you think it could mean?”

“I’ll need to look into it. I think it might be significant.” She decided to level with Isabel. “Okay, this is going to sound completely crazy, but this whole situation is crazy. That ornament on display could be a Fabergé egg.”

“And a Fabergé egg is valuable,” Isabel said.

Beyond your wildest dreams, thought Tess. “Assuming it’s authentic. And assuming your grandfather is in possession of it.”

Isabel looked around the piled shelves and crammed drawers. “That’s a big assumption.”

The back of the photograph had something written on it in fountain ink, the color fading to amber. “This is in Danish,” said Tess. “You wouldn’t happen to know any Danish, would you?”

“Actually...” Isabel frowned down at the words. “Julen 1940, lige før Farfar blev taget af Gestapo.”

Hearing her sister reading the words with fluency reminded Tess that the two of them were still such strangers. Isabel had been raised by people Tess had never had a chance to meet.

The final word, however, was recognizable in any language: Gestapo...1940. Tess didn’t understand the rest, yet the very blood in her veins felt chilly. She was swept by a sense of sadness and fear, regarding the happy boy—Magnus—and the older man, having no clue about the tragedy that was probably about to strike. She knew the Nazis had occupied Denmark during World War II, and that although the Danes had protested, they had officially submitted to the occupation. She wondered what had become of that happy household and all its little treasures.

She turned to Isabel, whose soft eyes were damp with tears. “A sense of loss is the worst feeling, isn’t it?” asked Isabel. “It’s so...futile to think about things we can never get back.”

“Can you tell me what it means?” asked Tess.

Isabel nodded. “This says Christmas 1940, just before Farfar—that’s Grandfather—was taken by the Gestapo.”