Page 96 of I Do, I Do, I Do
“How did you know about us? Did he make a deathbed confession?” Even to her own ears, Juliette sounded bitter.
“First, you’ll want to know who he was.” Mr. Glascon nodded toward the vineyard laid out in neat rows along the valley floor. “That is the Villette Winery.” All heads turned to peer out the window. “The vines were planted by Luis Villette, Jean Jacques’s father, about ten years ago, just before Luis died. The vineyard has never been successful.” His shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “Father and son believed California could produce quality wine. But it didn’t happen in their lifetimes. Perhaps this is not the right part of California. Perhaps the vines are flawed. It’s impossible to say. But the man you knew as your husband came with his family from France to California to become a vintner.”
Zoe covered her eyes. “Are any of our marriages legal?”
“I’m sorry—no.”
Another sigh ran around the table, and then Clara spoke. “Why should we believe anything you say? How do we know that Jean Jacques isn’t sitting on his porch, waiting for you to return and assure him that we swallowed a new set of lies?”
The question didn’t seem to surprise Mr. Glascon. “I have a carriage waiting. In a moment, I’ll drive you to the Loma Grande cemetery. Perhaps seeing Mr. Villette’s headstone will help you cope with his loss.”
“We’re coping just fine, thank you,” Juliette said. “But seeing his grave would assure us that he is indeed gone.”
“Before we go…” Mr. Glascon lifted his briefcase to the table, opened it, and withdrew three thin envelopes. “Mr. Villette left these for you.”
With a shock, Juliette recognized the handwriting flowing across the envelope.To Mrs. Juliette March Villette. But she wasn’t certain that she wanted to read his last words.
“I didn’t expect this,” Clara murmured, her eyes wide and startled. “It’s like a voice from the grave.”
“How dare he! We should just tear up the letters and spit on the paper,” Zoe said angrily.
“Mr. Glascon,” Juliette said after drawing a deep breath, “exactly how many letters did Jean Jacques leave with you?”
A hint of a smile flitted across Mr. Glascon’s expression, gone in an instant. “I’m not at liberty to answer that question.”
“Which means there are several more letters,” Zoe said.
“I can tell you that Jean Jacques Villette adored women. He knew well an astonishing number of remarkable ladies, and I truly believe he genuinely loved all of you.”
“Heruinedall of us is what you mean,” Zoe snapped.
They looked at each other. Then, as if they had discussed it beforehand, they twisted off their wedding rings and tossed the rings into Mr. Glascon’s briefcase. Then they read their letters.
My dearest little Juliette,
No, darling, it was never just the money. Had it been only the money, I would have requested more, and generous heart that you are, you would have given it gladly. It was not the money, my beautiful Juliette, it was always you.
Your naïveté and the sameness of your days drew me and broke my heart. How I would have loved to sweep you away from Linda Vista and broaden your mind and your horizons. To stand by your side and watch your lovely shining eyes as you opened like a flower to your full potential. If you are reading this, love, then you have traveled beyond Linda Vista. You have begun a journey of discovery that I hope will never end. I envy the fortunate man who will travel by your side, for I know he will find you.
Thank you, my darling, for sharing yourself with me. I will love you always.
Your very own, Jean Jacques Villette
My beautiful Clara,
I think of you so often. What a wonderful capacity for life you have, my dearest. How bright and quick and resourceful you are. By now you will have sold the inn, and marvelous new opportunities await you. Knowing you, you will make a success of whatever life brings you.
It was never the inn that interested me, love, it was only you. It broke my heart that you believed you were but part of the inventory. No, my darling. The inn was merely a planet orbiting your sun. Somewhere, there is a man big enough to reflect your true image in his eyes and who will match the great love you have to give. In a better world, that man would have been me.
Thank you, my darling, for sharing yourself with me. I will love you always.
Your very own, Jean Jacques Villette
Darling Zoe,
How much I regret that we had so little time together. I would have liked to know your family and tour Newcastle to meet the places and people that shaped the fine strong woman you became. It made my heart ache that you wished to shake off who you are. My love, the petty, forgettable people in the carriages should worship at your feet.
There is no disgrace in making a mistake, darling Zoe. Choosing a scoundrel for a husband doesn’t diminish you or make you foolish. The disgrace would be to make the same mistake again, and that I think you will not do. Ah, beautiful Zoe with the flashing eyes and hair like midnight silk. Your next prince may or may not have gold in his pockets, but that fortunate man will find gold in you. As I did for all too brief a while.
