At the last second, the Jeep seemed to leap to the left, causing Willow a moment of confusion over which of them-the Jeep or the truck-had moved so quickly. The Jeep's taillights grew brighter as they approached, and Willow held her breath. Time slowed to a crawl as the truck slid in an awkward direction toward both the Jeep and the ditch. But instead of stopping, she felt the sickening sensation of several tons of metal skidding to the right. Gripping the wheel, Willow saw another vehicle spotlit ahead-a green Jeep moving even more slowly than she was. But snow had accumulated frighteningly fast since her outbound trip just a half hour before. The old truck had started right up, and she drove down her lengthy driveway and turned left, away from civilization, toward the country feed store. She meant to keep her end of the bargain. She and The Girls had a deal-clean feed for organic eggs. Just because Willow had never intended to become a chicken farmer didn't mean she wanted to kill off her stock. Instead, she had turned on her heel, latching the barn door behind her. Only the most stalwart remained at her feet, still hoping she would produce a pocketful of raisins. "Damn it!" Willow had said, startling several of her Buff Orpington hens into a nervous flutter. If she were snowed in for two days, as the Weather Channel predicted, she would have nothing to feed them. She put blocks of ice in her freezer and set the candles out on the kitchen table, with a box of matches at the ready.Īnd then, heading into the barn to tuck the chickens in for the night, she'd opened their feed bin to find it empty. She'd done her storm preparation-filling the old claw-foot bathtub with water, preparing herself for the inevitable loss of electricity. She hadn't meant to drive in blizzard conditions. Creeping along at fifteen miles per hour, she'd be home in five minutes. Willow hunched in her seat for a better view of the road. She had the heater cranking on the highest setting, but still the windshield was icing over, the heavy snow plastering itself to the top of her field of vision. Willow needed to keep the old truck on the road and out of the snowy ditch for just one more mile.Īt six o'clock on a December evening, the sky over Vermont had been dark for two hours already.
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