Chapter 1: CALEB
As usual, my farmhand, Aaron, is chatting away in the passenger seat of the truck, and, as usual, I'm only half listening. Something about his extended family who have come into town for Christmas, and who gets along with whom, or doesn't get along with whom, and who's bringing what to eat, and who bought what great present for whom, yadda, yadda, yadda. I'm busier concentrating on trying not to jostle the truck around too much, since we're on our way back to the farm from picking up the stud ram for the winter breeding.
Aaron's chatter does remind me that I was going to pick up some more kerosene for the lamps in the barn before the storm hits, and we have to pass through town anyway so it's lucky I remembered before we got back to the farm. About fifteen minutes away from town I notice a strange sight: a sleek red Porsche stopped along the side of the road. It's about as out of place around here in rural Wisconsin as a herd of elephants, or more like a herd of flying pigs, for that matter. Aaron stops his babbling in surprise, and I slow down as we drive by it so we can take a closer look. It's empty, and it looks like it has a flat tire (the back right one), and no wonder considering the state of the roads around here.
Even the sight of the luxury sports car isn't enough to shut Aaron up for very long. Only a couple of seconds elapse before he starts back up again, saying how he's never even seen a car like that in real life before, how much he would love to have one, or even a garage full of them, he'd just drive around to impress the ladies, he could even see himself being a Formula 1 race car driver some day, yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda. I don't mind his chattiness too much, though, as it saves me the trouble from having to say much, and when he's around it provides just enough of a distraction from the thoughts that are always lurking in my head and lying in wait.
We stop by the general store, and I ask Aaron to wait with the ram. The ram isn't currently butting its head against the box that's he been contained in like he was when we first picked him up, but he could start up again at any minute and we would have a hell of a time if he actually escaped.
We call the store "the general store", but in such a tiny town as this it's really the only store. Like the general stores of olden days, it really does sell everything. Groceries, house supplies, clothes, stamps, used books, electronics, and, of course, farm equipment, seed, animal feed, even huge tractors and threshing machines. Basically everything that we would need for our homes or for the farms is either stocked here or comes through the store via special order.
I do my best to ignore the multicolored Christmas lights draped around the front of the building, along with a parade of blow-up figures including Santa and elves and reindeer and snowmen and snow-women and snow children, and the enormous Christmas wreaths that adorn the doors. As I walk into the store, though, past a big blinking neon sign on the wall that says, "Santa stop here", I'm struck by an even more bizarre sight than the abandoned car. An Asian man is having an argument with Johnny, a middle-aged guy who's one of the main workers at the store. The stranger's tall, slim frame, stylish clothes, and sleek hairstyle all clearly indicate that he must be the owner of the abandoned car as much as if his picture had been emblazoned on the front of it (or vice versa). That last thought makes me smile a little inwardly. He forms a stark contrast to Johnny, a typical Midwestern rural type, overweight and red faced, but what in the world is a stranger like this guy doing in a place like Hebron, Wisconsin?
We'll, it's none of my business. Shoving my curiosity to one side, I quickly turn and walk to the back of the store, but it looks like they're out of cans of kerosene, so I'll have to ask someone. No one else seems to be around (not surprising since it's getting past supper time), so I head back to the front, where I can still hear them arguing.
As luck would have it, it looks like Johnny's the only one working the store. I stand patiently near the front counter, trying my best not to listen in on their conversation (which is impossible, of course).
"I still don't understand why you are so sure that no one around here can drive me to Silver Falls. I'm willing to pay generously," the stranger is saying, clearly trying but failing to stay calm. A surprise on top of a surprise: the stranger's English is extremely good, with only slight traces of an accent.
"Well, you see," Johnny drawls slowly, barely hiding a smile, "I'll explain it to you for the third time since maybe you don't understand English too good. Silver Falls is two hours away. The storm is gonna hit in a couple of hours. Ain't no one around here gonna risk gettin' stuck in a winter storm, even in Silver Falls, and especially not right before the holiday. Ain't no amount of money's gonna change that."
