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6860106
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"This time of year, the purple blooms were busy with life- not just the bees, but butterflies and ladybugs, skippers and emerald-toned beetles, flitting hummingbirds and sapphire dragonflies. The sun-warmed sweet haze of the blossoms filled the air. "When I was a kid," said Isabel, "I used to capture butterflies, but I was afraid of the bees. I'm getting over that, though." The bees softly rose and hovered over the flowers, their steady hum oddly soothing. The quiet buzzing was the soundtrack of her girlhood summers. Even now, she could close her eyes and remember her walks with Bubbie, and how they would net a monarch or swallowtail butterfly, studying the creature in a big clear jar before setting it free again. They always set them free. As she watched the activity in the hedge, a memory floated up from the past- Bubbie, gently explaining to Isabel why they needed to open the jar. "No creature should ever be trapped against its will," she used to say. "It will ruin itself, just trying to escape." As a survivor of a concentration camp, Bubbie only ever spoke of the experience in the most oblique of terms."
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insects
summertime
bubbie
eva-johansen
magnus-johansen
isabel-johansen
butterflies
nature-s-beauty
flowers
memory
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Susan Wiggs |
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269793d
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When she returned to Bella Vista, she discovered Isabel in her manic-baking mode. The kitchen was filled with the aromas of butter, vanilla and cinnamon. She'd created Danishes and rugelach and crispy twisty things that promised to glue themselves promptly to Tess's hips.
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baked-goods
isabel-johansen
baking
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Susan Wiggs |
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bf71c88
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The woman at the other end of the room stood unmoving, her posture a slender question mark, silhouetted against the light from the window. She had large dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes that appeared damp from crying. Her sable-brown hair was looped into a careless braid down her back, and she wore a gauzy skirt and blouse, an apron, a pair of oven mitts and espadrilles tied at the ankles. The two of them stared at one another. The stranger shifted, stepping into a shaft of light through the open window. She had the face of an old Hollywood movie star, with an aquiline nose and full lips. She wore little or no makeup; her olive-toned skin gave her an air of unstudied elegance, needing no embellishment.
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isabel-johansen
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Susan Wiggs |
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e87a8f4
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The last dress in the wardrobe was loosely wrapped in thin tissue paper that tore away at the slightest touch. Isabel was intrigued by this one, a cocktail dress in peach-colored silk, embellished with a line of crystal bugle beads around the neckline, a fitted bodice and flaring skirt. In the glow of the bedside lamp, the dress was luminous and shimmering with a life of its own.
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francesca-cioffi
peach-color
isabel-johansen
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Susan Wiggs |
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85846ca
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Isabel was a surprise. There were depths to her he wanted to understand, and maybe, just maybe, she would let him. She was skittish, though, not exactly distrustful, but protective of herself. At the mountaintop, she'd given him a glimpse of that girl she'd been, growing up in a lush and sheltered place. At the hot springs, he'd had a glimpse of her that was going to haunt his dreams. Yes, he'd looked. Of course he'd looked. He was only human. Under that long, printed dress, which she seemed to wear as body armor, was a figure that nearly made him groan aloud, just remembering.
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isabel-johansen
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Susan Wiggs |
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456557a
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They each took a plate and helped themselves to a feast that looked as if it had been prepared for a magazine layout. There was a salad sprinkled with fresh flowers- Isabel said they were baby pansies, nasturtium and angelica. The spread included plates of artisan cheeses and raw and grilled vegetables, big chafing dishes of fragrant casseroles, berries and apples with a variety of sauces, an array of local wines and water from Calistoga. The abundance was almost overwhelming to Tess.
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spread
tess-and-isabel
isabel-johansen
feast
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Susan Wiggs |
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dbf0589
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"She shrugged her shoulders, then shifted her attention to the hand-labeled glass jars of honey. "Which one do you want to use?" "Something mild to go with the cheese." "The milkweed blossom?" Isabel nodded. "We're probably the only ones who'll notice." "The different flavors of honey have always been obvious to me," Jamie said. "Not to me. I've had to train my palate. Same with wines. But I'm not a natural, but I love the alchemy of pairing flowers. If you were twenty-one and not pregnant, I'd give you a taste of this nice new sauvignon blanc from Angel Creek. It's going to go perfectly with the appetizers." She turned off the heat under the fried marcona almonds and gave the pan a shake. "One sip," Jamie insisted, nibbling a bit of the goat cheese and honey on a cracker. "One, young lady." Isabel poured a bit of the chilled white wine in a goblet and held it out to her. Jamie savored a tiny sip, and smiled blissfully. "You're right. It's delicious." Isabel took back the goblet. "Look at me, corrupting a minor."
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jamie-westfall
minor
palate
pregnant-teenager
sauvignon-blanc
wine-tasting
isabel-johansen
honey
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Susan Wiggs |
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ea26ff5
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Lately, she'd been waking up early every day, too excited to sleep. She was working on the biggest project she'd ever dared to undertake- transforming her family home into a destination cooking school. The work was nearing completion, and if everything went according to schedule, she would welcome the first guests of the Bella Vista Cooking School at harvest time. The big rambling mission-style hacienda, with its working apple orchard and kitchen gardens, was the perfect venue for the project. The place had long been just too much for just her and her grandfather, and Isabel's dreams had always been too big for her budget. She was passionate about cooking and in love with the idea of creating a place for other dreamers to come and learn the culinary arts.
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dream
cooking-school
project
isabel-johansen
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Susan Wiggs |
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813959f
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Life could be very distracting, thought Isabel. And that was a good thing. It kept her from focusing on things that couldn't be changed, such as the fact that she'd never finished culinary school, or that she'd allowed one failed relationship to keep her closed up tight inside a hard, protective shell. Now she had a new project that consumed her every waking moment- the cooking school. It was true that she didn't have the official certification from a prestigious institute, but she had something that couldn't be taught- a God-given talent in the kitchen. She clung to that gift, grateful to let the passion consume her and fill her days with a joyous pursuit. She believed living and feeling well came from eating well, appreciating the simple things in life and spending time in the company of family and friends, and that was the mission of the Bella Vista Cooking School.
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dream
isabel-johansen
talent
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Susan Wiggs |
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c636077
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In contrast, Bella Vista was lush and seductive, the landscape filled with colors from deep-green to submerged-gold. Gardeners, construction workers and farm workers swarmed the property. Isabel Johansen was in charge; that had been clear from the start. Yet when she'd shown him to Erik's room, she'd seemed vulnerable, uncertain. Some might regard the room as a mausoleum, filled with the depressing weight of things left behind by the departed. To Mac, it was a treasure trove. He was here to learn the story of this place, this family, and every detail, from the baseball card collection to the dog-eared books about faro places, would turn into clues for him. And holy crap, had Isabel looked different when she'd given him the nickel tour. Unlike the virago in the beekeeper's getup, the cleaned-up Isabel was a Roman goddess in a flowy outfit, sandals and curly dark hair.
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isabel-and-cormac
isabel-johansen
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Susan Wiggs |
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5ad1831
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"Let's grab something for you from the kitchen, and then we'll go find Magnus." The "something" turned out to be a wedge of the most amazing cake he'd ever tasted. It had cream in the middle, a crust of honey and almonds on top. He crammed half a wedge into his mouth and moaned aloud. "Damn, that's good," he said around the mouthful. "Damn." "I already ordered it for my wedding breakfast," said Tess. "It's called Bienenstich- bee sting cake," said Isabel, coming into the kitchen. "Appropriate, under the circumstances." He turned to face her, his cheeks stuffed with food like a chipmunk's. Then he swallowed the bite of food. "It's delicious. Did you make it?" he asked, not taking his eyes off her. While Tess had red hair and freckles, Isabel had olive-toned skin, dark eyes and full lips, like a flamenco dancer or maybe an Italian film star swathed in veils. "I did," she said. "It's a German tradition."
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cake
isabel-and-cormac
tess-delaney
isabel-johansen
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Susan Wiggs |
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f457cf9
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When Tess had told him about the book project, she hadn't mentioned hostile women and swarms of bees. In fact, she'd characterized it as a working vacation of sorts, a way for him to recover from his bum knee by soaking up the charms of Sonoma County. In contrast, Bella Vista was lush and seductive, the landscape filled with colors from deep green to sunburned-gold. Gardeners, construction workers swarmed the property. Isabel Johansen was in charge, that had been clear from the start. Yet when she'd shown him to Erik's room, she'd seen vulnerable, uncertain. Some might regard the room as a mausoleum, filled with the depressing weight of things left behind by the departed. To Mac, it was a treasure trove. He was here to learn the story of this place, this family, and every detail, from the baseball card collection to the dog-eared books about far-off places, would turn into clues for him. And holy crap, had Isabel looked different when she'd given him the nickel tour. Unlike the virago in the beekeeper's getup, the cleaned-up Isabel was a Roman goddess in a flowy outfit, sandals and curly dark hair.
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isabel-and-cormac
isabel-johansen
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Susan Wiggs |
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23d92da
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Again, he had the urge to touch her. She was just... delicious to him. He couldn't understand it. He'd never felt so drawn to a woman- her scent, her soft curves, the curls of hair framing her face, the fullness of her lips. It was something more than attraction. She moved him- the way she cared so much about her grandfather and Bella Vista, her earnest dedication to her family and friends. Her unbelievable cooking. The tiny pulse beneath the delicate skin of her throat. She bothered the hell out of him, too, because his attraction to her wasn't something he could rationalize or control. He loved talking to her, even when she was griping him. He liked the softness that came over her face when she was in the garden or with her grandfather. He just wanted her.
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isabel-johansen
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Susan Wiggs |
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adfa96b
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"Grandfather, is it all right if we join you for a bit?" "Of course. Particularly since you've brought sustenance." He eyed the tray of food. It looked like a food magazine layout, featuring a variety of cheeses with fresh berries on brightly painted Italian pottery, and a tiny glass container of honey with the smallest spoon he'd ever seen. Isabel laced a thread of honey across the cheeses. "These are my favorite honey and cheese pairings. Comte, Appenzeller and ricotta. I had my first honey harvest last summer- a small one. That's when I realized I needed extra help with my beekeeping." "Sorry I wasn't your guy," said Mac."
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tray-of-food
isabel-johansen
honey
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Susan Wiggs |
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7efb9b3
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Setting out some honey shortbread cookies to go with the lemonade, she flashed on memories of her grandmother, offering refreshments to anyone who was lucky enough to come through the kitchen door. As a working farm, Bella Vista was always busy with workers, some seasonal and others permanent. 'In my kitchen, everyone is family,' Bubbie used to say, beaming as the orchard workers, mechanics or gardeners gladly wolfed down her baked goods.
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bubbie
eva-johansen
refreshments
isabel-johansen
hospitality
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Susan Wiggs |
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aa15dbc
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Antonio was fascinated by Isabel's razor-sharp knives from Japan. He made 'kia' sounds like a karate expert as he sliced the tomatoes and added them to the pan. there were some unexpected ingredients, things Tess would never dream of putting in tomato sauce- whole star anise, a vanilla bean split down the middle, a sprinkling of sugar, a sprig of thyme and bay leaves from the herb garden.
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isabel-johansen
tomato-sauce
ingredients
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Susan Wiggs |
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66adab5
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Isabel had always enjoyed a house full of people. 'Feed your friends, and their mouths will be too full to gossip,' Bubbie used to say. 'Feed your enemies, and they'll become your friends.' Throughout Isabel's childhood, the Johansen household had been full of people coming over, sitting down for a glass of wine or a slice of pie, staying up late, talking and laughing. Bubbie and Grandfather had been determined that she should never feel like an orphan. Except that, despite their efforts, sometimes she had. It wasn't their fault, she reflected as she placed wedges of quiche on plates. There was just something inside her- an urge, a yearning- that made her long to be someone's daughter, not the granddaughter. She never said so, though, not aloud. Yet somehow, they heard her. Somehow, they knew. Perhaps, in the aftermath of Bubbie's final illness and passing, that was why Isabel had become so bound to Bella Vista. Now she couldn't imagine being anywhere else. Her heart resided here, her soul. She still loved having people over, creating beautiful food, watching the passing of the seasons. Even now, with all the trouble afoot and secrets being revealed like the layers of a peeled onion, she found the rhythm of the kitchen soothing.
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granddaughter
isabel-johansen
magnus-and-eva
rootedness
hospitality
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Susan Wiggs |