Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [11]
“How’s that working out, having both a winery and a horse-breeding operation?” The struggle between cattle ranchers and wineries for available land was a hot topic these days in San Celina County.
“It’s been nine years now, and Seven Sisters Winery is rapidly taking over the family, which is causing a lot of problems between my grandma and her sisters.” She shifted in her chair, scratching around a red, paste-on jewel on her neck. “The ranch is run by a trust left by my great-grandfather, and there never was a source of conflict until Great-Aunt Etta started the winery. My mom’s brother, my uncle Chase, is involved with the winery, too, and has voted at times against Grandma Cappy. They begrudge her every penny she spends on the horses.”
Chase Brown, Cappy’s son, was a local lawyer, former city council member, and a regular at the political shindigs I was often forced to attend these days with Gabe. He was in his late forties, never married, and handsome in that alcohol-flushed, decadent, aging-movie-star sort of way that appeals to some women.
“Didn’t your great-grandfather intend it to be only a horse-breeding farm?”
“Yes, but even though Cappy’s got a great reputation, I guess quarterhorse racing took a big plunge in the early eighties, and that hurt her as a breeder. She’s slowly built the business back up, but it’s never been the same. The winery has its ups and downs, too, apparently. Both need a lot of money to operate, but it seems like the winery is slowly becoming the family’s main business.”
“Wine is certainly taking over the county, that’s for sure,” I said. It was a sore spot among ranchers, and I heard about it constantly from Daddy, more so, it seemed, in the last year or so. Daddy and his friends called the wine people “those grape assholes” whenever Dove wasn’t around to reprimand them.
She stood up and smoothed down her thin skirt. “Well, times change. We can either float with the current or drown as Great-Aunt Willow loves to say. I don’t necessarily like it, but she’s got a point.”
I shrugged, not willing to delve any further into something I felt so conflicted about. I’d had enough changes in the last two years to last me a lifetime. Things staying status quo for a few months looked pretty appealing.
“So,” she said. “What I actually came in to do besides confess was invite you and Gabe to dinner at the ranch tonight. Grandma Cappy thought it wise that we all get together and meet each other since we’ll be related soon. I know it’s short notice, but she figured we’d better start making plans.”
“Have Bliss and Sam set a date? He didn’t say anything to us.”
“I think that’s what’s on the agenda tonight. Will you come? Oh, and ask Dove and your father, too.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll call Dove right now.”
I caught Dove just as she was leaving and told her quickly about the invitation. “Are you and Daddy busy?”
“We’ll be there with bells on. I haven’t seen Cappy in a month of Sundays. Now we’re going to be kin. That just tickles me.”
“It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure,” I replied.
I finished up the grant application and watered my scraggly fern before going out to the central co-op room. The co-op studios, once the Sinclair hacienda’s stables, were separated into small storage and workrooms that accommodated the woodworkers, painters, potters, and other folk artisans. The main studio was usually filled with quilters, since it was the only room big enough to hold our two quilt frames, which could extend from crib to king-size with the adjustments of a few screws. We’d taken to renting