She has to hurry, or they will be trapped there on the farm, and God’s will must be done. The car sways past the fields and along the fence rows, sending a sound of crunching gravel, muffled by the constant drumming of the rain, across the farm. The rain falls hard, and already the road is becoming slippery, as it always does when it rains the least little bit. A low rumble of thunder wanders from somewhere in the distance. Lara squints into the darkness. This is Frank’s fault. It’s all his fault. Her children are in terrible danger, and it’s all his fault. She told Frank that they needed to call the county to add some rock to the road, but he put it off, just like he puts off everything. It amazes her how he can be so lackadaisical about things, as if nothing matters. It doesn’t matter to him that the road is in danger of becoming impassable every time it rains. It doesn’t matter that the house is falling down around their ears, that it is drafty and cold in the winter and blistering hot in the summer. It doesn’t matter that there is too little food to put on the table. Lara swerves around a bend in the road, just avoiding the huge boulder the boys call Elephant Rock.

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