The Riesling Retribution

“You know I was at Ball’s Bluff?”

“Course I do. That nice young man, Chancellor, was in yesterday evening. Buys a little something for his dinner on his way home from your vineyard at least once or twice a week. Good-lookin’ fellow, if I do say so. Got a smile that lights up a room. He always has time for me, you know?” Thelma blushed like a teenager and I wondered what made Chance turn his considerable charms on her. “He’s always asking questions about folks around here. I like a person who tries to fit in when he’s new to a place.”

“He’s very personable.”

“Yes, indeedy. You’re lucky to have someone like that working for you.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, surveying me. “Ask me about your poppa, honey. What is it you want to know?”

“You know everything about everyone, don’t you, Thelma? You remember a lot of things.”

She smiled, slyly pleased. “You don’t need to butter me up, although I’m sure you’ve heard some people think of me as sort of a local Orifice of Delphi. The orifice was a special person in ancient Greece who talked a lot and answered everyone’s questions. She was supposed to be quite the fountain of wisdom.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of her…it.” Just how clear was her memory? “Bobby Noland told me he has enough evidence to conclude that Leland murdered Beau Kinkaid.”

It was news to Thelma. She stopped rocking and placed both hands on the arms of her rocking chair. “Where’d he get a damn-fool idea like that?”

“Dominique remembered Beau being at our house the day I was born, which fits with the information his ex-wife gave Bobby about the last time she saw him.” I shrugged. “Plus Leland was having an affair with Annabel Chastain. Opportunity and motive.”

“Phooey.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gives her a motive, is more like it. I remember her. Annie Kinkaid in those days. Now she’s”—Thelma waved a hand like she was mixing something in the air—“Annabel Chastain. All high and mighty. A real legend in her own minefield.”

“You know her?”

“I never actually met her,” she said. “But I know all about her. Chasing after your father when your poor mother was expecting you. It about broke your mother’s heart.”

I wrapped my half-eaten muffin back in the paper and set it down. “How do you know all this?”

“Your mother and I shared confidences in those days, Lucille. Especially because both of us were…” 

She stopped and laid two fingers lightly on her lips. “Well, we talked a lot.” 

“So my mother told you that Annabel—Annie—was the one who was pursuing the affair with Leland?” 

She nodded. “I told Bobby this the other day, but of course he didn’t believe me. Aside from it being secondhand information and no way to transubstantiate it. That’s legal talk for proving it.” 

“Annabel passed a polygraph test and she had letters from Leland.” 

Thelma’s eyebrows knitted together. “Isn’t that interesting she kept hers all these years? Wonder what happened to the ones she wrote your father?” 

“He had letters from her?” 

“Oh, my yes. Your mother got hold of a couple of ’em.” Thelma folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sure one of your parents burned them years ago if you haven’t turned up anything by now.” 

I shook my head. “Unfortunately not. I’ve been through my mother’s papers and you know Leland. He wrote down as little as possible. The fire destroyed what few things remained.” 

“Now you listen to me, Lucille.” Thelma sounded stern. “Your father had his faults. We all knew that. He was a rogue and a rascal and he put your sainted mother through ten kinds of hell with some of the things he’d get up to. He may have had his secrets, but he was no murderer. Your mother…well, she would have known. And she couldn’t have lived with it.” 

I wanted to kiss her. It was the vindication I’d been seeking somewhere…anywhere. If Thelma believed it, then I knew I was right that Leland hadn’t killed Beau. 

“I’m glad to hear you say that. Thank you.” 

“It’s the truth.” She regarded me and frowned. “Are you going to eat that muffin? I swear, child. You look like you’re about to blow away in the next strong wind. Probably don’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Tiny just like your mother was. You look just like her, too, Lucille. Such a beauty she was.” 

I opened the paper again, blushing. “You’re very kind. I miss her so much sometimes.” 

“I know you do. So do I. My Lord, so do I.” 

“What was it that you started to say about the two of you…that you were both something. What was it?” 

Thelma took off her heavy glasses and looked away. The silence that fell between us seemed to weigh her down. Her sharp shoulders rose and fell as she brushed a fingertip under one eye. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to pry—” 

“Pregnant,” she said. “We were both pregnant.” 

I had been reaching for my coffee and almost spilled it. Coffee sloshed from the mug onto the little table. 

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea—” 

I sopped up the liquid with a napkin, embarrassed for both of us. 

“No one does. The only person I trusted was Charlotte.” 

My mother’s name was Chantal but Thelma always called her “Charlotte,” just as I’d become “Lucille” and Eli was “Elliot.” Thelma knew the history of almost everyone in Atoka, but who knew anything about her? 

“Do you have a child…I mean, did you…” 

Had she given the baby up for adoption? How had she hidden her secret all these years? 

Her smile was full of sadness and remembrance. “I lost my baby before anyone ever realized I was in a family way. Your mother guessed, though. Came in one day and found me sick as a dog, throwin’ up in the bathroom. She recognized right away that it was morning sickness. Knew I didn’t want to see a local doctor because I was too scared that folks around here would find out. So she drove me all the way to Washington to see someone from out of town.” 

“Why didn’t the baby’s father help you?” 

“Pfft!” She waved her hand. “Gone with the wind, darlin’. Back to his wife.” 

“Oh, Thelma.” 

“We’ve all chosen the wrong man at one time or another, haven’t we?” Thelma put her glasses back on and fixed her gaze on me with the haunted eyes of a woman who has never known what it was like to wake up each morning with a man who loved her. 

She knew my track record with men as well as I did. Maybe better. I wondered if, when I was her age, whether I, too, would have a string of broken relationships, and that would be it. 

“It’s the first time I’ve spoken about this since the miscarriage,” she said. “But I thought you should know. You’re exactly the same age my daughter would have been.” 

Her smile wavered. “Every time I see you I think of that. Wondering what color hair and eyes she would have had. If she would have been smart or musical or an athlete. Course I couldn’t have kept her, so I wouldn’t have known either way, now would I?” 

My throat closed. I couldn’t answer. 

“I didn’t mean to make you sad, child.” 

“I’m afraid I’m the one who made you sad.” 

She stood up and began cleaning imaginary fingerprints on the glass cabinet. “It’s all right. I’ve learned to live with it.” 

I wanted to hug her but I was afraid she’d lose whatever shred of dignity she was hanging on to if I did. 

“I hope you know I’ll respect your confidence just like my mother did,” I said. 

“Of course I do,” she said. “I trust you like I trusted Charlotte. And Lucille, what you told me today, that stays here, too. You have my word.” 

I nodded. 

She finished cleaning the cabinet. “Well, now. At least you finished your coffee. How about another