Raisins

Raisins from grapes picked at the peak of ripeness tumbled off the stone wall. No one had come to collect the crop, the wind had surged suddenly that morning and hadn't stopped, and down came the raisins. Aria saw it from across the vineyard and began to run, fighting the wind that thrashed her face and tangled her skirts and hair, grapevines bordering her path. She was supposed to be leaving with her brother and sister, abandoning their stone villa to follow their aunt and uncle to the city. The city, where every sign and piece of mother's life are far out of reach, and father's memory even dimmer, Aria thought.

She began to slow down as she neared the stone wall. She knew her siblings had turned away now. Aunt and uncle probably hadn't even glanced back when they heard her whirl away into the field of vines. They knew her impulsivity. Her heedlessness. They also knew she'd be back, sulking along in defeat at the end of their traveling party alongside the heaviest carts pulled by the slowest oxen. How that bothered her. How Aria wished she could do something more than follow, her only resistance a refusal to walk with the rest of them. Those siblings of hers who she thought loved their home as much as she did, that aunt and uncle who obviously wanted nothing to do with this home and this land that Aria's parents had tended so carefully all their lives.

Aria knelt to pick up a cluster of wrinkled mahogany-brown fruits. The raisins felt good in her hand, a familiar texture and weight, countless memories attached to the feeling. She plucked one from the brittle stem and ate it, and didn't stop until she'd eaten the whole bunch, relishing the warm sweetness and chewy texture that will "always make you smile," her mother had said.

Will I be back? Aria asked herself. Do they really know? Am I so predictable? She didn't like the feeling of being seen as a silly and impulsive girl who'd trail back quietly once she'd gotten her feelings out. But really, that is who I am. I make no grand statements, I can convince nobody of anything. I am a simple, silly girl who loves her home and her grapes and her raisins, her fields and her cat named Turska. That last thought was prompted by the appearance of Turska the brown tabby on the vineyard wall that Aria now leaned against, sheltered a bit from the wind. Turska streamed down the wall in one fluid movement and greeted Aria with a high "mrrow", tail straight up and trotting towards her. Aria ran her hand over the cat's shining, smooth fur as she padded into Aria's lap.

"Oh, Turska. I wondered what would happen to you. Saying goodbye was just too sad." Aria murmured in the childish air she used only with Turska. "I knew you'd be happier here than in the city, with all your mice and open space. I'm glad I got to see you one more time."

Her gaze drifted as she scratched Turska behind the ears to the soft undertone of her purr. Aria looked to her left, where the old farmhouse peeked through the open red gate in the stone wall which was lined with wildflowers in that area, soft pinks and whites peeking through billows of clover. The weathered stone bench under an old apple tree was visible on the gently sloped knoll behind the house. Aria thought of all the time she'd spent reading under the shade of that tree in summer, or playing with Turska in the cold, the bench piled with fresh snow. See her one more time? Aria resented that thought even more than when she'd first parted from her cat. Aria turned her head to the right, settling her gaze where the rows and rows of grapevines bled together into a gold-green haze under the afternoon sun.

There was a conclusion that she knew was already made, a feeling blooming in the middle of her chest like coming home after a long journey, mixed with the same sensations that tore at her heart every time she thought of her parents, faced the fact of never seeing them again. Aria didn't care how, but she knew there was no leaving this place for her. Let her brother and sister worry, it'd only last a week before the city convinced them to live with it. Aria knew that they'd feel as alive in the city as she did here at home, and she was glad of it.

On three occasions throughout that windy afternoon sitting against the wall, Aria pushed down rising heartache and tears that seared her eyes as she lived through her past one more time. But now instead of loss of home, of windows looking into the green and blue, of running through vineyard rows, of days by the pond with Turska, it was the feeling of being lifted into the apple tree's boughs on her brother's shoulders so she could reach the ripe fruit. It was the laughter in her sister's eyes as they snatched soft, warm rolls fresh from the kitchen, and her mother's reproach with hidden smiles and hands on hips. She had begun this day by walking away from half of herself. Now she sat against this stone wall that held her little piece of the world, letting half of her past walk away down the long road to the city. My piece of the world.

Aria picked up Turska's warm body, soft and elastic from sleep, and carried her to the house, passing through the red gate and closing it behind them as the last of the sun's touch faded from the hills. She looked underneath the heart-shaped, intricately etched stepping stone in the flower garden bordering the porch and found with a grin that her mother's spare key was still there. She walked to the mahogany double doors and unlocked the house that she knew she no longer had a right to enter, and with a wavering, rallying breath, she opened it and stepped inside. The smell of yeast and cinnamon pervaded the entryway, bringing a fresh rush of emotion which Aria shook off, and she closed the door behind her. The house was still furnished-but without much in the way of decor and detail, the house was stripped of its trinkets- as Aria's aunt had a distaste for their rustic furniture and thus had included it in the sale of the villa.

That night she slept on the cushioned window nook in her mother's bedroom, her favorite place in the house. In here it smelled like lavender and the sleepy scent of cotton, and the view out the window was of the knoll with the apple tree, and beyond that the pond in the grove of willows in an expanse of hills and valleys, all bordered by the distant woods.

Very early in the morning Aria walked downstairs to the yellow-walled dining room with its white embroidered curtains and, after setting water heating in the kettle for tea, stood looking out the window, Turska perched on the pane.

"Well, Turska, we will be guests here as of later this morning. When the Augustins arrive, we'd better look the part..." Aria trailed off, gazing out at the walled courtyard encased by rose bushes, a large birdbath in the center. The hints of a plan eventually cemented in her mind and a buzz of excitement set her to immediate work after a hastily eaten breakfast of a left-behind roll and cup of tea that made her wish they'd left behind some cream, too. After setting everything in place with the front door locked and the key in its rightful hiding spot again, Aria walked across the courtyard to the small building that served as a tool shed for the vineyard hands and gardener, and as a scullery for the maid who had been dismissed as soon as her aunt and uncle had made their plans of moving to the city with money from the sale of the villa to these Augustins. Walling in one side of the courtyard next to this tool shed was a hall of spare rooms for the seasonal workers.

Inside this workshed, Aria found the extra clothes her mother kept for the seasonal helpers during harvest time, and which was also kept in case Aria or her siblings wanted to help crush grapes. She donned the least purple-stained white underdress and brown apron and surveyed herself in the small mirror affixed above the wash stand. The lack of brushing her windswept brown hair had received since her exodus from the traveling band lent her a homely, modest appearance, and her ruddy cheeks betrayed much time spent out of doors, which she thought seemed fitting for the part she hoped to play.

It was midmorning. Aria had taken a basket into the vineyard and was filling it with dark, juicy clusters of grapes. With each one, she felt a greater swell of anger that her aunt and uncle had scorned the villa at the height of harvest time. Basket full, she stood up and brushed the sweat from her brow. She looked down the row that she was picking from towards the farmhouse, and her heart was set to pounding as she registered people moving about there. She hoisted the basket and with a determined stride, crossed the distance to the stone wall and casually began setting her grapes along the top of it to dry in the sun. Aria heard laughter behind her, the laughter of a child, then more laughter and a shout of excitement. She turned around and stared as three young children, two girls and one boy, sped down the first row of grapevines, their shouts and laughter fading as their forms began to shimmer in the heat and distance. All was quiet for a few minutes, until she heard the distant sound of unfettered excitement and play rise again as the three children came up the next row. Their fingertips and faces were blotched with purple and red now and their mouths were full of the sweet and sour fruits. Aria was speechless as they came face to face with her. She was stunned by the intensity of nostalgia and the immediate replacement that was fear and uncertainty and embarrassment.

"Look, Laina! Barron! A kitty!" Said the youngest girl, her exuberant face ringed by a halo of gold curls. Turska padded up to Aria and weaved between her ankles. The children came forward excitedly and Turska began to purr, brushing against each of their legs and then darting into the vineyard. The children laughed and began to follow, but the boy hung back when he realized Aria was still standing there.

"Don't you want to come with us? I think your cat wants us all to play!" he said, then hurried after his sisters. Aria wasn't sure what to do. She almost followed them for the sheer joy it gave her to imagine romping through the fields like a child once again. Before she could decide, she heard someone open the gate that led to the courtyard. She turned, and out stepped a woman in a white dress and blue apron that reminded Aria of the things her mother used to wear. A man joined her, a man who looked accustomed to hard work and seemed rough but for his eyes, which shone with merriment even from where Aria stood. She held her breath. She closed her eyes and thought of her mother, of the dim sense she had of her father, of packing her bedroom away, of leaving the villa. She opened them again and now this man and woman were waving to her with smiles on their faces.

Aria's back protested as she stood up with her basket in hand, wiping the sweat from her brow. She looked across the straight rows of green until they turned gold in the shimmering sunlight. She looked toward the farmhouse and smiled as she saw Barron running out to meet her.

"Give me that basket," he said, taking the heavy load. "I need someone to oversee the raisin drying this afternoon." Aria saw the concern behind his jovial expression, and affection filled her. Maybe I am getting too old for this, she thought. Maybe it is time to let these fields go. He offered her his sun-darkened forearm and they walked through the vines to the stone wall, where the vineyard hands were readying the grapes for drying. Barron gave back the basket full of grapes with a smile, turning back to see how his wife and latest newborn were faring at their picnic under the apple tree. Aria walked to the wall and found the perfect spot along its rim for each cluster of the grapes she had picked at the peak of their ripeness. A few weeks later, they were raisins.