Eliana glanced down at her watch. “It’s lunchtime.”

Ross took their basket over to the trailer, dumped it, then brought it back, setting it down next to the unfinished trellis.

Eliana wiped the sweat from her face with her forearm. “I think I’m done for the day. We usually just work for an hour, but Alessio was having such a good time we just kept on going.”

“You’re a good little worker, Alessio,” Ross said. “You held your own against these college kids.”

“Thanks.”

Eliana bumped up against Ross as they walked. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“It feels great being out here. There’s something cathartic about working the land. It’s something we white-collar guys miss.” He looked over at her. “I was thinking, you could probably get tourists to pay to come over here and pick grapes. ‘For a limited time and your entire bank account, you too can experience the real Chianti.’ ”

Eliana laughed. “You sound like Tom Sawyer. Does the ad man in you ever die?”

“Never.”

“Well, I’d never sign up. We had raspberry bushes back in Vernal. Raspberries and peas. I hated it when we had to pick.”

They stopped near the cantina. “Manuela’s making lunch for us back at the villa. We still have a little time; would you like a quick tour of the winery?”

“Yes.”

“How about you, Alessio? Do you want to go through the winery or back home?”

“Back home.”

“Okay. Tell Manuela we’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Bye, Mr. Story.”

“See ya, pal.”

Alessio darted off across the field.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands!” Eliana shouted after him. She groaned. “If he gets those hands on the furniture . . .” She watched him until he disappeared near the villa. Then she turned her attention back to Ross.

“Is there a place we can wash?”

“Sorry, right over there.” She led him to where a brass spigot emerged from the stucco wall of the cantina, running into a stone basin, chipped and worn around its brim. Around the base of the basin wild capers grew. They washed their hands; then Ross washed his face in the cool water.

The small strips of grass around the cantina were crowded with workers who had retrieved their lunches and staked their territories. Again the line between generations was clear. There were the old men with their tablecloths and little bottles of wine and meat and cheese and bread, packed by their old wives. And then there were the young workers who lay down wherever they could find shade, with their sandwiches and chips and bottles of soda or beer. A cloud of smoke rose from the cantina as the workers all lit their cigarettes.

Eliana led Ross around the building to the back. There were men there, the tractor drivers and Luca, who wore a baseball cap and carried a clipboard. Luca looked up at them as they approached.

“Buon giorno, signorina,” Luca said.

“Buon giorno, signori,” she replied.