Sins of The Vineyard

Chapter 3

“They said weekend. Today is Friday already,” Marissa said, swatting at an insect flying above her head.

“Let's believe them. Perhaps they'll pay when we turn in today's work.” Fiona smiled, glancing at Antonella, who hadn't said anything else about the matter since the day they delivered the letter.

Francesca wasn't on the vineyard, as she had come down with a fever the previous night.

“She'll be just fine, Antonella. It's probably stress and the changing weather,” Fiona said, reaching over to pat the young woman's shoulder. Antonella nodded and gave her a small smile.

“You won't deprive us of your voice at the bar tonight, will you?” Marissa asked, squinting in Antonella's direction.

Her face under the work hat immediately spread in a wide smile. “Well of course not! I will sing tonight, I promise.” She raised her voice, waving her arms. “Everyone, Antonella will be performing at the bar tonight. Make sure you're there with your drinks at 8!” She was jumping up and down as she spoke, sheer delight in her voice.

The other women laughed, cheering. Antonella's hat slipped onto her neck and she stopped jumping to adjust it. It was caught in the branch of a grape plant.

She turned to free her hat and caught sight of a man losing his balance on the steep path. He stumbled, dropping to one knee.

“Oh,” she gasped, running to help him up. He pushed himself to his feet as she reached him and dusted sand from his palms, smiling.

“Be careful. The…the path is steep there,” she said, unable to help the smile creeping across her face. Her first thought as she looked at the man was that he was unreal.

She squinted to see him better, and for a moment she forgot the hot sun, the sweat trickling down her arms, even the basket on her back.

“You should be in a museum,” she blurted without thinking. The shock on his face made her realise what she'd said, and she clamped a sandy hand over her mouth.

“What was that?” he asked. She shook her head vehemently, knowing at once that she was in trouble.

“I'm sorry. It was nothing,” she replied, taking a step back, her hat still on her neck. He wasn't wearing a hat, and she worried the sun would burn his skin.

“You should wear a hat here. It gets hot.”

He smiled warmly, extending his hand. “Stefano.”

She looked at the long, well-manicured fingers.

“I’m Antonella. Sorry, my hands are dirty,” she said, showing him her sandy, purple-stained hands. He nodded understandingly and slipped his hand into his pocket.

“Good first impression. You wouldn't mind showing me around the vineyard, right? My memory is a bit rusty.”

She looked back to the others, who suddenly seemed so focused on their work, not looking up even once. “I'm, uh…working now.”

He smiled. He smiled frequently, and his smile was one that made her forget to breathe for a moment.

“This is also part of the work.”

She hesitated for a moment before stepping up to walk beside him. “Sorry, but I haven't seen you around here before, although you do look familiar,” she said as they walked.

“Pardon. Stefano D'Amico.”

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to him, eyes wide. “Are you the boss' son?”

He nodded. It was then that she recognised the similarities between him, Mr. Dario and Mr. Federico. “Oh, no,” she whispered to herself, her steps suddenly unsteady.

“Relax. It's fine. I just arrived in Italy, and there was no one up at the house so I thought I'd see the vineyard. It's been a while so I didn't want to lose my way.”

Antonella nodded and they proceeded on their tour, but she couldn't manage more than a few frightened words to him as they went through the vines, painfully aware of the curious glances the other workers threw their way.

“Mom, Mr. Federico's other son is at the estate,” Antonella announced to her mother when she came home in the evening. Francesca's fever was gone and she was sitting on a small chair outside, washing clothes.

She looked at her daughter. “Mr. Federico has three sons, baby. Which one do you mean?”

“Oh. They're three? I thought it was only Mr. Dario. The one I met is Mr. Stefano.”

Her mother smiled tenderly at the name. “The human one,” she said.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. Did he say anything?”

“Not really. Just asked me to show him the vineyard. I didn't even know who he was. Where have they been and why did he suddenly come back?”

“Who knows? Baby, go inside and take a bath, then come help me. You need to rest before your show tonight.”

“Of course, mom.”

The bar was full that night. Maybe because Antonella was performing, or perhaps because the workers had finally been paid their outstanding wages.

In a quiet corner, Stefano sat alone, watching Antonella's passionate singing, which carried her audience along. He didn't know any of the Italian songs she sang, but he was held captive by her voice and the smile on her face.

Afterwards, he appeared next to her as she walked back to the workers' quarters.

“Good evening, sir,” she greeted, slightly startled to see him.

“I already have enough of that in New York. Call me Stefano.”

She cast him a side glance. His features were silhouetted against the darkness. “You live in America?”

“Yes. I'm here because my dad sent for me.” He didn't say more and she didn't ask. They walked in silence for a while.

“You sing really well,” Stefano said suddenly, breaking into her thoughts as they approached the workers’ quarters.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He stopped by a pillar and watched her go toward the room she shared with her mother. At the door she turned to him and waved.

“Good night, Mr. Stefano.”

He nodded. “Good night, Antonella. I'll see you at the vineyard in the morning.”

She opened the door and went in. He watched until she shut it and he heard the key turn in the lock.

Turning around, Stefano came face to face with a figure that took him a second to make out in the dark.

“Dario,” he called. “What are you doing here?”

His elder brother emerged from the shadows with a smirk on his face. “I could ask you the same thing, Stefano.”