A Death in Tuscany

Settling in Again

Settling in AgainWe continued this discussion on our ride back to the Castello. But, once there, our conversation was cut short by the stream of visitors who wanted to pay their respects to the fallen giant. The great room of the Castello, where the Trantino family had hosted so many celebrations with wine, food, and great cheer, seemed hollow that day, even with crowds of well-wishers murmuring their condolences to members of the family.

I greeted each of them with a perfunctory smile as they entered through the massive stone archway leading to the main part of the Castello, passing each visitor along to my cousins and other relatives, but I recognized few of the sad and sullen faces that came before me. I knew they were friends and acquaintances, as well as an ample showing of business relations who had bought and sold wines from the Castello dei Trantini over the years. The rest of the Trantino family seemed to know them well and I soon tired of the parade and wanted to sneak off to a quieter place to think.

Near the end of that very long day, I decided to gather up my belongings in the guest suite at the far end of the residential part of the castle and move to the foreman's house nearby. It was a sturdy stone building overlooking the vineyards once occupied by the man responsible for the care and upkeep of the vineyards. He lived there with his family, in a house given freely by the lord of the Trantino clan, and it was his as long as he worked at the winery. But, in time, the vineyard manager decided to move into another home near the town of Pianella. The stone villa stood empty for a while, but I had claimed it as my own during previous visits to the Castello dei Trantini, and I planned to do so again this time.

I got a ride to the villa from one of the vineyard workers. The little stone home stood on a level clearing at the top of a hill overlooking the olive trees and grapevines. On the horizon to the south, Siena sprawled across the hills in the distance, while the forests of our estate crowded in from all other directions. The prized cinghiale roamed through those trees and the hunt for them each autumn was a time of great camaraderie and challenge, rewarded with succulent aromas of roasting meat over an outdoor fire.

I stepped out of the car and paused only briefly to take in the scene around me, then carried my luggage up the stone steps to the covered portico at the top. This loggia offered a spectacular view and, before entering the villa itself, I had to stop again and savor the vista. Memories flooded past me from all the years spent in the embrace of this property, and I gazed out at the pastoral wonder of it all. I was supremely happy with my feet planted on Trantino land, so happy that even the tragedy that brought me here this time was not enough to squelch my pleasure.

I slipped in through the wooden door happy to be there, but I wanted to get unpacked and settled quickly so I could return to the loggia — this time with glass and bottle in hand — and pass the cool evening hours with some liquid refreshment. So, I went straight to the back of the villa where I would find the bedroom I always occupied on these visits. The villa had three bedrooms, if you didn't count the small one in the upstairs loft, two bathrooms, and a small but functional kitchen. The main room included a couch, several easy chairs, a desk and a fireplace. Off to one side of the room was a table and chairs that served as the dining area. All in all, it was far too much room for me to fill, but I was the villa's most frequent guest and so I considered it my own.

I hung as many of the shirts and jackets as I could in the cramped armoire in the bedroom, then wandered through the main room in search of the pile of books I usually left behind whenever I returned to the States. Picking up one volume that I had started but not finished, I trod into the kitchen to see if there was anything there I could eat. There would always be wine in the cabinet beside the desk, so I didn't need to search too hard for a bottle of Castello dei Trantini Chianti Classico.

I opened the door to the refrigerator and was stunned to see it filled nearly to capacity. There was cheese, milk, fruit, a large bowl of olives, and several hunks of salame. I also found fresh loaves of bread and cans of coffee and other snacks in the cabinet above. When I looked over at the cutting board, I saw a note neatly penned in rural Italian script:

“Signor Filippo: Welcome home. I knew you would end up here instead of at the Castello, so I did a little shopping for you. There should be plenty food for a couple of days and by then I'll check in on you and see what else is needed.” It was signed Elisabetta, one of my grandfather's favorite employees and someone who had always taken a maternal interest in my welfare.

I loaded a platter with a generous sampling of the goods Elisabetta had stocked, then added a knife and napkin, and grabbed a simple glass tumbler from the cabinet. Except for formal tastings, I was accustomed to drinking my wine out of plain glasses, a throwback to the instincts for simple living I had preserved from my grandfather's teaching, and delivered those things to the table on the loggia before returning to the main room for a bottle of wine.

I inspected the cabinet carefully, noting ruefully that there were only about a dozen bottles there and making a mental note to get more wine the next day. It wasn't the quantity that interested me so much it was the selection. I often drank Trantini wines, but Tuscany had so much to offer and I wanted to have more styles and types of wine at my disposal during my sojourn. As I considered this and pulled one particular Chianti from the shelf, I wondered how long this visit would last.

I didn't plan to stay at the Castello for more than a week, but the news from Santo and Rita — or should I say their speculation — made me curious, and I was struggling to decide how much time I could spend in Italy to investigate it. Since I arrived in late summer and the vines were pregnant with grapes, staying on awhile would also allow me to enjoy the harvest, the most romantic time of the year in wine country. I would consider the idea over a bottle of wine, I thought with a satisfied grin, and strode out to the loggia with my newfound treasure.