The Villa

soothe, and she would do her best.
    The door was open, and Tereza was at her desk. A logbook was open on it.
    "Mama." Pilar sailed in. "I wish you wouldn't work so hard. You put the rest of us to shame."
    "I'm not in the mood for tea, Pilar, or company."
    "Well, I am." She set the tray on the table and began to pour. "David's looking remarkably well. You'll see for yourself tomorrow."
    "It shames me, one of my own would do such a thing."
    "And of course, you're responsible. As always."
    "Who else?"
    "The man who shot him. I used to think, used to let myself think, that I was responsible for the shameful things Tony did."
    "You weren't blood."
    "No, I chose him, and that's worse. But I wasn't responsible for what he did. He was. If there was responsibility on my part, it was for allowing him to do what he did to me, and to Sophia." She brought the tea to the desk, set the cup down. "Giambelli is more than wine."
    "Hah. You think I need to be told that?"
    "I think you need to be told it now. I think you need to be reminded of all it's done, all the good. The millions of dollars to charity the family has dispersed over the years. The countless families who've made their livings through the company. Field workers, winemakers, bottlers, distributors, factory workers, clerks. Every one of them depends on us, and what do we do, Mama."
    She sat on the side of the desk, saw with satisfaction that she had her mother's full attention. "We work, worry, and we gamble every season on the weather. We do our best, and we hold faith. That hasn't changed. It never will."
    "Was I unfair to him, Pilar. To Donato?"
    "You'd question yourself? Now I see why Eli's worried. If I tell you the truth, will you believe me?"
    Tired, Tereza got up from the desk, walked to the window. She couldn't see the vineyards in the dark. But she saw them in her mind. "You don't lie. Why wouldn't I believe you?"
    "You can be hard. It's frightening sometimes. When I was little, I'd see you striding out along the rows and I'd think you were like a general out of one of my history books. Straight and stem. Then you might stop, study the vine, speak with one of the workers. You always knew their names."
    "A good general knows her troops."
    "No, Mama, most don't. They're faceless, nameless pawns. Have to be for the general to so ruthlessly send them to battle. You always knew their names, because it always mattered to you who they were. Sophia knows, too. That was your gift to her."
    "God, you comfort me."
    "I hope I do. You've never been unfair. Not to Donato. Not to anyone. And you aren't responsible for the acts of greed or cruelty or selfishness of those who only see faceless pawns."
    "Pilar." Tereza laid her forehead on the window glass, such a rare gesture of fatigue that Pilar rose quickly to go to her. "Signore Baptista. He haunts me."
    "Mama. He'd never blame you. He'd never blame La Signora. And I think he'd be disappointed in you if you blamed yourself."
    "I hope you're right. Maybe I will have tea." She turned, touched Pilar's cheek. "You have a good, strong heart. I always knew that. But you have clearer vision than I once gave you credit for."
    "Broader, I think. It took me a long time to work up the courage to take the blinders off. It's changed my life."
    "For the good. I'll think about what you said."
    She started to sit, then saw the flash of stones on Pilar's finger. Tereza's hand whipped out, snake-fast, and grabbed.
    "So, what is this?"
    "It's a ring."
    "I see it's a ring," Tereza said dryly. "But not, I think, another you've bought to replace what you once wore there."
    "No, I didn't buy it. And it's not a replacement. Your tea's getting cold."
    "You weren't wearing such a ring when you left to pick up David, to take him home."
    "Nothing wrong with your eyesight, even when you're brooding. All right. I just wanted to call Sophia first, to… Mama, David asked me to marry him. I said yes."
    "I see."
    "That's it? That's all you have to say?"
    "I'm not finished." Tereza tugged Pilar's hand under the desk light, examined the ring, the stones. She, too, recognized symbols. And valued such things.
    "He gave you a family to wear on your hand."
    "Yes. His and mine. Ours."
    "Difficult for a woman with your heart to refuse such a gesture." Her fingers curled tight into Pilar's. "You told me what you thought about something in my heart. Now I'll tell you. Once a man asked you to marry him. You said yes. Ah!" She lifted a finger before Pilar could speak.