Miracle Read Free

decorated the ends of each row, and the grass between the rows had a froth of tiny yellow wildflowers. A dozen varieties of grapes grew here in the Georgia soil, just as they did in France, the winery manager said.
    The de Savin people had bought land here a few years ago. Everyone had been curious about a French firm purchasing property in the middle of the Georgia hills, until a company representative had explained that the soil and climate were perfect for growing grapes. The local preachers had been a little perturbed by the idea of a winery, but after the place was developed everyone felt awed more than anything else.
    On a crest at the center of the fields sat a magnificent chateau of pink and gray stone, with turrets, a gabled roof, and heavily ornamented casements. Behind it was a low concrete building, where the wine was made. The château was just for show. Right now Mr. Beaucaire, the winery manager, lived there. Someday the château might be turned into a restaurant and wine store. Amy viewed the fairy-tale scene with the reverence of a peasant.
    After parking her bike at the back of the winery building, she put her hat on again, then went inside a narrow door to the office. The other grape pickers were there, two dozen or so, black and white, young and old, every kind of person from fresh-faced high-school and college students to grizzled locals, hands gnarled by years of farming. Amy thought it exciting to be part of the vineyard’s first harvest; she liked telling people that she was working at a French château. Plus harvest work paid well, though the seasonwas short. It had started a week ago and would end early in September.
    Around her people were slipping on gloves and hats for eight hours of hot work. Like most of the younger workers, Amy took a bottle of suntan lotion from her purse and smeared some on her arms and legs, where her fair skin showed freckles along with a deepening tan. The shift started at six-thirty and ended at two-thirty, when the sun was nearly unbearable.
    Feeling shy in the crowd, Amy hurried to put her lunch away. In the refrigerator, containers of boiled ham and turnip greens sat next to cups of yogurt. Her lunch box contained candy bars, apples, and crackers, foods that didn’t require her to spend much time in the kitchen, where Pop tended to lurk at night, drinking and complaining. It also contained a much-read copy of
The Hobbit
. She liked adventure and fantasy.
    Amy clipped a plastic water bottle to her belt. As she deposited her purse in a locker along one wall she smiled at everyone who caught her eye, but avoided talking. She’d spent her whole life fading into the background, the safest place to be.
    “
Allons-y
! Let’s go!” Mr. Beaucaire gave them all a bored, patronizing look and waved an arm toward the door. Middle-aged with snowy white hair, he had a commanding presence even in brown work pants and a safari shirt. He wasted no time on chitchat and hardly ever spoke directly to one of the temporary workers. Around him Amy was as silent and obedient as a garden tool that could be replaced without a second glance.
    She traipsed along with the crowd, enjoying the good, clean morning as best she could, considering how the day had started, She was used to feeling tired and a little depressed; most of her life she’d been isolated from other people by invisible barriers of shame. A few years ago Pop had been busted for driving under the influence. The joint in the Buick’s ashtray hadn’t helped his case, and he’d served a few months in the county jail.
    The gossip at school had made her feel even more alone. Sometimes she had nightmares about someone finding hisplants inside the house. Having friends was impossible, because friends asked too many questions and wondered why she never invited them to visit. Only Charley Culpepper was content to accept her excuses, and sometimes she wondered if that was what made Charley so attractive.
    Amy entered the vineyards