the chase. It’s two on one during these things as we gang up on one another. That generally changes several times. With Mom telling us to stop, we race outside where she can’t yell at us.
Brody and I gang up on Cage, landing several direct hits before he dips his towel in one of the rain barrels to get it wet.
Minutes later, we’re covered in welts and laughing hard inside the barn. Mom leaves, driving off in her little red corvette when she realizes we aren’t going to listen.
We collapse against the hay bales and Cage looks over at me. “So, when are we going up?”
“Up?”
“Yeah, to do our investigation.” He makes air quotes with his fingers.
“You seriously want to help?” He didn’t seem convinced earlier.
“Damn straight.” Brody gives a nod. “Evelyn is amazing.”
Cage cracks up. “Yeah, even if she’s a little handsy.”
“That’s it!” I pile on top of Cage, punching and jabbing playfully as he blocks my fists. Brody is no help. He holds his sides from the laughter spilling out of him.
I love my brothers, because no matter what they have my back, and I miss having them around. We stop goofing around and saddle our horses. After I go inside, to get my bag and water for the trail, we’re off.
It’s late summer and still hot. Broad green leaves flutter on the vines and heavy grapes hang from the stems. In a few weeks we’ll begin harvesting, but for now the vineyards remain quiet. Scattered over the fields, footlong mylar streamers flutter in the wind. Their reflective coating scares off the birds who would otherwise decimate our crop.
“Vines look healthy.” Brody gives an appreciative nod. “Looks like it’s going to be a good year.”
“It should be, or would’ve been. We lost a lot in the fire.”
“We’ll rebuild,” Cage chimes in.
“We?” Not likely. Brody is busy in the city and Cage disappears for months at a time.
“I’ll help out when I’m home.” Cage reaches out from horseback and tries to snag a clutch of grapes. He’s unsuccessful and we move on. He leaves in a couple of weeks for an expedition and who knows what will pull him away after that.
“Honestly, there’s not much to do. George is examining the roots, seeing what we can salvage. We’ll spend winter reconditioning the soil, but it may take a season or two before we can replant.”
Then years before the vines mature and begin producing.
My brothers know all of this. We were raised learning everything about growing grapes and making wine. Our father put us to work on nearly every job involved in the whole process over the years. The wine business flows in our veins.
A bead of sweat forms on my brow and I swipe my forehead. There’s not a cloud in the sky, which leaves the sun to bake the land as morning stretches into noon. Knight, Chesty, and Brody’s Arabian, amble through the fields until we get to the burned part of our fields. On the surface, it looks like a deadman’s land. Scorched dirt and the husks of vines stretch before us. Our carefree banter grows silent as we wander through the devastation.
On closer inspection, there are small signs of life. Grasses poke up through the charred ground. Those will give way to low scrub and small bushes if left alone. My decision will be whether to allow the land to lie fallow for a season or two before attempting to replant. It will come down to whether the roots of our vines survived.
If they start sprouting, we’ll focus on the vines. If not, I’ll let the land recover. It means decreased production and diminished profits for several years. I need to sit with Brody later to see if our business has the cash flow to survive.
As the horses begin the climb into forest lands we come upon what’s left of the trees. The burnt husks of their trunks chill me. The fire stripped the trees of their beauty, leaving nothing but gaunt, skeletal remains clinging to barren soil. They reach up with gnarled and snapped limbs as if desperate to be whole again.
The canopy which once sheltered so many is gone. It’s too quiet as if the land is trying to heal.
“It’s horrible,” Brody says. His horse gives a soft snicker as it picks its way along the path.
“It’s been a hot summer with a savage sun. All that heat baked the ground and turned the underbrush to tinder.”
“Looks like it all just went up. Is