Coincidence that so many French families had moved to the area? I thought not. Especially after hearing Trudy’s stories earlier.
“It is a long story,” Guru Bob said easily, taking a seat in the lyre-back chair nearest the fireplace. “If you can spare me a few more minutes?”
“Absolutely,” I said. I wasn’t going to miss this.
“Wait.” Dad jumped up from his chair. “Since nobody’s going anywhere, I’ve got a bottle of wine I’d like you all to try. It’s a Meritage blend I’m experimenting with.”
“Good idea, Jim,” Guru Bob said. “We should enjoy a glass of wine as we talk.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I murmured as he filled my glass. He gave me a wink and turned to pour wine into Derek’s glass. Dad had always had a wonderful way of defusing tension, often by changing the subject to wine, one of his favorite topics.
I swirled my wine and stared at the streaks coating the sides of the glass and slowly dripping down. These streaks were known as wine legs, and some wine lovers thought that the slower the legs moved, the better the quality of wine. I’d learned that it had more to do with alcohol content and good old gravity, but it was fun to zone out while watching them slide down into the liquid.
Once Dad finished pouring the wine and was back in his chair, Guru Bob began his story.
“I have a vivid memory of an incident that happened when I was ten years old. I was helping my father in the vineyards when three men approached him. They told him they were new to the area and were looking for Anton Benoit or one of his brothers. The men had recently moved to Sonoma from the village of La Croix Saint-Just, where Anton was raised.”
I nodded. We had learned that from Trudy earlier that day.
“The three were trying to track down Anton,” Guru Bob said, “to retrieve their family’s belongings from him. My father was furious. He wanted to know why they were accusing his father of theft. The men quickly tried to defuse his anger, admitting that they were still learning English and had used the wrong phrasing.”
“Did they explain themselves?”
“They did, and my father calmed down. I cannot remember all the details of their conversation, but despite their smiles and pleasantries, I know in my heart that they believed my grandfather was guilty of thievery.”
I wasn’t about to doubt Guru Bob’s emotional memory. The man could pick up on an emotion so subtle, you wouldn’t even know you were feeling it until he mentioned it.
The three men told Guru Bob’s father how, during the war, their families had entrusted Anton with their most valuable heirlooms and he had taken them to America, promising to return them after the war. Everyone in the village had been desperate to keep their precious belongings out of the hands of the Nazis.
It was the same basic story we’d heard from Trudy earlier that day.
“My father was sympathetic,” Guru Bob said, “but he insisted he had no idea what the men were talking about. They tried describing some of the artwork and furnishings, but my father could only shake his head. He was clueless. He even invited the men into his home, but they did not find what they were looking for.”
“You told us that your grandfather died before you were born,” I said, thinking back to our conversation at the picnic table the day before.
“That is right. I never knew him. Marie, my grandmother, though, lived until I was well into my teens, and she was wonderful.”
“I’m glad you knew her, Robson,” Mom said.
“I am, too.” He smiled. “So now we are all caught up-to-date. You know about my family, and you know about the treasures. Soon others will find out. It remains for me to immediately seek out those French families and explain that their belongings are safe, after all.”
“Do you know if any of the three men still live here?” Gabriel asked.
“I never saw them again. My father was not interested in working the land, so shortly after that, we moved to San Francisco. The land was never sold, though, so when I grew up, I was able to reclaim all of it.”
“And none of your other relatives wanted the land,” I said.
“Yes. As I explained yesterday, some of them returned to France. A few have died. Trudy was the only one who stayed. She has always loved it here.”
I tried to do the math. My family moved here when I was eight, so that was about twenty-five years ago. “So when you reclaimed your land and started the Fellowship, the people of Frenchman’s Hill had already been here for years.”
“Yes. And all this time, I have kept tabs on the families living here. Back then, they were all from La Croix Saint-Just, but more recently, others have moved here from different areas. Only two of the original families decided to return to France after a few years. The others stayed and have thrived. They grow grapes, of course, and a few years ago, they created a cooperative through which they sell their grapes to the local wineries. Recently they opened their own tasting room and continue to do quite well.”