7.4: French Wineries and Mistakes

 Author's Note: Yeah, there's no language of the not good variety in this chapter, I just wanted to say hey and thank you for reading and not being, I appreciate it. So hey and thanking you for reading. More specifically, thank you for not being illiterate, so you're able to read my legacy. You're awesome.☺

  "We have a few hours before the sun sets and we have to go back to the bed and breakfast. I was thinking I could purchase my wine making machine and have it shipped to our house, then we could maybe tour the winery, if you'd like, then go outside and you could harvest a few rare grapes and see if you can find any seeds." It was the third day of our vacation and so far Rosie and I had only done tourist activities, like visiting the Eiffel Tower, eating delicious pastries, and visiting breathtaking museums that were much better than Appaloosa Plains' crummy artsy museum.
  "Sounds like a plan."
  "A good one, hopefully."
   "It is." I said, looking around the winery we had just stepped inside.I glanced around at the crates of wine that varied from being weeks, to months, to decades, to centuries old. The air's sweet, but musty aroma of grapes filled my nostrils as Rosie began browsing the racks.
  "Puis-je vous aider?" A pretty French woman stated. What was she asking? I thought back to French class, wishing that I was as good at foreign language as I thought I was. Aider meant help, I knew that, so she must be asking if she could help us. 
  "Oui." I replied to her. "Outils de vin? S'il vous plaît? Wine tools? Please?"
  "Hey, Hazel," Rosie smiled at me as if to say 'I'll handle this' and I instantly felt foolish. 
  "Oh, yeah. Sure. Sure." Rosie began speaking to the lady working the register in rapid French. In a few moments she had purchased he win making equipment and had it shipped to Appaloosa Plains, Washington, USA.
   "The tour now?" I asked, eager to learn about what interested Rosie so much.
   "Sure." She smiled and began walking, leading me around the place. "There are several tasting rooms up here, along with the stock that's available to purchase. In the back there's also wine making machinery were you can purchase wine making lessons or rent a machine. Now, if we go down the stairs to the basement, we can see some really neat things."  

   "Like what?" I asked, as I began climbing down the stairs.
   "Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil it..."  She chuckled, as she teased me; my imagination began running wild with possibilities of what was in the basement of an ancient French winery.
   "Really? Because I'd be fine with it." I glanced around the basement. There were barrels upon barrels of wine, but nothing I would consider spoil worthy. "What's down here?" 
   "Well, if we take a step this way..." She led me to another room. "We can see a three hundred year old barrel of wine that survived the Révolution Française, or French Revolution."
    "Interesting." I said, even though I thought the opposite.
    "Go over to that wall."
    "Why?"
    "I've heard some rumors within the wine community and would like to see if they're true, that's all."

    "Okay, why not." I shrugged and walked over to the wall. I began feeling it, hoping that some clue would come about.
    "Look for a crevice near the bottom between two stones."
    "Odd..." I mumbled under my breath, as I leaned down looking for a crevice. Was my little lady crush a completely eccentric gal?
    "Don't worry... I'm not crazy."
    "I'm molesting a wall at your instruction. Now what exactly is your definition of crazy?" I stood up and leaned against the wall. Suddenly, I heard a creaking noise. "Rosie, did you hear that?"
    "You mean the noise of a hidden door opening as I prove my sanity? Maybe a little." I spun around to see a hidden passage way revealed.
     "Was this the rumor?"
     "That there was a passage way under the winery? Defiantly. Want to do a little exploring?"
     "Do I want to do something reckless that would endanger my safety with someone I've only known for six months? Of course!"
      "Seems like your morals are a bit questionable, but I'll roll with it."
      "What can I say, people with questionable morals have more fun."
      "Isn't that the truth." She muttered as we began walking through the passageway.

    The passage was dark and damp; it was exactly like a secret room that had been locked up for no one knew how long should be. Rosie, being resourceful, had remembered to bring a matchbook along so we could light the torches that lined the walls. The halls were long and winding, with pieces of broken pottery and worn artifacts that had left time get to them scattered about. Nothing special or interesting appeared, though. We kept walking through the rooms, hoping to stumble upon a chest or treasure of some kind, but didn't.
  "Rosie, we've been walking for a while, are you sure something's here?"
  "I wasn't sure if the passage was here, much less if there's something in them. We'll have to keep walking, unless you want to go back. We can if you want."
  "Nah, when else will I ever be in a damp, dirty, dark French corridor?" And so we kept prancing through the rooms, until finally we reached a rather lavish one that was lined with gold and silver chests. "Wow!" I gasped, shocked that we found something. I bent down, seeing if he chest closest to me was locked. It was not, so I pried it open to see rare seeds galore. "Look, these are probably unheard and ancient! I imaginable how wonderful my garden will be now..."

   "That's great." She smiled, helping me open the next chest to find a few scrolls that had a language, defiantly not the French I barely knew, on them.
    "Can you read them?"
    "No." She sighed as she unrolled and rerolled them all. "It looks like we'll need a keystone to continue, but I can't read the clues."
     "What now?"
     "You got your seeds and it is," She glanced at her cell phone, "Getting late. I'd say head back upstairs."
     "I do need to harvest some grapes..." Through the winding hallways we went once more, only this time to the basement. I climbed up the stairs and arrived at the front desk. "Hello, oui, may I harvest some fruits?"
     "Mademoiselle, nous sont fermées."
     "Miss... Parlez-vous anglais?"
     "Anglais? Oui. We are closed. Please come back tomorrow."
     "It'll mess up my schedule."
     "Stupide américain."
     "I don't speak a lot of French, but I understood that. Was that even French or just pretentious English with a few extra vowels? How about I not come back and not give your winery and vineyard money, oui?"  
     "Désolé, s'il vous plaît aller."
     "I did not understand that, but, um, I'm gonna go now."  I began blushing as I walked away from the front desk, my dignity a little torn. The cashier probably had some.
     "Adieu!" The lady called, as I pushed open the front door, stepping into the fresh night air.
     "Rosie?" I exclaimed. She was sitting on the steps of the winery in tears. Just moments ago she was happily leading me around underground. "What happened?"
     "W-w-well, I saw a cou-uple. They-ey were getting engaged!" She blubbered, a tear trickling down her smooth cheek. "I thought, hey it's like five pm her-re. Th-uh-at means it's morn-ning in Washington. I called..."
     "Oh, no. Rosie I thought you were better."  I sat down next to her. We went to France because she said she was alright. Said she could use the time to heal. I hadn't convinced her to do something when she was emotionally unstable, had I?
     "They're so happy... I wanna be hap-ppy. Hazy... I wanna be happy." 
     "Did you have anything to drink?" I asked. 
     "May-hic-be." She hiccuped  in the middle of her sentence. I could that she had had a glass or too of wine, not enough to make her totally incapable, but enough to make her call her girlfriend when she saw how happy other couples were. "Three tiny glasses from the tasting room. Three. I'm okay-kuh-ay Hazel." 
    "Are you sure? Look, I still think we should call it a night and get you back to the inn." 
    "Alright." She sighed. I stood up, giving her my hand so could as well. I quickly hailed a cab and, with the help of  Rosie as our translator, we ended up back at the bed and breakfast in no time at all.

   "Knock, knock." I said, gently tapping on Rosie's door. We had been back for a few hours, ate dinner, and decided to relax in our separate rooms for the remainder of the evening. I was just going to check on her before deciding to call it a night and venture into the world of slumber. "May I come in?" I asked. I heard a mumbled that I thought was a yes and pulled the door open.
   "Hey, Hazel." She greeted me, not hiccuping or crying or slurring her speech. "Sorry about earlier."
   "It's fine. You're okay, right?" I glanced past the wine she was pouring to the balcony doors. We were only on the second floor, but alcohol and heights were still general a bad thing.
    "I'm good. Hey, look I won't do anything I regret in the morning. Want a drink?"
    "I suppose... I mean, it's been a long day and couldn't hurt."
    "Vintage wine. Very delicate."

    "Knowing nothing about wine, I'll take your word for it." I took a glass and slowly sipped. The liquid slowly slipped down my throat, smooth. The rich flavor of grapes, blended with something else, a taste just out of reach, invaded my tongue and taste buds. "This is good...really."
   "I'm glad." She smiled, sitting the most full bottle on her dresser, as she herself took a sip from a glass. "There's notes of a variety of types of grapes used.. it wasn't the best growing season, not horrid..." She rambled on about the wine, the flavors and aromas and words that I didn't understand. "It's subtle, yet provides a complexity that provides the delicate tastes. Oh forget it, it's good wine. I'm tired of doing wine snob crap for today, I just want to enjoy my drink." 
    "Do you need anything?"
    "I don't know. I'm thirteen hours and who knows how many miles from Gwen in the city of romance. I though I'd be fine, but all I am is lonely. I feel like our relationship... it's tough, with all these couples and French. I think of these wine trips I took with her. Everything reminds me of her... except you. You're here for me. She isn't."
    "Look, I'm sure she's thinking about you, too." I said, wishing that I could act upon my feelings; I liked Rosie, I wished she was single so I could tell her.
    "Hazel, you're here for me."

    "Always." I whispered. "It's what friends do."
    "Friends..."
    "Rosie, you're amazing. Who wouldn't want to be friends with you?"
    "People. They don't matter, though. Nothing else..." She looked at me and I looked at her. You always wish things were different sometimes it's because you don't like what is currently happening, sometimes you wish you could let whatever happen happen without dealing with the consequences. Sometimes you let common sense and logic and every single thought fly away with the tumble of sheets and ripped tank tops and kisses and the body you thought you'd never get to love, but always wanted to. Because it's what both of you want for that moment. And moments don't have regrets, the people who string the moments together so that they form a life do.