“I’m fine,” I assured him.
“Okay, but keep in mind I’m only a piercing scream away.”
I laughed again and waved him off. For the next two hours, I sifted through jewelry boxes and unrolled canvas paintings, writing down everything I saw and describing it all in detail. I took pictures of things, thinking it would help to have some visuals when I finalized my list.
Despite my brave words, it was still a little creepy exploring the dark chambers by myself with just the big flashlight for illumination. But I survived. When I got home, I transferred what I had so far on my inventory list onto a computer document. Then I printed my photos out on glossy photo paper.
I was home by noon to meet Derek, and a few minutes before one o’clock, we pulled up in front of the home of Monsieur Cloutier. Gabriel parked right behind us, with Guru Bob in the passenger seat of his sleek black BMW. Monsieur Cloutier’s wife answered the door and introduced herself as Solange. She was a petite, dark-haired woman with a ready smile, and she led us out to the terrace, where a number of men and women were standing around a long table filled with platters of food.
“Did you prepare all this?” Guru Bob asked Solange. “On such short notice?”
“Oui, monsieur,” she said, smiling with pride as she waved us toward the table. “C’est pour vous. S’il vous pla?t, sit. Sit. Enjoy.”
“What a lovely and generous way to welcome us to your home,” he said, taking her hand in both of his. “You will be joining us?”
“Oui, in a moment.” She gave him another smile and scurried back into the house.
As soon as the men saw Guru Bob, they all approached. It was reassuring to see them recognize him as the patriarch of Dharma and treat him with respect.
We were introduced to everyone. Besides the Cloutiers, there were four men and two women. Their ages ranged from early eighties to midtwenties.
One old man, Gerard, said, “We came to Sonoma in 1952, Felix, Simon, and I, with our families. Alas, our friend Simon died years ago, but my friend Felix is still with us.”
“I am indeed,” a wiry, gray-haired man said, chuckling as he took hold of the arm of a younger man, pulling him forward. “This is Henri, Simon’s son. He is head of his household now.”
Henri appeared to be in his midfifties. He was a big friendly bear of a man with red hair and a ruddy complexion. Felix smacked him several times on the shoulder, his pride in the younger man obvious.
The first man, Gerard, extended his arm toward one of the women helping to set the table. “And that is my wife, Beatrice.” She smiled and waved at us.
“And that pretty one there is Henri’s wife,” Felix said, pointing to the third Frenchwoman in attendance, who was presently carrying yet another platter to the table.
The woman glanced up at Felix’s words and smiled indulgently.
“That is my Sophie,” Henri said proudly.
The twelve of us drifted toward the table and eventually took seats, chatting about the weather and predicting whether this would be the best grape crop in history or not.
It was a beautiful fall day, and the Cloutiers’ terrace overlooked the vineyards. I felt instantly at home since my parents’ home had a similar view of rolling green hills covered in rows and rows of grapevines with the occasional oak tree spreading its branches in every direction.
Dining with all of these strangers was only awkward for a moment until we began to help ourselves and pass the platters to others. Everyone was smiling as we shared the food. It all looked fantastic. Slices of rare roast beef, grilled artichokes, roasted peppers in olive oil, caprese salad with fresh tomatoes and basil, grilled sausages with sautéed onions and peppers, arugula salad sprinkled with chunks of goat cheese and orange slices, asparagus in vinaigrette, and a yummy-looking quiche.
There was wine, too, of course, and by the end of the meal, we were a jolly group. Madame Cloutier began to clear the table, and Gabriel carried platters into the house. The other two women helped, and soon I could hear giggling and chatting going on inside. Minutes later, several ladies returned carrying platters of pastries sprinkled with powdered sugar. Homemade beignets!
As soon as the rest of the women and Gabriel came back outside and sat down, Monsieur Cloutier signaled that it was time to get down to business and offered Guru Bob the floor.
He began by thanking the Cloutiers for their hospitality and hoped that all of us would always be good neighbors to one another.
“We all have something in common,” he continued, looking around the table, meeting the others’ serious gazes. “Either we or our forefathers traveled here from La Croix Saint-Just. Some came to escape certain death. A few were on a quest for a better life. But most of you came in search of something you thought had been stolen from your family. I am here today to right a wrong.”