The Vineyard

THE VINEYARD

By S.L. McDaid

Everyone wondered how I made my wines so rich in color and taste. Was it the way the grapes were lined perfectly on the rolling hills here in my California vineyard, or perhaps the soil and how it was fertilized with only the purest of ingredients, organic and clean? But what really made it taste and gave it its signature flavor was the way I aged it in the oak barrels.

People came from all over to take tours of my vineyard and its green, luscious views. They came from around the world to walk the land while sipping and swishing their wine samples as they gazed over the hills that looked out onto the bustling city below. It was an oasis away from the chaos.

“Are you going to pick a winner today?” my wife asked eagerly as she placed a hot, steaming plate of eggs and bacon in front of me, waiting for my answer.

“Yes, of course…” I took a bite of eggs, breathing heavily as they scalded the roof of my mouth. “It needs to be done right, though. I have to meet them in person. You know how it goes.”

“Don’t take too long this time. If people get wind that we study them before we choose, they may not enter the contest anymore!”

She was mixing the overcooked eggs violently as she placed her other hand on her hip.

“Clara!” I snapped at her with a smile. “I got this, OK?”

She rolled her eyes and walked up behind me, kissing the back of my neck and giving me a playful push.

“I know, I trust you!” she sighed.

The well-worn logo of my family’s vineyard on my high school baseball cap had aged beautifully, much like fine wine. I had my travel mug of hot coffee in my hand while rounding up the employees for our daily morning meeting.

“Alrighty!”

They all stopped their conversations among each other and sat in the chairs of our tasting room.

“Today is a very special day because we choose our winner today!” They all cheered and clapped with great enthusiasm. I glanced at the clipboard listing the top five contestants eligible for the grand prize: a private tour of our barrel room and a chance to taste wine directly from the barrels.

“I need you all to help me vet our top five! Tony, can you do what you do best and go on their social media?”

A tight-ponytailed girl in her twenties smiled big while pulling out her phone. “You got it, boss!”

“I’m looking for pictures of family, friends, their career, all of that…” I paused, taking another sip of my hot coffee. “Remember, we don’t want anyone who has children or annoyingly close relatives who may end up stealing or finding out about the secret of our winemaking, right?”

They all looked at each other with wry smiles and scornful laughter. We opened in ten minutes, and I saw a line of people eager to explore the grounds. Eleven A.M. arrived rapidly on the days we chose our winners. The reason might have been anxiety over our secret, or just my general discomfort with strangers when I’m tired.

I brought the meeting to a close, and afterward, the employees went to their assigned posts. Russell, my employee, opened the door and welcomed the waiting customers. Then they arrived. They each had their name tags on, as stated in the rules when they came here. The five finalists entered, and Russell ushered them into our private conference room. I entered and saw them all staring through the vast, floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the vineyard, where streams of visitors, glasses of wine in hand, were already meandering across the grounds.

“Welcome!” I said, holding out my arms to greet them.

There were two women and three men. One woman looked to be about fifty or so, while the other was much younger, possibly in her late thirties. Both were fit and dressed like they had the money to buy the winning position if they truly wanted to. The men looked sloppier. One was giving the buttons of his T-shirt a run for their money as his belly pushed out like a bubble ready to pop. The others wore jeans and plain T-shirts. All of them smiled as I walked up to them.

“Now, per the rules, we will give you all an exclusive tour before we pick our winner.”

“And they will see the wine barrel room, right?” the bigger man interjected, a little too eagerly. “I’m Dalton! My family and I own a small vineyard back home in Oregon!”

I cringed as he held out his hand. He would not be the winner. Shaking his hand, I faked a smile.

“Always great to meet another fellow vineyard owner!”

He stood proudly, placing his hands in his tight-fitting jeans.

“Now follow me, and we will get this started!”

I poured each of them a white wine to start. It was always a lighter beginning before we dipped into the dark reds. I watched as each of them swirled their drinks, taking critical sips. One of the women was trying to watch everyone to blend in. She clearly didn’t know what she was doing and didn’t want the others to notice. She piqued my interest because of this, although she was the youngest of the bunch, and that might not be ideal.

The second man, who was tall and had a great set of hair and white teeth, came trotting up next to me as we walked through the rows of grapes.

“This place really is beautiful,” he said, taking another drink of the lighter red wine I had poured at our last stop.

“Thank you, it’s been both a chore and a great reward to take on!”

“I’m a soil expert! And by looking at your rich, dark dirt here…” He bent down to touch the earth, and I stopped to watch him. “You have great quality!”

“We pour everything into our soil to give it the proper balance and nutrients it needs,” I agreed.

“Well, you’re doing it all right. I can tell you that!” He now stood with his hands on his hips, looking over the whole crop closely… too closely.

He would not be the winner.

The sun finally met its end, only spraying its last few rays over the vines of grapes as we stood with the darkest of our red wines at the top of the hill that overlooked the city. I had talked a little with each person and narrowed it down to two: the older woman and the blue-collar man, who too looked to be in his fine old age of seventy. I always liked to pick the older generation when it came down to it. Just like wine, they aged well.

“If you would all go with Russell here, he will take you to the private dining room. I will meet you there in a moment to reveal the winner!”

They all smiled and followed Russell down the hill to the glass gazebo where we held special occasions such as this.

Tony came bopping up to me, eager to show me what she had found in her social media investigation.

“I looked at all of them, and it did come down to the two older ones, just as you had predicted!” She laughed sarcastically. She knew I could always see who would be best. “But the older woman does live in the city… and she is part of a very wealthy, very well-known family of restaurant owners…”

“Alright then! It is the older man!” I smiled, letting out a sigh of relief. I didn’t like choosing women, to be honest, but if I had to, I would.

“Great!” she smiled. “He is retired, has no children, and appears to be a loner who lives in Montana somewhere way off the grid!”

I could feel my shoulders drop again. “Thank you, Tony. Now go celebrate your hard work!”

She winked at me and skipped off to the main lobby to shut the doors and close down the vineyard for the day with the other employees.

I walked into the glass gazebo to see all eyes on me with anticipation of what I would say next.

“After much consideration, I have decided that Richard here is our winner!” The group applauded him as the old man stood up with a big smile and shook my hand in congratulations. Dalton did not cheer. Instead, he took the last pull of wine in his glass and exited the gazebo promptly.

“Thank you all for a great day. You may finish your drinks, and then Russell will escort you to your cabs.” I nodded at them all and motioned for Richard to follow me.

We walked through the moonlit night past the main building and to the far side of the grounds where our winemaking building stood, surrounded by a tall, secured gate. I took out the key, and we walked in. I closed and locked it behind us.

“I really do appreciate being picked. Never seen nothin’ like this before.” Richard’s words were slurred from the wine and his accent.

“It is my pleasure.”

The barrel room was filled with the rich, oaky scent of aging wine as large barrels lined the walls. Richard’s eyes widened in sheer amazement as he took in the breathtaking spectacle before him. I truly didn’t enjoy this part, yet it was necessary to get it done, no matter what. Approaching my wooden table cluttered with empty wine bottles and sample glasses, I poured Richard a tall glass of our richest, darkest cabernet. We opted for this strategy to safeguard all the intended flavor profiles.

His eyes still glued to the imposing barrels, Richard accepted the wine from my hand, not even bothering to look at the glass. As I lowered my gaze to my wristwatch, I heard his teeth clink against the glass while he took a slow sip. It usually takes about five minutes, yet it feels much longer than that.

And like clockwork, he fell to the ground, breaking the glass I had given him. Hurrying, I tried to prevent the tiny pieces from piercing his skin and tainting the sweet flavor. This was the stage that never seemed to become easier. Even though I had trained my whole life, from my father and his father before him, to hold our impulses back, it still tempted me to dig my teeth into his skin.

He was no burden as I carried him to the farthest barrel, and once I carefully placed him inside, I confirmed he was truly no more. He sank into the fermented grapes, the rich, crimson liquid swallowing him whole. As I sealed the barrel, a weary sigh escaped me, and I stepped back to admire the triumphant arrangements adorning the walls.

Clara walked in and smiled at me as she held out two empty glasses.

“Time to celebrate?”

I grabbed the glass and gave her a kiss.

“Absolutely.” From a barrel weathered by time and dating back to my inheritance of the vineyard in 1824, we poured a syrupy, ruby-red fluid. My skin became as vibrant as Clara’s, both of ours glowing as we drank and satisfied our thirst.

“We better give some to the employees before they shrivel up!” She laughed, filling an empty wine bottle. “Vampires…” She rolled her eyes.

“I’ll catch up. I want to walk the grounds a bit.”

“Of course!”

I walked to the edge of the overlooking hill and sat with my glass of blood wine. As I held the drink up to the star-dusted, inky sky, I savored the last swallow, a profound sense of relief washing over me now that we were secure and nourished once more…