Midnight Harvest (59 page)

It has been one of the delights of my life to have you so diligent in your regards in my time of greatest need. Many another would have been willing to turn away, or not make any effort beyond a card or telephone call, but you have visited, have brought me delicious meals, have tended me, have sympathized with me, have bolstered me when I was discouraged, have comforted me when I was in pain. No one else has done so much for me, nor has anyone been so caring. I hope not to read more into this than your concern, but it has been more than simple courtesy, at least to me, that you have been willing to spend so much time with me. In such times as this has been, I realize I might be more inclined to become attached than I would under other occurrences, but I would be less than honest if I didn’t acknowledge that my emotions are now engaged in a way I never thought would be the case. If I have misconstrued your objectives in attending to me, I apologize and plead exigencies of circumstances to account for it.

The street in which I live was named for a famous actress. In her day, the King of England was asked if it offended him to see Sarah Siddons playing Queens, since she was a commoner, to which Charles replied that Mrs. Siddons was the only real Queen: all the others were imitations. I tell you this because I believe those sentiments can also be ascribed to you I am very much taken by the nobility of soul that frames your character. And, beyond all doubt, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. I will be bereft to have you gone from my life, but it must be, or I will bring such rumors upon you as must eventually reach your husband’s ears and lead to a crisis in your marriage that not even my skills in court could mitigate.

It is difficult for me to discuss this, for I am very much confused. I am aware that you may not realize the extent of my affection for you. I may be laboring under a misapprehension in assuming that there is any connection beyond altruism between us; however I am certain that you will not continue to give me hope where none can possibly exist.

I have thought long and hard about this aspect of our relationship, and I am convinced that you have been unaware how our companionship might be interpreted by those with small minds and an inclination to create scandal. Before you put yourself in a more conspicuous situation, I think it would be most prudent for us to discontinue our luncheons and long afternoons together; I have progressed with my walking because of all you have done, yet it is just this generosity of spirit that has led to the environment of aspersion that has attached to our meetings. It is most distressing to me to contemplate the hours I will miss you, but I can see no other way to do you the honor you deserve than to sever our dealings now, much as I would prefer not to have to do so. I know you may not understand why I do this, but I assure you, it is for the best, for I would regret more than I could say bringing you any pain or opprobrium through any actions or words of mine.

Let me tell you that I am afraid some of the damage may have already been done. One of the men in chambers with me told me that his wife was very much shocked to hear I have been entertaining a married woman alone in my rooms. Try as I might to explain what you have done for me, and why, it meant nothing to him, nor, I must suppose, did anything he deigned to pass on to his wife. I am cognizant of how this is seen in chambers, but I know it would be inexcusable to have such calumnies go beyond this place.

I’m sorry that I have exposed you to such controversy as must accompany this letter. I would never injure you in any way, were it in my power to prevent it I am appalled that your generous acts on my behalf have redounded to your discredit and I assure you I will do all in my power to minimize the impact of my imprudence. It would be the most wonderful thing in my life to be able to continue our association, but I fear that is no longer possible, so I ask you to forgive me for addressing you in this way when I would so much rather talk to you face-to-face. But that, sadly, would lead to more speculation that can only bring you damage, which I am determined not to do.

Believe me,

Your most devoted,

Miles Sunbury

chapter four

Oscar King looked out of place in Carlo Pietragnelli’s damaged house; his three-piece pin-striped suit and meticulous linen shirt were strong contrasts to Pietragnelli’s work-clothes and heavy Hudson’s Bay jacket worn against the bustling winds; the living room was a patchwork of light and dark shadows, marking the destruction of the windows. The attorney surveyed the cardboard covering the shot-out panes, and shook his head. “Truly horrendous. I can see how you must be frightened. I would be, were I in your position. How many have you lost this way?”

“To this day?” Pietragnelli asked. “Seventeen in this house, nine in my workers’ cabins. I must suppose there will be more.” He put his hands on his hips and took up a pugnacious stance. “I will find them! I will make them pay!”

“And so you shall,” said Oscar King, glancing over at Saint-Germain. “You’re right; this is a most serious situation. The police are not doing their job in tracking down the culprits, from what you told me, Ragoczy.”

“No; apparently there are those in the Sheriff’s Department who are in sympathy with the assumed perpetrators, if not actually among their numbers, and as such, they are disinclined to act.” Saint-Germain saw Pietragnelli nod, confirming his remarks.

“My workers are being threatened now, as well. It isn’t just the shot-out windows. Two couples have taken their children out of school, because they are afraid they are no longer safe. That troubles me very much.” Pietragnelli indicated the parlor beyond the double-doors of the living room. There was a small fireplace on the far wall, and two settees facing each other in front of the hearth. “If you’ll come in and sit down, Signor King? And you, Signor Ragoczy?”

“Grazie,” said Saint-Germain, and went into the parlor immediately behind Pietragnelli.

King took a little more time to look over the damage he saw, and shook his head; when he spoke, his manner was slightly pedantic, as if he were laying out a case to a jury instead of speaking to an abused property owner. “Such a fine old house, to be treated this way. This building is historically important in the region and legitimately beautiful on its own account. Whoever is doing this has no regard for things of value, that is quite demonstrable.”

“It is an insult,” said Pietragnelli indignantly. “It should never happen. I am ashamed.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” said Saint-Germain. “You haven’t shot out your windows, nor have you done anything that deserves this.”

“Someone thinks I have, and I must know who it is, and put an end to it, or it all comes to me,” Pietragnelli countered, his face darkening. He pointed to four missing panes in the French doors, with cardboard taped in place of the missing glass. “I am appalled at this.”

“It is a horrible thing,” said King, coming to take a seat by the fire in the parlor, which crackled merrily, driving out the cold that rode on a biting north wind polishing the clear sky and setting the new leaves and grasses straining at their fragile bonds. “Ragoczy told me about your trouble, but I wasn’t truly prepared for this.”

“They no longer pretend they do not wish to be rid of me; they are blatant in their purpose, and make no effort to conceal their intentions,” said Pietragnelli. “The Leonardis want my land. They think I owe it to them, because I bought some of their plantations when their vineyard was failing, and they seek to serve the same turn they are convinced I served them. They resent me for being able to do it, and they want la vendetta—revenge upon me. They masquerade behind the White Legion—which is reprehensible enough—but it disguises their true intent.”

“You must forgive me if I find that a trifle unlikely,” said King, sinking down on the settee. “I know that men often find gratitude an intolerable burden, but still—to go to all this trouble, to deliberately ruin you…” He shook his head.

“They killed my neighbor Mr. Yoshimura. And now the Leonardis are purchasing his farm from his widow. They’re paying the lowest possible price, and Mrs. Yoshimura is in no position to refuse, nor is she inclined to hold out for a better price; she’s been scared by the way Yoshimura died. I have offered to pay her more than she has been offered by members of the White Legion, and to share ownership with her, so that she and her children can continue to earn money from it, but she’s too frightened. I’ve asked her to consider for another two months. I’ve even sent my men over to work the fields, so that she won’t have to take an even greater loss on the land.” He clapped his hands twice. “I can’t think of anything else to do that can help her.”

“If, as you say, she is frightened,” King began in a measured way, “then it must be supposed she is being coerced, and any contract entered into as a result of coercion can be declared null and void. She has the right to repudiate the agreement made.” He stared at the fire as if he could read secrets in it. “But she would have to be willing to bring a civil action against the Leonardis, and it may be she would not want to do it.”

“A Japanese widow might not get a fair hearing in any court in this county,” said Pietragnelli. “Even Italians have difficulty being accorded the same rights as the Protestants; it’s ten times worse for Orientals.”

“That is a pattern encountered everywhere,” King said in agreement. “But that doesn’t mean that the favoritism is right, or cannot be challenged.” He coughed. “Of course, it is expensive to fight such prejudice.”

“But not impossible or hopeless,” said Saint-Germain, giving King an incisive glance.

“No, neither of those,” said King. “But Mr. Pietragnelli is right—many Americans are biased against Italians, because of men like Al Capone and Frank Nitti.”

“Not all Italians are gangsters,” said Pietragnelli firmly. “Even most Siciliani are farmers and fishermen, not Mafiosi.”

“Yes, Italians do many things in America beyond breaking the law, as any person of common sense will know. For example: one is mayor of San Francisco, and Rossi is not alone,” said King, understanding Pietragnelli’s point, going on in his courtroom style. “Italians have been crucial in restoring the California wine business; and not all are agriculturalists, some cultivate other fields; the Bank of America is led by an Italian. And Italians are inclined to support all manner of Italian ventures. Giannini dines at Fior d’Italia once a week, and thus makes the restaurant famous and well-patronized.”

“That is all very well in San Francisco, but this is Sonoma County.” Pietragnelli glared up at the ceiling. “In many ways, more than Marin County separates us from San Francisco.”

King nodded twice. “Exactly. That is one of the reasons we’re having this discussion. I am interested in dealing with this problem in terms that apply here.”

“Do you think it can be done?” Pietragnelli came as close to feeling defeated as it was possible for him to be. “I don’t see how.”

“I must suppose that we will find a way,” said King. “The law doesn’t support the terrorizing of American citizens, not officially.” He said the last carefully. “We know this is more an ideal than a reality, but it is the spirit of the Constitution, to protect all citizens from manipulation or exploitation.”

“If they are of European descent, certainly it is more likely to occur,” said Saint-Germain, his voice deliberately neutral.

“And not all Europeans,” added Pietragnelli. “The Puritans were Protestants, and many Americans distrust Catholics almost as much as they mistrust Jews and Orientals. They are afraid of the Pope.” He slapped his thighs with both hands. “It is a most frustrating state of affairs. I know that what is happening to me isn’t legal, but I cannot invoke the law for protection because the officers of the law are supporting criminals.” His exasperation increased with each word so that at the end he was almost shouting.

“I know we will find a way to protect you,” said King. “If we have to go to Sacramento and file an action there, we will.”

“I hope it won’t come to that,” said Pietragnelli.

“For Lord’s sake, why?” King asked, looking up as the sound of the Pierce-Arrow’s horn cut through their conversation.

“Mr. Rogers has seen something,” said Saint-Germain, glad now that he had left Rogerio on guard duty. He looked at Pietragnelli. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“My children. My daughter and son-in-law, in any case. Not Angelina or Massimo. Perhaps Adrianna. I asked Sophia and Ethan to join us and I warned them that they might have to deal with—” He stopped as a rifle-shot barked from a short distance away, followed at once by a squeal of brakes.

“I can tell you want to be inclusive, Mr. Pietragnelli,” said King, “but mightn’t this be too much of a risk for your family?”

“Davvero. If those … those vile tapini—” He made himself be still until he had regained control of his temper. “I’m sorry. My tongue outruns my mind. I shouldn’t speak so to the likes of you, Mr. King.”

“It’s understandable, and I’ve heard much worse with far less provocation,” said King, in a cultivated combination of geniality and hauteur; it had served him well in front of juries, and it did so now.

“You’re a kind man,” said Pietragnelli.

“You should be glad I’m not; you don’t want an advocate who will not go to the limit of the law on your behalf,” said King. “Ragoczy is a kind man, so I needn’t be. Nor should I be, not if you want me to take care of your case effectively.”

Pietragnelli made a sign of understanding, his face canny. “Capisco, Signor Re, I do understand you,” he said grandly. “Undoubtedly you are right; I know your advice is well-considered and many men seek it, so I will listen to you and I will—” He rose as he heard a car door slam, and less than a minute later, a young man and a heavily pregnant young woman wrapped in a camel-hair coat hurried into the house.

“Someone shot out our windshield! It’s ruined!” the woman exclaimed, and rushed toward Pietragnelli, who had made it into the living room and was standing with his arms extended. “Ah, Papà! Che farai?”