Chapter 17

Under the low autumn sun, Leo proceeded along the green rows of vines, observing how the red grapes had chameleoned to purple and how the green grapes were already turning red. For almost four hours now, he’d been monitoring the grape-picking process.

At the top of his voice, he called to one of the vine workers to quit forcefully snipping off bunches of the grapes. The workers were using sharp clippers to cut the grapes, where it was too dangerous to pick them with machines.

He remembered how, as a child, his father used to walk along these same rows, shouting at the workers who weren’t picking right. He recalled, too, how Emma and her mother used to pick grapes here. The thought of it tortured him. But he reminded himself that they hadn’t been his family’s slaves. They had been employed to work and had been paid for their entire services. So, whatever her father had had against his family was not reason enough to have done what he did.

Her father was just a terri