No Longer His Convenient Wife
Chandler whispered nervously, pointing a trembling finger down the long trellis of grapevines.
Alcott marched down the dirt aisle, his eyes narrowing. At first glance, the long row of grape clusters looked fine. But as he leaned closer, his stomach dropped.
At the base of four major vines in the center, the lush green leaves had turned a soft, slimy gray. Dark, velvet-like mold spots were creeping over the stem, and several grape clusters were shriveling into soft, sour-smelling rot.