Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [21]
Dove pointed across the room. “Etta’s over there, talking to Sam and Bliss and that pretty Spanish lady.”
I grabbed her finger and pushed it down. “Very funny, Dove.”
“Did you meet her?” Dove asked.
“Yes, and she’s very nice.”
“You best watch her. I don’t cotton to how she’s a-lookin’ at your husband.”
“I told you, she’s very nice. We had a nice talk.”
“Heed my words, honeybun. She looks like one who could surely nice you to death.”
“Enough about her,” I said, trying not to let my irritation show. “Etta’s the one in the black velvet blouse and skirt, I’m assuming.” Her outfit was plain except for her fist-sized Navajo squash blossom necklace.
“That’s her,” Daddy said. “They say she’s a genius with wine, that the winery would be nothing without her. Drives the other wine fellas crazy, Bob down at the Farm Supply says. A lot of them old boys have fancy degrees in some kind of wine culture or something, and she runs circles around them. Wins all the big awards. And to add flies to the manure, she’s a woman.”
Dove and I glared at him simultaneously.
He held up his hands in apology. “I was just reporting what the boys at the Farm Supply say.”
“Viticulture,” I said, remembering the chapter I’d read on it years ago when I was taking classes for my minor in agriculture. “The study of cultivating and growing grapes is called viticulture.”
“Whatever,” Daddy said, eating his last sausage, then using the toothpick on his teeth. “Whatever that degree is, she ain’t got it, and they do, and she still makes better wine than any of ’em. Apparently that woman can make wine out of raisins. I say more power to her.”
“Here, here,” Dove agreed.
Etta looked like a protégé of Georgia O’Keeffe. I guessed that Bliss, with her pioneer spirit, was probably Cappy’s favorite and that maybe JJ, being an artist, might be her great-aunt Etta’s favorite relative, especially since Etta had never married and had any children or grandchildren of her own.
My assumption proved correct when JJ came in from the back patio and Etta rushed across the spacious room and took JJ’s face in her large hands. Following JJ was an earthy, fortyish woman with lush graying blond hair flowing down her back. She watched Etta’s enthusiastic greeting with an uneasy expression. The earthy woman looked enough like Bliss and JJ that she had to be their mother, Susa—the ex-hippie nurse-midwife. Tonight she looked like any slightly artsy, upper-middle-class San Celina matron with a preference for autumn-toned gauzy dresses and handmade bead jewelry. She stood quietly watching her daughter chatter with her aunt, as much a part of the exchange as if she’d been a stranger at a bus stop.
Behind us, Cappy started tapping the side of her wineglass with a silver knife, continuing until the noisy voices quieted down. Dove and I stood up and faced her.
“Everyone’s here but Willow, and she said she’d be here as soon as the city council meeting is over, so I think we’d best get on with the toast and go eat that delicious barbecue Jose has been slaving over. As the oldest member of the Brown family here, I welcome you all to Seven Sisters Ranch. We are—”
“And winery,” Giles broke in, causing a few titters in the group.
Cappy stared at him a long, uncomfortable moment, her eyes boring holes in his forehead. Then she smiled. “Of course, Giles. Seven Sisters Ranch and Winery.” She said the last word slowly, deliberately. “We are here to celebrate the engagement of our own sweet Bliss to a fine young man, Sam Ortiz.” She held up her glass, and we all followed suit. “Long life, easy trails, and much happiness. Now, let’s eat.”
I searched the crowd, looking for Gabe, wanting to catch his eye. He was standing next to Lydia, Etta, and JJ. I watched as he clinked glasses with Etta and JJ, then turned and did the same with Lydia. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then they walked over to their son, whose face was flushed with excitement and embarrassment. Gabe hugged Bliss,