Ripped From the Pages (9 page)

“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.”

“I’ve been to their tasting room,” Dad said. “They’re doing good work.”

“Do you think they all moved here to find their family treasures?” I asked. “Wouldn’t
they have approached you on more occasions than that one time in the vineyard?”

“They have not,” Robson said. “I cannot say why. Perhaps my father’s anger quelled
their suspicions.”

Derek frowned. “And now you’re going to tell them that their suspicions were justified.”

“And that their raison d’être for moving here in the first place is about to pay off,”
I added.

“Should be fascinating,” Gabriel said, chuckling. “I assume you want us there for
extra muscle?”

“I do, if you would not mind.” Guru Bob looked around the room, shaking his head.
“One never knows how a person will react to such shocking news.”

“I’m happy to tag along,” Derek said. “Although I can’t imagine you’ll have many complaints
after you tell them they’re about to get back their priceless artwork and treasures.”

“I hope it will be a positive visit, but I will not be surprised if we experience
a confrontational moment or two.”

Did I mention that Guru Bob never used contractions in his speech? It probably sounded
odd to an outsider, but I was so used to it, I rarely noticed. He had once explained
that it kept him consciously aware of his speech. He was all about being conscious
and aware in each moment.

I was anxious about the visit to Frenchman’s Hill tomorrow and was more determined
than ever to go along for the ride. If nothing else, I might get a chance to say hello
to one or two of my old high school friends. And it would be interesting to see how
well the French folks took the good news.

*   *   *

E
arly the next morning, Derek drove to Frenchman’s Hill with one contact name from
Guru Bob. He had managed to track down a Monsieur Georges Cloutier and had requested
a meeting with him and others who had emigrated from La Croix Saint-Just. Derek gave
no clue as to the topic of the meeting except to assure him that it would be to the
group’s benefit. Monsieur Cloutier knew Guru Bob by reputation and was intrigued enough
to make some calls and offered his home for the meeting at one o’clock that afternoon.

Before Derek left, I’d told him that I planned to drive over to the winery. I knew
he didn’t want me going into the caves alone, but it was important that we start an
inventory of everything in there. It was the responsible thing to do. Derek had said
he would try to meet me there later. I knew it was because he thought I was afraid
to go into the cave alone, but I assured him that I wasn’t.

“All right, love,” he said. “But just in case.” And he gave me an extra tight hug
and kiss before he left.

Now, in the privacy of my car, I could admit to being more than a little freaked-out
about going inside the cave all by myself. It was one thing to tramp around with a
big hunky guy like Derek, or one of my brothers, but all alone? In the dark? With
spiders?

My shoulders jerked as chills shot across them. I was not looking forward to this,
but it had to be done.

I pulled into the lot and parked, grabbed my legal pad, a fold-up stool I’d borrowed
from my mom, and the heavy flashlight Derek had given me. As I walked to the storage-cave
entrance, I was surprised to see Gabriel approach.

“Hey, you,” I said, giving him a one-arm hug. “Are you here to start setting up the
security system?”

“Something like that,” he said with a sideways grin, cryptic as always.

“Have you been inside already? Seen the stuff in there? It’s pretty awesome, isn’t
it?”

“Haven’t seen anything yet, but I know it’s really dark in there.”

I stared at him for a long moment. “Derek asked you to meet me here.”

“Why would he do that? You’re a big girl. You can handle this.”

“That’s right. I can.” I unlocked the wide double doors of the storage cave.

He shrugged. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t steal anything.”

I laughed all the way to the back wall.

Once we’d climbed inside the chamber, Gabriel took a long look around. “What a haul,”
he said after a few minutes.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Now I see why Robson wants some extra muscle when he visits Frenchman’s Hill.”

I frowned at him. “You think they’ll be angry?”

“If any of this stuff was stolen from your family, wouldn’t you be?”

“I see your point, but I hope they won’t take it out on Guru Bob. That wouldn’t be
fair.”

“Emotions get in the way of reason sometimes.”

“Too true,” I said. With that, I continued writing down what I found. My organizational
skills were outstanding, but there was so much to figure out. I finally divided my
list into sections: furniture; silver; paintings; small sculptures; larger sculptures
and busts; jewelry; and miscellaneous.

After I’d been working for ten minutes, Gabriel told me some of his guys had arrived,
so he’d be outside working on the security system.

“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 plaît
, 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.”

Several of the men exchanged glances with one another but said nothing.

Guru Bob appeared to brace himself as he announced, “My grandfather was Anton Benoit.”

There were a few gasps, followed by a brief silence.

“Felon!”
Henri shouted suddenly, and pushed his chair back from the table. He stood and scowled
at Guru Bob as he spewed a stream of French insults.

Both Derek and Gabriel stood immediately.

Guru Bob’s expression remained calm.

“Henri,
s’il vous plaît
,” Felix said with a world-weary wave of his hand. “Be patient. Let our guest explain
himself.”

Henri’s jaw was clenched as he appeared to weigh his odds with Derek and Gabriel.
He was bigger than both of them, but it wasn’t from muscle. He had to realize his
chances of defeating either one of them in a fight were close to nothing.

Not that I expected Derek or Gabriel to lay one finger on Henri. They were only here
for intimidation purposes. I hoped.

“Henri,” Felix chided, “it is too nice a day to quarrel.”

“Coquin,”
the big man muttered, causing Felix to roll his eyes. Henri made a show of doing
the old man a favor by sitting, but it was obvious to me that he’d done so because
of Derek and Gabriel’s clear intention to take him on if necessary.

Derek and Gabriel sat as well. Madame Cloutier refilled Gabriel’s wineglass, and he
winked at her. Despite their friendly interaction, the tension around the table was
now as thick as the grilled sausages we’d just eaten.

“I never met my grandfather,” Guru Bob said when he had the attention of the group
again. “But I heard the stories of his escape from France and how he took all of the
villagers’ belongings with him for safekeeping. I assumed, wrongly, that everything
was returned after the war. Recently, though, I found out how wrong I was to assume
such a thing.”

“Blaireau,”
Henri muttered.

Gabriel stood, looked at Henri, and raised an eyebrow. “Dude.”

Henri gave an ill-tempered shrug.
“Désolé.”

It was a poor apology. I tried to recall some of the French words my sister had taught
me while I was visiting her in Paris, but
blaireau
didn’t come to mind. I had a feeling it wasn’t a compliment. But why was this guy
insulting Guru Bob? Didn’t he get that the man was bringing him good news?

“Brooklyn, dear,” Guru Bob said, leaning forward to grab my attention. “Do you have
the photographs?”

“I do.” I pulled them out of the bag I’d set beside my chair and handed them to him.

Gabriel, instead of sitting down again, walked a few feet away from the table and
leaned his back against the outside wall. From that position he had an excellent,
unobstructed view of the whole table and the still-grumbling people. He folded his
arms across his chest and watched the interactions from there.