“Well, you are helping now,” Céline said.

Inès sniffed. “Yes, well, anyone can knock on wood and fill barrels with water, right?”

Céline forced a small smile. “It is still useful.”

“Yes.” Inès’s tone was flat. “That’s just what Michel says.”

They lapsed into silence and worked together for the next few hours without exchanging more than a handful of sentences about where to put the barrels, or what time the men might return.

It was nearly seven o’clock when they heard the rumble of the Citro?n aboveground. A moment later, Michel came down the winding stairs. Theo was just behind him, smiling.

“How did it go?” Céline asked, looking up from a barrel and brushing off her hands.

“Wonderfully,” Theo replied, and for the first time in months, Céline saw hope in his eyes. “The intention is to have Klaebisch deal with an organization that represents all of us rather than approaching us individually. That way, we all share the burden in a manner that is fair.”

“Well, that sounds like the perfect solution!” Inès exclaimed brightly, clapping her hands.

Michel frowned at his wife. “Well, it is a step in the right direction,” he said carefully. “But we have also received word that Klaebisch is now requisitioning five hundred thousand bottles a week from Champagne.”

“Five hundred thousand?” Céline asked. “How will we keep up with that? If this year’s harvest is down, too . . .”

Theo glanced at her. “But this will keep them from breathing down our necks for the more valuable vintages. Trust me, Céline, this is a good thing. The industry is going to survive. It will all be okay.”

Michel cleared his throat, and as Céline looked up to meet his eye, she wondered if he was thinking, as she was, that Theo seemed to be missing the point. The war was about far more than whether their wine survived.

“Well, the new arrangement should certainly help, anyhow,” Michel said. He looked once more at Céline, and he held her gaze for a split second before turning back to the others. “In any case, let’s see how the barrel inspection is coming along.”

? ? ?

That night, Theo pulled Céline close as soon as she climbed into bed beside him. She was startled to feel her body stiffen in response, and she forced herself to relax.

“Champagne will survive this.” Theo stroked her cheek, his hand rough. She couldn’t remember the last time he had touched her this way, and it felt strange, unfamiliar. “The meeting today, Céline, well, it is the first time I’ve felt that there’s truly a solution of some sort,” he added. “De Vogüé is a wise man.”

“Yes.”

“He will take care of us. The wine will be all right.” He touched her face again, moved his hips into hers.

She bit her lip but couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “But what about the people? Is it only about the wine for you?”

She could feel him go still, and when he rolled onto his back, opening up a gulf between them, she closed her eyes in the darkness, already angry at herself. He didn’t share her fears, and though she was aware of that, forcing the words to the surface could do no good.

“Of course not,” he snapped. “But you should care about the wine, too. It is our life, Céline.”

“No, Theo. It is the thing we do, not who we are. If the Germans destroyed the vineyards tomorrow, we would find a way to go on. But what if they destroy my family? What if they already have?”

“Céline, come now. Your family, they are safe. It will all be fine. You will see.”

“You can’t know that.” Céline could see her father’s face in her mind, could feel her grandfather’s strong hand on her shoulder, could feel her grandmother’s warm lips pressed against her cheek. Suddenly, she couldn’t be beside Theo any longer. Without another word, she scrambled out of bed and headed for the bedroom door, pausing only long enough to grab the long sweater that was draped over the chair in the corner.

“Céline, you’re being dramatic. Where are you going?”

“I need some air.” She made her way in the darkness to the back door of the house, half expecting Theo to follow her, to apologize for his lack of understanding, but he didn’t, and she supposed that said a lot.

Outside, the moon was nearly full, illuminating everything. Céline headed for the cellars. She would be alone with the sleeping bottles, and she knew that would bring her peace. Theo didn’t believe that she cared about the wine, but she did—deeply. She could feel the hearts and souls of the workers in every bottle. It was just that she cared about their actual lives more.

The inky black darkness belowground felt like an embrace. At the foot of the stone stairs, Céline lit an oil lamp, and the walls around her came alive with familiar shadows. She inhaled deeply and then froze. There was a slight scratching sound in one of the caves ahead and to the right. Was someone there? She stood perfectly still, her heart pounding.

Of course, the smart thing to do would be to turn around and head back aboveground, extinguish her light, hurry back home. But a sudden defensiveness swept over her; the Germans could impose their rules and requisition their bottles, but this hallowed place beneath the earth could never belong to them. It belonged to France, all the years of history that had unfolded here, the way the very earth had wrapped itself around the aging wine and turned it into something magical. Before she could stop herself, she slipped off her shoes and walked as quietly as possible down the narrow passage.