woman who designs your clothes? Your instincts told you she was going to be famous someday. A feeling, that’s all you had to go on, and you went with that feeling. I feel the same way about the wines…it’s time. You have to strike while the iron is hot, Mickey. If you don’t, someone else will get the jump on you. I want us to jump in with both feet. The only thing we can lose is some of our time and a few cases of wine.”
“What if the foreigners don’t like our wines?” Mickey asked, frowning.
“The Fonsard wineries and their product are the finest in all Europe. When you have the best, there is nothing to dislike. Talk to your bankers in Paris. If they agree that it’s a sound move, will you give the go-ahead?”
“Yes. Yes, I will. But…” Mickey faced him anxiously. “Reuben, it will be an all-consuming job for you to undertake. When will we have time together?”
“Is that what’s bothering you?” Reuben laughed. “Don’t you know I need you at my side while I work on this? I am going to need your French expertise! My American ingenuity will do the rest.”
Once Mickey made the decision to go ahead, she felt much better. It did make things simpler, and Reuben was right, there was no reason to stagnate. The past several harvests had yielded some of the best wine Fonsard ever produced. Sharing it, becoming known, would be something Jacques would have done, had he lived. She felt sure the bankers, conservative though they were, would see that it was a good, sound investment for Fonsard. Most important of all, it would give Reuben something worthwhile to do. And working side by side would take them both away from Bebe. If there was any one thing that helped her make up her mind to endorse the idea, it was this.
“Partners?” Reuben grinned.
“Partners,” Mickey agreed. She knew then she would do whatever she could to make this man happy. Anything.
During the second week of December, Reuben dragged Mickey to the wine cellar, where she kept a small office. Ledgers, receipts, and bills were filed neatly in stacked boxes. Together they pored over the ledgers until Reuben learned Mickey’s bookkeeping system. They decided to visit Château la Fonsard in Bordeaux, one of the largest wineries in the region. There Mickey would place Reuben in the expert hands of her head vintner, a position Reuben might assume someday. Monsieur Poitier had been grumbling about retiring, but since he lived on the château grounds he could remain available for consultation.
The days were full and demanding for Reuben, and he loved every minute of them. Mickey thought she’d never been so happy. At night she prayed that nothing would ever spoil her happiness.
The days raced toward Christmas and the holiday season. Four days before Christmas Mickey called a halt to lessons and told Reuben they were on a holiday from their office in the wine cellar. It was time to decorate the house, shop, and get things ready for the villagers who would visit the château to share the celebration.
The château took on new life as Mickey’s “petite family” did their utmost to please her—trips to the fields for evergreens, trips to the village to shop, mysterious packages arriving by post from Paris, and hours shared in the kitchen helping Nanette prepare the feast and goodies. It was Reuben who swung the ax that toppled a twelve-foot fir tree. Everyone clapped their approval with cold, numb hands. Then they all tugged and pulled the monstrous tree to the sleigh, laughing and giggling like children. Mounds and mounds of fragrant balsam for the mantel, the staircase banister, and the doorways were added to the sleigh.
Her face rosy with cold, Mickey laughed and said, “I think, little ones, that we must walk back to the château, there is no room in the sleigh. Also, we must gather holly and leave our tribute to the birds by hanging pieces of suet and bread. Once we return to the château we will feast on cake and hot chocolate. Bebe, you are frozen! I told you to dress warmly, that this would take hours. Perhaps we can find a spot for you in the sleigh. What do you think, Reuben? We’ll save the poor child’s frozen feet.”
“I think,” Reuben said as he hefted the last pile of balsam onto the sleigh, “that she should walk like everyone else. Before we left I told her to go back and get warmer gloves and boots. It was a suggestion she chose to ignore.”
“Chéri, she could get frostbite.”
“She won’t,” Reuben said callously. “She has to learn, Mickey. I know she’s young, but she thinks we talk just to hear ourselves like she does. She can walk with the rest of us.”
Bebe listened to the exchange with mixed emotions. Almost from the moment she had boarded the sleigh she’d been sorry she hadn’t run back into the house for warmer gloves and a hat, to say nothing of the boots. Silly, stupid pride made her automatically reject any suggestions from Reuben. Well, she was paying for it now; she’d never been so cold. The pity in Daniel’s eyes made her ashamed. The concern in Mickey’s face made her want to weep. But it was the anger and contempt she saw in Reuben that made her determined to walk back to the château if it killed her.
She stared directly at Reuben, making a controlled effort to keep her teeth from chattering. “I think we should get started. It will be dark soon.”
“Bravo!” Daniel whispered as he reached for her arm. She quickly pulled it away but smiled at him, a crooked little grimace.
“I’ll get back on my own, Daniel. I can’t let him get the best of me. Not yet, anyway.”
Daniel trudged alongside her. “Bebe, this isn’t a game. It’s not you against Reuben. You have to stop thinking there’s a contest between the two of you. Don’t spoil things with hate and anger.”
“I don’t hate him, he hates me! I just don’t know why. These past weeks I’ve tried to do everything he said, and I hardly ever sass him back—but I just know he’s waiting for me to step out of line. He still isn’t satisfied. I didn’t ask to ride in the damn sleigh, did I?”
Daniel hated it when he had to defend his friend. He liked Bebe. He liked the way she could laugh at herself when she made what she called one of her ridiculous mistakes. He liked the way she hunkered down to learn the French verbs. And when she made a mess of the language, her friendly little winks and crooked smiles delighted him. He particularly treasured her small confessions and some of the secrets she shared with him on their walks over the frozen fields. So often he wished that he could confide something in return, but he had no secrets, only hopes and dreams. He told her about the dog, and wanting to call it Jake. She’d smiled and said she understood. She’d confided in return that the nicest, the warmest feeling she’d ever felt in her life was when Mickey cradled her in her arms the first night she’d arrived. She wanted, needed family love, but she had nothing to give in return, so how could she expect anyone to give her something so precious? Be yourself, he’d said, the way you are with me. The rest will fall into place. And always, after every serious talk, she’d look at him with tears in her eyes and ask, “Why does he hate me, Daniel?”
“With Reuben you have to prove yourself,” he’d reply reluctantly. “It’s either black or white. There are no gray areas with Reuben. You have to understand that.” He’d pat her shoulder awkwardly and she’d smile—and immediately he’d feel a sense of disloyalty to Reuben.
“Just concentrate on putting one foot ahead of the other,” he said to her now. “It’s only another kilometer or so. I know a shortcut. Do you want to take it?”
“Not on your damn life,” she said, teeth chattering.
“I had chilblains, so did Reuben. It’s not pleasant. At least take my scarf.”
“No.
