Miracle (5 page)

As he signed, Sebastien asked, “Do you know any of the temporary people?”

“Sure. I’ve lived around here all my life.”

“There is a very shy young woman among them who has an unusual voice. She is slender, fair-skinned, and she has
a perpetually puzzled expression on her face, as if she were trying to understand some very confusing issue.”

“Oh. You’re talkin’ about Amy Miracle.”

“Miracle?”

“Weird, I know. Her stepmother’s a member of my church. She says the family comes from circus and carnival people from way back, four or five generations. The name was Merkle to start with. Somewhere along the line somebody changed it to Miracle.”

“What else do you know about her?”

“Hmmm, like I said, her folks are circus people. Used to be, anyway. They settled around here maybe ten years ago. Her daddy has a bad back, had to quit the circus. He was a clown. Odd bird. Real odd.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, he’s nice … he came over and made balloon animals for my granddaughter’s fifth birthday party, but—but”—her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper—“
he’s a hippie.
”

“Hmmm?”

“He’s got long hair. A man his age! And he smokes dope. Around here, he’s just a weird character, if you know what I mean. His wife’s got a chicken house. I think that’s all that keeps the family off welfare.”

“What do you know about the girl?”

Another shrug. “Shy as she can be. Just graduated from high school this spring. She dates a boy who’s going to trade school this fall.”

“Trade school?” Sebastien had an excellent grasp of English, but this term eluded him.

“He wants to work on trucks. You know. Big trucks. Be a diesel mechanic.”

“Ah.” Sebastien impatiently checked his watch. Why indulge his curiosity about the girl? He had to get back to Atlanta. He was working tonight at the hospital, and between now and then he had medical journals to read.

Pio arrived a minute later. Sebastien smiled at his stately manner. He was a very dignified spy who pretended to be insulted each time Sebastien questioned his reasons for following him to America.

Pio slapped him on the back. “
Bonjour: Ca va
?”

“
Comme ci comme ca
. I’ve taken care of the signings already.”

“I could have mailed the papers to you.”

Sebastien made a large, distinctly Latin shrug. “I felt like driving out again.”

“Hmmm. Come and sample the Merlot your father sent to me.”

They went into Pio’s darkly paneled office with its stiff, leather-covered furnishings and old photographs of the chateau de Savin in the Loire valley. The office was spartan but debonair. Pio took a bottle from a wine rack that covered one wall. He opened it with decades of skill, poured small amounts into two tastevins, and presented one of the shallow cups to Sebastien. After a nonchalant examination of the color and clarity, Sebastien sipped the Merlot slowly. “Too sweet.”

“No! The best vintage since seventy-two! I will never forget that one!”

Sebastien smiled at the older man’s wistful tone. “You should go home, Pio. You miss it.”

Sighing, Pio carried the bottle of Merlot to a sideboard and filled two crystal glasses. He and Sebastien raised the glasses to each other. Pio sank onto a couch, wiping sweat from his deeply tanned forehead with a white handkerchief, and gave Sebastien a speculative look. “Did you come back today to admire some more young, pretty grapes?”

“Never fear, Pio, I only choose what is ripe.”

“You wouldn’t cause an old man trouble with the local fathers, would you?”

Sebastien smiled dryly. “You aren’t old. You haven’t aged a year since I was a child.”

“Oh, but
you
have changed, my boy.”

“I have only grown up. I’m not the naive child you put to work each time he came home from school.”

“Your papa was proud of that child, no matter how bitter that child became as he grew into manhood.”

“He should be proud, now, too. If he’s not, that’s his business. What do you tell him about me lately?”

“What can I say? I tell him that you are still a doctor. ‘Your
son works all the time at the hospital. He lives in a fine home. He makes love to American women. He becomes an American. He forgets his family responsibilities.’ ”

Sebastien laughed without warmth. “I like your sense of drama. You do me justice.”

Beaucaire sighed. “So, tell me why you took such an interest in the girl. Such an odd one … she hardly ever talks, but when she does,
c’est comique
, what a voice! You won’t cause trouble with her, I hope.”

“Perhaps I simply have a gallant streak, eh? You think I’m the kind of hawk who swoops down on birds who have just learned to fly? Like father, like son? No, I’m not like that bastard.”

Scowling, Beaucaire slapped the arm of the couch. “Respect!”

Sebastien drained the glass and thumped it down on Beaucaire’s desk. “
Honesty
, Pio
. Au revoir.
”

He strode from the building, his hands clenched. The one thing he would never do is cause any woman the grief his father had caused his mother. When he saw Amy Miracle crossing a field toward the woods beyond, a lunch box swinging from her hand, he halted and watched her. There was one way to settle this niggling little infatuation of his. He’d simply speak with her, and break the spell.

He trailed her along a path into the woods and debated briefly whether she’d be frightened when she noticed him. Sebastien grimaced at the idea of how this looked—him tracking her into dense forest. He lifted his head and called her name. Her reaction was a startled jump. She swung around on the trail and stared at him, shock evident in her stance, her feet posed as if she might run. Again she wore her hat and sunglasses, baggy shorts, and a plain white blouse. Underneath the hat and glasses her mouth opened in a circle of dismay.

“May I talk to you a minute?” he asked, approaching her slowly.

“Is somethin’ wrong? Did I do somethin’?”

“No, nothing.”

“Oh.” She wavered in place, not looking particularly reassured. Her gaze kept darting over his casual khaki
trousers and loosely-woven white cotton pullover as if they were strange. “You look different today.”

“Clean, I hope. And wearing shoes.” Sebastien stopped several feet from her. “You were going to sit on the rock beside the creek?”

“Oh! You know about it, too!”

“Yes. It’s such a pretty spot.”

She nodded awkwardly. “But if it’s your spot, I’ll go back to the winery.”

“No, of course not. Would you mind if I sat with you while you eat lunch?”

“Heck, no.” She went along the path sideways, crossing one foot over the other while her gaze never left him. Her nervousness and lack of poise was so totally unsophisticated that he felt sorry for her.

“Here, let’s walk together, before you hurt yourself,” he told her, trying not to smile.

“Oh. Okay.” She halted, moved quickly to the edge of the path, and clutched her lunch box in front of her like a shield.

Sebastien stepped to her side and gestured forward with one hand. She looked straight ahead as they walked the remaining short distance to a small creek. The spicy-sweet smell of wildflowers scented the cool, creek-bottom air, and the sunlight was dappled by the greenery of drooping trees. The creek made a pleasant whispering sound. It was an intoxicating place, and he began to regret his decision to follow her there.

She climbed atop a granite outcropping and sat down stiffly, her legs crossed. Sebastien lowered himself to the mottled gray stone a comfortable distance from her and curled one long leg under him. He propped his arm on his updrawn knee.

“Mr. Beaucaire doesn’t like me, now,” she said, staring rigidly at her lunch box. “I’m real sorry about botherin’ you.”

“Why do you say that? You were only trying to help.”

“I feel sort of responsible for making Mr. Beaucaire mad.”

“Hmmm. Do you always feel responsible for so much?”

Her mouth tightened. “Yeah.”

“That’s too bad. You’re a very kind person, very thoughtful.”

She fumbled with her sunglasses, removed them, and carefully put them in the pocket of her shirt. Her face was delightful; the eyes nearly hidden behind thick brown lashes, the nose upturned, the large, expressive mouth dimpled on both sides. There was character in it, and intelligence, and a great deal more maturity than he’d expected. “I felt sorry for you,” she announced. “You looked sort of rough.”

“I appreciate your concern. But perhaps it’s not wise to feel sorry for me. Perhaps I’m a terrible person.”

“Oh, right,” she said without conviction.

“I want you to understand what was going on with me the other morning. I hadn’t had any sleep for three days. I’d been at the hospital—there was an emergency. For a moment in the vineyard I felt sick—it was only from needing sleep and food.”

“How come you don’t sleep or eat?”

He laughed dryly. “I have a tendency to forget everything but my work.”

She opened her lunch box and reached inside. “Here. I’ve got plenty.” Between them on the smooth granite she spread candy bars, packages of crackers, and several apples.

“Plenty! Were you expecting guests?”

She blushed. “I just shoved whatever I could find into the box last night. I was in a hurry.”

He took some crackers. “Thank you.” His attention went to the book she laid aside. “Ah! Do you like Tolkien?”

“A lot. Yeah.”

“What do you enjoy about his work?”

“It’s easy to tell who’s good and who’s bad. I like that.”

Sebastien nodded in approval. “I agree. The real world has too many shades of gray.”

“Yes!”

They traded assessing looks, like two travelers sizing each other up for a long trip along the same road. Then her boldness faded and, again, she stared at her food. Sebastien had never encountered such a mixture of shyness
and maturity before. While he opened the package of crackers she fidgeted with the wrapping on a piece of candy. “You’re a doctor?”

“A heart surgeon. Yes.”

“I always think of doctors as being older.”

“I’m finishing my studies. And I’m younger than most. I entered the university in Paris when I was only fifteen.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Oh!” She chewed her candy bar rapidly and frowned into the forest.

“Is that too young, or too old?” he inquired coyly.

“A lot older than
me
, but not as old as I thought heart surgeons had to be.”

“I assure you, mademoiselle, that I am one of the best.”

“Where do you work?”

“At Gregory University Hospital.”

“I know where that is. A girl I knew had to have a tumor operation, and her doctor sent her there. A bunch of us went down to Atlanta to visit her. It was the prettiest hospital I’d ever seen.”

“I’m glad you were impressed.”

She smiled at his droll tone. Her courage apparently growing, she inquired, “How come you work here and not in France?”

He put a hand over his heart dramatically. “I wanted to escape!”

She looked at him askance. “From what?”

“Convention! Tradition! Existential despair! The theories of Descartes!”

Her eyes gleamed with intrigue. He ate the crackers and thought to himself that her eyes were the same shade of green that one found in a fine piece of jade.

“You own this whole place?” She gestured uneasily toward the vineyards.

“My family’s company owns it. I have stock in the company, so that makes me a part-owner.”

“It’s beautiful. I love workin’ here.”

“You are just graduated from high school, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And will you go to a university in the fall?”

Her gaze fell. She busied herself polishing an apple on the leg of her denim shorts. “I’m not goin’.”

“You have so much intelligence—in your eyes, in your voice. You can’t let that go to waste.”

“I’m not a very good student. Average.”

“But what work will you do if you don’t go to college?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know.”

“You live at home, with your parents?” She nodded. “So you will live there until you decide?”

She exhaled sharply. “Aw, I don’t know what I’ll do. I might get married or something.”

“You’re very young to do that.”

For all her shyness, she glared at him. “I’m eighteen.”

“Ah, such an elderly woman. I see.”

“You’re … you’re really opinionated.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m an aggressive, compulsive, arrogant, Type A personality. I’ve been told that many times. So there.”

She burst into laughter, the most attractive laughter he’d ever heard, the sort that makes other people want to laugh too. He listened with bittersweet elation, trying to recall how long it had been since he’d enjoyed talking to anyone this much.

“I guess I can’t argue if you already know that you’re opinionated,” she said finally, peering at him from under the brim of her hat.

“I’m glad to argue with you. That means you’re comfortable with me.”

She thought for a moment, looking shocked. “That’s a new one.”

Sebastien noticed wisps of auburn hair feathering her forehead and wished that she’d remove her hat so he could see the rest. Looking at her both aroused and calmed him. “Don’t ever let anyone call you names,” he told her abruptly, his tone now serious. “You’re not worthless. Pio—Mr. Beaucaire—didn’t mean to say that. He certainly had no right to abuse your honor.”

Her face turned red and she seemed stunned. After
several stammering attempts to speak, she finally managed to say, “You make me feel important.”

“Believe in yourself. You must always consider yourself the most special person in the world.” He smiled thinly. “Of course, there are times when one can take such arrogance too far. But I doubt you’d do that.”

“I don’t know how to be arrogant at all.” Her voice trembled. “But thank you. Thank you a lot. I bet you’re a great doctor. You know how to make people feel better just by talkin’ to them.”

Leave. Leave this second
, he told himself.

“You’re a very good patient.” He forced himself up, cursing silently. In a few weeks he would be on his way to west Africa to serve eighteen months at the hospital and university in Abidjan, Cote d’lvoire. He had put off his military service until now, and he had chosen to fulfill it by working and teaching in the former French colony rather than by serving in the army. He had no time for this distressing fascination.