An Unlikely Love (21 page)

“They are.”

“What are you talking about, Grant?” Mrs. Winston sounded astounded. “We don't make wine.”

“We haven't, Mother, but we're going to.”

Grant set the basket on the floor and walked toward her with a huge smile on his face. Marissa stiffened, turned her back toward him and reached behind her for the apron strings. She would not stay—

Grant's hand, warm and hard and calloused, closed over hers, stopping her from untying Mrs. Winston's apron. “
Unfermented
wine.”

“And what, pray tell, is
that
?”

She glanced at Grant's mother. Mrs. Winston looked as unsettled as her stomach felt. Grant's hand lifted from hers. She yanked the apron ties free and stepped forward, jerked to a stop when Grant's hands closed on her shoulders. “Let me go, Grant.”

His grip tightened. He turned her around. She lowered her head so he wouldn't see the tears welling into her eyes.

“Marissa, you have to trust me.”

His voice was tender, but firm.
Oh, how she wanted to trust him! But wine...
She lifted her head.

“To explain very simply... Wine is made by letting crushed grapes ferment. Yeast brings about the fermentation, and it is the fermentation that causes the alcohol content. That being so, if you stop the fermentation, you have
unfermented
wine. Or wine with
no
alcohol. That is what we are going to make. Or, at least, try to make.”

“But I don't understand. Please, I'm trying...” She reached out and touched his arm. “Wine is wine. And wine is strong drink. I've seen—” She swallowed, blinked tears away. “How can it not be wine?”

“It is wine, Marissa. But it's
unfermented
and so it has no alcohol. It is
not
strong drink. No one can become inflamed by drinking it.”

“But how do you ‘unferment' it?”

“I believe I can answer that.” Mrs. Winston came to stand beside them. “If yeast brings about the fermentation, then you simply kill the yeast. It's like making bread. If you make the water you add too hot, the yeast dies and the bread doesn't rise.” She grinned at her son. “You're going to kill the yeast by...what...heating the wine?”

“Exactly, Mother! I'm going to heat the wine and kill the yeast,
before
it can ferment.”

“Oh, Grant! Do you truly think it will work?”

He nodded. “Science says it will. Louis Pasteur did it
after
the wine had fermented to stop it from turning sour. And he applied the same principle to milk.”

His mother burst into laughter. “So that's why you got so excited and acted like a crazy man when I said the milk had turned!”

“That's why.” He laughed, then sobered and looked at her. “Will you help me make my unfermented wine, Marissa?”

His gaze held hers. She took a deep breath and nodded, then gasped.

“What is it?”

“I just thought...” Her lips twitched. Laughter bubbled up and burst free. “I'll be a vintner!”

Chapter Nineteen

“H
ow are you going to make this ‘unfermented' wine, Grant?” Marissa hid her wince. She didn't even like saying that name. “What do you want me to do?”

“Yes, what will we need, son?” Mrs. Winston swept an assessing eye around her kitchen. “If you tell us, we can have things clean and ready by the time you have picked the grapes. It sounds rather like my preserving and jelly-making equipment might be helpful.”

“We'll need the largest pan you have, Mother. We're going to cook the grapes a little and then squeeze the juice out through some sort of cloth, put it in the bottles and cork them.”

“My cheese cloth for making jelly will be useful then.”

“I'll rely on your cooking ability, Mother. And you're going to need this, Marissa.” Grant looked into her eyes, slipped his hands around behind her and tied the apron strings she had undone. Her heart skipped, her pulse fluttered and her cheeks warmed.

He gave her a slow, lopsided grin, leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. The warmth in her cheeks increased to a burn.

He chuckled, turned and lifted the basket of wine bottles to the sink cupboard. “One good thing is, with all this rain we won't have to wash the grapes because there'll be no dust on them.” He gave them a jaunty wave. “I won't be long.”

She hoped not.

“It's good to see him happy again. He's been worried for some time.” Mrs. Winston turned from the door and looked at her. “You and Grant are good for each other, Marissa. It makes my heart happy to see you together. I'm so glad God is working things out.”

She smiled at Mrs. Winston's declaration of faith. It made hers more certain. “He truly is. You told me that with God all things are possible, Mrs. Winston. And I know now that you were right.” She moved to the sink cupboard and began placing bottles in the hot water. “I have learned so much about having faith in God from you. I'm still working on trusting people. That's...difficult for me.” She lifted a bottle from the water, placed her palm tightly over the mouth and shook it so hard the curls on her forehead bobbed.

“That's understandable, Marissa, after all you have suffered.” Mrs. Winston cleared everything from the top of the long worktable and washed it off with a soapy rag. “I'm so happy for your mother and father. It's not often that we have a second chance in this life. Have you any notion of when you will hear from them?”

“No. But I don't really mind, as long as Mother is safe now.” She rinsed the bottle, set it upside down to drain and began shaking another. “I have...well...I have...”

“Grant?” Mrs. Winston laughed and rinsed off the tabletop.

“Yes, but I was going to say...you.” She rinsed and set the bottle to drain, and began another. “Grant doesn't really fit too well as a—”

“A what, dear?” Mrs. Winston stepped into the pantry and came out a moment later carrying a huge deep pan filled with ladles and funnels and cloth.

“An adoptive mother.”

“Marissa!” The pan clanged against the tabletop. Mrs. Winston came and gave her a fierce hug. “You have become such a large part of my life, Marissa. I couldn't love you more if you were my daughter. And if the Lord be willing— But let's leave that in His hands. He holds tomorrow.”

* * *

“They won't heat any faster because we stand here and stare at them.”

“You're right, Mother.” Grant stole a last look at the concords in the huge granite pan on the stove. So much depended on this experiment. His stomach churned. He resisted the temptation to check the dampers once more and turned away from the stove. “I'm going out on the porch while the grapes heat. Would you ladies care to join me? There's nothing more to be done in here until it's time to strain the heated grapes.” He stepped forward and held the door open for them.

“Ah, it feels good out here. The air's refreshing after the warm kitchen.” His mother started for the swing, veered off toward a chair at the table.

“Take the swing, Mother, it's more relaxing. And you and Marissa have been working hard.” He plunked his right hip and thigh on the porch railing, leaned back against the post and swung his free foot back and forth.

What if it didn't work? He was so sure this morning when his mother had mentioned the turned milk and Louis Pasteur's name had popped into his head that it was God “establishing his thoughts” the way his mother talked about so often, but now...

His foot jerked. He wanted to go in and look at those grapes. Or at least pace around the porch. He'd give it another few minutes and then go in and stir them. He didn't want them sticking to the pan or burning or anything.
Lord, please let this experiment work.

He blew out a breath, looked out over the vines. If the experiment did work, he'd have to go see Walter Taylor about increasing that mortgage or taking out a note.

“Grant...”

He shifted his gaze to Marissa, wanted to get off the railing and go over and take her in his arms. She was so sweet and beautiful...and with just enough “saucy” in her to make him ache when he looked at her.

“You've explained about the ‘unfermented wine.' But I don't understand why it's so important.” A frown creased Marissa's smooth forehead. “Why do you want to make it?”

So that I can marry you.

“I was wondering that myself, Grant.”

His mother's gaze was fastened on him, studying him. How could he explain the dire importance of this experiment? He didn't want to tell Marissa he was without funds and had no way of making money to support her. If it didn't work... But that wasn't the only reason. Not any longer.

He started to lift his hand to rub his neck, saw his mother's gaze flicker toward it and instead waved it toward the vineyard. “There are a lot of vines out there that produce an abundance of grapes. And the sale of those grapes at harvest provides our living. It's what I've always known...what I've always done.”

He locked his gaze on Marissa's and smiled. “And then I boarded a steamer for Chautauqua, saw a young lady who seemed in a bit of distress, offered my assistance and my life changed. Suddenly, all I'd known was challenged. And things I had not known of were presented in a sobering way. My eyes were opened to the abuse of women and children by men who overindulge in strong drink, and I learned of the suffering and misery that can be the result of imbibing. I, also, learned of the possible agony of the drinker. And conviction grew in my heart until I could no longer say, ‘I only grow grapes. I don't make wine.'”

He glanced at his mother and read the understanding in her eyes. She knew of the debt and that the money he should have had was gone. He took a breath and told the rest of it. “And then Sarah Swan came to the house. When I opened the door, she said ‘Tobin has been at the wine.' And I saw her condition, and I knew I could never be a part of that again.”

He glanced out over the railing. “But there are all those vines. And years of work to improve the vineyard. Still...there was the truth of Sarah Swan. And I couldn't reconcile the two.”

He faced them again. “So last night I told the Lord I would not grow grapes to sell to vintners ever again. And I asked Him to show me what to do. This morning I believe He did. And that is why this ‘unfermented wine' is so important. As Marissa said a short while ago, we will be the vintners. And our ‘unfermented wine' will harm no one.”

“Oh, Grant...” Marissa launched herself from the swing and threw herself into his arms. He held her close and looked at his mother over the top of her blond curls. The look in his mother's eyes was one he would hold in his heart forever.

“I've never been more proud of you, son.” Her calm voice said more than her words. She smiled and rose from the swing. “And now I'm going to go check on those grapes.”

* * *

“This is the last of it. When these bottles are filled and in the hot water, we're finished—except for cleaning the kitchen.” Grant tilted the liquid in the large pan into the pitcher his mother held, then placed the empty pan on the sink cupboard and walked to the other end of the table. Steam from the waiting pan on the stove made a cloud behind him as he took up his position ready to seal the bottles that his mother and Marissa filled.

“Hold the bottle steady, Marissa. It wants to tip over.”

“I've got it. Don't pour too fast. It's almost full.”

“All right. Get ready. Here it comes.”

He looked down the table and watched his mother tip the pitcher, smiled as the deep purple liquid slid off the lip into the funnel Marissa held, then streamed out the bottom into the wine bottle.

“It's almost full... Stop!”

Marissa shifted the funnel to the next bottle in line, then handed him the filled one and smiled when their fingers touched.

He stoppered the bottle, seated the cork firmly with a quick hit of his palm, then took the bottle to the stove and sealed it with hot wax. Twenty-four finished bottles sat on the eating table. This last batch would give him twelve more.
Please, Lord, let this work. And let this “unfermented wine” taste delicious.

* * *

“Well, that was a deal of cooperation with each of us doing our specific tasks. We work well together.” Mrs. Winston pushed at her hair and smiled. “We got into a rhythm that served us well.”

“We did indeed.” Marissa's smile made his pulse jump. “It's fortunate your mother has that long table, Grant. It would have been difficult to do the work without it.”

“I'll say.” Mrs. Winston shook her head and looked at him, concern and a question in her eyes. “That was only a few of the harvest leavings. Imagine bottling wagonloads of grapes. You're going to need a barn, Grant. And workers.”

“If the experiment works.” Grant stared at the bottles of his unfermented wine, acutely aware of his lack of experience. “So, how many days do you think it should set before we try it?”

“It's your experiment, Grant.”

“True.” He directed a wry smile toward his mother. “But I'm relying on your cooking skills to provide the answers to any questions that crop up.”

“I see.” She laughed and handed him one of the bottles. “If it's the taste you want to know about, you could open one at any time. If you want to know for certain that your experiment killed all of the yeast, well...that will take some time.”

“Putting it off won't change anything, will it, Grant?”

“Only my peace of mind, Marissa.” He gave her a wry smile. “And right now I don't have much of that.” He sucked in a long breath and ran his thumbnail in a circle between the cork and bottle to break the wax seal. The cork came free with a loud pop. “Well...” He poured a little of the liquid in the bottle into a glass and held it out to his mother, poured more and offered it to Marissa. She shook her head.

“I—I can't, Grant. I'm sorry. I know you say it is without alcohol, but it's still wine.” A shudder shook her. “Even the bottle...”

“I should have thought of that.” He frowned and put down the glass. “I'm sorry, Marissa. A winery was the only place I could get the bottles and other supplies quickly. But I'll keep that in mind if—when—we begin bottling.” He glanced at his mother.

“He's brought you this far, Grant. Have faith.”

He nodded and picked up his glass. Marissa moved to his side, out of his way.
Please, Lord...
He took a swallow, grinned and took another. “Mother...”

She looked up from her glass and smiled. “It's delicious, Grant. It tastes like grapes right off the vine.” Pride of him shone in her eyes, but that shadow of concern was still lurking in their depts. “What is your next step?”

“Well, since this has all come about this morning, I'll have to give that some thought.” He emptied his glass, looked down at Marissa and smiled. “Right now I'm going to walk Marissa home.” He took her hand and led her out into the hall.

“Was your...drink...really delicious, Grant?”

He closed the front door, offered Marissa his arm and nodded. “It was so good it surprised me.”

“Then I think what you might do is take your ‘unfermented wine' some place where there are a lot of people and give them each a taste to see if they like it. Or, perhaps, you might offer it at church for Communion. I'm certain there are a lot of people there who would give you an honest opinion as to whether they like it or not.”

He stopped, stared down at her. “Those are very good ideas, Marissa.”

She laughed and tugged his arm to start walking again. “You needn't look shocked. I simply took your idea of having the three of us taste it and made it larger.”

“Considerably so.” He squeezed her hand. “Have you any other ideas?”

“Not for the present, but for after.”

His heart lurched.
Did she mean...
“After?”

“Yes, you know...for after you are making your ‘unfermented wine.'” She cast a sidelong look up at him.

He swallowed his disappointment. “And what are those ideas?”

“First, I believe you should use bottles that are very different from wine bottles so that people don't get them confused. And so people like me don't connect...unpleasant...memories with them and thus refuse to buy your wine.” She glanced up at him again. “And second, I believe you should have a statement on your label that states that your ‘unfermented wine' may be enjoyed by children. And a second statement on your label telling everyone that there is no alcohol in your drink and therefore no danger in drinking it.”

“And, again, those are very good ideas.” He led her away from the hotel, guided her to the other side of the road by the railroad station and stopped at their “secret place” under the tree. He leaned against the tree trunk, took hold of her hand and pulled her around in front of him. “I never knew you had such a talent for business, Marissa. I'm impressed.” He caught her hands in his and lifted them to his mouth, kissed their palms and the place where her pulse was skipping and fluttering on the inside of her wrists. “Have you any more ideas?”